Star Witch (Loki/Marvel), A Violetta Rosie fanfiction

One

Estimated reading time: 19 minutes, 37 seconds

Your name is Adelita García, you turn 21 in just two weeks. It's like a ticking time bomb. After your birthday, you get kicked out your foster home.

You've been in care since you were just a month old. Apparently, they found you crying under a bridge, malnourished and soaked. They didn't even try looking for relatives. Your social worker has told you many times, she thinks you were the baby of a Mexican family who crossed the border but couldn't carry on with an infant. So there you were left, under a bridge, like a troll. How fitting.

You were adopted by a couple, unable to have their own children, they treated you as though you were their own. They named you Adelita after a woman who joined her fellow men to fight during the Mexican uprising. They said they felt you were a fighter. At 5, your adoptive mother was diagnosed with cancer; when you were 7 she died.

Your dad struggled alone, when you were 9, he took his own life. You remember finding him in the bathroom, blood everywhere. You ran out into the streets and screamed. Your neighbour tried to pull you into their home, drying up your tears. The next thing you recall was the flash of blue and red lights. A black body bag, carried by four officers. They sat you in the back of the car. "What's your name?" an officer asked you. "Adelita," you mumbles. The officer smiled at you, her expression was so warm and welcoming. "That's a lovely name," she smiled at you, "Where are we going?" you ask. You can hear the policewoman exhale. "We have to take you to an emergency foster placement. It's nothing to worry about, it'll be a lovely couple who look after you. It won't be for long," she reassures you, "I know, I'm in foster care,". The silence settles in. "What happened to papa?" you ask. The police officer doesn't answer, but that's all the explanation you need.

From there, you went to state care. You stayed in this crowded residential home, kicking and screaming the entire way. It was your home for 6 years. Until at, 15 the house closed, something about being underfunded. They transferred you across the county to another home. You got kicked out of there for poor behaviour.

At 17 you were brought to your current family. A... unique couple to say the least. They foster 5 other kids. One of those families who are obviously just in it for the $150 a week. That brings you to now, 20 years old, working full time for minimum wage. 'Minimum wage, minimum effort' as you often tell your manager. You're trying to scramble together the money to buy your own home. Preparing for the rest of your life with no preparation.

"I'm going out. Adelita, watch the kids," Sarah tells you. That's your foster mother, the little witch. "Excuse me, but they're your foster children. Where are you going?" You ask, "I'm going out for lunch, then I suppose I'll have to go shopping," she sighs. You raise an eyebrow. Out for lunch? "Sarah, the youngest is what? 3 months old? You can't expect-" you're cut off, "I think you'll find I can, now if you want to have a place to fall back on after your 21st, you'll comply. Now if you don't mind I'm going out," she snarls. A perfect example of a witchy foster mother being a witch. At least she should be in a good mood when she gets back. Sarah picks up her handbag and purse. She stuffs her hair into her ugly sun hat, she waves sarcastically and storms out of the house. Her car engine growls as she leaps forward. Out of sight and out of mind. "Goodbye witch," you mutter to yourself.

You hold your head in your hand; watching the toddlers run around. What kind of foster mother leaves her children when the youngest is basically 2 hours old?! Come on! She's being bloody paid for this!

One of the kids yanks your hair, the others run around, chasing one another. Scream the whole way. That woman better bloody hurry home. One toddler hands you a rag doll. It looks like they've been chewing it. You smile sweetly at the child and pick the doll up. If only these kids were more like dogs, you could throw a ball or something and they'd all go running away. If life was only that easy. "I'm hungry," one kid moans. Well thank the fucking lord, now you have to cook. You haul your body up. You open the freezer, virtually empty. You find some Pizzas and chuck them in the oven. What kid doesn't like Pizza? You fall back onto the sofa, trying to drown out the screams of little kids. Seriously though? What imbecile fosters 5 children? What's that going to get you, a big headache?