#we were originally just fucking pawns as usual and to this day a lot of goy colonizer gov'ts

[statementlou]

tbh as an israeli, i was so embarrassed that they put the flags there and i wish they didn’t do that. I don’t support that at all.

❤ and that's why YOU are my people, not those flag wavers- it's definitely my identity as a Jew that makes me extra outspoken about this issue in particular because like you say I feel personally embarrassed on behalf of my kin, and a responsibility by association to speak out against the israeli state's genocide. And it's made so much worse by the way people think israel= all jewish culture, or that to be anti-Israel is anti-semitism which, as @captainrayzizuniverse pointed out in tags (YES! well said and thank you!! you are also my people❤), is a tactic of zionist propaganda used to shut down criticism of the Israeli state. I think anon meant well and wants to keep an eye out for anti-semitism during this terrible time of its rise everywhere and I appreciate that! But that's why it's important to talk loudly and constantly about the fact that taking a stand against anti-semitism does not have to include defending the Israeli state- and indeed to be broadly anti-racist, one must call out Israel's colonization and genocide in Palestine

[bloodycassian]

** PT 2 Azriel x reader - enemies to acquaintances PT 2. ** - reader gets a backstory, they clear another enemy camp together and bond more. Azriel apologizes. 

Slight TW for violence/domestic abuse mention. Trying to keep reader as genderless as possible but sometimes I inherently switch to using woman POVs- asks still very open ;)

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

"It seems I owe you an apology." Rhys began, pacing at the end of the makeshift bed the healers had set up for you. Your stomach rolled with nerves. His tone was not genuine, and you could feel the tension rolling off him in waves. The healers buzzing nearby suddenly found different things to do.

 Azriel and Cassian stood at the edge of the canopy, the drizzle of rain making their armor shine. "Azriel informed me of your injury- I'm impressed with your bravery." He smiled, his dark eyes making him look like a snake. 

You glanced to the shadowmaster, who nodded the slightest amount. "Did you receive my message from him?" You asked, and when he had a genuine wide grin - showing almost too many teeth - it gave you chills.

"I did in fact. I wish the same to you." He said with that deadly calm. Cassian tried to hide his laugh, Azriel remained stonefaced. "Let's take this to the war tent. Whenever you are...suitable." he glanced to your wing, still stained with crusted dry blood. 

You felt your cheeks heat slightly, and nodded. He strode out from the healers canopy and into the rain without a look back. The generals followed him, Azriel glancing back to you only for a second. 

+

Once you had mustered the strength to get out of the cot, you thanked your healers. They insisted on giving you healing potions before you departed. And tried to get you to promise to come back for a check in daily. Mobility tests, stretches and strength building. You gave them loose affirmations and took the potions without putting up too much of a fight, given that the wing still ached slightly. Two days of rest had done a lot for the healing process, but it would take at least a week before it was fully healed. 

The short walk to the war tent was cold as the mist of rain poured down. Many of the soldiers were inside or drunkenly asleep in the mud. Sitting around and waiting was not an ideal situation with a thousand males ready to fight all around. 

You pushed open the tent, shaking out your jacket on the pelt rug. Earning a scowl from the high lord, seated at the head of the table again. "This one tells me you were a sight to see in the skirmish." He said, gesturing to the shadow master. 

You glanced to Azriel, his face was blank but his cheeks had gone a duskier shade of brown. "But maybe I took that the wrong way, and what he meant was that you were a disaster, considering someone managed to put a hole in to your wing." He laced his fingers together in front of him. You curled your lip at him, ready to tell him to get his ass out there and do it himself then. 

Before you could, Azriel turned to the high lord, opening his mouth to protest but he was quickly silenced by Rhysand's dagger like eyes. The shadowmaster pressed his full lips together tightly. Looked to his feet, as if in shame. It made your head thrum with adrenaline filled rage. Rhysand - the most powerful high lord in history - coudlnt get off his ass to take care of some second class Attors himself? Perfect. Just your luck. Being hired out like the hundreds of your kind before you, only it was worse because you weren’t even getting any gold from it.

"We now have a bigger force than originally planned coming directly at us." He said softly, a dark wind organizing enemy pawns on the table to show where they spread out. how they had your forces stuck against a wall of mountains.

 "Because you were brave enough to somehow miss the group of Attors flying away..." He glared those snake eyes at Azriel again, then Rhys let out a bitter laugh. He was upset, understandably so. You could admit that. But it wasn't your fault he decided not to believe you in the first place. 

You glanced to Azriel. His face was grave as his high lord tore into both of you with a tone of a disappointed parent. Like your parent. The thought of your father made your jaw clench, your teeth grind together as you fought to not begin screaming at Rhysand.

"The two of you will see to it that this is taken care of." He took a breath, gesturing to the pawns on the table. "There is a ravine to the west of here-" His dark gifts had the pawns lifting in the air. A fist of fear clenched your stomach. You had forgotten just HOW powerful he was.

"If you cut off the bridges their advancement will be paralyzed. We then may be able to regroup and massacre our way through this group here-" He pointed to the north, a smaller force lay there. Without the flanking force able to be a threat behind you it would work. Your strategist mind flushed out the plan.

 "I expect you both to fix this - as you both caused this issue. I want it done before dawn comes." The pawns he held in the air turned to dust on the table, making a neat pile before the dark lines that indicated the ravine. Hitting his point home, in a non subtle way you supposed. Arrogant cock of a high lord.

"It will work, Rhys." Cassian said softly. He glanced to Azriel. His eyes were pinned to your wing. Your stomach flipped, you glared at Rhys. Before you could call out his plans' faults - or how terribly he was treating you and your considerable 200 units in his army- you saw Cassian shaking his head slightly at you. He rested a hand on Rhys' shoulder. The gesture stood out. The cocky high lord had a sensitive side, perhaps. Your lip curled at the thought.

As if sensing your disgust with him, Rhysand's lip curled "Now get out." He said, voice low and gravely. Cassian gestured for you and Azriel to follow him out. Rhysand reminded you so much of your own father it made you want to spit. A territorial, abusive cock without enough dignity to spare your family name.

You took a deep breath of cold air, hoping to clear your mind. It did little to shake the tension in your shoulders, or the stiffness in your jaw. Making a mental checklist of the weapons you needed to bring, you noticed Azriel following you. Or seeming to.

The shadow singer stalked past your tent, going to the west where the bridges were. "What are you doing?" You asked, jogging to catch up with him. He was already fording through the tall shrubs and grasses by the time you caught up. 

"Taking care of it. I can fix it myself." He growled. You tried to keep up with him, but the jostling was upsetting your injury. 

You put a hand on his shoulder, "Wait, hey." He shrugged you off, scoffing to himself. "I should have gone alone in the first place. I dont understand why he had to send you." He muttered, stalking deeper into the forest. The rain didn't reach you here, under the darkening shadows and mist.

Rage erupted inside you at his words - and you called out the only thing you could think of that might stop him. If he wanted to fight he could damn well stop and have an actual fight with you. "I guess you are just like all the other Illyrians after all." Your blood rushed in your ears, seeming to dampen the sound of everything. The dull hiss of the rain hitting the trees above was barely audible. 

He stood rigid, wings flaring over his shoulders, growing larger with the shadows writing around them. "Do you even have a clue what real Illyrians would do to you right now if you were talking to them like this? What a normal male would do?" He was close. Too close for comfort. Too close to not be fighting or fucking. 

"Considering my father was a very real Illyrian, yes" He stuttered at that. You'd never seen him do such a thing. It would have been funny if that angry set of his features didnt come back. You were ready for more fighting, more yelling but his face went slack, and his eyes met yours finally. They were no longer the cold dark color like in the tent with Rhysand. They were a hazel that matches the warm colors of pine bark in summer. Your heart clenched at the sight of it.

"You're like the Peacemakers, then." He muttered, referencing the old tales of mighty warriors with mixed breeding. Unfortunately a lot of that breeding was not willing. It usually never was, and it had ruined two generations of Illyrian and Peregyn pairings. "Axios was always my favorite." He smiled at the memory. You bit your lip, remembering the true stories of each hero. Not the bastardized verisons peddled throughout the realm.

The offspring became ostracized and cast out of most communities. On Prythian and on the continent. The ones who survived long enough to become trainable though were given the name Peacemakers for a reason. Known for hired bloodletting, no questions asked. 

"I hope your end is not met like theirs." He seemed to shudder at the thought. All the anger boiled out of you at his concern. 

You felt the shame begin to creep up around you. You had sold your services to make ends meet at times. It always left you with a sickening feeling in your gut after. As if the Mother herself was disappointed. "You can help that not happen." You said softly, voice barely audible. If you weren't so deep into the forest you doubted even his shadows could have heard you. "I need.. I need to find my father." Your voice trembled, he approached you slowly. Like he was approaching a wild animal. 

"It might seem-" He began coaxing, holding a hand out to you. Just like he had the other night. A question, a temptation. 

"I know your pain, shadowsinger." You took his hand, letting him lead you to a fallen tree. The soft moss growing on it was a welcome seat after walking for so long following him into the woods. "He would beat my mother and would pluck her feathers." You were grateful for your mother every second she put into resisting his influence for you. For keeping him at bay until you grew enough to be sent to the Peregryn camps for training. She never revealed your cross breeding, only that you had your wings and could use them well. Only because she had taught you. 

Azriel was quiet for a long moment, his shadows moving slowly like waves around your ankles together. "I'm - sorry.. .about your mother. I didn't know." He whispered, pausing and cursing to himself. "I can help you find him. We can look, but we need to get through those enemy lines first. I need you to help me do that." He grasped your hand lightly, as if asking.

 "Lets slice some attor, I guess." You sniffed, the cold making your nose run. At least, you blamed it on that.

+

The camp was mostly asleep by the time you got there. Under the cover of nightfall you were able to silently end most of the Fae that lurked in the camp. With everything going so smoothly, your heart lurched at the sight of Azriel falling backwards, a calling horn in his hand. His siphons flared, and it shattered. But left his siphons dull. He winced as he rolled out of the winging range of a fellow Illyrian with a flail in one hand and a mace in the other.

"Traitorous bastard." Azriel grappled with the Illyrian commander, but they were evenly matched. They knew all the same moves, sparring and sword wise. You launched yourself through the scattered bodies lining the clearing, dodging over puddles of blood and forgotten weapons. The commander had Azriel in a hold that had his wings flipped outward, and the male took the opportunity. He pressed his boot against Az's back and pulled them backward, bending them father than was natural. You roared, not bothering to waste the time to draw your weapon. 

You barreled into him, Azriels hands still reaching backwards to claw at his hands. He toppled over a stack of bodies, yanking you down with him. You scrambled away from him, hands clambering for any weapon. By the time you turned back around to face him, Azriel had already put him on his knees before you. Bending the males wings back just as he had done to the shadow singer.

Your borrowed blade went through his throat, pinning him to the ground as he kneeled. He looked like a statue in the position.  

You spat on the body. "Dont touch wings, asshole." You muttered. Azriel stared at you, as if in shock. You picked up a better looking sword from the ground nearby, wiping it on the cloth inside of your armor sleeve. "What?" You asked. Azriel seemed stunned silent. He seemed shocked in place. After you were sure there were no rogues readying to flee or informants spying, You took a breath, returning to him where he still stood beside the body of the commander.

You pointed back at the winged body speared to the ground behind him. Smiling, you titled the pose. "A prayer to the mother." His eyes went somehow even wider. 

Then he broke out in laughter. You couldnt help but join him, the high of battle making you both delirious. You laughed at his laugh, the stupid face he made laughing back at you. Laughed at the half spoken words that were cut off by more breathless giggles. 

Your sides ached by the time you both sat around the enemy fire, enjoying their spoils of war from a nearby town. The roasted duck smelled particularly good. Azriel heated a pot of tea over the coals, throwing in fresh pine needles from a tree nearby. 

"You know-" He handed you your cup of tea. It was warm in your palm, but his hands were still somehow hotter than the boiling water. He blew on his cup, the steam not going much farther than what his shadows allowed. They seemed to almost play in it. "I am sorry about your mother. I understand why you regard some of us with such...distaste." He put the lid back on the pot and took it off the fire. He looked so natural doing...normal things. Not just posturing for his court and killing. 

You nodded in thanks, not needing too many words with him. "She fled the week after I was formally invited to train in the Peregryn ranks. He found her, and killed her for leaving him. My court holds no rules against such things. He hasn't suffered for it." Your voice shook at the end. "Yet, that is. This.." You gestured to the battlefield, the bodies behind you. "This is just along the way. Killing him will be my destiny. My retribution for my mother." You sipped your tea, letting the burn of it sink in. You hoped it would warm your insides.

"I miss my mother as well." He said, taking a gingerly sip of his tea. He stretched his wings, you could tell by the hesitant way he folded them back in that they pained him. You made a mental note to give him one of your healing potions when you returned to camp.

You sat in silence with him until that fire burned out, and only dull coals were left.

+

"I'm glad you both seemed to have fun. Is the camp clear?" Cassian hissed, following you to the war tent. You sipped your mead, nodding. "Yes, oh strategic one. The bridges are cut too, courtesy of yours truly." You winked at him, making him stop in his tracks. Azriel patted him on the shoulder without a word, then followed you into the tent where Rhys waited. Wrathful or not, you knew he had no rights to tell you off this time. 

Azriel's hazel eyes met your own as you entered the tent together.

[fa-headhoncho]

Untitled TFATWS Fic: Part 3

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Prompt/Background: After turning yourself in to the government following the events of CA:TWS, they lock you up for the crimes you committed during your time at Hydra. Spending years there until Captain America got you on parole during the blip to help fight Thanos. Now, after doing community service acts and helping the broken society, when they give the new Captain America the shield, you’re thrown back into a life you didn’t want.

Word Count: 2058

Reader: Female

Warning: parole officers? canon level violence, john walker

Author’s Note: im being lazy and not writing rn but i have a stock pile of fics so get ready for shitty posts :p

Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

=====

Once you get onto the plane, you don’t hold back your emotions. The fight was enough but how Walker talked to Sam and Bucky on the car ride over sent you over the edge. You had to admit, the kid had good intentions but there was something about him that was off.

You don’t even wait for his private jet to lift off before turning to him and pinning him against the nearest wall. Your forearm was laying across his chest while the other was hovering over the knife clipped onto your hip. His managers and friend stand up, rushing to try to pry you off of him but he raises a hand to stop them. “Who the hell do you think you fucking are, huh?”

“Captain America.” He simply responds, looking at down you with a cocky smile. You let out a scoff, the audacity of this man. “Look, I didn’t know that you knew them.”

“Yes, you did.” You exclaim while your forearm digs into his chest, “You read my parole reports, it shows where I spend my time and who I talk to, Bucky and Sam being the main two who I interact with. They’re my friends and you’re using me as a pawn. Steve wouldn’t have done that, Captain America wouldn’t have done that.”

“You talk about looking up to him but you’re nothing like him. You throw around ‘brother’ like it means nothing, you have no idea what those two have gone through with Steve. You hold the shield like it’s a toy and using it to get what you want.” Your voice is menacing low and you knew if you still had your parole officer that he would be scolding you for it.

“Captain America stood up for the little guys but you’re just using it as a title, abusing it to act like the hero you tried to be before. You’re a fucking joke.” You release him and walk away. The air in the room felt tense as you plop down on the chair closest to the exit, furthest away from his management team who didn’t know what just happened.

“If you think I’m going to stand by your side after how you just treated my friends, you’re dead fucking wrong.” You shake your head and lean forward in your seat.

He lets out a chuckle, taking a step towards you with his hands fisted by his side. “You’re going to help me if I say you are. I say the words and you’re locked back in the goddamn cell where you belong. Remember who brought you here in the first place.”

“Hey, John, calm down.” Hoskins finally buds in. Walker scoffs and shakes his head, following him to join the rest of their team.

You shift your eyes to the floor, knowing he’s right. The power the government is giving their new Captain is a desperate attempt to give hope to those after the Blip. It’s going straight to his head and you knew it was going to get worse in the long run.

The rest of the flight is awkward. The tension never settling even if Walker acts like nothing just happened. Hoskins was keeping a close eye on you like you were going to bounce back to your Hydra days and take out everyone on the plane. To be fair, you wanted to but you weren’t stupid and you didn’t want to give him another reason to send you back.

Once the plane touches down, you’re out the door. The group was barely out of the seats before they could see you disappear into the airport. Haling a cab and taking it back to the apartment they were renting for you, changing out of your gear and plopping down onto the bed.

The events of the day finally collapse down onto you. This situation was going to be a lot harder than you originally thought. Walker explained it as just one mission to see where the Flag Smashers were taking the stolen vaccines and you would be on your way. “Free at last” to use his words but now you were roped in for the long haul.

You couldn’t stop thinking about the look of betrayal on Bucky’s face either. He had confided in you about how he felt about the new Captain and how lost he felt. If Steve wasn’t right about Sam then what the hell was wrong with Bucky?

Before you realize it, tears were streaming down your cheeks. You knew it was too early to try to reach out to them so you decide to give them time. They were still processing their interactions with the new Captain and the new information about the Flag Smashers being super-soldiers.

If you were going to have to work with Walker, you were going to have to figure out a plan. Racking your brain for ideas, one comes to mind that would be risky. It would be worth it, though. Staring up at the ceiling, you start strategizing a way you could pull this off. You were one of Hydra’s best agents so hopefully, this would be easy. After going against your original thought and shooting Sam a quick text, you slowly drift off asleep.

=====

Your leg bounces under the table as you stare at the clock above the door. It was half-past seven and the breakfast rush was winding down. The diner was slowly emptying, leaving a hand full of tables with families and friends enjoying their meal. The waitress comes up to your booth, standing there until you notice her.

“Ready to order yet, hun’?” The nice older lady questions, breaking your gaze from the entrance to her. You shake your head no before turning back to the door. She gives you a sad smile before looking down at her watch, “It’s been almost twenty minutes, sweetie, are you sure your friends are still coming?”

You nod quickly, no matter what kind of circumstances the two soldiers would never stand you up. Their hearts were too kind for that. “I was just a bit early, I’m kind of nervous.” You shyly admit, sending her a smile.

“Well, I’m bringing you something to eat at least,” She commands, you open your mouth to reject but she cuts you off, “on the house.” She gives you a firm look before walking off to the back.

Right as she disappears into the kitchen, the bell of the diner dings. Your head snaps to it and you can’t help the large smile that appears on your face at the sight of the duo walking in. The two immediately see you since you placed yourself right near the door.

Sam sends you back a smile while Bucky just eyes you down. You were wearing a simple sweater and pants while they were in their usual civilian gear, a ballcap and jacket. You couldn’t help but ogle at how good Bucky looked in the blue Hently you two bought when he first came to Brooklyn.

They slip into the booth, their broad figures barely fitting on the small seat. Sam elbows Bucky as he tries to get comfortable but he doesn’t acknowledge it.

“Morning.” You try to make conversation. “How was the rest of your day yesterday?”

“He got arrested.” Sam bluntly says making your jaw drop. “He missed his check-in with the shrink.”

“I told you not to tell her.” Bucky makes out through clenched teeth, he just shrugs in response. You go to scold him but he holds a steady hand out, “You can yell at me all you want later, what do you want? We don’t have much time.” Your heart drops with how aggressive he’s being towards you.

“I want to help you.” You announce, ignoring Bucky’s eye roll as he remembers who you’re working with. He goes to tell you off just like he told Walker but you start rambling before he could utter a word, “I know it’s not the ideal situation but Walker wants me on his team. If I could earn his trust and figure out what their plans are, I can report back to you two.”

“And how do we not know this is a setup?” Sam points out, leaning forward on the table as Bucky looks around the diner for any sign of said Captain America, “They could be listening right now, they still have you under lock and key.”

You gleam at the mention of that, realizing that you haven’t told them the good news. “Not anymore.” You extend your leg out from under the table for Bucky to see your naked ankle. “Walker pulled some strings to get me off my parole earlier.”

A look of realization comes across Sam’s face once he pieces everything together. He knew how mad you were about the new Captain America, how you helped him and Bucky against the Smashers instead of the other two, and how you didn’t know anything about Bucky getting arrested made sense.

“So, you made a deal with the devil.” Bucky snarkily questions, a look of disappointment on his face.

You let out a scoff at his words, “I did what I had to do, James. Not all of us were lucky enough to get pardoned.” You spit back, tired of how he was acting. “He tricked me, told me it was just one simple favor to repay him. Now, he wants me to be a part of his team to take down the Flag Smashers. Told me if I didn’t help that he would send me back to jail and it would reset everything I had accomplished in the last five years.”

Bucky’s eyes soften at your confession, hanging his head in embarrassment at his assumptions. The waitress comes up and sets the small plate of food down in front of you, giving an awkward smile to the boys before walking off.

You let out a sigh, feeling bad for yelling at him. He was being a dick but that didn’t mean you had to be one back to him. He was going through a lot and this was the last thing he needed.

Grabbing the fork, you stare down at the pancakes. “You don’t have to forgive me or anything but just understand where I’m coming from, please.”

They share a look as they silently communicate. Bucky narrows his eyes and Sam tilts his head at him. You look between them as you try to figure out what’s going on.

“I can’t read your mind, cyborg. Use your words.” Sam finally spits out then elbows him one more time, “Will you please scoot over? I’m suffocating over here!”

Bucky sighs and rolls his eyes at his friend. He gets up out of the booth and slips in next to you, using his larger form to push you closer to the window. Your eyes widen in surprise as he slings his arm to rest behind your head. He then takes the extra fork and stabs it into your hashbrowns.

Sam lets out an awe as he watches the two of you eat from your plate, “Don’t you two look so cute.”

“Shut up, Sam.” You both demand at the same time. He raises his hands up in defense, leaning back in the booth with a smug smile on his face. The two of you easily fall into conversation, catching up on things and giggling at the little jokes he was making. Suddenly, after a few moments of silence as the two of you enjoy the meal, you remember what Sam mentioned earlier.

Bucky lets out a little yelp when you send a swift smack to the back of his head, making the hashbrowns he was about to eat fall off his fork. “What the hell was that for?”

“For getting arrested, are you kidding me, James? Do you know what could’ve happened to you? I swear to God, James Buchanan Barnes, you will be the death of me—“ You continue to scold while Sam lets out a booming laugh. Mad at him for being so careless, you poke and prod at his chest but stop when you notice the expression on his face. Your heart can’t handle the way he pulls out his puppy dog eyes and his pouted lip. “Oh, don’t pull that shit with me.”

_____

untitled tfawts fic: @crowleysqueenofhell @mischiefmanaged71 @thewinterrbucky @lizajane3 @ahahafudge @spookycereal-s @a-girl-who-loves-disney @kittengirl998 @ sebby-staan

[rhysismydaddy]

Unholy Matrimony Pt. 1 (Nessian)

Nesta’s part of the Damnation Series.

OOF this took so long sorry. I rewrote it, changed it, then deleted it entirely about 9 times. I literally started writing the version before you, from scratch, on Sunday. All parts are linked below, so I’m only tagging people on this version! To go to the next chapter, there is also a link at the bottom <3

ALSO, an important caviat: Nesta is an only child in this one! I originally wrote it for her to be adopted and not know it, but it wasn’t really relevant to the story, so... idk. Just ignore that plot hole I guess.

Parts 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 -- pls like each part I’m insecure

______________________________________________

~Cassian~

“You’re getting married.”

The glass of bourbon halfway to my mouth pauses, because despite being known for being rash and unpredictable, even I’m surprised by the sudden change in conversation.

My eyebrows raise as I look over at Rhysand, my best friend and Capo, trying to figure out if this bastard is serious. His tone says he is, but that doesn’t make sense, because before a few seconds ago, the word “marriage” was in neither of our vocabularies.

He’s been single for as long as I have, although I’m starting to suspect he’s got a bird in the city. He’s too damn happy these days, and the other day I saw him laugh at something on his phone.

Which is weird, because we both know long-term commitments don’t really do well with our lifestyle.

We were raised to not give a shit about anything except the job. We kill without remorse, live in the shadows, and whatever other shitty euphemism you want to use. Settling down in some suburban, picket-fence prison has absolutely no appeal to Made Men.

Don’t get me wrong, most of us get married at some point. But never for love.

Some men choose a bride that’s pretty and sweet. Someone who will donate to charity and help clean up their image. Governors’ daughters, women from old-money families, and social princesses make up this category.

Some men marry to advance their station in the Family. Second sons who will never inherit the business marry daughters of Underbosses to get a nice boost to their status.

And then there’s the ones who are forced to marry by their capo--ie. me-- so they choose whatever attractive woman that’s in the Family and available. Those are always the happiest.

But regardless of the reasoning, marriage in the mafia is heartless, political, and for me, unnecessary.

I know I’ll have to pick someone eventually, but there aren’t a whole lot of desirable options at the moment. Not many of the other Underbosses have daughters that are over the age of fifteen right now, and I have no interest in doing the child-bride thing.

Plus, there’s no way I’d marry someone outside of the family. At my rank, it isn’t an option.

That leaves... a widow?

The only one I know is Ianthe, and considering I highly suspect she killed her last husband and the fact that she’s crazy, there’s no way in hell I’d legally bind myself to her for life.

So he must be joking.

I take a pull from my cigar and look over at Rhys with narrowed eyes. “Uh huh. Sure. To who, exactly?”

“Volchonok.”

The Wolf Cub.

The cigar snaps in my fingers.

“You’re fucking kidding,” I say, honestly hoping that’s the case. He’s either that or insane, and I’d hate to lock someone who’s like a brother to me in a padded room.

Rhysand’s unflinching gaze doesn’t change, but his tone morphs from that of my friend to my boss. “You will marry her, Cassian.”

“She’s a fucking Russian,” I spit, not understanding. That should be reason enough for him to be joking.

In our world, being Russian is a crime similar to stabbing the Pope.

We’ve been at war over New York with them ever since they decided to try and get a stronghold on the east coast, and I’ve killed more of them than I can fucking count. Now I’m marrying one?

“Yes, she is, and so is her father, Alexei Olov.” Aka the Bratva Boss responsible for blowing up half of St. Petersburg last year when the local police refused to buy his weapons. “You will marry her, move to New York full time, and run the city with her by your side.”

“Why? Two or three more years, and we’ll have the city anyway.” Every day the Russians get weaker, and I’ve been responsible for pushing them out of my city block by block.

So there has to be a reason we’re suddenly okay with the enemy.

Rhysand sighs. “It was his idea, not mine. Orlov has agreed to sell our coke in Moscow and Seattle instead of his usual dealer and will supply us all the weapons we need for five years. There will also be no more midnight raids, bullshit arrests on bullshit charges, or missing shipments. He’s offering you a dowry, too.”

I don’t need his money, but the old fashioned term makes me laugh.

“Yeah? And how much does he think his wolf cub is worth?”

His lips twitch. “Ten million.”

“She must be a real pain in the ass, then, if he’s going to pay me that much to take her,” I chuckle.

Not that ten million dollars is anything but pocket change for the man. Orlov may be losing the fight in New York, but the bastard is richer than sin. 

Selling arms to half of the entire world will do that to a person.

“I hear she’s beautiful,” he says, trying to tempt me to not fight him.

“Then you marry her,” I shoot back, not ready to give up the argument.

“I don’t feel like it.” Fucking typical. Rhysand sighs. “You and I both know we can work this deal to our advantage, so what will make you say yes?”

He could order to me to say yes and I’d have to, but he hates enforcing that kind of authority with me.

So I think it over, make a show of lighting a new cigar. “I want Sera.”

It’s a burlesque club in New York I’ve always been a little envious of, owned by Orlov and operated by his men. I’d tried to buy it a few years back but hadn’t had enough leverage on the Russian to strongarm him into selling.

Now I do.

Rhysand--the only one who knows about my failed attempt to buy the place--nods and tells me he’ll make it happen.

“When’s all this happening, anyway?”

He looks like he might laugh. “Wedding is in a month, but she’s flying in tomorrow night.”

A quick laugh forces its way out of me. Also typical of him to give me absolutely no time to change my mind.

Well, I have a month. That’s already longer than any relationship I’ve ever had. 

Sighing, I stand and shake his hand, cementing the deal before I can even lament the loss of my bachelorhood.

~Nesta~

“Chto sluchilos?”

I slide my gaze to my father, because seriously, that’s the stupidest fucking question I’ve ever heard. 

What’s wrong? What’s wrong? Everything.

“Nichego,” I lie, assuring him for what feels like the tenth time as I look out the window. The plane picks up speed and lifts off, taking me towards an uncertain future, an uncertain place.

I might have told him nothing’s wrong, but inside, I’m screaming.

Three days ago, I woke up to find a marriage contract on the pillow beside me. There was a blank space where my name had been typed and a pen waiting for me to remedy that.

I still haven’t.

I’m not signing anything until I meet this... Cassian. 

God, what an Italian name.

An image springs to mind, one of a slumped-over, hairy-chest beast with slicked back hair and a gold chain. 

I know it’s stereotypical and hopefully incorrect, but I’ve never been to Italy and Alexei strictly forbids me watching movies that portray Italians as anything except revolting. 

But looks aside, there’s one thing I don’t need to guess to know. 

My future husband will be like all the other men in my life: controlling.

Men in the world I live in take what they want, don’t ask for permission, and feel like they’re entitled to anything and everything. I’ve dealt with it my entire life, so it’s more amusing than anything at this point.

I guess I’m a bit non-traditional in that sense, considering most of the women around me have no problems taking orders from their fathers or husbands. But Alexei and I figured out pretty early in life that wasn’t going to work for me.

As he frequently likes to tell me, I started telling him to fuck off when I was five.

What did he expect? All the kids I hung out with were the opposite sex and at least five years older than me, so my vocabulary and mannerisms became pretty... colorful early on.

Regardless, I’m just not looking forward to having to deal with yet another man who thinks he can control me.

“Ty vresh',” Alexei accuses, lips twitching. You’re lying. 

“Konechno.” Of course. 

Of course I’m upset, but I understand what’s happening. I might have found out about it three days ago, but I’ve known it was coming for far longer.

As the only child of the great Alexei Orlov, Wolf of Moscow and Pakhan of the Russian Bratva, I’ve been told my entire life that I will one day be used as a pawn to gain more power.

It would--should--piss me off, but I’ve also been told I’m to one day take my father’s place and run his company.

So by gaining more power for him, I’m also doing the same for myself.

Not that I really give a shit about that kind of thing. I started officially working for Alexei years ago, and I already have enough money saved to never have to work again. 

But in the Bratva, there’s no getting out. I was put in this world by birth, and the only thing that will take me out is death. 

In case it isn’t obvious, I’m not a typical business woman. 

My father is an arms-dealer. 

A less than legal one, if you believe the heinous lies the media spreads about him.

He sells weapons to governments, private armies, and whoever the fuck else has the money to buy. 

He’s also built himself a shipping empire to haul said weapons around the globe, runs the drugs and prostitute rings in Moscow, and has enough real estate to rival most small countries.

It probably sounds like I don’t care, and that’s because I don’t. 

I like what I do in the sense that I have a mind for business. I went to business school and graduated at the top of my class, and I enjoy running the clubs and hotels I have. Trained by Alexei himself, I’m ruthless in negotiations, enough so that people started calling me the Wolf Cub by the time I was twenty. 

But despite being good at it, I’m not particularly fond of the aspect most people think of when they picture my career in the Bratva. I detest drugs, have never hired a prostitute, and don’t really enjoy selling arms to bad people. 

The alleyway meetups, the broken bones and bullet holes, and the blown up houses are all a little tiring to me.

Sure, it sounds exciting. And for a while, it was. I used to lose myself in the chaos, used to enjoy coming home with busted knuckles. But I honestly just got tired of it.

Right now, I don’t have to deal with it as much because Alexei’s still alive. But when he dies and I officially take over the family business, I’ll have to be more involved. Even if the thought makes me want to sigh.

I pull out my laptop and look over the financial report for Sera, my newest club in New York. As predicted, everything’s running smoothly. 

I turn the laptop around to show my father, grinning when he pulls out his reading glasses and leans closer. 

“Starik,” I tease. Old man. 

He flicks my forehead, then reads the report and nods. Then he turns to his phone, probably playing Angry Birds or some shit, and leaves me to work.

The plane ride goes by quickly, and by the time we’ve landed in Chicago, I’ve gotten ahead on my schedule for next week, slept, and changed into what I’ve chosen as the “meeting my future husband” dress.

It’s simple and sleek, the black material clinging to my curves without being obscene. It’s long enough to hide the holster on my thigh, not that I feel in any danger with four personal guards stationed near me at all times.

My heels click as I make my way down the plane stairs and across the tarmac to the waiting sedan, and once my luggage and belongings are unloaded, we head to the Italian Capo’s house.

We’re meeting here, finalizing the contract, and then Cassian and I are flying to New York. 

My new home.

“Try to look happy,” Alexei tells me, his heavily accented English almost ridiculous to hear. He speaks English only when he’s in the states, and considering he hasn’t come here since I graduated B school two years ago, he’s a little out of practice.

“I’m ecstatic,” I say, intentionally using a word I know he doesn’t understand.

His eyes narrow, because it isn’t the first time I’ve used this trick, but he doesn’t call me out on it. We continue to ride in ecstatic silence, eventually pulling up in front of the Capo’s... house.

It’s almost obscene to call it that, considering it’s fucking huge. Like obnoxiously huge.

I heave a sigh, step out of the car, and take in my surroundings. The neighborhood’s quiet, likely filled with friends of the Cosa Nostra too scared to make any noise. 

A butler--seriously, a butler--opens the door and welcomes us inside, and as soon as I step in, I have to repress the urge to roll my eyes.

The amount of dirty money in the air is suffocating. It drips off the vaulted ceilings, down the artwork on the walls, across the marble floors. It’s in the little details of the crystal chandeliers and the mahogany staircase. 

Ridiculous.

One look at Alexei’s disgusted face says he’s thinking the same thing.

Don’t get me wrong, we’re rich. Grossly so. Alexei could have ten houses just like this, if he wanted them.

But he doesn’t. He owns property all over the world, but most of it is commercial or apartment complexes--property that makes him money, in other words. This, however, is a massive waste of capital. 

The butler leads us further through the house and into an office where four men wait. 

One is immediately identifiable as their lawyer, his over-priced cologne making me have to resist the urge to sneeze. The humongous man in the corner is hired muscle, if the boxy shape of the guns under his jacket is any indication.

The man behind the desk is obviously in charge, so I’m guessing he’s the Capo. Rhysand or Rhyland or something weird like that. He takes me in silently, bright eyes not seeming to miss any details. 

That leaves the man leaning against the desk to be Cassian Azara.

My fiancé. 

Our eyes meet, his golden gaze beautiful and wild, and I have to remember to keep my expression bored. 

Because the stereotype, the horrible image I’d conjured up in my mind, couldn’t be further from the truth.

For one, he isn’t hunched-over. He stands tall, leaning a hip against his Capo’s desk with obvious confidence. But I see more than just self-assuredness in his eyes. He seems a little too rough around the edges, wild gaze almost like he’s daring someone to swing at him. 

If the confidence didn’t already make him attractive, his looks sure as hell get the job done.

His hairs long and dark and curly, half of it pulled up in a rouge manner that clashes with the suit he’s filling. He has a few days’ stubble, too, like standing still long enough to shave just isn’t an option. 

His shoulders are impossibly wide, narrowing down to trim hips and legs long enough to make him tower over everyone in the room. 

His knuckles are tattooed and split open, and there’s a cut above his eyebrow that tells me I was correct to assume he’s a fighter by nature. 

Usually, that would be a deterrent for me, but there’s something about the way he’s dressed in a dark suit jacket and crisp white shirt while also looking so untamed that has me cocking my head to study him some more. 

He studies me, too, beautiful eyes taking in the long blonde hair and bright blue eyes offset by pale skin. He looks at the dress like he can see everything underneath, and I have the strangest urge to blush. Jesus, he’s toxic.

He’s attractive, is what I’m getting at.

Which is not what I had planned on, considering I’d been trying to think of a plan on how to not sleep with him, but suddenly that’s all my mind can focus on.

His lips twitch like he knows what I’m thinking, and I realize we’ve just been standing here staring at each other for a bit too long.

So I turn back to Alexei and shrug like I’ve seen what my future husband has to offer and aren’t impressed in the slightest. 

I toss the marriage contract on the desk, grab the Capo’s fancy little fountain pen out of his hand, and sign my name on the blank above my name. 

Cassian watches, but I ignore him entirely until the ink has dried. Then I look up at him through my lashes and wink, turn on my heel, and leave the room.

~Cassian~

I think I’m in love.

Fuck.

She hasn’t said a single goddamn word, but the way she looked at me has me feeling itchy all over, anticipation and nerves rolling through me. I feel like I feel before I fight or something exciting happens.

Like I’m primed and ready and need it to happen now. 

Nesta Orlov, my bride to be, is nothing like I expected. 

I was fully braced for some meek little woman, similar to most of my friends’ wives, to come in and smile and say hello. 

But nope. Nesta didn’t smile; she came in like she was walking onto a battlefield. 

And she didn’t smile. She looked me over, clinical blue gaze noticing too much, and left me feeling winded. God, she’s beautiful. Just looking at her made me hot.

She also didn’t say hello. 

Just signed the contract and left, like this was nothing more to her than a boring business deal. I mean, that’s what it is, but... I don’t know, I expected more of a reaction. 

I’ve heard from some Underbosses that their wives cried or raged when they were forced to sign, but shit if that were the case with Nesta. She honest to God looked like she didn’t care.

Alexei, on the other hand, does look a little pissed about the situation, but I couldn’t care less of the old man’s opinion. He’s signed the contract, so to me, he’s irrelevant. Regardless, he and Rhys proceed to iron out some of the details about the wedding and other shit I’m not paying attention to.

Then they shake hands, and the Russian warlord turns to leave. 

He reaches the door and looks over his shoulder at me, and there’s amusement in his cold gaze as he mutters, “Udachi.” Good luck. 

As soon as he’s gone, Roman and the lawyer follow, leaving me alone with Rhys. 

He slides the contract to me, and I sign my name next to hers, making this shit official. 

“This should be interesting,” he comments, vague as usual. 

I sigh, because I have a feeling interesting isn’t going to cover it. 

_____________________________________________________

NEXT CHAPTER

Tags: @elorcan-trash @januarystears @emikadreams @sjm-things @santas-dwynwen @thebitchupstairs @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @shinya-hiiragi @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @ireallyshouldsleeprn @highqueenofelfhame @rowaelinismyotp @nahthanks @ghostlyrose2 @lovemollywho @tillyrubes10 @claralady @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @thegoddessofyou @awesomelena555 @booksofthemoon @greerlunna @jlinez @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @masstrash @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace

[atalana]

[copied over from my cr blog, also this is gonna get long, i’d apologise but im not sorry]

okay, so

this is a rant probably about 7 years in the making, bc when i first watched lok i had not done any music study, i had not done any composing of my own, my knowledge of music theory was at a primary school level and i still thought tv soundtracks were just made by one person composing a whole cache of music and then the audio editors pick and choose what track to place where

(spoiler alert that’s not how film and tv scoring works, i have now done a music composition course where we had to score a short film, among other things, and i have so much more respect for tv composers jesus christ)

but this one stuck out to me even way back then, bc me barely knowing what a leitmotif was was like “hey this one little refrain keeps popping up whenever bolin does lavabending, and i like it, i’m gonna see if it’s on the soundtrack”

it was not, and that’s sort of where i left it back in 2014, but i actually did a rewatch of lok pretty recently out of nostalgia, and then noticed it even more

and to explain why (and this is also a little bit why five’s stuck out to me in tua, i’ll get to that in another ask), let’s cover, leitmotifs, and tv scoring in general

so a leitmotif is basically just a short musical idea that represents something in a piece of music. when i studied motivic development we were encouraged to make that motif four notes or less, and then develop it into something longer (aka a theme), because if you can constantly come back to a really short idea while keeping the piece moving, that’s what makes a piece of music memorable

(you can ignore those rules on purpose but that’s a different essay)

so the most common way that a leitmotif shows up in soundtracks is to represent a character or a location - you play the motif when that character shows up or when you’re in that location and boom, the audience associates that motif with that person place or thing, and you can then use this to tell the audience things without actually telling them. for example, star wars playing the imperial march whenever someone does something darth vader related - darth vader isn’t on screen, but you can feel his presence, because his music is playing

and if we were a film score, where we have two hours to show one particular character’s development, great! we give them a simple motif, and then as they grow as a person we change their motif to reflect what is happening to them, until we end up with something that communicates on a subconscious level how much they’ve grown. we toss in as much symbolism as we can, and we have a really great soundtrack that’s instantly memorable

tv scoring, is harder. partially because of time constraints (have you ever composed half an hour of original music a week, and had to make sure it fits perfectly with every beat of what’s happening on screen? these guys have), partially because there’s a much larger focus on ensemble casts

so what atla and lok do, for the most part, is not score individual character motifs for everyone. this is fairly common in tv soundtracks, instead we score ideas, concepts, and feelings - these’ll come up a lot more and give you more information than just ���oh hey this character’s on screen”

the avatar state, for example, has the strongest and most recognisable theme across both shows. i’m linking an atla track in here because it has the best example but you’ll know this shows up with korra too - and with particularly important moments for wan, for kyoshi, etc. they also appear in the opening of both shows, four strong notes that start and end on the same note (in the case of what i’m linking, it’s an F#)

the first part of this track is the more uncertain, pensive theme that comes up when both avatars are feeling doubt/worry/sadness, but then it transitions into the more recognisable four. worth noting though, those are both basically the same motif. if i write them out back to back, you’ll notice they both have four notes and start and end on F#. if i had to guess, four notes four elements, and it comes back to the start because the avatar is a cycle.

korra has a theme for when she’s fighting, but not an individual character theme. the airbenders as a concept have a theme, republic city has thematic instruments, as do some big name characters, like iroh and his tsungi horn (this is also a cross-series thing, he’s always playing it in atla, it shows up when zuko has to make big moral decisions, and when we first meet iroh in the spirit world in lok, it shows up there too, to let the audience know who this is before we properly see him)

so, if korra doesn’t get a single theme and instead has several for different aspects of her life, and mako and asami follow along with the mood of the story like all the other characters, the fact that bolin has a personal leitmotif at all, let alone a solid, developing one, is pretty remarkable!

now, granted, it mostly starts with book 3, before then he was like every other character, but it has clear symbolism through those last two books! and, initially i thought it was related only to his lavabending, since that’s most of when it shows up, but since my rewatch, i’ve started calling it his hero theme

see, when people wanna criticise mako and bolin, usually the comments they get are that bolin’s too immature and mako’s too serious/uptight. but like, that’s how they work, you can’t analyse either of them without the context of the other. since they were little kids on the streets, bolin chases his heart and mako makes sure they don’t die from it, that is their entire childhood. and neither would have got here on their own because mako wouldn’t take the necessary risks and bolin wouldn’t take the necessary precautions. (like. remove either one from the equation and they’d still be working for the triple threats bc s1 and their flashback miniseries make pretty clear that bolin got them out and mako kept them out)

and then book 2 proves it! because it splits team avatar up, and what happens? bolin is totally taken advantage of by varrick and used as a pawn in his evil plan and mako ends up in jail

so what’s book 3, to them? it’s, being able to find themselves without having that codependency. mako no longer has someone to protect, which is what he’s based his whole life around so far - bolin’s doing fine and he’s no longer dating either korra or asami. and bolin’s trying his hand at some of that responsibility (look at how he immediately adopts kai who is explicitly them but younger because he wants to be the older brother for once). most importantly, they find the rest of their family, and stop being defined by being orphans. they don’t have to be that singular piece of a puzzle, they can just be themselves. and that’s where bolin’s character really starts to shine, because that’s when they bring in the bending plot, and bending, perhaps more than any other character, really gets to the heart of who bolin is

if you want more of my thoughts on that i have an essay here, but tl;dr: bolin’s an extremely powerful earthbender, but he’s not a metalbender because metalbending requires you to double down on the earth characteristics and think like an earthbender, and bolin doesn’t, he’s too fluid for that, which is one of his major strengths, so of course he can lavabend

and finally - to his motif itself! (as a note, i’ve put all of these in the same key to show where it repeats, but there’s a variety of keys used in the show)

as far as i can find, it first shows up in s3e8, when bolin stuns p’li with this well placed shot

[Edit: it first showed up in the s2 finale, but again in a simplified version and again with him doing something heroic with earthbending, so we can still start the analysis here]

mako volunteers bolin for that job, because he knew bolin was capable of it. why? because bolin landed an identical shot earlier in the episode, after trying to metalbend, getting frustrated he can’t, and cheating with some extremely well aimed earthbending. it’s just a short refrain and you barely notice it, but it’s the first connection of this motif with the theme of bolin’s bending

it looks like this, and it’s always played on a trumpet, which is part of why i call it the hero theme, because, if you’re looking at music from a western perspective, trumpets were used to herald kings, and then used to represent military glory, and then when superhero themes started happening, they used trumpets too - it’s basically western music shorthand for hero these days

(it’s also symmetrical so that helps with the good vibes)

and he’s saving everyone here, so it’s linked to his bending, but it’s also linked to his heroism

it ties the two together, and they are tied together.

when’s the next time it shows up? episode 10, when the brothers are in prison in ba sing se, and bolin tries to metalbend them out. again, he’s doing this to save people, and this motif gets a few notes added on to the end in a raising pattern - they’re inspiring, but they don’t go anywhere. which is exactly what happens in the scene, because he’s trying to go about this in the wrong way. mako believes in him, but it won’t (and doesn’t) work

it appears in episode 12 when bolin saves everyone from ghazan destroying the temple, in a more fancy orchestral remake of the first version - it’s impressive, but it hasn’t actually developed yet, it’s just his discovery of it

the book 3 finale already has its own fucking amazing soundtrack, i love that entire episode’s score, but it gets its own moment there too, and the first real development!

because what we hear is not what we’ve heard before. we know it’s the same theme, because it’s using those signature trumpets, but it’s the second part of this phrase, the answer to the question supplied by the first one. why? because bolin’s figured out who he is and he’s starting to use it. it still hasn’t settled yet though, it’s early days and he’s still just turning ghazan’s lava back on him, so again, it raises, leaving it on a question mark

it doesn’t appear in s4e7 when he lavabends as a warning against the escaped prisoners, because he’s using it as a threat, not to help people. but it does later in the episode when he uses lavabending to save them from kuvira. and that’s when we get the first full phrase, question and answer

it keeps the first motif identical, takes out the first note of the second, and ties them together - except now it’s not open ended, now it knows where it’s going - it’s been three years, at this point bolin is confident in both himself and his bending

and then that phrase appears all over the place in the finale, because all bolin does is save people - everyone from the exploding building, he slows the giant mecha with lavabending, he saves opal, he slows the giant mecha again by collapsing a building on it, and most importantly, he’s the one rescuing his brother this time, instead of the other way around (though that one doesn’t get a motif appearance bc admittedly a fuck ton of other things are happening in the soundtrack at the time)

so to that question asked in book three - who is bolin when not next to someone else? well, funnily enough, we saw it in book two as well, just in a warped way, playing nuktuk. it just wasn’t truly him because it was created by varrick, and he needed to get away from varrick too. the question put forward by the narrative is who is bolin, and the answer given by the music is, he is a hero. and i don’t know why bolin is the only one to get a theme like this, but i think it may have something to do with the fact that, while everyone in team avatar has been a hero and saved people, he is the only one who has, from the start, solely been motivated by wanting to help people. he follows his heart, and his heart cares, about everyone. it’s been the driving force behind almost everything he’s ever done. and i love him so much

[batboyimagines]

Cold-Blooded [Damian Wayne x Male Reader]

Your Dad and your Ma’s relationship is... rocky to say the least. They were never actually together, no marriage or anything. It was just one night of bad decisions that made you.

So your birth wasn’t well planned. You think the reason your ma even kept you was because she was lonely. She’s raised you to the best her ability for they past fourteen years but it was only recently your dad found out. Now they have joint custody.

See, all of that isn’t normal per say, but it’s not bizarre or anything. Just two inexperienced, lonely people screwing up in more ways than one to make a whole nother screw up. However, your parents aren’t exactly average. One’s not even human. Anymore.

Medusa and John Constantine. By the gods, that’s probably the worst match imaginable. Moms great and all, you really do love her, but she’s a little crazy. Being exiled on an island all alone does that to you. And Constantine’s just... a mess. Not even a hot one.

Even so, you don’t mind being pawned between the two. They’re both great in their own ways and you appreciate the both of them. Right now you’re hanging out at your dad's house. Though it feels more like hanging out with an awkward uncle than a dad.

It’s nearing about 8:00 in the morning, not that you know that. You’re asleep on the couch, gazing blankly at the ceiling. You forgot to close your eyes while you sleep again. It’s sort of creepy.

A sudden pounding on the door startles you up, breaking the staring contest you were having with the ceiling. A contest which you totally won. You blink dazedly and the pounding starts up again.

Mournfully slipping out from under the soft, warm stack of blankets you slept under, you lumber towards the door. You squint through the peephole.

Through the peephole you see a warped view of six costumes lunatics of all sizes. You lean back from the door and let yourself have a begrudged yawn. Gods, it’s way too early for this. Dad’s still asleep even with all the racket.

The littlest lunatic in the hood pounds the door hard enough for it to shake in its frame and you decide you’ve had enough. You don’t bother with the chain latch and just open the door a crack.

“Do you know how early it is?” You groan. The little lunatic, who is actually around the same height as you, scoffs.

“It’s eight pm. A normal person would be awake and ready for the day by now.”

“Well, I don’t know how you people are up then because anyone who dresses like that isn’t normal.” The green guy snorts.

“Listen, we’re sorry to wake you, but is this the residency of John Constantine?” The guy in the black leotard asks.

“... no, why?” You ask suspiciously.

“We are the Teen Titans and we are in need of magical assistance.” The really tall, really exposed, redhead says. “We require his assistance, on behalf of the justice league.” You tense a bit at that.

Okay, you don’t hold the things that the gods did to your mom against those two members of the justice league, Aquaman and Wonder Woman. They seem like nice folks who really do want to do good and not for the selfish, vain reasons gods usually do, but…

They got their abilities from the same gods who really, really messed your mom up for no good reason. So call you petty, but you don’t want to associate with them.

“Sorry, he’s not here.” You say attempting to close the door on them. The hooded lunatic jams the door with his hand.

“This is a matter of utmost importance, you will take us to Constantine.” He demands. You scowl at him and try to shut the door on his fingers.

“Screw off weirdo, he’s not here!”

“He is, you are lying!”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Am NOT!”

“Are TOO!”

“Christ on a cracker, what the bloody hell is going on?!” Your dad shouts, slamming the door shut, fully unlocking it and swinging it back open. Looks like the racket finally got him up. He sags at the sight of the troupe of crazies. “The hell do you people want?”

“We need your help.” Leotard man says.

“Of course you do. With what, I mean?”

“My father, Trigon, has possessed the justice league and we need a way to stop him.” The girl in purple replies. Your dad tenses.

“Trigon, eh? Sounds like a piece of work.” He says. You pretend to cough.

“Says the piece of work.” You tease under your breath because what’s even the point of a dad if you can’t make jabs at his life choices? He gives you a look and you just grin up at him.

“Why should I help you? The kind of magic that I’d have to use against that guy is expensive and tricky. I’m not gonna do it outta’ the good of my heart.”

“Because if you don’t help us, he could destroy the world.” Leotard says.

“Of course he could.” Dad breathes out as he sags against the door frame. You pat his arm. He looks at you and you give him an awkward smile. It seems to help him to a decision. He straightens up. “Well, I guess I don’t want the world to end. I need somewhere for this one to grow up.” He pats your head affectionately.

“Thanks.” You say, a bit embarrassed. Half because that’s the sappiest thing he’s ever said to you and half because, well, it’s nice to know you mean something to him. Even if he didn’t know that you existed until a few months ago.

“Well, come on in then.” He says turning from the doorway and into the apartment. The troupe of crazy people that nearly just broke into your house follow. You flounder for a moment.

“Wait, seriously? We’re just gonna let some random strangers, who nearly just broke in our house, inside just like that?” Your dad looks a bit guiltily at you. 

“Sorry bud, but this happens a lot more than I’d like.” He raises his hand hesitantly and gently lays it on your shoulder. “You can go back to your mother while I deal with this, if you’d like.”

“No, no it’s okay,” You quickly reassure, “it’s not bad it’s just… kinda weird. You know it’s weird right?” He snorts.

“Of course I do, but to be honest it’s almost normal for my line of work.”

“You should get into a different line of work then.”

“You know, I probably should.” 

Leotard man clears his throat- you know what? You want to know their names before they commandeer any more of your father-son bonding time. “By the way, what are your names? I feel I should know them before we do anything else.”

“Oh! My apologies,” Redhead replies, “I am Koriand’r, of Tamaran. And this is Blue Beetle, Beast boy, Raven, Nightwing, and Robin. We are the Teen Titans.”

“No offense, but you look more young adult than teenager?” She smiles sheepishly.

“Well, I was part of the original titans. I am now the leader.”

“Oh, okay, makes sense.”

“Alright,” your dad cuts in, “so what’s your plan for Trigon? What exactly do you want from me?” He and the Teen Titans begin to plan. You stick around for a bit, to get an idea of what your dad does. It’s not very interesting. So ten minutes into planning, you slip away to make breakfast.

Now, your dad is a mess. Not kind of a mess, a straight up mess. The kitchen is almost a reflection of your father. It’s a huge mess. There’s takeout boxes and dirty dishes strewn across every counter, no room for literally anything there is so much garbage. And this is only a few weeks worth of build up. Dad actually cleaned up before you arrived. 

Before you can even begin cooking you have to clean off the counters for some space. You’re trying to balance takeout boxes on top of the overflowing garbage can when a voice sounds from the doorway.

“This place is repulsive.” 

“HUAUGH FUCK!” You whip around flinging the takeout boxes across the room. Hooded lunatic, uh Robin you think, dodges them expertly. He seems a little surprised. You clutch at your chest, “Jesus, Christ man!”

“Apologies, I… did not mean to startle you.” He raises his hands a bit, as if calming a rapid animal. 

“Apology accepted.” You calm your rapid heart. Your freak out seems to have spooked any animosity Robin had earlier. The two of you stand around awkwardly. He’s a stranger in your house and he’s in a strangers house, which does not make for easy conversational partners. He looks around, avoiding your gaze. His eye catches on a painting on the wall.

“That is… an interesting picture.” He tries.

“Uh yeah, that’s actually a picture of my mom.” You say, playing with your hands.

“That is Medusa.”

“Yeah, she’s my mom.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I see.”

“She doesn’t actually look like that, that painting’s really inaccurate.”

“Why does your father keep it up?”

“I dunno,” You’d feel weird cooking with him watching you, so you make your way past Robin and into the dining room, “I think either pettiness or affection.”

“Pettiness?” He asks following you.

“Yeah, I mean, they aren’t together? I think they were at least acquaintances before they, uh, ‘conceived’ me. But they don’t seem to like each other very much nowadays.” You say, pulling a chair out from the table. You push the one across from you out with your bare foot and gesture towards it. Robin hesitates a moment, but decides to sit down. “What about your parents? They like each other any more than mine do?”

“No,” He snorts, “I think they like each other much less.”

“Oh.”

The conversation stalls. You shift uncomfortably. Robin stares a hole into the grimy table. 

“Why not?”

“Pardon?”

“Why don’t your parents like each other?” He seems to think over his answer. 

“They are on opposite sides of the law.” 

“Oh, that’s tough.”

“Yes.”

“There’s tons of couples on opposite sides of the law though.” 

“Not them. My father’s moral code cannot bend to suit my mother.”

“Ah, I see.” You lean across the table and pat his arm. He looks at it a bit suspiciously, you pull it back. “I’m sorry about your parents.”

“No need to apologize, I’ve already come to terms with it.”

“Yeah, well, still sucks.” You say standing up. “I was gonna make food, wanna lend me a hand? I’m still new to cooking appliances. And electricity.”

“How are these things new to you?” He asks, even as he stands up to help anyway.

“Dude. I grew up on an island with no electricity or WiFi. All of this,” you gesture to the space around you, “is totally alien to me.”

“Ah, I see. Yes, I will assist you.”

“Thanks.”

He failed to mention that he has never used a toaster either. You both nearly burn down the apartment, had it not been your dad’s fire extinguisher.

TO BE CONTINUED

[ana-benn]

Inspired by this interview:

If Only You Knew

Jamie Benn friends to lovers story featuring: angst, fluff, and a whole lot of miscommunication.

When you'd first accepted a job as the Stars PR assistant you figured you'd stay a few months, boost your resume, and move on. Quickly though you found yourself falling in love with the guys, and the job. It was fun to just be able to interact with them on a human level, and the fact that you knew the sport helped. They trusted you, so when your boss couldn't handle something you were called in. Especially if it was something pitiful. A guy wanted to do dinner and talk about getting his face out there more, or dealing with a girlfriend fall out. It usually fell on you.

The best part about the job was the friends you'd made, and for the first time in your life you had a beat friend. You and Jamie had instantly bonded, both being the ones who preferred sitting off by yourselves during events and parties. Of course the addition of Boston's resident playboy had originally put a damper on things, but they'd found a balance. Each bringing out the best in the other. It was endearing really, and you found yourself enjoying a different side of your best friend.

Gone was the shy behavior replaced by a new confidence and a desire to just be as good as he could. You found this new side of Jamie more and more attractive. At the same time it seemed all of a sudden the guy who'd schedule meetings when Tom, your boss, was busy so you'd have a built in excuse to have a mid-week hang out day was gone and all of a sudden he started dating like crazy. You'd spent so long taking for granted that Jamie was just as much of a workoholic as you, it was a shock to the system when he started bailing on your biweekly movies and junk food sessions. He wasn't able to eat crap that often, and you tried to eat right typically so it was a fun night, and one you both looked forward to.

Now here you stood in his dining room for the first time in months, after a decent but ultimately disappointing season, setting out a spread. Wings, pizza, beer, every kind of chip Jamie had in his pantry, with ice cream in the freezer for later. Your own growing interest in him romantically was under control at the idea of just spending quality time with your best friend.

"Hey!" Jamie greeted walking downstairs. "That smells amazing, but I've got to bail tonight. Jordie is on his way with crappy movies though so you and him can definitely hang out."

"Oh," was all you could think to say, trying to hide the disappointment on your face. "That's okay I'll just head home then."

"Come on, don't be like that. Jordie loves your company," Jamie tried.

"I like his too, but I kinda thought it would be nice to spend time with you," you tried to cover. "Don't worry about it. Another time."

"Come on, just hang out with Jordie. It's not like you have other plans," Jamie said walking to the living room.

You followed him, anger bubbling up, "I'm sorry?"

"Look you're here, right? So you didn't make plans, so hang out with Jordie, so you aren't alone," Jamie shrugged.

"I didn't make plans, because I thought you were making time for me for once." You muttered.

"What was that?" Jamie asked, you could sense his frustration mounting too.

"Jamie," you started, pausing to control your anger. "If you don't want to spend time with me that's fine. But don't pretend okay? I'm a big girl. I can find someone else to spend time with, you don't need to pawn me off on your brother."

"I'm not pawning you off," Jamie tried to placate you. "I just forgot Segs set up a double date, and I promised I'd come."

"Jamie, you don't have to do this," you sighed rubbing your fingers over your face.

"Obviously I do," he retorted.

"Jamie, just be honest!" You said exasperated.

"Honest about what, exactly?"

"You make time for the things you care about," you felt the break in your voice. "Don't pretend to care about me if you can't be damned to show it."

"Can we try irrational for $1000," Jamie snarked.

"I just can't do this anymore!" You yelled, furious. His mocking was the end of your rope.

"Really?" Jamie shouted back, sarcastically, "I thought you were being a bitch for no reason."

"You know what Jamie," you fumed. "Fuck you. I'm leaving." You went to grab your purse off the dining room table, where dinner sat getting cold.

"Fine," came his cold reply. "Lose my fucking number while you're at it."

"Bye Jamie," you said shutting his front door behind you.

You felt yourself fighting tears wondering how it came to this. Two hours ago you were excited, looking forward to a nice relaxing evening. Now it seemed everything was falling apart.

You made it into your car, and halfway to your apartment before the tears fell. You sucked it up long enough to get home, and before you'd even made it to you room your heart shattered. You laid in the hallway for an undeterminable amount of time, before the tears stopped. Your eyes hurt from crying so hard, and it felt like your heart had been removed from your body. You felt like you should call someone, anyone really, but the only voice you wanted to hear was the one who left you this sobbing waif.

It wasn't fair to expect Jamie to act any different really. You were the idiot who caught feelings, not him. He was free to date or spend his time however he wanted to. You just wanted the courtesy of him saying it, instead you lashed out and watched the friendship you'd built crumble.

That caused a new round of sobs as you thought you heard something in your hallway. You wrote it off as you focused on trying to calm your breathing. As you finally started to feel calm you heard a distinctive thump against your door. You slowly got up, wiping your face as best you could, thinking that there was a chance your elderly, Mr. Barnes, had fallen. You looked out your peephole and saw nothing. So you opened the door and before you could react you had a very drunk 6'2, 207 pound hockey player at your feet.

"It's you!" He exclaimed.

"Jamie?" You questioned. He nodded excitedly, "What are you doing here."

"I was drunk," he explained.

"I know that," you replied. "Why are you at my apartment instead of your house?"

"You've been crying," he announced finally getting up. You closed the door as he wandered to your couch, throwing himself on it. You hated how at home he looked here.

"Jamie, it's late I don't want to fight anymore. I'm going to get you a blanket," you said walking to your linen closet.

When you returned he looked at you with sad eyes, "I never want to fight with you."

"Jamie, I'm sorry about what I said okay. My feelings were hurt," you tried to soothe. He wasn't in a place to have a real conversation, but you knew he wouldn't sleep without something.

"You hurt mine first," he mumbled. His voice sounding much more sober suddenly.

"What?"

"You went out with Ben what's-his-face. I wanted to punch his face, but noooo. Tyler said I had to just let you realize we were perfect together, but you never did," he sounded so sad and broken.

"Jamie," you sighed out. But before you could say anything he was asleep.

You eventually made your own way to bed, determined to talk to Jamie tomorrow.

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

The next morning you greeted Jamie with a bottle of water and Tylenol, "Here." You felt suddenly very shy with him, not knowing how today would go.

"Thanks," he mumbled downing all of it in one go. "How'd I get here?"

"I was hoping you knew."

"All I know is we fought, I went to my stupid dinner and I think I drank the place," he said rubbing his head. "Oh God, what did I say to you?" He suddenly jerked his head up.

"A lot actually. Apparently I hurt your feelings?" You said, not wanting to have this conversation, and also desperately wanting to have it.

"Look, I had feelings for you, but your my best friend. I shouldn't lash out like that, I'm sorry," Jamie apologized.

"What if I have feelings for you?" You asked, shyly meeting his brown eyes.

"Then, we have a new conversation to have," he said gulping slightly.

"I don't think so," you said, sliding your leg over his seating yourself on his leg. His hands immediately wrapping around your waist. "I think it's best if we just start right here." You kissed him softly.

"Now," you said, getting off him and taking his hand. "Neither of us got any sleep, so come with me." You pulled him back to your bed room onto your bed. As you both got situated his arms wrapped around you and your head rested on his shoulder. "We can't figure everything else out after we sleep," you whispered as you felt his lips against your head.

@captainbenn sorry it took so long. I already started a part two!

[jamiedc-they-them]

Who you used to, and still can, be (Platonic)

Requested Imagine: “Agents of shield x reader where the reader went missing in earlier seasons but later in season 5 when daisy has to be in the fighting arena cause of the kree the opponent she’s facing is the reader but reader is wearing a mask and has no memory of how she got to space let along the future or the team. So when the readers mask comes off because of a blast by daisy it’s like winter soldier but eventually the reader remembers the team? I love ur writing” 

Daisy Johnson was tired; she had just beaten Sinara, and still Fitz hadn’t acted. She looked up to her friend, silently questioning that choice; he only shook his head slightly, but she still saw it. He was warning her: Not yet.

She didn’t know why, but she trusted her brother; so, she just nodded and got ready as for what was next.

She, however, did want Fitz to act soon-ish; otherwise this plan would fail, and Fitzsimmons would forever be stuck in this place with no way out.

She couldn’t let that happen to either one of the two, they had already lost each other so many times; to have this happen would probably be the last straw and they’d just give up.

Although, part of Daisy knew her siblings wouldn’t ever give you; they’d been through worse (with the others and without) and the whole reason they made it was because of their bond. Those bonds that never seemed to either waiver or break.

Still, for a while now, they were missing someone in their ranks; a void that was never going to be filled again. They never brought it up, the mere thought of it bringing them too much pain to bear with.

You were with the team since the start and were the closest with Daisy out of all of them; you both just gravitated towards each other and acted like you’d been best friends since forever, even if you had just met and were just getting used to each other.

Ward was once right in his synopsis of how he had wished whatever had happened to you had been physical; something she could hunt and hurt for taking you away from your family.

She looked at Jemma at the reminder of you; even though further away, Jemma seemed to be thinking of you two, the sad twinkle in her friend’s eye gave it away.

Still, all that could wait; she needed to get those friends that she knew the location of out of this place as soon as possible and save the world from her ability. Nothing else mattered in this moment, not even their never fully processed grief.

“Seems the Destroyer is a lot more capable than I gave her credit for,” Kasius said as he leaned forward with intrigue, “Placing our bets, yet friends?” He asked the group of people that certainly weren’t friends; if anything, In Fitz’s mind, they were just pawns in a much larger game the man was trying to play.

Still, they all eagerly nodded, placing a smile on the man’s face as he looked back down at Daisy; the woman was looking defiantly at him, seemingly drawing from the quick trip back to her missing family member.

Pain had always been a powerful motivator.

“Well, I suppose we should waste no time in moving things along, shall we?” He said; Daisy sighed, knowing what that meant, it meant another fight.

She closed her eyes, just desperate wanting to get this thing over and done with as soon as possible.

The new opponent emerged, this one wearing a mask to hide their face from view; Daisy wanted to roll her eyes but rolled her shoulders instead to try and help get them ready for what was about to come.

At least with this opponent, she wouldn’t be able to see their face; at least it made it less personal, she guessed; silver linings and all that.

She had one last look with Fitz; this time giving him the message: Whenever you’re ready.

“I present to you, Tornado!” He yelled, as if the name was impressive; Daisy did roll her eyes at the name.

Wasn’t the most original; then again, her own name was either “Quake” or “Destroyer of worlds” so it was either ominous or exactly on point. She wasn’t sure which option scared her more, really.

She took a breath and rolled her neck, trying to prepare for what was to come.

The next moment, she attacked first.

 Daisy Johnson was someone that you called a sister, and she called you her sibling. You both just got along instantly, there was something about each other that made you want to get to know each other.

Sure, she called Jemma (and now Elena) sisters and Fitz and Mack brothers; but, with you, it was a lot quicker. It was probably the way you’d come to check up on her after every mission, the way you’d be concerned for her well being when she came back and after a job well done.

She had seen it a few times before, gangs of people in the orphanage; but she’d never really experience it before. That was until she met you guys, and she almost let herself believe that she had found a place to belong in.

Of course, in your mind, she was already a part of this whole thing; granted, just not with authorisation. But she was here, putting up with your insecurities and assuring you that you too belonged here.

So, that was probably what made her declare you family to her first; the way you always went out of your way to help her when needed; when Coulson was taken by Raina, you defended her against agent Hand, then followed her out and helped her track the man down.

With Jemma, she had kind of become the doctor on sight. As much as she wasn’t really trained in that field, she had done a good job so far; you made sure to tell her. The reward for so would be seeing your friend flash you a genuine smile that did wobble a little.

Fitz was her best-best-best friend, but you and Daisy (Skye at the time) pretty quickly became two of her closest friends. It was most likely the way that you were all cramped on this plane and forced to work together, something Fitzsimmons disagreed with at first. But it had slowly started to grow on them.

Fitz too, had some esteem issues when with anyone else; so, whenever Ward would accidentally go too far, you’d defend the Scotsman, something both him and Simmons appreciated. He quickly knew you were someone in his corner whenever he needed.

Ward had been taught to be closed off; obviously, his training wouldn’t disappear magically. He did, however, start to soften to you all and see you as friends rather than just co-workers.

May showed in her own way that she cared for all of you. Mainly with you, it was by checking on you as your insomnia did it’s job of fucking your sleep schedule up. Secretly, she had asked Fitzsimmons to either try and develop something to help you, or to find you some sleeping pills. Something they did without a second thought.

Coulson had always noticed you in the background, doing your training and whatever else you needed to do to get by; but, other than that, you weren’t really noticed nor appreciated.

It hurt him a little, seeing someone of your calibre not have an opportunity to use your skills. He knew that, if he didn’t bring you on board, you’d surely be stuck in here forever. Destined to never get out and see the world for all the nihilistic darkness at is worst, and optimistic brightest at it’s best and everything in between.

“Agent Y/L/N?” He asked as he approached your one time when you were eating; as soon as you saw him and heard your name, you almost chocked on your drink. Coulson was quick to pat your back to try and save you.

“Thank – Thank you, sir.” You said once your coughing fit had calmed down; he gave you an assuring smile as he sat next to you.

“Noticed your scores today, doing good, Y/N,” You smiled at his compliment, “But, it’s not your best. Your doing this on purpose,” You looked genuinely offended at his accusation; but he also noticed the look of hesitation in your eye. The look that told him he had assumed correct.

Either way he was quick to assure you, “Don’t worry, this isn’t about that. No, rather, I wanted to propose something to you.”

 So, strength was your thing, Daisy realised as she was punched, spinning around before hitting the wall. Now she realised how you got your name, at least. All-be-it in a painful manner.

“Ok,” She said as she raised herself up from the ground, taking note of how you allowed it and didn’t continue your assault, “Alright you freaky bitch, let’s go.” She said, hyping herself up and gaining the adrenaline she needed to push through this fight.

She tried to limit the use of her powers, knowing that doing so would allow her some surprise to you when you used them.

At the same time, though, you were using restraint as well. You weren’t fully giving into your power (something she silently thanked you for) as you instead relied on your moves; moves which she could’ve sworn May used at one point. It wasn’t as kicky flippy as the two of them, but it was in the similar vein.

A punch to your mask sent you back, but also a pain in her hand that had hit the thing.

Ok, so, next time Quake punch it, got it.

 SHIELD falling to HYDRA had been a turn none of you had seen coming, if you were honest. But the thing was, they were all together; safe, alive, a family once again. They were, however, missing you in that family.

Daisy had returned with Ward to see Garret being pulled away; as she did a headcount of her friends, she asked, “Where’s Y/N?” Worry coating her tone; after the day she had, she needed someone to vent to and for someone to understand her frustrations; you would provide that need.

They all looked around for you but couldn’t find you.

However, this time, they were lucky.

“I’m here!” You called out as you ran to them, Daisy instantly hugged you tightly, the others all walking over with small smiles despite their worlds falling apart around them at the seams.

“Good to see you again, kiddo.” Coulson said in a fatherly manner, you just nodded as you placed your chin on Daisy’s shoulder; Fitzsimmons managed a smile, although not as bright as it usually was; May gave you a nod; Ward nodded with a small smile before leaving with Garret.

All that mattered to them was that you were here. That you were alive.

 Your spin kick was one Daisy not only dodged, but also recognised; now she was on edge. Who had taught her opponent to kick the same way you had. Sure, you hadn’t exactly copyrighted the thing; but the way you kicked was always different to the others, something that May had adapted to.

She spun round as another punch hit her; this time, though, she held felt the vibrations and used them in her returning punch. This punch made your mask and hood fall off.

When you looked back up, Fitzsimmons’ and her own eyes widened as they all recognised the person in front of them.

All agent Johnsons could do was say the name of the person she saw.

“Y/N….?”

 That good luck had only lasted so long, however. Sure, you survived the uprising, but Garret had plans for you; he knew how Ward cared about you deeply as a friend. So, when he asked for the man to find Skye, that went double to for you too.

“You could always use a partner, son. Hell, you both were practically partners in SHIELD anyway.” He said to try and get the man onboard with the plan.

He accepted the plan.

He got both of you on the plane;  Skye kept an extra eye out for you though, as she was the only one who knew of his betrayal.

However, the last time she ever saw you was when you walked up the spiral stairs.

 “Where are they?” Daisy asked with bated breath, she gulped as she asked it and pushed the tears away. Ward’s gazed softened a little at her worry.

“We’ll take care of them –“ He tried to promise her, but she slammed her head into the next moment.

“You son of a bitch!” She growled, forgetting about the threat on her life an acting purely on sisterly instinct which was currently hellbent on keeping you from being in HYDRA’s control.

“She’s just a puppet to you, isn’t she?” She asked, almost breathless as countless scenarios played out in her mind of what could and probably would happen to you in HYDRA’s control.

She was wrong, however; as she never saw you again after that. But neither did Ward after Garret died; you just went off the grid and it appeared as if you had never existed.

You, however, had existed to a few people that cared about you deeply.

 Daisy was frozen; she knew, easily, that so where your other brother and sister. She didn’t have time to fully process the new twist that seemed to be added to the tale (maybe Kasius knew, maybe he had someone on his side) as she dodged another punch and kick.

Now that she knew it was you, she could easily tell what your style was going to be. She had trained with you before, even though Ward too trained her; She kind of wished she had you as a SO instead of Ward, maybe it would’ve blocked out a lot of pain.

It did not, unfortunately, block out the pain of another fist to the face; still not your full power, but it still packed a punch.

She grunted at the impact but turned and threw you away with a quick Quake blast. Part of her had hoped that doing so would somehow shake your memories.

It only, however, made you hit the wall and groan in pain.

“Y/N, I don’t want to fight you,” Your opponent begged you, seemingly desperately, “I don’t want to hurt you.” Her voice was soft, despite the situation you both were in at the moment.

“You’re only saying that because I am kicking your ass.” You spat out some blood that had reached your mouth; part of her seemed to soften slightly at you words, as if they meant something to her.

 As Jemma had told her when she found her sister before they went to the Framework, she was trying to atone for Lincoln’s death mainly. But both knew there was something else as well.

“I know Y/N’s death hurt you, it hurt all of us –”

“Jemma –” She said, to try and both keep her friend quiet and not have her break down again; she hated to see any of her friends hurt or sad, but Jemma was her best-best-best friend; meaning it hurt a hell of a lot more.

“Daisy, please…I can’t lose you too.” Jemma begged her best friend, not wanting to lose another family member.

“Hey, look at me,” Jemma obliged, “I will beat them. If Y/N was here too, it’d be a hell of a lot easier; but I swear to you Simmons, I will. We will walk out of here. This is not were your story ends.” She promised Jemma.

 Your story however, seemed to of ended since the day with Ward in the BUS to Daisy. She, however, continued her search for you; you were family, and she didn’t give up on family, no matter what.

She’d found sightings of you around the place; the Inhuman crisis was taking up a lot of her time, this as something to try and alleviate some of that anxiety over it; along with to try and help ease the guilt she felt for apparently letting you go so easily.

Some Inhuman reports seemed to match up with where you were, so it made sense to her to try and look there. Coulson, however much he may have been curious of them, still denied her the mission. She was told her efforts were spent better elsewhere.

 When Lincoln was gone, she was out in her van, drinking from a vodka bottle she had stolen from a store; in one way, it was like a homecoming; in another, it was reminder that she could never fully go back to that life of being a simple hacker; she was a “hero” now; but she was a broken one, one without a sidekick at her side; maybe your disappearance was a blessing in the disguise of a curse, though. Maybe it just meant that she could spare you the fate of getting hurt because of her.

 Right now, though, she was getting hurt because of you; you were taking advantage of her not wanting to fight you; throwing punches left and right, always trying to hit her. She could tell that, now, you were putting your whole force behind each punch. Seemed your name was a trigger word for you.

For now, it was just hurt on an emotional level; having to fight one of her best friends and siblings wasn’t something she thought she’d have to do to get the rest out, but here she was. She blocked one of your punched and used her power to stop the momentum of your other arm as she punched you in the face, then kicking you away.

The next moment, the forcefield went down and Fitz jumped down in an action movie style stunt; he then shot the guard that had entered the room, but then he turned to gun on you.

“FITZ, NO!” Daisy cried out in horror and desperation as the weapon went off. You went down the next moment.

Daisy was on the floor, having finally had the days events catch up with her physically; Jemma and Fitz instantly grabbed her and allowed her to put her weight on them as they helped her move over to you.

“Y/N? Hey, come on; don’t do this to me. Not now, not when we just got you back….please.” She begged, putting a hand on your heart that had a faint beat to it; she then looked to two of her other siblings, both of whom nodded (all-be-it with some hesitation) before she used her ability one more time on your chest.

You had been injured on a mission, gravely so. It looked to almost be your end. Almost being the keyword there. 

“Lay them down!” Jemma exclaimed as Ward carried you in and did as asked with no comment. He just wanted you to survive. 

Jemma tore your jacket off, then your shirt to look at your wound. 

“Oh no,” She said in a quick breath she she started pressing her hands against your chest, “Come on, Y/N! Come on! Don’t die on us! Not now!” She begged.

You shot up; eyes wide as you looked around the room with surprise of having woken up.

You then met the eyes of Daisy, who watched you with both a teary gaze, but those tears weren’t just out of relief, they were also out of stress, fear, sisterly love; a lot of feelings all locked into two shiny eyes.

But, part of you recognised the gaze.

“Skye?” You asked, Skye let out a laugh at your use of her name as she put a hand on your knee.

“It’s us, Y/nn. It’s us. I know this is weird, but we have to go. We have to find the others.” She told you in a soft, but fragile tone.

“The others? They’re here?” You asked; a tear ran down her face as she nodded.

The next moment, Fitz entered your vision, “Hey, Y/N. Listen, you’re going to feel a little off for a while. Just let us know if you need us and we’ll help you.” He said as he offered you a hand. You took it in a cautious manner as you were lifted to your feet.

“Your Fitz, right?” He nodded, a smile on his face. You then turned to the last person in the room, “Jemma?” You asked, voice quiet and soft; the woman nodded, before embracing you herself as you felt Fitz put a hand on your shoulder.

“Now, come on. We do need to get out of here.” Jemma said as she pulled away from you.

 As you walked, you learnt that Skye’s new name was Daisy, and that Fitzsimmons had gotten together (Sky – Daisy, now owed you money if you remembered rightly; you’d ask later) which was nice for them; even if you were fine if either or happened, you were happy they were happy.

You got Daisy out of the room and into a new one to regroup yourselves and fully cement the fact that you were with them once again.

You crouched down next to her as you helped her bandage her wrist, “I’m sorry I didn’t look for you hard enough.” She said, guilt taking over her tone completely.

You paused momentarily, meeting her guilty and teary eyes; you gave her a small smile as you then resumed your activity, “I can’t remember much, only bits an pieces. I remember that you owe me money,” Daisy let out a laugh as you move onto the next one, “But, from what I remember, I wouldn’t blame you for what you did. Besides, I’m here now.” You said.

She smiled, before she looked back at the couple behind them. You were right, her siblings wasn’t missing one in the pack they had built; her family was back together.

She had found you in the most unlikely of places; but it didn’t matter, she had had found you. Her search had ended in a good place for once.

She couldn’t be happier to be back with her best-best-best friend.

[goldenspecter]

Forgivness

Summary: “I was possessed! Da-A ghost took over my body!” Tucker shouts and that’s the moment he breaks down, pulling his hands away from his parents and holding him close to his chest-if he holds his chest, then no one can enter his body. That burning in his chest is back as he sobs brokenly. Here he was, breaking down over something Danny did to him and here he is, still holding on to Danny’s secret. Where was the fairness in that? “I didn’t want to!”

Valerie doesn’t know how to forgive someone. She’s never really had to, because people usually don’t hurt her this badly. Usually they apologize on the spot for some minor thing and Valerie instantly forgives them because she knows that they meant her no harm.

In which we see how Tucker copes with the events of Parental Bonding and Valerie gets some closure.

Archive of Our Own | FFN

Notes:

Here's the first side story in the AU! I'm quite happy with how this one turned out and hopefully plan on doing more of these as the AU progresses!

I knew I had to write this after writing that confrontation scene between Tucker and Valerie in the French Braids and it's been something I've been wanting to write anyways. Not to mention that I'm currently having some form of writers block when it's coming to writing the next part of the other fic.

- I've seen plenty of works within the fandom that addresses how overshadowing/possessing someone fucks them up but I don't think I've quite seen anything that talks about how it personally affected Tucker. It's really, really, really fucked up for Tucker to explicitly say no and not consent to be overshadowed and Danny, his best friend and someone who's the narrative says is a good person, ignore Tucker and do it any way and deeply violate his agency and consent. Even more fucked up that the narrative plays this for jokes at the end of the episode. This is literally a Vlad move my dudes, this is something that we should expect of Vlad because we know that he doesn't really view people as actual people, just pawns that he can use to meet a goal. Danny doing shit like this multiple times throughout canon(and it being played for jokes) only makes him more like Vlad. A more interesting concept would have been Danny asking to overshadow someone/not using except for dire circumstances but canon said fuck good ideas right?

-Valerie deserves closure. She deserves good things, good things and she deserves closure for being stood up at home coming.

-Re: Self-Harm Tag: Okay so Tucker has a certain behavior in this fic where he picks at scabs in his hair until they bleed but the thing is, Tucker doesn't really have a choice whether or not he wants to do it but rather it's compulsive. He doesn't really realize he's doing it and doesn't intend to cause physical damage(whereas its the opposite with self-harming) but he knows its a thing. Trichotillomania (hair pulling) and skin picking are commonly seen in autistic people. It can serve as a way to self-soothe and self-stimulate the individual in day to day life. Some Autism Specialists can classify this behavior as a SIB(Self-Injurious-Behavior) since it is harmful to the person's body. Also I do this a lot, have been for several years and once again the projection is real.

-Also Tucker in this AU has a really hardcore squish(friend crush) on Valerie but doesn't really understand/realize that he just wants to be friends with her and thus pursued her in a romantic manner.

Timeline wise in the AU: The first half, in Tucker’s POV, takes place right after Parental Bonding, through One of a Kind and mid way through pt one of French Braids. The second half, Valerie’s POV, is after pt one of French Braids and in between Attack of the Killer Garage Sale and Splitting Images.

-----

When Tucker fully comes back into his body, he's at the homecoming dance. Dragon Sam’s been subdued and back to her normal self and the three of them are standing in the middle of the dance floor.

“Dude, sorry your date didn't pan out. Where is Paulina anyway?” asks Tucker, the words taste bitter in his mouth as he says them.

Sam shrugs, “Ah, who cares? Look, the DJ's still playing. I think there's time for one last dance?”

“Sure, I’d love to,” Danny turns and hands the amulet to Tucker. “Keep an eye on this will you?”

Danny doesn’t bother waiting for an answer before dropping the amulet in Tucker’s hands. Tucker’s fingers instinctively curl around the amulet and Tucker turns away from Danny’s smile because all he can see now is Danny’s green eyes smiling at him before Danny took over. How come he didn’t get an apology for being forced to stand up Valerie? How come he’s the only one who doesn’t get a happy ending this time around? How come Danny gets to pretend like none of this ever happened while he was stuck with the aftermath?

Tucker swallows the lump in his chest, “Wait a second,” he begins,  “I’m dateless again?! What does a guy have to do to get hooked up around here?”

“I want to go to the ball!” wails Dora.

He doesn’t know why he had to turn his feelings into a mere joke. He does of course. Because no one here really thinks his feelings matter and jokes are the only way he has right now to process it. Tucker knows this but can’t help the heartache and nausea bury when Danny and Sam laugh at his misfortune. Can they not see that he’s hurting or do they just not care ?

The fourteen year old forces a smile on his face as he steps away from Dora. “Maybe I don’t need a date that badly,” he says and runs away from the blooming romance and the burning in his chest.

~~~~~~~

Home should be safe. Home was safe. Home was where it happened, so how safe was he? Tucker opens the door and both of his parents are there, sitting at the table waiting for him.

How safe were they? Were any of them safe anymore?

His parents look up from the card game they were playing, “Tucker?” his mom asks, with confusion in her eyes. “It’s pretty early, you shouldn’t be home for another hour or two.”

Tucker shakes his head, kicking the door behind him. “Wanted to go home early.” He turns around facing the door and locks it, and with it, his emotions.

Maurice blinks, laying down his cards. “Did something happen dear?”

Tucker shakes his head even harder. “It’s nothing,” his voice cracks slightly and he can feel his parents' looks of concern.

Maurice stands up and slowly walks towards him, “Something happened dear,” he says softly and Tucker just knows that he can’t keep up this facade any longer. “Whatever happened, it’ll be okay.”

“No it won’t,” he says in a rough whisper. Maybe, if he keeps his eyes down then he won't lose it. “It won’t ever be.”

Maurice tries to wrap his arm around his son but steps back when his son roughly pushes him away. He tries again, but this time, he gently takes one of his son's hands and holds it in his. “Please, just talk to us.”

It’s the desperation in his dad’s voice that does it for him, that finally gets him to talk. “I stood up Valerie,” he says, voice cracking and thick with emotion, growing more and more panicked by the second. “I didn’t want to, I didn’t want to, I didn’t have a choice.”

“What do you mean, you didn’t have a choice?” Angela asks, coming up to him and taking his other hand in hers.

“I was possessed! Da-A ghost took over my body!” Tucker shouts and that’s the moment he breaks down, pulling his hands away from his parents and holding him close to his chest-if he holds his chest, then no one can enter his body. That burning in his chest is back as he sobs brokenly. Here he was, breaking down over something Danny did to him and here he is, still holding on to Danny’s secret. Where was the fairness in that? “I didn’t want to!”

Maurice gets over his initial shock at Tucker’s outburst, before he jumps in to help his hurting son. “Tucker, can you take deep breaths with me?” he takes exaggerated deep breaths, “Follow my breathing.”

“I can’t,” he manages to say through a sob, “It’s not safe, you aren’t safe, none of us are safe.”

“You’re safe honey, you’re safe,” Angela says, sliding off his hat and gently stroking his hair in an effort to calm him down. “Maybe we can go to the Fentons-”

Tucker reels back and the panic kicks into overdrive, “No!” The sobbing grows into deep and broken wails. They can’t go to Ground Zero, where the source of this misery originated from, because then all three of them definitely won’t be safe. Home is safer, Home has to be safer, Home needs to be safer.

Maurice and Angela look at each other in confusion, unable to understand why their child was so adamant about not going to the Fentons. Both parents put aside their confusion to help their son calm down, taking nearly 45 minutes to do so. Once Tucker was calm, they gave him some water and some medications to help him sleep through the night. Maurice walks his son upstairs,  stands outside the door as he changes into pajamas and personally tucks his son in for the night, turning out the light and leaving Tucker’s door slightly ajar.

Tucker doesn’t leave the house for the rest of the weekend.

~~~~~~

Tucker wants to stay away from Danny, he doesn’t feel safe near him anymore. He doesn’t know when his best friend is going to overshadow his body and take control of him.

He’s just on the brink of telling Danny to leave him alone, to not talk to him anymore when Danny says he needs them both to help him with ghost hunting and studying for the test.

Tucker feels the no on his tongue, practically taste it, but instead a sour yes spills out instead.

The incident with the Purple Back Gorilla happens and the week passes by quickly. Tucker can not help but feel uneasy, thankful when the weekend comes by.

Somehow, someway he’s at the grocery store and he comes across Valerie pushing a cart with a little kid inside of it. Nerves garble his voice even as he clears his voice, “Valerie? I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while.”

“Go away Tucker,” she says and he can hear the anger boiling in her.

“I know I messed up-”

She whips around, her green eyes narrowing at him in anger and he feels so small right about now. “You left me!” she hisses, “I was alone!”

Tucker winces, rubbing his neck. “Let me explain Valerie.”

"You don't get to explain how you stood me up at homecoming," Valerie starts, her voice tight. "You don't get to waltz in here-" Her shoulders deflate, the anger leaving her body and soon washes her over with sadness. Tucker knows that she’s holding herself back and he can only assume it’s because of the kid in the cart.

"Go," she points down the aisle, "I don't want to hear your excuses."

Tucker bows his head in shame, walking down the aisle and out of the store with the few items he bought, his chance to repair...whatever he wanted to have with Valerie gone.

~~~~~

Valerie doesn’t know how to forgive someone. She’s never really had to, because people usually don’t hurt her this badly. Usually they apologize on the spot for some minor thing and Valerie instantly forgives them because she knows that they meant her no harm.

But with Tucker? She has no idea where to begin. The only reason she’s considering forgiving Tucker in the first place is because Clockwork told her that Tucker didn’t want to stand her up, that he didn’t mean to hurt her, that Clockwork knew what happened that night but couldn’t tell her.

Clockwork leans over her shoulder as she contemplates sending Tucker a text. “What are you doing?” they ask, sipping on their juice.

“Trying to send a text,” she says, “To Tucker to talk about...you know.”

Clockwork tilts their head before nodding in realization. “What’s stopping you?”

“I don’t know what to say!” Valerie says, throwing her hands up in frustration. “That’s just it!”

The small child shrugs, “Mmm, just go with what feels right?” they question in a stilted voice.  

Valerie raises an eyebrow, “That doesn’t sound like you.”

“I picked it up from someone on one of the TV shows you were watching,” Clockwork says, “I thought it was appropriate.”

It was appropriate, she has to give them that, no matter how stilted and unnatural they sounded while saying it. She encouragingly rubs their back, “You did good, though.” she praises, pulling them in close to her for a side hug.

Valerie’s thumb hovers over the keyboard, typing and retyping her message until she’s satisfied with it and pressing send.

You: I’ve thought about it and I’m giving you one chance to explain yourself. Meet me at the park at 5:30. I’ll be at the tables near the swings.

Several minutes pass by before she feels her phone vibrate, looking down to see the notification.

Tucker: Okay, meet you there.

Valerie sighs, pulling away from Clockwork. She sits up, checks the time on her phone. It’s 4:45 now and the park was only a five to ten minute walk from the Nasty Burger. Then again, it didn’t hurt to be early, Clockwork could play on the swings while she waits for him to meet her.

“You finished with your food?” she asks Clockwork, who nods. “Come on, we’re heading to the park.”

“Whoo!” exclaims Clockwork, eagerly sliding out of the dining booth. Valerie shakes her head with a smile, picking up their trays, dumping the food and sitting the trays on top of the trash cans as they walk out of the diner. Traffic was a little heavy, which only set them back by five minutes and the two managed to get to Amity Park in a timely manner.

Once they’re in the park, Valerie hunts for the set of swings. She quickly finds it, the tables she mentioned earlier close by. She sits down at the wooden tables and tells Clockwork to go play on the swing, which they do without a fuss. Valerie checks her phone again, the time now 5:05, leaving her with only twenty five minutes till Tucker was supposed to be here. She decides to scroll through her social media, occasionally breaking away from her phone to check on Clockwork.

Valerie feels the table and bench groan and shift under new weight, she looks up and Tucker is sitting right across from her.

He looks nervous and uncertain. So is she.

Turning her phone screen off and placing it face down on the table, Valerie sits there in silence for a moment before speaking.

“Uh, speak your truth,” Valerie says awkwardly and she wishes that she had gone over what she was going to say. “Don’t bullshit me.”

“I got possessed by a ghost,” Tucker says, looking away from her and throwing his hands out. “I don’t remember what happened when I was possessed.”

“We’re her best friends! We should have known.” Danny laments.

“It’s not our responsibility to read and protect Sam’s emotions, she should have said she wanted to go to the dance from the beginning,” Tucker says back, straightening his tie a bit. “There’s nothing we can do about it now anyways.”

Danny thinks for a moment, then a mischievous smile appears as green eyes flash at Tucker.

Tucker realizes what Danny wants him to do, “No way. Forget it. Absolutely not. No!” he loudly protests and the next thing he knows, he’s feeling a gaping hole in his chest as his consciousness is taken over by Danny.

“You were possessed….by a ghost?” Valerie asks incredulously, she feels something tugging her arms. Looking down, she sees Clockwork looking up at her with their big eyes, silently saying “He’s telling the truth.”

Tucker’s nods, “I know that sounds absurd and it sounds stupid but it happened and I’m so sorry that I stood you up.” Tucker pleads, holding his face in his hands, one of them crawling up to his head and pulling at the short curls. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, I’m so, so sorry.”

Valerie notices how distressed Tucker sounds, how his voice cracks a tiny bit after he shields his face from her and how broken Tucker looks and sounds. There have been plenty of ghosts attacks in the city and it sounds just as likely he was possessed by one of these ghosts. He didn’t have a reason to make any of this up;  it wouldn’t have made sense if he did since he was too excited to be her date to the dance.

Clockwork’s words ring in her head, “If it helps, he didn't want to hurt you.He didn't want to though," and she gets it. She finally gets it.

Valerie reaches out, uncertain as she pulls Tucker’s hands away from his hair, not saying anything as she notices blood staining the pads of his fingers and holds it in her hand. Tucker stops shaking, stops pleading, simply stops and looks at Valerie, waiting for her to confirm his worst suspicions.

“That possession stuff? That’s some weak shit fam,” she says, “But I forgive you.”

Tucker’s body sags with relief, and the unheard ‘Thank You’ is loud enough for all three of them at the table.

Clockwork reaches forward, takes one of Tucker’s hands and holds it.

Valerie grabs a tissue and some hand sanitizer out of her book bag, squeezes some on the tissue and begins gently wiping the blood off of his finger pads. He tries to pull back but Valerie tightens her grip on him.

“Let...let us handle this,” she says softly, continuing to wipe the blood off his fingers. “Why so much blood?”

Tucker looks away in embarrassment.  “I have a thing where I can’t help but pick at the scabs in my hair,” he explains, “It gets really bad sometimes.”

“I bet what happened hasn’t helped any,” Valerie says, silently gesturing for Clockwork to give her his other hand so she can continue. “Do you remember the ghost who did it?”

Tucker shakes his head, “No,” The lie comes too easily. The little kid sitting next to Valerie eyes him with some scrutiny, and Tucker resists the urge to pull away from Valerie while wondering if this kid knew more than they let on. “What would you do if you ever found them?”

“Punch them in the face,” Valerie says without skipping a beat, oblivious to Clockwork’s and Tucker’s simultaneous wince. “No ghost gets away with possessing my friends.”

“Friend?” Tucker repeats back, “We’re friends?”

“Well, yeah,” Valerie answers, as if it wasn’t obvious. “You’re my friend now.”

Tucker blinks several times to make sure he heard her properly. “Oh, okay.”

Valerie finishes wiping the blood off of his fingers and he slowly pulls them back towards his chest. “I should go home now,” Tucker says, standing up and pulling away from the table.

“Why don’t we go with you? Me and...Isaiah can keep you company while you walk home. Ghosts probably won’t attack if all three of us are together.” Valerie says, standing up to wipe the imaginary dirt off her orange skirt. Isaiah follows suit, tightly holding her hand. “You in?”

“Sure,” he stutters. The three begin the walk to Tucker’s house and as they walk, he can’t help but focus on how safe he feels with Valerie and Isaiah and feels that gaping hole in his chest slowly begin to heal.

[nadiaportia]

Prompt 2 - Parents: “De Rubalcaba y Saavedra”

For @arcana-echoes​

Summary: Ximena reminisces over two important people in her life she usually doesn’t think about. 

Word count: ~2000

I had the most annoying case of writer’s block for this one when I didn’t know which way of storytelling I wanted, changed what I originally had (the first draft featured a lot more Rubalcaba sisters and took place in Calpacia) and got the idea for this while cooking with a friend. Apologies for the delay and for any grammatical errors or typos but I had to get it out of my system. Enjoy!

“Y’know, it was my mother’s birthday yesterday.”

The words slipped out of Ximena’s mouth before she realized she had actually voiced them out loud and it wasn’t just a stray thought when she saw Asra looking at her with wide eyes. 

“Oh.” 

He stopped tying together the bundles of sage and reached out to gently touch her hand.

“Ah, it’s fine. I guess I was just too preoccupied with everything going on to remember it. And it’s not like I would have received an invitation to her birthday party anyway.”

Her attempt at a dry laugh was somehow deflated by the sad look Asra gave her, and she immediately felt bad for making light of it. 

“Don’t feel bad about it. I almost forgot about my father’s birthday once, it happens to the best of us.”

Ximena sighed but nodded. The thing was that the relationship between Asra and his parents had been vastly different than the one between hers. 

“What did you usually do on her birthdays?” Asra had leaned with his back against the kitchen counter. Oh, so this was officially a break from work and story time. Ximena thought about whether to indulge him or not; despite knowing each other for quite some time, she had barely talked about her, or her father for that matter. Her sisters, her cousin and her aunt were frequently featured but for some reason she herself didn’t even know both Marisol and Valentín appeared rather rarely in her stories. 

“There usually was a dinner with her favorite foods from all over Calpacia, and each year we gifted her something different - one time Cibela composed a piece for her, Heloisa wrote a play for her with us as the actors and I drew her as the mother of ancient gods once.” Ximena remembered how proud she had been that day when she saw the awe and happiness on her mother’s face. “The dinners were always attended by the nobles closest to her and occasionally also the Zaan, for her 50th they threw her a rightfully huge celebration on the palace grounds, with an orchestra, a huge buffet and everything her heart desired.”   

“Something tells me that this was even more over the top than Count Lucio’s birthday parties.”

Ximena shrugged. She avoided the Palace, and with it the masquerades thrown in honor for Vesuvia’s sovereign, so she couldn’t make a comparison.

“She definitely gave her love for pompous celebrations to Heloisa. They were the only ones who loved those parties and took it way too serious. Agustín, Esmé and I were fine with them, we just retreated into some corner and had conversations but Cibela hated them.”

“What about your father?”

“Well, he wasn’t exactly the social butterfly of the two, but he enjoyed himself. I think part of it is because they met at such a party.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, it was actually Tía Esmé’s birthday party which my mother helped organize. Mamá would occasionally tell us about the first time she saw him --” Ximena shifted her posture, adopted a dreamy look on her face and clasped her hands in front of her chest.

“‘There he stood by the window -- wearing that dashing costume made of golden silk, the most handsome man I have ever laid eyes upon.” She dropped her hands to her sides as Asra watched her with fascination.

“Wait, she invited him to the party despite not knowing him?”

Ximena shrugged. “She invited some members of the Merchant fleet, despite not all of them being nobles but since they were basically aristocracy-adjacent, no one really batted an eye. Now, as for marrying a non-aristocrat, that’s an entirely different thing.”

Asra scoffed. She had told him about the strict division of class back in Calpacia, and had called it horrendously intolerant. Part of this system had been what saw the peasants and ordinary people as disposable tools for the aristocracy to use according to their will, including to fight their petty wars. 

“They married regardless?”

“Well, back in those days, Esmé was the heiress to Marquesa Constanza, and she vouched for my parents. It wasn’t a scandal despite having potential to be one but given that my father was just a few steps away from aristocracy and had an aunt who happened to be a noble, it really helped their case.”

“Good for them.”

“Yeah. The wedding was really grand. Esmé told us all about it when I was younger, it always sounded to me like something out of a fairytale.” She sighed. “But I think if I were to marry, it’d do with as few people as possible. Hell, Segismundo can be the only witness when my spouse and I exchange vows for all I care for, I don’t care much for grand gestures.”

Asra nodded. It was then when Ximena realized just how awkward it was to discuss a potential marriage with her… well, ex-lover. They were too many things at once, roommates, co-workers, close friends, amicable exes, and most conversations didn’t really get weird; except this one. 

For a moment, she wondered what marrying Asra would be like. She doubted much would change between them; not a lot had changed while they were together, except that they became more romantically affectionate and the sex might’ve been gotten more frequent --

She stopped herself at once. Knock it off. Thinking about the sex with the ex with whom you still live and work with while you’re talking about your parents is weird. 

Ximena cleared her throat. “Either way… that’s how my parents got married and when Cibela was born, Tía Esmé abdicated the title of marquesa so my mother really won at the lottery that day. Yay for us, I guess.”

“She abdicated? You never told me that… but wasn’t your aunt a whole general?” Asra furrowed his brows. 

“Yeah, and choosing to not become a courtier was what made her fall out of favor in my grandmother’s eyes. She wanted a pawn at the court, not a grand marshal who acted independently. My mother fulfilled that role just fine by the time Cibela was born so Esmé gave her title and made a name for herself -- well, a bigger one than she already had. That turned my father into a marqués but it’d never be enough of a status elevation to override the Rubalcaba name so that’s why my sisters and me are ‘Rubalcaba y Saavedra and not ‘Saavedra y Rubalcaba.” Ximena gave a sardonic laugh. “Then again, technically speaking, I’m neither these days.”

“If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine.” Asra said. Something in his voice said clearly that he wanted to know more though, as did his body language. 

This was Asra she was talking to, who shared basically everything with her. The most she could do was give him a little back.

“No, don’t worry, I’m fine.” She paused for a moment and an awkward silence hung in the air between them.

“Sooo, what were your parents like?” Asra asked quickly. “I mean, what kind of people were they? I feel like your mum was the life of the party while your dad was more like… you.”

Ximena scoffed with amusement. “Yeah, I suppose that is kind of fitting. The quiet type, it rubbed off more on Cibela than me though. She was their favorite, which makes sense since she’s the firstborn, he even took her on one of his journeys when she turned fifteen. I don’t think he and Heloisa ever found a lot of common ground but then again, she always was sort of the troublemaker. I think he saw more of himself in me, and he loved the way I painted, how I closed myself off from the world when I was working to the point where I think he wanted me to pursue that career and not at the Guild. He was sweet, very gentle and whenever he sang, Mother would cry because it sounded so beautiful. She was a firecracker, turned heads wherever she went. She could always make me laugh even when I was sad as a small child, and loved seeing me do magic. I always wanted to be her as a kid, have the same way with words, to be instantly liked, hell, even be a courtier. I thought being an apprentice was awfully boring at first, which is hilarious because Heloisa thought being a courtier was boring as hell and all she wished for was to be a warrior like Cibela or a magician like me. But Tía Esmé said that I had gotten my father’s ‘tranquil mystique’ that drew people in, as well as his ability to read people.”

“I mean, you do have a ‘tranquil mystique’ which can be extremely charming.” Asra’s lips curved into a smile.

“Thank you, Asra, really.” Ximena replied. The smile on her face didn’t fade when she spoke next, and it had been something that had been bubbling underneath the surface ever since the conversation had turned towards this topic.

“And yet… in hindsight, they kind of sucked as parents. I mean, sure, they were nice, but… good grief, they were so absent in our lives from some point onwards -- even with Cibela, who they favoured to all hell and back! I really felt more like Esmé was my mother more than my actual mother at times!” She laughed. It wasn’t a particularly nice sound, much too bitter and dry but somehow she just felt the need to air her grievances.

“And then because Father was marqués he became more busy, went on more journeys, spent less time at the residence, and then didn’t come back from his trip to Fuck-knows-where alive and it changed Mother so much -- she was irritated more often than not, angry with Tía Esmé and by the time she became ill, she had all but locked herself up in the Summer Palace on our island in the Gulf of Cartagenth. And you know what’s the weird thing about all of this? I didn’t care about it at all. And that’s why I’m surprised in the first place about even remembering this birthday at all, because I’m so used to not caring that suddenly doing so just feels… idiotic.”

Ximena took a deep breath. Asra reached out as she sighed and rubbed her arm, obviously a bit surprised at her small outburst.

“I’m sorry. I wish… you had spent more time with them, and that they would have there for you when you needed them.”

Part of Ximena welcomed Asra’s sympathy, the other wanted to push it away and wrote it off as pity. She said nothing, merely nodded and wrapped her arms around herself. 

“Do you still want to make something for your mum’s birthday?” Asra asked slowly. “It could feel nice, and maybe then you won’t think of it as ‘idiotic’ anymore.” 

Ximena bit her lip. Maybe he was right… hell, Asra was by some miracle almost always right and taking his advice usually proved to be a step in the right direction. Perhaps swallowing her pride would be nice for a change, considering how admittedly damn hard it tended to be. 

“We could make a cake, and if you want it to not just be the two of us, Sayelle can join us.”

“Well, she doesn’t even know who I really am.”

Asra sighed. “You wouldn’t need to tell her, of course -- unless you want to do that as well. I know it took you some time to tell me, so I don’t wanna push you. But she’s a good person and a dear friend, I trust her to keep your secret.”

Ximena raised an eyebrow and eyed Asra. Truth be told, from the amount of time she had spent with the Bizateni magician who owned a shop for magical supplies as well as antiquities, she liked her but this… it was quite the thing to tell someone else. 

“I’ll think about it. The birthday is over anyway, so one or two days later won’t have my mother spinning in her grave more than she already might be.”

[embklitzke]

July 2020 Camp NaNoWriMo - The Magic Crystal Justice Squad (Chapter 1)

So this project that I'm doing for July 2020's Camp NaNoWriMo kind of snuck up on me.  I'd originally intended to start a re-draft of UNSETIC Files: Pawns for this go-around, but plans changed when lightning kind of struck my brain.

There's a meme floating around about magical girls who were supposed to be retired but have to pick it back up again when they're around 30--and have real lives, real jobs, responsibilities, etc. that would definitely be impacted by their side gigs saving the world.  When I first saw it, I laughed about it and wondered if it maybe wouldn't be a fun project to try out--someday.

Someday happens to be, quite unexpectedly, right now.

The Magic Crystal Justice Squad is something completely off-the-wall and very different for me, but definitely brings back fond memories of much younger years when I rushed home every damn day from school to watch Sailor Moon and the hours spent over the years watching Power Rangers and similar fare.  It also lets me stretch my writing muscles in some new and interesting ways, since it feels a lot more tongue-in-cheek than many of my other projects.  It's something fresh and new and has been fun so far.

We'll see how long that lasts.

Until then, enjoy joining me on this little bit of a ride.

One

Shots rang out and I pressed my back against the brick wall, sucking in a pair of ragged breaths.  Steady.  Steady.

Maybe if I told myself that I could still do this, I’d actually be able to.

God, everything hurt so much more at twenty-nine than it had at seventeen.

There’s something they don’t tell you when you sign up for this whole magical girl gig.  Of course, that assumes you’ve got the choice when the whole thing comes up—from the looks of things, most don’t, at least not when you read about them or watch them on TV.  I’ll tell you what: Sailor Moon it’s not, that’s for sure.  It’s not Magic Knight Rayearth or any of the others, either.  It’s not all sunshine and rainbows and personal growth.

And unlike in Power Rangers or any of that craziness, there’s no handing over your powers to someone else.  There’s no retirement plan.

There sure as hell isn’t a happily ever after.

I’ve spent twelve years trying to convince myself otherwise and the only thing I’ve learned is that fate is a cruel bitch and the business of saving the world sure as hell isn’t all it’s cracked up to be on TV.

I risked a glance around the corner.  Not immediately seeing my pursuit, I allowed myself a second to breathe, squeezing my eyes shut and trying to listen past the sound of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.  They couldn’t be far.  Their pursuit had been dogged across rooftops and down through the cavernous alleyways. I’d be paying for my rappelling trick for days.

Austin would’ve told me that it was an impressive move, but probably an unnecessary stress on my body, a waste of economy.  As usual, he’d have probably been right about it, too.

But Austin wasn’t here.

Austin was why I was here.

Sirens wailed in the distance, growing closer.  Someone must have called the cops, as if they’d be of any help in this situation. For all I knew, they were working for the enemy.

It would not have been the first time something like that had ever happened.

Just breathe, damn you.  It took every ounce of wherewithal not to snarl at myself.  Panicking wouldn’t do me any good, not now—not that it ever had. All it’d ever done had gotten me was into more trouble or yelled at by my former teammates.

Former.

If there was nothing else that slammed home how alone I was in this, it was that single word.

With Austin gone, too, I was well and truly on my own for the first time in twelve years.

I opened my eyes and stared at the wall ahead of me, then reached up to tap my tiara where it rested against my temple.  A crystal visor materialized a second later, numbers and figures scrolling in front of my right eye, almost too quickly for me to understand what they were telling me.

That had always been a problem, but it was one that I didn’t have the patience to fix and probably wouldn’t until the next time it almost got me killed.

Three of them closing in. I can dodge them or I can fight.

My hands curled into fists. As stupid as it was, I wanted their blood.  I wanted to put them out of my misery.

It would be three less foot soldiers for the enemy to throw at me in the future.

Hell, they might have been the ones who took my brother, which meant that I owed them more than a little payback.

I should have listened sooner.  If I’d listened sooner, none of this would have happened.  None of this would have started again.  We could have stopped it.

Dammit, we could have stopped it before it started all over again.

Too late now.

I watched the scroll for a few more seconds.  My breathing calmed and I counted my heartbeats, listening as the sirens grew closer.  The sirens—and the three men who thought that I couldn’t hear them coming.

They brought this on themselves.

Hands tightening into fists, I took one last, slow breath.

“Fuck with the Crystal Princess and see what you get,” I breathed, then pivoted out of my hiding place and into the open.  Leveling my wand—twelve inches of iridescent, crystallized silver—at them, I growled words that only felt even more ridiculous every time I said them. “Quicksilver Crystal Blade Spread!”

In the split second between the men realizing what I’d said and the blast hitting, the look on their faces was nothing short of priceless—they thought I was the most ridiculous thing walking.

They weren’t far from wrong.

Even ridiculous, however, I was still deadlier than they were.

The magic started as a brief flare of gray-white light, almost too faint to see.  It grew exponentially in a matter of seconds, gaining form and substance as crystalline daggers that flew in an arc in front of me. Dozens of them found their mark, blasting the center most of my pursuers clear off his feet, sending him flying backwards a dozen yards.  His companions had a split second to look at each other, their mocking and amusement melting into something close to fear.

One of them had the temerity to shoot at me.

He missed, though not by much.  It helped that I was already moving.

If I’d learned anything over the years, it was to keep moving before they got your measure and your number came up once and for all.

The other thing I’d learned was to come at the enemy with all you’ve got because you never know which encounter’s going to be the last.

Catching the one on my right in the chest with my foot, I pushed off him to tackle the one on the left, the one that had managed to get a shot off.  As his companion went careening into the wall, I bore the shooter to the ground, using momentum to make up for my lack of girth.  The gun clattered from his hand, went spinning away, out of reach of both of them.

They were already bleeding from the dagger spread.

Monsters, after all, bleed just like everyone else.

Whipping my wand toward his jaw like a baton as I bore him to the ground, the shooter’s head bounced off the concrete as we landed, me on top of him.  His eyes rolled up into his head for a second, then he snarled.  I could only see the whites of his eyes as he lunged upward at me, fingers hooked into claws.

Oh no, you did not just pull that shit with me.  Throwing up one arm to catch his hands, I drove the heel of my free hand into his nose.

The sound he made was the stuff of nightmares—half a scream, half a growl.  It soured my stomach and sent bile creeping into my throat, touching a primal fear built into all of us.

Unlike most, I’ve figured out over the years how to shunt that fear aside and keep on fighting.

I risked a look away from him to check on my other assailants.  The one that had taken the brunt of the daggers wasn’t moving—he was probably out, though I wasn’t sure.  The other, though—

Yeah.  I should have been a little more vigilant about him.

A booted foot sent me sprawling, knocking me from my perch on the shooter’s chest.  The other man stalked after me, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth and a few places where the daggers had caught him, too.

“You should have stayed out of it,” he growled, his voice guttural, somehow human and inhuman all at once.  A shiver shot down my spine.

Just in case I needed more confirmation that something was rotten in the state of Denmark...

Well, I had it now, not that I’d needed it.

“Fat chance,” I said, brandishing my wand.  He laughed at me.

“What are you going to do with that, Princess?  It’s a sparkly stick with magic.  You don’t have too many charges left, now do you?  Bet you’re spent after that last-ditch effort to shake us off.”

“Oh,” I said quietly. “You’d be surprised.”

They were working from outdated information.  That was good to know.

While being older meant that I’d pay a heavier price for any sort of physical feats of magical-girl prowess, having become a magical woman had apparently translated to a deeper fount of magic.

“Quicksilver Mist Arise.”

His eyes widened as the air around him thickened.  I crawled back, stumbled to my feet, watching as a silver mist coalesced around him and his fallen companion.  Their faces changed as the fog swirled around them, growing heavier, thicker.

There it was.  The demonic-looking visages I’d expected, the ones I’d sensed but not seen.

They were getting better and better at hiding in plain sight.

Still, they hadn’t quite gotten good enough to fool me—not most of the time, anyway.

The mist choked off even their screams as it stole their breath.

Carefully, I stepped around the mist and headed toward their fallen companion, crouching to check for a pulse.  I found none. His face had taken on the same demonic cast in death that illusion shrouded in life.  My lips thinned as I started to search him, hoping to find something some clue to what they’d been up to—other than hunting me.

Behind me, the mist faded away, leaving the bodies of his companions lying in the alleyway. Muttering a curse as I came up empty in my initial search, I headed for the other two and repeated my search.

Nothing.

Maybe they were getting smarter after all.

I straightened and shook my head, staring at them for a few seconds, throat tightening at the shameful waste of it all.  It didn’t have to be this way.

But they’d chosen this war, and the war, in turn, had chosen me.

If I wanted to save my brother, I didn’t have any choice.  I had to keep fighting.  No one else would.

There’s no handing your power to someone else when you end up where I’m at.  No new reincarnation crops up to pick up where you left off, to take your wand and skirt that you thought you’d hung up and fight the good fight.

There’s only you and the demons that still stalk your days and your nights—both the ones that come from outside and the ones that come from your soul.

We thought the war was over.

How wrong we were.

[whirlybirbs]

✶ ┈ PART ONE !

summary: the origins of the whole “let’s pretend to be married so the grandmaster doesn’t kill us while we try to get off this floating junk pile to stop your sister from destroying your home” bit. because it’s about time. pairing: fake!wife reader x loki, set in ragnarok. a/n: all the fake!wife reader and loki stuff? here’s 2k of their origin story.                                                  READ PART TWO HERE.

The first time you meet him, he’s tinkering with Erik Selvig’s self autonomy.

(Erik’s your boss -- a nice guy. You like him. Jane does, too. You’re running quantum decay samples for S.H.I.E.L.D. the day Loki crash lands on Earth. You’d thought you were having a bad enough day… and then the Tesseract went and spat out the resident super-villain who later opened the interdimensional front-door for the Chitauri and proceeded destroyed half of New York city. Talk about a bad day.)

The second time you meet him, you have Jane to thank.

She’s clutching the spectrometer with wide eyes and you realize in that moment, this is a lot like getting a text from an ex, except the text is the equivalent of crashing a party via falling through the roof. The Bifrost, a glittering quantum anomaly, allows for a fold in time and space. Cosmic kick-back ripples around an arrival, alerting the various quantum measuring devices in the office. The energy signature is familiar -- it’s Asgardian.

She’s pacing. You hate when Jane paces. It makes you anxious.

“I’ll go,” you offer up, “I’ll go, check out the anomaly, make sure everything’s alright --”

Jane blinks, running a hand through her hair as she chews her lip. She makes a pained sound -- the one of a woman torn between science and the unplanned visit of an ex boyfriend -- before nodding and shoving the hand-held spectrometer your way. She nods, speaking to try and convince herself:

“You’re right. No, totally. You should go. It wouldn’t be good if I saw him and --”

“Yeah, no, fuck that,” Darcy supplies, “He ditched you for space gems --”

“Infinity Stones.”

“Same shit, different name!” Darcy shrieks, “Listen, I love him but god, he needs to get his priorities in order, Jane --”

You nod, shrugging on your jacket and buttoning it. You tuck the device in your pocket after eyeing the projected address: 177a Bleecker Street.

“It’s just across town,” you chide, “I’ll hop over, check it out and call if it’s something horrible like, uh, I dunno? An alien invasion?”

“Oh goodie.”

Jane looks pale. “Tell him I say hi. Er… Maybe don’t. Don’t. I don’t wanna seem like --”

“I’ll feel it out,” you chirp, waving your hands in a gesture for her to calm down, “If he asks, I’ll tell him you’re great.”

“If he asks about me, tell him I’m still single!” Darcy cries as you close the door behind you.

Normal.

Today had been shaping up to be normal.

You’d left your normal apartment, took a normal train ride, got your normal coffee order from the normal place two blocks from the office. You arrived at your normal time, ready for a normal day at work.

And then, Thor and his brother decided to change the trajectory of your day and, subsequently, life.

Here you are, half past noon, being welcomed into the Sanctum Sanctorum by some neurosurgeon-turned-supreme-wizard to see your co-worker’s Old Norse God of an ex-boyfriend.

(You know Thor. You’ve met countless times now; the first time was at Jane’s birthday part two years ago. The night had ended in Jane calling you an Uber back to your own apartment, only after you’d gotten blackout on rum and cokes, and spent three whole hours trying to lift Thor’s hammer. Mew-mew, Darcy had called it. You woke up the next morning with a sore back.)

You’ve clearly interrupted something because aforementioned God of Thunder is on the floor, looking like he might throw up any second. You peer around the man who answered the door, squinting. “Uh...”

“Can I help you?”

“Doctor!” Thor cries with sheer excitement from his place at the bottom of the stairs. He stands slowly, staggering over and welcoming you into a crushing grip. He hugs you like he had at last year’s Christmas party. There’s no love lost. You laugh, clapping him on the back as he lifts you into the air, “It is wonderful to see you! Wizard man, this is my good friend --”

“Stephen Strange,” he juts out a yellow gloved hand out in greeting. You shake it, “You must be one of Jane Foster’s associates, then.”

Stephen Strange is an odd one. You can’t help but note the ever-so-faint fluttering of his cape. You realize there’s no wind. You opt not to say anything, just smooth down your scarf and shift from one heeled boot to the other as you exchange looks between the wizard and the God. You push your glasses up your nose as you introduce yourself.

“Just doing my usual quantum disturbance welfare checks,” you say as Thor places you down. You wave the hand-held measuring device in your hand, “Someone had to come and make sure it was Thor and not some eight-legged horse looking to stomp all over Times Square.”

Thor grins.

Stephen smirks.

“How is Jane?” Thor asks quietly, his hand gentle on your shoulder, “Well, I hope?”

“Oh, you know,” a soft shrug, giving him a so-so gesture as you wince, “Breakups suck.”

He gets this look on his face -- it’s a mixture of regret and longing and you know Jane’s decision for space has been as much as a blow to him as it was to her. Jane, selfless as always, knew he needed to focus on his current mission more than her. She’d never forgive herself if she kept pulling him from his search for the stones. Thor sighs, clearing his throat as he nods.

“I, uh, I agree,” he speaks softly, “Please, do tell her I wish her well in all her… science endeavors.”

“Of course,” you say with a smile, “Speaking of which… what’s with the drop-in?”

Stephen’s brows raise and he sighs. “He’s looking for his father.”

Your face twists into confusion. “Odin? What, is he, like, missing?”

Thor’s posture shifts then and he rolls his eyes. Annoyance floods the blonde’s shoulders and he shakes his head. His nostrils flare. “Loki dropped him here on Earth.”

You recoil. “Loki…? Isn’t he --”

“Dead? I thought so as well, but no, the snake has been masquerading as my father on Asgard for the last two years,” Thor supplies, “Speaking of which…”

Stephen jumps. “Oh, yeah, right.”

The second time you meet him, he lands at your feet with a loud groan and a bad attitude.

“I have been falling! For thirty minutes!”

You yelp, hand flying over your mouth at the sudden appearance of the man you’d watched on CNN wreak havoc on NYC. He hits the floor with a resounding thud! and looks… less imposing now, flat on the floor with wild black curls flying about. He’s swathed in a well-tailored black suit and you can’t help but think he’s the exact opposite of Thor. The God of Mischief pushes himself upwards, eyes wild with anger.

Thor hides a chuckle at his brother’s expense.

You blink with wide eyes between Strange and Thor, wondering why the hell no one seems to be as off-put as you are.

“Do you just…?” you make the same sort of gesture Stephen had just made to open the portal Loki had fallen out of with a confused look on your face, “Do that normally?”

A shrug.

He turns to Thor then, shaking hands and gesturing once more to sling open another portal.

“I trust you can handle it from here,” Stephen says to Thor, “Good luck.”

This portal, unlike the one Loki had fallen through, overlooks the ocean. You can smells the sea breeze and hear the whisper of tall grass waving in the wind. You feel a bit like you’ve opened a book in the middle of a chapter -- you’re not sure what the hell is going on and before you can ask, Loki is honing in on you like a predator his next meal. He’s standing before you, leering with an angry look that should have probably sent you for the hills.

Instead, you pull another face.

“What is this? A wretched little pest, here to help?”

“Brother --”

“Have we met?” Loki sneers, lip curling as he hisses, “Or do you simply bear resemblance to every other disgusting worm on this planet?”

You push your glasses up again. Suddenly, you’re away of the behavioral tango you’re locked in. It’s like a psychological game of chess. You decide to move your pawn.

“We have, actually,” you chirp with an uncanny amount of unamusement. Thor’s eye twitches behind you, “You tried to blow up my lab station…?  But, uh, I doubt you probably remember that, huh? Yeah, you were, uh, kinda busy terrorizing my boss and half the other staff on call… No, no, I get it. I’ve gotten a haircut since, so --”

“Doctor, please, ignore him --” Thor tries, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Oh, you’re one of Selvig’s wenches then.”

That doesn’t get the rise out of you that Loki had predicted. You frown, hands in your pockets. Your body language is guarded. Loki’s lip twitches.

“That’s an awfully misogynistic thing of you to say.”

There’s a glimpse of a recoil in his eyes at that. He takes a step forward, as if to challenge you -- to which Strange clears his throat. The game is stopped, if only for a moment, and Loki’s anger is redirected towards the wizard with a new-found malice.

“And you must be the second-rate sorcerer --”

You move, hand planted on the chest of the God of Lies as he shoves past you. He steps on your toes then, scuffing your shoes and you groan -- shoving him backwards with an annoyed cry. Thor makes a face, hands moving to try and pull you from the path of his brother.

“Hey, God of being-an-asshole, do you mind?”

“Move, bug, I have a pig to gut --”

“Alright, nope, bye-bye.”

Thor’s too late and you’re thrown through the portal. The ground is yanked out from underneath you like a tablecloth is yanked out from under a tea set. The flick of Strange’s wrists sends you careening into the grass on the other side of the portal. Loki lands, quite literally, on top of you a moment later, knocking the wind out of both of you. He groans, only to be cut off by your hands shoving him off as you try to roll as far away from the trickster as you can. Loki curses, annoyance boiling over --

And then Thor calls his name.

Today is not normal.

Before you can ask how the hell you’re going to get back to your New York office building, you’re painfully aware of the weight of the situation at hand. If someone told you you’d watch the two crown princes reconcile with their father that day, you would have laughed in their faces… Mostly since this is not reconciliation. Loki looks broken at the mention of his mother. Thor is in the midst of trying to work out the possibility of having a sister when Odin flutters to the wind in golden glimmers. There’s an electric threat in the wind.

In Odin’s absence, centuries of anger comes to a head.

You’re there, stepping between the brothers --

“This is your doing --”

“I had no hand in this --”

Hela arrives on the roll of thunder, and you realize quickly that this is all very much above your pay grade.

Normal.

Today had been shaping up to be normal.

And then, you were shoved out of the Bifrost by green gilded hands amidst fleeing the Goddess of Death’s claws -- the last thing you see is a twisted look of shock on Thor’s face as you’re sent careening through rainbow light. The Bifrost shatters around you like ice and you’re sent tumbling through the universe, the weight of the situations terribly apparent as you spin and spin and spin and spin and fall.

The second time you meet Loki, he throws you out of a glimmering quantum anomaly in an attempt to save himself.

[mitchmarnier]

when tomorrow comes (i’ll be on my own)

rating: mature

pairing: eddie kaspbrak/richie tozier

summary: Richie pushed himself up on his elbows and smirked. “You know, Eddie my love, we suddenly have great potential right here. Don’t you remember what it was like? Back in Derry… all the sneaking around, the thrill of getting caught all the time? What an adrenaline rush!”

“What a constant risk of anxiety attack you mean,” Eddie corrected, but he was grinning too. “But yeah, it was pretty exciting. What’s your point?”

“What if… and really hear me out here, Eds… we just let them think we were broken up?”

chapter count: 4/7

Eddie trailed the tips of his fingers down Richie’s bare back, smiling to himself as his boyfriend shivered in his sleep at the touch.  Eddie hadn’t originally planned to actually spend the entire weekend hauled up in Richie’s dorm room, but it seemed that Richie had know him better than Eddie had expected. Aside from Richie occasionally taking a walk around to campus to find food or drink, Eddie and his boyfriend had effectively been turned into experimental rats that pressed the pleasure button instead of the food button until they died.  

Thankfully enough, they hadn’t died but Eddie had truly waited until the very last possible second to leave the warmth of Richie’s arms. If he didn’t walk out of this room in the next minute or so, he greatly risked running into Stan and Patty are their ways back to campus. Heart hanging heavy in his stomach, he tugs on his same pair of jeans from Friday afternoon and mourned that this was the first time in two days he’d been wearing something more than a pair of boxers.

Knowing it was a risk, but not being to hold himself back, Eddie reached out and scoop up one of Richie’s soft white Ts with a terrible puns on them from the floor and pulled it on instead of his salmon polo that he’d come over in. Bill would immediately recognize the shirt as Richie’s, and it did little to cover the purple bruises that danced up from chest and over a long part of his neck. Eddie was ducking out of Richie’s room while Richie slept, feeling utterly like he were bailing after a one night stand, and he couldn’t bare the only thing he be leaving with being those marks.

To King Trashmouth <3: hey sorry i didn’t wake you figured you needed the rest after this weekend ;) i love you see you soon

Shoving his phone into his back pocket and wiping at his damp eyes, Eddie didn’t see the people walking down the hall towards him until he nearly collided with them. Stepping back, Eddie cursed himself for taking the short walk. In the week or so since he and Richie had told everybody they’d broken up, Eddie had seen very little of Stanley Uris and Patty Blum. It was the same, Eddie figured, for Richie with Bill and Audra. What had been a tight group of friends since the first week of freshman year was now fractured, and Eddie was suddenly floored by the realization that this was like a sneak preview of what life would be like if he and Richie ever truly broke up.

It took every inch of self restrain he possessed in his entire body not to turn and run back to Richie. To toss himself back into the bed and curl up in his boyfriend’s arms. But he noted then, the way Stan was looking at him, looking at his shirt, at his marks and the urge to throw up over come to the urge to return to Richie.

He watched the expressions dance over Stan’s face; confusion, then realisation, then anger. The clench of his jaw, the flash of his eyes. Patty shifted awkward on the heels of her feet, seemingly avoiding meeting Eddie’s gaze. “Eddie,” Stan said, voice shift. “That’s Richie’s shirt.”

It’s not a question, but Eddie nods in response anyway. Out of everybody he’d met in college, Stan was the friend he was the least close to. It was funny in way, considering how often Richie would constantly tell Eddie that he though he and Stan were so similar. “Not in like… sexy fun times with Richie way but kind of like… if I got dirt on shirt you’d  freak out kind of way.”

“Eddie…” Stan said slowly, jaw clenching for a moment. His eyes burned at the marks leading up from the collar of Richie’s shirt. “You can’t pull this shit, okay? Richie can’t handle you jerking him around. He’s a mess.”

Eddie crinkled his brow, licking his bottom lip in lieu of giving a response. There wasn’t anything he could say without completely exposing himself and Richie, and while he knew that at this point their stupid bet had turned deeply into overkill, but Eddie was too dedicated by now. He was also more than a little interested to hear just how Stan figured Richie was a mess.

“He barely leaves the dorm room except for classes,” Stan continued as Eddie knew he would if Eddie didn’t speak up to defend himself. “When he finishes Brooklyn Nine Nine, he just starts it over from the beginning! And he takes really long showers.”

“He what?” Eddie blinked, shaking his head slightly. Stan looked highly put-out, like he was moments away from stomping his foot, if he wasn’t so aggressively mature. “

“He takes really long showers, he never used to.” Stan said slowly. “I think that’s where he cries, because he doesn’t want to do it where I can hear him.”

Eddie’s face suddenly burned at the thought of the amount of times in the past few weeks that he’d snuck into the wet space to share Richie’s shower with him. Of course Richie’s showers were longer than usual, but there wasn’t a whole lot of crying going on.

“I think you’re seeing whatever you want to see, Stan,” Eddie said lightly. “You don’t know what Richie’s feeling.”

“And you do?” Stan laughed almost bitterly. “You dumped him for no good reason, you’re already going on dates with other people and now you’re crawling into his bed the first chance you get and fucking with his head even more? I thought you were better than that, Eddie.”

As Stan stomped off down the hall and Patty gave a sympathetic smile, Eddie gave himself a short moment to feel bad for himself. The last thing he wanted was anybody to think he was some sort of arrogant bastard just looking to get some good dick, or that he was using Richie. He, of course, knew that neither of those things were true and Richie knew it, too… but it still made Eddie feel a little sick that anything would lead Stan to believe such horrible things of him.

It did, though, leave a small warmth in Eddie’s chest to know that Richie had a friend like Stan who was go willingly to go toe-to-toe for him over a break up. Eddie’s best friends’ idea of helping was trying to get him laid with an almost scary amount of passion.

xx

“I hope you know I absolutely did not agree to this.” Eddie said, leaning against then wall in protest as the party raged on around him. “I didn’t agree to this in any way, shape or form.”

Bill rolled his eyes. “You refused to download Tinder, we’re compromising!”

“A compromise requires consent!” Eddie shot back, eyes trailing over to where Richie was trying fruitlessly to tug Ben Hanscom up onto a table with him. Eddie fought back a grin, knowing his boyfriend was the furthest thing from drunk, just simply a menace to society. “Not sure why you thought this was going to be helpful in getting me to move on.”

“It did not occur me that Ruh-Richie would be here,” Bill said mildly as Audra arrived with a drink in both hands. Bill reached out for one only to be greeted with an unimpressed smirk as Audra took a sip from both in succession of the other. “There’s uhm.. somebody we wanted you to meet, actually but if Ruh-Ruh-“

“If Richie being hear makes this too awkward then don’t worry about it.” Audra finished for him, placing a reassuring hand on Bill’s shoulder and squeezing. Eddie pursed his lips, glancing over his shoulder at boy who was clearly standing a safe distance away. His brown hair was pushed into a ponytail, giving the hint of curls, and his eyes were hiding behind thick rimmed glasses, prompting Eddie to hide an eye roll.

Shaking his head, he pulled out his phone and didn’t bother to hid in his interest in texting. To king trashmouth<3: your knock off by the door. bill wants me to chat him up

Richie had Ben’s head between his thighs now, shouting something about going for a ride, when he struggled to yank his phone out of his back pocket without sending both himself and Ben tumbling to the ground. He glanced up, eyes finding the boy then moving through the room to land on Eddie. He grinned, then winked.

from king trashmouth<3: do you want me to cause a distraction

to king trashmouth<3: will this distraction get you arrested?

from king trashmouth<3: no but it will be very embarrassing for you

from king trashmouth<3: but it will get billy boy off your back for a while i say

to king trashmouth<3: i mean youre going to do it anyway aren’t you

from king trashmouth<3: mmmmm you know me <3333

Eddie sighed, putting his phone back into his pocket. “Fine. I guess it won’t hurt to meet him.” Bill absolutely beamed at Eddie’s response, taking hold of his arm and pulling him over happily.

“Justin, this is Eddie.” He said, stutter all but gone while Audra stood off to the side, frowning lightly. “Eddie is the hottest guy I know and just got out of a very serious, long term relationship and is ready to let loose.”

“Oh my God,” Eddie said, not bothering to whisper. Audra pressed both hands over her face and walked away shaking her head. During their freshman year and a large chunk of sophomore year- the PRE-Audra ear- Bill had a pretty well deserved reputation as fuckboy throughout campus. Eddie wouldn’t have been able to count the amount of times he was kicked out of his dorm room so Bill could fuck some girl Eddie knew he’d never see again. From the beginning, Audra had been different from that and from the moment Bill referred to them as “going on a date”, Eddie had known the girl was going to be sticking around for the long run. It seemed now, though, that Bill was trying to pawn off his fuckboy ways onto what he thinks is a newly single Eddie.

“I’ll let you two… talk,” he waggled his eyebrows at Eddie and leaned in a whisper about spending the night at Audra’s so Eddie could have the room to himself. Eddie made a disgusted noise, but made a mental note to text Richie about it later.

Justin reeked of weed and he was even less attractive up close. He slouched and their was mustard on his shirt. It was looking at a fifteen year old Richie Tozier, minus the braces. It made an uncomfortable feeling appear in Eddie’s throat,  and he was already completely over this interaction.

Justin just leaned closer, Eddie resisted the urge to gag as the smell got stronger the closer Justin got. A hand came out to rest on Eddie’s wrist and Justin face was almost touching Eddie’s cheek. “So.. hear you’re looking for a good time?”

“Good time but not a long time?” Eddie asked breathily, closing his eyes. Come on, Richie…. Distraction any time now. It would be FUCKING LOVELY.

“Oh, baby boy, it can be as long as you’d like.” Okay, Eddie was going to throw up now. Right all over this guys’ ugly, mustard stained-

“Ay-yo, what the fresh fuck is this?”

Oh, thank fucking God. Eddie exhaled harshly, shoving away from Justin and trying his hardest to look like he’d been caught doing something wrong. He shoved his hands into his pockets and shifted around nervously, looking everywhere but at Richie. I love you, I love you, I think I love you like never before, he thought desperately, wondering if Richie knew.

“Who’s this, Eds?” Eddie watched Richie bite down on his bottom lip as the nickname slipped out. Their was crowd surrounding them now, Bev and Ben whispering frantically to each other. “It looks like you went out and tried to buy me at Wal Mart.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. How original, Richard. Eddie and Richie made eye contact, and Richie gave him just the slightest hint of a wink. It could’ve been a blink, to a mind less trained in the ways of Richie Tozier as Eddie’s was.

Richie only made one singular step towards Justin before Mike Hanlon seemed to appear out of nowhere, arms coming out and scooping Richie up above his shoulders as though he weight nothing. Richie responded as though nothing had happened as well. “I hope you drown in a bathtub! I hope you have aneurysm after aneurysm after aneurysm!”  

Eddie bit down on his bottom lip and pressed himself up against the wall, eyes stuck on his feet. If he made eye contact with even one person right now, he’d burst out laughing and blow everything.

“Your ex must be fucking wasted,” Justin laughed, face bright red.

Eddie walked Richie being carried from the party that was already loosing interest. “Nope.” He said, smiling fondly. “Just a menace to society.”

to king trashmouth <3: bills spending the night at audras? see you in my dorm?

from king trashmouth<3: you know it bby 8======D

to king trashmouth<3: youre disgusting jfc

[themildestofwriters]

Meet the Cast: Babette

Tagged by the magnificent @kijilinn who tagged me in this a long time ago and I’ve been desperately trying to write up for. There’ll be one for Josephine out soon so take care of finding that one but outside of that here we go!

1. On a scale of “is occasionally forced to bathe” to “Instagram model with sponsors to hoe for” how involved is your OC’s Skincare routine?

Babette cares about her hygiene and while she doesn’t by the most expensive products available—seeing them nothing more than superfluous wastes of money—she tends to put more than the bare minimum into the products she buys. In this, she’s quite involved in her cleanliness. She keeps herself clean and tidy, grooms herself and even moisturizes often though not every day. Overall, she does care but it isn’t the most important thing in her mind and there are times when depression hits and she just can’t bring herself to care about hygiene.

2. What are your OC’s food preferences (flavours/textures/spiciness/calories/ when and how they eat) and how did they get that way?

I think I made a mention of sour lollies to a friend of mine? Nevertheless, Babette’s food preferences are actually quite interesting considering her nature as a non-human entity. She still must eat but doesn’t have to eat physical food. In fact, physical food is akin to Babette going vegetarian or vegan. Her kinds natural diet consists mainly of metaphysical energy: life energies, magical energies, mental energies, things that can be found in abundance around the universe but can be considered unethical to harvest for food. To take life energy is basically devouring souls. To take magical energy strips an important component of reality that manifests in many different ways, some positive and some negative. To take mental energy would be to drain the memories and other important brain-things of living creatures leaving them mindless husks.

However, as implied before, physical foodstuffs are a substitute. Unfortunately, she needs to eat a lot to substitute the recommended amount of energy for her to consume. If she doesn’t, then she’ll grow weak, first magically but considering she’s not entirely a physical being, it will soon to affect her physical health. She’ll grow weak and frail, decrepit as rapid onset physical aging takes place. Her hair will begin to thin, teeth falling out along with her feathers. It’s not pretty. In this, however, it means calories are of no importance to her. She physically can’t get overweight due to most of her food being turned into this substitute energy while the rest is turned to waste. This doesn’t mean she couldn’t over eat—or over drink—as she’s found. If she eats too much at once, the food cannot be digested quick enough and it will result in her vomiting up the excess.

Babette prefers savoury foods and especially meat. She could literally tear through an entire leg of ham on her own, bone and all, and she would not regret a thing—aside from the bill, probably. As an aside, she could probably do it in one bite, not that the sight of her doing so would be good for your mental health. However, while meat products are her favourite food type, she does enjoy vegetables as they add verity to her meals, both visually and in taste. They’re not as important considering their energy content relating to metaphysical energy, but she enjoys them nonetheless. Fruit as well, milk and sweets! She loves the taste of white chocolate (dark chocolate is eww), and has, much to Josephine’s exasperation, eaten an entire cake by herself because she just needed just one. More. Bite.

For texture, Babette doesn’t have much of a preference. She’ll eat a lot of things and isn’t too picky about what she eats in this regard and in most regards.

For spiciness… Babette may be a goddess, but she cannot handle too much spice. It still burns and can sometimes be a bit overwhelming for her. Lightly spiced food is fine but its not like she’d empty an entire bottle of chilly powder onto her meal before eating it. While it wouldn’t hurt her, she would still not enjoy it. At the same time, she wouldn’t enjoy her meal if it was too bland. If she’s cooking, it can be expected for her to add some home grown or otherwise hand-picked spices into the mix and, perhaps, some experimentation.

Babette eats when Josephine eats and beyond. Josephine has a healthy eating schedule and so Babette does. However, this isn’t always a constant and sometimes she just can’t bring herself to eat whether due to depression or some other reason. When she does eat, however, she eats like royalty. She finds eating messy uncouth and would prefer eating with utensils whenever possible. She does make exceptions but only with certain foods that won’t result in her needing to wash her hands afterwards. If she needs to eat chicken wings, she’ll use a knife and fork, but a burger is fair game if wrapped properly.

3. What’s something pointless/petty/unimportant that IRRATIONALLY ANNOYS THE HELL out of your OC?

To name one, it would be walking slowly in narrow pathways. She has the patience of an immortal, but it doesn’t mean much. She doesn’t want to deal with having her life slowed down and would much rather prefer spending her time at home or with others she cares about. She’s a fast walker and finds it annoying dealing with anyone going slower then her on purpose. If you’re old or injured or something like that, then that’s good, but if you’re purposefully walking slower then she’ll get pissed off. The same can apply when shopping, especially if she’s inline to check out and someone decides to take their time, needlessly—most of all, she’ll hate you for life if you decide to slow down the check-out line by making a massive scene and yelling at the clerk because they didn’t greet you right or they didn’t accept your two-years-out-of-date coupon.

4. What’s your OC’s response to being asked for money by a homeless person?

If she had money to spare on hand, she would part with it. If she didn’t, she would turn them away apologetically. Her heart goes out to them, and she would feel guilt knowing that she could do something about it but won’t. As will be mentioned for question 6, Babette doesn’t want to help any more than a human could because she knows that it would be a slippery slope that would result in her overexerting herself in her attempt to fix the universe’s problems as she had once before. It’s the strongest piece of self-control not to fix all their problems and she feels guilty.

5. Does your OC get lost easily? What do they do when they do get lost?

It’s unlikely she’ll get lost. She knows her way around a map and has a very good memory—though not a perfect one—that allows her to mentally map places with some effort. However, if she ever does find herself lost, her usual response is to try not to panic and plan. Lost in a forest? Fly above the tree line and figure out where she is. Lost in a city? Ask around. Lost in space? She has no idea and would probably attempt to find any navigation technology nearby or fly to the nearest star. While there are times where she hasn’t reacted the best, she knows what to do and acts efficiently once the initial panic is gone.

6. What would STOP your OC from Doing The Right Thing in a tense situation?

It depends on what is considered the “Right Thing”. To make it easy, I’ll base it on what Peter Parker, The Spider-Man, considers to be the “Right Thing’ which can be summarised as “With great power comes great responsibility.” In other words, if you have the power to do something good for the world, it is your responsibility to do that thing. In this, Babette is stopping herself from doing the right thing, even in a tense situation.

She has godlike power and doesn’t use it to hep the world. She purposely makes sure that she only helps as much as a human could but she’s not going to do anything more—she won’t fly over seas to solve world hunger or end tyrannical regimes or anything like that. Those kinds of things aren’t her responsibility and she forces herself to leave it to those responsible. Earth is the domain of humanity and so it’s humanities responsibility to look after the Earth and solve the problems that afflict it. She might help out occasionally but no more than a human reasonably could—unless she becomes emotionally invested, which she tries desperately not to. Of course, this isn’t just because she knows it isn’t her responsibility, but rather the knowledge that the last time she took responsibility into her own hands the galaxy was wiped of life and she doesn’t want that to happen again no matter how many aeons it took to get to that point originally.

7. Realistically, could your OC (in their normal circumstances- i.e. at their own house/battlecamp/spaceship etc.) keep a small child alive for a week if they had to?  A Dog?  A Houseplant? A rock with a smiley face painted on?

Yes, she could. 100%

She might not be a good role model, but she’ll keep that kid/dog/plant/rock alive until it dies from means outside her control which she’d probably attempt to fight against nevertheless because by then she’d have imprinted on the kid and unceremoniously adopted it. If it were a baby, she would raise that thing as if it were her own flesh and blood—she would tend to its needs, sing it songs at night, play and engage with it and perhaps attempt to teach it a few things. If the baby ever managed to say her name, she would probably break down crying and once the week is up there will be more tears to share as she says goodbye to the little bundle of joy. A dog? She’s more of a cat person but with such energetic playfulness and joy, she’d be hard-pressed to not start enjoying her time. With a house plant, she might just pawn that off to Josephine because its Josephine’s thing, probably the rock too.

8. If your OC had to take the S.A.T. tomorrow with one night to prep, how would they do?  both emotionally and academically.

Emotionally, no fucks would be given that night or day. She’s been in more stressful situations and even if she did care about the S.A.T.s she wouldn’t worry much at all. She has a great memory and I’m pretty sure her academic knowledge is one of the few parts she’s confidant with. As for her academic results, I’d say she’d do very well. She wouldn’t score the highest she could, especially with only one night’s worth of prep—which, depending on how far she’d humour the S.A.T., she might end up pulling an all-nighter—but she would do remarkably well and score fairly high. Over all, she doesn’t care much because she doesn’t really need it. She’d probably be the most chill person in the entire building.

9. What would cause your OC to choose to do something petty/pointlessly cruel?

As of Divine Intervention Babette isn’t one to really act out if things are done to her specifically. Well, she would but only in specific situations. If someone does something to those she cares about, even if it wasn’t that bad but still caused a problem? Well… Babette doesn’t really understand “Proportional Retribution” and due to her life experiences, she might see something relatedly minor as something major and react as such. Getting physical with her girlfriend in an ill-fated attempt to court her may result in a fractured wrist, for example. Another example would be from the film Man of Steel as Babette would totally crucify someone’s truck if they threw something at her head.

10. On a scale of “Complete and Justified nervous breakdown” to “Conquer The Entire Galaxy and become an Immortal God-Emperor”, how well would your OC handle being abducted by Aliens?

…she did both.

11. What song is 100% guaranteed to get your OC beyond excited and will be sung loudly and embarrassingly, either in public or the shower?

Babette’s a singer and musician, often at times sings along to many songs when she has the energy. She plays music while in the shower and can be heard singing along with—same as with the car, where she’s either drumming along with the beat or simply singing her heart out. Singing is a passion of hers and there isn’t really a specific song that would lead her to start singing her heart out. As of 2018, she would so get into the Country Roads meme and would absolutely sing her heart out if it ever appeared on radio.

12. What perfectly-normal-to-them-thing does your OC do that confuses/pisses off/terrifies their neighbours?

Probably the things coming out of her mouth. Babette is very bad at hiding the fact that she’s a god and the things that come out of her mouth don’t help. Some would think her comments about “kids these days” as jokes at her own expense, but if the neighbours actually listen to the words coming out of her mouth, the more they’d get confused and worried. The anger in her voice; the pain; the misery; the grief; if they listened, they would hear it. That’s normal for her, isn’t it?

13. Under what circumstances would your OC appear naked in public?

Very, very specific circumstances. She doesn’t mind performing rather nsfw deeds in public and is rather excited by the prospect, but she would never do it in public. Always it will be public-adjacent where only those she’s performing these nsfw deeds with can see her. It’s unlikely that she would ever actually appear naked in public proper and is rather prudish in this situation. If her clothes were somehow destroyed, she would cover herself as best she could whether by using hands, wings or magic to obscure her form. About the only time I could think for her to appear naked would perhaps be at a nudist beach but I’m finding it a hard time seeing her appear naked of her own volition elsewhere.

14. What thing did your OC’s parents do that your OC wishes they had a better explanation for?

I would probably say… she wishes she knew why Maria and Matthew divorced—her biological parents. She doesn’t have the full picture and even when she tried to ask all she got was conflicting evidence. Maria was a bad wife, no, Matthew was a bad husband. Both don’t like each other, and Babette doesn’t know who’s telling the truth of if there’s a grain of truth to each of their stories.

15. How often does your OC “zone out” or do things on autopilot and how severe have the problems that have arisen from that been?

Sometimes when she’s playing an instrument where she’ll just zone out as she plays. Sometimes she’ll zone out when doing a menial task. She zones out in the shower, she zones out on the bus, she zones out in class, she zones out a lot. She hasn’t really done anything bad while zoned out but there have been a few times when someone’s startled her bad enough that her fight response kicks in and she attacks the “threat”. Usually, however, she’s able to catch herself before she actually injures them—unless they were an actual threat.

16. How strong or weak is your OC’s Impulse control? What’s the worst thing that happened because of their Impulsivity or inability to be so?

It depends on the subject. She is very impulsive when it comes to helping people and great self-restraint is needed to not fall down that slippery slope of helping everyone she meets. However, she’s not an impulsive buyer and is mostly in control when dealing with fighting people—she’s not going to hurt someone unless she knows for certain that they deserve it. On the other hand, when she’s dealing with the man who murdered her mother, the only thing she could think about was removing that pathetic excuse for life in the most painful way possible.

Because of her hesitance, she’s probably seen innocent people get hurt or even die. With her impulsive drive to destroy the man who murdered her mother, she’s jeopardised missions. She’s done things she’s not proud of because of her impulsiveness and there are times when she wished she were more impulsive.

17. How does your OC sabotage themselves?

Babette self-sabotage’s herself in a lot of ways. She focuses on the negative aspects of herself, completely ignoring her positive sides. She focuses too much on the bad things in life and tries to act like the good things aren’t that good. She focuses on negativity in general, especially in regard to herself and experiences. She tries to suppress herself and her emotions. She’s far to self-sacrificing, putting other’s needs way before her own. She compares herself to others and doesn’t let what other’s do inspire her to do better, instead wallowing in guilt. She’s a perfectionist who’s only satisfied when 100% of problems are fixed. Instead of dealing with her trauma she puts it off until it starts negatively effecting her love life. She deprives herself of sleep just to get away from traumatic nightmares instead of getting help. She forces herself to relieve horrible moments in her life (i.e. listening to her first girlfriend’s suicide note during Christmas). Self-generating stress and over working herself when she really just needs to take a seat.

To say the least, she’s very much into the self-sabotaging occupation.

18. What’s the trashiest item in your OC’s wardrobe, when was the last time they wore it and why do they still have it?

Babette doesn’t really have anything trashy in her wardrobe. She tends to keep it clean and clear with about the only thing she’s kept around for a long time being her necklace and a once-radioactive dress of hers.

19. How Dehydrated is your OC right now? Are they going to fix this?

At 6:50pm, she’s probably just had dinner or something so not so dehydrated. She doesn’t drink the recommended amount, but at the same time she does have a bottle of water on hand to drink every now and then. Especially in the summer when it’s uncomfortably hot, she likes water whether it’s bathing, swimming or drinking.

20. What’s your OC smell like? No, not that “Vanilla and Anxiety” evocative stuff, realistically. Body odour? What have they been touching all day? When was their last shower? Did they put on any kind of artificial scent?

Babette naturally smells faintly of burning ozone in line with her affinity for lightning. If she doesn’t bathe, then she may begin to smell offensive after a few days. It’s not as bad as others as she doesn’t have particularly bad body odour, but it’ll still a bad smell and she’ll still want a shower. Outside of her natural smells, the lingering ozone is sometimes mixed with soap or perfume or deodorant. Usually, these things will be scented in line with the forest or fruits.

She bathes at least once every two days, perhaps more depending on the weather and what activities she’s up to—and usually at night—and she brushes her teeth twice a day and flosses once a day. As it’s like… 3:02am at the time of writing this answer, she’s probably had a shower earlier and is attempting to get to sleep.

She usually only wears perfume when going to a party or out on a date.

I tag: @gottaenjoythelittlethingzz; @randomestfandoms-ocs; @rose-writes-and-drinks-tea; @ariellaskylark; @cometworks; @i-tried-and-i-loose; @pens-swords-stuff; and anyone else who wants to do this!

[prorevenge]

You want to deal only with a manager? You got it! A tale of yield management.

Warning: This is a very long story.

Once upon a time, when most people listened to terrestrial radio stations, I was the advertising sales manager for a group of radio stations in a US city. It was a fairly high-level, high-paying job that put me in charge of millions of dollars in revenue.

One of my two main duties was managing a group of advertising account managers. The account manager’s job is to sell radio commercials. Their only pay is commission on what they sell. There is no salary. While to most, this doesn’t sound like a good deal, in reality, my account managers usually made upper-middle-class income if they worked hard.

My other main duty was to manage inventory and prices for radio commercials. The pricing strategy for radio stations is called yield management. In theory, the price for radio commercials varies based on a number of factors like percent of product already sold, anticipated future demand, overall size of the buy, and the timing of the buy in relation to when the ads run.

It is similar to how prices for airlines tickets and hotel rooms vary.

Some examples of how this works:

If there are already a lot of commercials sold in the week, then prices to place an ad are higher.

If the overall size of the ad buy is high, then the spot price can go down (like a volume discount)

If someone is trying to buy ads to air soon, like tomorrow or next week, the price is higher.

While I used tools that help measure the factors that I mentioned above to set prices, ultimately, as the sales manager, I had total discretion on how much to charge.

Each radio commercial actually had two prices. The higher is called the rate card price. This is the official, semi-public price that actually appeared on a piece of a paper called a rate card.

The lower nonpublic price, or the floor price, is the lowest price for which an account manager could actually sell it, without getting special permission from me (which I never gave). The account manager has the flexibility to work within that range for pricing.

Keep in mind that both the rate card price and the floor price vary over time due to the factors that I describe above.

While my salespeople were paid on commission for what they sold, I was paid a small percentage of all revenue. In this scenario, losing one client could mean a 5% to 10% reduction in income for an account manager; however, for me, losing a client was barely noticeable. I would rather lose a bad client if it meant that I could fill the space with good (better paying clients).

At this point, the exposition ends and the story begins.

One day, around 10 AM, while I was sitting at my desk, contemplating exactly which condiments I was going to have on my lunchtime deli sandwich, I get an email. The sender is a fellow that I am going to refer to as GPDW, which is short for Gold Plated Dick Wad.

GPDW was the owner of a business that recently began advertising on one of my radio stations. The business catered to a lower income group of consumers and was somewhere between payday lender and pawn shop on the Poor-People-Exploitation-Meter. I hated taking this kind of client, but my bosses wouldn’t let me reject it.

GPDW had been running commercials on one of my radio stations for a few months. The account manager that worked with him was a good, young salesperson that we will call Monica.

I liked Monica. She was inexperienced but hardworking and honest.

Monica had negotiated a great deal for GPDW. The rates were at the exact floor rate at the time the deal was done; the lowest rates that I would accept.

She had advised him to advertise on the station that best fit his target audience. In fact, the station completely dominated in the particular demographic that he coveted. The second ranked station had less than a quarter of the listeners. And, she gave it to him for the lowest possible price.

So, back to GPDW’s email to me. His curt message went something like this:

I am sick of dealing with your little girl. I want a manager to handle my business from now on. Cancel my advertising schedule immediately and bring your ass down to see me if you want me to buy anything from you again.

I immediately called Monica to my office. When she walked in her eyes were red. It was clear that she had been crying.

She told me that GPDW had cussed her out in his office. He was asking for a lower rate, well below the floor. She tried to explain why we couldn’t do that. He cut her off, screaming at her to GET THE FUCK OUT OF HIS OFFICE.

On the drive back from that meeting she had to stop because she was crying too hard to drive safely.

What an asshole.

After commiserating with Monica and doing my best to give her a pep talk, I did what the client asked: I cancelled all of his radio commercials.

At that point, I would have been happy to never deal with him again. Unfortunately, my bosses would not have liked that.

I put on my most professional face, shoved a rate card in my folder, and drove down to see GPDW.

He worked out of a shitty space in a old strip mall. His office was just barely big enough to contain his desk and a couple of chairs.

This meeting was the first time that I met GPDW. He was short, young and reminded me of a car salesman.

I smiled, shook his hand and told him that we were honoring his request. I, the manager, would now be his only point-of-contact at the company. As an important client, he would get managerial level service from me. No more dealing with “young girls.”

He told me that he wanted better rates. A salesperson from the #2 radio station had called on him and presented rates that were half the price of what he was paying us.

I acknowledged this and explained to him that the difference in price was due to the listenership levels. With us, he was advertising to four times more people. His original deal with Monica was actually much better than what he was being offered by the #2 station.

Of course, the salesperson from the #2 station didn’t tell him that. Monica tried to tell him but he screamed at her to GET THE FUCK OUT OF HIS OFFICE.

Once he understood, he said, “Alright, just let the existing advertising schedule continue.”

I responded, “What existing advertising schedule?”

“The one we have been running the past few months. Just keep it going.”

“You instructed me to cancel that schedule in your email. I cancelled it as per your request.”

“Okay, then just rebook it,” he said.

This was the moment that I was waiting for.

“Sure thing. Demand on our station has increased significantly since the first booking a few months ago. Here are our most updated rates.”

I pulled out the rate card from my folder and handed it over. The prices on this rate card were double what he was paying before. The reasons the rate was so much higher are, firstly, it was the rate card rate (the highest) and I had already filled the ad spaces that he had vacated with higher rate spots from other advertisers. Yield management dictated that we raise prices.

His face got red. He yelled, “WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT?!”

“This is our most recent rate card. This is rate that you will need to pay to be on my station.”

I continued, “You asked for managerial level service and this is it. Monica is an account manager. Her motivation is to get a deal done so that she can earn a commission. She made you the lowest possible deal in order to get your business. I, on the other hand, am a manager. I have other considerations and am less inclined to cut you a deal.”

He went slack jawed as I stood up.

“It was nice to meet you. Contact me when you want to buy some commercials.”

—

After I left, GPDW immediately called Monica. She let the call go to voicemail. He begged her to call him back. "We can work this out."

A few days later he got my boss on the phone. My boss told him that I was the ultimate arbiter of rates and he is not willing to interfere with my process. I knew that my boss would do this because I was really good at my job (and my boss was awesome).

A few weeks later GPDW emailed me an advertising order using the updated rates. I let Monica technically keep the account internally so that she earned the commission, which was significantly higher than before. But, she never had to talk to him again.

Eventually, GPDW’s business closed and I heard that he moved away.

(source) (story by radioburner9988)

[artistlove17]

Losing my Nana

3 March 2019.

This was the day I lost one of, if not THE most important person in my life.

A little backstory: 👇

I had been living with my fiance in a rental trailer. Our landlord had admitted that he had been going into our house when we weren't home, which freaked us out because that is an insane invasion of privacy, not to mention it really creeped me out because there have been several "incidents" at that house and due to work shifts there were days that I was home alone... So we really wanted to move. Before this my fiance had lost his job and then after that I ended up losing mine. So we knew we WANTED to leave... and then we HAD to leave anyway because we couldn't pay rent anymore.

My Nana has always been my biggest supporter and has always made sure I knew that she loved me (she would tell me 200 times a day) and would always let me know she was there for me and that she understood. We had a really deep conversation about life and things before she died. She took care of me when I had the chicken pox at 19 years old. She was the first person I ever smoked weed with. She actually gave up doing any kinds of pills so she could be around me.

She asked us to live with her. She had been asking for a while, and now my fiance and I had nowhere else to go so she was super excited about us moving in with her finally.

I was kind of happy about it too because she didnt live in the best neighborhood and I liked that I would be there to make sure she was ok and I could do things for her (like cook for her and take her to her appointments and things like that).

At this point we had just started moving into the room that previously belonged to my meth head cousin. Yea... it's as bad as it sounds. He had been in and out of prison for many MANY drug, weapon, and theft charges. He would break into houses (including my dads house when I lived there) and steal all kinds of collectables and valuables and then go pawn them for meth money.

My Nana hated him. She was constantly kicking him out. But... she had a really big heart and if you apologized enough then she'd forgive you. So my other cousin Candy (the meth heads mom and my Nana's Niece) was constantly abusing this fact. She knew my Nana was a pushover. But there were times Nana told her no as well and then Candy resorted to threatening.

She'd tell Nana that she would "cut her off" which meant Nana would have no one to take her to her doctors appointments or to the store or things like that. Nana didnt drive or have a car, so she relied on Candy for these things. Nana had actually been asking my Uncle to buy her a car so she wouldn't have to deal with Candy anymore... but Candy was always pretending to be Nana's best friend and spent time with Nana when it was convenient for her. (One of Nanas sons had a lot of medical issues, the other lived 13 hours away, and my dad was just an asshole. So my nana relied on rides from Candy almost every day.)

The last time that Nana kicked out my meth head cousin he had hit her (which I didn't know about until after he landed in prison once again... otherwise he'd be dead and I'd be in prison). But Candy brought him back over there while Nana was gone and made him take a shower and get comfortable and everything... and then when Nana raised hell about him being there and told Candy that he had hit her... Candy literally threatened my Nana and told her "Well you better not ever hit him back! I'll be done with you if you do! Touch him and see if I ever help you again..." She literally didn't give a shit that her meth head son had hit my Nana... the woman that she "claimed" was her best friend and she cared sooo much about.

She didn't give a fuck about my Nana... she was just using her and I realize that now.

Candy also got my Nana started on drinking. Candy has been a drunk for as long as I can remember and a lot of my family have told me she used to be on meth and cocaine and has probably tried just about every drug. In the end she just turned to alcohol because it was legal and she thinks no one can say anything about her drinking since it's legal.

She was constantly trying to get my Nana to drink, despite knowing Nana had an addiction problem in the past and Nana telling her she didn't want to drink because she knew she shouldn't. For a year I watched her slowly water Nana down to it... for a year Nana kept saying no and then on a bad day Candy made her a mix drink and she finally accepted it.

This started Candy constantly buying Nana bottled and jugs of Jim Beam whiskey and me watching Candy come over already buzzed in the mornings and making mixed drinks for herself and Nana.

Should also mention that Candy has a really rich husband. He owns a huge shipping corporation in my town and would give Candy anything she asked for. He bought her 2 cars (a brand new Mercedes convertible and a Jeep Wrangler), a nice house that he let her remodel, and a huge swimming pool and hot tub. He takes her on trips wherever she wants to go... but they CONSTANTLY argue and fight because Candy won't let her sons deal with their own shit. Both of them are thieving meth heads who are in prison and she bends over backwards trying to get them out and works just so she can send them money in prison. She has bailed the younger one out more times than I could tell you... he has a whole list of charges and arrests. But she keeps acting like he's done nothing wrong and gives him whatever he asks for. This is something I had a problem with long before any of what I'm about to tell you happened.

(There are also accusations that Candy stole from her husband and gave the money to her sons after she bailed them out once. And she has made jokes herself about how he wouldn't even notice anything was missing and made jokes about how much money she could get if she divorced him. Which her stupid self doesn't realize wouldn't be that much, maybe her 2 cars, because everything else was his inheritance from his dad who originally built the company and she legally isn't allowed to touch his inheritance.)

-

My fiance and I had moved our bed and some of our stuff to my Nana's and spent one night there. It was peaceful and comforting. That night Nana came in our room and joked about how we needed to put our big TV in the living room for her to watch. (We had plans to buy her one at Christmas).

The next day we got up and went and got donuts from my favorite place down the road. After we ate my fiance and I fell asleep watching a movie. At this point we didnt even know my Nana was in the house... we hadn't seen or heard from her since we had been up and assumed she had gone somewhere with Candy like usual. (Turns out Nana had already started to cut Candy off and had called and told her not to come that day, telling her she was just going to rest.)

My Great Aunt Pat had been staying in the living room for a couple of nights because she had been staying with Nana. Nana hated being alone in her apartment, which is why Pat was staying there with her until we got moved in.

My fiance and I got woken up just as it was getting dark out by my Aunt knocking on the door. She came in and said she was worried about Nana because Nana told her she was just going to rest today and had went to her room to lay down. Pat was worried though because that had been 3-4 hours ago and she hadn't seen Nana since.

This is when I knew. And you might find that crazy because how could you know?

Nana never slept that long. She slept that long at MOST on a really GOOD night. Otherwise she would sleep an hour, maybe 2 and then at least get up to go to the bathroom or turn on a movie if she couldn't go back to sleep. 9 times out of 10 she would be awake through any hour of the night that I got up to go to the bathroom. We both had terrible sleeping habits and would often be in the kitchen at 3 am making breakfast...

So when Aunt Pat said she hadn't seen or heard from her in that long... I knew something wasn't right...

I sat on the bed for a second and just leaned back against the headboard while my Aunt walked back to the living room... I think she knew what I did but she didn't want to be the one to... find her.

I didn't want to get off that bed... but my fiance (who didn't realize what my Aunt and I did) said "You should go check on her. I would but she's probably in a nightgown and that might be kind of weird."

So I took a deep breath and went to her door.

- (Warning: GRAPHIC)

I opened the door slowly and the bed was empty... and I felt my heart stop.

In the floor I could see her hair fanned out around the foot board of the bed.

I walked over... not knowing what to expect, but just hoping like hell that maybe she just passed out...

Her lips were blue... but I didn't let that stop me from shaking her and calling to her and begging her to wake up. Her skin was cold and her body was stiff and ungiving, nothing like the warmth and love that I always felt from her.

-

I fell back on my ass and leaned against the dresser... so in shock that the tears hadn't even come yet. I couldn't breath. My chest felt like it was tight and my lungs wouldn't work anymore.

But I finally made myself get up and I called for my Great Aunt and fiance to call 911. My fiance called them and I heard him in her room telling the operator that he was trained in CPR but there was no point. She was gone. She had been gone for too long.

The first tear didnt roll down my cheek until I heard my Aunt screaming at Nana's body and crying for her to wake up. That's when I realized she was actually gone... it wasn't just a bad dream.

I got up to ask my fiance to call my mom and family and broke down in the hall while he stepped outside to do that. They wouldn't have been able to hear him over my Aunts painful sobbing. I sat in the hallway floor, staring at the 30+ pictures she had hung up all through the hallway...most of them were me. Her one and only grandchild. I remember crying silently and thinking "this can't be happening."

My fiance came back in after calling my mom and he took me to the living room and made me sit in my Nana's recliner. She had broken it a while back when my uncle came to visit and he sat in her lap and it flipped over with them in it. Nana had told me the story so many times, she didn't care about the chair being broken, she just thought it was a funny memory.

Minutes later... I don't really know how long because it was like my brain stopped perceiving time... the paramedics and the coroner came in. They asked us some questions after they examined her and the coroner pronounced her dead. I can't even remember what he asked other than about her medication and him telling us that she had been gone a while and there was nothing any of us could have done.

After this my mom came in and I called my Uncle and tried to tell him what had happened but couldn't get the words out so I handed the phone to my fiance who stepped outside and came back in later to tell me my Uncle had booked a flight and would be here in the morning.

After that more of my family showed up, my other Uncle and Great Aunt and then I called my Dad... who I didn't think was going to come for a second...

And finally everyone was there and everyone was crying and confused and asking what happened. And then Candy came in.

She ran straight to me and started screaming and bawling "Is Aunty dead!? She can't be dead! This isn't real!" And fell back in Nana's recliner and started kicking and screaming and crying like a 5 year old throwing a fit.

Now I know everyone reacts to things differently and grieves differently... but you could smell the alcohol on her and could tell she was out of her mind. And here she was throwing a fit and showing her ass while the rest of the family cried and talked amongst each other. I didn't really think about it or say anything at the time because I was so out of it, but my fiance brought it up later how just batshit crazy she seemed and how stupid she made herself look.

-

It was at this point that the coroner had us all in the kitchen and told us she had been gone for a while and that he believed she fell after she got up and the way she hit her head on the brick wall instantly killed her. He said she was gone before she hit the floor.

So she had gotten up, probably to go to the bathroom or something like usual... and just lost her balance, cracked her head on the wall... and was gone before she hit the ground.

-

After giving birth at 15 to my dad, and then having my younger uncle by surprise in her 30s. After fighting ulcers and stomach cancer and 2 knee replacements. After defeating her drug abuse problems... that's how she goes. Something so fucking simple!? Something that could happen so... easily...

Candy proceeded to tell the coroner that Nana had been put back on Neurontin at her last doctor visit. Candy and Mom both said the last time she was on that shit she had loss of speech and balance. Mom said she had been on it before and knew that it could mess with people really bad sometimes and that Nana had told her before about how bad it was last time they put her on it.

It's crazy how quickly drama ensued after that...

Our crazy landlord called my fiance and told him we needed to get our cats and the rest of our stuff out of "his house." Even though it had only been 2 days since we notified him that we were leaving. He threatened to throw our cats out to the neighbors dogs if we didn't have them out by morning because "his house wasn't a kennel." And that statement is what pissed me off the most because we hadn't even moved half of our stuff out of that house yet and here he was threatening us to pretty much move out over night, even though he legally had to give us 60 days.

So we had to go out there with my mom and dad and pack all of our stuff into their vehicles and move everything THAT NIGHT. We literally left to do that as the funeral home pulled up to get my Nana's body out of the house...

And my psychotic ass cousin decided for some reason that SHE should be the one to take Nana's purse. Candy literally grabbed Nana's purse and went and put it in her car before anyone even noticed and then told everyone that she had a key to the apartment and not to worry about it. (At this point I should mention that Candys meth head sons stuff was still in Nana's apartment, we had just started moving it the night before. Even though he had been in prison for several weeks at this point.)

The next day I got called to the funeral home with my dad and Uncles. They made the funeral arrangements with my input and said that everything should be left to me because I was the only grandkid and was so close to Nana.

The funeral was set to the next day, March 5, because one of my Uncles had to have surgery on the 7th and wanted to have it before then.

I held it together at the funeral pretty well, I only started crying when they played the song she used to sing to me all the time. I had smoked a blunt before going in Nana's honor and to make it a bit easier for me... Nana loved weed. She said it helped with her mental state as well as her arthritis and other physical pains. She always loved it more than any pills she ever took. Her and my Papaw used to smoke all the time before I was born. They gave it up to make sure they were good parents to my youngest uncle and great grandparents to me. And they were... despite the fact that I think they'd have been even cooler if they had kept smoking weed.

But the next day hell began all over again. My favorite Great Aunt called me and asked me to come to my Nana's apartment because Candy and her crackhead friend were over there packing up whatever they wanted. My youngest Uncle who had flown in said it looked like a couple of rats running in and out of the apartment...

My Aunt kept making little comments to Candy about how greedy she was acting and Candy kept getting bitchy with her and claimed all she was getting was her sons stuff. She tried to say she hadn't touched anything that was Nana's because she knew that was mine.

What bullshit. She had already packed up and taken all of Nana's collectable stuff that was on top of the cabinets in her kitchen, including an eagle set that Nana told me herself were hers and that she was pissed at my cousin because he kept stealing them off her cabinets and putting them in his room.

The next day my Aunt and I showed up to get some clothes for my other Aunt (Nana had like 5 sisters, so I have 5 great Aunts)... I had to climb through the window that Candy stupidly left open even though she deadbolted the door to keep me out...

While we were there Candy came flying up in her jeep (the neighbors had called her and told her we were there). And she barged into the apartment and immediately walks up to me in the hallway accusing me of stealing her sons TV and telling me I better bring it back... literally catching an attitude with me and accusing me of stealing something that WAS my Nanas. And I know the TV was my Nanas because my Uncle told us he and his wife bought it for her at Christmas!! But here this bitch is claiming she's not a thief or a liar... while lying and accusing me of stealing something that was NOT her sons. She was trying to get a free TV out of me because she thought I was too sweet and naive to tell her no and disagree with her... and she learned real quick that that wasn't happening.

She turned to my Aunt and started cussing her and telling her she had no business being in MY NANAS apartment that was left TO ME by my dad and uncles... telling my Aunt to leave her own sisters apartment.

I went off on the bitch, I had had enough. I told her my aunt wasn't going anywhere and that it was MY apartment and that SHE was the one who needed to get the fuck out. She finally left when my Aunt dialled the police.

So we went back to getting what we were there to get (some clothes that I had already been through the day before and was now taking my other Aunt.) When my Uncle pulled up. I had put Nanas plant in the trunk of my great aunts car and had walked out with a box in my hands. Candy jumped out and made a b-line for the trunk and tried to grab the plant so I rammed the box in to her and said "What the hell do you think you're doing!?" And she went off on me about how that was "her" plant and nana would have wanted her to have it and then... then she told me... that my Nana would be disappointed in me...

She's lucky I had a box in my hand or I really and truly would have beat the shit out of her in that moment... I rammed the box into her harder and shoved her back towards my Uncles car (who had just got out and was trying to get between us) and I started yelling "Take your drunk ass home you stupid fucking bitch!!"

And honestly... I know a lot of people will say that's childish and I shouldn't have done that... but she needed to hear it from me. She needed to hear it from someone she thought truly loved her and would never say something like that to her. She needed that truth shoved down her throat to get it through her head. She is a drunk no matter how much she denies it. She shook her head at me and got back in the car and my Uncles Wife took her home.

She posted all over Facebook after that about "karma" going to get someone. And then called me a couple times and left a voicemail crying about how she wanted to talk to me and wanted me to come see her. But never once said sorry... never once admitted that what she did was fucked up.

And the best part... I wanted to save this for the end.

Candy blamed me.

The day after Nana's funeral... she came in Nana's room while I was packing some things and crying into Nana's pillows and told me "Well if I had been here Aunty wouldn't be dead! I even talked to (methehead son) and he said if he had been here she wouldn't have been dead!'

The coroner said she was gone before she hit the floor and that there was nothing we could've done. Candy had been the one buying Nana alcohol and making her mixed drinks even when she knew Nana was put back on that medication, that the doctor specifically told her not to drink alcohol with.

But Candy blamed me.

And as far as her son goes... if he had found Nana dead he would have packed everything valuable in that house and ran. He was already being searched for and had several warrants in several states... no fucking way would he have helped her or called the police.

Fuck Candy and her son. Nana was done with both of them anyway... but Candy was so delusional she didn't even realize it. She didnt realize Nana wanted me there so she wouldn't HAVE to have rides from Candy and Candy couldn't use her anymore.

Candy has since then tried to tell the whole family that my Aunt and I were bullying her and being mean to her and accusing her of shit. And at this point... I don't give a fuck if they believe her. I'll cut them off just like I did her.

(Sorry for not giving a lot of names, I'm not really comfortable doing that on here.

Hope you enjoyed a story from my crazy, fucked up life.)

Ps: Crazy Candy also took flowers off her own mother's gravestone because it was my Aunt that shes pissed at that put them out there. So, my Aunt put flowers on her sisters headstone and Candy took them off because she's pissed at her right now... took flowers from her own mother like that did anything but make her look like the piece of shit she is.