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sumisuchan · 4 years ago

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First Name Basis Ch.1

Hey y’all just thought I should post this to Tumblr as well, but here’s the link to the ao3 for people who are more interested in that: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25889923/chapters/62913253

I don’t know what to say for myself other than I love Kaiba and Jounouchi, and I hope you enjoy this fic <3 Also feel free to leave me a comment. I cherish all of them forever.

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It was a quiet winter morning, the second Monday of January, when Mokuba pushed open the double doors to Seto’s room. However silent he tried to be, they still scraped across the hardwood floor. He had cast a light that shot from the hallway to envelop Seto’s figure in bed, buried beneath a plush comforter.

“Seto — ” Mokuba tried to keep his voice low, leaning culpably against one of the doors. “I'm going to head out.”

Without throwing off the comforter, Seto rose as if accused. The pale morning light made him squint. “I thought I was taking you.”

“I know, but I was going to meet a friend a little bit early. I'll meet you there, I promise.”

“But it's snowing,” Seto laid his head back down. Even with centralized heating, the air was cold. His alarm clock read 6:46 a.m., which made the comforter seem warmer and the mattress more generous.

The door clicked softly shut again. Seto had lost. He closed his eyes and let Mokuba go, the bed’s hold too strong to break. Maybe he would wake at 8:00, or 8:05, or 8:10...

***

It was 8:15 when Seto had hit snooze for the third time, and had finally managed to sit up. He opened the curtains behind him to a chalky sky and a Domino City winterscape, draped in snow. It even obscured the faraway mountains whose dark grey bodies wore pure white caps. Seto sighed visibly into the glass. Another harsh one.

Seto ate, washed, and dressed, finding himself in a partially cloudy bathroom mirror. He had put a sharp white suit over a blue shirt speckled with gold, and fixated upon the second gray hair he had found that month. He leaned in, making the mirror fog up more. Though his hair was still a little damp, there it was — front and center, mocking him.

Seto straightened himself out, turned the bathroom light off, and went downstairs. He could see from the top of the staircase that Mokuba had taken the kimono from its resting place upon the front room sofa—garment bag and all, his geta disappearing from the entrance evidence that it hadn't been just a dream.

***

The traffic to the ceremony was hell. Every damn car in Domino City had congested the roads leading to town hall, each of them progressing only about a meter before stopping again. Snow fell as a light powder, dusting the shoulders of young men and women dressed in expensive suits and long-sleeve kimono. Seto estimated that at least 3/4 of them were rentals. Their parents walked alongside them, shielding them from the snow with clear convenience-store umbrellas, and Seto realized that he had forgotten one himself.

Finally, his driver reached town hall and held open the car door. Parents, brothers, sisters, cousins, who had come to support their own twenty-year-olds, all seemed to turn around at once, then double take. “Isn't that Kaiba Seto?” They whispered too loudly as he passed them. Seto was certain he could feel someone's phone camera pointed at his back as he entered. His watch read 10:37. The ceremony would start soon.

***

The mayor, a slightly overweight man in a gray, cheap-looking suit took the stage, adjusting the microphone and clearing his throat. Several rows of newly-minted adults straightened their backs and lifted their heads. The entire auditorium stopped talking, and the mayor preemptively set his short-fingered hands on the podium. For the final time, he adjusted his legs, shoulder-width apart. Seto noticed a bald spot at the very back of his head, bordered by thinning white hair.

“Everyone, thank you for attending today's ceremony — ” He spoke in a coarse voice.

Seto began searching the first three rows for Mokuba. The young men and women had formed clusters, some still chatting quietly to one another. They made a patchwork quilt of solid black suits and explosions of flowers in red, white, and gold.

Mokuba would be in white. He had insisted. “I'm going to wear a suit for the rest of my life, but I'll probably have far fewer opportunities to wear a kimono.” So Seto took him shopping at one of the most expensive boutiques in Domino City, their winter line of handmade kimono on display. Most of them were furisode — sleeves to the floor and soaked in snow flowers, chrysanthemums, tsubaki .

Mokuba looked uncomfortable. He tensed at the extremely attentive sales assistant, who asked them in exquisite keigo what they needed. He tensed even more when Seto replied bluntly, “he needs an outfit for coming of age day.” He tensed while they brought out the entire cavalry of men's kimono — admittedly plainer than the women's, but just as elegant. Almost all of them bore complex patterns that fit seamlessly into their solid black or white fabrics, allegedly handmade. The shopkeeper ran her hand over each of them as if playing an instrument. It was genuinely surprising when they didn't respond with a musical phrase.

“You’re more than welcome to try on any one that you like, and one of our male employees can help you dress if you require assistance.” She had nearly reached the end of her, “please take your time,” when Mokuba pointed to the one on the very end.

“Uh — that white one looks nice.”

“Oh,” the shopkeeper had to walk to the far end of the table to reach it. “Do you mean this one, sir? Would you like to try it on?”

“Sure. Yes, I can try it on.”

Without prompting, yet another attentive male employee rushed over to lead him to the dressing room. “Please follow me this way, sir.” Seto got a glimpse of the kimono. No discernible pattern. Nothing extra. Just white silk adorned with the shop’s brand insignia embroidered in gold at the end of the sleeves.

Mokuba left the dressing room without the kimono on, yet claimed that he wanted that one. When Seto asked him if he was certain, he only nodded and tensed even more once Seto paid one million yen in cash straight from his wallet.

From his place in the third row of guest seating, Seto searched for that kimono, the stark white against both plain black and noisy flower patches, and found him sitting amongst a group of young women. One of them whispered something to him and Mokuba turned around, missing his shoulder-length hair. Sometime that morning he had gotten it cut. The woman at his side adjusted his bangs, giggling. She said something. “You look like your brother,” Seto imagined. Mokuba pulled away, brushed it off. That must have been it.

***

The ceremony ended and its attendants came gasping into the freezing winter air. The families occupied the bottom of the staircase as their children emerged at the top, posing in formation for pictures.

Mokuba had found a place in the second row, his hands at his side for the first serious photo and then with his tongue out and fingers forming a heart for the silly one. The same girl from earlier in a red kimono and thick-rimmed glasses made bunny ears above his head — something he would find later when they received the photos. They posed for one more before the crowd dispersed and Mokuba turned to her before coming downstairs. He must have promised to rejoin her, but then met eyes with Seto and began his descent.

Finally, Seto witnessed the full body of his kimono, its white sleeves and gray pants making him resemble the snow-covered mountains in the distance. He treaded so carefully down the steps, responsible with his new-seeming long legs, but he had been chipping away toward Seto’s height for a while. That fact hit especially hard when Mokuba ran to embrace him. His long strides had brought him so smoothly.

Someone snapped a picture.

“How did you manage to get a haircut?” Seto asked, maintaining his balance. “Every salon in the city must have been booked.”

“They were.” Mokuba set his hands on top of Seto’s shoulders, negotiating himself against the icy sidewalk, “but I had reserved my appointment months ago. I wanted to surprise you. I guess…” He paused, touching the back of his head. “I didn't realize how much I would resemble you.”

“It suits you,” Seto said. “You look grown up.”

Mokuba smiled but furrowed his brows. Someone shouted, “Kaiba- san ! May I please take a picture of you and Mokuba?” and someone else added, “to commemorate the occasion!”

Seto, who would normally have walked away, turned toward the crowd. He put his hand upon Mokuba’s back and found it to be rigid. Yet, Mokuba smiled for them. There would be articles written whether he did or didn't, so he chose to be pleasant. He grinned into the flashing lights, into a future of magazines that would compare their heights, their faces, weigh their fortune, pondering if Mokuba had found a girlfriend yet and commenting on the fact that Seto never had. It would be a thing for months until it wasn't at all, until something else happened, and the cycle would start over.

Seto felt Mokuba inflate with a sigh that no one would notice. He had become so good at letting it deflate slowly from his nose that only someone standing as close as Seto would hear it.

He called off the pictures and they loaded into the car, leaving barely enough time for Mokuba to wave to the young woman he had left up on the staircase.

#Seto Kaiba #jounouchi katsuya #katsuya jonouchi #puppyshipping #violetshipping #yu-gi-oh #Gay #Mokuba is a character as well

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blog-sliverofjade · 4 years ago

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Hearth Fires 12: Chiaroscuro

Pairing: Remi Denier x OFC

Summary: Lorel Maddox just wants to live as a human, run her bakery in peace, and forget. Unfortunately, the alpha of the local leopard pack has very different ideas.

Remi Denier doesn’t know what to make of the female Changeling who wants nothing to do with him or the RainFire pack. He does know that he has a driving need to protect her. Even if it’s from herself.

While they’re embroiled in a battle of wills, there’s a war brewing on the horizon. The outside threat could not only destroy everything they hold dear, but tear apart the fragile new bonds of the Trinity Accord, plunging the world into bloodshed to rival the Territorial Wars of centuries past.

Word count: 2138

Content warning: Content warning for references to child abuse and overtly racist cops. Bear in mind that it was already written into the plot before 2020 happened.

Hearth Fires Masterlist

Beta read by the brilliant pandabearer

“I am disheartened by this reprehensible act against two of our citizens. We do not condone hatred, bigotry, racism, or intolerance of any kind here. I hope this brings us together as a community.”

-Narinder Rao, Bryson City Mayor

The sheriff was trying to play dominance games with an alpha. He left Remi cooling his heels in the waiting area for ten minutes despite the fact he’d arrived promptly for their scheduled meeting. Shaw had tried to avoid him outright, but Remi pulled the media card and he relented immediately; he’d won his position by a scant margin and didn’t have the political clout to withstand a media frenzy. If he still refused to play ball after this, well, Remi still had a few more cards up his sleeve.

Several deputies seemed to have important business in the front office while he waited. While he wasn’t in the mood to play, RainFire needed to cultivate as much rapport with Enforcement as possible. So he donned his easy-going demeanour like the well-worn armour that it was and flirted and charmed while not promising anything.

“Mr. Denier,” Shaw called, noticeably irritated he had to come in person since his receptionist was currently slipping his phone number into Remi’s hand. He’d scented the other man before he spoke, of course, but there was no need to be rude to the young psy in front of him who was obviously inexperienced in flirting.

“À plus tard, cher,” he winked, tucking the slip of paper into a pocket to dispose of later. Red flagged the younger man’s cheeks and he ducked past his boss to make his way back to his desk.

The sheriff’s polite smile was strained as Remi sauntered over to him; he made sure to keep the leopard in his line of sight as they walked back to his office in silence. Stale coffee and the maelstrom of dozens of people assaulted his senses.

“I always wondered, what made you decide to come here?” Shaw asked, southern accent thick, as Remi settled in one of the two chairs facing his desk. He stifled the urge to bare his teeth in annoyance at the small talk when all the animal wanted to do was tear out the throat of its enemy. It was too uncivilized to bother with social niceties, especially when it saw the man as a threat to be eliminated

“It was what was available for a new pack,” he shrugged, seeing no need for prevarication. The information was out there for anyone who cared enough to look, and he had a feeling the Sheriff had done his homework. There was more to the process, of course, but that was the bare bones of it.

“Doesn’t seem right that the good folk of this county don’t get a say in a pack of predators moving in,” Shaw feigned bewilderment and shook his head, light glinting off a pate shaved to hide the fact he was mostly bald. “It would’ve been better for everyone if we’d all stayed in our own lanes. Nothing good ever came of pandering to the other races.”

“Talk to your Trinity representative about that,” he said flatly. “Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, where are you at in the investigation into the assault that occurred outside Acapella two nights ago?”

“Mr. Denier-”

“Alpha,” he corrected. “My proper title is ‘alpha’.”

“Alpha Denier, it’s still the early stages.” In a false display of sympathy, Shaw leaned forward to loosely weave his thick fingers together on top of the desk. “We have no fingerprints, no DNA, no witnesses, and no suspects. You must understand that we have limited resources and an inquest would require much of that with very little chance of success.” Shaw spread his hands as if in remorse.

“DNA evidence was taken at the hospital.” What he didn’t say was that the pack had taken their own samples, while theirs wasn’t admissible in court, there was still a chance that it would help identify the assailants for some extra-judicial justice.

“The hospital didn’t have a protocol for preserving evidence, no need for it before you people moved here. The samples weren’t logged properly and got destroyed. A damn shame, but I’ve been assured they’re remedying the situation.” It didn’t take the nose of a changeling to tell that Shaw was lying, he didn’t bother to hide his smugness at stonewalling Remi.

“RainFire offers its assistance in the investigation.”

“You don’t have the authority.” The flat rejection was no less than what Remi had expected.

“One of the survivors is changeling, therefore changeling laws apply should RainFire choose to exercise our rights.” What went unsaid was that changeling justice was swift, brutal, and brooked no interference.

“Forgive me if I doubt you’n’s impartiality.” The smirk that had been dancing in the human’s eyes died, leaving them flint hard.

“Local Enforcement leadership has already proven its own lack in that area.”

A vein in the officer’s forehead throbbed as his blood pressure and heart rate increased. The cat wondered how hot the blood would be, how far it would gush if it sank its teeth into the human’s carotid arteries. The temptation to allow the leopard to surface was callow, yet strong, and completely unnecessary. Fear filled the office, hovering beneath the thick cologne Shaw wore. He wondered if the sheriff’s sense of smell was dulled or if he thought the cloying concoction would hide his reactions from Remi. It might have worked against a changeling who hadn’t grown up surrounded by the stink of constant fear, but the acrid bite was etched too indelibly in his memory.

“It’s becoming increasingly clear that local Enforcement’s reluctant to protect the changeling community but is more than willing to police it. RainFire will respond to any attack on changelings or humans with changeling affiliations within the area we have claimed.” Remi let the leopard rise in his eyes, not enough to change his pupils, just enough to remind Shaw he was right to be afraid.

“I won’t tolerate a witch hunt.” The sheriff gave his best imitation of a snarl.

“Nor will we.” The leopard’s growl was genuine.

Whenever Lorel found herself in need of parental advice, she inevitably called her aunt. Maternal, of course, since she only knew her father’s name and that of his now-defunct pack. Even though her grandparents raised her, calling them was out of the question, unless she felt like a lecture and shame; in her experience, there was no such thing as unconditional love. No, what she needed was a calm perspective from someone who wanted the best for her.

Pacing the living room while the call went through, she rubbed her palms up and down her arms. There was a strange buzzing under her skin. All the feelings and sensations bouncing around in her head drove out what she intended to say by the time her aunt Nora answered. What came out instead was peevish.

“Did you know that RainFire intended to expand their territory?”

“Sorry… you… breaking… up.” Her aunt’s words came haltingly even though there was no interruption in the video itself. Lorel could still make out every coil of hair that was so like her own, albeit auburn compared to her copper, glowing in the Australian sunlight. The vague, pastel memories of her mother showed in the older woman like ghosts. Her childhood impressions of her mom were of someone a little less colourful, gentler, but with the same mass of curls. The familiar sight seemed to chase back the gloom of early evening filling the corners of her own living room.

“Static hasn’t been an issue for nearly fifty years.” Not since the psy had invested in international telecommunications infrastructure.

“Yes, I did know, and I knew you wouldn’t have taken over the bakery if I told you. You deserve to-” she sighed and held up her hands, apparently at a loss for words. “To be whole.”

“I’m fine,” snapped Lorel. “What I don’t need is a pack of leopards threatening to kill me for the crime of living where they want to stake a claim.”

“What you need is something you’ve never been given,” she replied evenly. “And I’m partly to blame for that. I should have done more.” At that, Lorel swallowed the acerbic words on her tongue.

“We’ve been over this: you’re barely fifteen years older than I am and were in college halfway around the world,” she reminded her aunt with as much gentleness as she could summon. “Speaking of which, how are your classes going?”

“Harder than I remember, but I’m enjoying it so far. Nice attempt at changing the subject, though.” She wagged a finger at her niece, who pretended to be abashed. “Give them a chance, Lolo. If it’s not what you need, my cousin’s still willing to buy you out, but at least you’ll know.” Unable to look into a face filled with such tender love and concern, Lorel hugged herself and looked down at her feet.

“Besides, some of those cats are drop-dead gorgeous.”

“Aunt Nora!” she snapped her head up to gape at the other woman.

“I’m old, not dead!” Laughter lit up her entire being, wrapping around Lorel like a warm hug, and she couldn’t help but smile along with her even as she shook her head in fond exasperation. While she was on the edge of forty, her aunt could be- and had been- mistaken for her sister, and certainly young enough to be studying for a second career as a marine biologist.

“I love you, Lolo, and I know you wouldn’t have taken this risk on your own.”

“Yeah, who wouldn’t want to risk death threats?” Lorel unfolded one arm to wave her hand in a flippantly sarcastic gesture.

“You have choices: give the leopards a chance or sell to Marselo.” Her harsh, no-nonsense tone had Lorel twisting her face into a moue of distaste. Sometimes she wondered how Nora and Klaudia Maddox could possibly be related, but then, when least expected, her aunt revealed a spine of pure steel and the family resemblance was undeniable.

“You didn’t even want SweetCheeks, something about moving to Hicksville, Nowhere? I had to guilt you into it.” The older woman’s insistence had seemed strange at the time but made sense now that Lorel knew what her ulterior motives were.

“Yeah, well, I like it so far,” she admitted begrudgingly, burrowing her bare toes into the Aegean blue area rug. “You built up a good business.”

“Damn straight,” Nora sniffed with obvious pride. “So, you better take good care of it, ya hear?”

“Yeah, yeah, love you, too.” She rolled her eyes and thrust both hands into her hair. “They’re dangerous, No-No.”

“You’ve survived things that would break other people. I know you were taught to fear them,” a shadow of remorse crossed her face, “but my money’s on you.”

“What if I can’t?” The question was a whisper because she couldn’t speak past the knot in her throat.

“What if you can? Imagine what you’d be capable of.” The strength of her aunt’s love and confidence in her was still a kick to the heart and she’d always regret not confiding in the other woman when she was younger. Nora had fluttered like a vibrant butterfly at the edges of her youth; shame and a twisted sense of protection had kept Lorel from reaching out to her sooner, she didn't want her spirited aunt to put her life on hold for Lorel's sake. What support Nora could provide, no matter where she was in the world, had gotten her through some of her toughest years. As an adult, she soaked in as much of Nora's love as she could, and tried to return it as best she knew how. “I have to go, I have a date with some algae. Let me know what you decide.”

“I will. I love you, No-No.” She kissed two fingers and pressed them to the comm screen.

“Love you, too, Lolo.” Her aunt mirrored the gesture on her end before they both hung up.

Twilight seemed to rush back into the room once the screen went blank; for once, she didn’t bother turning on a light and allowed the shadows to envelop her. It wasn’t fully dark to her eyes, never had been, yet she still kept nightlights around the house; a childish habit Nora had never ridiculed her for, seeming to understand without words why an adult changeling would fear the night.

“We are all sons of light and sons of day. We are not of night nor of darkness.” Her grandfather’s voice echoed in her head, accompanied by the remembered pain of sudden light on her sensitive eyes. “Why are you sitting in the dark? What are you trying to hide?”

Maybe it was time to stop hiding.

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egg-emperor · 5 years ago

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(busts through the wall) Also, do you have any headcanons about Eggy as a child and his relationships with various family members (mother, father, Gerald, Maria, etc.)? Pls and thank you

Aaahhh I have so many concepts that I’m not sure where to start but I’ll try to pick out a few of mine to share right now! I just hope I’ve been able to organize this decently enough for it to make sense lol

Some media has said otherwise but it doesn’t count because they’re different canons, so in the main canon I prefer the idea of Gerald being Eggman’s paternal grandfather. The men in the family commonly have male pattern baldness, similar body type, and a thing for well kept facial hair XD Even aspects of their personality and mind, such as their pride (Ivo having the biggest most troublesome ego of all) and their intellect.

I like the concept that some form of Robotnik Corp (Whether it was under the same name or not) existed prior to Eggman’s adulthood as a family business, possibly originating from Gerald. His father was successful in it but it wasn’t a big deal to Ivo. Not when comparing his status as a much more private businessman to his grandfather’s status as a brilliant scientist known by the world. He was bothered by his father’s pride because he saw Gerald and himself as superior with his ego already existing at a young age.

Between the two, it was often his father bragging to him about his work while Ivo rolled his eyes and imagined himself being able to do much better. The only thing his father did that really interested him was his mechanic/engineer work. He learned a lot of useful things for the future by observing him and he got to join in with some of the smaller stuff. His father would hide his surprise at how fast he learned and sometimes did things better than him. He wouldn’t admit that a kid could do better though because that would hurt his pride.

Part of the reason why he has such a big ego besides his intelligence and relation to Gerald is that he didn’t get the attention he wanted. His family was wealthy and he could have almost anything but it didn’t feel special because it was such a normal thing for them. Nothing he could be given was enough to make him feel like he was appreciated to the extent he felt he should be. He always wanted his work to be seen as impressive as his grandfather’s and to feel that much importance more than anything else.

He would go on to have his own success with Robotnik Corp when he was older and it became one of his many sufficient sources of income. But he simultaneously had plans for far greater things, plans to make the entire world know his name and face. He sees himself as much more than his father- a simple businessman in comparison. Nothing like the ruler of the entire planet that he’ll be someday!

I don’t really have any headcanons for his mother. He could have been dead or alive when he was younger but let’s say that for most of his childhood it was just Eggman and his father. Maybe he was never there, maybe he died/left earlier on or maybe he just hardly present. (If anyone has their own ideas that are probably more interesting, feel free to share them with me.)

Both of his parents died without having anything globally memorable to their names and that greatly disappoints him. He would never allow himself to turn out the same way. That’s another one of the reasons why he never gives up on his dreams. Of course, his desire to own the world will never die regardless because he has always known that he is destined for far greater things.

I lean towards the idea that he never knew Gerald and Maria in person because he doesn’t talk about them as if he did. I’ve always interpreted the way he said the ‘could this be the place my grandfather wrote of?’ line in SA2 as him being astonihed that he’s finally aboard it for the first time, or he was at least too young to remember it if he had before. There’s a chance that he did exist at the time since I headcanon him to be in his 50s but I think it’s most likely that he was too young to visit at all.

It took a while for me to picture how Eggman would feel about Maria beside him being rather dismissive of her existence. That was until recently when I read @cruherthedoctor ‘s fantastic fic ‘In the Hall of the Would Be King’ that put a really interesting perspective on it! I can totally see him being jealous of her importance to Gerald. He should’ve been the one to have the luxury of visiting the ARK to get a look at Gerald’s creations firsthand. He thinks he took it for granted, especially since he wanted to go to earth so badly.

He also wasn’t really empathetic towards her having the illness in the first place. I think he has low empathy and trouble with expressing it, even when it is something he has feelings towards, like how he could watch the tape of Gerald’s execution with a blank expression. But in Maria’s case, it was different and he sees her as another to blame for what happened to his Grandfather just like GUN and Black Doom. He was much more concerned with Gerald’s fate and never expressed much towards Maria in general, let alone her devastating story.

That’s how I see it for the main canon but I do like to imagine an alternate story where he did know Gerald and Maria in person. It makes for some more nice concepts of Eggman looking up to Gerald and his interactions with Maria could be interesting!

Young Ivo having the chance to go to the ARK, totally gushing and getting starry-eyed over any knowledge and glimpse of work that Gerald could share is an extremely adorable concept. There’s nothing he’d love more than to learn from him personally! He would do all he can to impress his grandfather with his skills and would learn very eagerly. It would be when he’s most happy and enthusiastic. I don’t see him caring about Gerald’s good intentions for the world. Instead, he’s fascinated with the science, creations, and importance of his work rather than his actual motives.

I think he’d still feel jealousy towards Maria’s importance and how so much of Gerald’s work and effort is for her. He would still think that he was taking her opportunity for granted despite knowing that he had to be there because of her illness. He’d be able to interact with her just fine for the most part. But sometimes he might act a little strange in ways that might insinuate him having a problem with Gerald and Maria’s closer bond, along with the way that he can’t stay aboard the ARK like he can.

Maria to Eggman would be different because he’s kind-hearted and friendly with anyone, so much that he treats those close to her as family like Shadow and the Commander. He would be just as welcoming of Ivo and extremely curious because he’s come from earth. But if he knew of his intentions and beliefs due to his inflated ego then he would try to get him to realize his selfishness and why it’s good to care for others. Of course, Ivo would be very stubborn and not stand for being told what to do, turning it into an argument.

As long as he doesn’t know, he would find his interest in Gerald’s work sweet and his concepts and creations cool even if he didn’t understand them. Even if the way he acts seems a bit off at times, he tries to see the good in everyone and recognizes their qualities. Unless Ivo is blatantly being rude and a troublesome little bastard because then he would try to lecture him and they would totally bicker. XD

Ivo would tell her what certain things are like on earth if he asked and he would actually enjoy sharing his knowledge because he’ll take any opportunity to impress his cousin as he does with his grandfather. He would also love to hear the stories he had to share, using the things he learned to add to her list of what he wanted to experience on earth herself someday.

That was still kind of a lot but I have so much more that I want to share in the future in further detail. Maybe involving more characters too. But this was a lot of fun and I hope this is an alright answer for now! :D

#headcanons #my post #robotnik family #asks #dr. eggman #eggman #dr eggman #dr robotnik

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fiddlesolo · 6 years ago

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hc for esme writing to her mother (the first and only time) a few years after marrying carlisle. can the whole fic just be her letter. like dear momma. she's vague about where she is living, but tells her about what happened. the abuse, the running, the baby, his death, her suicide attempt, marrying the infamous dr cullen, adopting edward, how happy she is, but that she'll never see her again, and it's better this way. To see her pour our the emotion in one last goodbye to her family.

Mama,

For years I was content with the idea of letting you suffer. A small part of me, a part that I am no longer proud of, found joy in knowing that you would have to spend the rest of your life wondering what happened to me.

I blamed you for what he did to me. While I stand by my belief that you should have helped me, that no mother should ever turn their child away- you were not the cause of my suffering. Placing my blame on you and father only takes blame away from the man who truly deserves it- Charles.

Some time has passed. It has been years since I stood before you and father begging to come home. I have found peace and in that peace, I have found it within myself to forgive you.

We did not always see eye to eye but I loved you so very much. You were harsh but you were fair. Through you, I learned how to be a strong woman. I might not have survived if it had not been for the strength you ingrained in me from the very beginning.

I married for you. I did not love Charles but he seemed a good enough suitor, did he not? He was wealthy and intelligent. He made me laugh at times, made me smile. I married him so that you and father would not have to face the embarrassment of a spinster of a daughter. I married him to give you the grandchildren you so desired, the husband you wanted for me.

He seemed nice enough until the very moment he was not. I told you what he did to me- the beatings, the humiliation at his hands. After you turned me away, he got worse. He grew more violent and impatient with me by the day. There was not a moment of my life that was not lived in fear. From morning to night, he found ways to harm me and I had no choice but to endure it. You turned me away and Charles would not allow me to have friends.

My life and marriage went on for another three years until I discovered that I was with child. The moment I knew, there was no doubt in my mind- I had to run. I packed a small bag and hid it away in a place he would never find it. I saved up money little by little by collecting coins when I cleaned his trousers or skipping meals to cut the grocery bill and pocket the difference. When I had enough, I bought a train ticket and fled out West. I lived with cousin Emma for some time but Charles eventually tracked me down. I ran before he could get to me, eventually settling in a small town a few miles north. There, I began teaching young children just as I had always wanted. I had a small apartment that I decorated the best I could. It was not much but it was everything to me. I was going to raise my baby there, give him a wonderful life full of love and happiness.

I began feeling labor pains a few weeks before I was due but the doctors had not seemed too concerned. I do not remember much of the actual labor or birth- I had been put in a Twilight Sleep. My first memory of my little baby was nearly an hour after he was born. The doctors had done their stitchings and looked the baby over before I even regained my sense of self.

They laid him in my arms and I cried. I had never seen something so perfect. He was so small and fragile. I held him as close as I could while he nursed, taking in the sight of his perfect features. He had was nearly bald but there was a bit of hair, our caramel shade. He had the Platt nose. His eyes and lips resembled mine. I saw nothing of Charles in him and for that I was thankful. His heart was kind. I could see that.

Those first few days were blissful. If I was in pain, I cannot recall it. I had eyes only for my miracle baby that I loved with all my heart. He was my whole world.

During the night of his second day, he developed a cough and a fever. The doctors kept him from me as they tried to help him but they ultimately found that there was nothing to be done. It was still dark outside when they came to my room and told me that my son would die.

I had not even picked a name for him yet. I had wanted it to be perfect. When they laid my feverish, crying baby in my arms I gave him the name Joseph after your father. He had been my very best friend when I was a girl. He never discouraged me as you and father did. He indulged my silly dreams and played along with every new game I came up with. I wanted my baby to have a part of him.

I cradled him in my arms as he grew weaker, as his skin became paler than before. His breathing was labored and his lips became blue. He took his final breath just after the sun set on his third day.

Losing him was the most painful thing I have ever experienced. Charles’ fists and heavy boots were nothing compared to holding my lifeless baby in my arms.

I buried him just a day later. I spent every last dime I had on a gravestone for him. He rests in a lovely shaded area of the town’s cemetery.

I was certain that I could not go on without him. I could not have gone home to my apartment with the crib he would never sleep in, the clothes he would never wear. He was all I had left in the world.

My grief drove me to the edge of a cliff. My broken heart made me jump.

I do not remember hitting the rocks below. Nor do I remember the good samaritan finding me and taking me to the hospital.

I remember waking up in excruciating pain days later with the most beautiful man I had ever laid eyes on hovering over me with concern written all over his face. The doctor was so incredibly kind. He had the gentlest hands as he nursed me back to health. He took care of me. He saved my life in so many different ways.

I married him less than a year later. It seems quick. I am sure it will surprise you considering how often I had voiced my disdain for the prospect of marriage when I was a girl but it is true. I love him more than I ever thought possible. He never raises his hand, never even raises his voice. He has taught me more about myself than I knew there was to learn and I have done the same for him. I have never been happier.

Together, we adopted a teenaged boy. He had been a part of my husband’s family for some time before me but when I met him, I knew that I could never let him go. He has an old soul, our son. He has messy hair and a knack for getting under my skin but I love him with everything I have. He is a brilliant musician and his intelligence astounds me every day.

I cannot tell you where I am. Nor can I come and visit you. I am sure you can understand why.

As you know, I have never liked goodbyes but this one seems both necessary and overdue.

I am happy. I am loved. And I love you. I forgive you for that day all those years ago. I hope you and father take good care of each other.

With love,

Esme

#esme cullen #twilight fanfiction #abuse //#suicide //#this was longer than expected oops #long post #not to be real in the tags of a twilight fic but for someone with a great deal of mom issues this was Somethin to write #theraputic in a way #q

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star-nova · 6 years ago

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The Lives of the RiffRaff: Kali Muburu-Hair

We Are the RiffRaff Rickie Johnson-The Art of War Vera Sherwood-Little Sister

When I was a kid, I had long hair, and I liked to play with it just like any other girl. I combed it, brushed it, styled it, and went to the hairdresser twice a year to have it done. I looked through the magazines and the style catalogs and tried out the different styles to varying degrees of success. I've had cornrows, dreads, single braids, highlights, waves, and weaves.

My hair was long and black and somehow managed to be free of the kinkiness that affected the rest of my family. My mother's hair was puffy, my brother's was frizzy, and I couldn't tell what my father's was because he kept it buzzed off. But mine was an anomaly, and it disappointed the hell out of my mother that I never wore it loose. “Your hair's a blessing, Kaliwan'aa,” she would tell me. “You should show more of it.” I think this was the reason that I didn't show more of it; no teenager wants to do what their mother says. The other more sensible reason was that it was always in the damn way. I was a runner, and the stuff weighed me down. It whipped out behind me like a banner strapped to my head and bounced against the back of my neck while I ran. It got caught in necklaces, scarves, and zippers. It snagged on fences and even doorknobs I was passing by. I ran around in the woods and the hills and came back with who-the-hell-knows-what in it. It seemed like my hair was only a blessing to somebody like my mother, a conservative Tongan woman who worked at a law firm and cooked and didn't do much else.

I began to admire the women on my father's side of the family. These were Kenyan women, with burnt cinnamon skin and long arms and legs like sycamore branches. Most of them had no more hair than my father, if any at all, and the heads of the bald ones gleamed like golden coins in the sun. They could probably run like bullets, and never had to worry about their hair being yanked in a fight or pulled by some idiot boy who sat behind them.

I decided that this look was something to work up to, to get a feel for. In my sophomore year, I got my hair cut short so that it fell just above my ears. I had inherited my father's ears that stuck out like wings, and the idiot kids called me “Dumbo the elephant.” But they would've called me anything; in ninth grade I was “Siren-Mouth” for my loud voice, and in eighth grade I was “Skeletor” because my legs were long and skinny. I'd been made fun of enough to stop giving a damn about being made fun of. All I cared about was that I was free from the shackles of long hair. I ran like a bolt with nothing weighing me down, and Dumbo-like or not, my ears were glad to be free. At the beginning of my junior year, I got gauge piercings and nobody called me Dumbo anymore. By then they had moved on to calling me “Riot” because I was loud and mouthy and got into fights. I still don't see how that was supposed to be an insult.

They say that changing your hair marks a change in who you are, that it's the first outward sign that you're an entirely different person than who you had been before. When I finally had my hair buzzed off completely, just after I had gone away to college, I looked in the mirror and saw a different Kali looking back at me. This Kali had a hard face and fiery, eager eyes, ready to see the whole world that existed beyond her little town. She was strong, built like a tree from years of running. She pursed her lips and looked angry, fierce. She smiled, and her teeth shone stark-white against a complexion like dark chocolate. I loved this fierce-looking, bald-headed Kenyan-Tongan girl, and I wanted her to love me back.

That Christmas, I came back home without a single hair on my head. My brother, who was still a little shit when he wanted to be, cried out, “Ha ha! Kali's a cueball!” My father smiled and told me it was a good look for me. “Now you look like a true Muburu,” he said, comparing me to all the aunts and cousins with shaved heads on his side of the family. I thought about how they'd all react the next time they saw me.

But then there was my mother. My mother would never have stopped me from expressing myself in any way I wanted—of course, she drew the line at a tramp stamp or a nipple piercing, but she believed that my body was my own to do what I wanted with it within reason. She let me have the gauge piercings and did not object to the coiled snake tattoos around my right arm for my eighteenth birthday. I'd gone around with my hair in neon yarn falls or dyed the color of red velvet cake, and she didn't protest. If I wanted to buzz off my hair, that was my decision to make. She knew that and she respected it.

But she couldn't hide the hurt and disappointment in her eyes. My hair, my “blessing,” the kind of hair that she herself had longed for but never got to have, was gone.

Nine years later, I've still got no hair. I've contemplated letting it grow out again, and got as far as letting a bit of fuzz accumulate before deciding to buzz it all off again. Bald is freedom. It's the summer sun warming the top of my head and it's looking good in every hat when winter comes around. Bald is saving money on shampoo, brushes, and combs and having a shorter morning routine, free of wrestling with tangles and mats. Most of all, bald is driving the neighborhood men crazy.

They hate it. With my bald head and boyish clothes, but womanish figure with particularly visible assets, they can't tell what the hell I'm supposed to be. While most of the hair-topped ladies I know—the pretty Anna Ming, the tall Bex Driver, the small and quirky Vera Sherwood—have been catcalled or flirted with at some point, the guys that I pass by don't seem to know what to do with me.

“Man, what do you think that is?” one of the men across the bar asked, his eyes and his seedy friend's eyes fixed right on me. He wasn't even pretending or trying to be subtle about it; I and the other “RiffRaff” around here can never tell if it's worse when people try to be subtle and judge you silently, or when they come right out with it.

I stood up and propped one elbow against the bar. “Now, I'm not an expert on such things,” I said, pinning them to the bar with my left eye, “but I think that she might be a human being, and therefore not to be referred to as that. Am I right?”

The guys immediately turned their heads away and pretended they were never looking and had never said a word. Who's this crazy bitch? What's she going on about?

“Am I right?” I asked again. “Go on, tell me if I'm right. Is there ever a moment when it's appropriate to refer to a person as 'that?' Well, is there?”

They didn't answer. They just got up and moved away, taking their beers with them.

When you're grown up, no one calls you Dumbo for your big ears anymore. They don't point at your bald head and call you Cueball, or comment on your Siren-Mouth. Nobody really pays any attention to you at all, until they can't decide whether or not they want to fuck you.

“Hey, you look like a monk.”

I open my eyes and behold Rickie Johnson, standing there looking at me like I'm an interesting specimen under a microscope. “A monk, huh.” I sit up and fold my legs into the traditional “zen monk” pose, with my hands resting on my kneecaps and three fingers curled into the air. I doubt that very many monks wear long black t-shirts with “STONESVILLE ROCKATHON 2016” printed on them.

“Yeah,” he says, “a monk. Very calm, very zen.”

I close my eyes. “Ohhhhhmmmm.” Taking advantage of the situation, Rickie starts flicking the top of my head.

“Ohhhhm-if-you-don't-cut-that-out-I'mma-snap-that-finger-clean-offffffff....”

I open my eyes. Rickie's way too close to my face. I sock him on the nose, but it's all in jest. We crack up. Rickie's probably the closest thing to a more-than-best-friend I have, but there's no commitment involved; Rickie has made it clear time and time again that I'm not his type when it comes to that. His “type” includes Greta Slokov, a raven-haired, red-lipped cookiecutter beauty who walks around the grocery store in uber-tight crop tops that land just under her boobs. My personal opinion is that if you're going to be showing that much navel, you had better have a barbel piercing to show for it. Her personal opinion is that the appearance of a man and the appearance of a woman should not overlap, and if you're going to walk around in button-downs and shorts you should at least have the decency to have a full head of hair, or if you're going to be a bald-headed woman you should at least put on some dresses and some skirts because it's your god-given duty to keep from confusing people. To sum it up, she finds me disgusting and the feeling is mutual. Rickie is way too good for that bitch.

I haul ass down the paved trails while Rickie chases me. I run to the jungle gym and jump up onto the ladder, scrambling up there in about four seconds using my runner's legs. Rickie rappels up the slide to come after me, and I throw myself down the opposite side and take off like a bolt. The mothers with their strollers shoot glances in our direction, but what the hell are they going to say? I'm laughing too hard to breathe. Rickie catches up to me and fires a few finger guns, and I block them with an imaginary bulletproof shield.

We're crazy.

Would we be less of a spectacle if I had hair and looked like a woman? Probably not. But in a hick town like Tanager, where absolutely nothing happens, a bald woman and some blonde guy running around the park like two kids is probably the most interesting thing they've seen all day.

But I've got something even more interesting.

“C'mere,” I tell Rickie. I grab his hand and he doesn't object. I may not be “his type,” but he's never actually passed up an opportunity to get close to me. I don't know if it means anything, or if he's just so desperate for the touch of a female that he's willing to take it even from a bald woman. Either way, he lets me lead him far away from the playground and out to a private little cluster of trees where guys usually take their ladies for a quickie. It's broad daylight and nobody's really doing anything, but there's one or two couples here and there, holding hands in the grass and making out the picnic tables. Otherwise there's just people passing through.

I tug at Rickie's hand. “Let's give 'em a show.”

He's all for it. “How?”

I sit myself down right in front of the latina woman locking lips with a guy with a guitar on his back, folding my legs into the “zen monk” position. “I'm Buddha,” I tell Rickie. “Rub my bald head for a hundred years of good fortune.”

“Only a hundred?” Rickie asks. “I don't know, I plan on living longer than that.”

“Then kiss it,” I tell him. “Kiss it and you will live for a thousand years.”

Rickie kneels down. “A thousand, huh? Well, I don't think I can rightly pass that up.”

He puts his lips right where the sun warms the top of my head. There's something raw and just so right about the feeling of lips against a bare head. Have hair there, and it acts like a shield; it blocks out the soft feeling of the two lips and suppresses the pressure of having them push against you. He holds them there for fifty full seconds counted in my head, then he pulls away. “Was that worth a thousand years?” he asks me.

I grab him by the collar and pull him down. He's so close to me that his stubbly moustache prickles against my bare head. I move his hand on top of my head and hold it there, and there's no hair to block out just how warm it feels. I hear the latina girl go “ugh,” and she and her guitar guy take off for elsewhere.

“It was worth eternity.”

#Fiction by Me #The Lives of the RiffRaff #work in progress #writing

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ramajmedia · 5 years ago

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Supernatural: 10 Hysterical Sam Winchester Logic Memes That Only True Fans Will Understand

Within the world of supernatural TV shows as well as within the fictional world of Supernatural itself, Sam Winchester is a literal icon and legend. His exploits fighting the demons and monsters that would send an average, sane person running scared have earned Sam a lot of admiration within the world of hunters, while his character has secured him an insane amount of fans. While Sam typically likes to keep things very serious, his fan base is more than happy to get downright silly.

RELATED: 10 Things From Supernatural That Haven’t Aged Well

With 14 seasons under its belt, Supernatural has given its fans a whole lot of material to have fun with. What is the most thing that any hardcore fans can do with their favorite characters and TV show? Well, make them into memes, obviously! There is a never-ending list of Sam Winchester memes to keep fans and casual viewers entertained, but here are ten of Sam's best.

10 Well He Had To Get Those Muscles Somehow

Supernatural has evolved in directions that no one would have ever expected. Earlier on in the series, surrendering yourself to anything demonic for your own benefit was very strongly frowned upon. Therefore, the fact Sam Winchester essentially allowed himself, along with some help from Ruby, to become a blood addict as a way to enhance his abilities was a dark secret, one that caused Dean to lose his mind once he found out.

Of course, it all went wrong in the end, but at least Sam seemed to have a good time while he was doing it!

9 Sam The Murder Puppy

I mean, can anyone really argue with that? It's actually a borderline miracle that Sam, as well as Dean, are both still as good looking as they are.

RELATED: Supernatural: 10 Times Destiel Was Canon

Sam has a bit of an advantage because at least he eats healthy, but after spending literally his entire life getting his face and body bashed in by demons and monsters, you'd think there would be more readily apparent damage to his relatively fragile frame. They're both lucky though, as looking like sweet young dudes certainly has its advantages both in demon hunting and just living life.

8 Too Soon

That's not cool, man! Jess didn't deserve the awful end that she met at the hands of Yellow Eyes and Sam certainly didn't deserve to witness it either. Jessica may have only survived literally one episode, but Sam and the rest of the Supernatural fandom will never forget her.

Also, we all know that Gordon Ramsay's shtick is to be loud and angry, but if he ever let these fighting words fly then undoubtedly the entirety of the Supernatural fan base would be coming at him like a freight train. Even someone as tough as Ramsay doesn't want to make that mistake.

7 It's Hard Being The Normal One In The Family

Considering everything that Sam is, everywhere he's been, and everything he's done, it's a little crazy to realize that he's actually the relatively normal one in the family. However, if your family is made up of antisocial demon hunters and angels, "normal" is rather subjective.

RELATED: Supernatural: 10 Reasons Why God/Chuck Is The True Villain Of The Series

We can see why Cas might be confused by something as mundane as a voicemail and realistically, anyone who calls him is going to know that Cas is an unsocialized weirdo. Same goes for Dean, yes his voicemail message is weird, but will anyone who calls him be confused or surprised by it?

6 You Hear That Yellow Eyes?

Or you killed my girlfriend, prepare to die. Or you killed my mother, prepare to die. Or you killed that random person I hung out with a day and a half, prepare to die. Anyone noticing a theme here? Sam is definitely always on a mission for revenge like Inigo Montoya, however, the hunter's kill list and "people he knows who have been killed" list is about eight miles longer than Montoya's.

With this particular coif and facial hair, Sam really does look like the long lost brother, son, or cousin of the incomparable Inigo Montoya.

5 Is He Laughing Or Crying?

There are many memes made for many things, but this meme seems a little extra special because it's such a painfully, hilariously accurate representation of Sam and Dean's relationship. Yes, they have a million things worth crying over, but they try to deflect all of that pain with their dark senses of humor.

Then they cry anyway. If they were ever looking for a side gig then writing monster and supernaturally based jokes could be a very lucrative deal, that is, if they can get over their pedantry and don't feel the need to correct every piece of lore information out there in the world while they do it.

4 Anything But The Hair

Even if his hair was blue or he was completely bald, no one would ever say that Sam Winchester looks busted. With that said, clearly, Sam holds a deep interest in the appearance of his own hair. It's easy to understand considering what lustrous chestnut locks adorn his head, but he really doesn't need to be quite so worried about the upkeep of his tresses.

It's actually quite an impressive achievement though, you'd think his hair would be in incredibly rough shape after the constant torture Sam's entire body is under, and you'd think extra long hair would be a hindrance in the job.

3 Not The Brightest Lightning In The Sky

Look, after dedicating his entire life to heroic pursuits, no one should be surprised Sam Winchester is capable of lifting Thor's hammer. Yes, it's supposed to be one of the rarest gifts in all of Marvel Comics' history, but Sam is definitely one of those who may just be worthy.

RELATED: Supernatural: 10 Times The Show Broke Our Hearts

However, Sam really dropped the ball in leaving it behind. It is supposed to be one of the most powerful weapons of all time, and almost no one in the world can actually use it! Furthermore, a lore expert like Sam should have known that!

2 Planning Ahead Always Helps

Isn't it weird to think back to the very beginnings of Supernatural and remember that at one point in his life Sam Winchester was the kind of guy who might be brought to tears at the thought of his homework being late? While he probably wouldn't cry, Sam is also an obsessive school freak, so anything is possible.

Everyone on earth can relate to Sam in this instance, sometimes you just drop the ball and once you realize it's too late, all you have left to do is give the teacher a sad face and hope they show mercy on you.

1 Ancient Demons

Sam's experience with the supernatural world is so insane that even the lives of angels and gods can't compare to what he's seen and done. After what he's seen and done, undoubtedly nothing is too crazy to completely write off.

However, if Sam were to share his reality with the rest of the world, he would 100% be seen as someone even nuttier and weirder than the guy from Ancient Aliens. That said, if Sam and Dean ever had their own History channel show detailing the supernatural world, it would be a sure-fire success.

NEXT: Supernatural: All the Angels And Their Powers

source https://screenrant.com/supernatural-hysterical-sam-winchester-logic-memes-true-fans-understand/

#screenrant

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drferox · 8 years ago

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20 Questions with Dr Ferox #6

It’s barely been half a week and we’ve got enough questions for another round. You folks just keep ‘em coming don’t you?

Anonymous said: You don't have to answer this, but I love your twenty questions posts. They're such a variety and everything is so short and digestible. Kind of a fun way to start my day :)

I’m glad you like them, and now you get to feature in one! Honestly they’re the only way I have any hope of keeping up with all your questions.

Anonymous asked: Question tax: came for some clarifying information, and stayed because of the thought-provoking concepts this blog provides. And my question is about the recent ask about muzzles? Why are there greyhound-specific muzzles? I'm sorry if you mentioned it before and I just missed it.

In Australia at least, greyhounds have to race in those muzzles. They’re very light weight and are easy to slip on and off. Greyhounds have very narrow heads compared to other breeds, so non-flexible muzzles often don’t fit them very well. A greyhound muzzle is just like a wire basket and can basically be worn all day, except for meals.If a greyhound is not certified through the Greyhound Adoption Program then it has to wear this muzzle in public by law. The GAP certification means it’s been tested safe around small dogs.

@lessdenied said: Hi Dr. Ferox! I came for the fantasy animals, stayed because it's really interesting seeing the tiny differences between US Vet stuff and Aussie Vet stuff! So, question: My rabbit is very sick with Pasteurella, and even though I'm giving him antibiotics and changing his bedding daily (he's got abscesses from it) and making sure his diet is perfect, it's probably terminal. He's old; we're going to fight until the quality of life is gone, but it'll go eventually. Throughout this, his vet's office has been amazing, and gone above and beyond for us. What can I do to thank the vet and her staff? My go-to would be baked goods and a bunch of coffee/tea with a donation to a local shelter--thoughts? I've already given them a good yelp/google review, since there are a ton of vets where I am and I figured that'd be the most important thanks. Question tax: Marmite or vegemite or neither?

Positive online reviews are extremely welcome because they’re permanent and rare, honestly most folks only go to online review places to complain. Food is always welcome, especially if it’s in an easily dividable form to share between staff members.

A handwritten card with a photo of the pet which thanks staff by name is also more appreciated than people think. It reminds us why we’re in this profession in the first place and if you’re having a bad mental health day they can really pick you up.

And Vegemite for life.

@doctorrichardstrand said: Just wanted to say thanks for all of the euthanasia discussions. i'm not sure if you remember, but i asked a question a while ago about cancer in schnauzers, and literally hours after asking that we had to make that decision for her (the tumor was bleeding internally and she was in pain and we couldn't afford an emergency surgery, it was the day after we found it). it's been reassuring to know the hard decision is often the right one.

A bleeding abdominal tumor is very rarely a good thing. There’s not anything that can be said to actually lessen your loss but I’m glad it’s comforting to know that making a decision at the time is the right thing to do.

@reachyourlimit said: I asked you a few weeks ago if you'd ever seen ingrown hairs in dogs that wouldn't go away. We saw another vet for my dog's annual 2 weeks ago, and there just so happened to be a dermatologist there giving a presentation, so she brought my dog to see the dermatologist, who immediately suspected hypothyroidism since it was on a pressure point but should have been healing. Did a blood test, and she was right, and it looks like they're finally starting to heal…in case you ever encounter this

That’s different. I’ve certainly had hypothyroidism cause baldness but not hairs that are ingrown before.

Anonymous: Hi, I have a mini poodle who was a rescue, she came to me with a docked tail and no dewclaws, and frequently bites and scratches at her tail and the places her front dewclaws would be. Is this common?

I’m not sure what to tell you without examining the dog, Anon. She might have neuromas at the site of amputation, which are chronically painful but sometimes respond to medication, or she might be genuinely itchy as feet and tail base are common sites to scratch from multiple different causes. You need a vet to examine your pet for more information.

Anonymous said: Hi Dr. Ferox! I love this blog and the lovely fantasy masterposts---they've given me much food for thought! I have a question on feline dental care. My 11 yo cat was just diagnosed with feline tooth resorption. I asked about treatment and the doc said it's a thing that's really common in cats and if the cat doesn't act differently or seem to be in pain (she doesn't), then to leave it alone. Is this true? Should I get a 2nd opinion? The cat is otherwise healthy. Thank you!

I would bet you money that if somebody poked your cat’s lesion, it would show pain. Just because a cat isn’t crying or sooking all the time doesn’t mean something isn’t painful. I would get a second opinion, and I would strongly consider having any affected teeth out.

Anonymous said: I think this is kind of a weird question and feel free to ignore it if it isn't FAQ compliant. We took my dog into the vet today for a limp on a hind leg and the doc took one look at it and said "tweaked her ACL." He's got her on anti-inflammatories and a joint supplement (Movoflex, if that matters) with instructions to keep her leashed for 10 days to keep her from blowing out the other one. We've restricted her access to stairs. My mom is the sort that immediately goes and watches ...

Looks like you got my first but not my second? re: ACL. Basically, vet says she tweaked it, we're leash only and no stairs for 10 days + anti inflammatories and a joint supplement then go from there,main concern right now is to see if we can keep from messing up the other one. Mom is finding "cures" of questionable credibility on YouTube, any tips for finding "but can we be doing more?!?" info that isn't BS? Also, any tips for entertaining a super bored dog?

If it is the cruciate ligament that’s tweaked/sprained/strained/stretched in some way, there’s no ‘miracle cure’ for you to find online. You just have to enforce rest so that she doesn’t bust her other one (as something like 10% of dogs will do).

Strict rest, limiting food intake (because they will gain weight when you force them to be less active) and passive range of motion exercises (lie dog on side, gently move leg through circle it would move if they were walking 5-10 times) is all I’d recommend at this stage.

I generally recommend chew toys or puzzle feeders, since they can amuse themselves with those whilst not moving about much. It’s hard to keep them entertained while confined, but it’s important for their healing.

Anonymous said: I adopted a dog in August. He had a broken leg (and a recent surgery to put in a rod). I worked with my vet, did PT to strengthen the atrophied muscles, and a few months ago, he was finally cleared to run freely. This weekend, I took him to the park, where he jumped, and fell funny. He cried, and wouldn't put weight on his leg for a few minutes, but within a couple hours seemed totally fine. I'm scared to take him back to the park, but he has so much energy, and needs to run! Any advice?

I’d get his leg checked just to be safe, but jumping is generally a higher risk of injury than just walking or running. You may need to modify your games so that he isn’t encouraged to jump, eg rolling balls along the ground instead of throwing them.

It’s also possible that the implant is aggravating him in some way, although this is uncommon.

Anonymous: do some dogs lose fur on their tails? is that normal? my cousin has a large mutt and he is pretty old. his tail is practically bald. it gets worse when he gets flees so they keep daisy, who gets flees often, away from him. they really love him and take care of him pretty well. but even so i am wondering what's up with his tail

It’s common but it’s not normal. He could have a hormonal condition, or an allergy, or an anal gland problem depending on where the fur loss it. If you know he’s sensitive to fleas then both dogs should be on a consistent, quality flea control as ‘keeping them apart’ isn’t likely to do anything.

Anonymous asked: What would you suggest for chewing for dogs? Dachshund and mastiff-Labrador, the dachshund is more of an aggressive chewer

I’m not willing to give specific recommendations for animals not directly under my care. This is because most chews still have a risk of tooth fractures or choking, and I do not want to be ethically responsible.

Broadly speaking raw bones of an appropriate size can be good, as can any chew with VOHC certification. Things like antlers and rawhide tend to give no benefit, and may actually be detrimental.

Anonymous said: My dog is on Bravecto and Sentinel. (Has had Heartworm in the past/was treated.) We go hiking a lot/live in the woods. Knowing ticks are bad (live in USA), should I take any more precautions? Will those kill ticks before contracting any illness? Can I spray the dog with OFF? Also, having had Heartworm, are there any lasting effects once treated? Thanks!

I don’t know what’s in OFF but you could consider spraying permethrin on the legs and chest of the dog. (Do not ever use in cats). You should talk to your local vet about what tick borne illnesses they see, because we generally don’t see them here and they may vary by region.

It’s certainly possible to have residual scaring in the heart after a heartworm infection, but again you should be talking to your own vet about your dog’s particular case.

@kalessan said: Hi, my question is about goat genetics, I hope that might be interesting for you! So lots of people believe that a homozygous polled goat has a higher chance of being intersex, but others say this only comes from one small study in the 1940s and might not be true? Do you know if there is better science on this now? It would be great to be able to breed for polled and no disbudding. Thanks very much, I will buy you a coffee :)

So, it seems like homozygous polled goats do have a higher risk of being intersex overall. This is because there is another gene which is closely associated (on the same chromosome) as the polled gene and they are often inherited together. When the goat is homozygous for this gene the females may be all sorts of intersex and the males have reduced fertility.

It’s possible (and desirable) to have some lines where the polled gene is not associated with this intersex gene, but it may take genetic screening and simple luck for us to figure this out and isolate it.

@geneticallymodifiedmemes said: My favorite thing is when I paint my nails or use moisturizer or anything that causes my hands to smell strongly, and my cat seems so offended. I can't blame her, but her shocked face is so funny.

Their sense of smell, and what they find nice/offensive, is different to ours. Also consider the fact that your hands are now coated in this scent, and it’s your hands that pat her, so you will potentially coat her in the scent as well. No wonder she takes offense

Anonymous said: Hello, new follower here! I've seen some of your posts around tumblr (trash bag the cat, goth bunny owner, etc) and just now decided to check out your whole blog. Your information and stories are very interesting to read, even as someone who knows very little about veterinary medicine. I'm more into botany, which is why your url caught my eye - have you heard of the plant Aloe ferox? Anyways, hope this question finds you in good health, and that your week goes well.

Yes I’m aware of them, I have searched my name from time to time to see what Google picks up. It’s a Latin word so its used in a few things, but I actually chose my name from a fictional character.

@decaying-bambi asked: Hello! I saw your post about Rottweilers, I have a "Boxweiler" which is apparently the term for a Rottweiler and Boxer mix..? however I keep looking for tips on how to better care for her and what things I should know about her health (possible growth issues and etc) but I find it's difficult to really find much professional advice about "Boxweilers" she is very well behaved and absolutely sweet but can be a bit of a butt head at times because she's overly playful. Any advice, she's a 60lb pup.

The reason you wont find muck professional advice about ‘Boxweilers’ is because they are a mixed breed that has been given a cutesy name to make them easier to sell. They are not a breed, they are a cross. As such you can consider information about both parent breeds as potentially being relevnt to your pup.

Boxers

Rottweilers

Boxer crossbreds

Anonymous said: what do you think about breed specific legislation? does it help keep people safe or does it just leave a lot of dogs w/o homes?

It doesn’t result in dogs not having homes, it results in target breeds being euthanasied. I’ve talked briefly about Breed Specific Legislation before, and I think while there could potentially be some types of BSL that are useful, in their current form they are not useful for reducing dog bites or protecting the public.

Anonymous asked: Are there any vet shows that you would say have good practices? Because Dr Pol is definitely not one of them.

I really don’t watch vet shows any more. They’re not relaxing, they’re not entertaining and they don’t let me rest my brain. You can’t live and breathe veterinary medicine all the time and still stay sane.

They’re kind of ethically gray too, because producing these shows often require repeated filming which may not be in the best interest of the patient. I listened to some TV vets talk about the process, and how having the film crew interfered with their work and meant they had to take on less cases. Also how they had to do multiple takes of them driving through the farm gate and inane things like that. It’s really difficult to do best practice medicine because it’s often not ‘pretty enough’ for television.

I know that Village Vets Australia did at least try to do everything as well as they could do, but I’ve not personally watched it for the above reasons.

Another anonymous said: I saw what you had written about Dr pol (who's show I've never watched) and I was wondering what you thoughts were on Dr Michelle Oakley because I've been watching her show wilderness vet and I think she seems great but I wanted to get real vets opinion on her.

Again, I don’t watch these shows and I wont watch these shows anymore. I need some part of my life that is not vetting. Sorry I can’t help you.

@lornacus asked: Hows trash bag?

He’s a naughty and precocious kitten, as he should be. Here he is not being murdered by Wonka.

#dr ferox #trashbag the cat #wonka the cat #long post #veterinarian #vetblr

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dark128 · 8 years ago

Text

KNOCKOUT - chapter 10 (part 1)

Warning for mentions of assault/sexual assault.

Thank you for reading!!!

Bo almost loses her “hat” as she tips her head to inspect her feet. She should have gone with the black shoes, she thinks, performing a Dorothy knock to her heels before wrinkling her nose.

“Crap.”

The people lined up ahead move forward and there’s a confusing atmosphere in the shadows before blinding lights, a muddle of excitement and almost paralysing nerves. Bo dutifully follows the person in front, noting that this form of conga line is dramatically different than the one she was forced into at her cousin’s wedding.

Bo’s never been under so much instruction before, follow me, sit here, stand up, clap, shake hands. And she’s reminded of this when beckoned forward by a man with worry lines patterned in waves across his forehead. There’s a trickle of sweat running just past his temple, and all it does is remind Bo of the layers of dark fabric currently draped over her feverous body.

Her name is scratched out a little aggressively from the list pinned to his clipboard and he gives her a serious looking nod to the side.

“Go.”

Fingers trail down the deep, red velvet curtains separating the audience from the hordes of achievers. She takes a customary deep breath. It’s with apprehensive steps and a nauseating roll to her stomach that Bo’s name is called and she takes to the stage, one glittery heel at a time.

Please don’t trip. Please don’t fall and embarrass yourself.

Her heart is thundering like a summer storm, she feels the pressure of it through her tight dress and the damp palms she wipes on her robes that skirt the wooden stage. Bo doesn’t dare look out to the audience, just focusing ahead where the chancellor is offering a smile and a hand to shake.

Bo’s head shoots up at the echoing whistles and overly enthusiastic clapping. Seated on the next level up are two people she recognises and one more person who she distinctly remembers said they couldn’t make it. Bo had been anguished but respectful at the time, telling them not to worry about it. How could she demand attendance from someone she exchanged infrequent texts with and birthday phone calls twice a year.

Her mum flashes a camera and even with the distance Bo can tell she already has tears tracking her cheeks. Aunt Grace is faring a little better, although the wild clapping has Bo thinking that over displays of emotion are a family trait. They’re both in eye-catching floral dresses, a bright addition to the occasion compared to Bo’s compulsory dark coloured ensemble.

She gives a small wave, descending the steps from the stage with one hand gripping her degree and the other clinging to the rail. Harry’s grinning as he lowers his hands from his mouth.

There’s no time to assess his appearance, her heart slamming her ribcage, but Bo can tell just from the fleeting glance she gets that there’s no longer hair tumbling past his shoulders.

She sits through the ceremony for another two subjects, politely clapping with an impatient bobbing of her knee. It’s far too warm in the old venue, and Bo prays that someone will turn on the air conditioning or open a damn window somewhere. The few times she’s glanced up to the circle seats above, she’s caught a watery smile from her mum. Her aunt applauds every graduate with an enthusiasm not seen anywhere else in the audience. Before the ceremony, she’d grabbed Bo’s hand and told her how overwhelmed she was to be amongst a new generation of graduates.

It’s Harry that seems to know when eyes are upon him, and Bo receives a smile and a cheeky wink. When they’re released, she’s one of the first up and out of her seat, hustling to try and jostle between some of the slower individuals.

Freshly graduated, Bo tumbles through the back doors in her haste, out of the main venue and into the reception where friends and family are waiting with full glasses from the bar. Weaving through a large group just beyond her, Bo emerges to scan the rest of the room.

He’s stood chatting to her mum and aunt, dressed in a navy suit with considerably less hair than when she’d seen him last.

“Harry!”

Turning, he’s quick about taking the glasses off, ready for her when she barrels into him. Her arms tightly wrap his waist as she blurs the lines between them and squeezes. For Bo, the engaging of their bodies doesn’t last nearly as long as she’d like. Harry’s peeling away from her even as her fingers tighten to his jacket. He levers her away slightly by Bo’s shoulders, quite possibly so he can see her face as he laughs.

“I didn’t think you were able to come,” her voice quivers slightly, making a grab for his hand.

“I wasn’t going to miss your graduation, Bo.”

He leans in a little and Bo feels almost as though it’s a secret.

“But you said -“

“Surprise.”

Harry’s grinning at her like a child telling an awful joke. And it will do awful things to her eye makeup if she dwells on the fact that he’s actually here. “Well, it certainly is a surprise to see your new look,” she fondly smiles, reaching up to touch the short length of his hair.

“Thought I’d change it up a bit. More presentable for such an auspicious occasion.”

“It certainly is different.”

It’s shorter up the sides and longer on top. Funny, she never noticed how cute his ears were.

“You look very handsome. And these are adorable,” she says, taking the glasses from his pocket, folding out the arms and placing them back on his nose.

“Really?”

“You’re adorable.”

He sighs.

“That’s not really the look I was going for.”

“Congratulations on your adorableness.”

“Congratulations on being massively brainy and getting your degree. Although you look like you’ve just graduated from Hogwarts,” he teases, lightly fluttering her robes.

“Thanks.”

Bo had forgotten about the graduation cap before she tips her head to peer down at her attire. She catches it just as it starts to slip.

“Oh, these are for you.”

Seemingly out of thin air, a bouquet of prettily tied flowers is produced from somewhere behind him and Harry swaps the bunch for the cap in her hand. Bo’s bashful in her appreciation, hiding behind them whilst speaking her thanks. She thinks she’ll have to ask the restaurant to put them in water whilst they eat.

“Hey Bo!”

They both turn and Bo smiles back at the group of friends from her course. Max and Ali have identical grins as they wave a bottle of fizz at her and beckon. A kiss is pressed to her mum and aunt’s cheeks, kicking off her heels and wriggling from the heavy robe.

“I’ll be back in a minute.”

Her promise to Harry is accompanied with more of a kiss to his jaw than his cheek on account that he didn’t bend down far enough. Bo’s taken a few steps away from Harry before she thinks better of it and rounds on him again. He’s still smiling.

“You look really well, Harry.”

She nods, suddenly becoming unable to keep from blushing as she shakes her head and retreats towards her friends, leaving him to watch after her.

***

There’s already family members trying to hustle groups of graduating friends into keepsake photographs. It’s Ali’s younger sister, with her dark plaited hair swinging around her shoulders that ultimately breaks up their little gathering. She beams up at him, two teeth less than in the family picture Ali had up in his room. He makes a show of trying to resist the youngster tugging on his hand.

“We’ll organise something over the summer, right?” he rushes before being whisked away. “We could all meet in London, or have a weekend at the beach?”

“Sounds great.”

“I’m up for it.”

“You’re up for anything,” Jose elbows Max in the ribs.

He proceeds to play injured as Jose catches something of greater interest.

“You should go.”

The words are countered with a tilt to her head, nodding past Bo’s shoulder.

“You trying to get rid of me?” Bo jokes.

“No, I just think your boyfriend wants you back.”

Bo turns to see Harry stood with her mum and aunt. He’s still got her robe draped over his forearm, and it’s a second before he notices her attention, in which his frown transforms to fondness.

She wriggles her toes on the balding carpet as her stomach does an odd affectionate squirm at the fact Harry’s also holding her heels.

“Oh, he’s not - my boyfriend.”

“Really? Is he single then?”

“Shut up,” Bo hushes, playfully pushing her friend away.

She keeps on her toes on the meandering route back to him, cautious of pointy heels and polished dress shoes. There’s even a moment Bo resorts to a hop and shuffle rather than taking critical damage to blue polished nails.

“You should probably put them back on if we’re going outside,” Harry gestures to her shoes.

“I was hoping someone would carry me. They might look pretty, but they’re killing my feet.”

Regardless, she slips into them anyway, taking hold of Harry’s arm to steady herself.

“I would offer to put you over my shoulder, but I don’t think your mum would like it much.”

Bo would take a fireman’s lift even if it meant a disapproving look from her mother. After today she’d quite happily get shot of the sparkly, monster shoes down the charity shop.

“You’d carry me?”

“Course.”

“I’m really proud of you. And just to clarify, I would offer to carry you anyway, even if you hadn’t just graduated.”

She places her hand on her heart somewhat dramatically.

“Thank you for coming.”

***

Posing for pictures, throwing graduation caps and saying her goodbyes drains Bo of the energy she started the day with. Her mum and aunt are waiting for her on the outskirts of the garden and Bo could just about drop to her knees with exhaustion, anything to get the weight off her feet. But before she can join them, Harry approaches, pocketing his phone and standing in front of her.

“I’m gunna head off now,” he tells her and Bo’s joy takes a nosedive into disappointment.

“Really? Aren’t you coming to dinner with us?”

She can tell by the sour pinch to his mouth that he didn’t want to make a big thing about it. Probably just wanted to kiss her on the cheek and slip away. Again.

“You can stay. We’ll ask them to just set another place at the table. I can -“

Bo starts to turn away to her mum because she’ll know what to do. Mum’s always know; like it’s programmed into them the moment they give birth. Bo doesn’t need to vie for her attention though, her mum and aunt are already watching after the couple across the grass.

Bo catches her eye long enough for her mother to mouth, ‘Let him go.”

It’s Harry’s hand on Bo’s shoulder that gently anchors her and she can feel a phantom twist of emotion in her gut. It hurts. Reminiscent of a juncture in their shared past when he told her he was leaving. But this time she doesn’t cry. Bo holds her nerve and his eye contact.

“It’s ok, you celebrate with your family.”

She remains tightlipped to refrain from saying something silly. Harry kisses her cheek but Bo can already feel him stepping out and away, creating a distance that prevents her from clutching at him. And she doesn’t understand why.

“Harry?”

He smiles, still moving to cut their connection.

“It’s ok, I’ll talk to you soon.”

It’s with a heavy heart that she tortures herself further, watching as he politely slips between the remaining friends and relatives and exits the garden through the stone archway.

On the walk to the restaurant, her mum strides ahead taking a congratulatory phonecall on Bo’s behalf from a relative she’s never even heard of.

“I wonder if they’ll have a vegan menu?”

Bo’s aunt has slipped an arm through hers as they wander through familiar streets admiring shop windows.

“You’re not even a vegan though.”

“I know, but the whole diet intrigues me.”

Bo shakes her head, laughing as they round another corner. They’re serenaded by a busker whilst they wait outside the restaurant for her mum to finish the call. He’s young, strumming away at chords and singing along to an early Ed Sheeran track that Bo’s having trouble with naming.

“It’s a shame Harry couldn’t stay,” her aunt comments as they watch.

“Yeah,” Bo hums, because she’s not really in the mood to discuss it.

“You shouldn’t worry.”

“About what?”

Little Bird, Bo thinks. That’s the song.

“He said he’s still trying to sort things out. He didn’t feel ready for it yet.”

***

“Meet me at the corner of Angle Rd at 6, wear something sporty. H x”

She scans over the message again, before chucking her phone back on the unmade bed. Her insides do an involuntary sweep as it bounces before settling inches from edge of the mattress.

“Wear something sporty, what does that even mean?”

Bo confronts the mess in her wardrobe, hands on hips paired with a scrutinising gaze. Hangers are pushed back and forth on her rail as she contemplates if her jeggings constitute anything remotely sporty. She decides they don’t meet the grade.

A glance at the time makes the decision for her, making grabby hands at a pair of patterned leggings and a “Save The Bees” t-shirt she received from Tiff as a birthday present. She’s out the door in less than two minutes.

Bo’s not really one for arriving early to anywhere, but it’s Harry and his cryptic message that has prompted something similar to nerves in her belly. Similar, but it’s definitely not nerves. No.

“I said something sporty.”

She whirls to see Harry approach from the other side of the road. He’s in sport shorts and a t-shirt with a duffle bag slung over his right shoulder. The tautness in his arms blinkers her vision, not the sort of arms attached to a chiseled model with flowing hair on a cheesy romance novel. But more the solid build of an athlete, of someone who actually uses their body as a tool rather than just flaunting it at the gym.

She refuses to acknowledge the small clench in her lower tummy.

“This is what I do yoga in,” Bo explains, glancing down at the bright yellow top and leggings.

“You do yoga?”

“Yeah, me and a girl from work take a class on Wednesday. We end up giggly through most of it, but I think I’ve got the warrior pose down.”

Bo gives a little demonstration in the middle of the path, much to Harry’s amusement.

“How’s work going?”

Bo moves along beside him as he starts to walk back down the road.

“Alright thanks, hopefully I won’t be there much longer. I have an interview next Friday with an NGO that I’m doing some prep for.”

“Fingers crossed.”

They chat for the remainder of the mystery walk until they near a building that Bo’s vaguely familiar with.

“Are we working out? I thought we were going for a run.”

“Not quite.”

Harry leads the way through the reception where he’s cheerfully greeted by a muscled man behind the desk. Bo waits as Harry digs a card out from his wallet before swiping it in front of a screen. The barriers ahead of them swing open and she’s encouraged through them with a hand to her lower back.

They’re met with a wall of warmth and excited shrieks as they press through the heavy doors. Children delight in the water of the fun pool and Bo watches toddlers splash around in fountains spurting from the tiled floor.

“I brought my niece the other week,” Harry says, leaning against the rail beside her.

“Here?” Bo asks. “To the pool of screaming children.”

There’s a mother standing on the side of the water’s edge, beckoning for three children to get out and dry off, to which they duck under the surface with grinning, goggled faces. It’s a reminiscent scene of her own childhood that amuses Bo as she continues to listen.

“She loves it. Bit clingy to start off with and we stayed in the shallows mostly, but she wanted to go in deeper.”

“How old is she now?”

“Two and a half,” he replies with a soft sort of smile.

There’s adoration and pride blooming as Harry talks about his niece. And Bo knows for certain that the toddler had him wrapped around her finger from the moment he first held her. And the idea of Harry with a baby, how gentle and soft spoken he’d be whilst informing her of how he’d spoil her rotten despite what her mum says. It’s enough to have Bo pining to witness first hand how someone barely past Harry’s knee could turn him to complete mush.

“It’s bit of a nightmare after getting out of the water though, she wriggled around so much I didn’t bother changing either of us.”

Bo laughs, gripping the rail.

“Just wrapped her in the towel like a burrito and walked out.”

“Are we here to swim, because I didn’t bring anything to change into.”

“Not today. I have something else planned.”

It’s as they bypass the locker rooms and then the training hall that Bo’s curiosity bubbles over with questions.

She’s left unsatisfied with an answer of, “Wait and see.”

Following along closely behind him, Bo’s introduced to a brightly lit room through a set of double doors.

“Stay here a minute.”

He offloads his bag to the floor by Bo’s feet which she huffs at before nudging it to the wall with her foot.

It’s difficult not to notice the female chatter in the sweeping room. The majority are ladies, dressed in sporty attire with hair pulled back and smiles on their faces. There’s a bar running around the circumference, walls which are lined with floor to ceiling length mirrors. If Bo didn’t know any better she’d say they were here to dance, the space perfect for observing and participating in routines to music. But she certainly doesn’t think that’s the case as Harry’s now jogging over to the main group, his presence drawing in the smaller clusters formed on the outskirts.

The space is relatively bare when taking into account it’s located in a gym. The floor is a patchwork of large blue mats laid out to face the space at the far end of the room.

“Hi, thanks for continuing to come back,” Harry begins which elicits a murmur of laughter. “I’m pleased to see all the slots are filled for this self defence class. And I hope we can achieve a lot whilst we’re here.”

Bo’s eyebrows shoot up in response, still a little unsure as to what the hell is going on. That is until their eyes meet and Harry beckons Bo from the back of the room to where he’s stood in front of a class of about twenty-five.

“This is my –“ Harry pauses. “She’s um –“

“Bo,” she intercepts.

She’s never found public speaking to come with ease, and this feels a lot like a presentation she’s massively underprepared for.

“She’s going to be helping me demonstrate,” Harry explains as Bo absorbs the information for the first time with the rest of the class. “Bo’s a beginner, too. So this will be new for everyone.”

And that’s pretty much it before Bo is thrown into a class she didn’t sign up for. But what stuns her more is how at ease he is whilst advising people on their foot stance and how to position their shoulders. Well, that and Harry’s surprising repertoire of encouraging phrases he dishes out when making the rounds.

They run through exercises performed in the previous class, actions Bo has to catch up on with a partner as Harry wanders the floor. Once she’s mastered the art of evading a wrist lock, Harry calls her back up to the front again as the women gather.

Bo stands to the side of Harry.

“What do you think puts Bo at a disadvantage in a physical confrontation between the two of us?”

The question is posed to the group before murmurs hum around the room and people begin to speak up.

“You’re huge,” one of the women at the front comments.

Harry laughs as Bo scans him from her eye-level and up. He is considerably taller, broader and heavier than the rest of the room’s occupants.

“Yeah, I’m bigger than Bo.”

“Stronger,” someone else suggests.

“Unless she’s an athlete, I don’t think she could outrun you.”

The answers begin to lose steam and Bo is left with an unnerving list of attributes that put her in an inferior physical position. And honestly, it doesn’t do much for her confidence.

The group conversation is still in free flow as Harry gestures for Bo to approach the mat.

“Do you mind doing a demonstration with me?” he asks quietly with his back partially to the class.

“What kind?”

“If you’re not comfortable, you can say no and I’ll ask one of the trainers - it’s defence against sexual assault.”

Bo’s stomach instantly drops as she thickly swallows.

“Wow, heavy stuff,” she tries and unfortunately fails to make light of it.

“It’s important to -“

“Ok.”

“You sure?” he asks, raising his brows.

“If it will help the people here, then of course.”

His smile is infectious and Bo actually has to prompt him to continue with the class. Giving him a little shove towards the waiting group so she can hide the grin he’s responsible for.

“Will you lay down for me please?”

She gives him a look before taking his hand and sitting on their own patchwork of blue in the room. Bo regathers her hair in a tie before flicking it out above her head and laying back.

“Today, we’re going to be learning to defend and evade against a position known for sexual assault.”

As Bo’s regard flicks from face to face, trying to decipher people’s initial reaction, she’s surprised to find that there’s no shock or uneasiness, instead an openness to listen and learn.

***

Bo’s a little perplexed at the position she finds herself in, only the mat separating her body from the floor and Harry hovering over her like they’re in the privacy of a home and not at the front of a class full of keen, observing eyes.

He’s on hands and knees, those knees pressing up under her butt as her bent legs widen. But it’s the nature of the subject matter that, despite the positioning, cancels out any romantic stirrings for Bo, and she’s pretty sure Harry isn’t feeling it either. There’s something sort of remote about it all.

“With sexual assault, this is most likely going to be the position a victim would end up in. I know it might feel a bit awkward to start off with,” Harry continues to speak to the class. “But it’s important to remember that in reality, if something does happen, it’s not going to be from a distance. It’ll be close.”

As if to emphasise the point, he leans down onto Bo until their chests are almost touching. And then his body heat is gone as he straightens once again.

“Don’t think that once you’re on the floor, that’s it. There’s a lot of moves you can perform to get out of the position. And that’s what we’re going to begin learning today.”

Harry’s full attention returns to Bo and along with it, everybody else’s. She’s forced to peer up at his face, ready for his next instruction. But he doesn’t address her as such, instead throwing another question out to the group.

“What do you think Bo can do to get out of this?”

He’s almost fully on top of her, his forearms place by her head and Bo can feel her cheeks bloom with warmth.

There’s mutterings of suggestions between people that have paired off before someone calls out from the back.

“Head-butt you?”

Laughter flutters around the room.

“Not quite,” Harry admits with a smile. “Try and push me away.”

Simple.

Bo presses up, palms making contact with Harry’s chest and shoving. But it’s with slight alarm that she discovers all three attempts end with Harry buckling her elbows and powering down. And it’s then, with a whisper of breath between them that Harry asks, “How do you feel?”

Bo thickly swallows.

“Powerless.”

And it’s true because the thought of being so easily trapped is turning Bo’s stomach over. If it was anyone but Harry performing the demonstration there’s a strong possibility that she’d ask to remove herself from the situation to melt back into the gathering of people watching over. But it is Harry, Harry with his short hair, scarred face and easy smile. And she trusts him.

One woman clears her throat and Harry rolls smoothly back into professional instructor.

“This class is about learning to effectively gain control in situations like this.” With her hands pressed to Harry’s shoulders, not his chest, Bo’s told to lock her arms in place. It ensures that despite his efforts, his upper body is prevented from crushing hers.

“See,” Harry keeps up his running commentary. “With your arms like this, I can’t get anywhere near you. She could take my whole body weight and still hold the position.”

“Try,” one of the women sat down at the front suggests.

It’s never been an audience that Bo imagined she’d ever be in front of, especially in a situation like this. But the more moves they perform together, the more she feels empowered and comfortable in a strange sort of way.

Harry looks to Bo and she nods.

He’d been holding back in the demonstration before now, careful not to show full brawn. But as Harry surrenders his weight Bo’s joyfully surprised that she can take it and hold.

“Are you really -“

“Yeah, good job,” he praises.

A second more and his body’s burden is removed and they roll right into the next action in the sequence.

Harry is patient as they try different moves according to both of their leg positions. In between repeating new moves he just simply slides Bo back to him, aided by the ease of the mat, much to her surprise the first couple of times. He still holds her firm but the more they practise the easier Bo finds it to perform. She’s particularly pleased to perfect, “shrimping out”, a sequence that ends with freeing her legs.

“Bo’s gunna put her feet on my hips to give her leverage for the next move.” She does so, allowing Harry to adjust her placement before falling back into their position.

“Whilst doing this you can remove your palms from my chest and grip my elbows.”

Fingers wrap tight to his elbows as his hair flops over his eyes.

“And then you push, extending your legs.”

She doesn't exert herself because Harry’s going easy.

“An attacker’s natural reaction will be to pull away, and you use this to your full advantage. When this happens, I want you to move your grip down to the wrists and hold.”

Harry’s presence backs up and away from Bo at a casual pace so she can get used to the transforming hold. Hands sliding all the way down his forearms until she does as instructed and catches his wrists.

“Good.”

They’re taking it slowly, step by step with Harry reassuring the group that they’ll repeat the demonstration as many times as needed. He’s a patient tutor, happy to answer any questions put forward by some of the quieter women. It’s as Bo’s grinning stupidly up at him that her chest fills with pride and she thinks that maybe this is what he’s supposed to do; to help people, use his knowledge and experience of fighting and turn it on its head. Because he knows how to use another’s brute force in his favour, how to block attacks, how to escape a hold, deflect a punch and how to tactically overcome threat. Bo’s seen him do it, and now it’s time for him to teach others.

“When you get to this stage, it’s time to fight back. This is where I want you to kick the shit out of them.”

The women laugh at his choice of words as Bo’s eyes widen.

“What?” she blurts.

“Groin, solar plexus and chin,” he gestures respectively to each. “The aim is to incapacitate, knock him back and then you run.”

Bo’s grip tightens on his wrists. She doesn’t want to hurt him and she voices this worry whilst Harry takes hold of Bo’s calfs, lifting them so her feet are near his shoulders.

“This is when you have a chance to kick me in the face.”

Bo teasingly tests the strength of his grip which Harry responds to with a raised brow and comical smile.

“Think of cycling without the bike, that’s the motion you’re looking for.”

She practises her kicks with Harry tilting his head to the side, out of harms way.

“Then you can roll out from under me and run.”

Once they finish up with their little demo, it’s clear to see some of the women are itching to try out the sequence. They run through the steps once more slowly and then with speed before they disband and try the routine in pairs. Bo watches as Harry weaves through the mats talking to each pair and helping with any placement problems they’re having.

It’s Bo’s turn to sit back and watch whilst swigging out of her water bottle. Despite the more sinister underlying need for the class, there’s a few eruptions of giggles between friends when getting into positions. And Bo has to admit that she’s had fun.

Forty minutes more and the participants in the class are collecting their belongings from the back of the room. There’s accomplished smiles and fervent chatting upon exit, one woman even asks if there will be any more slots open for future classes, explaining the interest given when she’d told her friends. The proud smile she displays transforms upon a new arrival to her little area at the back.

“Were you here for the combat class?”

Bo turns to see a guy in shorts and a t-shirt with the sweat drenched neckline. He’s handsome in a boyish kind of way and that makes Bo think he’s probably not as old as the muscled body lets on.

“It’s a defence class,” she replies.

He nods with a smile.

“I’ve met the instructor.”

“Yeah?”

He hums.

“Yeah, but have you seen his face,” he gestures vaguely to his own left eye and Bo’s tolerance for this meaningless conversation shuts down. Prick. There’s no obligation to entertain such topics, and the fact that this man thought it was an appropriate icebreaker is beyond Bo.

“I dunno, I think he’s kinda cute,” she playfully cocks her head at Harry.

Harry’s still chatting with a few of the women but he’s definitely noticed her interaction with the man stood to her left. His posture changes, and there’s a moment where Bo thinks he might approach.

“Oh.”

“Mmm, looks like he could look after a woman. And he’s obviously hugely respectful of them for leading a class that empowers them in situations where we’re oppressed and demeaned in some of the worst ways imaginable.”

This guy is nodding but Bo’s not really sure he follows.

“I’m Jake,” he holds out his hand to shake.

She could almost laugh at the blatant urge to change the conversation.

“Bo.”

An instant before she sees him, Bo knows Harry is with her. She can already feel the heat of him as he stands partially behind her.

“Who’s this?”

Straight to the point and in a tone she hasn’t heard for a long time. Bo would be embarrassed to admit that it sends her body into a turmoil that results in a flushed chest and that hot little clench in her stomach. She pushes back into him almost on instinct.

“Jack.”

“It’s Jake,” the guy corrects, irritably.

“Oh, sorry,” Bo lightly laughs, fully aware of her mistake. “We were just talking about you.”

“You were?” Harry asks slightly warily.

He steps more to her right side as Bo fights the urge to push away the flopping curls from his face.

“Yeah, how successful the class is, and how pretty you are.”

Harry blinks down at her as Bo gives him her best smile.

“I’m gunna go.”

Jake leaves without any acknowledgement from the pair.��

*** Bo helps with putting the mats away in the cupboard at the back. Well, helping in a sense that she lays in a starfish on the mat as Harry drags it across the floor. A hilarity that proceeds upon switching places, judging that Bo can barely move the mat a foot with Harry sprawled across it.

“Thanks for coming along, I think it really helps to have someone to demonstrate with. I don’t think I could have taken a volunteer for that sort of routine in the first couple of classes.”

They’re making their way out through the length of corridors to the reception.

“Oh, I’m not sure. I’m pretty certain there would have been a few hands go up if you’d have asked.”

He’s bashful about it, but Bo definitely sees the grin as he turns away to hold the door.

“So, how did it all happen?”

“When we were together, I remember you talking about it, teaching women defence.”

It’s a conversation Bo remembers having but it was flippant, she hadn’t dreamed he would acted on it.

“I got trained and became certified as an instructor. It’s only one night a week at the moment, but the manager’s told me that they were turning people away who wanted to enrol in the second class. And it’s not just women, it’s only a small turnout at the moment,” Harry frowns, “but we’re hoping to encourage more of the young LGBT community to enrol.”

“Lucky I got my spot then.”

“You’re an exception.”

“I think you mean, exceptional.”

It’s laughter that opens out onto the street.

“They’re hoping to fit in some more classes during the week.”

“That’s brilliant.”

“Then I wouldn’t have to do gym training in the day, it would just be the defence classes.”

Bo’s delighted to see that he looks proud and he should be.

“So, are you gunna show me your new place, or what?”

#FUCKING FINALLY #KNOCKOUT #HARRY AND BO

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survivinglifescurveballs · 8 years ago

Photo

Real lessons of motherhood

I say things I never thought I would

“Take the plastic bag off of your head,” I said to my seven-year-old son.

“Why?”

“Because you can suffocate and die. How many times have I told you not to put plastic bags over your head?”

“A lot.”

Are my kids the reason for these ridiculous warning labels? Heavy sigh.

The weirdest things come out of their mouths too

Dominic-isms at ten-years-old

“What is shampoo?”

"Could you pass the Parmesan and ..." stops to read label "Roman cheese".

“I am going to get my Valentine a box of cigarettes.” He was thinking chocolates, but looking at a stop-smoking billboard.

Xander-isms at seven-years-old

"Three thousand, million, dillion dollars. That's how much money I want and I also want everything to be free...for our whole family. Then Papaw and Grandma Fran could get everything they want."

"I want a 16-hour delay, but I don't want to miss lunch".

"Cookies aren't protein?"

Grocery success depends on your entourage

When my children were small enough to be contained in the cart for our entire shopping trip I could read labels, compare pricing, succumb to my own impulse buys. But then as they grew they no longer stayed in the cart and grocery shopping turned into a sick game of “don’t touch that,” “please stop running and sliding on your knees down the aisles,” “watch behind you,” and “no, we are not getting chocolate peanut butter dip.”

Now, when I walk into the grocery store, I secretly think may the odds be forever in your favor to my fellow shoppers.

Self-checkout is the worst

If you have children old enough to be outside the cart, self-checkout becomes more of an intense game of simultaneously scanning groceries while keeping them away from the scale with a live audience of all the shoppers impatiently waiting behind you. Why yes, yes I am self-checking an entire cart of groceries because for whatever reason my grocery store has no cashier lanes open.

To add insult to injury, who is the sadistic jerk that thought advertising candy at children’s eye level in the self-checkout lane was smart? Newsflash, it’s not smart, it’s evil. Instead of succumbing to your marketing tactics I am leaving with a crying child and right temple that may very well explode at any moment.

Pick-up or delivered groceries are from heaven

Amazon pantry started it all for me with delivering shelf-stable pantry staples to my door, but then Kroger one-upped Amazon when they offered their click-list service. Now I can order everything I need online and pull up to the store where some wonderful human loads my car up for me. I don’t even need to get out to help or to pay. They bring the iPad to me to swipe and sign. Then I just drive away, can you believe it? It’s like something out of a fairytale. No more self-checkout, no more candy aisle, my kids stay strapped into their seatbelts and we accomplish what we set out to do easy breezy lemon squeezy.

Blissfully enjoy the baby bubble

When I brought Dominic, my first child, home from the hospital I collapsed into tears because I was terrified. The weight of the world, his world, was now on my shoulders and would remain there until he grew into an adult. The magnitude and depth of this responsibility were incredible and I did not think I was capable.

Coupled with the fear was also amazement. Each time I looked at his tiny bird-like legs, his soft blue eyes, his bald wrinkly head I felt pure awe. The movement of his breath was rhythmic, chest up, chest down. Here sat a being, a human that had grown within me, with a beating heart and blinking eyes. It was a miracle, he was (and still is) my miracle. How is this even possible? I would ask myself over and over.

Nothing mattered outside of Dominic. My world revolved around meeting his needs. Rocking him as the soft hairs from his head tickled my neck, breathing in his scent, filled with more love than I ever knew possible. This is the bubble, treasure these moments. You may have other children, but the baby bubble will never be the same.

Parties in the early afternoon suck

I am the oldest grandchild in my family and naturally, I was the first to purchase a house, get married, and to have a baby. My family came to all of these celebrations. As my cousins got older I was also invited to all of their celebrations and I wanted nothing more than to go. Every invitation I received was for one or two-o-clock in the afternoon.

This is right in the middle of nap time.

Naively I went to the first few parties, skipping my son’s nap. It was utter hell. He was whiny, mean, and wild throughout the entire party, but it did not stop there. His crap behavior carried over into the evening right up until bedtime.

That’s when I decided the price was too high. It was just not worth the horror of missing the nap. I was embarrassed and stressed, my hosts probably wondered what kind of demon I was raising and both of us wished I just would have stayed home. So know that I love you, am proud of you, and are with you in spirit.

If you hurt my child I will hunt you down

No one will ever love my child like I do. My love is deep, fierce, and unyielding. There is something incredibly special about a mother’s love for her child. This is impossible to understand until you become a mother.

This is not to dismiss the love of a father or future spouse. Those relationships are just as important however they are different.

William Congreve said, “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.” I say… nothing. Instead, I quietly stalk my prey like a mother tigress and pounce when the time is right because if you hurt my child you deserve no warning.

Facebook is full of lies

Helpful hint, no one has it all together, everyone has different struggles, some are just better at hiding it than others. We all see her, the beautiful mom who seems to have it all figured out. She posts pictures of outings with smiling, well dressed, clean children. We are happy for her, but begin to wonder if we are as good a mother.

STOP RIGHT THERE!

That photo took one second. ONE. SECOND!

Think back on today. Can you remember one second that was picture perfect? I know you can. The problem is not your mothering. The problem is the question, Am I as good as X?

Parenting is messy, full of self-doubt and we are all learning as we go. Some days I have it all together, but most days I don’t.

Dr.Seuss said it best.

Parent YOUR way, teach lessons to YOUR children that are important to YOU. We are all different, including each one of our children and our differences should be celebrated. It’s YOU your kids love, not that other mom. So go mom like only you can!

Pinterest is full of fairytales

Have you ever tried to recreate something you found on Pinterest? Yeah, did it turn out like the picture? No? Same for me, every time I try.

Comparing your first attempt to someone’s best is like comparing your karate moves to a black belt’s. Yours will probably not be as good, but with practice and patience, I’m willing to bet it could get better.

The moral of the story here is keep it all in perspective and maybe try that new Pinterest thing a few times before debuting it at your next holiday celebration.

Prevention is the key to toddlerhood survival

Put everything out of reach and be aware that everything is climbable. The world is basically a giant jungle gym playground and all things, literally, every single thing goes into their mouths.

Some of my mom friends were determined to teach their toddlers self-control.

Well, if my friends are doing it, maybe I should give it a go.

Every few minutes my toddler would grab something that posed a possible threat and shove it right into his mouth. Up, down, up down, like a little game every time I sat down he would get into something that I would need to take away.

I was way too tired for that.

Instead, I de-cluttered my house and got rid of anything that was not toddler-friendly. Basically, my house was decorated with baby gates, Disney themed plastic toys, and pictures of my kiddos hanging on the walls. All cleaners, self-care items, toxic or messy products were put on the top shelf of closets.

One time I left my shave gel out…

Another time I left the baby powder down…

Danger lurks everywhere

Before I had kids I thought I protected myself from danger pretty well, but now I see the possibility of death in just about every activity.

“Mom, can I help dad mow the lawn?” Sure, go ahead and flip the mower on yourself and lose a limb.

“Mom, can we go to the zoo today?” Will today be the day one of the tigers gets loose or my kid wanders into a bear enclosure?

People learn through experience, yes I know that. I also appreciate the significance of learning from cause and effect. As long as there is no emergent danger (life or limb) I release the boys from my cocoon of safety so that they may gain the necessary experience.

I am also the mom frantically waving my children and husband closer when they have floated too far from the beach thinking of sharks, jellyfish, muscle cramps, undertow, etc. It’s all about balance, right? I balance irrational fear with measured risk taking like any good mom.

You are all your kids need

Overthinking is one of my best and worst character traits. I love to think about everything not in any kind of skilled way but just meander through my own messy mind. It’s interesting what floats around in there, the imagined possible outcomes to different scenarios (see above, danger lurks everywhere), the fascination of the simplest joys (enjoy the baby bubble), the ease at which self-doubt creeps in (facebook is full of lies). Do you know what I have learned from all that analyzing?

All my boys really want and need is my undivided attention. Still, at seven and ten-years-old they want to be near me, to hug me, to wrap up in a blanket with me in the evenings while we watch Animal Planet or Nat Geo.

Toys, trips, trinkets are all just fluff. It’s me they want. And that works out pretty great because they are all I have ever wanted. So let’s go mom the only way we know how, in our own special, unique way.

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