#the adult looked at me angry and I never saw those kids again

[monoukotori]

You don't give money to homeless people because "they might spend it all on drugs" I don't give homeless people money because I live in the state with most cases of human trafficking in my country, and there is a good possibility that the person begging on the street is being used by bad people to get easy money

[rems-writing]

The Doberman

》 Pairing: bodyguard!Yeosang x rapper afab!reader

》 Trope: friends to lovers

》 Wordcount: 2,443 words

》 Rating: mature

Nets: @mirohs-aurora-society @othersideoutlawsnetwork @illusionnet

I am tagging @acupoftaewithsomesuga since I love fucking with her and @frenchkisstheabyss since Yeo has been wrecking her lately :3

You had just wrapped up yet another concert for your world tour and even had a special guest come out to perform a new song that you three have collabed on. 

The special guest was the rapper duo Matz. 

After you had thanked everyone in the crowd for coming out tonight and bid them goodnight, you walked off backstage and took off the fur coat that you wore throughout the performance. As you took off the ridiculously huge sunglasses that were bedazzled with so many tiny diamonds, you blinked rapidly to adjust your sight to the dimly lit dressing room that you had walked into. You sat in front of the brightly lit vanity mirror and proceeded to remove your makeup. Since you were jumping around and moving a lot, it had caused a lot of sweat to drip down your face. While you were putting on facial moisturizer, you felt a pair of huge arms wrap around you. Since you were sitting on a stool, those arms were securely around your waist. You relaxed under the familiar touch and looked up to see your best friend smiling at you. 

“Hi, Sangie~”

Kang Yeosang, known as the Doberman, was by far the most intimidating bodyguard you’ve hired. A lot of people never took him seriously at first due to his statue-esque face and his overall soft personality, but you knew better. Ever since you two were kids, you’ve known him to be a tough guy. He may not seem like the confrontational type nor the type to get angry so easily, but push the right buttons and you just might find yourself underneath the unnerving gaze of the angel turned demon. You recalled the first time you guys met. 

You were being bullied by your old high school’s football captain. He tripped you while his girlfriend, the head cheerleader, popped her bubblegum bubble and laughed wickedly at you as you tried to get up and gather your things. The laughter from the cheerleader soon turned into a frightened whimper and you looked up to see a furious Yeosang squeezing the captain’s wrist harshly, almost to the point of breaking it. Afraid that an adult might see, you stood up and hugged him from behind quickly. 

“Please… not here. Someone might see.”

When he looked at you, you swore you were staring into the eyes of an angel. His fiery fury melted into the softest expression that you knew would be reserved for you one day if you played your cards right. He let the captain go with a shove, causing him to stumble backwards and topple onto his teammates. He whipped his head around and spoke in a voice that basically clawed its way from the depths of hell. 

“If I catch you bothering her again, you will suffer from more than just a broken wrist.”

That’s how deep it was. 

You saw them run away and you looked up at him, bewildered by the fact that he now looked at you with a small shit eating grin on his face. 

“Come have lunch with me!”

And the rest was history. 

From that moment alone, you knew that you two would be attached at the hip and support each other along the way to your rising careers. When you first got signed to RM Records, owned by Kim Namjoon himself, the first thing you established before signing the contract was to have Yeosang as your personal bodyguard. Namjoon was hesitant at first, but once he saw Yeosang, he was impressed with his strength and the way he carried himself as he protected from harm. Since then, he’s always been at your side. From the beginning until now. 

“Ready for the afterparty?”

“Absolutely not. But tonight was successful so I might as well go.”

One thing never changed and that was your hatred for social gatherings. Luckily, you never went to a lot of them. However, you still had a lot of adrenaline in you so you figured that you’d use it all up at this afterparty that you were invited to. After making sure the moisturizer was dried up, you stood up and went into a different room to change into a different outfit. Per usual, Yeosang stood outside your door with his mask on and his sharp eyes looked around everywhere. When you finished, Yeosang turned around and his jaw almost dropped. 

You looked gorgeous. 

You wore a gray AC/DC shirt that was cut and styled into a crop top, a dark green plaid skirt that was high waisted, and emerald green Converse shoes that were low-cut. Another thing that never changed about you despite your career as a rapper? Your grunge/punk rock aesthetic when it comes to your clothing. Yeosang knew that the tight clothing that showed a bit too much was something you didn’t like, but since you didn’t want to be mistaken for the lead singer of a rock band, you had to research what female rappers wore and you made sure that the tight clothing was only reserved for concerts. After all, you wanted to keep your rapper persona and your true self separated.��

“Ok, Sangie. You can close your mouth. You might catch a fly. I know I look good.”

“Damn right you fucking do.”

Yeosang said it quietly to himself as he watched you gather your things and follow you towards the limousine that was parked outside of the venue. He would never admit it, but he fell for you a long time ago. However, he blatantly assumed that you didn’t feel the same way so he kept his feelings to himself. The venue was packed with fans and paparazzi being held back by barricaded gates and a lot of security guards. You kept your head down and walked as quickly as you could while Yeosang shielded you from the blinding lights that each camera’s flash emitted. One lucky, or unlucky, photographer jumped over the barricade and ran towards you before aiming his camera at you. 

“SMILE, CHESHIRE!”

Before you could protest or even hear the camera go off, you saw a gloved hand reach over you and crush the camera lens into pieces. Your eyes widened as Yeosang glared at the photographer, who was shaking in his boots. 

“Step away from her.”

Yeosang practically growled at him and watched with a bit of satisfaction as the photographer ran away. Soon, that very same gloved hand rested itself on your lower back and urged you forward so you could step into the limo first. Once you were inside, Yeosang followed in after you and closed the door, sighing deeply as he closed his eyes and threw his head back. You didn’t know why, but you found the sight attractive. The way his chest was heaving up and down, his forehead glistening with sweat, and the strands of his black hair blocking the birthmark that you loved so dearly? Even when he was catching his breath, he looked like a god. It didn’t help that he removed his gloves so his hands could gently grab your thigh. It was natural of him to do that. You normally didn’t mind that, but tonight felt different. Yet you didn’t find it in you to shove his hand off. It just felt right. 

“Yunho, drive!”

Your driver nodded and soon took off to the place where the afterparty was. It was a bit of a drive so you had ample time to rest. As you closed your eyes, your mind drifted off to scenarios that involved you & Yeosang in a lot of different positions. 

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

You hated it. 

The afterparty was a full mess. The music was a weird mix of EDM and pop, there were so many bodies on the dance floor basically humping each other rather than dancing, and on top of that, the alcohol was absolute shit. You wanted to go home, but you knew Yunho needed to get his break in so you let him take his 30 while you were sipping on a vodka cranberry cocktail and observing the scene unfolding in the safety of a secluded booth. Yeosang stood beside you and watched everyone like a hawk to make sure you were safe. It was like this for a few minutes until a group of drunk guys and girls walked past you. One of them, who definitely had too much to drink, pointed at you and sneered at you loudly. 

“WHY DOES SHE GET TO SIT BY HERSELF WHILE WE HAVE TO WALK AROUND?!”

Yeosang noticed the commotion and came in between you and her. Even in the poor lighting of the club, you could make out every single trace and curve of his back muscles through the black dress shirt he sported. 

“Ma’am, I suggest you move along.”

“AYE DON’T TALK TO MY GIRL LIKE THAT! LET HER TALK HER SHIT!”

Yeosang resisted the urge to roll his eyes in annoyance and simply whipped out a black & silver dagger before aiming the sharp blade at the man’s throat. 

“You do not have to yell in my ear like that, sir.” 

Yeosang was thrown off by the woman’s overly manicured hand running over his arm. Each drag of her nails across his biceps and muscled forearm sent you spiraling downwards into a pit of unplaced jealousy. However, you didn’t have to do anything about it since Yeosang grabbed the woman’s wrist and squeezed it tightly. 

“If you and your posse do not move along, I will use force. And trust me. You do not want to push me any further.”

The venom dripping into his tone meant serious business. The woman freed herself from his grasp and ran away, her friends following behind. The man called him a crazy bastard before fleeing the scene as well. Yeosang sighed and put away the dagger before turning to you and reaching a hand out. 

“Come on, Y/N. Let’s go back to the hotel.”

You nodded wordlessly and took his hand before following him out of the club. 

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

How did you end up here? 

One minute, you two were seated side by side in the limo and Yeosang helped you sober up. The next minute, you were straddling him, kissing himself fiercely and passionately as your fingers tugged at his hair. Yeosang kissed back with the same fervor, his gloves discarded so his palms could map every inch of your skin as his hands cupped under your thighs. 

Finally, you two were back in your hotel room. You were on your knees, hands splayed on his slack-covered thighs, and your mouth stretched open by his undeniably thick cock. Yeosang threw his head back and let out such beautiful moans as his fingers tangled in your head and pushed you down even further onto his cock, forcing you to deepthroat him. You gagged a bit and Yeosang cooed at the sight of your fucked out face, eyes brimming with tears, and drool coming down the corners of your mouth. 

“Relax your throat, beautiful. Yeah that’s it.” 

You’d never thought you’d live to see yourself choking on your best friend’s dick, yet here you were. Were you complaining? Nope! Did you two need to talk about what you guys were after this? Yes. 

“Look at you, choking on my cock. You can take more, and you definitely did. You showed me that you’re such a good fucking girl by taking it all. Fuck! I love you so much.”

The praise and sudden confession lit a fire within you and you sped up your actions, fondling his balls as well. Yeosang couldn’t take it anymore and held your head still before moving his hips so he could fuck your face. You felt his tip touch the back of your throat and you moaned at the feeling. The vibrations sent a shockwave of pleasure through him and he knew he was close. However, he wanted something different. Without warning, he stopped and pulled out of your mouth quickly before helping you stand up and smashing his lips onto yours. You felt his tongue turn 180 degrees as he explored the inside of your mouth. When he pulled away, a string of saliva connected your moths before it broke apart. 

“Stand against the wall and strip.”

His deep voice was husky and sensual and you didn’t think twice before doing what he said. As you slowly stripped, you kept your eyes on him. He did the same while he unbuttoned his shirt with one hand and shoved his pants down with the other. When both of you were fully naked, you took a minute to admire each other before Yeosang came closer to you. He grabbed your hips and lifted you up before making you wrap your legs around his slim waist and sinking you down onto his cock. You mewled and whined at how easy he slid in yet felt the stretch since again, his cock was undeniably thick. Yeosang leaned in and connected your foreheads, taking in the feeling of being inside you before proceeding to thrust in and out of you at a brutal pace. Your arms were hooked under his so you took the opportunity to leave scratch marks down his back. It seemed to turn him on even more since he went faster. 

“Fuck, baby! That’s it. Mark me. Fucking mark me. Make sure the world sees that I’m yours. Because you know damn well that you’re mine.”

His dirty words caused you to moan and Yeosang looked at you briefly before leaning down to your neck to kiss and mark it up. His grip on you tightened and he groaned at the feeling of you clenching around him. 

“I’m close, Sangie!”

“Fuck. Me too.”

Seconds later, the both of you reached your orgasms together. Your arousal dripped down his cock while his seed shot up in you. He stayed inside of you for a few minutes to make sure every single drop was emptied out of him. He soon pulled out yet he still held you close to him. 

“Come on. Let’s shower together.”

“Ok, but… we need to talk about what we are in the meantime.”

“I know for a fact that I’m deeply in love with you and I’d actually take rejection over being friends-with-benefits. You’re too good for that and I hate sharing.”

“Luckily, you don’t have to worry about rejection nor establishing a situationship with me. I’m deeply in love with you too.”

Yeosang smiled and kissed both your cheeks before carrying you into the bathroom so you two could wash up.

“So what do you want for breakfast tomorrow?”

[randomshyperson]

Like Real People Do - Milf!Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Wanda Maximoff is known to be a strict mother - the opposite of you. When a school incident involves your children, you two will need to learn to get along with each other. [Requested]

Warnings: General Fluff, attempted romantic comedy with opposites attract, mild making out at the end, milf wanda being adorable, brief angst for past relationships, found family. | Words: 5.733k

A/N-> My first fic of the year will be Milf!Wanda without smut? What happened to this blog, huh? I was so busy in December that I couldn't post anything, I hope you guys didn't forget about me. This is a very old request that I finished some time ago and never posted, here it is then. Good reading you all!

General Masterlist || AO3 || Wattpad

--//--

It started with a bloody nose.

It was Wednesday, which meant that you had painting class from ten to eleven in the morning, so when your cell phone rang and Principal Fury's angry voice demanded you not to be late, you could barely think of a decent excuse for your students.

The way to the municipal school was quick and even perilous - you never learned how to drive Natasha's truck properly no matter how hard you tried - but you arrived quickly at least.

America was standing with her arms crossed at the door to the principal's office - the jeans jacket with buttons you took her to buy last year had a bloodstain on the front that made your heart miss a beat. 

"Mom!" Her sulky expression lit up the second she saw you - the girl uncrossed her arms and ran to catch up with you, talking too fast about the mess while you searched her face for bruises. You sighed in relief at not finding any.

"Honey, slow down, I'm not catching any words." You warn her gently, and America giggles awkwardly, taking a deep breath to speak again.

"It wasn't my fault, Mom! It was those idiots who came at us, Billy wasn't doing anything, and when they called him bad names and I just lost my temper and-"

You frown in confusion, but America shuts up because the boardroom door opens and other people come out.

The blood is not America's you realize. It's the boy with ice on his face, accompanied by an equally grumpy adult. The boy also has blood all over the front of his shirt, and from the way, America tenses up and he flinches, you understand that he has been beaten.

"Come on, don't give me any more trouble." Warned the man to the boy who practically ran out. The man waved goodbye politely, and you turned to America, ready to ask, but you heard Mr.Fury call your name.

The room was not empty. There were two boys and a woman in a suit so impeccable that you became very aware of the ink stains on your work overalls. Or maybe it was the way she looked you up and down, with an indecipherable expression.

"Mrs.Romanoff, how nice that you could join us at last." Fury pinned on your lateness, and you smiled awkwardly.

"Sorry, I was in class and my cell phone was off." You mumbled, but he didn't seem to care much, signaling for you to sit down.

America stood beside you but smiled at the boys, who smiled back immediately.

"As I explained to Mrs.Maximoff, something rather unpleasant happened this morning. Your children got into a fight with another group of classmates..."

"And where is the rest of the gang?" You asked curiously, looking around. Fury frowned.

"Excuse me?"

"Well, you said they got into a fight. Nobody fights alone. Where are the other children? I saw the other little boy who went outside looking like he got punched right in the nose, and if you told me it was three against one, then yes, we have a problem."

Fury exchanges a look with Mrs.Maximoff, but the redhead is straightening up in her chair, looking at you curiously.

The principal lets out a short laugh. "Miss Romanoff, the confusion started at recess, where America assaulted five classmates. The other four are in the infirmary and-"

You cut Fury off with excitement, turning to your daughter beside you. "Five? Kid, you've been practicing, haven't you? Damn, your mother would be impressed. "

America laughs shyly, but Fury exclaims indignantly. "Excuse me, Mrs.Romanoff, are you really encouraging violent behavior in your 13-year-old daughter?"

 "It depends on what the fight is about." You mutter, but Fury sighs indignantly.

"Violence is never the answer!" Retorts the principal seriously, but his line makes the boys exclaim indignantly.

"They were the ones who attacked us first! America was only defending my brother!" Reported one of them, and you and Mrs.Maximoff exchanged quick glances at the confusion.

"That's right, we were just standing there, and those idiots came at us with curses! If it wasn't for America-"

"Quiet, all of you!" Fury cut in angrily, and the children grumbled but obeyed. He massaged his forehead. "It's clear that the fight started with America, so please could you tell me exactly why you assaulted your colleagues, Miss?"

But America hesitates and looks at the boys, who bow their heads. She sighs.

"It was something silly about grades." She lies - You can see it’s not true because whenever she tells a lie, her forehead frowns slightly and Natasha taught you to recognize everything about little Miss Chavez. You don’t understand why she’s lying though. 

Fury sighs wearily. "Are you sure that's all it was, miss?"

She looks down at the floor and nods. You lick your lips.

"Fury, I wonder if we could talk alone. Just me, Miss Maximoff, and you? They shouldn't be missing class."

Fury hesitates but eventually agrees. Once the children leave, you clear your throat.

"I want to know what will be done with the group that attacked them, Fury."  You state without waiting any longer, surprising a little. Nick clears his throat.

"Your daughter just clarified that it was a silly argument over notes, Miss Romanoff, you don't expect me to-"

"You know it wasn't just that." To his surprise, Wanda intervenes, sounding irritated and tired. She takes a deep breath. "It wouldn't be the first time Billy experienced bullying in his school environment, but you promised me that this school was a safe space when I came to enroll them, Mr.Fury."

Nick clears his throat clumsily, adjusting his tie. "Mrs.Maximoff, at no time-"

"America told me they insulted him." You cut in, exchanging a look with the redhead. "The kids who attacked them came in cursing Billy. That's unacceptable, Fury. You say I encourage violent behavior? No. Natasha and I taught America to stand up for herself and for the people important to her. Nat was in the military and taught her how to fight. You can't expect her to listen to someone use low insults with her friends and do nothing."

"You cannot teach your daughter to punch anyone who irritates her, Miss Romanoff." Fury retorts seriously, before turning his face to the other, "And this is a safe environment, Wanda. We have anti-bullying programs, and when the other boys leave the infirmary, they will answer for this event as well. But for now, it's your kids who need to understand that fighting doesn't go unpunished."

"That doesn't seem very fair." You mutter but Fury casts you a serious look. 

"Because they insulted them? Tell me what happens when they're adults, then." You open your mouth but Fury holds up his hand, rhetorical question. "I tell you, at the very least a lawsuit for assault. I understand it's important to tell them to defend themselves, but they also need to understand how the world works. They are children, by god. You can't tell them to go out punching their way whenever someone wrongs them."

"I guess that's easy to say when we're not the ones experiencing the aggression." Wanda mutters, and Fury gives a short laugh.

"Wanda, I assure you I know the feeling of hearing horrible offenses and having to put my head down and keep walking because the punishments would be worse for me than for those who offended me." Says Nick. "Billy is only twelve, he should learn to respond to things like that in a healthy and safe way. Teaching any of these kids to respond violence with violence puts them at risk, and I'm sure you understand that." Wanda sighs but nods in defeat. Nick clears his throat. "I believe detention for a month is a good punishment."

You sigh, but Wanda hesitates. "They'd be out by three, wouldn't they? Couldn't you do it earlier or between classes? I work office hours on Tuesdays and Wednesdays..."

Nick opens his mouth but you speak first. "I can pick them up." You say casually. "They're friends with America, right? They can stay over if you need."

The redhead blinks in surprise. "Wouldn't that be inconvenient?"

You laugh shrugging your shoulders. "Not at all. America is usually alone in the afternoon while I'm in the studio. It would be nice if she had some company."

Wanda smiles at you and your stomach does a complete turn. Nick claps his hands together.

"I guess we have a deal then. Thank you both for attending, even though it was not the most pleasant of reasons... I'll keep in touch, Miss Maximoff, Miss Romanoff."

You got up first but opened the door for Wanda to pass. Outside, she seemed in a hurry, checking her cell phone, and you didn't want to hold her any longer. Surprisingly, she called you before you left for your car.

"I want your number." She declares, and you can't help the teasing expression that appears on your face. Wanda corrects herself immediately, "B-because of the ride, so I can confirm that everything is okay..."

"I know, I get it." You assure her with a laugh, accepting the cell phone she holds out to put your number in. As you type, you take the opportunity to introduce yourself properly since you haven't had the chance to do so before. Wanda smiles before doing the same. "Here you go, Miss Maximoff."

"Just Wanda is fine." She says gently, accepting the cell phone back. "Thank you again, for the favor."

"You can return it by joining me for coffee." You have no idea where that came from. And it seems to surprise Wanda as much as you surprised yourself. But there's no going back because she smiles and you know you meant it. "Or a tea, or juice. Maybe vitamin?"

Wanda giggles, and it's a charm. You glare at her but she looks at her cell phone again.

"Sorry, I have to go." She looks really disappointed, and you notice that her phone has started vibrating on a call. She looks at you again. "I'll text you about that coffee."

"I'll wait." You mumble, knowing she heard just by the soft smile she still holds as she answers the phone before waving goodbye and turning in the opposite direction of the parking lot.

You sigh loudly as you are left alone, trying to figure out where to see the strange feeling in your stomach that you think you haven't felt in years.

–//–

Wanda probably forgot about the coffee. You don't blame her, because America has every social network possible, and through her friendship with Billy Maximoff on Facebook, you are able to find Wanda Maximoff's only two social networks. 

Her professional profile is impeccable. She is an important figure in a major New York company, but you are not too sure whether she is a writer or a manager, or both. Either way, with so many meetings and lectures in her feed, she is probably the busiest person you have ever met. 

The only personal profile she has is a Facebook profile that hasn't been updated in almost three years. It is public, and has family photos - the vast majority with the twins - but what attracts attention is the tall man next to her. If the photos were tagged, it was removed today. There was no link to his profile. You also noticed that the relationship status was still Married, and tried to ignore the burning in your strangers with this information. 

There should be no problem with Wanda being a married woman. You should have expected this, actually. In fact, you shouldn't expect anything at all. Losing Natasha wasn't exactly recent, but you weren't looking for someone to take her place. Ever.

Calling Wanda for coffee was a kind act in the interest of friendship, you convinced yourself. After all, with your antisocial nature, you didn't have many friends in New York. 

America found you stalking Wanda's Facebook, however, and had a very different idea.

"She's a total milf, huh?"

You closed the laptop hard, looking at your daughter with indignation. "Excuse me, young lady?"

America shrugged. "Miss Maximoff, mom. She's so gorgeous, like a movie star. Everyone keeps staring when she comes to pick up the twins."

You grimace, hugging the laptop against your chest. "America, I don't think it's very appropriate for you to say such things to me, don't you agree?"

Your daughter laughs confusedly. "But you thought so too. You're just there stalking her on the Internet..."

"That's it, out." You stand up embarrassed, ignoring America's mischievous laughter in the hallway as you close the door. You grunt red-faced, putting your hands over your face and trying to get the image of Wanda out of your head. America shouts from the hallway:

"I'll order Enchiladas for dinner!" - You open the door just to say thanks.

To your surprise, Wanda texts you the next day. 

It shouldn't really be a surprise, since the children's detention would start now, but still, you were so busy delivering some paintings that you almost completely forgot about it.

Hey Miss Romanoff, it's Wanda. Is everything okay for the kids to stay at your place this afternoon as we agreed? After detention? 

You are listening to music, so you ask the virtual assistant to read the message while you continue painting one of the higher boards. When you realize who it is from, you almost fall down the stairs you are on.

Your cell phone screen smears blue paint when you pick it up in one go, having forgotten your dirty hands, and you curse softly. 

Trying to sound casual, you decide on a voice message.

"Hey, Miss Max-Wanda, hey." Great start. "Sure, don't worry, I'll send you my address to come to pick them up later. And just Y/N is fine."

Wanda replies with an emoji heart, and you try to understand why yours is racing so fast.

–//–

Thomas and William Maximoff are two little devils. And America loves them, so you do too.

They play in the backyard and in the living room, surprisingly in harmony over sharing the video game after detention. You go back to work in the studio and keep the music down so you can hear them, and before you know it, the hours have passed and a red pickup truck is pulling up outside your house.

Wanda, on the other hand, doesn't seem too pleased to see that none of the children have had a decent meal after school, or done their homework. And you showing up with a dirty paint apron doesn't seem to help her judgment much.

"I don't usually cook, for the safety of the kitchen."  You try to joke to ease the tension and get giggles from the smaller ones, but only a forced smile from the other, who continues with her arms crossed. "They're not hungry, you know. There were snacks and cookies..."

"Very healthy." Wanda interrupts wryly. "Get your backpacks boys, and thank them for having you. Let's go home before it gets later."

You and America watch Maximoff's hurried exit until Wanda's car disappears at the end of the street, and it is your daughter who speaks first.

"I think she likes you."

You chuckle incredulously, turning your face to America. "What gives you that idea? The deadly stare?"

The smaller girl rolls her eyes amused. "No, Mom! She didn't say she wasn't coming here anymore. And besides, Tommy told me she's kind of too straitlaced... he may have used the word crazy, but I don't think that's very appropriate for me to say."

You chuckle through your nose, ruffling America's hair as you pull her into the house with you. 

"Well, the boys are your friends, so Wanda is going to have to get used to me because if there's one thing we take seriously in this family it's loyalty to our friends, isn't it, little Chavez?" 

America smiles warmly, stealing a glance at Nat's painting on the wall before nodding in agreement. You check your watch.

"Maybe Wanda is right, though. What do you want for dinner? Real food. I can prepare something-"

America grimaces. "I want pizza!"

"But kiddo-"

"With plenty of pepperonis!"

You roll your eyes, unable to say no to that lovely girl.

–//–

The next day, when Billy and Tommy take out lunch boxes from their backpacks, you want to chuckle. It's so... you don't even know what to call that.

"What is that supposed to be?" America asks in a mixture of indignation and disgust, standing behind the boys sitting at the table. Tommy and Billy exchange sighs.

"It's called Zucchini Boats." Says William, poking at the snack with his fork - which Wanda also sent in her purse - "Mom is a vegetarian and so are we."

"That's what she thinks," Tommy mutters mischievously, receiving an elbow from his brother. "It's good, America. Want some?"

"No, I'm fine." Your daughter says quickly, exchanging a look with you before leaving the twins to grab some of the juice you are bringing them on a tray. 

"Wow, that looks ... grown up." You comment with an impressed laugh as soon as you see the food the twins are pinching half-heartedly. "Do you guys always eat so fancy?"

"Yeah, all the time." Tommy replies grumpily. "Mom pays for vegetarian snacks at school, and it's always this kind of expensive food at the work parties she brings us to."

"Tommy, I don't think you should talk like that..." Billy whispers uncertainly but is cut off by the other.

"I can't stand eating asparagus or cabbage anymore! And I hate Lentils!" Challenges the twin, pushing the lunchbox onto the table.

America sips her juice in silence, and you sigh.

"Well, here's what we'll do then, little Maximoff." You say, picking up the bowl and some of the food that has fallen on the table. "I'll order hamburger and fries, and leave it on the counter. And you guys choose what you want to eat if you feel hungry."

Tommy loved the idea. Billy thanked him, but said he would stick with what his mother prepared. In any case, you ordered enough for everyone.

When the food arrived, you, America, and Tommy ate first. The Maximoff was very excited about eating meat - He eventually told you between bites that vegetarianism, as well as a dozen other habits, came to his family after his father passed away, and you were so surprised by the information that you could hardly nod in agreement. So Wanda was a widow like you? What a heartbreaking coincidence.

After you finished eating, you needed to continue working, and you left the children to do it. When you came back for some keys about ten minutes later, Tommy and America were playing video games in the living room and little Billy was eating French fries on the counter and having the time of his life. You didn't dare bother him.

The whole plot of Wanda and her vegetarian lunch boxes for 12-year-olds that were half going to waste - you insisted that they at least take a few bites out of respect for their mother's work - went on for three whole weeks.

It was on the penultimate day of detention when Wanda was already smiling as she came to pick up the kids, that she found out and showed up at your door during school hours.

"Sorry for the wait, I'm teaching a class." You tell her clumsily as you welcome her into the small makeshift office, while your students take a break in the studio in the other room. 

Wanda hasn't even taken off her coat and is still holding her keys in her hands. "Don't worry, I'll be quick." She says. "I appreciate the favor of picking up the boys and letting them stay here, but it has come to my attention your inappropriate behavior, and I-"

"Wow, what are you talking about?" You interrupt in confusion. 

Wanda doesn't hesitate, adjusting her posture. "The food I prepare for my children is properly planned with a nutritionist, and William has told me about your interference in their diet." You stare at her without reaction, and she takes advantage of your shock to continue speaking. "I respect that you are raising your daughter without any attention to a healthy diet, but I cannot allow you to do the same-"

"No, wait a second there." You cut her off with a short laugh, gesturing a little and without realizing it, moving closer, which makes Wanda take a step backward in that small office. "I never told them to stop eating your fancy food."

She grimaces. "But you bought junk food!" She rations angrily. "What do you expect children to choose?"

You chuckle. "Exactly, Wanda! They are children! You're the one who's feeding them like they're 60-year-old culinary critics!"

"A healthy diet is essential for their development-"

"Billy has never eaten pizza before! Do you understand how insane that sounds?"

Wanda feels her blood boil, much like you. And she doesn't realize she's screaming, much the same as you. 

"Oh, what a crime not to want to give my two children a fat bomb! Arrest me for preventing cardiovascular disease when they are adults!

"What the hell are you talking about?" You retort with an indignant chuckle, but Wanda steps forward, her gaze deadly.

"I don't tell you how to raise your daughter, so don't you dare do it to me." She says seriously, and you swallow dryly. 

"I never said anything like that." You retort. "It's not a crime to offer actual good food to a child."

Wanda frowns. "My food is good!" She defends herself almost offended, but you sigh wearily.

"For the adult palate? Yes, it is. I've tasted it, you have talent I admit." You say, surprising her a little by the compliment. Her posture almost breaks. "But for the boys? I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry, but they don't like it, okay? Especially Thomas. I didn't want you to find out like this, but he hasn't followed your all-important eating schedule in months, Miss Maximoff. He keeps buying candy and junk food around-"

"What?" she exclaims indignantly, turning away to walk around the room. You sigh. "Where does he get the money for that?"

You shrug casually. "I don't know, isn't he kind of pretty popular? Maybe he sells some toys or homework. I used to do that when I was young. And well, I give America an allowance and they hang out together a lot and-

"So you're the problem! Again!" Wanda suddenly accuses you, leaving you in shock. "You and your daughter, stay away from my boys!"

"Wanda, what...?"

But she turned her back on you and slammed the door hard on her way out. You huffed loudly, pressing your face between your hands for a long moment. Complete confusion in your mind. 

–//–

You're not sure what you expected for the last day of detention, but it sure wasn't the call from the secretary about America skipping class. 

You called her immediately, and to add to your despair, she didn't answer until an hour later, when you had already taken the car and were driving around town after her.

The arcade parking lot was empty because all the kids were in school. Except for a few.

You got down from the truck, and this time, you knew the blood was Billy's.

"Have you gone crazy? I drove all over town after you, America! Where-"

But she ran up to you, hugging you tightly, and you fell silent, worried. "I'm sorry, Mom!"

After massaging her back gently, you turned away to the boys sitting on the sidewalk. Bending down to Billy's height, you grabbed from the other twin the ice pack he held over his brother's bruised forehead.

"What happened, guys?" You asked, and all three of them started talking together. With a sigh, you shushed them. "Just one at a time, please."

America stepped forward. "We weren't going to skip the whole day, Mom, I promise! It's just that Tommy forgot to do his chemistry homework, so we were going to skip it so he wouldn't get in trouble!"

Tommy nods immediately. "We came here because we weren't going to hang around the school at the risk of getting caught." Continues the boy. "We were going to play and come back as soon as the next class time started."

Billy complains softly about the pain and you try to press more gently. "So?" You ask them to continue, but they don't, exchanging hesitant glances. 

It is William who continues the story, his gaze in his lap. "It was the idiot brother of a classmate of ours. He was at the arcade, and he recognized me. He said he was furious that I got his brother in trouble. And he said... He said there's no place in this town for a faggy like me."

You sigh immediately, putting down the ice to hold his shoulder with your other hand. "Oh, Billy, I'm sorry."

He sniffles lightly, shrugging. "It's okay, I'm used to it. America and Tommy were buying soda, so the jerk threw me out here. As soon as they came, the guy ran off."

"It was the arcade owner who gave us the ice." America clarifies, coming over to sit down on the sidewalk across from Billy, and slipping an arm over his. "Sorry for taking so long, buddy. Next time I'm going to break his leg-"

"Hey, listen up here you three." You interrupt, looking at them seriously. "Violence is never the solution."

"But, Mom, they-"

"I know." You cut her off with a nod. "And it's unfair that it happened. And all we want to do is return that anger, but we can't be like that. Billy, I'm really sorry that you've heard cruel things. There's a place for you wherever you choose, that boy is just being an ignorant fool. Don't listen to him." You assure holding the hand of the boy in front of you. "You three are going back to school, and I'll take care of it the right way, okay?"

At first, they don't seem very willing, but eventually, they agree. You direct them back to school, and are not surprised at the increased detention Fury gives them for skipping class. Nick, however, is the one who provides the numbers of the parents of the kids who attacked them, and of a lawyer. 

He comments something about having called Miss Maximoff but to no avail before thanking you for bringing the children back safely and saying goodbye.

You are walking back to your car when Wanda parks as if in a race movie.

"I'm glad you're here, Wanda, we need to talk." You announce loudly, walking to her car. She turns it off, takes out the key, and gets down, slamming the door. 

"I don't have time, the director called me during a meeting, and I-"

"I know." You cut her off, and make no mention of moving out of her way, trapping her between cars. "Our kids were skipping class."

She chuckles dryly. "That's what I'm talking about, your daughter is a terrible influence. I wasn't wrong when-"

"She was helping Tommy." You cut in again, crossing your arms. "Yeah. He didn't do his chemistry homework or something, and they decided to skip the first period so he wouldn't get a scolding. Because, yes, he'd rather take his chances on the street than smear the perfect record mommy wants for him."

Wanda tilts her head. "Watch your mouth." She warns between teeth, and you roll your eyes.

"Billy got punched." You declare, and Wanda's posture breaks completely. Desperation fills her expression.

"W-what... Excuse me, I have-" 

"It's taken care of, it was just a scratch I looked at it myself." You interrupt, steadying your feet in her path, and ignoring the way she looks you up and down. "But these assaults, Wanda, we need to get a handle on this."

She is surprised, in a good way. And she swallows dryly, trying to adjust her posture. "That's not your problem."

You don't care, pulling out of your pocket the lawyer's paper Fury gave you to hand to her 

as you quickly explain the whole story. Wanda is unresponsive until she sniffles slightly, and this breaks your posture.

Your natural instinct is to touch her, but you hold back, clenching your hands, and Wanda turns her face away, hugging her own body as she controls her crying.

"Forgive me, I just..." She takes a deep breath. "They're all I have. And they're perfect, just the way they are. I just wanted to...do the best for them. Keep them safe, and happy. But apparently, New York is even worse than Westview."

"Hey, I understand that." You can't resist, raising a hand to her back, and thanking the gods that Wanda leans into the touch instead of backing away. "Some things are beyond our control. But I think you're doing a damn fine job, Wanda."

She raises her eyes at you. "Really?"

"Yeah." You assure her with a smile. "Your kids are great. Smart, so independent, and good-natured. Very united and loyal. You've done a really good job with them-"

Wanda hugs you tightly around the neck, cutting off your sentence. You smile, putting your arms around her just as the surprise fades. She sighs. "Thank you." She whispers, and you squeeze tighter before letting go.

"Call Jen Walters about this. Nick said she's a good lawyer." You remind her, and Wanda nods. You put your hands in your pockets and stare at her for a moment. "Were you at some fancy event? You look good."

She blushes, smiling shyly and adjusting her suit. "Something like that. Just a new book launch, so phone off. As soon as I saw the missed calls, I ran here..."

You chuckle lightly. "Yeah, I noticed the Fast and Furious you pulled out." You joke getting a laugh and a slap on the arm.

As the laughter dies down, you face each other. And Wanda is the first to swallow dryly and shift her gaze away.

"I should go there... just to make sure everything is okay." She says pointing to the school. You clear your throat and finally give her space to walk through.

"Sure, sure. I see you...?"

Wanda looks at you over her shoulder, a soft smile on her lips. "Over coffee." She invites, her smile widening with your surprise. "It's about time, don't you think?"

You nod, swallowing your anxiety. "I can’t wait." You guarantee, and when she leaves, your cheeks are flushed like hers.

–//–

Wanda doesn't call. But she doesn't have to.

The detentions are over; you're pretty sure she threatened Nick Fury on her way back to the office, but whatever she said, she made sure that the victims of the story stopped being punished. Tommy received a short warning for his duty, but the matter was soon forgotten.

You were surprised that even with the end of the detention, the Maximoff twins were on your doorstep on Tuesday. And next to them, Wanda.

"If you're not busy, I was thinking we could all have lunch together. I got some free time at the office." Clarified the matriarch, and well, you had a dozen or so orders to make and they would all have to wait because no chance at all of you dismissing going out with Wanda.

She is infinitely more pleasant company than the impression you got during your fights. She is a fierce mother, but she is so much more than that. She's brilliant, passionate, and generous. You find yourself captured by her like a work of art, which you can stare at for hours and hours, trying to absorb every detail and discover others.

Lunch turns into afternoon snacks, and into dinners. The Maximoffs show up at your house on a weekly basis, Wanda cooks for you sometimes, and at other times allows herself to eat junk food with everyone else.

And family dates become the two of you dates when she kisses you.

It takes you completely by surprise, honestly. 

You have been dancing into a family routine for amazing weeks, and after one of the dinners, it gets late enough to insist that they sleep over at your place. 

The boys stay in America's room, and you take over the living room so that Wanda is comfortable in her room.

When she shows up at dawn in the kitchen while you're making tea, the first thing she says is "I feel terrible about making you sleep on the couch. I can't sleep because of it."

You smile and separate a mug of tea for her too.

"I think we finally had that drink." You comment a long moment later, as you pour the tea for yourselves.

Wanda smiles mischievously. "I don't think it counts." She murmurs mysteriously, and you raise an eyebrow.

"No?"

Wanda hums in the negative. "We've drunk together a dozen times now, Y/N." She retorts, holding the cup close to her mouth. "If you want to take me out, you need to genuinely ask."

She sips her tea, and you swallow dryly as you stare into her lips. Blinking away when you notice her naughty smile, you ignore your nervousness, and retort, "I asked, you're the one who didn't call me." 

Wanda raises her eyebrow, taken aback that you brought back this information from so many weeks later. She doesn't lose her composure, however. "I thought it wouldn't be appropriate when given a second thought about it."

You sip some tea. "And what do you think of us now?"

Instead of answering, she leans over the countertop. She grabs the collar of your shirt and kisses you hard. Your whole body vibrates, and you gasp. But she lets you go before you have the chance to respond properly.

"I think if you don't ask me out soon, I'll have to do it myself." She teases affectedly, breathing out of breath as you do. You laugh, nodding.

"Go out with me." 

She raises an eyebrow. "Is that an order?" She teases, and you grunt.

"God, Wanda, come here." That's what you say before pulling her back to you, mouth to mouth.

[hiwelcometothemonstersancturary]

hi I just wanted to say I love your AU!!! Like so much!!! Any Marie headcanons? (Please I am starved of mommy long legs content your au feeds me)

AAA THANK YOU SO MUCH, ANON! And yes, Marie/Mommy Long Legs headcanons ARE HERE:

Pre-Experiment:

Marie was a pretty tall kid for her age, and she used her size to intimdate other kids away from getting themselves into trouble. In a way, she always assumed the role of an older sister;

She got thrown into the foster care system thanks to a physically abusive father and a neglectful mother. Had to look out for her brother as well, always keeping him out of trouble, and learned how to do house chores so they wouldn't live in even worse conditions;

Her brother never ended up becoming an experiment, but she did, thanks to her "motherly nature" that was actually just a trauma response;

Already had temper problems, esp when a group of boys started picking up on her. She got angry, but never got physical with them;

Would often braid the hair of the younger girls as well;

Had a spider fascination since before arriving at Playcare;

LOVED dressing up in pink and girly outfits, mostly because she never had access to this kind of stuff before;

Helped the counselors a LOT with handling the younger kids. They loved her for it;

Was very close to Claire, and dreamed of being adopted by her some day. She was the mother she never had. Claire actually taught her how to sing, and showed her many cartoons she never had the opportunity to see before;

Was SUPER into video games! She loved those so, SO much!

Loved playing games with the other kids, but she was always looking out for what the adults were doing because she didn't exactly trust them to not start yelling at her without reason.

Post-Experiment:

She was forced to fit into the "Mommy" role, and modeled her behavior after Claire. PlayCo. told her to forget about that kind woman, and Mommy ended up believing Claire had abandoned her, or at least KNEW what her fate would be;

Doesn't trust any adults, and is protective of the kids. When they stopped showing up, Marie's childish mind concluded that they must have left her as well, as they didn't even say goodbye to her, not knowing that PlayCo. didn't even allow the kids to say their byes;

Actually hated babysitting Baby Long Legs, but it's not like she had many options. Had a neutral relationship with Daddy Long Legs, but resented him because PlayCo. allowed him to be goofy and more loose, while SHE had to be the responsible one;

She didn't see Claire during the Hour of Joy, but knows she was killed off. She feels bad about it;

Actually saw the Prototype as a cool guy until, post-HoJ, she was once again stuck mothering younger kids because otherwise they would literally starve. She fell lied to;

Hunted other toys to feed the ones at the Game Station, but started resenting their dependence on her as well;

HATES her body. Marie doesn't like how girly it is, how ultrafeminine it feels. She hates her hair being stuck in a ponytail, and her gloves, and how there's a dress modeled on her instead of it being an actual outfit. At least she could change it;

Likes singing, and would sing lullabies to put the toys to sleep;

Made her own room and filled it to the brim with all the documents she could find so the smaller toys wouldn't see them and feel even worse about the situation. She also found some weird posters and used them as decoration - it's mostly stuff the employers used to decorate their offices;

Had a single cassete tape with rock/punk music that she listened non-stop until it stopped working. Had a temper fit that day that ended up with her destroying some stuff;

Would often try cleaning up the Game Station because she hates dirty places;

Puts the Mommy act because it's the only way she knows how to have control over her own life, and sees the Game Station as a house.

After Rescue/General Headcanons:

SHE'S A BUTCH. LIKE. 100% SHE'S A BUTCH. DON'T @ ME, JUST TRUST ME ON THIS ONE;

Attempts dying her hair black after finding out that you CAN dye plastic. Ended up leaving only the tips as black because she got used to the vibrant pink;

Loves doing darker makeup and more gothic/rock accessories;

Opts for loose clothes, especially oversized shirts and sweaters that can cover both her torso and "hips";

I don't think she would wear an arm prosthetic. She gets used to only having one hand and rolls with it, plus she's super flexible so she can avoid asking for help from time to time;

Clean freak. Do not leave anything dirty next to her, she WILL clean it;

If she had been allowed to have a normal life, I hc that her body would have turned out to be chubby and muscular, and she covers one of her arms with tattoos! Unfortunately, she got turned into an experiment, and forever hates the fact she she won't develop muscles, much less fat;

Likes punk, rock and goth music, and 100% pirates DVDs if given the opportunity to do so;

Still likes video games! She's very good at FPS, but always comes back to playing The Sims and making elaborate storylines for her sims;

She's a toxic player sorry, if a guy is mean to her she would 100% doxx him or make him cry with the stuff she tells him, which happens all the time;

I feel like she would really like Halo and Mass Effect as well. And Fallout. And-

Please ask her about how to build things. She has been trying to learn because she found out she LIKES making things. Please ask her to do stuff.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I've been dreaming of the Loyalist of Clubs.

There are so many regrets born out of ignorance. So many bonds lost to time.

He wishes he could have done more then.

How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die?

“Wh-What’s happening, Trey?”

The question comes from the boy huddled on the guest bed. He’s smallish and demure, like a rose bud yet to bloom. His eyes and cheeks are the same color as his hair—red, from crying.

Trey awkwardly peels himself away from the door. Even shut, shouting is audible from beyond it.

“HE KIDNAPPED MY SON!! Bring him back this instant, or I’ll call the authorities!”

“Ma’am, please calm down. They’re children—”

Trey pictures Mrs. Rosehearts as a balloon, bright red and inflated with hot air. The more she screams, the more air leaks put of her twisted mouth. She shrinks and shrinks until she poofs out of existence.

It doesn’t feel right to stand, so he sits on the bed beside his friend. The frame groans from their combined weights, light as they are.

“… I’m not sure,” Trey admits. “I saw you upset and grabbed your hand and ran. I didn’t want you to be stuck in that situation anymore.”

He pats a pillow. Attempts to comfort his friend.

“You can stay here.” Forever, if you want. But he doesn’t say that, only hopes it in his heart. The solution is so simple in his kid mind. “At least until your mom isn’t mad anymore.”

“Is that… allowed?”

“Sure it is. My parents won’t mind—er, probably. They like having new people over. We’ll pretend it’s a normal sleepover.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s when you sleep over at another person’s house—that’s where the name comes from. You stay up late, watch movies, play games, eat snacks, and then fall asleep together.”

Riddle’s eyes widen. “That sounds like breaking so many rules,” he says nervously.

“Those are the rules for sleepovers. The point is to have fun.”

“Fun��” Riddle nibbles on his lip, drawing his knees closer to his torso. He hugs his legs, collapsing into himself with a sniff. “I-I don’t know—I don’t like not knowing. I’m scared, Trey. Mama is so angry with me. I’m not supposed to…”

“It’s okay to not know. No one knows everything.”

“Mama does. Everyone says so. That’s why she’s always right.”

“That’s not true. I know she’s wrong about this—about us, and about Che’nya.” He grabs Riddle’s clammy hand and squeezes. “She can’t keep us three from being friends.”

“We are…?”

“Yup.” Trey pokes him, then points to himself, “We’re friends. And friends stick up for each other, watch each other’s backs.”

Riddle hesitates. “Is that… the rule?”

“You can think of it like that if you want. But I didn’t do any of this because of some rule, I did it because I wanted to help you somehow, any way I can."

"B-But we're just kids. What can we do?"

Trey worriedly glances at the door--the adults' voices haven't quieted at all--then at Riddle and the stress deeply etched into his round face. This isn't a good place for him right now either.

"We could... go over to Che'nya's. He and his grandpa will be happy to see us, and we can all have that sleepover.”

Riddle looks bewildered at the mere suggestion. "We're going to leave?"

"Shouldn't be too hard. We've already played hooky before," Trey says, tugging him up and off the bed by the arm. "Besides, a walk can help take your mind off of things."

We can be ourselves. We can forget our worries. Everything can be as it was.

Riddle’s eyes are wide with alarm. His knees wobble, and Trey catches him.

“It’ll be fine! I’ll be with you all the way—so if we get yelled at, we can be yelled at together. You won’t be alone.”

Not ever again.

Riddle responds in a shaky mew. His cheeks are wet from crying, and his words trembling—but his trust is firm. “O-Okay… I believe in you. Let’s go. Let’s go see Che’nya.”

Trey smiles reassuringly. “Alright, we’ll escape through the window. It’s a classic. You know how to do it safely by now, right?”

“Yes…!”

The two boys scramble to the bedroom window, undoing its latch and sliding it up. Trey leads the charge, easily clearing the sill. He looks back, urging Riddle to follow.

The threshold is daunting, less the boundary between inside and out and more like the bridge to a world unknown. When Riddle charges at the open window, he expects to smack into the wall. To fall, to fail.

The ground rumbles,

Splintering, fissures appearing.

“You got this!!” Trey cheers from the other side.

Riddle vaults too early and slips.

Panic shoots through him like a bolt of lightning.

Something erupts from out of the floor, racing under the boy to break his fall. Riddle lands on a thick, cushy stalk, leaves twisting around it. Above him, a giant head of petals--blue, bell-shaped, and ringing.

Bluebell.

Another flower sprouts by the boy's feet, bearing a crimson mouth--two lips, pulled back in a laugh. "Frolic, rejoice," says the Tulip. "Be free.”

“Free, free,” a patch of tiny, shrinking violets choruses.

“To dance around the posies and spin daisy chains and search for four leaf clovers.”

“We’ll lift you up when you’re down.”

Plants are poking out from every inch of the guest room, making their own quips and banter. Trey should be startled, but instead he laughs and waves for Riddle.

He waves back shyly, then gasps. His feet find something squishy yet solid under them.

Mushrooms with flat caps, a whole flight of them, in ascending height. The boy clumsily crosses them, each step sending up a cloud of fat, lazy spores. Riddle sneezes, nearly careening off the side—but a wall of snapping dragons or sly gloves in foxes closes in, surprisingly gentle as they support him.

He hops over the sill with ease.

And the flowers follow.

It’s a rainbow come alive, color sprawling over the roads and knitting rooftops with new lattice designs. Some designs dare to go higher and flashier: beanstalks that pierce the clouds, fruit clusters so heavy they bend and droop, petals dripping with jewels. Even the air is more jubilant, filled with shimmering particles--pollen?

Sunshine opens on Riddle’s face.

“Whaaaa~ So pretty!!”

“Isn’t it?” Trey’s grin is so wide his teeth ache. “We should hurry and get Che’nya so he can see this too.”

“It’s going to take so long to wade through all of this.”

“Fine by me." Trey grabs his friend's hand. It feels so small in his, and he thinks of a seed in need of water and light. "We can take our time to stop and smell the roses!”

His other hand reaches out and finds the stem of a large passing dandelion tuft. It forms an umbrella from its fuzzy white tendrils, the perfect shape for sailing on the wind.

Whoosh.

Trey and Riddle squeal as they're whisked off.

Up, up, and away, where their troubles can't chase them.

[puppetwoman17]

Okay, so there’s this Billy Batson post-Injustice fic called A Reason to Fight on AO3, and it’s got me wanting more fics like that.

I mean, there’s so many different ways it could go.

One fic could be where he did die, and we can’t bring him back. The JL are brought back together to take on an otherworldly evil(surprise surprise) and they need the help of the gods to do it. With both conventional and unconventional means, they’re able to be granted passage to Olympus for this one catastrophic emergency(begrudgingly, because the gods sorta hate their guts).

Then they see this one glowing building, separated from the rest. It’s got a lightning bolt on it. Sparks flying around it. Gives off a less imposing vibe. There’s suspicions about what it’s for, but no one feels compelled to ask. Until a leaguer(doesn’t have to be specific, maybe Guy Gardener or Flash or whatevs) gains enough courage to ask what that place is.

The god leading them to Zeus stops dead in their tracks. They don’t speak yet. They turn and look at the leaguer who was dumb enough to ask a grieving god a question like that.

And the god replies: “The Hall of Champions is where every champion goes when they die. They are allowed to spend their afterlife in complete relaxation as the fruits of their labor. They meet others like them and forgo the troubles of their mortal lives.”

The god says that last part bitterly.

The JL immediately knows who’s inside. The building just speaks Marvel. That same stupid league member asks if they can go inside. If they can speak to one of them, no one in particular(everyone knows they’re lying, but the guilt is just too much).

The god laughs. Actually just laughs right there, in front of a bunch of mortals and super powered people who dare to think they can come anywhere near the former Champion of Magic.

The god tells them: “We granted him his wish of being part of a team because we thought it would help him through such trying times. We thought he finally had others who would look after him, something we may not always be able to do. We thought he would finally, after all these years, have something akin to family.

“And just like that, those hopes and dreams were taken away, all because our champion finally saw the light again. If you go so much as a foot closer to him, the gods of Olympus will show you the same mercy you showed your so-called teammate.”

Lol, that’s as far as I’ve gotten.

Another fic could be where he actually didn’t die, like in A Reason to Fight. He comes back to life after recharging just like in A Reason to Fight. But this time, there’s a change.

He doesn’t make himself known. He changes his identity and stays under the league radar. He doesn’t transform into Cap, but he secretly helps the people of Fawcett with his powers because BILLY was chosen, not the avatar itself.

Dunno how to go about the next part. That all depends on the plot, what characters are still alive and still dead. The timeline of when exactly he comes back and how long he stays incognito.

But somehow, someway, the League becomes aware that Marvel, that Billy, is alive. They rush to see him after (however) long. They see him alive and well…

And he’s just disgusted. Heartbroken. Scared. Angry. Tells them to f*ck off and find some other kid’s dreams to destroy. Tells them to never contact him unless it’s for business that requires the Champion’s reputation. Because despite everything, he still takes his job as Champion very seriously. Because he thought he could finally trust these adults, and they turned their backs on him.

He especially hates Superman for the looks of guilt he gives him. Just wants to punch him in the face. Same with Diana. Same with Lantern. Same with Flash and Cy. Maybe not Batman, but even association can hurt.

Again, idk where this one might go, or how the plot is or whatever, but I need more post-Injustice fics on Billy Batson damnit!

[barbarianbookhoe]

Chapter 6

Taglist: @vainillasmil157 @bookloverfilmoholic

A/N: i don't think there's any warnings, this one's mostly fluff, little angst and flashbacks! Sorry it got so long ...

Apologies for any grammar mistakes, it's almost midnight while I'm editing this!

(I know Y/N and Kaz as "kids" are going to sound like adults, but hey, this is the language of Ketterdam) (Also, there's a little getting jealous of Inej, but no Inej slander!)

Age 13: "I wanted to know who you are"

Kaz knew 3 things about the girl: 1, She was younger than she looked, 2, She was hiding something, and 3, Her name was definitely not Eliza.

He's been watching her ever since she first came in six months ago. At first, Kaz thought she was there to replace him, and therefore made her time in the club stressful. Leaving glasses everywhere, hiding her cleaning cloth, basically being an asshole.

That all changed, when one night, while he was coming back from a job with a few guys, Kaz saw Y/N changing into a cat in the alley next to the club, and follow a merchant inside. It was Pekka Rollins.

Kaz went inside the club and saw the cat lying down on the floor, under Pekka's chair. He watched the man having a conversation with Per Haskell, and noticed that the cat's ears picked up their voice. She was eavesdropping on them.

Kaz catched the girl when she was about to step out of the place, and guided her to an empty alley and confronted her.

"Who are you?" He asked harshly and saw the girl look at him in confusion. "What?" "Who are you?" Kaz asked again, this time more seriously. "I-I clean the tables, that's all," "You're lying. You're a shapeshifter who eavesdropped on Pekka Rollins, and now is acting like it never happened. You're hiding something important. Who. Are.You?" The girl kept her scared and innocent facade for a few seconds longer, then dropped her face and stared at him in anger.

"Nobody. And I'd like to keep it that way, pretty boy," She whispered harshly and Kaz raised his brows. "So you admit you're hiding what you are?"

"This is Ketterdam. No one's who they say they are," She said and crossed her arms. "Including you, and those black gloves of yours. You think I can't see when you're pick pocketing customers in the dim light?" She tilted her head looking at Kaz expectantly. The boy stood there for a second in complete surprise, but then he regained his composure.

"You're spying on me." He stated and the girl hummed. "So are you. The only difference is our intention,"

"And what do you think my intention is?" The girl quietly chuckled as she answered. "Suspicion. You think I'm a danger to this club, this gang. I'm not after the Dregs. I'm after Pekka Rollins," She stated and Kaz's eyes widened in shock. "Why?" The girl hesitated, before stepping closer and quickly whispering to him. "Because I want him to suffer, and die like the rat he is,"

Hearing the anger in her voice, Kaz stared at her with a hint of amazement. He took in the girl in front of him, and felt a sense of familiarity with her hidden violence. Kaz knew that look, he saw it every time he looked into a mirror.

He spoke up with a newfound, cold calmness. "Then we destroy him,"

"We?" The girl asked and Kaz turned to her. "I'm familiar with your hatred towards the man. One mind can kill him, but two can take everything from him," He saw the way her eyes lit up at his words, and she smirked at him. "I'm curious about what damage the two of us will do,"

She turned around and began walking away, but before she could get further, he quickly stopped her. "You didn't tell me what your intention was. For spying on me," Kaz asked and the girl answered simply.

"I wanted to know who you were. And now that we're going to work together, I can't wait to find out."

Age 14: "Every step of the way"

Kaz had a reason to be angry. He was listening to Y/N scolding him for the thousandth time that week. It all started when she saw him walking instead of resting his leg. She put him back in bed, then he sneaked out and she caught him again. Right now, she was scolding him for running on a job with other Dregs members. Their argument consisted of Kaz rolling his eyes and making sarcastic comments, eventually fueling Y/N's frustration. Maybe it wasn't the best idea telling her to fuck off.

"Kaz, I will not leave you to run around the city with a broken leg!" Kaz rolled his eyes again at her words."It's not broken, the medic said I can walk on it just fine,"

"He said you're going to limp for the rest of your life," Y/N looked him dead in the eye. "Exactly, a limp. Which means I can still walk." He told her and stood up to go to the door of his room, but Y/N was quick to push him back on his bed. "Walk, and not run! Kaz, I thought you were smart." She said and sat down in the chair next to his bed. Kaz stared at her in frustration. "How long will you scold me for running with a limp? You did that too," Y/N scoffed at his words. "Yeah, but my leg wasn't broken." She stood up and opened his bedroom door. "You want to be on your feet all day, so be it. Just-" She turned back to look at Kaz and pointed under his bed. "Just make sure you use that. I'm going to beat the shit out of you if you don't, because I stayed too much after work for it to collect the dust." Y/N went out of his room and closed the door.

It wasn't closed for two seconds when Kaz practically jumped off his bed and pulled the object wrapped in multiple layers of newspaper from under his bed. He tore the paper apart and when he saw what the object was, he just stared at it for a minute. Then he saw the small letter that fell out of the wrapping and quickly read it.

"Dear boy who boils my blood,

I hate it when you think I don't know when you sneak out, but maybe this way I can be with you every step of the way. I hope it suits your taste.

P.S. I added some extra weight to it."

He tried not to smile as he inspected the cane.

It was black, with silver painting on the bottom, and on the top of it was a beautiful silver crow, with silver eyes, the beak almost as sharp as a knife. Kaz lifted the cane and felt its heaviness and furrowed his brows. When he moved it around, like he was using a hammer, a smile crept upon his face.

Y/N made a weapon for him.

Age 15: "Take my hand, and take my heart"

"Son of a bitch!" Y/N yelped and grabbed her chair's armrest. "I told you so," Kaz said from behind her, also sitting on a chair, his back to her. They were getting the Crow and the Cup tattoo at the same time, because lately they found each others company indispensable, comforting even. Aside from their comments and teasing, of course.

"Just wait till the needle hits your skin too. You're going to yelp like a school girl," Y/N growled as she tried to stay still in her seat. She heard Kaz's movements as he rolled up his shirt's sleeve and held it to the tattoo artist to start the tattoo. When the needle pierced his skin, Y/N felt his chair move as he jumped a little. She giggled, "Isn't it wonderful, Kaz?" "I need a drink," He answered instead, which made her laugh, but it soon turned into muffled groaning, as the needle hit a sensitive spot on her forerarm.

They didn't speak much after that, since they were too focused on keeping their composure. Truth be told, they didn't need words to know how the other was feeling. Y/N grabbed the arm of the chair multiple times, indicating that she was about to scream. Kaz exhaled rather sharply, which meant he was close to stabbing himself with the needle, just for the pain to end.

When Y/N let out a yelp, Kaz didn't even hesitate to find and grab her free arm, his back still facing her. He didn't want to risk the needle going any deeper into his skin, than he would've liked to.

"Motherfucker!" Y/N shouted and squeezed Kaz's hand with so much force she could hear the leather creak in her hands. His face didn't even falter, but his heart? It was going ten miles per second, just like his thoughts, that seemed to overflow all of a sudden.

Does she has soft skin? Are her hands cold or warm? Does her hands have scars from working with the gunsmith? What would it feel like to interwine their fingers? How long can he touch her, before he feels like throwing up?

Then his heart told him things, things he sometimes naively wished to say, when they were alone in the club.

You were an unexpected surprise, the defining moment. You could never stay in one place for too long, and yet, I was the one you constantly came back to. You pulled me out to shore when the waves rose higher, threatening to drown me. You're the anchor that ties me to this world, making it less lonely beside you.

Without realizing, Kaz interwined their fingers and whenever he felt like loosening his grip, Y/N readjusted their hands. It was like as if she were able to read his mind, knowing when he was about to slip away.

They stayed like that for the rest of the evening, while the two men finished their tattoos. Y/N drew slow circles on his hand, comforting him, and Kaz squeezed her hand, encouraging her. When they finished and Y/N let go of their hand, Kaz grabbed it again and squeezed it one more time, trying to make her understand his thoughts.

Take my hand, and take my heart too. You robbed it from me, and I don't want it back. It's yours now, yours to own, yours to lose. I promise in the name of all the Saints I don't believe in, you will never have to fear the dark when you're with me.

It was only a second, maybe half a second, but it changed everything. Y/N was never going to forget the feeling of their fingers interwined, before he dropped her hand and regained his cold composure.

She finally knew how it felt to hold his hand. She wanted more.

And Kaz Brekker? He was hiding a grin, for he never once felt like throwing up during the touch.

Age 16: "A girl worth fighting for"

"No, fuck you Kaz!" Y/N shouted at the boy in front of her in his office. Their ranks in the Dregs rose quickly, with Kaz basically leading the gang himself, and Y/N being their "secret" weapon. Using her shapeshifting abilities came in handy, especially when Kaz ran out of plans. (Though he would rather carve his tongue out, than admit that).

"What do you want me to say? That you're unreplaceable? Because you're not. None of us needs you anymore," Kaz casually said and Y/N looked at him in shock. He took a deep breath, before lifting his head up and continuing. "I didn't mean-"

"Yes you did." She said and Kaz couldn't ignore the small crack in her voice. "Then what the fuck am I doing here? Why not throw me away as soon as you brought Inej in?" Her tone got angrier by each word she spoke, but Kaz looked at her with a cold stare.

"You're valuable for the team." He said and looked away, searching through the numerous papers on his desk. Y/N scoffed. "Valuable my ass! I'm not one of your soldiers, I'm your fucking friend Kaz!"

"Oh, do you want me to treat you differently? Maybe talk with you about our hopes and dreams, and how are we feeling? I'm not your fucking lover!" His eyes held no recognition of the man Y/N knew. This wasn't her Kaz anymore, this was Dirtyhands. "And if you keep acting like I am, I'll throw you out on the streets myself." He sat down in his chair and didn't look up, not even when the girl left and slammed his door on her way out.

He couldn't concentrate on the work he was supposed to do. He tried and failed multiple times, and when even the glass of kvas wasn't enough to keep his mind off of her, Kaz marched into the night to find her.

He went to the shop, the bakery next to it, the marketplace, the library, her favorite antique shop, the Slat, and just in case Fifth Harbor. When he still didn't find her, he knew there was only one place left where she could be. He didn't like it.

Kaz came to a halt at the front step of the house, on the outskirt of the Financial District. Y/N told him countless stories about her time in her aunt's house, and now that he was standing in front of it, he felt like he knew the place.

If Kaz had to be honest, he felt somewhat afraid in that moment. After he knocked loudly on the door, he counted the seconds until it opened. Dirtyhands wasn't scared of anything, he was a fearless man, but the boy standing there wasn't him anymore. He was just Kaz, who was afraid of losing someone important to him.

"What did you say to her?" Raffiel, Y/N's brother asked Kaz, and he felt himself swallow before replying. "Something I shouldn't have. I need to talk to her," Raffiel only looked at him with a furious look. Kaz noticed the fire in his eyes, reminding him of Y/N when she was angry. "I believe you talked to her just enough. Bye." He went to close the door, but Kaz stopped him with his cane. He pushed the door open with it and stepped inside without a second thought.

"I came here to apologize, and I'm going to, wether you like it or not." Kaz told Raffiel coldly and the two of them stared each other down. None of them broke the eye contact, but Kaz could feel his hands starting to sweat under his gloves. A voice made both of them turn away from the other.

"Is that true?" Y/N asked standing on the staircase, her arms crossed. She looked down at Kaz, who in return stared at her with sincerety in his eyes. She saw the tiny change in his look, and nodded her head upstairs, not looking back to see if he followed her.

When Kaz was about to step on the stairs, Raffiel stopped him. "I've known you for a while now, Brekker. But if you hurt my sister ever again, I'm going to paint the Barrel red with your blood," He whispered to him and Kaz scoffed at him. "Many tried and failed."

"I believe Y/N will succeed one day," Raffiel told him and Kaz furrowed his brows. When the man saw his face, he watched him with curiosity. "I have a question for you, Mister Brekker," He mockingly said the 'Mister', "Who is she to you?"

"I came to apologize, not to have an interrogation." Kaz answered harshly and attempted to walk up the stairs, but Raffiel stopped him again. "But why would Dirtyhands apologize to anyone at all? Especially my sister, a regular gunsmith?"

Kaz didn't have an answer. Actually, he had multiple answers, consisting of curse words and sarcastic comments, but the smirk Raffiel gave him told him everything he needed to know. He won't believe any shit excuse Kaz might come up with, so he had no choice but to tell the truth.

"I'll ask once again, who is she to you?"

The old words came to Kaz with ease. No one. A spy. A great asset. But there was something else, a voice shouting at him, making everything else disappear from his mind. She's my friend, my partner, my anchor. She's the one keeping me on the surface, when the tides get tough. She's someone worth dying for. Kaz answered with the outmost casualty.

"She's a girl worth fighting for." But before he could completely disappear from Raffiel's line of sight, he spoke up with a small smile.

"Find me when you believe she's worth living for."

Age 17: "I always noticed you"

The heist got royally fucked up. The guards decided to change posts a second earlier, the rain didn't stop before midnight, and they were low on weapons.

Y/N, once again, was Kaz's secret ace up his sleeve during a robbery with Inej and Jesper. The latter two got told to go straight back to the Slat, preferably unnoticed, while Y/N and Kaz were running for their lives.

Actually, it was Kaz who was running, with Y/N flying above him in the form of a crow. They neared Fifth Harbor, when Kaz was attacked and abruptly pushed to the ground. The man was almost twice his size and thrice his age, but Kaz fought him with great strength that lied beneath his skinny frame.

Y/N quickly flew to the back of the attacker's head and began pecking it and scratching the man's face as hard as she could, making him wave around with his hands, trying to get her off of him. When he suddenly punched Y/N, she fell to the ground and briefly saw the man pushing Kaz into the deep water.

As if she were guided by some primal instinct, she attacked the man in an instant and scratched his eyes. The man was shouting in pain as one of his eyes began bleeding and stood up to face the bird.

Y/N turned back into human without a second thought, and continued what Kaz started. The fight went on for longer than she would've wanted, and it made the worry in her grow by each second. She finally sliced the man's throat, before jumping into the harbor after Kaz. The ice cold water shocked her body, and it only made her go faster. She knew what the water represented for Kaz, and it broke her heart that he was currently sinking in those memories.

When she felt her hand touch Kaz's coat, she clutched it firmly in her hands and began pulling themselves up. Her muscles felt like they were on fire, but she didn't dare to stop. She wouldn't let Kaz sink, not now, not ever.

When she finally broke the surface, she took a big gulp of air like it was her first breath. She held Kaz close to her chest as she started to swim to the docks on her back. When she reached it, she quickly braced herself for the power it was going to take to pull Kaz on the dock above them.

It took her several attempts to finally bring the both of them on top of the wooden surface. She quickly turned Kaz onto his back and checked his pulse. It was faint but it was there. Her worry turned into panic as she let go of the ice cold skin under her fingertips.

"Sorry." Y/N whispered to him, as if he could hear her. "I'm so sorry," she repeated as she quickly pulled Kaz's coat apart and began the chest compressions. She counted each compression, but after thirty, the numbers left her brain, and she began something she stopped doing many years ago.

She was sending a desperate prayer to the Saints she once believed in, hoping they had not yet turned their backs on her. She knew it wouldn't change a thing, but still she sent prayer after prayer as the seconds turned into minutes. She didn't notice when she started to speak out loud, but she didn't stop.

"I beg of you, please bring him back!" Y/N pleaded as her eyes filled with tears. She fought to keep them from falling. "Wake up Kaz! Please, wake up for me!" She said and stopped the chest compressions to gently shake his shoulders. "I know you don't need me, but I need you! I need you to wake the fuck up and look at me!" She shouted at his face but the response never came. "Please, I want you to look at me," Y/N whispered as the tears escaped her eyes and clouded her sight.

"I don't know if you can hear me but I want you to know, that I, that I don't hate you. No matter how hard I try to. What I do hate, is the fact that even now, you can never turn your face at me. And yet I-," Y/N scoffed as she looked away and continued. "Yet, I tend to forget about that whenever I look at you. Whenever you think you're slicked back into the shadows, I know you're there, because somehow I'm always able to notice you. Funny, how we can deceive ourselves in the most ironic way possible. I saw you, but I never saw my true feelings, until recently. I'm so fucking oblivious," Y/N's words turned into a whisper at the end, like she was afraid someone could hear her admit her feelings.

"But I know for sure that you don't feel the same, because if you did, you would give me some kind of hint outside of your usual glares. I just wanted you to see me, to look at me, to-"

"I always noticed you." Kaz said as he coughed up some water. Y/N was quick to help him sit up, so he'd be able to cough up the rest. After a few seconds he stopped, and spoke again. "I always looked at you," Kaz whispered as he lied back down on his back, closing his eyes for a second before opening them.

When he looked up into Y/N's eyes, he felt his heart stop. As the midnight moon shined down from behind her back, it drew a faint gloria around her head. Kaz didn't believe in Saints any more than he believed in the afterlife, but in that moment, he could swear he found his religion.

And he would try every day for the rest of his mortal life to be worthy of the love showed his way.

"What?" Y/N asked in a confused tone. She didn't know if this was a dream or a hallucination. "If you took some time to really look at me, you would know that I spend my every free minute watching you. I can't find the reason why." Kaz said the last sentence with some frustration, before he continued, this time making sure to keep looking at Y/N and not turn away.

"You make me want to know more and more about you, and it makes me frustrated that this curiosity won't leave me alone, not even in my sleep," Kaz told her and abruptly sat up. The movement made Y/N realize she was still holding Kaz's waistcoat at his chest. When she noticed it she pulled away, but was stopped by Kaz's hand, which gripped her hand and squeezed it for a second, before dropping it.

"You occupy my head even when I don't want you to, and no matter how hard I try to erase you from my mind, you manage to sneak your way back in by simply existing. It's fucking annoying." His words came out as a threat, but Y/N learned long ago how to read between the lines. And what she found made her heart swell up in her chest.

"Can I ask, how long have you been... annoyed by this?" She asked as naturally as she could, and thankfully Kaz didn't catch the excitement she tried to hide. "The night we got the tattoos. Everytime I catch a glimpse of the Crow and Cup, my thoughts get drowned by you. It's irritating and I can't put an end to it." Kaz said and Y/N fought hard to keep the serious look on her face, but eventually she gave up.

She sweetly smiled at Kaz, to which he looked back at her with raised brows, question in his eyes. Y/N took a deep breath before she spoke up. "You're an evil man, Kaz." She whispered and Kaz's lips turned into a slightly wicked smirk.

"That never stopped you before." The statement lingered in the air for a minute, before Y/N spoke with confidence.

"And it never will."

Present: (Age 19)

The two days after Inej woke up were pure torture for Kaz Brekker. It was hard for his brain to focus on the map of the Ice Court longer than 10 minutes, and he was starting to consider asking Matthias to crack his skull open. He was certain the Fjerdan would most definitely enjoy his request.

There were also other pleasant things occupying his mind: thoughts of him ripping his eyes out so he wouldn't be able to look at Y/N, or cutting his ear off, so he wouldn't be able to hear her voice or laugh. While she took care of Inej along with Nina, she didn't really talk to him, or look at him, or even stayed in his presence for too long, not to cause any more suspicion in the others. And it was slowly driving Kaz mad.

Ever since their almost kiss got interrupted by Nina (who Kaz cursed in his head everytime he saw her), he couldn't get a grip on his emotions. On the outside he remained cold and serious, calm even, but on the inside Kaz was fuming with rage and an emotion he never thought he'd experience: desire.

The desire to kiss and kiss and kiss. At first, when Kaz thought of kissing Y/N, he got nauseaous about the idea of putting his lips against someone else's. But curiosity got the best of him, and one night he pressed a small kiss on her jaw. The action made the adrenaline rush through his veins. He realized he wanted more. That is why he tried to kiss her a few months ago, even though it ended with him shaking in the corner.

He had been craving her ever since. For the past almost three months, Kaz wanted to kiss her more than he wanted to do anything else. He wanted to finally kiss her, and after that, kiss her day and night, until their lips were sore. He never knew he was capable of feeling such strong emotions, and it made him crawl out of his skin.

Hearing Y/N laugh, hearing her voice, seeing her walk around on the ship meant no good for Kaz. He fought hard to hide even a glimpse of his thoughts, whenever Y/N put on one of his shirts. Of course the others didn't notice this because the shirts were usually hidden underneath her vest, but it was something that made Kaz's heart speed up just a little. He reminded himself that he had to be extra careful, now that there was a Heartrender on board. Ghezen forbid she began guessing about his relationship with Y/N.

And if all of these didn't make Kaz want to tore off his skin, than the smug look on Y/N's face certainly did. She didn't know the reason behind Kaz's frustrated behaviour at first, but when she did, she did everything to make it worse. With her actions she sent a message to Kaz, a bet. She wanted to see if he'd give up his composed facade before she did. Without words, he reassured her that he won't back down, no matter how hard she might try to break him.

The days ahead of them were going to be painfully long, since neither of them liked to lose. And the tension around them could burn down the entire ship, if they werent't careful.

[ooo---hazelgrimm---ooo]

Sun and Moon

Alright the beginning is completely Billy's redemption because he deserved redemption not death. And honestly Max hurting in S4 killed me. So, Max gets her brother back. Eventually BH x Reader.

Neil goes to far and someone very unlikely fights back, Billy realizes his sister and Stepmother actually do love him. Unfortunately sometimes love hurts and you have to hurt the people you love to save them.

Also this does kind of bounce around for a bit between the present, past, and Billy and Max's childhood.

Beeaaa-Beeeeep!

"I'm coming!" Max shouted running out of the door, Billy came out behind her carrying his bag over his shoulder.

"Code Gray Code Gray." A large group of kids and young adults sat in the hospital waiting area.

"That's probably our angry little asshole." Steve muttered. El turned on him sharply, glaring.

"My sister! Where the fuck is my sister!" He fought against the security as they secured him to the bed with padded restraints.

"Someone get me some Oxazepam." The nurses and doctors were in full PPE. A nurse injected a small dose of tranquilizer into his IV line as he fought.

"Mr. Hargrove! You need to remain still. You were involved in a major fire, there are wounds and burns covering fifteen percent of your body. Your sister is fine."

"No no. You don't understand it wasn't a fire." He shook his head violently, "There was this monster, my little sister, she's in danger."

"That is the trauma and morphine talking." A doctor whispered quietly to Neil, Susan, and Max. They had his bed turned so they couldn't see anything but the top of Billy's blonde curls through the glass. All they could hear from the room was Billy's shouts. "He might say some very strange things." Billy threw his head back violently onto the pillow as the doctor started walking away.

"He's not going to get rest and his condition is only going to worsen." One of the nurses muttered.

"Fuck! Why is nobody listening to me?! Max needs help!" He called out.

"Give me a gown." Max demanded.

"Sweetie no he's badly burned you don't want to see-" Susan started.

"She said he won't get better, if he's freaking out like this he won't get better. Give me a gown, give me gloves, mask, whatever I need to be able to go in there with him. I'll keep him calm and the doctors can fix him." Max assured them, "I won't be scared."

Billy still looked like Billy to her. What the doctors mistook for burns were the wounds from the mindslayer, they probably just didn't believe what was in front of them and chalked it up to the most logical thing. By the time they had finally let her into the room the medicine they gave Billy had kicked in so now Max sat on a rickety shitty chair waiting for him to wake up again as she held his hand. Eventually she too fell asleep.

A strange feeling woke Max, before she realized someone was messing with her hair. She sat up quickly, Billy's eyes looked bloodshot and tired.

"Hey." She whispered quietly. Billy's eyes turned down, "Please look at me."

" I can't. Your face-" Billy's hands clenched at his side as he forced his head up. Those were Billy's eyes, that's how Max knew he was there.

Neil had left. Max's mom has wandered off to the waiting room to find some sleep.

"Billy that was the Mindflayer." He was looking away in the distance.

"That thing, it showed me horrible horrible things. And then when it took over completely…" Billy shook his head, "I turned into my father."

"Billy, that thing was using your body, I know you'd never hit me if it was really you."

"Not just then. Before, before the mindflayer. How I yelled at you and jerked you around, I turned into him." He swallowed, "I was just-"

"You were in pain. El, she saw into your mind she told me everything-" Billy paled.

"How much is everything?" Max swallowed.

"Your dad yelling at you for not being good at baseball, your parents fighting, your mom leaving. You beating up some kid up and calling him a pussy, meeting me."

"I swear to God Max, I did some shitty things because I'm a fucking dick. But most of it I was protecting you, I was trying to prepare you, give you a thicker skin because I wasn't going to be around forever. And I'll be damned if I have to bury another sibling." It was out before he could stop it.

"Another?" Billy shook his head. His voice echoed in her mind, much younger back in California.

'Stay away from the stairs you little punk. That's why there's a baby gate up, to keep babies like you away.' The house had a long wooden staircase that led into the backyard that they never used.

That tattered broken baby gate that was cracked and leaned up against the top of the stairs. The downstairs neighbors that would always seem uneasy when Neil would be alone with her and Billy. When she was little she thought Billy was just jealous that he didn't want his dad spending any alone time with her. Billy just didn't want Max to replace him, as a punching bag.

And why Billy seemed to relax when she went straight from the fight to his mother leaving. Something happened in between, something way worse than anything else. Max understood, but why didn't he just tell her, they could have faced this together.

"It's ok Billy. We don't have to talk about it." Max told him between tears she didn't know she was crying.

"What the fuck is going on? With Hawkins, with your little friend with superpowers?"

"We will tell you everything, but first you have to get out of the ICU."

"I don't want to get better." Billy said quietly.

"Don't talk like that. We're together now you got that? You're stuck with me and I'm stuck with you but I'm not going to let anything hurt you again. I'm going to protect you, like you've been protecting me. Billy I knew immediately that you weren't you when I saw you after the mind flayer got you. Yeah I was in denial at first, but do you want to know how I knew?"

"Because it called you my sister." Billy croaked.

"No. I have always been your sister. I could see it in your eyes. They weren't my brother's eyes, not entirely." Billy wrapped his arms around her as best as he could.

"You tell anyone I went soft on you-"

"You won't do anything, you love me." Max curled into him some.

They crowded into Billy's small room on one of the main floors.

"Hawkins. Bumfuck Hawkins Indiana is a hotspot for interdemntional fucking monsters and people with superpowers from a lab. And a bunch of kids have been fighting them off." Billy shook his head in disbelief. "So what do we do now?"

"I'm sorry 'we'?" Harrington asked.

"Nothing. We do nothing, the mind flayer is dead. We go back to normal and hope it stays that way." Max answered.

"Shit." Billy muttered.

Billy was still a dick most of the time, but not the same kind of dick he was before. Now that Max saw him a little clearer it became evident that he was trying before.

He had taught Max to drive. To ride a skateboard. Those were all things he had done in California. Neil was an asshole and her mom was always busy.

And though he had done those things in a roundabout dickish way he had done them without being asked without being told.

And those days that sent Max into panic, when Neil would come flying at Billy with fist and voices raised. Maybe Billy's slow steps back weren't cowarding, maybe they were leading Neil away. Leading him away from Max and her mom.

Now, Billy was very obviously intentionally doing things for her. Bonding with her.

A loud whistle would ring through Cherry Lane and Max would come running. At first Billy would have some excuse. 'Your running in the store and grabbing food.' 'I need you to get me a pack of Reds.' 'The new girl at the arcade is hot.' Then it became clear. He just wanted his little sister by his side.

Trees, houses, everything whizzed by. Max grabbed a hold of Billy's arm and held him tightly.

"I'm scared." She whispered to him, burrowing her head into his arm.

"I'm scared." The ocean was roaring in his ears, he was sitting next to his mom staring at the crashing waves, "It looks hard."

"You can do hard things." She promised him, "Now, up and at 'em. You are so strong and I believe in you." Somewhere in the back of his mind he could hear yelling.

"Your alright sweetie just sit back please and buckle up." Susan jittered nervously. Max shook her head holding on tighter to Billy's arm. He turned his arm over in her grip and laid a hand on her head, pressing her into his upper arm more in a strange hug.

"It's going to be okay."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Was muffled by his shoulder.

"We've still got Billy baby, he's not going anywhere." Susan promised Max.

"This one's got a pulse!" Max's heart stopped. Which one? A fire burned behind them, Starcourt Mall seconds from being reduced to ash, the pavement smelled like motor oil and mucky rain. The irony was suffocating, the last time she remembered this particular smell her and Billy were much younger in California. Racing to find Neil's truck in the parking lot of the carnival before Billy paid the price for Max insisting to play that stupid duck game over and over.

Billy sat on the ride home nursing a bruised wrist from how tightly Neil had yanked him into the truck. Max sat playing with her prize and Billy snatched it from her and tossed her new stuffed animal out the window.

He took his bike out the next morning and found it in a pile of mud, though he would never admit that he was the one who went and grabbed it off the side of the road.

"Mary mother of God." They were yanking on his bloody arm, pulling blonde curls out of the black bag.

"Someone grab me something with suction, anything, I need to clear his airway now!"

"Turn him over, turn him over!" Then that horrible retching that sounded like Billy was throwing his guts up but meant one thing, Billy was alive.

"He's breathing!!!"

Max sprinted across the parking lot as they pulled Billy from the body bag onto a stretcher.

"Pulse is dimming." The paramedic called out.

"Billy no!" Max had gasped, wrapping her arms around his, "Please don't go again." Max whimpered, "I need you."

"Pulse is stronger. Kid, keep talking." Max jumped in the ambulance with them and El followed.

"She's his sister too." Max lied.

It all started with dinner. Billy had heard raised voices, he turned off his radio.

"We'll pick it up then!" One of the cabinets slammed. Billy came out of his room, and headed into the kitchen. "You got a problem, son?" Neil asked when he saw him.

"No sir." Billy started grabbing silverware and cups for the table. Max was kneeled down cleaning up a plate. Billy sat everything on the counter and kneeled down to help her.

"Oh no." Neil scoffed, "Get your ass up. We're teaching the little princess responsibility."

Everything after that was a bit of a blur. Max said something Neil considered smart. Neil grabbed her. Billy shoved him off without thinking and Neil pinned him to the wall with an arm to his throat.

Billy couldn't breathe, this was finally it. His old man finally snapped to the point where he was going to kill him.

Everything was fuzzy around the edges, Billy tried to find somewhere to look. He didn't want the last thing on earth that he saw to be Neil's anger or the look of terrified horror on Max's face. There was a weird noise and Billy fell to the floor gasping. Max was beside him holding him and he slung an arm over her shoulder.

He had to get his feet under him, had to get up, had to get Max behind him, block her from Neil so he couldn't hurt her next.

"Oh my God is he dead?!" Max was asking. Billy's eyes finally focused on what was going on around him.

Susan was holding the frying pan, Neil was on the ground knocked out.

"Get your things, quickly." Susan was telling Max. And then his little sister and stepmother were gone from the kitchen. Billy forced himself to his feet leaning heavily on the counter. It could have been an hour or five minutes Billy wasn't sure. Susan came rushing back in, pulling a coffee can down from its hiding place in the cabinet. She took a wad of cash from it, stuffing it into her bag.

"Billy, sweetie." She was touching his arm and he pulled away from her a bit harshly. "It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you." She mistook his anger, "Max is grabbing you some clothes and your stuff for your hair. I already put your moms seashells in the car. Is there anything else important to you that we can't replace?" Billy looked confused. "Oh. Oh! I'm so sorry! He's your father, I shouldn't have assumed you would want to leave with Max and I. It's just- well Billy I know I'm not your mother but I care about you and I just can't stand him putting his hands on you any longer. We just almost lost you and I-I-" Susan got teary eyed as she stumbled over her words.

"You're taking me with you?"

"Of course." Susan choked, "Your my son- stepson- but-" Billy hugged her tightly.

"Plus I have a car." Susan didn't. After Billy's mom's escape Neil ensured that Susan would never be able to get her own car.

Susan was already in the car, Billy was behind Max.

"What are you doing Shitbird?" He asked as she stalled at the door. She was breathing heavily and suddenly she turned rushing past him. Billy followed after her as she rushed back into the kitchen. "Woah woah woah!" He yelled as she yanked a large butcher knife out of the knife block. She gave him a disbelieving look as she held the damn thing next to her like Micheal Myers. She cut the phone cord, shoving the phone down into the garbage disposal for good measure.

"I'm not going to kill him!"

Billy internally sighed in relief, "You did try and take a bat to my balls, after your little boyfriend kicked them." He followed after her as she went to the living room, cutting the cord to that phone as well. Max snatched Neil's keys off the hook, dropping the knife. The horn on the Camaro blew.

"I'm coming!" Max shouted running out of the door, Billy came out behind her carrying his bag over his shoulder. Billy threw some more stuff in the trunk and opened the driver door for Max. She put Neil's keys in his hand.

"Put all that stupid baseball he made you play to use." Max told him before ducking into the backseat. Billy breathed deeply, tossing the keys up into the air once before chunking them as hard as he could to the treeline. Billy always had been a great pitcher.

Billy pulled into the next gas station. Max was slumped on his arm funny and it couldn't be comfortable. Susan stirred immediately when the car stopped.

"You're okay." Billy promised. He turned in his seat to lay Max down in the back.

"How far have we gone?"

"Three hours, we just crossed into Michigan." He told her quietly. Susan rubbed Billy's forearm, for the first time she actually looked very sad.

"I need to make a call." She swallowed looking teary, "Billy I need you to take care of Max for me." Billy's hands tightened on the wheel.

"You can't abandon her."

"I'm not! But- he's going to come looking for me." She took a deep breath, "You know that and I know that. It doesn't matter if it's tonight or next week he's going to come looking for me. I can not put my kids in danger." She was right, he knew that deep down.

"Fine. Whatever helps you sleep at night. I've got Max, I'll take care of her."

"I knew you would."

Billy had smoked through his pack and bought another before the old Wagoneer and Mercedes pulled in. Billy watched as the Mercedes did a lap through the parking lot before idealing in the pullout. An older dark haired woman hopped out of the Wagoneer, pulling Susan into her arms.

"It's so good to see you again, San Diego feels like yesterday."

"Joanna." Susan sighed, hugging her back tightly. Billy sighed, reaching back to shake Max awake.

"Hmm?"

"You need to go talk to your mom."

"Why what's happening?!" She jumped into the front seat, looking out to where Susan was hugging Joanna.

"Max, listen. Whatever she tells you, act like it's fine, tell her you love her. Once you're back in the car and we are away you can scream, cry, kick. Whatever you need, but for now go tell Susan that everything is going to be ok." Max nodded solemnly and got out of the car. He watched, unable to do anything while Susan held Max tightly. He watched as his sister shrunk into herself and just nodded, she hugged her mom again tightly and the three women walked back to the Camaro. Susan put Max into the passenger side still saying a very tearful goodbye while Max told her that it was okay and everything was going to be ok. Joanna came to Billy's side of the car.

"Just follow my girl, y'all will be staying with her for a bit." She pointed to the Mercedes. Billy nodded and after Joanna pulled Susan away, he pulled in behind the black car.

"You ok?" Billy asked Max quietly as they pulled into the street. Max nodded.

"I'm fine." She unbuckled her seat belt. "Totally fine." Climbed into the back seat lying down. "Everything is great actually." Pulled one of the pillows over her face, "Amazing!" (Muffled) and then, she screamed and screamed holding the pillow tightly to her face. A while after the screaming stopped, Billy pulled the pillow away so she would smother herself. "I hate Neil."

"Me too." Billy agreed, "Who was that lady?"

"Joanna?"

"Yeah."

"She used to babysit me when I was younger, before you."

"Alright."

"Her and YN." They pulled in at a small yellow two story house.

"Whose YN?" Billy asked, just as the driver door to the Mercedes swung open.

"Her." Max nodded toward you as you stepped out of the car.

"Holy shit." Billy scoffed.

[mariamariquinha]

Versos de Placer (Colonel Carrillo x f!reader) - Thirteen (Part 1)

(I don’t know if I’ve already used this gif... sorry :/)

Summary: Decisions were made.

Word count: 7.6k

Warnings: Bad words, violence, ~ daddy issues ~, mentions of brothels and prostitution, slight mentions of political conditions from the period, trauma, nightmares and people drinking alcohol 🤷‍♀️

Author’s Note: And yeah, I needed to split in two parts. There’s no huge cliffhanger here because I know how slow I can be while writing, so let’s just say that this is a... prelude.

I mentioned that before, but now it’s more than official. This story have 2/3 chapters left, which makes me sad-happy-satisfied-unsure. Let’s see where it goes from then on, huh? Love ya! 

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

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

There was this boy with green eyes and good grades at school. He used to like History and Sociology, but everyone knew he had a tendency for something more than teaching. Without a mother, though, no one would be surprised if he turned into one of them.

Since his childhood, ‘them’ became a fear. ‘Them’ became easy money but almost a vow to a cause - the parents used to keep the kids at home after 10pm, turn off the TV when the news were too desperate or visceral. He might’ve even met Virginia Vallejo during his college years, after all the communist mess, and recognized her when Pablo turned into a thing. She was there. Always had been. Sometimes he wondered if her name would be marked on books like those he liked to read in school for choosing a side.

If he was an adult during the communism time, he would be one of them. His abuela talked about this a lot, but never in a depreciative tone. She knew better than to be on the side of the ones who took a lot from her. Because of this, everytime someone asked about Escobar or the gringos around the country, he never had an answer - because Pablo wasn’t a communist, but the other side wasn’t good either.

His abuela passed the year before; cancer. Being a doctor, he felt bad for not being able to help, for not doing enough to give her more time. There was nothing left.

That night, he did an exception to watch the TV. It wasn’t Virginia Vallejo nor any other journalist there. It was him. And he was angry because it was him. Him, with all the pomp and style and the face of someone he could recognize in the mirror, using such big words like ‘peace’ and ‘justice’ as if he knew a thing about honorable feelings or true promises.

At the end of three days in retreat, with resentment bubbling up inside him, he was in the supermarket when he saw her for the first time. Any detail that might have crossed his imagination didn't do this woman justice; he only knew her by a small fraction of guesswork and, in the end, by genetic bliss, she looked nothing like him. But he knew it was her. He fucking knew.

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

The decision came in a thoughtful, perhaps even calculated way. On the way, he had attended Comuna 1 and heard someone say that some time before, some American agents had passed by there and one of them almost died. A woman, strong enough to take the brunt, someone who became an exception - with all the lukewarm hope that existed during the days after that meeting in the supermarket, he felt afraid that she would become a target and lose everything again.

There, as he walked out with the lab coat and a suitcase of equipment, he looked up to see the armed kids on the rooftops, wielding weapons longer than their arms and staring blankly. He remembered his mother, when he found her after a long time in a corner of a border bordeaux to the point of overdose, and how he had left her so far away from himself as a way of forgetting that disturbing image.

He saw Escobar's painting on the wall. He saw the children again.

The letter would reach her in less than a day.

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

“You really are different from your father.”

The comment made you roll your eyes, but for some reason you didn’t engage in her provocation. Rejecting the cup of coffee was more of a personal preference than any judgemental decision - you already had the privilege of being able to talk with Noonan without so much bureaucracy.

Still, she didn’t take offense to the declination. She smiled, sat comfortably on her seat.

“I like to keep it all professional.”

“Doesn't the environment seem professional?”

“The office? Oh no, the office is really fine,” You nod your head, making a show of crossing your legs and faking interest. “I don’t want to elaborate and take more of your time but… The decoration is… neat.”

“Thank you.”

When she openly invited you to come by, you knew why. Perhaps dinner happened. A comment. She was informed about Juan Marcos, in that sarcastic voice your father had. Perhaps Noonan needed to be sure. You weren’t like him, of course, and certain things needed to be contained even if you knew the metrics and weren't childish enough to mourn so much about the systematics. What you could tell, for sure, was that your father always sold you low, so she decided to make her own assumptions.

“... Thinking about the politics of it all-”

“I’m not into it.”

“Diplomacy?”

“Yeah, those… big words you use sometimes. I’m an agent. It’s basically my job to be at least 60% dumb for that stuff.”

Noonan smiled at your sarcastic tone, watching the way you just kept that neutral expression with a voice full of venom. It was risky, but she wouldn’t go too far.

“I just need to be sure we’re on the same page. I’ve seen your last report and it honestly worried me.”

“It wasn’t my intention.”

Perhaps the words ‘sabotage’ and ‘murder’ were the ones way too big for someone like Noonan or the fucking government of United States of America, but you still couldn’t get the need of such inconvenience because of one report from one agent. Everyone knew the operation and you had the obvious perception that the USA agenda didn’t include explaining methods of persuasion during these types of… conflicts.

“What we are doing here, this… job by all means, it’s something delicate. We have a lot in the game, suddenly because there’s this inconvenience and we can’t get rid of it.”

You kept quiet. The lack of reaction made her blink a few times in expectation, then sigh in defeat as if you needed to say something.

“I think you should understand that this isn’t just a question of who should do what. We need to win. And to win, we need a firm team, one that can deal with everything with resilience.”

That was the first time you felt threatened by any of them. Your differences with Carrillo, the target you all had behind your backs, the situation with Juan Marcos… It all could take your job, but it didn’t. That moment, when Noonan got back to her professional stance (the one she liked to use with Peña more often than not), you felt the shiver of having someone stabbing you on the back.

And to know that this person was your father just made you more aware of your tense nerves.

So you did something worse.

You played the game.

With a subtle movement, you caught the cup of coffee between your fingers and took a small sip.

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

You felt suffocated. Disgusted. You got this bothering itch from the insides, like a weed that wouldn’t leave your skin. Between leaving the building and going back to Medellín, you tried to pull the nicotine patch out of your arm at least five or six times. It didn’t work, though. And you knew you would feel bad if you tried to pull the thing off again, so you decided to stay as still as possible.

Which wasn’t much.

And as the days passed, as the raids went on and things kept happening at full speed, you started to feel harsh, difficult to deal with. You tried to bury that conversation as much as you could, but with every body found, every lead to take one more person down, you couldn’t react anymore.

When your mother called, you told her - she deserved to know because she would understand you. Then she sighed, probably scratched the back of her neck, and said something that made you warm and cold all together.

“Good thing you’re not like him or me. You’re a third thing.” She commented. “God knows that if I was in your place, I would have made his life hell and I wouldn’t regret it.”

Your sleep schedule became worse. Almost every night, you saw Juan Marcos dead, then him coming at you ready to take your life, then that Montoya boy and the expression of fear on his face. Sometimes, it was Pablo. The bodies on that grave. Images of Peña, Steve and… Fuck, and Carrillo… All of them died. You would wake up crying. In the morning, you would sigh in relief to see all of them there, in one piece, alive.

But when it was your father, there wasn’t much to see.

That was something you’d never told her. That if you ever pictured your father being a fatality, you couldn’t have a proper reaction.

You woke up with a gasp, seated on the bed and sweating. The curtains hid nothing of the light coming from the outside, with a freezing breeze coming from it. You noticed, then, that what woke you physically was the sound of festive crackles from the street. There were laughs, kids giggling - it didn't take long for someone to scream at them and the noises ceased.

You still had your jeans on, unbuttoned and gripping your legs. That made you groan, passing your fingers through your hair and rubbing your eyes in frustration. On the clock, four in the fucking morning. You knew you wouldn’t sleep after this.

Defeated, you got up from the bed and made a beeline to the kitchen, where you grabbed a jar of water. Hands shaking, you didn’t dare to have your way with a cup - you drank right from the fucking jar. Then you gulped, gulped, gulped… Until it burned your throat and lungs. Until you coughed because some of the liquid spilled over your nose and chest, almost drowning you.

The floor was wet. From the water or your spit, you couldn’t tell, perhaps both. You didn’t know why you stared at it for so long, but that was it: you in the middle of your kitchen watching the water spot wetting your feet.

Your hands were still shaking.

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

You felt the ground first - the stiffness of the floor, the dirt from the road, the burning sensation from abrupt contact.

In the end, when they took you to the hospital, there wasn’t much to see. You left with a bruise on your forehead, another on your cheek, then some on the body and the shame of having been hurt by falling from a roof. At least with Juan Marcos you had the thrill of a good hand-to-hand combat story.

How stupid of you, having made a mistake and found the concrete alone, out of pure distraction.

Carrillo sent you small glances during the whole process - always checking, always aware of his surroundings. He didn’t come closer, though. He didn’t even ask. You felt stupid again, because you wanted him to have a reaction, at least one with just enough warmth as the first time you got injured.

“You know-”

“No, I don’t know. And for the sake of my job, I would rather not know.”

You didn’t raise your eyes from the letters and envelopes in your hands to give your father the satisfaction of a glance. He was there, standing in front of your desk, both hands inside his pants pockets and probably a smirk on his face. Again, you didn’t try a chance to look at him more than at his pristine shoes.

A letter from your mother. You could read at home.

“I think you have a dead wish.”

“Got this job, what can I say?”

FBI Report 1 on Cartel Activities in the States. You dropped the others on the desk to open this one, noticing how he started to look around the office nonchalantly. While he was distracted, you did give him a single side eye before going back to the paper.

Nothing out of the ordinary. Back to business.

A call-up from Messina. She could’ve just asked for her secretary to call and…

“Noonan told me you two talked.”

“Mm.”

“Using your privileges?”

“Well, it could be a privilege if I was the president’s daughter. You’re just a friend who might’ve fucked her once.”

Jorge Pérez. You frowned at that one, raising it closer to your face to get a better look on the handwriting. With a high level of importance, it said. Jorge…

“Since you’re good to use that smart mouth of yours,” The sudden proximity made you jump, but before you could react, he took the envelope from your hands, threw it on the desk and grabbed your arm harshly. “We better talk like in the old times.”

And it still hurted, the arm and the whole left side of your body. It hurted because you fucking fell from that fucking roof and he knew that, but since he was on the ‘old times’ side, there wasn’t a single care on his features or an hesitance to do worst with you. He was mad. From the grip he had on your arm, a touch violent.

When your body was pressed against your desk with force (because he pushed you), you hid your hiss of pain for the sake of raising your guard. You couldn’t do that during the old times, which was something he noticed - perhaps. There wasn’t the height difference, you weren’t looking at him from below and he wasn’t staring down at you even if he tried to. Eye to eye, with more than a scary face to stare back at him.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” He asked through gritted teeth, close enough to make himself heard without raising his voice.

“... You need to be more specific.”

“You fucking know exactly what I’m talking about, girl, you better be careful with your next choice of words.”

“Or what? You’re gonna ground me?” The teasing made him take a deep and warning breath. “I could use some days without going out with my friends, you know?”

“I was cleaning the mess of this stupid country before you could even clean your shit dirty ass, so you better know what you’re getting here,” He pressed, getting even closer to put a finger on your face. “Think you can be that person? To play dirty behind my back and thinking I wouldn’t know?”

“Was trying my best to be like you.”

He didn’t answer. You licked your lips, nodded. The guy was fucking desperate and taken aback.

You smiled.

“What? She took your toys away?” Again, silence. “I bet she said you’re here like a second chance. I even risk saying that the big guys needed a dog to do the dirty work and keep all the blame. You’re good at it, aren’t you? Being incompetent but leaving that good trail of blood behind your back? Doing that shit they’ll all deny or say it was a ‘collateral effect’?”

And then you said something you didn’t dare to comment on for years. Years.

“Or fucking whores around the country and having bastard kids with them?”

He reacted to that - of course he would. In the blink of an eye, he grabbed your jaw and pressed his fingers on the meat of your face, growling at the implication of such a harsh truth.

“You don’t want to do that…” A threat. “Being my daughter or not, I can fucking destroy your career piece by piece and take any remote chance of you to have a reputation, enough to make you spend the rest of your life cleaning bathrooms for a meal. Do you hear me?”

This time, you didn’t answer. He took that as indifference.

“I’ll do better. I’ll take Peña away, because I can do that. Perhaps they’ll like to know about Los Pepes and all of the other shit your partner is involved in. Maybe even Carrillo can go back to Madrid or whatever the fuck they decided to, since you’d been grown so fond of him recently.”

You couldn’t hide your surprise at the sudden revelation, which brought a devious smile on that face. His fingers flexed against your jaw and when you made the mistake of holding his wrist to stop the touch, he saw all the confirmation he needed to know, if he really needed one.

“Honestly, it took me a while to notice. But there’s the thing with him, maybe he thinks you’re worth the waste of time. You always proved yourself to be a very good warm hole for men in general, maybe that’s your best feature.”

Just then, after saying what probably had been stuck on his throat, he distanced himself. You didn’t move a finger to massage the area, watching him take a handkerchief from inside his pocket and wiping his fingers as if you had somehow soiled him.

“I killed Juan Marcos for you. I did it. You can just imagine my surprise to know that my own daughter, the one I killed for, decided to fight against me…” He said it without looking at you, still brushing his stupid fingers. “But I’ll take it, you know? You’re emotional like your mother and it disappointed me a lot.”

When he raised his eyes to you again, he measured your stance, the way your fists were clenched and your breathing intense. If you could, you would kill him right there, would… Fuck, you would make him swallow all of that humiliation. The rage was bubbling in your insides, ready to snap against him in a second.

Perhaps he expected you to. He wanted that excuse. And when you gave him nothing, he scoffed, putting his hands inside the pockets again and he sighed.

“Look at the bright side of things, sweetheart, we can have some similarities. These people, these… latinos… They can have you by the neck, anyone would fall for it and you wouldn’t be different. This we have in common. Just don’t be stupid enough to get pregnant or whatever, they don’t pay much for these guys around here.”

You felt like you couldn’t breathe until he left the room, unsure if what that could do to your sanity such was the tension and hatred he has instilled in you. When he did leave, not giving you a single glance back, the same clenched fists were raised to your eyes where you brushed them in hopes to prevent any tears from spilling out. Your heart was beating so fast, so incessantly, that you didn’t move a finger until you could collect yourself.

It was too overwhelming, too much, too much, too much…

You crouched down on the desk, hidden from whoever might be there so early in the day, and put your palms against your mouth. Eyes tightly closed, you stifled a sob as you felt the wetness of tears between your fingers. Any curse word that was on the tip of his tongue, any… unbridled urge to retort, it was all stuck inside your mind and in no time, during that breakdown, you thought the response would be as passive as your reaction.

But you were passive.

More than that, you let yourself be carried away by resentment and anger, thinking that you would be superior if you just kept quiet.

He did it, you thought. The asshole broke you.

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

One of the things about Carrillo was that he always made himself… present. After a considerable amount of time under him, on top of him or close enough to him, you could recognize scents, things intrinsic to what he was and wore and did and knew how to be.

You were virtually dating an almost full glass of lemon vodka when you smelled the perfume. At first, you thought it was some kind of hallucination, like your abused and lost mind trying to find traces of comfort (even if lying, even if cruel or momentary) to keep you going. After all this time, it was an automatic escape mechanism - if you were more politicized about it, you'd have a box of pills by your bed instead of your badge and your gun.

Just after a moment, when you felt someone sitting beside you and you could see his wrist watch there, your body reacted. You didn’t know if it was for resentment or just all the shit you’d been through with your father, but for a moment you wanted to avoid everyone - including him. Especially him.

Which was a fucking hypocrisy, given the place you were at.

“Did your father talk to you?”

And he didn’t ask in a inquisitive tone, like he was demanding for you to say the truth, but you felt taken aback by the neutral curiosity that filled his question and was splayed all over his face. With your silence, Horacio raised his eyebrows and got a good look at your confused expression.

“I heard he's been speculating about your physical state since the incident earlier today.”

“Just him?”

He tilted his head to the side, hiding a small smile.

“We all know you’re tough,” A shrug. “But I’m happy to know that you came back in one piece.”

“Happy is a big word, don’t you think?” You frowned, taking a sip on your drink while watching him raise a hand to the bartender.

“What would you rather me say?”

“Relieved.”

“That was quite fast.”

“I'm just saying I saved you a lot of red tape and paperwork.”

“What you're telling me is that your conversation with your father was much more intense than I thought.”

It made you lose what little humor you had left, enough for your face to visibly stiffen at the insinuation. Still, Carrillo was unaffected, but understood that maybe it wasn't the time. Rather than speculating further, he settled back on the stool when the whiskey arrived in front of him on the counter and didn't look at you for a while, as if he was just there to keep you company. This breath gave you time to observe him calmly.

He wasn't in uniform, but you doubted he'd just left the house to be right there, judging by the obvious sweat and dull expression. From what you heard, he's been in negotiation meetings with other minor sicarios who've been arrested, probably even Los Pepes if you pushed hard enough, but that was the kind of context you really liked to stay out of.

He certainly wasn't satisfied; sure enough, for one plus one, Carrillo was just frustrated by the way things had turned out and he could suddenly use alcohol. It was an ordinary bar, you were there when you decided to have good sex that would become delicately complicated. The difference was that there was less wear and tear, less fatigue. You two certainly weren't fresh for the job anymore.

And even so, Horacio continued to have this brusque, striking and not very delicate beauty. Unlike Javier or Steve, he hasn't lost any weight, and perhaps made good use of homemade meals to gain a little more physical mass. A very discreet bulge poked out on his belly, but that only meant he was healthy.

There was a soft smirk on his face, almost imperceptible, when you raised your eyes - he caught you staring. You noticed, of course, because you still were stupid enough to keep notes on him. It was inevitable, the way you and him stared at each other. Lights low, soft music, a ton of feelings all over the place - you couldn’t ride any other way.

“... Why are you here?” The question came in a low tone, breaking that spell for a moment. You blinked a few times, self aware of your body language, and gestured with the cup.

“Different motives, similar interests, I guess.”

“How do you know my motives?”

“Consider this my intuition.”

He nodded, not defeated but understanding. A silence hung in the air, more comfortable and cozy; it was easy to be more abrupt in your next comment, like a revelation suddenly caught in your throat by an instant memory of what had happened earlier that day.

“Did you know?” Like a spilled thought, you asked as if he would know what you were referring to. When nothing but a frown appeared on his face, you clarified with simplicity. “That we fucked. You knew my father knew about it?”

You could expect a lot of things, because Carrillo was very intuitive and certainly wouldn't run away from a confrontation if that were the case, just like your father wouldn't either. So when he looked even more confused and taken aback by the question, you reconsidered your position for a moment and turned your eyes to the drink in your hands, not knowing what to say next.

Horacio shifted in his seat, visibly uncomfortable.

“What did he tell you?” He asked then, more inquisitive this time.

“Nothing I didn’t deal with before. It's just… Sounded like something he could have guessed, like it was simple. I don’t remember a moment where we showed we were explicitly involved. Like the way we were, I mean.”

Casting a glance in his direction, you saw his jaw clench, then his face averting your gaze. Carrillo looked… angry?

“You know I don't have any hierarchical ties with him, right?”

“I do.”

“So why don't you tell me exactly what he told you?”

“Because it's complicated!” You bit back with exasperation. “Look, there was a reason why I’ve been so reticent about him being here. It’s not just his past or whatever the fuck he did here, we didn’t talk for years! Years, Horacio. And there’s a reason why it happened and it’s nothing like you can simply do something about. Honestly, I think it would be better if you didn't get involved.”

“It doesn't make any difference now.”

“Yes! I-” You stopped your own rambling and took a deep breath. “I know it. That’s the fucking problem.”

More silence. That made you aware of your tone, your mood, the way you’d been holding your shit together in such a pathetic way.

“I’m tired,” Your fingers massaged the bridge of your nose, elbow on the counter and a defeated sigh falling from your lips. “Don’t tell this to anyone, tho. I would like to finish my fucking job without people feeling pity of me.”

“But you’re telling me.”

“... Yeah. Well, last time you decided to pick my pieces we ended up making out. It’s better than whatever Peña would have in the cards for me.”

He smiled - no, you would rather say he just scoffed and took a long sip of his drink, as if it was the closest you could get in a good mood.

“Peña.” Carrillo repeated, head shaking. “What would he offer to you? Mm?”

The question made you frown but, again, you weren’t in the mood to read between the lines and he probably didn’t want to make his intentions a secret. There was a hint of jealousy there, a resentment.

“You know we don’t-”

“I know.”

You hummed, eyeing the drink in front of you to consider the situation. That could make you smile a little, even for a second, knowing that Carrillo couldn’t hide the stupidness of it all.

“... It would be less complicated,” The confession was uncomfortable, too realistic, enough to make you embarrassed. “Sounds like a convenient statement, in fact. Peña doesn’t have an accent, he doesn't have both feet and heart in this country either.”

He considered.

“Am I not American enough for him?” Carrillo asked with a discreet frown.

“Nn-nn.”

“Gracias a Dios.” Thank God, he murmured against his cup, which almost brought another considerate smile to your lips.

“I tend to be controversial, it gets me into trouble occasionally,” Your hand unconsciously massaged your chin, as if sensing other fingers pressing the skin there. It brought a lot of discomfort - enough to make you clear your throat to prevent any intrusive memory.

But that was the crux of the matter, what put you on your toes about Horacio Carrillo in the first place: he was so observant. And he noticed the way you caressed that area for a nanosecond too long, which made him shift in his seat to get closer, just a little longer, just to get a better look in the dim light.

First it was his fingers gripping your jaw, bringing your face up to his watchful gaze. Then, carefully, those same fingers descended on your skin, on the sensitive part, and you didn't hesitate to hiss in slight pain. When you averted the touch with a tilt of your head, looking around suspiciously, he became stern - serious. Mad.

“All this secrecy, this… Fear that people would find out about us. Now it all seems truly in vain.”

“It was the best for everyone. If Noonan or Messina find out, I-”

“They weren't there when he touched you.”

“We both know it doesn't matter here. Not with people like us.”

“Offenders?”

“Disposable.” You took his hand on yours, taking his touch away even if not in a harsh way. He was still mad, you could sense, but it was like Carrillo turned into a preoccupied mess.

“... If he ever touches you again, you will tell me.” An order, one you resisted the urge to roll your eyes for. “That's what a disposable person does, isn't it? A good one-on-one with a gringo would do justice to the title.”

That made you smile - truly smile. At the genuine tone, at the perseverance of his intentions. A surprisingly astute man with wills that went beyond the position he had and he was there, cutting the caress of your body for the discreet touch of your hand, watching your reactions with such attention.

You observed him in silence, elbow on the counter, hand supporting your head while taking the guy in. He was so stunning, you couldn’t quite catch which detail of his physiognomy you liked best. And there were other attributes on him, like his body and capacity, but maybe… The mouth? Chin? Cheeks? Brows? Hair? Eyes?

Looking in retrospect, it made some sense. The attraction, the bickering. Carrillo was made like that, built to be exactly the way he was, ready to accept the fate of his messy world with strong hands and the perseverance of someone who always tried hard enough until he didn’t need it anymore.

“You know what I need right now?”

He shook his head.

“I’ve been through hell since I woke up, my body is tired and… I need a shower. A good, warm shower, yeah? And then a decent night's sleep, which I haven't had in weeks.”

There was another beat of silent consideration from him, a peaceful and relaxed one.

“... I have a warm shower.” His voice came in a teasing tone.

“You do?”

“Mm-hm.”

You bit your lip, mouth hidden behind your fingers.

“Okay.”

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

His house seemed more receptive, perhaps because of the circumstances or your condition. You looked around the place that remained the same, with different furniture here or there, something that reminded you of someone passing by to clean or organize. Juliana, maybe.

The thought made you frown, even if that detail (or that piece of memory) didn’t make the place look less… homemade. You were unsure, however. Even if some part of you knew what you should be doing now while Horacio made sure all the windows and doors were still locked, you couldn’t move from your spot in the middle of the living room, arms hanging on your sides while you felt lost, even a touch numb.

“Hey.”

Carrillo was standing in front of you, searching for you even if you were there, not so focused, not deciding if he should get closer or not. You blinked a few times, suddenly aware of your recent marks and physical pains. He didn’t try to poke through it, tho - he gave you his hand, palm open to your eyes.

That touch meant more, like the first deep breath of fresh air.

There were the stairs, then the corridor. You prevented yourself from saying out loud about your legs or feet; a few grunts followed the way, but he decided not to comment as well. Horacio just kept going, assured the steps of someone who knew the place well. When you reached the room (his bedroom), there wasn’t time to observe the details of that place you knew from the past experience, because he took you to the other door, one you didn’t notice at first.

The bathroom was considerably huge, made for two and with some space for more. Wife, perhaps kids. You also tried not to imagine this life, this possibility that seemed real for him before you and probably before Escobar. Standing still, your mind tried to make you feel more pathetic when you didn’t move to undress, but again, Carrillo didn’t ask.

He opened button by button, careful with his moves and the fabric of your shirt, which wasn’t so clean and had seen better days. You observed his movements, stoic and precise as always, and when the shirt was finally off, he stopped. Of course you were aware of the bruises, the not-so-sexy bra and even less sexier shape of your boobs.

No, that wasn’t the reason why he stopped. You knew it wasn’t. And you felt so embarrassed all of the sudden.

“No, no-” His hand covered yours before you could hide something. “Puede que no seamos los mismos de antes, pero tú sigues siendo tú. Y lo quiero todo de todos modos.” We may not be the same as before, but you are still you. And I want it all anyway.

“... It's not what I look like that worries me,” You said. “It just seems unfair that every time we're together, there's some shadow of what we do. I don't want you to look at me and think about it.”

“But it's what we do.”

“And are you by any chance proud of every part of this?”

“Huh,” He scoffed, but not in mockery, tilting his head to the side and going back to his small mission, this time going to your belt. “Sería estúpido no arrepentirse de algunas cosas en el camino, ¿no crees?” It would be stupid not to regret some things along the way, don't you think?

“¿Siempre cambias al español cuando hablas de cosas difíciles?” Do you always switch to Spanish when talking about difficult things?

“Recuerdo haber dicho que me gustabas en inglés.” I remember saying I liked you in English.

And he did stop again, your belt and the button of your jeans opened. Carrillo did that to look at your face, observe any reaction from you, and all you could give back was the same taken aback expression you had earlier that night. Saying it in front of you, like that, mentioning that he simply liked you… It still sounded easier, but it also sounded safe.

“... Will it be a lonely bath? Or do you intend to accompany me?”

He tilted his head to the side again, shrugged, then decided to go back to his work with your pants.

“I’m not fragile, you know?” You said in a low tone.

“What I know is that there’s too many people aware of that information.” Carrillo didn’t look at you, but honestly it wasn’t necessary. He said what he said, so you wouldn’t try to bite back.

The silence, though, made him frown and finally raise his eyes to you. Just then, with his attention and heavy gaze, you noticed your own eyes were wet. You blinked a few times, shook your head. For some reason, or maybe for obvious ones, there was a big cloud of resentment surrounding you two all of the sudden - of bad decisions or just a touch of cowardness from your part. Horacio was hot headed, sometimes too impulsive for his own good; your father, quite the opposite, patiently waiting for the right opportunity to make what he thought was best.

“... I’ll take the guest bathroom. There’s probably something you can borrow from my wardrobe too.”

“Okay.”

“If you need anything-”

“Mm-hm. I know.”

He placed a gentle kiss on your temple - right above the bandage still hanging for dear life there. Took you a lot to move from there, to shake the warm touches from your body and mind, and a few minutes after he left, you rubbed your eyes with the palms of your hands to keep any emotions from spilling over and finished taking off your clothes.

The water was hot, but not hot enough to be uncomfortable. You felt each drop washing your pores as if it were taking away pieces of your skin, as if all the dirt of the day had not been washed away enough even though this was your second shower of the day.

The skin on your jaw was irritated by how hard you rubbed it, trying to get something out that might not be coming off any time soon.

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

“... He said something.”

Carrillo raised his eyes from the small patterns he was tracing on your skin with his finger, observing you with curiosity. He had these comfy pants, the flip-flops laying on the floor, the basic shirt - it was like entering another world, seeing someone else instead of… him. But it was him, indeed. Domestic him. And after the dinner (the one he promised a lifetime before), he took you to his bed and made more compliments about you wearing one of his shirts.

Honestly, you didn’t want to bring it at that moment. You didn’t even want to make this a conversation with him, to remember whatever happened that led to that specific space of time where you found comfort in his arms, but that thing entered your mind like a plague and you couldn’t shake it out of your mind.

“‘Said he killed Juan Marcos for me.”

He didn’t react - not for the first few seconds. In the middle of that half-dark, warm room, with you two between his comfy sheets, Horacio let the information sink in, averting your gaze to watch his movements on the skin peaking through the collar of that old shirt. For a moment you even thought he wouldn’t say anything; for what felt like ages, Horacio Carrillo didn’t move.

You stared at the ceiling, then, that thought burning your insides like a fucking infection. That made you press, just a little, just to… feel something.

“Would you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Kill for anyone.”

Carrillo sighed.

“I’ve been doing that for a living,” He argumented. “But that’s not the question, right?”

“No,” You shook your head. “I wouldn’t ask you to, though. Nor Javi or Steve or… him.”

“Well, I think we all know that too,” With a grunt, he adjusted his body to eye you from above, leaning on his elbow. “Killing in someone's name can be a lot if we weren't who we are, at least. In this kind of life, this is just a consequence or a detail that bumps into our routine.”

His words made you consider.

“Sicarios kill for loyalty and money, we kill for a solution... A father kills for his daughter for love and protection.��� You pointed out, more like a reflection than a proper opinion. When you looked at him again, he waited for that conclusion with patience. “He didn't want to protect me, Horacio. He never did this, why would he do it now? To get some kind of leverage when he found out I put Noonan against him?”

“What?”

The realization on his face made you feel ashamed, as if all the days you've been beating yourself up about it materialized right there, in front of you, in the form of the disappointment that would stamp his face when he owned up to what you'd done. You waited, waited, waited… And when nothing came, you distanced yourself physically by sitting up on the bed, fingers playing with itselves while he just kept staring.

With a deep breath and a lot to say, you confirmed.

“She was always my father's friend, probably since I can remember. When she called me into a meeting, I figured he might have said something to arouse suspicion, to make her suspicious of my ability to do my job. I knew he was planting something there, waiting for the right chance to take me out of the picture. Not for protection, just… Perhaps he saw me as a problem, perhaps I am a problem.”

Carrillo listened with a neutral expression, which started to make you feel even more tense.

“I struggled a lot to do that, to have the least amount of respect without being in his shadow. Every day, in every single thing I've done since I chose this career, I've always been sure I wanted to be better than him. Realizing that he throws every shovel possible into our relationship has me panicking, especially since he's my father and he's trying to sabotage me for his own benefit.”

It's been a long time since you've done this - venting your frustrations. For some reason, you knew Carrillo wouldn't do anything with that information, at least nothing other than keeping it to himself. Being there with him, in that private universe, you were free to get it all out there, to expose an unspoken truth of hardship and cruelty. Of course, given the circumstances, that comfort would just be another unspoken truth between the two of you. A secret magnetism that made sense, as long as it wasn't said to the four winds, because you were never exceptionally good at it and it was evident.

You sighed in defeat, unsure of what that silence meant - condescendence, weighting, reticence. There was a vision of you before your confession and there was certainly another after it - it wasn't like you could justify yourself.

All that considered, it was a surprise when he reached over and kissed your cheek, subtly, just to get your attention. When you looked up, Horacio cupped your face in one hand and looked into your eyes, using the gentlest of caresses to gaze at you with a certain amount of admiration and affection. You probably had that same expression at the moment, because he couldn’t stop staring.

“I couldn’t judge him if his intentions were true,” He mumbled. “But mine are. Sometimes, my respect can blind me and I can be… obnoxious towards my feelings for you, almost… dumb. Perhaps. Perhaps you don’t even want to know that now, being here and going through this, but I would kill for you. Viviría por ti.”

I would live for you.

You looked into his eyes and felt a courage you only felt at the sight of a gun, or the sight of your father's eyes. It wasn't usual, it felt very uncomfortable, but accept the reality that he only considered it all a passing fever of passion rather than something that really had consistency.

There was no consistency in that life, nor in the fact that you met, crossed paths and exchanged a single word to each other - because no minimally consistent relationship could come from that reality.

“This can’t be,” You said, holding his hand with your palm. “You can’t do this to me, Horacio.”

“You didn't have that right either. Don't believe for a second I didn't think this was all crazy, all... una gran mierda,” His last words came as a whisper, as if he just confessed something serious enough to make him grab all of the circumstances inside his head.

Carrillo sighed.

“Juliana had never confronted me this way, she had never told me what she felt with such certainty. I spent a lot of time blaming her for this, but the truth is, being with me hurts. I'm a ticking time bomb, a static creature that lives by rules that I don't always believe in but that make me who I am. I'm a big bunch of beliefs that don't take me anywhere.”

“... But I did.”

He let the silence linger, your other hand passing through his face while he nodded.

“Yeah,” You could see, deep down, that he was on the verge of crying. Carrillo. Crying. Suddenly, he was that boy, pristine and full of feelings he couldn’t spill out for the sake of being well-behaved, of not building any more problems for his mama.

You never thought you'd witness it - or find sense in a man like that looking so torn apart for so long.

“And I honestly don't know what to make of it all.”

Ultimately, you realized as you took the initiative to give him a subtle kiss on the mouth, discreet enough to hear him sigh in relief, that it felt right because Carrillo lived in absolutes. Life or death. Right or wrong. To shoot or not to shoot. There was a weight there, a responsibility; all of a sudden, if you could, you'd take it all away from him because you… you needed it. From him? From his company? Of the feelings he caused? You couldn't tell, even while kissing him.

What you could say, for sure, was that a mess encounter led you to a difficult realization: that you loved him.

And you were afraid of it.

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

Next part’s snippet:

“What?”

He asked with a confused expression, but you couldn’t quite catch his question right away. With a hand in front of your mouth, you swallowed a sob and held that letter with a firm grip, afraid of it all being a lie or an illusion or… A trick. A fucking universe trick for your mind and soul.

You raised your eyes to Carrillo, gulping again to prevent any big emotion from spreading all over the place.

“... It’s… It’s Jorge.”

“And who is it?”

The words almost didn’t leave your mouth, as if you were scared of the consequences of just… saying it.

“My brother.”

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

No pressure tags:

@cheesybadgers

@thesandbeneathmytoes ​

@616wilsons ​

@nessamc​

@thoroughlymodernminutia ​

@padbrookcottage ​

@mysoulisasunflower ​​

[autisticdiaries]

Autistic Diaries

Stories of my Youth;

Back when I was about six to seven years old, I lived in a trailer park. I was quite unhinged and wandered the area a lot because I loved the adventure and thrills. It was most stimulating for an Autistic child with no limitations. My mother didn't care and was sleeping most times.

One particular weekend, a Sunday morning, I visited a frienemy (She was three years older than me and was very bossy, she also lied a lot), we hated each other but also had this odd relationship or maybe it's that she was like a real life Angelica and I was like Tommy. She would order me to do things, or she'd convince me to with persuasion. I've got a many stories of adventures around this particular time.

The Sunday School event-

So on one Sunday morning she had me board the Sunday school bus to her church. I have no recollection of how the bus driver allowed me to go with them. And I never questioned it until I got older.

So, we arrived at this big church, and it definitely seemed like a school, too. As memory serves, there were rooms for different grade aged kiddos. They separated me from "Angelica" and after they pointed me to the room I was to go, I got distracted and ended up in an area full of adults doing hymns.

The pastor was amused but made me follow him to another side room nearby for children that weren't old enough for school. I sat and coloured and talked to the toddlers and played. Then, one of these ladies that were probably just watching the kiddos, saw me writing and colouring with my left hand. Oh boy.

She immediately said something along the lines of "They say those that write with their left hand is a servant of the fallen angel, Lucifer." I just gawked at her and was like "What's that?" And she went on and on about who Lucifer was. And I was so confused about it all that I only heard bits and pieces while I kept drawing. Eventually she got so angry because I kept using my left hand and proclaimed that I was disrespecting her and then she grabbed a wooden ruler told me to lay my hands flat on the table and slapped them until they were reddened.

I was so confused and proceeded to having a meltdown. (Remember, meltdowns are involuntary and can be very traumatising for us, especially as children. I had no idea how to process what was happening and nobody knew I was Autistic.

The babies in the room started hollering, too. The lady shot me a harsh look and yelled "Look what you've done!" And as she hushed and tended to some of the toddlers, I ran out of the room, and into a long hallway of doors still sobbing historically. I went through one that took me to a room full of kids around my age.

The teacher there stopped her discussion with them and was very kind to me. I can't even remember her face. But I remember her calm nature. The bright yellow walls, the toys, books, bibles, and circular tables with blue plastic/metal chairs only fit for children.

She helped me get a snack around snack time and I stayed there sitting in silence until it was time to leave. I ran into "Angelica" down the hall leading to the buses. And we hopped on the bus together. She asked me how it went and I shrugged looking out the window in a daze. Still recovering from the meltdown I'd had hours prior.

And that's when I had learned that once again, the more different you are, how easily they will cast you out.

Thankfully, there are some whom do not care about judging your identity and will still treat you with kindness.

[1787americanrevnerd]

Family Is What You Make It

Part 1 Previous Next

Erik couldn't believe he was back in this kitchen, hell that he was back in this house. He thought that Charles would kick him to the curb, or maybe he was just being nice because of the children. Erik and Charles hadn't talked about Cuba yet, even though it had been nine years since he had left Charles to die.

Once he and the professor were outside the children's range of hearing Charles spun around. "Erik," Erik hated how his stomach still filled with butterflies whenever Charles spoke his name, "we haven't seen each other in a decade, and now you come with two children tow? Erik, what is going on? Where did you find them? Are they yours? Did you kidnap them? I mean-"

"Charles!" Erik interrupted, "I don't know who they are. I found them at a hidden Nazi base. I couldn't leave them there and I didn't know who else to go to. If you don't want me here, say the word and I'll leave."

Charles huffed a laugh, "God, it's been nine years, and I still... you know I could never ask you to leave."

Erik hated Charles, he hated that Charles wasn't angry at him. Charles should yell at him to leave, to never darken his doorstep again. Charles should kill Erik for putting that bullet through his spine, for stealing his sister, for abandoning him, and for killing Shaw. Erik hated Charles. He hated this place, this mansion, that he used to reveal his darkest secrets. He hated the children in the mansion, they were living a life that his ideology could never give them. Most of all, Erik hated himself. He hated how he would still melt at the sight of Charles. He hated how he would do anything Charles asked of him. He hated how he kept crawling back knowing full well that his heart would be broken again, and again, and again.

That's love though, at least according to him. Love is when you would do anything in the world to make someone happy or to see their dreams come true, even if you aren't a part of it. Love can make you feel joy, sorrow, hatred, and contentment all at once. Love is a feeling that Erik doubted he would ever feel again, then he met Charles. Charles, who opened up so many doors for him, showed Erik that he could be more than hatred. Erik had loved before, but Magda and Anya were different kinds of love. He loved Magda and valued her as a human being but they drifted apart near the end. However, there was no getting over Charles. 

"You look just as you did the last time I saw you," Erik told Charles, he turned away.

"We cannot start this again, old friend."

"Why not, Liebster?"

"We both know how this is going to end. Why start the pain all over again?"

"Because, even if it's pain, we are feeling something. One more try, please?"

"There have been so many nights that I spent awake trying to find you. How do I know you mean it this time?"

"I'm planning to use that house on the edge of the property to raise those two kids."

"The old servants' quarters? Why?"

"I was in their position, once upon a time. I feel that they need someone to be there for them."

Charles huffed, "Before we do that, I think we should find out if they have parents."

Erik nodded, and with that, they walked back into the kitchen. The two children were leaving against each other as they stared at their empty soup bowls. Erik always loved those soup bowls, they had small flower-like patterns drawn around the inside and outside of the bowl.

"Hello children, we want to ask you a few questions," Erik told them. Both of the children sat up and nodded.

"What were your parents' names?" Erik asks. 

"Our birth mother's name was Magda Eisenhardt and our adoptive parents were Marya and Django Maximoff," Pietro answered.

Erik paled, Magda Eisenhardt? As in his wife Magda Eisenhardt? The woman who he hadn't talked to in over ten years? Had she truly found someone else so quickly? Then again, Erik wasn't in charge of Magda, he didn't own her. She was an adult and if she had kids after being with him that was okay. After all, Erik had fallen in love with Charles after he left, so he couldn't speak about fidelity. It still hurt though, thinking about what their relationship meant if Magda had kids so soon after Erik and her parted ways.

A pat from Charles drew Erik out of his reverie, "Can you ask the children how old they are and when their birthdays are?"

Erik asked the children Charles' question and they took a moment to count.

"I do not know how old we are, they didn't have many calendars at the base. Our birthday is August 17th, 1957."

Erik did the math in his head, the twins would be fourteen now. Erik tried to count back, to nine months the August of 1957... oh. How could he forget what happened that November? That year was the worst year of his life. He was consumed by his anger and need for vengeance, and it all started in the November of 1956. That November forever changed his outlook on life. That November was the last few weeks of Anya Lehnsherr. That August kick-started the ruthless killer that he is today. That November was the reason that he never wants to have children, a family, or a partner ever again.

It stung more to know that Magda had gotten pregnant soon after their daughter had died. People have different ways of coping, Erik thought, mine was hunting down Nazis and closing myself off from the world. Erik was happy that there was still a bit of Magda left in the world, the fact that the twins were adopted didn't escape him. Erik continued to ask them more questions. He asked them things such as what happened to their guardians, how did HYDRA find them, do you have any family that would want to see them, and if their family cannot be found would you like to live with him?

That was the scariest question, wasn't it? The question meant much more than was explicitly stated. It was a way of showing that Erik was able to open his heart to others still. It was a plea to these children, who were put in an awful situation, to give him a chance to look after them. Most of all it was a way of moving on, a small step to having a family again. Erik liked having people he loved around him but, lately, he had been so afraid of loss that he had forgotten to love. As Erik looked at the malnourished children before him, smiling wide at the idea of a family, Erik could tell that opening his heart to others would be worth it.

[oneshortdamnfuse]

after reading the reply you wrote out about the adults in billy's life and how they may have missed, ignored, or been ignorantly unaware of how he presented and walked around school, sports, etc. it made me think back to when i was a tiny but rather problematic child and how i got tossed around like an absolute bean bag by the adults in my life.

i was not a saint of a child. i bit and kicked and hit others. i got expelled from a daycare for it 😅. but one thing i remember most is once i had been caught, or been turned in by another kid/or blamed, or reacted to something. the response from the adult(s) in the room was not always very kind or gentle.

i can remember being dragged, picked up and carried like a sack of potatoes, hauled by my shirt collar or the seat of my pants to either the daycare or the principal's office. i remember being thrown in timeout so hard by a daycare worker that everytime she put me against a wall or door "to think about my actions" i'd hit my head and the breath would get knocked out of me. i can still see her red acrylic nails.

your post just made me think so much of this, because by the time i had a teacher or classroom aid or caretaker come after me it was because i was the "bad kid". the other kid may have said something extremely angering or hurtful but because i was the one who bit or slapped, i was the one that got manhandled. i was the one who was viewed as constant trouble. and those adults always looked like they'd had it with me. like they couldn't be angrier.

i also had a fair amount of bullies. i was pretty scrappy, but i was also very small. and when things would happen to me. when i got shoved against walls hard enough to hit my head that i saw stars, or when i got whipped in the face by a jump rope with the red and white hard plastic beads, i wasn't believed. or at the very least the other kid's behavior was minimized. because i was a child that was always in trouble, always in the office. so clearly i must've done something to provoke those attacks. i wasn't believed when a boy double my size followed me, cornered me, and choked me so hard my vision went black. i was 4 when that happened. the boy (and his parents) called me a liar. and my history of being a "bad kid" helped him.

how many adults especially in billy's childhood years pulled things like this on him? saw a kid throwing fists and just thought 'god not again. he's always the troublemaker.' and would then haul him to the office, and get mad at him all over again the next time it happened. getting angry at him, telling him what he should know not to do, but never once asking or thinking about why those little hands were formed into fists in the first place.

Ah, re: CPS / adult intervention or lack thereof? Yeah.

I feel you. I had similar experiences as a child. Always blamed for what other kids were doing (sometimes to me). It wouldn’t surprise me if Billy fell into the same category because adults probably didn’t even try to understand him even though everything he did was a giant red flag. Then he likely learned he couldn’t trust anyone to help him. His dad was his first bully. Then likely other adults. He may have been throwing punches at his peers, but adults who should have done something to help him spent their time punching down on him instead. He keeps telling Max that these are things “you learn” which is concerning, because then… who taught him? Or what life lessons taught him this? People don’t just become like that out of nowhere.

There’s no “bad kids,” just really bad “guidance” and/or lack of concern.

[andromedaexists]

WUPDATE: CALL ME ICARUS

𝚆𝚎𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝙽𝚘𝚟. 𝟿𝚝𝚑 || 𝙽𝚊𝙽𝚘 𝚆𝚎𝚎𝚔 𝟸

<I am working on transferring my old writing to this new blog. In an attempt to not over-saturate my taglist, I will be scheduling these for every other day until I am up to date. If you would prefer I remove you from the tag list until this transfer is complete, please let me know!>

I have managed to fall pretty far behind with NaNo 😅 I guess that’s what happens when you work full time and go to class full time still

I also had a pretty bad bout of no sleep so that was fun

BUT! I hit 36,360 Words!!! I also managed to plan out the entirety of the remaining chapters for CMI. If I am able to stick to my chapter word goals, it should end up ~84k words, only 6k shy of what my original goal was!

I have also started writing chronologically again. While I was able to write out of order when my brain was doing great, i started overthinking how to link the scenes together. So, back to chronological it is!

Anywho, I know what y'all are here for. The snippet is below the cut as always!

Icarus knew something was wrong when he saw a look of horror cross the kids’ face. He turned around and saw a lumbering form come round the corner into the room.

He glanced over at Andromeda, motioning for them to get out of here with the kid. He’ll take care of this - and by take care of, he means he will distract the fucker while those two escape.

As the lumbering form came into view, Icarus groaned. He recognized the monstrosity of muscle in front of him; this was Sisyphus. The #3 Elysian, the master of blunt weaponry.

Icarus had run into him a handful of times in his childhood, but never without adult supervision. He remembers feeling like he was under a microscope whenever he was in the same room as the monster.

Now that he was under scrutiny by that things beady eyes, he understood why. He felt like he was being examined, but that would require the thing to have any braincells. No, it’s more like he was being devoured by the swampy depth of the monsters eyes.

A shiver ran down Icarus’ back as he moved into a defensive stance, preparing for whatever the bastard would throw at him. He just needed to keep his guard up until the other two got out, then he could slip out himself.

And another one for good measure because I just really hate Sisyphus

Icarus had to think of a way to get out of this situation now. He couldn’t be caught here.

As if he had heard his thoughts, Sisyphus opened his maw to reveal a mouth full of rotten teeth as he said, “<just the most vile and reprehensible shit about Andromeda and Achilles>”

With each vile word that came from that rotten mouth Icarus became more angry. How dare this disgusting excuse of a human being talk about his friends - no, his family - like that.

“Y’know, maybe after I’m done with ya I’ll pay yer girl a visit.”

He saw red. It was as if his body was possessed as he slid into an offensive stance. The only thing left in his mind was a repeating mantra of how dare he.

How dare he as Icarus lunged forward, catching Sisyphus off-guard as he ducked under his arm.

How dare he as he reached up, disarming the hulking giant easily from behind.

How dare he as he uses the weight of the mace to sweep the mans feet out from under him, knocking him to the floor with a loud thud.

How dare he, how dare he, how dare he, how DARE HE.

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[batwynn]

This actively happened in my lifetime, and I’m in my 30s. A lot of us experienced it in real time and no one stopped it. No one helped us.

When I was 16 we would hang out outside and inside the library. We ranged from a group of 20 to a group of 3-4 people on any given day, because us 16 year olds also hung out with whatever other kid was around the area. (Mostly younger siblings and then their friends.) We never did anything wrong, never mind illegal. We were never loud in the library and were always polite to the staff. We sometimes got a little loud outside on the street when there was some contest thing going on, but not very often. We mostly hung out and talked about stuff going on in our lives.

Then one day someone called the cops on us.

And the cops showed up all ready angry, then started yelling at us for doing nothing. They couldn’t even come up with a real reason to be there yelling at us, other than to demand to know if we were a ‘gang’. When one of my friends started crying, I turned to tell her that it would be ok. The cop grabbed me, screamed at me to not look away when he was talking to me, then demand I get in the cop car and go down to the station. It took almost an hour for my mother to find out where I was because I didn’t have a cellphone at the time and the cops had just fucking kidnapped me. For comforting a friend while they screamed at us. And you know what happened?

We never hung out like that again. None of us. We all got banned from the library for a year. Again, all of this for literally no reason. They told us we were ‘misbehaving’ for simply hanging around outside being kids. And then we had no where to go. Some of those kids were forced back into their abusive homes. I literally never saw half of them again. Ever. And I lived in that town for several years after that.

So, yeah. They just started kicking us out from the outside years ago and not a single adult or group of adults gave a shit.

[frankhightower]

If I became a billionaire (at each stage of my life)

Today's journal is a bit different, and arguably not art related. It's just something that's been bugging me and I need to get off my chest.

I've written before what I would do if I suddenly became a billionaire right now, and what I would’ve done if that had happened when I became of age (you don’t need to read those to understand this, just know they exist). Today I want to explore what I would’ve done if I’d become a billionaire at different stages in my life, because the answer is always the same:

There’s this problem I’m noticing… how is nobody working on it?!

age 6: The missing words problem

I noticed quite early on that I had a lot I wanted to say, I just didn’t have the words to say, and there was no way to help me find those words. Here I did learn the reason: adults tend to assume that kids’ thoughts are just simpler.

If I’d become a billionaire at this age (after, let’s be honest, buying a few toys) I would’ve put my resources towards this problem. There would’ve been an avalanche of books with things like “So you’re not happy but you’re not sad but you don’t like it? That’s called ‘unhappy’. Oh, you’re disappointed by how stupid that word is and now feel a little angry too? Welcome to ‘upset’!” and with things like “Does it feel like there’s a song that forces you to think about it again and again and you can’t stop? That’s called ‘getting it stuck in your head’.”

age 8: The licensing problem

Another thing I noticed early on is that companies are terrible with licensing. I first noticed it with Talespin where Don Karnáge’s popularity (recurring villain) was glaringly obvious if you ever saw a kid watch the show (he was the only one kids would imitate in the playground!) But Disney never capitalized on this. There was never a Don Karnáge movie or series or even toys while the series was running (okay, fine, there was 1 action figure, but the stores always stocked less of him than the others and he was stupid expensive, while Molly which honestly no one cared about got 3 action figures in 3 price ranges and a McDonald’s Happy meal toy!)

Then I noticed it with The Magic School Bus, which started pointing me to the cause of the problem: every decision had to be funneled through just the 2 authors!

But what finally made me realize this was a major problem was The Disney Store. Probably the most obvious idea for a global store chain ever, but no one could do anything with the idea except stare at Disney very intently and hope that would will them into doing it themselves (you have no idea how hard it was to get Disney merch in the early 90s! Virtually no stores carried it, and even with access to the internet and paper catalogues there was no way!) I would be in college before a Disney Store made it to me because simply contacting Disney was a hopeless mess! And I looked back and every IP holder ever was just that bad at being contacted. Surely someone could step in and fill the niche?

…And then there was Pokémon. I’ve mentioned you simply couldn’t get a Pokémon hat during the height of pokémania, it was not one of the “approved” products. This is when I realized: fans could do it (but it would take about a decade before they did). All they needed was a way for the company to give them the OK and, if they were successful, they would eventually be able to mass-produce it. Wouldn’t we live in a much better world if companies operated like this instead of decrying trademark and copyright violations left right and center?

And sure, some things would still get shut down. If you’re basically porting Pokemon Red to play in the browser (which was probably the most searched for thing at the time) the parent company is probably going to say no, the whole point is to play it on a Gameboy. But wouldn’t it be worth it for all the stuff they could now say yes to?

age 10: The housing problem

I noticed there was a global housing problem at this age and no one was talking about it (we’re talking late 90s/early 2000s here). I also realized the problem was not that there wasn’t enough square miles of city space dedicated to housing, it was just bad housing! I was already playing SimCity by this point, so I knew the solution was a) to densify and b) to put jobs and shops closer to the housing. But I didn’t want to turn every city on Earth into Lower Manhattan; I saw in the shrinking malls, a huge potential. Here was a single structure with well defined spaces where everything was in walking distance, was centrally located, and was car-accessible (sometimes with customer loading bays on the higher floors!) A lot of them also have dedicated office spaces. How hard would it be to turn at least some of those offices into apartments (which also had the advantage of requiring less parking and therefore freeing up even more space)? The small town/friendly neighborhood feel people kept saying they missed was all-but guaranteed!

Of course, the people who move in here would leave “bad housing” behind. Those you could turn into Lower Manhattan, since then you’ll have “missing middle mixed use” housing spread out at de-facto random!

age 12: The media bubble problem

I also noticed early that people were retreating into their own little bubbles with their own little opinions, worlds, and facts (harmless ones at this time like whether it was best to brush your teeth 2 vs 3 times a day but still worrying). This was still the age of cable, so what you were getting was “the Nickelodeon tribe”, “the Cartoon Network tribe” and *shudder* “the HBO tribe” and I could see this wouldn’t stop. Bubbles would get smaller and smaller until everybody was, essentially, alone, validated only by someone they could find on the other side of the world that happened to consume the same content. What would I have done with my riches to combat this? It’s quite simple: bring back the TV guide. The first step to stepping out of your bubble is knowing what exists outside of it.

I was “poor” (I couldn’t afford cable) so I wasn’t a member of any tribe. But because I overheard the names of the shows and channels, I could search the internet for them and still, well, have friends. But I could see this mechanism was unsustainable and that many people were already being isolated for not having caught on to this new way of doing things. Someone had to make it explicit! …No one ever did.

age 14: The digital divide

This was a problem that was talked about a lot in the early 2000s but no one did anything about (not in any serious way anyway). The problem was that, like Literacy vs. Functional Literacy, it’s not enough that you can sit at a computer and know that the mouse controls it, you need to know how to use the computer. What does Ctrl+C, Ctrl+V do? Which programs can I draw in? What do and don’t I need a Wacom-style tablet for? There was a lot of questions people had about technology that, honestly, made their lives difficult and no one was seriously tackling.

Unfortunately, there was no easy solution to this except hire a lot of people to tutor every one of them, personally, as some sort of pseudo-government program. Today, sure, you could probably define some software that detects when you don’t know how to use Ctrl+C and just tells you, but back then that was a little underdeveloped (*cough* Clippy *cough*). You would need to hire and train a lot of people to tutor everyone who needed to be brought in, and that would cost a lot of money. Maybe a billion dollars.

This problem was eventually considered to solve itself when smartphones became compulsory for things like …oh… taking the plane or paying for utilities… but we could’ve solved it so much earlier, so much better.

age 16: Literature's "missing middle"

Here’s a problem I don’t think is seriously being tackled yet: there’s Children’s books (picture books), there’s Young Adult books (Harry Potter, The Hunger Games, etc), and there’s Adult books (self-help, classical literature, etc). There’s “chapter books” for children to transition into young adult books …But there is no large genre to pick from for Young Adults to transition into Adult books. Surely there’s writers out there who are capable of such a feat, but are just lacking the resources?

And further, “Chapter books” are a uniquely English-speaking phenomenon and only exist because, wait for it, a lot of resources were poured into it in the past. Surely the genre can be, dare I say, kickstarted in other languages in a similar way?

age 18: Youth credit

So I start college and get a scholarship and a bank account it can be deposited into. Surely that means I now have access to credit? Psyche! Of course not! I was made to wait until the end of my Junior year before any bank would give me any form of credit. I have a lot of opportunities I missed because I was, like, $10 short which I’m sure I could’ve put on credit if I’d had one!

At this time, Muhammad Yunus was making headlines for pioneering “microcredit”. He realized NINJAs didn’t need houses, they needed small bits of aid for small investments that would slowly lift them out of poverty (as a personal example, I own a bicycle, but for years I couldn’t use it because I didn’t have a bike lock to tie it up with when I got anywhere. As soon as I was able to afford one, I was able to bike to the store of my choice, buy my own food, and therefore eat healthier, and therefore feel better, and therefore be more productive, and, yes, make more money!)

It didn’t take a genius to put the two together and realize young people needed such “microcredits” too. Such a thing had the potential to move the economy enough to get us out of the global financial crisis! (Could they just blow it all on video games? Sure, but remember the bubbles, that gives them access to a “tribe” which also has the potential of making them “feel better and therefore more productive”!)

…apparently, though, it did take a genius, because no one did it, no matter how much I “stared at them intently hoping that would will them into doing it.”

age 20: Adult friend-making

I noticed very quickly that, as an adult, it’s very hard to make friends. Still a student, I was able to find some clubs that I was interested, but I never became friends with the people there. (For one, they all seemed to assume I must have a car, which… look at the last one. For another, they wanted “drinking buddies”…I wanted someone to have a sober conversation with, and not just because my body can’t handle alcohol well!)

Even if I had, I could see there was no such clubs available once I graduated. What was I going to do, found “the anime club” for adults? Build a school playground for grownups? That would take like a billion dollars!

age 22: Student secretaries

Students need help. No not like that; again, it’s always the little things. Sometimes it’s someone you can ask to Google something for you while your hands are occupied. Sometimes it’s just… someone you can reliably tell “remind me to [blank]”. Friends, family… they never remember. They aren’t paid to.

The service does exist, it’s called a remote assistant, but it’s intended for, well, older people, which makes it expensive.

I realized this thing used to exist. “Upperclassmen” would be assigned a “Freshman” that would help them with little tasks like “return this library book for me”, while the “upperclassman” would explain, well, all the things people take for granted you “know” in that campus, such as where to get a friggin’ drink of water! I can’t tell you how much I suffered as a newbie just trying to get water!

Okay, tangent over. The point is the relationship is temporary because the upperclassman is supposed to graduate, so even if it does cease to be mutually-beneficial, it’s short-lived.

Reintroducing such a program (especially in multiple campuses) would need some kind of backing… some kind of sponsorship… some kind of… billion dollars.

age 24: Art tagging

As I began my first incursion (though not my first attempt) into the online art world, I realized just how terrible the art sites were. Surely by now there would be some kind of “just drop in” service for your art that automatically does part of the work for you? Sure, it can’t write your thoughts on your art, but surely image recognition was at the point where the art could be tagged automatically for things like setting, species, or colors?

No, of course not. Now that it’s been about a decade, we know no one was serious about this, they just wanted AI art.

age 26: Legal directory

Accepted for a masters scholarship, suddenly I had a lot of questions: How do I apply for one of those big credits? What international treaties affect me? What even is notarization and why does my grade report need it?

The problem is, simply, that I had no one to ask. I still don’t. (I mean, someone who actually knows, not just throw it out on the internet or hope my parents coincidentally had the same problems). Surely there’s a business opportunity just… answering people’s basic legal-adjacent questions and telling them “these are the people in your area that can help you”? Why isn’t this a normal thing yet?

age 28: The things you should "know"

New town, new university… and I realized there was a lot of things people expect you to just “know”. My biggest gripe was: my big-city DMV requires you to make an appointment, while college-town DMV was walk-in only. It took me six months—six months—to get a straight answer out of anyone on this regard and I’m still upset about that!

But I was, overall, doing fine. It was still a city, I know cities. Some even-smaller-town people were having a bit of trouble adapting to the “city” but, eventually they got it.

It really hit me how bad it was when winter came and the exchange students from the tropics started panicking. No one had told them about thermal underwear. Or hot drinks. Or wind chill. Or hats. They were spending all their money on Hollywood-movie-style coats and at a loss why they “weren’t working”. They were expected to just “know”.

So if one billion dollars were to fall in my lap at that point? I’d come up with a guidebook. There was a lot of guides that had been very helpful when coming to this new college, but none about these specific things. I’d also probably do an extra year, but the guidebook would’ve been first.

age 30: Infrastructure resilience

No one was talking about the “crumbling infrastructure” (at least not yet), but I could see it and saw it was a global problem and I was worried. At this point, I knew I needed to worry for myself first, so I focused on getting APCs to survive blackouts, storing water to survive water cuts, and learning to use WiFi Tethering to survive internet outages (and a good thing I did!) But I knew a lot of people didn’t know about these things. They didn’t even know APCs existed. But what could I do? I was barely able to afford the 2 APCs I did get (though, by my math, we needed at least 5). Some kind of massive battery backup program would require like a billion dollars!

Riches really are wasted on the rich.

[stealth-liberal]

There was a kid named Damien Anderson (I swear to G-d that I'm not making his first name up) that bullied me so badly in 7th, 8th and 9th grades that not only do I remember EXACTLY what he looked like and ALL the shit he said and did to me, including the frightening and disturbing sexual turn it eventually took, but I can remember his voice... and that's hard to do. Try and hear in your head a dead relative's voice... almost impossible.

Damien transferred out of our public school to go Rhode Island's premier private/parochial school for sports: Bishop Hendricken Catholic School for Boys, after the 9th grade. I never saw him again after that, never so much as laid an eye on him. I have no idea how he turned out as an adult or where he is now. And I'm so fucking grateful. I am so unbelievably grateful that he utterly vanished from my life after 9th grade.

Why? Because he made me murderously miserable. My life exponentially improved with his absence. If I saw him crossing the street today though, while I was behind the wheel of my car? I would have to talk myself out of stomping my foot on the gas and running his ass over... and possibly backing up over him to do it again.

I am still as angry and hurt about what he did to me and how it was allowed to continue. I am a grown adult, I live in California now with a husband, 2 kids, a dog, a cat, and a house of my own... and when I think about him (which isn't a lot, granted) I hate him as much as I did all those years ago.

So no, we never forget how people treated us. It stays, it stays for life.

As a counterpoint, I will never forget the very popular girl who once confronted him while he was tormenting me in the demented way that he would and told him to "Fuck off and leave her alone! Enough!"

She could come up to me on the street aprops of nothing and ask for $100, and I would take her to the bank and give it to her, no questions asked.