#christ alive look at me sounding like some sort of casting director for a show that exists in my brain

[couslande]

you mentioned dragon age fancasts a week or so ago and i have one, anya chalotra as origins era morrigan

she plays yennefer on the witcher and she's basically singlehandedly carrying that show so i know she'd serve

ooooh interesting. i haven't watched the witcher (and probably wont at this rate tbh) but even just looks wise i think she could work - which is cool bcos i've actually be struggling to think of who i'd cast as morrigan

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

Stay Ch. 14

Master List

Pairing: Natasha X Reader (Female)

Summary: You have a gift, the ability to see other people’s innermost secrets. For years you used it to gather intel for the highest bidder when you take on The Widow. After she becomes more than a mark the two of you spend years stealing moments. Post snap you wait in your designated meeting place, look back on the sordid past you share with the woman you love and hope against everything that she’s still alive.

Warnings: Angst, VERY light violence, a wee bit o fluff

A/N:  I AM SO SORRY THIS IS SO FUCKING LATE. Work has been... a lot... and I was so far ahead for so long aaaaand then I wasn’t all the sudden. SO yeah, very very sorry but I hope you enjoy this. 

Tags are open!

@mywinterwolf @disagreetoagree @breezy1415 @peachthatdrinkslemonade @5aftermidnight  @jeromethepsycho @marvel-randomness @daniellajocelyn @katecolleen @yanginginthere  @wonderlandmind4 @piensa-bonito @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @lesbian-girls-wayhaught @siriuslycloudy2

November 2006

Somehow the landing was worse than the takeoff. You hold your head between your knees for a minute once the movement has stopped to be sure you can keep it together.

“Sorry, was that a little rough,” Agent Hill asks smugly staring down at you.

You glare at her, “I’d like my weapons back now.”

“Not how this is going to work,” she’s standing with her arms crossed obviously waiting for something.

“Oh? How is this going to work?”

“You’re going to play along, and-”

“Hill,” Clint says with a stern tone, “come on, cut it out.”

She throws him a look, “Fine. I got her here I’m done.” With that, she storms out of the jet.

“Ya know, I’m pretty sure no one has ever so outwardly hated me in my life.”

“She’s not so bad. This whole situation is… unorthodox and she’s not entirely a fan of it,” he pulls a duffel out of a locker slinging it over his shoulder.

“Or me.”

He laughs a bit, “Well, you’re not exactly on the up and up.”

“That’s an understatement,” you watch as he pulls a compact bow out of another compartment and a quiver. “My less than kosher activities don’t seem to bother you though.”

He looks back at you, “People do what they have to in order to get by. I understand that.” He walks to the ramp, “You comin’?” You bolt grabbing your bag and follow him.

When you step out into the blinding fall day you’re surprised to see the farmhouse Clint’s memories showed you in the distance. The glare of the day and the shock of the location mean you’re not paying attention. Something slams into the middle of your chest and an electric shock rocks your whole body, not enough to knock you out but enough to take your breath and footing away. You hit the ground hard.

As your eyes clear Clint is kneeling next to you, a sharp arrow point pressed to your jugular so hard you’re scared to swallow.

“Threaten my family again and I’ll put an arrow in your fuckin’ eye. We clear?” His words are menacing but there’s a grin on his lips. He means what he’s saying but this is more a gesture to even the playing field, to let you know he’s not someone to trifle with either. In this moment you decide you like him quite a lot.

“Crystal,” you parrot his former response back.

“Good,” he holds out a hand and you stand, dusting grass off your jeans.

“Y/N!” Whip fast your gaze shoots in the direction of the house.

There she is in jeans and a plain black tee. Framed by the quaint farmhouse and blue sky… it’s the most beautiful image you’ve ever seen. She is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. Leaving your bag and all safety concerns behind you bolt toward her. Emotion blocking any words from escaping your mouth.

At the halfway point you careen into one another. It’s not some picturesque moment where you spin in one another’s arms. No, your collision causes you both to fall to the ground laughing, crying, arms desperately reaching to hold.

“I love you,” you croak before her lips crush the words away. You hold her face between your hands and pull her away, “I. Love. You. Natasha.”

“I love you too,” she says, tears streaming out of her eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t,” she shuts you up with a kiss that knocks you to your back. When she pulls away there’s nothing but blue sky and her smiling face above you. You take a mental picture of this moment. You’ll keep it forever.

Moving her hair behind her ears you pull her face back to yours and kiss her sslowly savoring the feeling of her lips and the taste of her mouth. You were pretty certain you’d never see heaven but that didn’t matter because you had her here on earth.

“If you two wanna fuck on the lawn just say the word and the rest of us can wait inside,” Clint quips as he walks by you.

Natasha laughs, “Don’t tempt me, Barton.” She sits back and watches as he walks to the porch and embraces the brunette woman. The feeling of peace coming from her is new. She trusts him.

You grab her hand and she looks back at you. Giving it a squeeze she stands, “Come on, let’s go inside.”

You’re about to say that you need to grab your bag but when you look back it’s gone. A thud on the porch draws your eye and you notice Clint grabbed it for you. He embraces the woman, kissing her deeply. You can’t help but smile. Hill, you note, is nowhere to be seen.

Hand in hand you and Natasha approach the house. The woman pulls away from Clint, laughing and slapping at his chest. She walks down the stairs of the porch to meet you.

“Hi!” Her smile is big and welcoming, nothing but kindness rolling off her. “I’m Laura. It’s great to meet you,” she extends a hand.

“Likewise,” you take it, “Y/N.”

“I’ve got fresh coffee inside,” Laura turns and heads in.

The house is warm, the smells of coffee and cinnamon fill the air. You were expecting the sparse feel of a safe house. This is no safe house, this is a home. Family photos, knickknacks, and other personal touches are everywhere.

As you and Natasha follow Laura and Clint inside, a shrill cry makes you jump. Natasha bursts out laughing as she points to the bassinet in the living room. You weren’t expecting this inviting home when you got in the jet a few hours ago and you sure as shit weren’t expecting a baby.

“I got him,” Clint kisses Laura’s cheek and heads over. He coos as he picks up the small squirming bundle. “Daddy’s back little man.”

Nat tugs you toward the kitchen and you follow. Agent Hill sits at the table beside a man who isn’t in need of an introduction. Nick fucking Fury, Christ…You freeze, shooting a glance at Natasha as she takes a seat. Her hand reaches out to you but you don’t move.

“What is this?” Your tone is frigid.

“This is afternoon coffee,” Laura brings a cup to the table. “And this is coffee cake,” she sets down a plate filled with the source of the mouthwatering cinnamon smell.

She smiles at you, “You’ve got no reason to believe this I know, but you’re safe here, Y/N. You’re a guest, so are they. Sit down, have some coffee and cake.” The sincerity comes off of her in waves. When Clint passes the baby to her you can feel the surge of protective energy rise in her too. She’s a good woman. You would trust her… but the others.

Natasha’s eyes are pleading and you give in, taking her hand and sitting at her side on the bench. Her hand squeezes yours. For a second you study her face, reading her for any sign of fear, distrust, anything that may indicate this being a trap. There’s nothing of the sort just love, happiness, exhaustion, relief.

“So, Oracle,” Fury’s low voice sounds like a bomb in the calm space.

Your eyes drag to his, “That’s not my name.” You try to read him but he’s shut you out completely. A grey area.

His lips tick up a bit as if he knows what he’s doing. “Alright. I’m Nick Fury-”

“Yeah, caught that. You’re not exactly inconspicuous with the patch and all.”

He inclines his head a touch in acknowledgment of his signature look. “And your name?”

“Y/N.”

“Y/N, what?”

“Just, Y/N.” His eyes narrow. You chuckle a bit, “Look, I’m not bein’ difficult. I just don’t have a last name, never did.”

“That’s interesting,” he takes a sip of coffee.

You shrug, “Not really.”

Silence hangs. Awkwardly. You drink the coffee and make it through half a slice of cake before your can’t take it.

“Alright, someone start talkin’,” you look around lingering on Nat who suddenly won’t make eye contact. “I mean I could just walk around and pull the story from y’all but I think you’d rather just tell me.”

Clint sighs, “Well, short version is Fury sent me to kill the Widow. I made a different call. Here we are.” You cast Fury a murderous stare and he simply shrugs confirming Clint’s summary.

“Why?”

“Too much red in my ledger…” Natasha’s voice is low.

You turn to her, “You did inform them that wasn’t-”

“Yes,” Fury cuts you off, “She told us all about the Children’s Hospital. We believe her, unfortunately, there’s no way to prove it. And regardless she was involved.” He takes a long drink and you genuinely consider how hard it would be to kill the director of S.H.I.E.L.D.

“That was more a final straw,” the look he gives Nat isn’t cruel but you bristle all the same. “We’ve been watching her for a while. Someone that good, well she’s a threat…” His eyes bore into you, “As are you, but we can’t link a damn thing to you to prove that.”

You can’t help the smirk filling your face, “I like to keep my hands clean.” Hill snorts eyes rolling. “Honestly, if you have something to say-”

“Don’t,” Natasha’s hand squeezes yours tight.

“I’m not the one with an obvious issue,” you look to Nat, hoping for support but she looks away. “No…” You let the contact with her open a channel to her thoughts. “Natasha, you aren’t…”

“It’s a good offer,” Fury doesn’t seem phased by your obvious reading of her thoughts. He looks to Clint, “And Barton has volunteered to sponsor Ms. Romanoff.”

“What the fuck is this AA? Honey-”

“It was my choice, babe,” she finally meets your eyes.

You try to find the answer to your question but come up empty, “So what? Trade one leash for another or they kill you? That’s not a choice,” your voice is raising along with your anxiety.

“You’re right,” Clint says from your left, “and that’s not how we do things.”

“I could retire, go off the radar, they’d protect me in exchange for information,” you feel a flicker of despair in her, “but… I wanna make this shit right, Y/N… everything I’ve done…” She turns a bit toward you, “That’s what they offered me, a chance to make right, do something decent for a change. Maybe… maybe help people.”

“Clint seems to think there’s more to the Widow than what the world’s seen so far, I trust his gut,” Fury gives the man a soft smile. Hill hands Fury a file and he slides it across the table to you. The tab reads “Oracle- High Risk.” Your eyes dig into him.

“Enhanced mental abilities, empath, telepathy, possibly other unknown psionic abilities.” A tremor shakes you, Natasha’s hand moves to your thigh, attempting to ground you. “Origin unknown, possible connection to the Lafitte crime syndicate,” you bristle, “other affiliations unknown. High risk of security breech.”

“Almost right, no connections to Lafitte though,” you stare Fury down. his brows raise and he smirks.

“No?” He flips the file open and points to a photo of you at 14 next to Remmy Lafitte, the head of the family and a prominent figure in your own nightmares, his hand on your shoulder. Your stomach flips. “That looks like a connection to me. Hill?”

“Close connection,” she sneers.

Rage boils under your skin, “I wouldn’t call being someone’s slave a connection. Would you, Agent?” Silence falls as you look at the members around the table. Hill looks away, Laura looks disgusted, Clint and Fury have surprisingly understanding expressions, and Nat… well she knew it all.

“Can we get to the point?” You slam the file closed. “You got some decent info on me, more than I suspected, but that’s not really shocking all things considered. Given your status, I gotta assume my presence is more than a courtesy to Natasha.”

“Not a courtesy at all,” he stands and grabs the coffee pot. He offers everyone some and refits mugs while he speaks, “This is an offer, same as we gave your girl here. Come work for us, wipe the slate clean, maybe even do a little good.”

“Ah,” you try once more to read him and come back with nothing. “And I assume this agreement has no strings such as medical tests and the like attached?”

He catches your drift, “Nothing beyond the usual.” He takes a seat, “Look, we saw this as an opportunity to bring someone with your… unique skill set on board. There are threats out there bigger than you can imagine, the more prepared we are, the better. Someone who can suss out threats in our own ranks… Well, that’s a valuable asset.”

“If I decline?” You can feel tension radiate off Natasha.

“What can we do?” He shrugs sipping his coffee, “You keep doing what you do. When you fuck up we will deal with you.” His eyes slide to Natasha.

“Hill, would be more likely to take me out,” she throws daggers at you, “just an observation.”

Fury actually laughs at this, “You’re probably right there.” He sighs, “You have until tomorrow at 17:00 to make a call.”

“What’s the catch?” Natasha’s hand moves away from your thigh. Oh. She’s the catch.

You turn to her, silently begging her to look at you and tell you that your assumption is wrong… She doesn’t, just stares into her coffee.

“While we don’t usually control who our agents interact with this is a… special case. If you chose to remain a… free asset,” Fury seems to note the poor choice of words given your previous statement, “for lack of a better term, any contact with you would be considered a breech of international security.”

A storm swells in your chest. Tingles start on your skin and you take a few deep breaths willing yourself to calm down. “What happens at 17:00 tomorrow?”

“They’re taking me to S.H.I.E.L.D. for processing and on boarding,” Nat practically whispers.

“The Bartons have been kind enough to harbor Ms. Romanoff while we sort out this… unorthodox situation. Now that a decision has been made we need to move quickly.” Fury finishes his coffee.

“We will leave you to make your choice. Laura,” he offers a genuine smile to her, “thank you for the hospitality, as always.”

“Of course,” she gives him a smile back, though you seem to feel she’s not a fan of what’s just transpired.

With that Hill and Fury head out, Clint follows with promises to be right back. Suddenly the warm space feels suffocating. Natasha touches your hand and you recoil.

“I need some air,” you bolt up, “can I,” you gesture to a door off the kitchen.

Laura stands, her son sleeping in her arms, “Yeah, that’ll take you out back. Do you need any-”

“No, thank you,” you rush out, feeling like you’re about to combust.

[derryleadera]

@korezni​ said : ‘  they write that i’m happy. they know that i’m not. ‘

                                                                1                                            bill denbrough cuts a rug

if bill denbrough were a smarter man   ,   he’d know not to let his emotions run too high   ,   the sleeve of his thick blue sweater pulled up to cover up his immensely huge heart   ,   taking much more precaution when walking around the busy   &   glamorous streets of hollywood he has now come to call his home. a place like this will eat you up billy   ,   came susan’s voice in the back of his head   ,   serving as some strange   ,   mock guardian angel during moments of deep thought   &   contemplation. you gotta keep yourself ready for anything   !   remember to focus on the work   ,   don’t waste it all away for a pretty face   !   there’s a soft laugh that leaves his lips at that   ,   knowing that despite the warning   ,   it was already much too late to avoid that. of course   ,   it wasn’t his pretty face that garnered his attention   ,  although it certainly wasn’t something he could ignore   ------   the royal’s perfectly chiseled features like something out of a storybook illustration   ,   hair that was once cut at a military length when he first met him   ,   now growing out   &   much softer   ,   the look suiting when paired with his gray coat   &   bright   ,   hazel eyes so full of warmth   &   contentment  ,   particularly when the writer was near. wow   ,  he hadn’t meant to fall for him   ,   he wasn’t looking for that at all when they first met   ,   romance the last thing on his mind. nik produced his first movie   ,   so   ,   of course   ,   bill had to get to know him   ,   both curious to find out that not only was his financier a wealthy fan   ,   but royalty from an unknown country   (   or nation   ?   he wasn’t much for maps   ,   that was eddie kaspbrak’s job   ,  the town compass ... who’s eddie kaspbrak   ?   ). working closer with him turned their partnership into a deep   ,   close friendship   ,   one that bill had been more than thankful for since the day he came to los angeles   ,   just as some guy from maine with a typewriter   ,   a suitcase full of musty clothes   &   a dream. one movie became two   ,   &   then another   &   then   ,   it seemed that nik was to be his permanent producer for all of the projects that adapted his stories   ,  ensuring that the film directors   &   actors did their best to capture bill’s words properly for other audiences to see. such devotion   &   kindness from such a man made it easy for the lonely author to fall for him   ,   their first kiss nothing short of romantic   ,   followed by more sweet gestures   ,   their usual hand holding now laced with more meaning between their fingers. their love was something bill had never imagined for himself   ,   but now it was everything he wanted   &   more. unfortunately   ,   there was a catch   ,   of course there was. the greatest love stories always had some sort of conflict tossed in   ,   making the reunion between the two all that much sweeter   ,   uniting them in a bond that would seem unbreakable. as much as the young   ,   would be king wanted to anchor his heart here   ,   here with bill in his home   ,   where they sat eating dinner together   ,   the record player playing a soft   ,   mournful sounding instrumental in the background   ,   he couldn’t. responsibilities back in ravka called him back often   ,   &   it wasn’t as though they were something he could ignore. weeks have turned into months   &   the separation would always take its toll   ,   despite all the phone calls   &   letters they would exchange between one another. now that they knew how deeply they felt about each other   ,   there was no turning back. waiting for him was hard enough   ,   &   bill feared the day nik would leave for ravka   ,   only to never come back. not by choice   ,   but by necessity. christ   ,   he thinks   ,   sipping at his wine that they paired along with their dinner   (   an eggplant parmesan   ------   bill forever thankful by how kind the royal was for finding dishes they could both share   &   enjoy   )   ,   blue eyes cast over to his boyfriend   ,   his melancholy gaze mirroring his own.

they were connected in such a way that sometimes   ,   words were not needed. him   ,   a wordsmith of sorts   ,   never had to speak whenever he was with nikolai.   &   truth be told   ,   there was a comfort in not needing to say or describe everything that was happening   ,   to know that with one look   ,   his lover could figure out exactly what he was thinking   &   feeling. but this time   ,   the royal does speak   ,   &   his words raise such a concern that bill puts his fork down   ,   hand immediately reaching over to gently grab his   ,   the gloves are off   &   always are whenever it was just the two of them. of course the people in ravka would think that he was happy   &   content with how things were going   ,   never once imagining that perhaps the royal didn’t want all this responsibility in the first place   ,   that maybe   ,   just maybe   ,   he wanted to have a normal   ,   mundane life where he could stay here   ,   stay with with him   ,   stay in his little apartment   &   visit him on set or in his own home whenever he pleased. nik had to leave in the morning   ,   &   bill knew that just like him   ,   the trips were wearing on the royal too. not seeing him smile did things to the author’s heart   ,   feeling like a gutted fish to see ruined features so sad   &   almost mournful. to end their night like this when they’d go at least a few weeks without seeing one another again   (   only a few weeks he hopes   )   was something bill couldn’t let stand. so he wouldn’t.

                                                               2

a plan is set in motionas bill release his boyfriend’s hand from his grasp   ,   scooting his chair back with a loud creak against the wooden floor   ,   offering nik his infamous   ,   tired smile   ,   reserved in the evenings when they were alone. there’s an unmistakable twinkle in his eye   ,   one that could only mean he was planning something   ,   a crazy   ,  half - baked idea that   ,  he hopes   ,   would be the medicine the royal needed to be at ease for the evening. heading straight for the record player that sat in bill’s living room   ,   he lifts the needle up to turn off that retched classical piece   (   not that he hated classical   ,   but fur elise did send shivers up his spine for some god awful reason   )   &   switch it for something a little more lively. a smile grows across his cheeks as he spots a familiar record kept in a nearby pile   ------   a frankie valli   &   the four seasons record he got with nik on one of their many trips to the record store. an oldie   ,   but a goodie   !   removing the sleeve off of the old record   ,   bill placed it on   &   returns the needle back in place   ,   the music slowly starting.   you’re just too good to be true   ,   can’t take my eyes off of you   !   you feel like heaven to touch   ,   i wanna hold you so much   !   as the music plays   ,   bill walks over to the royal   &   takes his hand in his own   ,   not waiting for a response before tugging him up onto on his feet   &  leading him across the living room   ,   stopping only when there was enough room for them to move. dancing had become a past time for them   ,   funny enough   ,   as bill had never been much of a dancer his whole life. but with nik   ?   he felt like he could sway with the best of them   ,   confidence in his chest rising as he takes the lead   ,   moving with him as he began to sing along to the words   ,   unafraid if he sounded out of tune or ridiculous   ------   it was only meant for him.   ❝   ... at long last love has arrived   ,   &   i thank saints i’m alive   ,   ❞   he added in that word for him   ,   hoping it would be enough to garner a giggle as his own smile grows more crazy   &   playful   ,   the swaying movements turning more fast paced as he pulls him into a swing like dance   ,   laughing as he sings between bursts of air.   ❝   i love you baby   !   &  if it’s quite alright   ,   i need you baby   !   to warm the lonely nights   ,   i love you baby   !   trust in me when i say   !   ❞

the laughter begins to die down as their bodies collide against one another   ,   blue gaze meeting hazel   &   ,   oh   ------   in the dim lighting of his home   ,   it really made nik look more lovelier than he didn’t think possible. christ   ,   he thinks   ,   his singing subsiding as the record continues   ,   the last few words couldn’t have hit closer to home :  ... now that i've found you stay   &   let me love you   ,   baby   ,   let me love you   ...   ❝   nik   ,   ❞   came the author’s breathless tone   ,   tip toeing up to capture his lips before waiting to hear him speak   ,   his heart feeling so full   ,   he swears it could almost burst. bill knows nik is struggling with leaving   &   this show of love   &   fun   ,   what he could have every night if he wasn’t of royal blood   ,   only makes the pain of leaving all that more hurtful. bill just didn’t want things to end on a bad note   ,   but it was sort of inevitable when no matter how happy they are   ,   he still had to leave. for ravka   ,   for his nation.   ❝   i love you   ,   “   he whispers against his lips   ,   body still pressed close as they sway together   ,   less to the tune of the record   &   more to a rhythm of their own design.   ❝   i wish you didn’t have to leave ... i want you to stay. i want you to move in with me   ,   i   .... i just want you. no titles   ,   nothing. just ... you.   ❞   don’t waste it all away for a pretty face   !   came susan’s voice again   ,   but he wouldn’t listen. bill denbrough would give up the movie business all together if it meant nik could stay here with him   ------   pretty face or not   ,   he was more than worth it. love made it worth it.

       norman fucking rockwell starters   /   not accepting   !

[incmorata]

"Hey Quinn, it's your moth--" 

DELETE.

"Quinn, not sure if you got my last --"

DELETE.

"Quinn, please answer the phone, I really --"

DELETE.

By now, you'd think Quinn would know better. Blocking numbers, declining phone calls and deleting messages had become the norm over the last several years. Unfortunately, there was a piece of Quinn that still cared. That still longed for a mother like a child, especially a daughter, often would. For the most part she'd done a good job at ignoring her mother -- she'd gone about five year since seeing Bianca Caruso-- but she'd blame this pesky fucking holiday for the lapse in judgement. 

"God damn it, Bianca." Quinn muttered to herself as she sat at a table located in the bar of the hotel she was kind of, sort of, not really staying at. The heel to her foot tapped nervously against the tiled floors, eyes glancing every few seconds to the screen of her Apple Watch to note the time:

4:32 p.m.

She's late. Three more minutes and I'm getting the fuck outta here, Quinn thinks to herself. 

Impatience and anxiousness coursed through her veins, not even the glass filled with wine could calm her nerves despite being half empty. The clock strikes five minutes after thirty and Quinn is reaching down for her purse, prepared to make an exit when she could feel her mother's chaotic energy from where she was sitting. Quinn lets out a deep exhale, dropping the designer bag to the ground with a thud that sounded as exasperated as she did. She couldn't even force a smile when her mother came sauntering through the bar, navigating through all the tables and chairs to get to the one Quinn was at. 

"Quinn! It's so good to see you." Quinn's entire body feels like it's made of lead, unable to move but her mother doesn't hesitate to make contact. Bending over, she wraps her eldest daughter in a strong embrace and kisses her cheeks. "Look at you, you look beautiful." She cooed, making Quinn grab her glass as soon as she was freed and downed what remained of her wine. If she thought she'd survive this meeting sober, that was the biggest joke of the year.

Waving down the waiter with a simple gesture of her hand, she ordered a refill on her beverage and a vodka martini for her mother. "That’s still your poison, right?" A brow raised at her mother, not so found memories associated with the beverage. How at the age of ten she'd become a master at making the martini for her mother and whatever guests she entertained that evening. Ice cold -- the sound of the ice moving against the steel shaker made Quinn shiver before coming back to reality."Yes, that's fine -- extra olives." Her mother responded to which the waiter nodded and left the two women alone. 

The silence was defeaning, Quinn not making much of an effort to speak. Her mother wanted this meeting, then she can start the conversaton. Legs cross and she takes a moment to soak in her mother's apperance as the leather jacket falls from her shoulders. Quinn bites back a groan, not at all surprised not much as changed since the last time they saw one another. Bianca was never a regular mom -- knocked up in her peak twenties and bogged down with a kid...eventually two (her words, not Quinn's) -- she never quite grew into motherhood like most women would. The outift she wore was way below her age range as her tits and legs were on display, leaving little to the imagination. With the two women sitting across from one another, there's no denying they're related -- even despite a few differences Quinn acquired from the father she never knew or met. 

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me." Biana broke the silence once both drinks were placed before them, the waiter lingering on Quinn as it finally clicked in his brain who Quinn was. Out of the corner of Quinn's eyes she can see the flicker of annoyance in her mother's eyes and she's thankful that he doesn't say anything before leaving, that would've turned this meeting in a different direction faster than Quinn planned. "I didn't have much of a choice. You're quite...persistent." Quinn responded with a casual shrug of her shoulders, her voice dismissive.

Her mother simply nodded her head, taking a drink from her glass before continuing. "Well, how've you been?" Quinn's brow arched, shaking her head. "We don't need to talk about that." She responded, voice terse and wanting to get past the subject. "I heard your song on the radio, it --" And Quinn cut her off. "And we're not talking about that either." The aggravation was growing in her voice and she saw a flash of what Quinn could only assume was remorse in her mother eyes.

Quinn let out a heavy sigh, fingers raking through her dark locks of hair. "What do you want, Bianca?" Already, she was defeated by this conversation and it'd barely begun. She wanted to give her mother the benefit of the doubt but she knew there was always an alternative motive to these conversations. There was a reason why Quinn choose a location that was indoors, knowing that a hotel wouldn't allow paparazzi inside, but she wouldn't put it past her mother to sneak in a photographer to take some photos so she can make a few bucks. "Am I not allowed to see my daughter?" Her mother counted to which Quinn responded with a scoff, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "Well, you see me. I'm alive, I'm doing fine. This has been a great reunion see you in another -- " As she spoke, her chair skid across the floors but before she could get up, her mother reached out for her hand.

"Marcella..." A sharp inhale is taken at the sound of her real name, making Quinn frigid. "...please." Her mother added, causing Quinn to scoot her chair back in but remove her hand from the other's grasp, folding them into her lap. "Eugene and I broke up..." An audible snort filled the air, Quinn shaking her head not at all surprised by the reveal. There'd been numerous men that came in and out of Bianca's life. Many of whom she dropped were the reason Quinn and her little sister, Alessandra, were dropped off on her Grandmother's doorstep to take care of. Some were wealthy, others came waltzing in with false promises to make Bianca into the star she always wanted to be and other's were simply prospects -- investments, as she liked to call them -- for her future. 

"You know I wouldn't ask if I didn't really need. But after Eugene and I was talking to an agent who can --." Mid-sentence, Quinn couldn't help the "Jesus Christ..." that she let out with a groan. That caused her mother to snap.  "You could be a little bit more supportive and sympathetic. I am your mother after all."

Now it was Quinn's turn to snap, her blue eyes narrowing and she couldn't help but look at Bianca like she was out of her god damn mind. "You're kidding, right? It's funny how I'm conveniently your kid whenever you need something." Quinn chuckled bitterly, shaking her head. 

"After everything I sacrificed for you, putting my own dreams on hold to raise you, it's the least you can. You wouldn't be here...have all of this without me." The tension was thick and Quinn's face dropped at her mother's comments. A million thoughts popped into her head, ready to fire back with the endless list of facts that would burst a bubble in her mother's fucked up version of reality. 

Everyone always worried about Quinn being young that she'd become some sort of victim when she was shoved into the spotlight. There was never a need to, her mother more than willing to hop on a casting couch -- not for Quinn's benefit but for her own. Quinn lost track of how many times her mother would show up to set in the clothes she wore the night before, sauntering behind a producer, a writer, a director or anyone without enough influence to make her into the star she always wanted to be. Quinn thought getting discovered in a Macy's department store at the age of thirteen was a dream come true when, in fact, it was the beginning of an endless nightmare. Resentment always lingered between them -- Bianca never shying away from the fact that Quinn was a mistake who robbed of her her dreams-- Quinn getting the dream that Bianca so desperately sought only put a futher wedge between them. 

Before her mother could continue with her sob story and verbal outburst, Quinn started talking. "How much?" Quinn asked, voice stoic and expression blank. "How much would it cost for you to leave me the fuck alone?" The emancipation at seventeen wasn't necessary but Quinn needed some legal barrier to keep her mother out of her bank account. At the time, shew as already living full time with her grandparents when she was in Los Angeles or filming. And, really, at that point the damage had been done and it wasn't like Quinn expected her mother to recoup the money she blew through. 

Legally, she was free, but it still didn't stop her mother from popping up whenever she saw Quinn get even a speckle of attention. Almost nine years later and she still feels burdened by her mother despite being a grown ass adult.

"Just...give me a number." Her tone softens, mostly because she was tired. Handing over the cash was easier than her mother opening her mouth and speaking to the press for a few bucks. Or attempting to sell off merch with her fake signature on her it. 

"About, fifteen grand." Bianca nodded to which Quinn simply nodded her head. Bending down, she grabbed her purse and pulled some cash out of her wallet, leaving money on the table. "I'll have my accountants shoot the money over to you within the next week. But if I hand this money over -- don't call me anymore and leave Allie and Nana alone. Got it? Those are my guidelines." She didn't even wait for a response, pulling the strap over her shoulder but catching the nod from her mother's head out of the corner of her. 

"Happy Mother's Day, Bianca." Quinn bitterly added before pulling her sunglasses back over her eyes and exiting the bar.