#but it’s just like. exactly my mother’s brand of communication by non-communication and it makes me crazy lol
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anyway this morning i’m thinking abt how this space is deeply necessary for me AND also deeply triggering sometimes, lol
#like the thing where people will just. Not Engage with posts of yrs they disapprove of#bc i guess we’re all too tired and traumatized for patient dialogue but don’t wanna fight#but it’s just like. exactly my mother’s brand of communication by non-communication and it makes me crazy lol#🙃🙃🙃#like increasingly i’m like. we gotta talk stuff out or we don’t have real relationships#but also frankly i suck at talking to ppl at this point bc *i’m* so traumatized#like at least three people that i can remember have made really friendly nice overtures this summer#and i was just like ‘404 person not found’#so. idk. not sure what the solution here is. just delineating problems lol#metatumbling#guess this is what the kids call ‘having a personality disorder’: it’s trauma turtles all the way down!#tbh trauma always sounds like a really grandiose claim but like. what else do you call it#when you get parented in a way that warps the whole foundation of yr self and ability to relate to people#which are like. the fundamental building blocks of a life#like no fucking wonder i’m so fucking stunted lmao#ANYWAY. sry for the midday nightblogging lol
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Genuinely asking, isn't self-diagnose with a condition kind of dangerous? Because legitimizing self-diagnosing opens a door to many malicious people who would want to exploit the fact they can self-diagnose? And in turn, make the space of autistic people worse?
Was going to skip this, but I’m writing a LONG response because I’m VERY exhausted with the amount of misinformation I see on this “self dx is dangerous” take, so buckle up and allow me to info dump.
Recently, authentic_autism_advocacy, an Instagram account run by a supposed medically diagnosed autistic woman was discovered to be a non-autistic woman, Connie Manning, posing as a medically diagnosed autistic person to spread hate and anti-self diagnosing speech. In reality, she is a neurotypical mother who regularly uses her autistic son for clout; she also turned out to have a hand behind CalmWear, a brand of sensory compression products designed for disabled people. Not only had she been spewing hatred towards other autistic people, she had been accusing well known AFAB autistic tiktokers like beckspectrum of faking being autistic and threatening self diagnosed autistics and saying they are a danger to the community, and engaging in other incredibly discriminating behaviour. Yes, she herself was a neurotypical person posing as a medically diagnosed autistic to perpetuate hateful rhetoric about self diagnosed people and used her voice to speak OVER autistic folk for financial gain and exploitation of autistic people, including her own son. If you want to read this roller coaster of a story, an autistic person wrote an entire article on it with tons of screenshots and sources.
So let me make one thing clear to you.
The purpose of actually, genuinely self diagnosing is not done to attract attention or to parade around and exploit other autistic people. Self diagnosed autistic individuals have recognised due to difficult life circumstances, financial hardship, bigotry and stigma within the medical/legal world, being a minor, lack of insurance, lack of proper access to safe care facilities, being denied assessment due to incompetent or biased practitioners, and/or any other obstacle that they may temporarily or permanently be barred from diagnosis. Self diagnosis does NOT instantly mean a person is posing for clout, nor does it indicate a person is trying to wring money from assistance services or exploit other autistics. And nts who use self diagnose with intentions of harming the community? That’s NOT self diagnosis, that’s abuse of something meant to aid people blocked from medical care or financial means to that care. All we can do for autistic people, no matter who we perceive them to be, is treat them the same way we would any other autistic person. Because the moment you start deciding by your own book who deserves respect and who doesn’t, you’ll be on a slippery slope to locking out thousands of autistic people from the community. If it’s discovered a person like Connie is literally abusing the system of self dx to intentionally mislead the community, by all means, we must hold them accountable. But you cannot simply go about granting and revoking access from people just because someone lacks a diagnosis or doesn’t fit your idea of what being autistic looks like, especially if it’s based on stereotypes.
Moral of the story? Isn’t it ironic how anti-self dx people will 100% believe a user who claims to be medically diagnosed but shows no “written proof” of it, yet always demand written proof from a self dx person? It’s almost like even anti-self dx people can’t tell the difference between someone who is medically diagnosed autistic and someone who isn’t. Well, that’s because they can’t. While there might be common traits, autism has no set model, it is a spectrum, no autistic person is alike; Policing self diagnosed people about their self diagnosis isn’t a form of protecting the community. It’s a form of gatekeeping. If you find yourself granting instant acceptance, without asking for proof, to a person insisting they are medically diagnosed like this neurotyical mother, but then prohibit self dx people from entry entirely on the grounds of not showing proof of medical assessment, you are upholding a double standard. This is why policing autistic people’s diagnosis, self or not, is inherently useless.
So here’s the thing... instead of asking people to stop self diagnosing, what you should instead be asking yourself is, “Why do people self diagnose? What kind of medical system could possibly be in place where people feel they need to resort to self diagnosis rather than get an actual diagnosis?”
Well, it’s mainly common knowledge among most of the autistic community that diagnosis is NOT easy to come by.
One of the main reasons why people cannot get a diagnosis is due to financial/insurance reasons. It’s reasonable to estimate that by the end of 2020 almost 30 million Americans alone were without health insurance. I’ve heard costs out of pocket for an autism diagnosis are between $500-$6000. If a person or a family cannot afford health insurance—which by the way on average is around $5,400 a year for a single person and $13,800 for a family here—where are they supposed to pull out $6,000 to get screened?
You might be asking, “Well aren’t insurances supposed to cover disability?” Sure, there are options for disability care through health insurance—not even going to get into that—but like a lot of things in the US, this is a severely flawed system. A lot of private health insurance will stop or limit coverage for an autism diagnosis or assistance services once a person reaches 18 to 21 years old. In most states, coverage has a higher chance of being denied to autistic adults coming with the added age cap or ONLY covering ABA, an abusive, manipulative “therapy” used to force social compliance and trait suppression on autistic people. The fact that ABA, a conversion therapy, is covered, but little else, shows exactly what insurance companies think of autistic people: they’ll only cover us if we want to learn to be “normal”. This can leave many undiagnosed autistic adults who cannot afford analysis, insurance, or safe assistance services with nowhere to turn. If I was not on my parents’ insurance, there is NO WAY I would EVER be able to afford a diagnosis. I don’t have $2,000 lying around. The MONEY ALONE would prohibit me from getting a diagnosis, no matter how many autistic traits I presented.
When I was going through this system years ago to start a diagnosis, I was shocked to find no therapist within three hours of me was accepting adult patients. “Up to 18 only” their websites would say. And in the event I had found one (1) that accepted me as a then 20 year old with X insurance, and that person refused me diagnosis, I would be out of options unless I planned a 5 hour drive which may have also led me to another biased screener. A person seeking self financed assessment can waste thousands of dollars therapist hopping.
People will say, “Well I live in X place, and where I come from, it’s covered!” Well the reality is that everyone in the world does not live where you live. It’s not realistic to assume everyone is in the same position as you or your family to afford care or access the same resources as you. When you say, “Just go out and get a diagnosis! It’s not that hard!”, understand you are speaking from your personal vantage point where screening may be easily accessed or easily covered/is free OR you have no personal knowledge of what that process is like yourself.
The second thing that bars a ton of people from being diagnosed is the fact that when autism was first discovered, its research was HEAVILY centered on white, cis, heterosexual men. The idea that autistic people are ONLY cis, white, heterosexual men carries on to this day. If you are an outlier to this stereotype, your chances of being misdiagnosed with something else or refused diagnosis skyrocket because so-called “professionals” don’t know how to observe traits in any other person besides a cis, white, heterosexual man, and refuse/fail to recognise the endless ways in which a person can be autistic. ALL the time I hear how AFAB people will go in to get screened only to find out their screener does not believe AFAB people can be autistic, because yes, sexism and anti-lgbtq+ ideas play a huge role in the incredibly outdated diagnostic process, because autism is still believed to be an “AMAB only” thing. People report going into a therapists office and being asked questions like, “Do you like going outside? Do you like having friends?” and being told that if you agree with either of these, you cannot be autistic because criteria at some places is so backwards, you can’t even say you enjoy conversation without failing the test. Other things commonly heard during the analysis are screeners telling someone they are too smart/articulate to be autistic, gas lighting them by saying they are mistaking their symptoms for something else/making them up, telling a person they seem normal, dismissing clear autistic traits by saying they’re unique “superpowers”, or intentionally misdiagnosing a person as ADHD INSTEAD of autistic. People on social media have also pointed out what influences racism has on the diagnostic process as well and how lack of research and understanding of autistic POC contributes to under-diagnosis and stigma has only contributed to refusal of care and under-representation of POC in the disabled community, as one autistic Black woman points out on Instagram, “I found excellent articles that support and validate my feelings and experiences, but I could find no research on autistic Black people.” Additionally, because research has primarily been done on young men, this means anyone who is not a cis man and is over the age of 18 and is seeking a diagnosis has a much higher chance of not receiving one because screeners don’t understand how autistic traits may present differently in adults, especially since adults are very likely to mask. Some autism screeners are so against autism they have told clients they would only diagnosis a person autistic if it was their last resort to avoid “placing a burden on their shoulders”. These reasons are largely responsible for why autism is incredibly mis/under-diagnosed. This ask would be the length of a novel if I included every single type of discrimination and mistreatment during the evaluation process alone, but understand it can be incredibly biased, sexist, transphobic, racist, or just flat out ableist. And guess what? Though this process can take as little as a month to get sorted, that is rare. The assessment SHOULD be very short. But a lot of autistic people have reported their diagnosis took more than 2-4 years because of having to waste time, energy, and money hopping from therapist to therapist looking for someone to take them seriously, as many autistic people compiled on the actuallyautistictiktoks page on Instagram point out.
The last thing I want to touch on is this idea that people have that self diagnosing is dangerous. “What if someone self diagnoses and they take advantage of services that are meant for autistic people?” ...The Big Things you think I am going to take advantage of as a self diagnosed autistic person, like scholarship money for instance or SSDI, I do not have legal access to without a formal diagnosis. I cannot waltz into a law firm and ask for a $5,000 scholarship for autistic people without a diagnosis, because they WILL NOT give it to me!
Let me tell you some of things I’ve “cruelly taken advantage of” as a self diagnosed autistic person. I bought glasses with blue light protection, because screen and fluorescent lighting at work and even natural blue toned light from the sky lowers my threshold for some sensory input like noise and social interaction; wearing them to work everyday has improved my sensory thresholds incredibly. I’ve talked to my manager and told him I’m autistic and that I have a hard time understanding vague direction and may need to step away briefly on occasion to tend to a shutdown before a meltdown comes on at work; he had no problem with this. I use subtitles; sometimes I have trouble processing audio or reading facial expressions and tone, and being able to see the words displayed on the screen gives me a significantly better understanding of what I watch. All my life, I have been having meltdowns which I had mistaken for mental breakdowns or panic attacks and having access to resources that walked me through preventative methods and tips on what to do if I have one has been ENORMOUSLY helpful to me. All my life, I was trying to deal with them thinking they were something else; becoming aware of this and accepting that they are in fact autistic meltdowns has helped me not only go through them, but has helped me redirect stims which at their worst previously had me hitting and clawing my arms, slapping my face, and even hitting my head. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to wait 4 years for a diagnosis to use resources I could be using to make my life more accessible right now!
People will say, “Oh well yeah, I don’t mean You are one of Those Types of self diagnosed autistic people, you clearly sound/look autistic, I’m talking about other people.” The thing is, there is no broad “sounding/looking autistic”, that’s stereotyping, and you can’t demand everyone who interacts with you show you their Autistic Card, because again, not everyone is able to be diagnosed, especially given the mistreatment and stigma present towards autistic people in the medical field! And what made you ask for their diagnosis? Because they “don’t seem autistic” to you? Why didn’t you ask for their diagnosis? Because they “seemed autistic” to you? By denying anyone who doesn’t have a diagnosis resources they may very well need, you are denying assistance to thousands of people who are without means to be diagnosed. And I am SO tired of seeing comments online on self diagnosis posts that “people don’t know what they’re taking about” as if they know us personally, like are you me? Are you my doctor I’ve consulted? Did you watch me academically research and consult with other autistic people about being autistic for over 3 years? I’m tired of “well, one time a self diagnosed person laughed at my actually autistic diagnosed friend...so all self dx people are evil” because there is ZERO correlation between a person being self assessed and their behavior towards a non self assessed person. The fact both those arguments are in use whenever self dx comes up is yet another form of gatekeeping.
Self diagnosing autism is not begging for attention or Evil Criminal Money Funneling Schemes. It is a result of a deeply flawed medical and insurance system that has failed to give proper attention and care to those who need it, it is a result of resources not made available, of safe support systems not there for kids and adults alike. You want to talk about what’s truly dangerous? How the hate group Autism Speaks has been parading itself around since 2005 as an advocacy group for autistic people and has been misusing millions of dollars worth of donation money and promoting stigma and hatred around autistic people; no autistic members are present on their board. How Sia and her new film Music was nominated for 2 Golden Globes despite it replacing the original autistic actor with a neurotypical actor, using offensive stereotypes, and using the main autistic character as a prop, and featured an extremely dangerous bodily restraint scene on an autistic person having a meltdown in public and featured very insensitive content due to Sia’s lack of consulting with autistic people to make the film (spoilers in that article).
Instead of policing autistic people, whether they fit your idea of what an autistic person is or not, redirect your efforts and your energy to dismantling systems and holding others accountable for perpetuating harmful stereotypes about autistic people that are legitimately dangerous on such a scale that they have created insurmountable damage to the autistic community. But I guarantee you, worrying over whether your classmate is “faking it” will not do any justice to the decades worth of discrimination autistic people face still today.
I understand. You care about the community, you don’t want autistic people to be exploited or taken advantage of. I don’t want to be exploited and taken advantage of as an autistic person, and I don’t want that for others! But I also understand that when we self proclaim ourselves as judges of random autistic strangers on the internet or start accusing people of faking or demanding to see medical paperwork from people when the basis of our suspicions is “this person doesn’t look like my stereotyped view on how I think an autistic person should act”, THAT is when you really run into trouble. Because if you are allowed to deny self dx people entrance into the autistic community, what’s stopping you from thinking you have the power to deny ANYONE entrance into that community?
And there is power in self diagnosis for many autistic people. When the evaluation system is literally rigged to set you up for failure and put you through unnecessary hardship, self dx is a self affirming, empowering tool to take back control from a process designed to gaslight and crush you. The evaluation process was NOT formulated by an autistic person, nor was it made to be inclusive of all autistic people. Until the evaluation system in place for autistic people is safe, accessible, and free to ALL, you have EVERY right to self diagnose.
#like this isn’t even half of what I want to say#but I’m gonna stop cos this is So Long#no clowns in my inbox pls#long post#ableism#autism#actually autistic#ok to rb
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a/n: no idea what to title this - its just a shortie that makes me wish i was heather...
wc: 800
genre: fluff + angst
You were 15 when you and Suna Rintarō exchanged words for the first time. You knew who he was (he was hard to miss), but you were hardly acquaintances. Up until that point, you’d only seen him around school or in the candy aisle of your local store.
It was a chilly morning in early spring when he first spoke to you. He had offered you his sweater without hesitation and you stubbornly declined. You already felt like an idiot for being so underdressed, especially since frost still embroidered the windows when you left home.
“Take it,” he insisted, nearly forcing the sweater into your hands. Your apprehension was met with indifference and you finally relented. The way his eyes narrowed felt like a non-verbal scolding and you hated how it worked.
The sweater was massive, almost swallowing you whole and weighed heavily on your shoulders. You could tell he’d worn it only a handful of times; the bright sports logo looked brand-new and the faint smell of teenage boy mixed with fresh laundry hung onto the fabric.
“Looks better on you than me anyways,” he had said and you knew he was lying. You muttered something about how you didn’t know how to thank him and he simply brushed you off with an eyeroll and a lazy smile.
After that, you suddenly you became partners in crime. Pulling pranks on classmates, sharing homework and sending each other stupid videos at 2 am. His mother adored you and you grew close with his sister. It was hard to pinpoint what exactly drew you to each other, but the connection always felt intensely magnetic.
You were one of the first people Suna told about finally getting scouted. He’d been working his ass off for years and he deserved every bit of success. As honored and as excited you were, you couldn’t ignore the heavy ache that began to swell in your chest. All you could do was congratulate him and pull him into a tight hug while forcing back tears.
“Nothing’s gonna change,” he promised, as though he read your mind. All you could do was cling to him tighter and ask him why.
“My sister’s been begging to see you again, dummy.”
You could tell by the fondness in his voice that he was lying. You didn’t say anything else. He knew that you knew and he was alright with that. Despite your best efforts, communication eventually died down. Every now and again you’d hear from him, but it felt like the distance wasn’t purely physical anymore.
Things changed again once you were 18. Suna called you at midnight and you answered, expecting the worst. He had always hated making phone calls. Through his excited flurry or words, you managed to make out that he’d finally gotten his driver’s license. He begged to take you out for a ride and it didn’t take much convincing for you to agree. It was hard to say no when you heard him smile through the phone.
This quickly became somewhat of a ritual for the both of you and it felt like old times. Your favorite part was watching the stars on the roof of his car. You remembered how he’d pull out his sweater – now with the logo peeling off and stitches coming loose – from the backseat and spread it out like a blanket. You’d always comment how pretty the sky looked, oblivious to how he was looking at you every time he agreed. None of it could have been a coincidence, right?
Not with how your face fit perfectly in the crook of his neck.
Or how his hands fit snugly with yours.
Or how your heartbeats matched when he pulled you closer.
Or how he finally felt heard even when he said nothing at all.
You knew it wasn’t a coincidence when he pressed his lips against yours, whispering that he wished “he could have someone like you,” – but it felt like a dream.
At 24 you saw his sweater make another final appearance. By now, the sweater was really starting to show its age. The printed logo had completely worn off, leaving only a dark spot from where the sun hadn’t bleached the fabric. It carried a couple more stains since the last time you saw it, and the sleeves had some new holes. To be honest, it looked like it had survived an apocalypse or two.
Suna didn’t seem to mind though. In fact, he looked really happy. You could tell by how his eyes crinkled as he tried to hide his smile or how they twinkled when you caught him stealing sneaky glances. It was how his blush would expose him even when his face was completely deadpan. You knew he was happy because it’s how he used to look at you.
You loved that sweater but hated it on her.
You hated knowing that he probably told her she “looked better in his clothes,” and that he was telling the truth when he said that. You hated it, because you secretly thought so too.
You hated that sweater, but damn – you wished it was on you.
#haikyuu x reader#suna x reader#suna rintarou#suna rintaro#suna fluff#suna angst#haikyuu angst#haikyuu fluff#selfmade
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The Treatment of Captain Syverson-Chapter 14: No Call No Show
Characters: Shane Benton (OFC), various other original supporting/secondary characters
Summary: We find out where Shane went Monday after work and exactly why she hasn’t been responding to any attempts at communication…and unfortunately, she’s not just taking some “me time.”
Want to reminisce about when this was just a happy little fluffy romance? Return to chapters past, or look at my other smutty drabbles here!
Word Count: 3.6k
Warnings: SHANE FIGHTS BACK, BUT DEFINITELY GETS HER ASS KICKED, SO FAIR WARNING, IT’S VIOLENT. Language, mature themes, emotional abuse, mention of narcotics (morphine), vomiting, foreshadowing and mention of potential future violent/non-con/dub-con activities, but if those acts occur, they will not be portrayed on the page, but rather between chapter or section breaks, so don’t worry. Also, I use the “R” word, but not to discuss non-con, but rather to add an educational note about why one should yell “fire” when one is being assaulted. Basically no Sy material whatsoever, but he’s mentioned, so I’m tagging it as such! Shane being somewhat blasé about her mortality. I really don’t want to trigger anyone, so please read with caution or wait until you emotionally are ready to deal with our girl going through the shit.
Author’s Note: Really REALLY nervous about this one. This is not the resolution you are looking for, my friends. In fact, it’s not a resolution, at all. Lol. I foresee many people disliking this chapter for some reason or another. That’s actually okay. It’s not a chapter you’re meant to “like” per se. I don’t “like” it. I’m prepared for it to get very few notes, and I’m positioning it anyway. I think it’s some of my better writing, but I hated putting Shane through the ringer like this. It’s just one of those chapters you “get through.” And honestly, if you truly didn’t like it please give me feedback so I can improve and tweak. {For reasons other than “My beebeeeeee!” or “never mention anything less than consensual ever again kthxbye” because a) of all, MY beebee too, and b) of all, that’s what warnings are for and why they should be read.} That being said, I hope it at least tides you over until the next chapter. At least you know where she is…not that THAT’S a big relief under the circumstances! Lol!
Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, Henry is not mine, le sigh, and all mention of him, his characters, any characters from his films, or his precious doggy, Kal, are strictly for transformative and recreational use. I neither ask for, nor accept payment for the work I post on Tumblr or AO3. Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism.
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Previously, in Virginia…
"Shane left work Monday and hasn't been back since. No one has seen her. Apart from you, I presume. "
"I haven't seen her in about a week and a half. I'm training out of state for a job. I've been away from my phone since Monday, and I just got back to it now."
"She isn't…with you? I assumed…"
"Well, you know what they say, Susan. I'm coming back early if I can manage it. See if I can do something to help find her."
Three days earlier, in Missouri…
Shane blinked her eyes open to little avail. She couldn't tell where she was, other than what seemed to be the back seat of a fairly new-model large vehicle, like a Suburban or a Tahoe. She thought it was new because the new car smell was still overpowering the nicotine and tobacco odor of at least one of its occupants. She could also smell the sickly sweet stench of artificial cherry permeating the cabin. The source must be very close to her nose as she lay there helplessly restrained while the vehicle jostled down the road. The smell reminded her of the horrible liquid pain reliever her mother would give her as a child when she had a fever or leg pains. She had taken enough of it then to make her averse to most cherry flavorings as an adult. She wanted to retch.
She could also make out the faint glow of a dashboard lit with LED lights, brighter and softer than those of older models. But she soon had to shut her eyes again. Her head was throbbing and her memories were fuzzy. She remembered very little of Monday…was it still Monday? But she was trying to think, despite the pounding of many drums in her cranium where a brain should be.
She remembered staying at work late to finish notes. She remembered heading home…and she remembered forgetting her phone at her desk and deciding to turn around to get it…when suddenly she was surrounded by vehicles and unable to move without having an accident. Had she known the circumstances then, she would have tried to muscle through. The horrific events came flooding back in traumatic flashes like lightning, or the pulse of passing streetlights in an unfamiliar city.
She remembered…
The glass by her left ear shattered. A hooded, hulking figure reached in through the new opening, fumbling for the handle to open the door. She'd had the presence of mind to fight back there. To punch at the probing extremity. But the extremity hit back, landing a solid smack against her left cheek, stunning her for long enough that the cruel apparition found the unlock button, pressed it, and opened the door. She didn't go quietly. She fought like the hellcat her mother always told her to be. Her foot found the odd solar plexus and groin before enough dark nemeses arrived to overpower her. They dragged her away from her car and out onto the pavement of the church parking lot she'd used to turn around. She did not make it easy for them. She kicked and punched and tried to twist out of their grips like vices. She yelled "fire" as she was taught as a young woman, not knowing the men's intentions, but certain they weren't kind, and knowing that yelling "rape" was not always effective at summoning help. Either way, it didn't matter. She could have shouted anything. No one was near enough, or cared enough, to come to her aid. As soon as her soft hands hit the gritty pavement, though, the violence intensified. She lost count of how many times she got kicked in the back, stomach, ribs. One asshole even kicked her in the tit. She'd find out who that was and he'd find himself in a special brand of pain…if she ever got out of this alive. She heard them calling her awful names that she was sure she hadn't earned, and especially not from these guys. About six of them, she thought. She hardly knew six guys. She certainly didn't know six guys that would want her roughed up like this. She heard one of the men start to say "Come on, guys, we better save some for--" and with that, she blacked out to the tune of the distinct "thunk" of a wooden baseball bat making contact with the back of her head.
She wanted to forget…for it to be a terrible nightmare…to wake up.
But she was awake. This was a waking nightmare. The cold leather on her cheek was made colder by the harsh air conditioning blowing toward her from above and below. She shivered from the chill and from the terror she was trying to suppress. Where were they taking her? For what purpose? And for whom were they leaving parts un-bruised…though it didn't feel like it.
She finally felt them slowing, heard a turn signal clicking, the courtesy of which she applauded despite her position in the active abduction taking place, and felt the gentle displacement of her body toward the driver side, knocking her head into the door. A right turn. Not that it would matter too much, but at least when she escaped, and she made herself think "when" and not "if," she would know which direction to turn to get back to town.
The blow to the head had left her sensitive to light and sound. As she was yanked from the back seat, all she could see was the glow of a dusk to dawn light above them. Normally a soft, guiding light, this one just as well have been the sun itself the way it stung her tender eyes. She squinted against it, thankful as she never would have thought to be, when a shroud was placed over her throbbing head. She could still hear the power coursing through the bulb and fixture, though. Normally a dull hum, in the state she was in, it was as loud as accidentally switching your TV to the snow channel at full volume.
"Bring 'er inside." She heard an unfamiliar male voice say.
Two strong, ruthless hands grabbed her by the armpits, causing her to cry out in pain. Such a tender place to bear weight, and why even big strong Sy hated crutches…Sy. Would she ever see him again?
"Shut up, bitch, or we'll knock you out again." She believed them, and being fairly certain she had at least a mild concussion, she wasn't sure what a second blow of an indeterminate velocity might do to her brain. She dealt with the stabbing pain as the men dragged her across what sounded like gravel, then grass, then something hard and smooth, maybe the slabs of an old, sunken, and somewhat uneven footpath. Soon, she felt the pain of her knees hitting what she assumed were porch steps. One, two, three of them. She was trying to concentrate through the fog now setting in, and maintain consciousness. Paying attention to the sensations, she told herself, was not only helpful for that task, it might help her escape. Remember the scents, too, she reminded herself. She tried to shake off the nauseating cherry and cigarette stench from her olfactory glands and take note of the bouquet around her.
Burnt leaves…gasoline…engine grease…the tang of sappy, just cut firewood…straw…manure…this seemed to be a farm. With a barn nearby…perhaps with horses. She loved horses. If she could find a gentle horse in the night…escape might be easier than she'd anticipated.
Entering the house was a noisy affair. There was a metallic keening from the spring of an aluminum screen door. She imagined it had one of those big swirly cross beams like her grandma's used to have that she always though was supposed to resemble a butterfly. A heavier, wooden door creaked open as the three figures muddled their way in, and the floorboards protested, as well, at the weight of her captors. So, she thought, not only a farm house, but an old farm house.
"Where do you want her?" the man on her left asked into what she only knew as the void, so far.
"Take her to the cellar. I've got things set up down there." a familiar voice chuckled and growled. How did she know the voice? Was he a patient? She couldn't think of anyone she'd treated that would want her abducted and brutalized.
"You got it, E." Ugh, for some reason it bothered her when guys referred to each other by their first initials. Girls, no big deal. But bros…there was something so thoroughly douchey and…familiar about it all…
"Hold on." the man called "E" said, and she heard footfalls approaching her. As he got closer, she smelled…patchouli and incense…and the sea…and it brought back a rush of pain from past trauma followed by literal pain from his punch to her gut. She hadn't been expecting it. Obviously. The wind had been taken out of her. Literally and figuratively. She did know this man…all too well.
"We've got some catching up to do, sweetheart." the pet name dripped like venomous honey from the tongue of the snake before her.
"Elliot." it wasn't a question. She coughed the name out like a pill that had gone down sideways.
Her escorts continued their transportation of her prone body to its destination…she didn't want to think FINAL destination, but the more she learned about her situation, the more she worried that she wouldn't make it out alive.
They had to get creative in carrying her down the narrow staircase to the cellar. They argued for a moment about who would take the top half and who would go backwards.
"How about the one who takes my top half goes forward and the bottom half goes backward?" These idiots. Where did Elliott find clowns like this who needed to be told by their prisoner the best way to sort out their domestic dispute.
She thought she felt them shrug, and silently take her advice as she felt herself being lowered down the stairs, feet first, panic threatening to overtake her restrained limbs.
When they got to the bottom of the stairs, they stood her up to remove her shroud, and cut the zip ties from around her ankles and wrists. She then noticed a small cell that reminded her of the ones in the sheriff's offices in some westerns she'd seen. She started to freak out, anticipating her future in that horrid place.
"Guys, please. No. Please don't do this. I don't know what Elliott's told you about me, but I'm a good person. I don't deserve this. I have a job and friends and a family who will worry sick about me. I am begging you to let me go. Please!"
"You're wasting your breath, lady." one of the men said, gruffly.
"PLEASE!" she appealed, desperate to get through. "Don't you guys have wives or girlfriends? Mothers, sisters, aunts, or female cousins? What if a woman you cared about was in this situ---" and before she could finish the question, one of the men punched her for what felt like the thousandth time tonight. She fell to her knees, vomiting. And the world went black again.
~~~~~~~
There were no windows. There was no clock. There was just a small twin mattress in one corner of the cell, and a bedside commode in the other. As accommodations went, it was hardly a Hilton, but it could have been worse. It was all lit by a 60-watt bulb in one of those hanging fixtures her dad had always called a trouble light situated on a hook on the side of one of the exposed joists outside the cell. He'd had a similar one for the longest time. He and mom will be worried sick before long, if they aren't already, she thought. The light was aptly named for these circumstances she was in. Trouble. A heap of it. And no idea of how to get out of it.
And honestly, no idea why Elliott would want her here. How he could do such a monstrous thing as having her kidnapped. How he came to live in this place when he never worked a day in his life. She was so confused. She hoped at the very least, he'd give her answers before he murdered her, if that was his plan.
She had woken up on her side, almost her stomach, with her right cheek on the scratchy surface of the bare mattress. Whoever put her to bed had been wise to position her like this given the likelihood that she might puke again. She noticed a small bucket, presumably for that purpose, next to the mattress. There was a caseless pillow next to her head, but she hadn't found that comfort during her nap of…she couldn't tell how long. Not that it mattered. The more she slept, the less time she'd have to process this horror movie she was currently living out.
She heard the door open at the top of the stairs and Elliott shout at one of his flunkies, "What do you MEAN you didn't get her phone?" a pause while indistinct words came from said flunky across the room, or maybe the house. "Well, find it. Tear that piece of shit Explorer apart if you have to. I want that phone." She took exception to her sweet little Norah getting called a piece of shit. That was her Millennium Falcon. And yes, she'd gotten flack for naming her Norah the Explorer, but she didn't care.
Elliott stomped down the stairs, grinning the most infuriatingly happy grin she'd ever seen on him. She wanted to maul him. To tear those stupid eyes out of their sockets with her own fingernails. But she controlled her anger and resisted even acknowledging his greeting of "Hey, sweetheart."
She ignored him.
"It's good to see you."
Silence.
"I missed you."
She stared right through him.
"I heard you and that meat head soldier broke up."
She scowled at him.
"There she is. There's my girl."
"I'm not your girl, Elliott, and I haven't been in years. Why am I here?" She broke. She couldn't take it.
"We'll get to that why soon enough. First, let's talk about why you and Cap'n Crunch are no longer breakfasting together? Soggy cereal? Limp toast? Was he letting you leave the table unsatisfied?"
"As if you ever satisfied me when we were together." She spat back, calling Elliott out on his notorious selfishness in all aspects of life and relationships.
"I've changed."
"Bullshit." she rolled her eyes.
"It's true!" he insisted. "I can give you references."
"I honestly don't give a shit. We're not together. Sy and I are. Happily. And you better let me go soon. He was expecting me at his place after work. He's probably out looking for me right now." she lied. It was worth a shot.
"Now it's my turn to call bullshit, because I know that isn't true." He looked at her with that patronizing stare he had.
"You don't know shit, Elliott."
"I know that your boy took off over a week ago for Virginia and hasn't come back, at least not the way he left. I believe he's supposed to be gone at least a few weeks. Maybe a couple of months. He wasn't sure at last report."
She was literally willing him to burst into flames before her. Her gaze revealed her hand.
"Told ya. You think you're the only one with connections at the fort? I've got me a sweet little sergeant who works in ATC over there. She can out-squat anyone else on base…and let me tell you, it shows." he lifted his eyebrow, lasciviously.
"You disgust me."
"Why? You never seemed to mind my…sexy imagination." he winked at her.
"No, I'm happy that you're getting it good on the regular from an ass that won't quit. But come on. You clearly only got with this girl because you thought it would give you the upper hand against me."
"Well, that's very self-absorbed thinking."
"Really, Elliott? Do you see where we are right now?" they looked around at the dank cellar and he shrugged, unable to deny or rebut. "And this woman. Does she know about this little scheme?"
He gave her one of his more evil grins. "Who do you think kicked you in the tit?" Okay…she was new levels of pissed off now.
"Why…the actual FUCK am I here, Elliott!?"
"Well, Shane, you embarrassed me with that little stunt at the bar a few weeks ago. You thought you were hot shit, parading your sasquatch of a boyfriend around in front of me, in my town, humiliating me as all of my friends watched. And then that dickhead sucker punched me in the parking lot. I shoulda pressed charges. But him being a veteran, I knew how that woulda gone in this town. I didn't have a snowball's chance. So I waited. And I planned. And I was patient. And I watched for my moment. And it finally came. I've been watching you leave work every night for the past week, and you're always with someone, or headed somewhere else, or going straight home. Last night…last night I knew was the night when you didn't leave until after 7. You were the last one out, and I knew that it had to be then. The plan, not that you need to know, is to plaster your social media with humiliating photos, piss off everyone that you love, including your precious Sy, and alienate everyone you've ever cared about until you're miserable and alone."
Shane was crying now. She thought she might be sick again. She reached for the bucket. The delusion of this man thinking that anyone in that bar besides maybe the ones that were there with him that night gave a shit about him. Thinking that the town was his. He was a nobody there. He hadn't grown up there, he didn't work there, he didn't participate in community events. He was kidding himself if he thought anyone cared enough about him that he should feel shame over her relationship with Sy, especially five years after their relationship with each other had ended.
"How's that for a 'why,' sweetheart?" he boasted.
"It's making my ask myself a lot of questions. Like why I ever agreed to go out with you all those years ago. Why I didn't see the signs that you were a psychopath sooner. And why I put up with your terrorism for so long thinking you'd ever really change. I can't believe I ever slept with you, you absolute barbarian." and she heaved into the bucket, non-productively. She hadn't eaten since lunch, and that had to be well over twelve hours ago.
"Well, ya did. And ya can't change the past. But I'm about to take your future into my hands. As soon as we find your phone, we're gonna have us a ball, little girl."
"You honestly think I'll cooperate with any of that?"
"You won't have a choice." he held up a little glass vial. "Morphine. A tiny dose of this stuff, and you'll do anything I tell ya."
"Please. Just let me go now, and I won't press charges. I won't go to the cops, at all. I'll call in to work with a headache, or something and you can live your life with Sergeant Squats and we can leave each other alone."
"A good offer, but I need to get something out of this. I need my pride back."
"And you're gonna get that by dragging me through the mud online from my own Facebook account? Is that really the way you wanna do this? When you could just show me what a great life you've built for yourself. This is a great place here, it seems, I mean, I only smelled it, and felt how big it was while I was getting dragged around the place. But, Elliott, if you had just told me about all this, I would have been happy for you!"
"This place is Sasha's."
"Oh." she grasped for something, anything to make him see how insane he was being without saying the words. "Well, I'd still have been happy for you finding an established woman with a great job. Why couldn't you have just written me a letter telling me that? An email! Something."
"This is how it's getting done, Shane. Because this is the only way that truly ruins your life in the process. Because at the end of all of this, the backlash is going to be too much for you, and you're not going to be able to handle this life anymore…"
"No. Elliott, no."
"Yes. You're gonna take one last hit of the morphine and drive that shitty Ford right into the lake."
"You used to care about art. About beauty. You used to be sensitive. You used to have a soul. What happened, Elliott? What happened to your humanity?" Shane asked, crying, in mourning for the man he used to be. The one that she used to care for.
"I fell in love. And she broke my heart. And nothing has been the same."
"Elliott, I didn't mean to…"
"Oh, fuck, not you, don't be stupid. No, Kara. I met her right after you kicked me out, and SHE broke my heart." he turned and started up the stairs, pausing to look over his shoulder and say, "I'll be back when I have your phone. And I'll bring friends." before he ascended, shutting the door firmly behind him.
She had never been so relieved to NOT have her phone in her life. Hopefully, her coworkers had it safe and sound, and locked up at work.
Up Next: Chapter 15-Recon
#netflix sand castle#Sand Castle#captain syverson#Captain Syverson x OFC#captain syverson fanfic#sigh for sy#henry cavill#henry cavill fanfic#henry cavill x ofc#this is either a bit angsty or it will give you angst it is hard to say
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So I read 86 LN vol 1
S1 anime covers the entire Vol 1 except for the latter's epilogue, so full anime spoiler here.
And as of this writing, I'm still on Vol 2 so the things I mention here are solely those that happen in Vol 1. Idk if a thing happens in the latter volume, gotta dodge spoiler so I don't browse about it.
There was an interview with a person inside the anime industry that basically said "The point of an anime adaptation is not to be an exact replica of the original material, but to shine as its own medium for a story." I forgot who it was and I can't find the interview anywhere for the life of me, but that statement opened my eyes. I agree with it, that's why I can appreciate the differences between LN/manga and anime, especially if they turn out good and/or interesting.
And that's exactly what happens in 86. I'll start with this: I watched the anime first, and after I read the Vol1 novel, I actually like the anime more. Because there are a lot of meaningful original scenes in it
And because the Vol1 novel turns out exactly what I fear when I first watched the anime: that I won't care much about the squadron aside from the main 5. (Look, the anime promotional materials mostly only have Lena and those 5 only. As shocked as I was in the anime, I did have an idea where the story would go from those alone). The rest are barely mentioned. Not even the girls are named in the novel, even though they do talk and Lecca is even prominent in anime.
For example, the second half of the first episode, the one that shows Spearhead squadron's daily life right before Lena contacts them, is anime original scenes. Kujo already dies the moment the novel starts focusing on the squadron. Simply put, a lot of the squadron members that aren't the main 5 or Kaie get a *lot* more focus in the anime, like Daiya, Haruto (For characters who appear on the introduction page, their novel screen time is less than I'd expect), Kujo and Lecca. While the other members often appear in the background and actually behave like equal members instead of glue-them-on figurines.
(Idk if those other members are named and/or designed in the light novel before the anime is a thing or when the anime becomes a thing.)
The anime also adds relevant information in the Raiden's talk with Lena in EP7, like Kaie receiving racial abuse from 86 (in fact in both versions, she is the first one to get highlighted about this) and Haruto also having prominent Giadian Empire blood like Anju and Shin. These weren't in the novel.
I might be just nitpicking here because I love Kaie and Haruto, but see, this scene is amazing on its own. This is where Raiden and the squad reveal the weight of their motivation all along, that they *each* have different backgrounds and different kinds of sufferings, yet they are all sentenced to die, and they all choose to fight because they know no side is saintly but some things are still worth fighting for.
The prominent characters' deaths (besides Kaie's) are often mentioned with only one or two dry lines. I expected at least Daiya's to be detailed more, but it's just that so matter-of-fact-ly. Well I came from the anime, so I guess it's normal if I expected something as heartbreaking.
I broke down HARD at the last half of EP10 and that is nowhere in the Vol 1 novel. (Having Hands Up to the Sky playing in the background is also an advantage for being an anime. Fuck that song, I now play it 24/7 in despair)
Having a lot of original anime scenes really complement the story's nature. That there are two different sides of life here, it's not just Lena's or 86's only. And those couldn't have intertwined if not for their willingness to listen and communicate.
I know I mentioned this some days ago but really, I can't get over how many of the merch are Lena (and Annette) being cute doing cute stuff while the story itself is actually depressing. Merch staffs know the market lol.
- Novel side -
That said, the novel does have an advantage that the anime/visual media doesn't: Internal explorations and explanations.
It's obvious from the get-go, but Asato confirms that the inspiration of Republic of San Magnolia and its racial discrimination and genocide is taken from Nazi Germany in WW2. The Republic who favors the white/silver haired-eyed Alba drives Colorata out of the 85 sectors, overtakes their properties, and forcibly sends the now-called-86 to either fight their war and die, or work on the wall and die.
The life inside the Republic is also elaborated on. Class always exists, even inside one race only. The center of the republic is for the elites, Lena and Annette's families included. The farther a sector is from the center, the lower the education and economy there is. Most of the military come from these areas, which explains why Lena herself is in difficult situation. Since no one in the military is either capable or willing to bring change.
It's *insane* how easily the Republic could create such vile lies, and how easily the majority of the citizens go along with it.
Gotta admit, Asato does a good job at foreshadowing the fate of the 86, the truth that we can only see after Ep7 of anime. It is mentioned that supposedly, 86 soldiers will be welcomed back once their 5-years term is up. Lena once wonders about it, but ultimately she buys it thinking that surely they must have come back to another sector. She only realizes it's utter bullshit after Annette points out how, 9 years later, they have never seen even one Colorata inside the Republic when they should have seen at least some. This also shows that Lena has never ventured to the other sectors to find out more, probably due to work or maybe she's still a sheltered noblewoman in the end.
And the mentality of the majority of Alba is shown differently. Whereas the anime uses the academy classroom to show how deeply rooted the racism against 86 is, the novel uses Lena's mother who a) more or less does the same as the classroom, and b) presses Lena to get married and preserve their pure noble bloodline. This, when the nobility doesn't actually mean anything anymore. This version shows not only Alba's racism but also Lena's strained family life.
There is a scene of an Alba high school valedictorian who, during his graduating speech, says “My friends died fighting the Legion.” I’m not sure this will make it to the anime, and it’s just a minor scene in the novel, but the weight of that scene is heavy.
The science of Para-Raid is explained, which has something to do with tapping the collective consciousness of humanity and connecting it to one another. A bit far-etched but I guess that works, science fiction and all. But I like the part where despite (or maybe because?) of connecting via hearing only, the other senses are faintly receptive as well. For example, one can sense that the other side is biting their lips in frustration, something like that. Of course, actual real life things like sensing the hidden bitterness or elation in a talking partner's words are present, this being a story where listening matters.
The novel elaborates on Raiden's stay with the Alba old woman. He calls her Old Hag, but it's clear he greatly respects her. The part where she screams and curses in the middle of the road at the Republic soldiers who take Raiden and the other children away stays in Raiden's mind forever, and so it does to me. Ngl it is quite a chilling scene.
Same with the story of the previous Laughing Fox, Theo's Alba commander. It turns out, the entirety of Theo's first squadron didn't like him at all and bet on how fast he'd tuck tail and run back to the Republic. When he faced his death the way Theo explained, he sent a message to Theo revealing he knew about it and knew his place to not ask for acknowledgment or forgiveness. This made Theo regret why he didn't try to talk more with his commander and he keeps thinking about it forever. Now it makes even more sense why Theo, blunt as he is, is willing to listen to Lena and when he snaps, he wonders if his late commander would do the same.
What actually happens in Kurena's backstory is also touched upon. While in the anime some viewers could think "Man, I get where you're coming from but chill out." The novel graphically shows her parents being toyed on by the Alba soldiers while her sister protected her, the two could only watch, and then the same sister got sent to the battlefield to die. Now at that, anyone would think "Man, no wonder she can't chill out. Not with all that trauma."
I also like the addition that Lena can sense Kurena is the one who dislikes her the most.
The novel describes greatly that it isn't just Alba and Non-Alba. Essentially speaking, Non-Alba is called Colorata, and they consist of different race groups as well. Just as Alba is associated with the color silver/white, the other race have their associated colors as well. Asato assigns races to the named members in Vol1 and what their distinguished color features are. This also explains why Anju is exiled despite looking like an Alba.
It's a question that I pondered on when I first saw Shin's armor plates, and that I pondered harder on when Chise died: What happens if there is no armor plate to carve its processor's name's on? So it turns out Shin would substitute it with anything; piece of wood or some random piece of metal. For Chise's case, Raiden, Chise's leader, suggested using the wing of Chise's in-progress airplane model. Which did my heart so bad because I'm strangely fond of Chise and finding out that in his spare time in his limited lifespan, he was working on an airplane model made me sob.
I'm not particularly into mecha, and could care less about how it moves. But Asato did a good job describing the fight between a glorified suicide car and a line of brand-new solid A-grade tanks. Special mention to I-IV because wow the concept arts for all the mechas are so cool, even though I don't really understand. (Asato even said to I-IV "Go draw a tank so horrible it's stupid for the Juggernaut" and I-IV came up with the current Juggernaut)
You know how the Republic greeting is "Glory to San Magnolia and the five-colored flag"? I won't disclose who says this in what situation, but there is someone of Colorata saying "If you hate colors so much, you should have just colored your flag white" AND OOOH THE BURN SO HOT HOT HOT
Tl;dr: Bottom line is, I personally enjoy Vol 1 because I already watched the anime and got attached to it. If I were to read the vol 1 first, most likely I wouldn't fall this hard for the series. Hell, maybe I wouldn't even pick it up in the first place because I knew it'd be depressing. But this is not to say that the LN is bad. It’s very good, it just does not really touch the lives of other soldiers whereas that’s the very thing that I love from the anime.
#86#eighty six#random saying#not sure if i have put all my thoughts here so maybe ill edit sometime later
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The Oath - 5
Parings: Dark!Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader
Summary: After an unsuccessful escape attempt, the reader finds herself taken as a spoil of war. She ends up in the bed of a ruthless Alpha, the son of John Winchester, leader of the kingdom of Gilead. She struggles to conceal her true identity and navigate a society where being an Omega means nothing more than serving at the pleasure of powerful men.
Warnings: non-con, sexual assault, rape, attempted suicide, sexual slavery, branding, torture, ownership, voyeurism, anal play, smut, violence, and murder.
Sam is dark in this story. If any of the warnings are triggers for you, I would suggest skipping this one. Please read and heed all the warnings.
Beta: ilikaicalie
Chapters 1-14 are currently available on Patreon. To get access to this and many other stories, subscribe for a pledge of 2.50 per month. CLICK HERE
-
You’re drifting in and out of sleep, jarred half-awake with every bump in the path. The cart sways, side to side, bringing the same nausea you felt the first time you took a voyage by ship. There’s the sound of horse hooves trotting closer and Sam Winchester appears above you, looking down from his horse.
“Are you cold?” he asks.
Tilda looks down at her hands, trying to fade into the background.
“Yes, the wind is strong today.” It’s such a foreign thing to have such an inconsequential conversation with a man who’s sworn to eradicate every member of your family. Not to mention forced you to take his knot only hours before. Yet he acts as if all this is nothing out of the ordinary.
“And your arm?” His horse starts to pull away from the cart and he guides the steed back, trotting right beside you. “Are you in pain?”
“I’ll manage.”
“I asked if you’re in pain.” His voice grows tight with impatience. It’s a reminder of your place in this brave new world. He asks questions and you answer.
“Some,” you admit. “It never really goes away.”
“Here.” He reaches into his cloak and pulls out a metal flask, dropping it into your lap. “Drink. It’s wine, it’s strong. It will keep you warm and help you to forget your arm. I’ll come back with food in a few hours.”
“Thank you,” you offer but he’s already out of earshot, riding away.
You uncap the flask, taking a sip and sputtering at the taste. You’ve never been a fan of wine, but desperate times call for desperate measures. You drink down as much as you can before wiping your mouth.
“Would you like some?” You offer Tilda a sip.
“No, I wouldn’t dare.” She shakes her head, holding a hand up. “He didn’t give it to me, it’s yours.”
“You think he’d be upset?” You feel sick, all these unspoken rules are a far cry from any iteration of your old life.
“Are you joking?” she laughs dryly. “He kept you for himself. Samuel Winchester rode back to check on you. You’re lucky to be in his favor. I’ve never seen him show interest in any of us before. Dean takes his pleasures, and Sam will get his cock sucked but never anything more. Did he knot you?”
“I beg your pardon?” You’re aghast at this sort of talk. Is this your life now? Discussing such intimate matters while being pulled around in the back of an apple cart. You want to cry, to curl into yourself and die right here and now.
“Did he knot you?” Tilda asks again, looking around to ensure she’s not overheard. She leans closer. “Come on, tell me. I can help you.”
“I’m not I should talk about it.” You gulp, taking another sip from the flask. “Yes. I spent the night with him.”
“Oh, God has smiled on you. Trust me when I tell you, keep him satisfied as long as you can. Sam might be a brute but it’s better than being passed around like a prize.”
“Is that what you are? A prize?”
“I never know who I’ll end up with next. Some of the Alpha’s aren’t so bad, all they want is to knot a hole and they’re satisfied. For some, we’re the only Omega’s they’ll ever come close to in real life. But some…” she stops to look at her hands. “Some are evil men. They enjoy inflicting pain. He might not be a good man but he’s good enough to bring you food and drink. Give him a reason to keep you as long as you can.”
-
That night proves to be no different than the first. The men set up the tents as far as the eye can see. It’s dark by the time Sam comes for you, lifting you out of the cart and escorting you to he and Dean’s personal quarters. It’s been set up exactly the same as yesterday. It must be a huge undertaking to erect this elaborate space only to tear it down the next morning as the brigade moves on.
You quietly eat dinner with Dean at one end of the table, Sam at the other. For the most part, they act as if you’re not there. Arguing about strategies on the battlefield and who will end up in their father’s favor. Sam doesn’t skip a beat, cutting your meat into bite-sized pieces so you’re able to eat with one working hand.
Your mother always said there was good to be found in any situation. While there are certainly dark times, you search for the tiny offerings of hope that appear. At least he doesn’t take joy in your pain or the inclination for some of the more tortuous acts Tilda spoke of. Not yet anyway.
You’ve heard the stories, the horrifying tales of the Alpha of Gilead. You know full well what you are to them, nothing more than what’s between your legs. You’re a being stripped of personhood to be used at the whim of another. Things could be worse. You could be given to the men, viciously beaten and raped until you fell pregnant or died. And even then they’d continue to have their way with you.
No, you tell herself that ending up in Sam’s good favor is a higher power watching over you.
“I’m going to find a card game.” Dean throws his handkerchief on his plate, sitting back in the chair. He looks from you to Sam. “Is it safe to assume you’re staying in?”
“Yes,” Sam confirms. The nod of his head and the squeeze of his fist seem to tell his brother all he needs to know.
Their communication is intricate. They can have an entire conversation with a few words and pointed looks.
Dean wraps himself in a cloak and heads out for the night, leaving you alone with Sam yet again. He watches you wordlessly as you stare at the fire, waiting for what you already know is coming.
But tonight, before he has the chance to make his move you preempt with a request.
“Alpha,” you whisper, finding your voice shaky. At the sound of his title, he snaps to attention, eye drilling holes in you. “Would it be possible to have some of the tea you made me last night. For my arm.”
He blinks, studying you carefully before answering.
“Yes.”
He grinds the herbs as he did before, boiling the water and setting the mug on the table in front of you. It seems like a lifetime while you wait for it to cool. The silence goes unfulfilled as the fire crackles in the background.
“May I make one more request?” you ask, timid as mouse staring at the herbs in the bottom of the cup.
“What is it?” He leans forward, tilting his head to the side.
“May I wash up before we’re together? I was in the cart all day and I stink of horses.”
“Yes, of course.” Sam sits back, gesturing toward the water basin next to the fire.
There is much that doesn’t need to be said out loud. You know what to expect. You’ll bathe out here in the open and he’ll watch, just the same as he watched the cook clean you the night before. Even your most basic acts are privy to his observation.
This is what it feels like to belong to someone.
Standing, you go through the logistics. With one arm you’re limited in nearly every aspect.
“Would you help me with my dress?” you ask, turning your back toward him.
Sam leans forward in his chair, pulling at the laces at the back of the dress and yanking it down until you’re able to step out. You’re naked in the firelight, perfect skin glowing save the bruises you sustained in the woods. His cock stiffens in his pants as you walk to the fire and squeeze the excess water out of the cloth before washing yourself.
Even in the low light of the fire, he sees your cheeks grow red as you clean your breasts and underarms before rising out the rag. You stare at the floor, washing your sex and then begin a second pass over your body.
You’re doing this half for your own comfort, and a half in an attempt to keep him happy. Tilda was insistent about keeping him satisfied. Now you know your fate when he grows tired of you.
“How would like me?” Your eyes dart up, meeting his with hesitation.
“Here.” He remains seated, reaching out to you. You walk to him, standing between his legs. His finger trails over your ribs as he sits up tall, arching up to scent you. It’s uncomfortably intimate as he buries his face in your neck. His open mouth breathes hot, nose rubbing back and forth across your pulse point.
Your body responds despite any internal protest. Breath goes choppy, a tingling between your legs bringing you to life. His teeth scrape over your throat and to your horror you moan, a fractured breathy sound as he smiles against your flesh.
“That’s it Omega, stop thinking and just feel.” He nips under your chin before cupping your breast with one giant palm. Your nipples are hard as rocks, standing at attention and he promptly sucks one into his mouth. You make a garbled sound, head falling backward as he sucks hard, hot tongue swirling around the bud. His hand snakes between your legs, a finger sinking into your slick before rubbing your own arousal over your clit with easy strokes.
He’s right. If you don’t think about the rest of it and just focus on the Alpha in front of you, all the bad slips away. It becomes clear, this is how you survive. You can do this, be an Omega to his Alpha. And whatever happens outside of these private moments you’ll deal with when the time comes.
His mouth comes off your breast, wet nipple instantly pebbling in the cold air.
“Your body wants me, Omega.” He looks up at you, the reflection of the fire dancing in his eyes.
“Yes,” you whisper. That one word of confirmation brings complete and utter shame. You spent the better part of the day imagining ways to escape and now you’re practically begging for him to take you.
His thumb presses over your clit as two fingers stroke between the lips of your cunt. He doesn’t push inside, he just strokes slowly through your arousal, back and forth as your legs begin to tremble.
“Your sweet little cunt is drooling.” He offers a dark grin, rubbing his thumb in a circle around your bud. Everything between your legs is throbbing. “Why are you fighting it?”
“Because you scare me.” You whimper this truth and immediately wish you could take it back. Fortunately, he doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by the confession.
“You should be scared of me,” he chuckles, stroking over your clit. Your entire body is vibrating in pleasure and fear, you’re sweating from head to toe, barely able to stay standing. “But not when you’re in my bed. Don’t worry, I’ll be careful with your arm. All you have to do is be good for me. Let me in here where you’re warm and soft and tight.”
His fingers slip into your cunt and you groan, eyes shutting as you grip his shoulder for balance.
“That’s it,” he coaxes, fucking you slowly, sliding in up to his knuckles. “Tell me what you want?”
“I want,” you start and have to stop, drawing in a breath. Licking your lips, your brow furrows as he twists his wrist between your thighs. “I want your knot.”
A single tear slides down your cheek and Sam watches it disappear under your jawline.
“I bet you’d say anything to get my cock in this greedy little cunt, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes!” you agree in desperation. Between his scent and the way he touches you, it’s a potent combination. Despite the humiliation, you would do anything he asked at this moment.
“Good,” he grunts.
Sam pulls his hand from between your legs, standing up to guide you back toward the bed.
“This arm is a problem. If you weren’t hurt I’d fuck you so hard you wouldn’t be able to walk for the rest of the week. But we don’t want to do any permanent damage, do we?”
You turn around, looking up, covered in sweat and aroused beyond anything you’ve ever known was possible. No wonder the men of Gilead think of you as a mindless breed mare when you respond like this.
Sam wraps his hand around your hip bone, pushing you down onto the bed.
“Get in the middle and spread your legs for me.”
Sam watches in satisfaction as you do as you’re told, scooting backward and letting your thighs fall open. The scent of your cunt is overwhelming, nothing’s ever been as sweet or as temping.
You need the lie, to lose yourself n the guise of a true believer. If you give in maybe you can trick yourself.
“Tell me what I am,” you gaze up at him.
Sam stares at you as he strokes his cock, watching your breasts rise and fall. It takes him a moment to understand what you’re asking, but he catches on quickly.
“You’re an Omega.” He crawls onto the bed between your legs. Your skin is so warm he feels the heat coming off you. Your pussy is glistening, thighs wet and inviting. He can only imagine what you’ll look like when you’re in heat. “You exist for this.” He lowers himself over you, fisting his cock and pressing the head into your pussy. “To take my cock, to cum around my knot until your belly is full of my seed. This is what you are, Omega.”
His weight pins you to the bed as he slides inside, not stopping until he’s rooted. It’s different than the night before. It doesn’t hurt this time. Maybe it’s because he’s already been inside you or perhaps the position is more conducive to your pleasure.
Two hands planted on either side of your head, he fucks you at an even pace, taking his time to watch. If he lifts himself up he has a bird’s eye view of his cock disappearing into your hot pussy. The visual only adds to the feeling of your cunt sliding around him as he thrusts inside again and again. Your eyes are clenched shut, mouth open as you let out strangled sounds, moans, and sobs until you end up biting down on your own finger to quell the noise.
He’s not sure how an Omega as beautiful as you went this long without being claimed by an Alpha. It’s unfathomable to him that the first Alpha to cross your path didn’t sink his teeth into you. The way you smell, the feel of your skin and the way you press your lips together when you’re holding back. His father has always been the one who believed in the religion of it all, Sam has always drifted in and out of belief, but you’re enough to make a believer out of him. Perhaps you’re the reward his dedication has all been leading up to. He knows he’s getting ahead of himself, it’s only been two days and he knows nothing about you.
“Alpha,” you call out. Your back arches, tits pressing upward, belly pushing into his stomach. Small hands clutch at his biceps, pushing and pulling as if simultaneously trying to push him away and bring him closer.
You’re going to cum, he knows that much. He’s making a point to grind himself over your clit with every thrust of his hips. He’s never been one to be overly concerned with the pleasure of an Omega, but he wants to see you cum this time. See it on your face as you give up the fight and surrender to what you are.
Your hips start to move in rhythm with his, working with him to take him deeper, faster, harder.
His knot begins to swell and before he even pops you cum with a wanton cry. Your mouth falls open, head pressed back into the bedding as you tighten around his cock. Sam gives one final thrust, your cunt pulling him inside as his knot locks him inside you.
It takes a moment for him to catch his breath, pressing his forehead against your collar bone and taking in every sensation. There’s a hand at the back of his neck, fingernails digging into skin as you pant underneath him. Your thighs squeeze around his hips, pulsing in tandem with your own fading orgasm.
When he finally raises his head, you’re laying against the bed, eyes closed as tears streak down each of your temples. There’s a darkness inside him that enjoys this reaction, that you cry after you cum, when he’s still inside you.
“You’ll get used to it,” he pulls back enough to gaze down at where your bodies are joined. “Give it time, Omega. You won’t even remember who you were before.”
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Chapter 88 - SBT
Here it is!
"Mh, now I'm no expert on wines but that's a good one, I like it!" Mike said as he put his glass back on the table. "C'mon, boys, help yourselves to the nibbles, otherwise I'll eat everythin' and Caroline will tell me off…!"
"As I should!" She answered. "But yes, please, Lucien.. Micky, push the olives to him, dear."
"Sure…" Mundy obeyed.
"I am glad you like the wine, Mike. Madame Caroline, what are your impressions?" Lucien asked.
"Very good too, not too sweet and not too fruity."
Lucien nodded and smiled.
"So Mundy got his impressively delicate palate from you, Madame?"
"Oh?" She answered. "And please, call me Caroline."
"I shall. But oui, Mundy is gifted when it comes to tasting." Lucien went on and Mundy's cheeks turned pink.
"Well… Uh… I don't know… I mean…"
Caroline chuckled.
"Well, he is my baby after all, aren't you Micky?" She pinched his cheek and he smiled.
"Château… des… Graves?" Mike deciphered with his English pronunciation.
"Château des Graves." Lucien corrected. "Made where I come from."
"Where's that?" Mike asked.
"The region around Bordeaux, in the South-West of France."
"Bordeaux…" Mike repeated. "Isn't that the region famous for its wine?"
"Oui, the red kind in particular although our winemakers are getting better with white and rosé these days." Lucien commented as everyone snacked on between two sentences.
"So what's your story?" Mike asked. "Micky told us you were French, and if may say so, I can quite hear it in your voice, eh."
"Oh yes, charming accent!" Caroline added.
"Merci." Lucien nodded politely.
"So yeah, how did you end up in Oz of all places? What were you doin' back in France?"
"Well..." Lucien started. "I originally destined myself to the world of the stage."
"You were an actor?" Caroline asked excitedly.
"Almost," Lucien answered. "I was a singer."
"Ooh!" She exclaimed, even more enthusiastic.
"Back then, I was barely a man. But the war struck and as a young and capable man, I was drafted into the resisting forces of my country."
"Ah, sorry to hear that, son." Mike said. "I've had some mates go to fight and not return."
"I lost a lot of my brothers in arms too." Lucien said.
"But you survived, eh?"
"Oui, I did, and it was hard at first."
"Excuse me, I'll bring the salad." Caroline said.
"Hold on, Mum, I'll help." Mundy went with her.
"Y'know, Lucien, " Mike looked his guest in the eye. "I understand that. Used to have a mate who made it back but could never really live normally again."
"Indeed, it is typical among soldiers. But I didn't leave the army, I moved ranks and services."
"Oh, so you stayed there?"
"Oui, I did, all the way until my life flipped."
"Here we are with the salad!" Caroline entered. "Micky, put the chicken and potatoes on the side, thank you, sweetie."
Mundy did as he was told.
"Lucien, please?"
"Oh, but of course." Lucien passed his plate and Caroline served him. When all the plates were filled, she sat down and they all started digging in.
"Bon appétit." Lucien said. "And thank you very much for all of this effort."
"It's nothing, it feels nice to cook for Micky and his friend."
They all had a go at the salad.
"The lettuce's really fresh, Mum. Reminds me of the farm…" Mundy said with nostalgia.
"It comes from the garden, sweetie."
"Does it? Hold on, you have a garden?"
"Yeah, we do, son." Mike answered with a chuckle at Mundy's surprise. "Got a few things goin' on back there, you can have a look after dinner if you want."
"Sure!"
"Lucien, ya like gardenin'?" Mike asked.
"Oui, very much. I find that nurturing nature is fulfilling in an almost spiritual way."
"Well said, son, well said…" Mike nodded. "People now all want fancy jobs in cities, with fancy suits and ties - uh…" Mike stopped when he realised that Lucien was in fact wearing exactly that. "No offense, eh?" His eyes darted to his wife, a bit ashamed, and Caroline glared at him.
"None taken," Lucien answered with a smile. "I see perfectly what you mean."
"Yeah… Well they all want that and look at farmin' like it's dirty jobs. Let me tell you, it's honest work, honest pay, and you're helping yourself and the community… Makin' a positive difference, y'know what I mean?"
"But of course."
The concerto of cutlery on plates went on as they moved on to the main course. Caroline had prepared a roasted chicken with baked potatoes and roasted vegetables. Mike stood up to cut the chicken.
"Wanna do it, Micky?"
Mundy raised his eyes like a child. He was shocked by his father's question as much as he was honoured.
"Uh, I mean, really?"
"Yeah, you're a big boy now, c'mon, do it…!" Mike handed him the large knife.
"Right…" Mundy stood up and got busy with it, under his father's keen eyes. The Aussie looked at his mother with excited eyes for a second and she nodded, proud of him. His cheeks turned pink. "What bit d'you like, Lu'?"
"Lu?" Mike repeated and Mundy blushed beyond his ears.
"Y-yeah, it's uh…"
"It is a nickname." Lucien explained. "And of all the ways Mundy could have called me, he chose the name of a famous French biscuit brand." He chuckled and Caroline followed him in his laughter.
"Really?" She asked.
"Oui! They are everywhere in France and equally successful. So each time he calls me that way, I remember my childhood. But oui, Mundy, a bit of the breast please."
The Aussie obliged.
"Dad, still the thighs?"
Mike smiled.
"You remember?"
"Course I do." Mundy smiled and cut the chicken thigh. "Wings for Mum… And bits of the rest for me… There."
"Thanks, sweetie." Caroline got busy with the roasted vegetables. When she finished filling the plates and resumed her seat, the conversation started anew.
"So Micky told us you helped him…?" Mike started.
"In what aspect?" Lucien asked.
"With… That bloke."
"Oh," Lucien nodded. "Indeed, I did my best. I had some business to settle with him and Mundy has provided a critical helping hand." Lucien and Mundy exchanged a grin that was taken for a friendly smile.
"Why were you after'im?" Mike asked.
"Mike, that's personal…!" Caroline said.
"Non, please." Lucien answered. "It is all fine. I am happy to answer." He wiped the corners of his mouth and took a sip of the wine to clear his throat. "As Mundy may have told you, I lost my fiancée and son because of that man."
"I'm so sorry to hear that, son…" Mike answered, shaking his head.
"Merci. After that, I quit my job and rented a small flat in Paris. Similarly to Mundy, I couldn't bring myself to do anything, so I just waited to heal."
Caroline and Mike were listening carefully between the bites of food.
"How old was your son?" Caroline asked.
"Fifteen…"
"You had waited fifteen years with a kid to get married?" Mike asked.
"Mike…!" Caroline glared at him.
"What? I'm just askin'!"
"It is alright, Caroline, thank you." Lucien answered. "Oui indeed I did wait a long time. If I am truly honest, I should say that the news of my then partner being pregnant shocked me beyond belief. It made a man out of me instantly, if that makes sense."
"Oh yeah it does…" Mike answered. "Same when we got Micky."
"Suddenly you don't live as two free adults, but as the trunk of a family tree. You have to be sturdy enough to support everyone and you have the responsibility of the most fragile being in existence." Lucien added. Mundy noticed his dreamy eyes as he stared into Mike's eyes. It looked like Lucien was in fact looking in his own mind.
"Well said, son, well said."
"When Marie gave birth to Jérémy, she stopped working. I pursued my career, still climbing up in responsibility and honor until Jérémy was old enough to perhaps understand my position in the army. Unfortunately, I had to travel a lot and missed their company, and Jérémy's growth sorely."
"I'm sorry for you, son…"
"So am I." Lucien answered. "Marie hated my job and spent her time begging me to quit. She hated the risk that I put myself into everyday and she feared that if Jérémy learnt about it, he might want to join the army too."
Caroline nodded.
"I was on my last mission when the accident happened." Lucien frowned. "As Marie and Jérémy exited the house, in Boston, I was watching them from the window. It happened too fast but to me, it lasted ten years. They crossed the road when a 4-by-4 took a turn, drifted on the asphalt, and hit them. I saw Marie tackle Jérémy to try and put him to safety but she took the hit first. Both were then ejected away."
Lucien paused and put his fork down.
"I ran to them, barefoot in the street, as I saw their bodies fly; that of the woman of my life, and my son, my flesh and blood, my angel. When I reached them, Marie was still holding Jérémy in her soft limbs while his eyes were shut. The ambulance arrived and Marie smiled with a last tear before shutting her eyes."
All the forks had been put down and the silence weighed on everyone's shoulders. Lucien took a deep breath.
"After that, my story is both very similar and very different to Mundy's. I locked myself up both figuratively and concretely. I quitted my job and stayed in a small flat in Paris. Oddly enough, my isolation lasted as long as Mundy's, ten years."
Caroline and Mike's eyebrows jumped.
"We're really sorry for you, Lucien." Caroline said and Lucien raised his eyes to her, a distraught smile on his lips.
"Thank you." He nodded slightly, still quite moved.
"Go on, dear." She encouraged him. He took a deep breath and went on.
"One day, I came to learn that the man who took Marie and Jérémy away from me was here, in Australia. So I jumped in the first flight and landed here."
There was a moment of silence around the table before Mike dared speak.
"Micky said you also knew Maurice…?"
"Ah, oui, indeed I do. He is an old friend, from my military service days." Lucien answered.
"That's quite incredible!" Mike said. "I've known Maurice for decades now and I'd never have guessed he spent some time in France!"
The concerto of cutlery on plate resumed.
"Oh but he did. And having ears and eyes everywhere in the city, he helped me track down that man until I met with Mundy."
"How did you meet exactly?" Caroline asked.
"Well, I am not sure such a story is for feminine ears…"
"Aw, please! I killed this chicken myself!" She answered and Lucien's eyebrows jumped. He chuckled at the enthusiasm of the old lady.
"In that case," He cast a glance over Mike who seemed as eager to know as his wife. "I had in mind to be caught by his… Well… employees and find a way to make it to Duchemin directly."
"Dew what?" Mike asked.
"Duchemin, Arthur Duchemin was the name of that man who took everything from you and me." Lucien explained. "The first part of my plan worked beautifully and I found myself tied up to a chair by his goons."
"Oooh!" Caroline's eyes were shining in excitement.
"But I underestimated Duchemin and didn't realise he could have me killed then and there. I was blinded by my will for revenge and ignored the possibility that I could end up dead."
"So what did you do?" She asked, buzzing on her seat.
"Me? Nothing. But in an instant, the guards around me started falling one after the other. I did not understand what was happening but it caused enough of a distraction that I managed to free myself."
"Ooh, what happened?"
Lucien gave that lopsided grin that could make flowers bloom.
"Mundy tranquilised them all and saved me that day."
"W-well… I saw a bloke takin' a beatin while being tied up. And you weren't wearing their uniforms so… Heh…"
"Why were you there?" Mike asked.
"That hangar where Lu' was, that's where the alligators I was after were." Mundy answered. "There were two trucks. One empty, one with the 'gators. I got closer when I made sure all the guards were shot asleep. I opened the first truck, it was empty. When I opened the second one, I found the 'gators and Lu'."
They exchanged a conniving glance.
"Indeed, that is how we met." Lucien confirmed. "And we each considered the other like an enemy, or competition at least. In the end, we realised that we needed each other to do the job, so we teamed up."
Everyone grinned around the table.
"And so now you live together, eh?" Mike asked.
"Oui, we do. In fact, we work together too. Mundy helps with his many talents. I only take the responsibility of teaching children and teenagers."
"That's really nice of both of you." Caroline said.
"As Mike said," Lucien answered. "We try to work to make a positive difference around us."
"Yeah, honest work, and good souls." Mike said. "So you do the teachin'?"
"Oui."
"Ever done that before?"
"Oui, in the ex-colonies, a few decades ago."
"Whereabouts?"
"Northern Africa."
"Did you like it there?"
"Oui, I did. Beyond the sunny weather and warm temperatures, people's mindset and customs were and still are considerably different from ours. I learnt a lot from their simpler way of life."
"Sounds like you did an awful lot of things in your life, eh? Singer, soldier, teacher…?"
"Oui, and many others." Lucien nodded. "But please, enough about me…"
"Yeah, Mike, stop interrogating the guest…!" Caroline added. "Sorry, dear, we haven't had visits for quite a while."
"I'm just curious, Caroline!"
"Exactly!" She answered.
Mundy and Lucien chuckled at their banter.
"I am glad you survived." Lucien said as everyone was finishing their meals. "When Mundy told me the news, he was restless!"
Mundy blushed. He guessed Lucien wanted to insist on the impact that Mundy's parents' survival had on him. He smiled at his lover, hoping that Lucien would read "thank you" on his lips.
"Aw, Micky is such a sweetheart. You know Lucien, he might seem tall and strong, our boy, but he's very sensitive, very compassionate." Caroline said and held her son's hand.
"Oh, trust me, I know very well."
"Really?" Mike asked.
"Oui, he rescued a black cat and I saw the respect with which he treats him."
"Back in the days, we used to have a few dogs." Caroline explained. "They loved Micky and were so excited to be around him…!"
"I can very well see why."
"You rescued a kitty too, eh?" Mundy said to Lucien. "She's snow white, with long hair, she's gorgeous! He got her when she was a kitten and raised her. Mum, Dad, you should see them one day, the cats."
"Aw," Caroline grinned sweetly. "You can bring them next time."
"Sure. Oh and Lu' didn't tell you but he trained his cat to wait at crossroads!"
"Seriously?" Mike asked. "You can train a cat to do that?"
"Yeah, he did! And I trained Sooty boy to do the same."
"Sooty boy?" Caroline asked.
"Yeah, the black cat, he's called Soot, and the white princess is Pearl."
"Do they get along well?" Mike asked.
"More than well." Lucien answered with a smile.
"They got kittens together!" Mundy added.
"Oh bugger! That's great!" Mike said. "How many?"
And the discussion went on about the cats and the kittens.
"But what about you guys? What have you been up to?" Mundy asked.
"We got the garden goin' on at the back." Mike answered. "It's more than enough for us so we have the surplus sold. We go to the market on marketday and have a little stand there. We usually sell everything, not that it's much, but it helps pay the bills, eh?"
"Oh, that's great!" Mundy answered.
"All the veggies and potatoes you had today come from the garden." He added.
"The chicken too!" Caroline added. "By the way Micky, d'you want some more?"
"Nah, Mum, thanks, I'm full. But you have chickens? Like before?"
"Nah, not as many, just a few ones. But come on, Micky, just a bit more chicken…? A little bit…? You won't even feel it!"
"Mum, please, I wanna save some space for dessert…!"
"Fine, alright." She turned to Lucien. "And what about you, dear? You liked my roasted chicken, yeah?"
"It was exquisite, Caroline." Lucien answered. "But like Mundy, not tasting your dessert would be an insult to your culinary talents."
"Well that's some very nice way of putting it…!"
Caroline stood up and started to empty the table. Mundy helped her and in no time, Caroline was back with tea and dessert.
"And here we are…"
"Oh, Mum, is this your chocolate cake?" Mundy asked excitedly.
"Yes it is!"
"Yes!" Mundy exclaimed. "Mum, you have no idea how much I like that…!"
"Of course I do!" She answered. "Now, be a sweetheart and give everyone some tea while I cut the cake, yeah?"
"Sure."
Both got busy while Mike and Lucien leaned back on their chairs.
"So you guys continue farmin'? That's really good."
"Yeah, keeps us busy." Caroline added.
"And you, you ended up livin' together, eh?" Mike asked.
"Oui, after the events with Duchemin, we… lived separately for a year."
Mundy blushed beyond his ears. He was uncomfortable with the idea of lying to his parents. Hiding Lucien's true identity was a big enough lie but now, the Frenchman was also not talking about the period of time where he was supposedly dead. Mundy wished he could be brutally honest and just burst out with all the truth. But of course he couldn't. No, not now, and maybe not in a million years. Now was the time to get along with his parents again. He would think about telling them the truth about Lucien later… or maybe never. Gosh…
Everyone started with their dessert and Lucien couldn't hold back a smile seeing Mundy roll his eyes in bliss while eating his mother's cake.
"We were both coming back from the nerve-wrecking experience of dealing with that man." Lucien went on. "And after a year, our paths crossed again. Mundy was already working for Maurice and I was looking for something to keep my days busy, and provide Perle with everything that she needs."
"Back then, I was still living in my van with the cats."
"The cats?" Caroline asked. "You had other ones?"
Mundy blushed.
"Uh… I mean…"
"He was also feeding the strays." Lucien jumped in to his rescue. "A very compassionate soul he is, and the best of friends."
Again, the gaze that Lucien gave to Mundy, with heavy lidded-eyes, spoke much louder to the Aussie than to his parents. And then Mundy realised that if Lucien managed to remain unfazed it was because for him, it was routine, or it had been routine for decades, with him being a spy…
"Maurice's pay isn't much, but with the two of us, we can afford the bills." Mundy said. "And well, I knew Lu', he knew me so the housemate choice was quick and easy."
"Aw, that's very nice… I can't remember the last time Micky brought a friend home to be honest." Caroline said.
"And he chose one with great taste for his wines at least, eh?" Mike added with a smile.
"Many thanks, I am truly honoured to meet you." Lucien nodded his head like a bow.
The dinner went well and as the dessert plates were now all empty, the discussion naturally came to an end.
"Thank you again for your delicious dinner and for having me to share it." Lucien said at the door while Caroline gave him his jacket. "Oh, thank you."
"You're very welcome, boys." She tapped his arm and Lucien smiled. "You'll be safe on your way back, yeah?"
"Yeah, Mum, don't worry…" Mundy kissed his mother on her head.
"Right, right, be safe, boys, eh?" Mike added as hugs were exchanged and hands were shaken.
"We will, Mike." Lucien answered.
They made their way to the motorcycle and Lucien motioned Mundy to drive. The Aussie hopped on, and Lucien behind him.
"Come back and visit soon, Micky, eh?" Caroline asked.
"I will, Mum, don't worry."
Both slipped on their helmets and Mundy started the engine.
"See ya!" Mike and Caroline waved at Mundy and Lucien who flew away in the street.
"Aw, such good boys they are… And Lucien…! Very polite, eh?" Caroline said as Mike and her made it back home. They cleared up the rest of the table and chatted about their dinner again.
"Really seems like our boy Micky is a man now, eh? Only thing missin' is a good sheila and boom!" Mike said.
"Aw, yeah… Can you imagine? Micky with a girlfriend…?" Caroline answered.
"Can't really, he never brought anyone home before. It's the first time in… whew… Can you remember the last time he brought a friend home?" Mike brought more plates to the sink, where Caroline was washing the dishes. "Caroline?"
He found her staring emptily in front of her and frowning.
"What's wrong?" He asked.
"There's something that doesn't add up…" She answered.
"What?"
"It's his jacket."
"Micky's?"
"Nah, his friend's…" She put a hand on her hip.
"What about it?"
"They said that they moved in together to afford the rent, right?"
"Yeah, and?"
"How come the brand of his jacket is Lemercier?"
"Le-what?" Mike asked.
"Lemercier, it's the expensive tailor in the old centre, he only does custom-made stuff…"
"Bah, he might've got that at work with Maurice." Mike answered. "Y'know how rich folks can throw anything in the bin, Caroline."
"Yeah…"
She resumed her washing of the dishes and Mike helped her. Their conversation fell silent, and as Mike glanced at his wife again, he saw that her brow was still furrowed.
"Not buyin' it?" He asked.
"No, I'm not. There's something that's missin', Mike."
"Ah, women…"
"Mike, I am being serious." She raised her eyes to her husband and pushed her glasses back with the back of her hand. "Lucien is polite, nice and all, but there is something we're missing."
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what a lion cannot manage
i have no excuse for this except that it is apparently my Brand™ now to write very niche AU’s that take one look at canon and then punch it in the face for being such a fucking nerd.
enjoy.
Ao3 | chp 1 | chp 2 | chp 3 | chp 4
Midoriya Izumi is born wailing.
A crying waif of a girl with eyes like copper-sulfate flames and magic bubbling hot and bright beneath her skin.
Inko stares, exhausted and flushed with the glow of new motherhood, down at her beautiful baby girl cradled in her arms. Her family gathers in close, yelling and jostling for a glimpse at their newest addition.
She runs her pinkie finger down her daughter’s short stub of a nose, sweeps it under her fragile eye and over the bright apple of her chubby cheek all in one smooth motion. Izumi quiets almost immediately, and her big, green eyes stare up at Inko with far too much intelligence for a freshly born babe to have.
But, well, Izumi is no normal infant.
"Welcome to the world," Inko whispers over the shouts around her. Such a joyous occasion this is, she can’t fault them for yipping and barking in celebration. "It will shake beneath your feet, my sha’alabbin."
***
The family celebrates for three days following Izumi’s birth, as tradition dictates.
One day for love, one day for health, and one day for magic.
The celebration on the third day is very large indeed, for they have much to celebrate for.
***
Izumi is bundled into a cosy nursery nestled in the center of a large manor at the edge of a small, sleepy town. She sleeps in the nexus of the house, carefully chosen for her over the many months the family waited for her arrival.
Her room is decorated in forest greens and honey soft golds, filled with books and toys and many, many chairs for the steady stream of visitors she sees every day. There’s not a moment in her life where Izumi wonders if she is loved because it is painted in every crack and seam of her world.
Even she, still tender with infancy and still so ignorant to the world and how it works—but learning, oh, how quickly she learns—Izumi knows this. She knows because it’s obvious.
That doesn't stop her from crying when she thinks she’s alone, of course.
Object permanence takes longer to grasp than the love of her skulk.
***
No one in town can agree on exactly how many Midoriyas there are.
The family has lived there for generations, they’re as woven into the land and town as the roads and fields and rivers are. Everyone knows the Midoriyas.
But only as a group. A whole. Because knowing individual Midoriyas is infinitely trickier.
The family is friendly, and active enough in the town, but they’re so private. Living off at the very edge of town and half-hidden in the forest. And there always seems to be some strange relative visiting from one place or another, or family friends staying for this reason or that.
The number of Midoriays always seems to be changing.
But the townspeople, whenever asked, always seem to agree that there can’t be more than twelve at the house full time.
(There’s more than double that living within the manor. And none of them are ever ‘just visiting’.
None of the family ever corrects them.)
***
Izumi’s first word is momma.
Her second is why?
Her third is how?
Such a curious child, with questions spinning and whirling behind her eyes too fast to keep up with. She babbles non-stop, not quite words falling from her lips quicker than anyone can keep up with, including herself.
She cries when the skulk can’t understand her. Cries when her thoughts move too quickly for her to keep up with. Cries when she’s frustrated, hungry, sad, happy—cries and cries and cries.
All children cry when they’re young, but Midoriya Izumi never gets the memo to stop.
It becomes her most favored form of communication. And when you live in a house half bursting with foxes who can smell the different chemicals in your tears and hear the stuttering of your heartbeat, it’s a terribly valid way to do things.
So she does just fine, all things considered.
***
For the first few years, foxes are normal for the most part. Human, except for perhaps the ears and tail.
It’s not until they’re older that the strength comes in, or the strange affinity for words and Promises. It’s not until they’re older that magic begins pressing down on them with a suffocatingly affectionate weight, possessive in all things it deems to own.
At least, it shouldn’t. But as with so many things, the fledgling curse the Midoriyas are under complicates everything it touches.
It’s a good thing Inko had already been planning to be a stay at home mother, because Izumi is barely a year old and dances with magic like they are old friends. It clings to her in a way it hasn’t touched any of the skulk in years. Not since the curse that was meant to kill them bound them all to their own land instead.
Izumi is the first child born to the Midoriya skulk in over twenty years, is the first child born as Shual Nephesh in even longer. She is the first of the seventh daughter of the seventh daughter—a legacy of batsheva. Perhaps she would have been strange and different no matter what. Would have had this unusual relationship with the world even without the curse twisting everything.
But they will never know, and it does not help to think of what-ifs.
Inko worries, because her daughter is bright and clever and beloved even for a fox. Magic clings to her daughter’s soul and fate waits in her shadow and Inko worries because it doesn’t matter how much They may love Their avatars. So many great heroes of myth and legend—demi-gods by name and not—have been dearly loved and still shattered under the weight of their destiny.
One day, Izumi will burn for that life, and Inko will be helpless to stop her.
But for now, Izumi is allowed to just be small, is allowed to be a child and there is nowhere else Inko would rather be. So Inko stays at the family home even when the skulk could take care of her daughter as she worked, and she watches with pride and affection as her little Izumi grows and grows and grows.
***
Sat on Auntie Umi’s lap, Izumi hums without a care in the world.
Her Auntie’s long riot of black curls is pulled up on top of her head, safely out of reach of Izumi’s curious hands. She twists them into the strings of beads hanging around her Auntie’s neck instead. There are dozens of them carefully beaded onto the strings, each one unique in size and shape and color.
As Izumi touches them she knows—not sure how or why, but she knows—that they are not normal beads. Her fingers jolt at their touch and if she looks close, she can see they shine with a light that no normal glass bead has.
Everyone in the family has some. Prettily coloured not-beads hanging from necks and wrists and ears.
Nona has the most of them all. Her arms jangle and clink with all the jewelry she carries, but her neck stays bare save for a simple choker twined around her throat.
She asks then, because she’s never been good at keeping her words or questions to herself. Never quite grasped the talent of being silent. All her ideas and thoughts are too big and too many to keep neatly tucked away inside her head.
Uncle Kyo says that’s going to get her into trouble someday. He says that a silent fox is a clever fox, but Izumi doesn’t think that sounds quite right. Her thoughts are all too loud to keep them all inside. Isn’t it cleverer to get them out?
But then, she thinks, maybe she’s just a bad fox.
“They’re Promises, little kit.” Auntie Umi carefully untangles her fingers from the strings before playfully nipping at them and making her laugh. “Favors and debts and prizes I’ve won fair and square.”
“Like in a game?”
“Yes. I suppose,” Auntie Umi smiles in that way Izumi knows means she only got it kind of right. “It is quite like a game.”
***
Once she’s old enough to walk around town, Izumi captures the townspeople's hearts with startling ease. They quickly grow used to having her underfoot, always running about and asking questions and seemingly unintentionally causing mischief wherever she turns.
She’s such a curious and bright child. Spends hours upon hours reading any book she can get her hands on. Her eyes are a constant flicker of green, taking in everything around her with a sharpness no toddler should have.
Watching, learning, remembering—gorging herself on knowledge of any kind.
The librarians start to recognize and dote on her, so ardent in her pursuit of knowledge. They regularly give her treats and gifts, things Izumi takes and then repays as quickly as possible by helping to reshelve books or run errands or speak to the pixies living in the shelves to give back what they took when someone loses something valuable.
(“You are not fae,” her Nona says, “so your actions and words do not bind you. But debts are power just the same. You’ll do well to remember to never let another hold power over you, sha’alabbin.”)
She’s the town darling and Inko gets many offers for babysitting if she ever needs it and play-dates with the few other kids around his age.
Izumi always comes back home with more beads on her arms when she plays with the other kids.
Inko watches as she puts every one on her left wrist, never looking at them again, and finds herself smiling for no reason she can discern.
***
Izumi has two names: the one she's allowed to tell people and the real one.
Well, they’re both real, she supposes. Just in distinctly different ways.
The secret one though—the one she’s never told anyone because it’s the one written on her soul—that one has power.
All names have power, of course. It’s why foxes have two and why The Good Neighbors are so careful to never speak their own and why demons have none, angelic names burned and lost in the Fall.
But the secret name Izumi holds close to her heart, always so careful to protect, that one has power all on its own. Only her mother and Nona know it. Her mother, because she gave it to her, and Nona because she is Matriarch, leader and protector of them all. It’s her right to know it, just as it is Izumi’s to do with as she pleases.
It’s an Olde Name. One that is written only in the hearts of storytellers and hidden quietly in the wishes of victims yet to be saved.
Anyone can understand what it means. Somewhere in the back of their minds where instinct and history live, they know this name. The translation, should one know the path they must walk for this truth, would be easy.
Savior.
***
Izumi is three and the weight of names, so ignorantly given, press behind her teeth like bile. Bitter and making her ache with holding them all in. She has dozens of beads on her left wrist, pretty and light and jangling with names she doesn’t want. Promises she didn’t earn.
Her mother tells her the humans don’t know what it is they give away, that they cannot begin to understand the Promises they make. She tells her that humans can’t feel the weight of Magic on their skin like she can.
Izumi thinks that’s very sad. Poor mortals, deaf even to the magic floating around them when they are already clueless to so much.
It makes her want to protect them. Keep them safe from those that would use their ignorance without thought. Those who would play malicious tricks and spit cruel taunts of their superiority.
She tells her mother this childish wish and watches her smile, even as it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“How tiny you are for such large ambitions,” she tells her and playfully taps her nose, causing it to wrinkle.
“I’ll grow!” Izumi insists, chest puffing out and tail fluffing to twice its normal size. “I’ll grow big and strong and I’ll be able to save everyone.”
“Yes,” her mom says, with that same sad smile. “Just like All Might, right?”
Izumi giggles and cheers at being compared to her hero, her idol, and in her chest, Inko’s heart remains steady. Because Inko has known this since Izumi was born. From that first moment her beautiful daughter had drawn breath, Inko had known. For all that Izumi seems too fragile and small now, one day…
One day Midoriya Izumi will be mighty.
***
There’s something strange about Izumi’s family.
She’s always known they aren’t quite normal, of course. Not by any human standard at least.
Half her family walks around with ears and tails most of the time and as brightly colored foxes for the rest. Lessons on illusions and glamours replace her bedtime stories and family time is always a mess of riddles and puzzles and languages that have never touched mortal lips.
So, no. Not normal, but there’s something else. Something no one ever speaks to her about.
She asks why she can’t go outside without hiding her tail and ears under the heady magics of a glamour, asks why she can’t speak about Nona and the outings they all have in the forest. Asks and asks and asks about why they must keep so many secrets. Why she always has to lie.
The only answer she ever really gets is: “So we can stay safe, sha’alabbin.”
Nobody ever tells her what they’re supposed to be staying safe from.
***
Tricksters—masters of illusion and rule-bending—are rarely ever held in place by bindings. Their magic is too slippery to be easily confined, unlike the proud dragons who hold magic in their throats or the rigid Nephilim, so solid in their convictions.
The magic of Shaalim Nephashoth twists and reshapes like smoke on the wind. Harmful magic passes through it, a natural defence for creatures who so often play pranks and tricks on important people.
It takes a powerful magic user to bind a fox. And even then, they don’t stay bound for long, too often wiggling out of their enchantments.
To subdue an entire skulk of foxes, well…
The Takanashi clan may have been powerful hunters in their own rights, backed by sheer numbers if not skill, but they were no Grand Coven. The Midoriya Skulk, once so powerful and great, may have been weakened and bound to their land, but they were far from dying husks the hunters aimed for.
Their forest did not become their tomb, and they did not run scared.
The Midoriya Skulk survived their attack and that was the last mistake the Takanashi Clan ever made.
You do not wrong the Yōkai. Not if you’re smart, not if you wish to live happily.
(Not if you wish to live.)
***
It happens like this.
Izumi is born quirkless.
Izumi is born quirkless and it’s not a surprise. It’s almost expected when there is too much other in her veins to leave room for something so distinctly human.
This does not, of course, mean she is powerless.
Izumi, as a child, is more acquainted with power than most adults. It winds around her greedily and floats at her shoulders. It is her birthright, is her to command and call upon and do with as she pleases in spite of the Hunters’ irritating magical barrier she only vaguely knows exists.
(She is Shual Nephesh. She is a Midoriya. She is a batsheva legacy.
There is little she will be unable to do if she wishes it.)
But quirks and the power she wields are not the same, and they do not easily pass for one another. The skulk still waits in the shadows and the few remaining Takanashis still lurk at the edges, waiting for them to make a mistake.
A too powerful child will draw attention they cannot afford. But a powerless child is just as noticeable in this age of petty beliefs and false demi-gods.
So they lie.
A month after Izumi turns four, Inko tells anyone who asks that her daughter has enhanced senses, a common ‘quirk’ in their family. “Her newly sensitive nose gave her away,” Inko says with an amused chuckle.
It’s all perfectly ordinary and perfect for hiding in plain sight.
It’s not perfect for being a hero.
Before, when Izumi babbled happily about saving everyone in Japan (because Inko hasn’t told her yet, hasn’t yet dared to explain this unbearable truth), she got pats on the head and hearty encouragement.
Now, when she tells anyone who’ll listen about her dream of being the best hero ever, she’s met with only pity.
“Oh,” they whisper behind their hands, “ that poor girl will never make it. That poor girl with the world in her heart will get herself killed because she’s not strong enough, not big enough, not powerful enough.”
Izumi hears them, because no one ever realizes how much she hears or how much she pays attention.
She hears their heartbeats stutter too. When they tell her they believe in her, that she can do it, that they’ll be cheering her on the whole way.
And Izumi doesn’t understand.
She is clever and smart and powerful but she’s still so young. She hears all of this and doesn’t understand. She wants to yell at them, wants to scream that she can. That she’s enough.
The truth burns on her tongue and Izumi wants to tell them everything so they’ll just stop.
She doesn’t. Instead, she swallows her words and bears the weight of it all. Every lie and pitiful look and useless piece of advice.
Izumi will be a hero. Whether anybody believes in her or not.
***
The townspeople aren’t mean and they aren’t cruel.
In fact, they’re very kind and Izumi loves them all in that way she adores all the best bits of humanity.
They aren’t cruel, but she thinks it might’ve been easier if they were. She thinks it would be easier to bear the disappointment of their lack of belief if they were hard-hearted and terrible.
But they aren’t.
And Izumi’s not sure how to feel about it.
***
She starts kindergarten with the ten other kids her age and finds she learns much faster than anybody else in her grade. Her small-town school can’t keep up with her hurricane mind.
They don’t let her skip kindergarten, because she’s meant to learn to socialize, but when she’s supposed to be starting first grade, they put her in a second-grade classroom instead. A spinning dervish of thoughts and ideas and questions half everyone’s size.
The second graders all call her Imouto-san and Izumi grins as she swings her feet beneath her too-big desk. No one else can see it, but Izumi’s tail wags fast enough to cause the wind to knock all of Hiro-san’s papers off his desk.
She apologizes, but can’t quite stop herself from doing it again.
***
Time moves on, and Izumi grows, but doesn’t change. Not really. Not in the ways that matter.
Magic still sings in her blood and sometimes, if she asks nicely and pays its price, it will do things for her. Not just glamours and charms but strange, impossible things that not even her Nona can do anymore.
(She is Shual Nephesh, is a Midoriya, is batsheva legacy, is fit to bursting with power. Sometimes, her Skulk wonders what she’d be like if not for the cage she’d been born into. Other times, they wonder if she's like that because of it, not in spite of.)
She’s still the town darling, sweet and kind enough to soften even Old Man Watanabe’s heart. She still cries and laughs often, and is still a bleeding heart.
It’s after school one day, when Izumi is walking home that she passes by the park. Normally, she cuts through the forest to get home instead of taking the main roads. That way she can run as fast as she likes without anyone asking questions.
But today was sunny and she wanted to enjoy it a little more. And, perhaps, she wanted to visit the Odd Shop on Main. Mrs Lily is always so nice and gives her new American sweets for free if she tells a joke—even if they're bad.
She's skipping passed the park gate when she notices it: harsh voices and the sound of someone being pushed over.
Her ears swivel automatically and her head follows a second later. When the scene registers, Izumi is already jumping over the tall fence, uncaring of who will see.
“Hey!” she yells, running full-tilt at the pair of third graders standing above Yashiro, one of her classmates. He was a soft-spoken kind of boy. Shy, but always nice to her even though she’s small and cries a lot.
The two older kids—twins she thinks, though she doesn’t know their names—turn to look at her. Their matching, glimmering insect wings buzz behind them in shock at her sudden arrival as she plants herself in front of Yashiro.
She puts her hands on her hips and tries to make the same face Nana Naoki makes when she’s particularly cross. “It’s not nice to push people,” she says scoldingly. “You should apologize.”
The twins look hesitant now that she’s standing there. It doesn't matter that she’s half their size and weighs about thirty-eight pounds soaking wet.
Everyone in town knows who she is.
And if, by some strange circumstance, they don’t, they know her family. The green hair and eyes can only mean one thing after all and, while no one is quite sure why, everyone knows better than to cross the Midoriyas.
(There’s just something about them, the air they carry, that makes one very careful to not provoke them.)
When neither twin makes any move to either leave or do as she says, Izumi hums meaningfully, the air around her turning stifling.
The girl grumbles, and glares over Izumi’s shoulder. “He should’ve stayed out of our way,” is all she says before grabbing her brother and stalking out of the park.
Izumi’s mouth twists, because that was not an apology, but she decides against going after them.
Yashiro has pulled himself to his knees and is gathering the things that fell from his book bag. Izumi kneels to help.
“Are you okay?” she asks. She doesn’t smell any blood and his heartbeat sounds normal, but it’s probably polite to ask anyway.
Yashiro looks at her, cheeks pink and shoulders hunched to his ears. “Yes, I- Thank you, Midoriya.”
She grins, handing him his pencil bag, newly refilled with all his pencils. “Anytime!”
***
It becomes a Thing.
The whole, ‘Izumi stepping in between schoolyard squabbles’ Thing.
It gets to the point that the other kids, older and younger, begin to expect her to step in. Because of course Izumi will help. She always does.
(Sometimes, she can even hear kids using the threat of her name to ward off bullies rather than saying they’ll tell a teacher. It makes something warm bloom in her chest every time.)
The arguments are never anything serious, and cases of bullying like with Yashiro and the twins are few and far between. The townspeople are good and so are all the kids, but they’re all still children. They get rowdy or into stupid fights over toys or someone accidentally fires off their quirk.
It doesn't quite matter how or why a situation pops up, because, for no real discernible reason, Izumi always finds herself stepping in the middle of it to play mediator.
Which is okay. She wouldn’t do it if she minded or anything—and it’s not like she can really stop herself either. She just… moves when she hears voices raised, like some strange sort of pavlovian response.
It’s not a problem. In fact, it’s great because Izumi is saving people, even if it’s only in small ways (but that's okay for now, she’ll work her way up to bigger ones) and the other townspeople have started to stop looking at her so pitifully.
And, well. It’s not quite what she wanted, and it’s not the reason she’s doing any of this anyway, but it feels… nice. Like a weight lifted from her shoulders she didn’t know was there.
***
Four months after it all becomes a Thing, Izumi gets into a fight.
Not on purpose, because she never seems to do these kinds of things on purpose, but she steps in the middle of an argument she probably shouldn’t have. It was bound to happen eventually.
The bigger boy, Daiki, has some impressive anger issues and a quirk that makes people around him just as angry as he is. She’s interrupted many altercations between him and some poor kid who accidentally set off his quirk. Normally, it takes only a few soothing words to calm them down.
Daiki is quick to anger, but equally quick to calm, if you know how.
And now, it seems, her luck has run out. The moment her mouth opens, Daiki is already screaming at her and the anger is just there. It burns, acidic and hot at the base of her throat.
She swallows it back and refuses to shout back. This is not the first time she’s been on the wrong end of his quirk, she knows how it works and she knows how to handle it.
That is, until he throws a punch at her.
Her head snaps to the side, cheek stinging with pain. She slowly turns back to Daiki, and for the first time in Izumi’s young life, she is furious.
Her eyes burn with unfamiliar rage. The taste of copper and iron sit heavy on her tongue. She bares her teeth in a ferocious snarl and Daiki steps back, suddenly afraid.
Later, she’ll feel unbearably sorry and embarrassed enough to spend an entire day making cookies with her mom to give to Daiki as an apology. But right now?
Right now, Izumi looks over this boy and finds him lacking. She looks at him through the haze of red and hears the rabbit-quick beating of his heart over the whispers of magic twinning at her fingertips and she leaps.
***
She gets in trouble, obviously.
But everyone knows her and they know Daiki’s quirk. They aren’t really mad at her for fighting, but they are mad at her for biting and scratching Daiki enough to draw blood and send him to the nurse.
(She fought dirty. Fought the only way she knew how, with her teeth and claws and wicked sharp mind. All Daiki had was his fists and anger.
He never stood a chance.)
Izumi cries after the haze of Daiki’s quirk falls away. Babbles apology after apology through the hot burn and hiccups of her tears. She didn’t want that to happen, didn’t want to hurt anyone like that.
When her mom comes to pick her up from the principal's office she looks disapproving. When they get home, Nona calls to see her and looks disappointed.
Izumi wants to burrow into the ground and never come back up.
When Nona asks why she had gotten into a fight like that, Izumi has to explain it all. Daiki’s quirk and the interrupting situations and stopping big kids from picking on little ones. She can’t tell what Nona’s thinking when she finishes and she doesn’t ask.
“A good fox,” her Nona says after a long moment, “is a smart fox.”
Nona doesn’t continue, but Izumi knows what she means anyway. She’s heard it her entire life.
A smart fox avoids fights.
A smart fox does not seek them out.
A smart fox does not fight for everyone.
A smart fox, when they absolutely must, only fights for themselves and what is theirs and nothing else.
Izumi, for all that she tries to be, is not a good fox.
But she knew that already. The whole skulk knew that.
She’s too loyal, too stubborn, cares too much and speaks too loud. She wants to be a hero. Wants to save everyone she meets and even the people she hasn’t.
There is a want, a need, that burns in her chest even know. It grows hotter each passing year as she watches all her favorite Heroes swoop in to save the day on the news.
In her heart of hearts, she knows one day she’ll be on that screen too. No matter how un-fox-like it is.
When Nona tells her only to fight for what is hers, Izumi does not argue and she does not barter.
She knows it will not get her anywhere.
Instead, Izumi says okay and takes every innocent person and helpless victim and tucks them in her heart as hers. She Promises to fight for them, Promises to win for them, Promises everything she has to strangers she has never and will never meet.
Izumi Promises herself to the world and, at the tender age of seven, a shackle twines itself around her right wrist. All the vicious intensity of her vow boiled into iron. Her impossible affection for the world made physical for everyone to see.
Her Nona sets her mouth in a firm line, but behind her, Izumi sees her mom smile. And for Izumi…
For Izumi that is enough.
***
She’s eight when she meets a boy with fireflies in his palms and caramel in his skin.
He moves into the house next door, almost half a mile down the road, and Izumi can hear him and his mother scream at each other for an hour before it suddenly stops, the sound of a door slamming echoing into the air.
The next day, the mom and boy show up on their porch.
Izumi answers the door.
***
Katsuki stares up at the looming, old house and glares.
He didn’t want to be here in this stupid, nowhere town with a bunch of useless nobodies.
He wanted to be back at his old school, where everyone told him how great he was and always did what he said. Here, in this stupid small town, there were barely even any kids to order around.
It made Katsuki angry.
But the Old Hag and his Pops didn’t seem to care. He yelled and cried and demanded to stay and they still just packed him up and moved out to this stupid house that’s apparently been in his mom’s family for generations.
It looked old and smelled like mothballs.
Katsuki hated it.
He hated it and his stupid weirdo grandfather for dying and telling them in his will that they had to live here. What did it matter to his grandfather? He was dead!
Katsuki is alive and almost nine years old and it’s the end of the world.
“Oh,” the Old Hag says in surprise when the door opens. “Hello there, cutie.”
Standing at the open door is, instead of some adult, a fluffy green-haired girl almost an entire head shorter than himself and absolutely covered in freckles. She’s half-hidden behind the door and keeps looking between him and his mom rapidly.
Katsuki glares at her, baring his teeth in the hopes she’ll run away scared like all the other girls from his school did.
Instead, she just blinks at him and beams, sunshine bright and delighted.
It doesn’t get better from there.
***
Izumi stares at the boy with fireflies in his palms and can’t help but think this. This is what she's been waiting for. This boy with power bursting from skin too small to hold it all and Fate clinging at his heels.
This boy who’s like me in all the ways no one else has ever been.
The boy, Bakugou Katsuki, does not think so. In fact, he doesn’t seem to like Izumi at all.
Izumi tries not to take the yelling and insults personally. Katsuki is upset and sad and on unfamiliar land with people he doesn’t know. Izumi would be scared too.
When she says that to Katsuki, she only gets shoved to the ground by blisteringly hot palms.
“I’m not scared, idiot!” His heartbeat stutters in his chest. “Stay away from me!”
So Izumi does. For a little while, at least.
She gives him a week.
***
For all his screamed insults and crude personality, Izumi finds there’s much more hiding beneath the surface of one volatile Bakugou Katsuki.
Her first glimpse is when he walks into her fourth-grade classroom despite him being her age. Izumi grins at him when he enters, eyes bright as he takes the seat in front of her. He’s smart, apparently. Smart enough to skip a grade like her, or perhaps just hard-working enough to overcompensate.
Izumi watches him throughout class, sees the way he takes notes and asks questions, and thinks that, perhaps, it’s a combination of the two.
***
He wants to be a Hero like her.
Wants to fight and win and beat back the darkness with his fists and teeth and sheer tenacity.
It’s different from what she thought a Hero should be. And different still from the kind of Hero she wants to be.
Battle versus rescue.
An image of unyielding victory versus the quiet surety of hope Izumi wants to spread.
This new side of heroics fascinates her and she can’t help asking about it. She wants to know everything and asks question after question, barely pausing to breathe.
“Holy fuck,” he exclaims, causing Izumi’s eyes to go wide. “Do you ever shut up?”
She opens her mouth and closes it. Then, “No. Not really.”
His scowl is the kind that curdles milk and perhaps Izumi should be offended or scared or any type of normal reaction, but instead, she just grins and offers to share some of her sour gummies. He takes them all, snapping his teeth at her like he expects her to protest but she only laughs.
Katsuki is sharp and feral like the cats in the forest and Izumi thinks perhaps it’s just that he’s never been shown the right kind of kindness. She knows better than anyone how an environment shapes a person.
There’s a whisper in the air when Izumi looks at him, a voice just at the edge of her hearing. It tells her to pay attention. Pay attention to this half molded boy standing at the crossroads of destiny. Pay attention to him because he’s going to be important.
And, well. If that's true then Izumi is hardly going to let his bad mood chase her away.
***
Katsuki holds out for an entire month before Izumi’s constant giggling laughs and habit of following him around town wears him down. The other kids are stupid and don’t like how he yells. They don’t do as he says and that pisses him off so he yells more and the cycle starts all over again.
So, Katsuki decides that even practically useless, annoying, Izumi is better than no friends at all.
***
“Why do you do that?” he asks her angrily one day, a few weeks into their friendship—not that Katsuki will call it that.
She’s climbing down from a tree, kitten held in her arms and she stares at him in confusion, head tilted to the side.
“Do what?”
“That!” he says as she happily passes the kitten to the preschooler he belonged to. She waves the toddler off with a grin while Katsuki fumes at her side. “You’re always sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, doing stupid things for everybody and running around town like a chicken with its damn head cut off. Why?”
She’s always running off. Always so busy because she’s agreed to help this person or do that thing. Doesn’t she ever just stop?
Izumi blinks, before thinking over the question carefully.
“Why do you want to be a Hero?”
Katsuki glares, mouth already opening to demand a real answer, not a stupid question to his question, but Izumi speaks over him. “No. Really think, Katsuki. You say you want to win and be the best, but you could do that in any job. If you like fighting, you could be an MMA fighter, or a bounty hunter, or even join the military. Become a colonel or something, the youngest ever. But you don’t want to do that. You wanna be a Pro Hero. Why?”
She- He doesn’t- That isn’t-
Katsuki glares at her when he can’t come up with an answer. Saying he wants to be better than All Might sounds childish, and… it’s not really what Izumi’s asking anyway. He’ll look stupid if that’s what he says.
But, he doesn’t know the answer to the question she asked either. He’s just… always known that’s what he’d do, from the very first moment he’d learned what a Hero was. He never bothered with anything else, never bothered to question why.
Izumi just stares at him, her gaze digging into him with burning intensity like none of his secrets or thoughts are safe from her.
“The answer isn’t in your head or your fists, you know,” she says, looking away to pick up her bright yellow bag covered in Hero stickers and pins. When she turns back, her eyes are filled with a secretive light. She pokes his chest lightly. “It’s in there.”
***
Katsuki’s unusually quiet for the next three days.
She worries that she messed up, that she may have pushed Katsuki too far too fast.
But then she sees him climb a tree, just to pick the brightest apple to give to a little girl. And hold the door for the people behind him instead of slamming it shut. And immediately move to pick up the rest of Old Man Watanabe’s groceries that she can’t carry herself.
It’s such small acts of kindness, but it’s all things he hadn’t been doing before. He grumbles and shouts and rages the entire time he does them, but he wouldn’t be Katsuki if he wasn’t acting like he was angry.
Izumi can tell he’s pleased though when Old Man Watanabe thanks them. Hears his heart trip over the lie when he says he doesn’t give a damn what the old man thinks, causing the two temperamental blonds to begin squabbling like a couple of old fishwives.
(Izumi tried hiding her giggles behind her hand, but she doesn’t think she succeeded since Katsuki started yelling at her too.)
***
It isn’t long before Katsuki becomes Kacchan and Izumi becomes Izu or nerd or crybaby or a thousand other throw away, half-insulting nicknames.
Katsuki bears his nickname with as much elegance he can muster—which isn’t a lot—while Izumi always seems so delighted by hers. Even the insulting ones.
Katsuki never quite understands her obsession with nicknames, with being so very careful about introducing herself. The third time Izumi tries explaining the power of names without giving away magic and skulks and the world hidden in the stars that she’ll never get to share with her best friend—and the fourth time she’s cried over it—she gets a determined look in her eye.
The next moment, both her hands are on Katsuki’s chest, right above that soft place where your ribs begin to fall away, vulnerable and warm. The pressure she applies is firm and ungentle.
There is nothing gentle about what she plans to do next.
Katsuki doesn’t have a second name, not like Izumi does. He wears his soul on his sleeve and that terrifies Izumi so she’s going to fix it.
***
The thing about a name, is that it’s not just what someone calls you.
A name is a brand upon your soul. A name is the story that your entire being is dedicated to writing. A name is the culmination of everything that you were, that you are, that you will ever be.
It is the key that unlocks you, that most easily makes you vulnerable.
Izumi places her hand over that key, tenderly grabs that thing inside Katsuki that makes him all that he is, was, will ever be, and then she rips it from its lock. She takes her first true friend and reforges him into something else, something better, something he was always meant to be.
Katsuki screams for only a moment. And then…
The fireflies in his palms turn to stars.
***
Bakugou Katsuki has two names.
The first one, is the one he was born with, the one he’s told everyone his entire life was his name.
The other is the one his strange, otherworldly best friend burns into him at the tender age of eight years old.
It’s an Olde Name. One that is painted across cave walls in human blood and tucked neatly behind the teeth of every battlefield corpse.
Anyone can understand what it means. Somewhere in the back of their minds where instinct and history live, they know this name. The translation, if one was willing to sacrifice for such knowledge, would be easy.
Warrior.
***
After, Izumi whispers her own name in his ear.
Her other name, the one she should never tell unless she’s absolutely sure she can trust them.
(Because it is an Olde name. Because she is batsheva legacy. Because she is the youngest Midoriya. Because there is too much power in her chest to be so careless with her name even if it’s her right to do with as she pleases.)
But Izumi knows she can trust Kacchan because he’s Kacchan. If she could’ve, she might’ve waited longer to tell him. Until her birthday maybe or after she convinced him to stop handing his name out to anyone who asks.
But things changed and she grew impatient. She knows his name—chose his name. It’s only fair he knows hers too.
Katsuki doesn’t quite know what it means to be given this gift, just like he doesn't quite know what it is Izumi did to him, but he promises to guard it all the same.
***
The pair are practically attached at the hip after that.
It’s something no one in town ever saw coming. In fact, they all half-believed the two would end up killing each other—or, more likely, that Katsuki would eventually kill Izumi.
It’s practically a miracle. By all accounts, the two should have crumbled under the weight of their volatile differences. Two opposites that never should have mixed coming together and working in a way no one can quite explain.
Where Izumi—strange, selfless, little Izumi—prefers to use her mind and heart to solve the problems she’s always running at without a second thought, Katsuki, her ever-present shadow, uses his fists and sharp tongue as his opening move. A bleeding heart shoved in the center of a human explosion.
For every insult Katsuki sees fit to fling, Izumi is right behind him with an apology and kind words as if she was created to temper the blond.
For all the times Izumi is too caught up in her own mind, thoughts too loud and emotions too high and all the variables too much, Katsuki is there to snap her out of it with easy decisions and barked orders.
They ebb and flow around one another. An ever-present push and pull between the two that sparks up into stubborn drive and exuberant competition. For all their differences, there are some places where they're just too similar. But it’s those that allow them to function as a unit at all.
A yin and yang, balanced and opposing and complimentary all rolled into one relationship.
Izumi becomes the filter through which Katsuki can interact with the world. She understands him in a way few can, can read him and speaks his language and know when he’s just posturing to save face. And in turn, Katsuki becomes the flame and gasoline made to keep Izumi running, keep moving forward, keep reaching and growing and building.
The townspeople grow used to the two of them running around and causing havoc. Rarely a day goes by without hearing of a new situation the pair have somehow roped themselves into.
But if asked, they can all agree. One day…
One day those kids will be extraordinary.
***
Time passes. Katsuki turns nine with little fanfare while the whole town pitches in for Izumi’s celebration.
When they both turn ten, Izumi ignores the months between their birthdays and celebrates them together so Katsuki can have a big party too. (She still gets another one on her actual birthday, but it was the thought that counted.)
At ten years old, Katsuki refuses to admit that Izumi is the best friend he’s ever had. Everyone can see it, but he never says it out loud.
At ten years old, Izumi knows it anyway so it doesn't really matter. His heart tells her it every time it stutters around the words ‘I hate you.’
At ten years old, both Izumi and Katsuki are looking towards the stars, eager and excited for what the future has in store.
At ten years old, All Might disappears from the public eye, and Izumi feels something hollow settle in her stomach.
***
I used a lot of Hebrew words to describe the foxes and endearments. I did this because it's a pretty language and is honestly not used enough. I do not speak Hebrew but tried to keep it as accurate as possible.
TRANSLATIONS: sha’alabbin: sly fox batsheva: "bat" is daughter, "sheva" is the number 7, so it literally means "7th daughter." Shual Nephesh: "shual" is fox, "nephesh" is literally translated as a soul but is also referenced as living beings/sentient creations. kinda like spirits. Shaalim Nephashoth: plural form of the above
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Defenseless Ch. 1
Synopsis: CJ Jackson, looks like she has it all. Fancy car, fancy house, name brand clothing. Her parents, top boosters to Beverly, with money to make all sorts of situations go away. As well as the Jackson family looks put together, past secrets haunt them. With the new transfer student catching the eye of CJ Jackson, can old friendships be fixed. Or are somethings just meant to stay broken. "I told you, as long as I live, no one would know."
word count: 3.4k
pairing: Jordan Baker x OC (CJ Jackson)
warnings: cursing, talk of death, talk of drug addiction, talk of a juvenile being in trouble, high school boys being high school boys
It was like a heavy cement blocks were tied to her feet. She moved slowly towards the front doors of the place that reminded her of a prison, but with nicely dressed inmates. People passed by her, and just ignored her presence, something she wasn't used to at all. She was used to people flocking to her sides, begging for a party invite, or to be in her next photo shoot, or to be the next guy on her list, or just one dinner with anyone of her brothers. But now, she was blended into the background, like she never existed.
Somehow, she made her way to the front office, just in time for the first bell to ring. It was her first day back, and already half way through the first semester. She had just been released only a week prior to this bright and early Monday morning. Her brown boxbraids were tied back and out of her face. Her makeup was done to perfection, and her clothes; nicely pressed and matched well. She'd rather be dead than look a mess for her first day back.
"Christine Joy Jackson, I'm here to pick up my schedule." She spoke softly to the secretary. The secretary with bright red cat-eye glasses nodded, and pulled out a file, handing a pink piece of paper to CJ.
"You are to meet with Mrs. Riley first, before heading to your classes." The secretary nodded and CJ rolled her eyes, "Welcome back CJ."
"Thank you," CJ sighed and headed down to the office of her favorite person.
CJ made her way down to the east end of the school, where she was too familiar with being in the In-School suspension office. She knocked on the brown wooden door that was covered in papers for recovery centers, planned parenthood, adoption counselors, and local community colleges.
"Come in!" The voice from the other side called out. CJ took a deep breath before opening the door, and seeing Mrs. Riley behind the door. Her dark brown hair was curled and her skin looked flawless. That woman looked like she didn't age a day, but she also meant business, "My favorite parolee, CJ Jackson."
"Mrs. Riley," The teen girl sassed, setting her bag down in the chair next to her, and plopping her body in a chair, "Instructed to see you first."
"Yeah, just some parole stuff," Mrs. Riley said, grabbing a folder out of her desk, and setting in front of CJ. The folder was dauntingly big and felt like it could start a fire at any moment, "As you know, I am your parole officer, lucky for you or not. But know that I don't play around about any of this."
"This ain't my first go around with you."
"Ain't is not a word, now speak like your momma raised you." Mrs. Riley said and CJ rolled her eyes and sat back in her chair, "You are on parole for approximately 90 days, as a term of early release from your juvenile detention program. Terms of your parole include, attendance of school is mandatory, unless an absence notice from a doctor. You must check in with your parole officer everyday at 8 AM sharp, and do not be late. You will pass all administered drug tests, and random drug tests can be done as well. Another term of parole is being involved in not only in community service, but as well as a school activity. Your parents have suggested the dance team."
"Over my dead body." CJ laughed loudly.
"Christine Joy, these are the terms unless you would like to serve out the rest of the 90 days in a juvenile detention center." Mrs. Riley said, giving CJ one of her famous glares. A glare that felt like getting the fear of God put in you.
"No ma'am." CJ answered quickly.
"Good, you have till the end of this week to find a school activity. The community service project will be decided for you. Now you'll sign some stuff and be on your way." Mrs. Riley said smiling and handing CJ some papers for her to sign.
CJ's shoes clicked down the corridor as she made her way to her first class, anatomy. The teacher had already started teaching when, CJ opened the door. Eyes fell to her, and immediately the whispers started. The girl swallowed thickly and handed her note to her teacher. She quickly scanned the classroom for an open seat, and found one next to an unknown face.
"All right, listen up, I want you all to do a search on chromosomal DNA and make a slide on how it connects with last week's work on protein." The teacher said. Everyone automatically opened up their laptops sitting in front of them. CJ grabbed her's out her bag and set it in front of her too. The new kid looked around, uneasy about what he was supposed to do. He didn't have a laptop of his own to use, he usually shared one with his mother and younger brother.
"Spencer, right?" The teacher asked, coming over to him. He lifted his head and looked at the teacher, nodding.
"Yes ma'am."
"It's okay if you don't have a computer. Just pair up with a classmate for now."
"Okay, thank you." Spencer said and CJ looked up at him. Spencer tried looking at the boy next to him, who just moved his computer closer to himself.
"Hey, Todd. Keep watching that Logan Paul feed." CJ said to him.
"Whatever, CJ." Todd said and Spencer looked up at the light-skinned girl.
"Uh. . . you can share with me." CJ said lightly, and Spencer nodded. He moved his stuff over to where she was sitting.
"Thank you," Spencer said.
"I'll warn you, my chromosomal DNA knowledge is non-existent at best. And it's also my first day in this class."
"I might be able to help with that." Spencer laughed lightly and CJ moved her laptop in between the two of them. The two of them worked on their assignment, occasionally having to ask the teacher about what some of it meant, since it was both of their first days in the new class. CJ felt like eyes were watching her, and she turned around and noticed an old friend in class. CJ turned back to her assignment and kept her head down, not wanting to draw anymore attention.
When the bell rang, CJ offered to show Spencer to where the cafeteria is. Spencer was thankful that someone besides his new football coach wanted to show him around. CJ was just thankful to have found someone new at the school who hadn't known of her reputation.
"Salad bar, coffee cart." CJ said pointing at various locations in their center quad, "They used to serve sushi on Fridays, not sure if they still do."
"Sushi on Friday? At Crenshaw, we get sushi on Monday, that's all." Spencer joked and CJ laughed.
"Smart, and funny. I'm impressed." CJ said turning to him. But Spencer paused, and his eyes went to a beautiful tall, light skinned girl. CJ shifted uncomfortably as the girl made her way into the quad. Of course Spencer noticed her, she was beautiful and by far the most popular girl in Beverly. A spot that CJ once claimed.
"Layla Keating, Beverly Hills resident sweetheart." CJ said to Spencer, "Dad's some big-time record producer. And I heard they spend every Thanksgiving with the Obamas. And rumor has it, she even smoked pot with Malia last year."
"You must be Spencer," a familiar voice said from behind them. CJ turned and saw the star football player, Jordan Baker walk over to the pair, "Jordan Baker, QB, team captian."
"Baker?" Spencer asked, "Oh so you must be-"
"Yeah, coach is my dad. I'll take it from here, CJ." Jordan said and CJ nodded walking away from the two football players, "Come on, let me introduce you to the team."
"Hey, thanks for the tour." Spencer said before CJ could get too far away from him. She smiled at the Crenshaw boy, and looked down at her shoes.
"Yeah," She said quietly.
"Sushi on Friday?" Spencer asked, and CJ nodded.
"It's a date!" CJ agreed. Spencer looked the Jackson girl up and down before heading off behind Jordan. CJ cringed at the words that she said, before going off to find a table to herself, away from the stares and rumors about herself. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"No, I saw her. Like with my eyes. CJ Jackson is back at Beverly." Asher Adams said to the group of friends as they ate lunch.
"I thought she had like a whole year left?" Hadley said, as she picked at her salad in her lap.
"Daddy's money can get you out of anything." Lucy said giggling, "Bold of her to come back after the shit show she created with everything."
"She's lucky she didn't get more time. Heard Mrs. Baker showed up at the trial and basically bailed her ass out. She was gonna get at least 15 to life," Asher said, embellishing the story a little bit.
"Now that's excessive." JJ said and Asher rolled his eyes.
"She's basically a murderer!" Asher exclaimed.
"No one even knows what she did exactly, maybe she was supposed to get out this early any way." Layla said, trying to defend her close friend.
"So. . . did she have an ankle bracelet? A tear drop tattoo?" JJ joked causing Asher, Lucy and Hadley to laugh. Layla rolled her eyes and picked at her food, as Jordan walked up to the group with handsome young man she had seen earlier.
"Meet the crew," Jordan said as he pointed out different members of the friend group, "This is Hadley, Layla, and up top, Lucy, JJ and Asher." Each of them shook Spencer's hand and Jordan took a seat next to his girlfriend Hadley. He greeted her with a kiss, and took his backpack off.
"I think you and Asher play the same position." JJ said as Spencer took a seat next to Layla.
"What's up, man?" Asher said trying to seem welcoming.
"Oh, receiver, huh?" Spencer asked him.
"Yeah, broke the school record for receptions last year." He said boasting about the accomplishment.
"Me, too." Spencer said and Asher just nodded his head, not saying a word.
"So, how are you liking Beverly so far?" Layla asked Spencer.
"It's okay, I guess." Spencer said smiling up at the girl. Asher looked between the new receiver and his girl questioningly, not liking how nice she was being to him.
"I know it probably feels like lost footage or rich kids from Instagram, but it's not so bad once you give it a chance." Layla said honestly, her browns eyes drifting across the quad to where CJ sat, alone and with a book in her hand.
"I'm sure it'll grow on me." Spencer responded.
"So lay it on me," Asher said breaking up the conversation between them, "Crips or Bloods?"
"Excuse me?" Spencer asked him. Hadley looked questioningly at Jordan and then at Asher, who continued talking, digging himself an even bigger grave.
"I'm dying to check out a Crip walk for real." Asher said putting his arm around Layla, "I've only seen one on YouTube."
"Yo, yo, he's just joking man. Ignore him," Jordan said trying to fix Asher's mistake.
"Asher, you wouldn't know a Crip walk if it bit you in the damn white ass." JJ joked, causing everyone to laugh but Spencer, who was feeling offended by his new teammate.
"Nah, that didn't sound like a joke to me, bro." Spencer said looking at Jordan. The group grew quiet and looked at each other as Asher tried to defend himself.
"Don't be so sensitive."
"Sensitive?" Spencer asked, standing up angrily. All the groups eyes were on Spencer as he grabbed his backpack and pulled it over his shoulder, "Hey, yo, thanks for the welcome." He said as he walked away from the group. His brown eyes scanned the quad, and found a familiar face sitting alone, reading a book. Spencer sat down across from CJ, startling her out of the reading trance that she was in.
"Sorry for scaring you." He said genuinely.
"No, thanks for scaring me. Too entranced into the world of The Field Party series to even notice anything." CJ said, setting her book down. Spencer reached across the table and picked up the book, reading the back of it.
"A small southern town filled with cute boys, pickup trucks, Friday Night football games, and crazy parties to stir up some major drama," Spencer said reading the back of the book out loud, "Can't get enough drama at high school, you need to read about it?"
"It's different to read about it than to live it. Besides, if my parents didn't land here after my dad's retirement, I could've grown up, going to these crazy field parties in so called, Lawton Alabama."
"It makes sense now, Chris Jackson the 3rd, your dad. . ."
"Receiver for the Chiefs, before retiring in 2015, that's the one." CJ said, "And now coach for the LA chargers."
"Wow, that's crazy. I wanted to play under him if he was at Bama, but-"
"Hey!" Layla said, sitting down next to Spencer, "Christine,"
"Layla. I'll see you around, Spencer." CJ said, gathering her stuff and moving tables. Part of her agreement to herself to get better, was not hanging around her old group. CJ still had an hour left for lunch, and went to the only place where she felt welcome in this school.
CJ knocked on the door and waited for the welcome in. The door opened and CJ held up her brown paper lunch sack and had a shy smile on her face, "Can i eat here?" She asked.
"You're always welcome in here, CJ." Mrs. Riley said, and shut the door behind her. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was a long pep talk to get CJ to even walk into the girls locker room, and to the dance coach's office. It was an even longer one to get her to open the door and talk to the coach. The coaches and teachers had known about the terms of CJ's parole, and knew that they had to give her a fair chance at trying out for the team.
"Alright, let's see what you can do. You'll learn the dance, and then me, and the other coach, and the captain will give you a mock tryout, and see how you do," The coach, Mrs. Williams said to CJ, "Go get changed, Hadley will give you a uniform."
Hadley stood outside the door, and walked CJ to an open locker. She handed CJ a new uniform and waited for her to change.
"Hey listen,. . ." Hadley started but CJ slammed her locker shut and looked at Hadley, "How are you?"
"How am I?"CJ said looking at the girl who was once her friend, "That's all you have to say to me, after what I went through?"
"CJ, listen, I'm so sorry for what. . ."
"It wasn't your fault, now let me go to practice, since I have to prove to everyone I still deserve to be on a team that I helped build up from literally nothing." CJ said and pushed passed Hadley to the gym. The girl sighed, and could at least tell her friend group that she tried to talk to her.
CJ tied her box braids back, and stretched on the floor with the rest of the team. The girls would stare at her and whisper occasionally, but CJ tried her best to ignore it. Hadley sat down across form where CJ was stretching and faced her. She began stretching too, and CJ just looked at her.
"What are you doing?" CJ asked her.
"Stretching with my captain." She answered and touched her toes with her arms out straight.
"I'm not the captain anymore." CJ shrugged and pulled her legs into the butterfly stretch.
"Well, you and I both know you can out dance Emily Pierce any day."
"She's the captain, oh my god who let that happen?" CJ said and wrinkled her face in disgust.
"Well after your mom stepped down as the head coach, Mrs. Williams took over. Hence why EP is the captain."
"Alright ladies!" Emily Pierce's voice rang out over the gym. CJ groaned and stood up, fixing the black spandex on her body, "We are going to run through Countdown and then learn the new dance. So places!" Everyone moved to their places except CJ, who stood in the back, "Oh CJ, you can um. . . stand next to Hadley."
CJ nodded and stood next to Hadley in the front. When the music started, CJ remembered the dance from the year before. She started moving in the familiar moves that she knew, and obviously caught the eye of the captain who stopped the music almost immediately.
"What are you doing?" Emily asked her.
"My dance, this is my dance."
"Not anymore, this is my dance. I changed things after you up and got yourself arrested. Now stand in the back and follow the group." Emily said and CJ nodded her head and moved to the back.
For the rest of the rehearsal, CJ was quiet and stood in the back, following the moves the Emily was teaching the group, even though she hated every second of it. When practice was dismissed, she was the first in the locker room, taking her uniform off and shoving it into her dance bag. She slammed her locker shut and stormed out of the locker room, running straight into a hard, muscular body.
"Hey, watch-" "I'm so sorry." They both said at the same time. CJ looked up at Jordan Baker, the one person she didn't want to see.
"CJ, you good?" Jordan asked. He could see the red lining of her eyes and nose, as she was about ready to cry.
"Ignore me like you have been the whole day, Baker. I'm fine." CJ said and pushed away from Jordan. She was thankful that her father was waiting at the front of the school. CJ ran down the steps and into her brother who was waiting for her. He engulfed her in a tight hug, and ran his through her hair as she cried. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
That night, at the Baker household, Jordan walked up to his mom, who was unloading groceries into the fridge. He hadn't ever asked his mother about why she took CJ's case, even after everything she had done to his family. But now, that CJ was back at Beverly and constantly running into things in his life. Hadley had said that she seemed civil at dance practice, but Jordan didn't trust whatever CJ was trying to do.
"Hey, Mom." Jordan said.
"Yes, hun?" Laura said and closed the fridge.
"Why did you take CJ Jackson's case?" He asked.
Laura paused a minute and sighed, "I can't discus that with you. Why? What's going on? She try and contact you or Olivia again?"
"No, even worse, She's back at Beverly. Rumors are going around that she got released early."
"And they let her back at Beverly, after all the things she had done?" Laura asked surprised, "Guess money really does get you things."
"Mom," Jordan said somewhat defending his ex-friend, "You know that's not true. Hadley said that she's trying to get her spot back on the dance team, and that she seemed to change."
"Listen to me Jordan, girls like that, who strive off of their parents success and money, don't change. I. . . I defended CJ Jackson because her parents asked me too." Laura said honestly, "CJ didn't want a lawyer or attorney. She plead guilty and was ready for her charge. If you ask me, she should've gotten those 15 years. She is and was guilty for that boy's death, there' no doubt in my mind."
Jordan looked down at his shoes and didn't say anymore. He turned on his heel and walked back up to his room. He hated the feeling that was settled in his chest. He so much wanted to fight against what his mother was saying about CJ. Jordan was one of the only friends in his group to believe CJ. He was also the only Baker who believed her too.
#all american#all american cw#all american imagine#jordan baker#jordan baker imagine#spencer james#asher adams#olivia baker#jordan baker x reader
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1011
1. Five facts about your current relationship OR five facts about your single life.
a) I haven’t been truly single in...around 6 years, so it’s been a bit of an adjustment.
b) It was my last day as an intern yesterday (but they hired me, so I’m staying after all, haha) and since I’ve felt like I gained a family in the last two months, I thought it would be okay to give professionalism a break and share what had actually been going on with me on my first day on the job, aka when the breakup was still fresh and I was still figuring out how to function all over again. It unsurprisingly surprised everyone and my superior said something like, “Omg it’s the [company name] curse; it’s so strong it broke you guys up before you even got hired” which got a laugh out of me.
c) I’m not interested in seeing other people.
d) Probably wouldn’t be, for a long time. My trust has been irreparably broken.
e) Seeing couples in public has now become annoying. I’m happy for them, but it’s still annoying.
2. Five facts about a past relationship.
a) I’ve known her since kindergarten, but we didn’t become friends till 7th grade and didn’t start dating until junior year of high school.
b) We were legal with her family and her parents loved me and I them. On the other hand, I was never able to come out to my family because she broke up with me before I could be able to do so.
c) She introduced me to vaping.
d) We were never able to truly travel together, which we always planned to do after graduating. The farthest we reached was Batangas.
e) She never knew where she wanted to eat whenever we were out, so I was mostly the one who decided which restaurant we were going to have lunch or dinner in.
3. Five facts about your mother.
a) She has always worked in hotels, which is great because it has always allowed us to get room and buffet discounts, heh.
b) Her family (aka my grandparents, her, and my uncles) struggled financially for a little bit when my grandpa lost his job when she was in college. When her friends would go to fast-food restaurants, my mom would always decline, saying she had schoolwork to finish. In reality she just couldn’t afford anything, and the only money she held was for public transport.
c) She is a little childish considering her age, and I cannot stand her petty tantrums. She was childish even when I was a kid, and I believe my emotional well-being suffered because of that.
d) She has a high pain tolerance and the only time I’ve seen her struggle was when she was getting a tattoo on the back of her shoulder.
e) She is also extremely religious and it especially grinds my gears when she gets hypocritical about it, which is just about all the time.
4. Five facts about your father.
a) He has only ever dated my mom.
b) He grew up extremely poor and at some point his parents actually stopped being able to afford his tuition. Instead of being kicked out, a few nuns who served in the school paid my grandparents a visit and told them my dad would be given a scholarship since he had good grades and it would have been a waste if he got expelled.
c) He was a dancer in high school, knows how to play the guitar, and he also apparently knows how to draw very well. There’s a lot I don’t know about him, considering he has worked abroad my whole life.
d) He breaks or loses his reading glasses once every few months. I know which parent I definitely take after.
e) I have never seen him cry.
5. Five facts about your sibling. If you have more than one, pick one. Or do them all!
a) She had problems crying in school until she was in around 2nd or 3rd grade.
b) She’s in college and is currently taking up digital filmmaking.
c) She’s the biggest introvert I know. I’ve never seen her be willing to do anything silly; not even with her friends.
d) She can’t handle spicy food.
e) Her main interests have shifted from Harry Potter, to One Direction, to 5SOS, and now K-pop. I believe she’s into Seventeen the most.
6. Five facts about your town.
a) The upper part of the city offers amazing views of the Metro Manila skyline, which has recently made the place a kinda popular nightlife destination.
b) There’s a lot of hidden gem restaurants here but because most people spend more time complaining about how far my city is and how difficult it is to get to than actually just making the damn ride over here, the restaurants stay hidden and uncrowded. Their loss.
c) Used to be massively underdeveloped for most of my childhood and teenage years. Now there are several malls and I can easily go to a McDonald’s, Burger King, and Starbucks right outside our village.
d) Because you basically have to drive through a mountain to get to the upper part of the city, it’s not the safest highway and fatal crashes are unfortunately common.
e) The city is known for its suman, except I hate Filipino rice cakes and this actually doesn’t do anything for me.
7. Five facts about your house.
a) It used to have a balcony until we had that transformed into another bedroom. So technically it is still a balcony; it just hasn’t had that purpose for a while now.
b) My mom used a little cheat in our dining room and installed a huge wall mirror. Most people visiting for the first time always note how much larger it made the room (and thus the house) look.
c) I live in a neighborhood where the houses are of the same model and look (think the Squidville episode from Spongebob). That said, balconies are included in all properties. When my parents decided to renovate ours and turn it into a room, so many houses slowly followed suit as well. It was amusing to see it unfold, knowing the idea undoubtedly originated from us. It was like a revolution.
d) We don’t have a gate, which irritates me to no end because it allows noisy neighborhood kids to just march and run around our property. Sometimes they even make it to our carport and backyard, ugh. :(
e) Speaking of backyard, the landscaping for it used to be a pebble mosaic designed to look like a swan. But over the years the quality deteriorated, so my parents to opted to have the pebbles crushed into tiny rocks and embedded onto the ground. I don’t exactly know what this technique is called, but yeah.
8. Five facts about your niece or nephew. If you have more than one, pick one. Or do them all! Skip if you don’t have one. I don’t have any, but I do have a godson so I’m going with him as I don’t want to leave any section blank.
a) He was born sometime in December. I honestly don’t remember when, loooooool. Worst godmother ever.
b) He’s actually one of my first cousins, but I guess my aunt saw something in me and wanted me to be his godson. I’ve been a terrible one, though; I’ve never bought him gifts or money or anything – to be fair, I was made a ninang when I was like, 14 or 15 lmao. But I can definitely make up for it now that I’m starting to earn my own money.
c) He’s the calmer, sweeter version of his older brother. His kuya was a pretty naughty kid when he was his age.
d) He mainly speaks English, as how most younger parents raise their kids these days. He understands Filipino of course, but he mostly communicates in English.
e) The last time I saw him, he was in the middle of a ridiculously adorable interviewing phase where he’d approach anyone in the family and start asking them a series of questions: what’s your favorite color? What food can’t you live without? What’s your favorite subject in school? Would you rather win $1 million dollars or know how to fly? It typically got exhausting after the 25th question, but it was so cute nonetheless. None of us have any idea where it came from.
9. Five facts about your education.
a) I went to a private, all-girls, Catholic school from kinder up to high school, and then moved to a public, co-educational, non-sectarian university for college. It was the very epitome of culture shock, lemme tell ya.
b) Some classes I had in my first school that might be uncommon in others have included penmanship (because my school has its own brand of cursive), environmental education, and I don’t remember what this next class was called anymore but we were basically taught how to write professionally? Like how to write cover letters and resumés and all.
c) My first school is extremely homophobic and went so far as to ‘hire’ spies tasked to check up on who’s been in same-sex relationships, list them all down, and report them to the guidance office so that they can be called one by one and be interrogated, and for the most part, pressured to come out. I don’t know if they still do this, but the younger batches are definitely more vocal and woke now thanks to social media and I doubt those practices would still fly today.
d) My university education was a breath of fresh air. Suddenly people were wearing sleeveless tops, mobs and rallies were a common sight to me, and my instructors were now atheist and not shoving Catholicism and Jesus and salvation down my throat. I loved every single day of it.
e) The most interesting class I took in college was a course called Pornography in Electronic Media, under the broadcast communication department. Getting to tell people I take a class where we sit down to watch porn was such a fucking ride.
10. Five facts about your job.
a) I got hired last Wednesday, but I had been interning for the company for around two months before they extended the offer.
b) I’m pretty much gonna be doing the same things I did as an intern, except I’m now accountable for any boo-boos I make HAHAHAHA. Also, I’m gonna be paid a lot more, obviously, which is sweet. I really thought we interns were severely underpaid considering the work that we help with on a daily basis.
c) My role is going to be with another department which is a little scary because it means the things I learned with the department I actually interned at will be pretty much useless. I’ll be starting from scratch again, but I’m still excited.
d) It’s a work-from-home situation, which is a relief for me because I don’t have to wake up early and I don’t have to face traffic.
e) My job interview for the position was actually a bit of a bomb because I absolutely fumbled with and messed up the first question I was asked; and since first impressions matter, I really thought I lost the gig from the very start of the interview. I made up for it as the interview continued and fortunately was able to break the ice and build a rapport with the team members who spoke with me, and I guess I did enough for them to want to take me in anyway.
For those who are curious, I blanked the fuck out when they asked “Tell me something about yourself that isn’t in your resumé.” Slowest 15 seconds of my life.
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Advent
Title: Advent
Fandom: Sanders Sides
Pairings: none
part of the jksf series
~~~
Prompt:
Heyyy. For your oneshot thing, could you give us some Logan angst please??? Love you babey ~@justgr8
Summary:
Tradition has always been vitally important to Logan. Routine keeps him balanced and feeling safe. But tradition can change. When treated carefully, and with communication, change to tradition can be navigated. It’s too bad that Logan’s family isn’t willing to put in that effort.
-
Or: Logan’s autistic. His family likes to ignore this fact.
Warnings: Ableism, Internalized Ableism, Meltdown, Breaking Traditions
[ao3 link]
~~~
Advent
It was Logan’s freshman year of high school when he realized that this was going to be the last time his family did advent box. It hit him hard, a striking dull pain in the middle of his stomach.
When he thought of Christmas, Logan didn’t just think of Christmas. No, Logan thought of each of the little traditions that followed the season. They had always been of importance to Logan. His family did them every year. It was tradition, it was routine, and Logan couldn’t break that. Or he couldn’t break it without having a meltdown, usually more than one.
But as he and his sister had gotten older, most of the traditions had faded or bled away without much care and no one has seemed bothered by it. Accept Logan.
Advent box is one of the few things they had kept.
Every day, in the evening, they opened the box. It contained a chocolate or a small toy or something of equal value. It was silly and somewhat pointless and Logan didn’t quite get why he cared. But he did. He cared so much.
Which is why this year had to be perfect.
Veera was going off to college next year. Logan and her have always traded off days opening the box. Maybe they could continue when she was gone, with just Logan opening until she got back from break and then they could open them together?
Logan had thought about solutions and work-arounds and how to continue forward, but he doubted his parents would see it the same. So he tested his theory.
Off hand he mentioned something about advent box next year and then he watched for the signs.
His mom wouldn’t look at him. Odd, because she was always trying to get him to meet her eyes. She chuckled and gave him a non answer. Also odd because it was a simple remark that Logan had made. His father had patted him on the shoulder (which Logan didn’t like but was normal behavior from him) and then he had said “we’ll see,” which also didn’t make sense considering Logan hadn’t actually asked a question, just made a comment. It didn’t line up and Logan knew they were lying.
Or not lying exactly, but he gathered that it was very likely they would not be doing advent box next year. Hence the stabbing feeling in his stomach and also why this year had to be perfect.
Not all the boxes were opened on the right days. Logan thought that this would have bothered him if it wasn’t also routine for his family to forget or get busy on some nights. But three days leading up to Christmas (the last day on the box) and they had six days to make up for. Which was a lot.
They decided to do it now, right now, as Logan was preparing himself breakfast in the morning. They usually did it in the evening and if he thought about that too much his hands start itching. Logan’s parents- who were also in the kitchen- insisted that he called down Veera. Logan gulped but nodded. It needed to be perfect and sure it was morning which wasn’t Right, but it was also Logan’s first weekday off from school and routine was already thrown to hell so what was one more thing?
Plus if they didn’t do it now they’d probably forget and they wouldn't do it tonight and then they’d fall more behind and wouldn’t get it done by Christmas. And true, why they had fallen behind before they had never actually failed to complete it. The burning sense of that Wrongness beat out the Wrongness of doing it in the morning, so Logan rushed over to the foot of the stairs.
“Veera!” he called up towards her, “Veera! Advent box!”
She didn’t respond. He frowned and tried again. Still no response.
He turned back to face the kitchen.
“Is Veera here?” he asked his parents.
“Yeah, and Caleb too,” his dad replied.
Logan frowned and called again. They’re was once more no response, though he could see the cracked door so if they were there they should be able to hear him. He looked over at the front door and checked the shoes. Caleb’s converse were there. (He had bigger feet than Logan and Veera and Logan’s parents didn’t wear converse so they were easy to distinguish).
He was about to shout once more when Caleb exited the room.
“Hey Logan,” he greeted, making eye-contact with Logan.
Logan looked down immediately and nodded.
“Hey,” Logan replied, “Veera coming?”
“Yeah, she’s trying to do this thing with her hair.”
“Okay,” Logan left the foot of the stairs and returned to the kitchen, leaving his sister’s boyfriend. Once he had entered the kitchen, he made his way to the advent box. It was an odd number day. That meant it was his turn today.
He was vaguely aware of Caleb and his parents moving to join him around the box as he counted out everyday and tried to remember what had been in each box previous.
When he finished he turned to face them. Still no Veera.
“It’s your day Logan,” his mother said, “Why don’t you open it?”
“I know it’s my day, it’s an odd day,” Logan said, “And I’m waiting for Veera, we can’t start without her.”
Everyone had to be there for advent box. It was a rule.
“Logan why don’t you just-”
Logan’s mother was cut off by his sister appearing in the kitchen and sliding over to join them.
“I’m opening it,” he announced, to make sure he had everyone’s attention. He opened it to reveal a paper. The paper had a brand name on it, which meant that it was a toy, but had been too big to fit in the box. He held up the paper expectantly towards his mom, but didn’t turn to face her.
“There’s a paper.”
He saw her nod out of peripheral vision and she turned to get whatever the toy was. She handed the bag over to Logan first. That was also tradition. Logan was the one who had opened the door so he got first pick. Whoever opened the door got to choose first. It was a rule.
Logan peered inside to see sticky hands. He wondered briefly how they had not fit, considering they were quite small. They should have been able to fit in the box. He picked at one and realized it was due to the packaging. It was unnecessarily large, and his mom probably hadn’t wanted to unpack them for fear of losing their stickiness.
“What is it Logan?” his sister asked, and Logan recognized the impatience at her voice.
Still considering the packaging dilemma, Logan held one up to show her.
“Oh cool,” she said.
Logan thought that was funny. Usually she’d make fun of childish stuff like this. But advent box always had this sort of stuff and it was also tradition to not care how silly it was. It was sort of backwards but it also meant that his family wouldn’t be mean to him about liking childish things, so Logan was okay with it.
He laughed a bit though, because it was funny.
His sister scowled at him and snatched the bag from him. He let her. It didn’t matter anymore. He had his sticky hand. She passed the bag around as he slowly unwrapped his own. It plopped into his hand and it felt horrible. Logan immediately dropped it.
“Logan, don’t let it fall on the floor, it’ll get dirt on it,” his mother chided.
Logan struggled to process her words for a minute. His hands still felt gross. He wanted to move them, to get the feeling off. He wasn’t supposed to flap them though. But maybe just once? It wasn’t like he was flapping them for a bad reason, he just wanted to get the sticky feeling off of it.
He flapped the hand that it had touched and then slid the hand against his pants, hoping his parents wouldn’t notice. He thought his mom was maybe watching him, so he put his hand in his pocket. With his other he was forced to pick up the sticky hand again. His mom had told him to, and she wouldn’t take nicely to Logan ignoring or refusing her.
So he picked it up, holding it as lightly as he could with the least amount of his skin touching it. He tried not to wince. His mom turned away and unwrapped her own sticky hand.
In response, Veera shot her sticky hand towards her mom. Mom threw hers at Veera in return and then chaos broke loose. The four other members in the house started darting around the kitchen trying to hit each other with the sticky hands. Logan watched them and rocked forward on his feet.
Even Caleb- who was still hesitant to join in a lot of the family interactions- was participating. A moment later they died down a bit and came back over to the advent box, still flinging their hands gently at one another.
Then Veera flung hers at Logan.
It hit his clothes thankfully. Logan didn’t know what he’d do if it hit his skin. Probably scream, and he didn’t think his family would like that very much. He grinned a bit, because Veera seemed to be playful and it wasn’t all that common that she was nice to him. In fact, usually she was quite mean, snapping at him and making rude comments. His parents said that it was college stress and Logan was over exaggerating. Sometimes they even said it was Logan’s fault.
But she seemed happy now. Logan, not wanting to miss out on the rare opportunity, flung his sticky hand back.
It hit Veera’s hair.
She immediately screeched and wrenched away.
“Logan!” she said, “You’re going to mess up my hair! Don’t do that!”
Logan shrugged and turned to hit Caleb instead. Caleb was looking at him and didn’t react to the sticky hand. Logan frowned and looked back over to his sister. She was glaring at him and desperately messing with her hair.
“Oh, I’m really sorry Veera,” he said, “I didn’t mean to mess up your hair. I won’t do it again.”
She continued to glare and Logan realized his parents were too. He couldn’t help but feel he did something very wrong. He set the hand down. He didn’t think his mom would complain if he chose not to participate andymore.
Caleb kissed Veera’s cheek and whispered in her ear. She sighed and continued to scowl, but stopped messing with her hair. She seemed okay now. Logan thought so at least.
“It’s your turn to open advent box,” he said.
“Logan you can’t just hit people in the face.”
Logan knew that. Of course he knew that. It’s not like he had been trying to. Plus he had hit her hair anyway. He got that that wasn’t okay, but he hadn’t meant to.
“Everyone was throwing the hands around,” Logan said in an attempt to explain. Everyone was throwing them around. They weren’t very accurate. One was bound to hit someone in the face eventually. It just happened to Veera by Logan’s hand. It wasn’t on purpose and Logan knew it wasn’t okay. He had apologized. “It’s your turn to open up advent box.”
Veera scowled and pushed forward, opening the box. It was chocolate in it. Logan quietly took one from her when she offered them forward. He unwrapped it and ate it and watched the others around him do so as well.
Logan still hadn’t eaten breakfast. He was in the middle of making his when they started. His skin itched.
It was Logan’s turn. He opened it. It was also chocolates. He pocketed his this time and passed the rest out. As he was doing so, another mini fight with the sticky hands broke out.
“It’s your turn Veera,” he mentioned.
She sighed, stopped her fighting, and pushed forward. She opened the box and then moved back without glancing inside. Caleb whacked her with his sticky hand. She laughed and tried to whack him back but hit dad instead. Seconds later and they were racing around the kitchen once more, having fun.
Logan smiled at them and didn’t join in. They seemed to be having fun. He’d probably ruin it.
He looked in the open box and pulled out a couple of pull back race cars. They were tiny and cheap and they were in advent box every year. Logan sat them down.
Since it was Veera’s turn, she got to choose first. But she was playing and having fun and his whole family seemed to be enjoying themselves, so Logan let her be. She could choose the one she wanted in a minute, that was fine. Logan could wait.
“Hey Lo,” Veera called, “Go ahead and open the next box!”
Logan froze.
He couldn’t do that. Veera hadn’t chosen which car she wanted yet. She had to choose first before moving on to the next box.
“You need to pick which car you want first,” Logan called back.
“I will in a minute, just open the new box,” Veera said.
“I don’t want to be rude,” Logn replied. Because he didn’t. That’s why the rule was in place. It let the person who opened it choose first, which was polite. Logan sometimes struggled to know what was polite and what wasn’t, and his family often got upset with him about that. But this was an established rule that Logan knew was polite. He could at least follow that.
Being rude was mean and Logan didn’t want to be mean. So he’d wait for Veera.
“Just open the stupid box,” Veera said, coming back over to the advent box.
“Choose a car first.”
“Just take one Logan,” she huffed.
“You’re supposed to choose first,” Logan said, because that was a rule.
“Gosh,” she huffed, “See this is why I hate doing things with you. This is why nobody likes you Logan. You’re making this into such a big thing it doesn’t even matter.”
“I’m j-”
“Here, whatever, I’’l take the blue one you can have the green. Let’s move on now, come on. Open the new box, god Logan.”
Everything was going to fast. Logan stood, blinking for a moment as he tried to process her words.
Logan’s parents stepped forward, recognizing the increasing tension in the room.
“What’s going on here?” his dad asked.
“Logan’s making a big deal out of nothing,” Veera said, rolling her eyes. She stepped towards Dad, “Logan wouldn’t open the new one until I had chosen which car I wanted. Which is just-” she huffed, “So I chose one but he’s still not opening the box.”
His parent frowned.
His mother spoke, “Logan why don’t-”
“I wasn’t trying to not open the box!” Logan protested, finally finding his words. Veera was making him the enemy again and maybe if he could just explain… Because he wasn’t being bad, he wasn’t! But they were frowning at him like he had been but really he was just trying to be polite like they wanted him to be.
“Logan-”
“Veera opened the box with the cars. And if you open the box you pick first. That’s the rule. It’s polite. We do it so we’re not mean. And I’ll open the box now in just a minute- I just wanted to clarify what I was doing. I wasn’t trying to make it a big deal, I-”
“God Logan,” Veera huffed.
“Logan why don’t you just open the box. You’re making this more difficult for everyone involved.”
How was this Logan’s fault? Everything was moving too fast. He didn’t know how to keep up.
Logan’s eyes felt strange and his whole body itched and he could still feel the sticky residue on his hand. He wanted to flap his hands and get it off. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream.
His parents wouldn’t be happy if he did those things.
He looked at the advent box. He wanted this to be perfect. It was the last year.
(That felt so Wrong).
Logan felt worse. He frowned, looked down at his feet, and with the little energy he had left, he exited the room.
(Better to leave now with his family just a little upset than to have a meltdown in front of them, causing them to be extremely angry with him).
He could vaguely hear Veera’s complaints behind him.
When he got to his room he threw the stupid pullback car that was still in his hand at the wall. Once he had done that- and kicked his desk for good measure- he immediately got into his bed and cuddled the blankets around him. They were the thickest ones he had. Then, he opened his mouth and shoved a pillow in it.
He began to scream as loudly as he dared, muffled by the pillow. He cried too. He cried a lot.
His brain waged war with him, outlining everything that was Wrong and it all felt off and Logan was falling to pieces and nothing felt right and Logan didn’t know how to fix it.
He wondered if this was his fault.
He had probably done something wrong again, broken another rule.
But he was too tired to think about that and his brain didn’t like him right now so he screamed and cried and bashed his hands against the wall.
(He made sure to stay quiet enough that the rest of his family wouldn’t hear him, even though that made his body itch unpleasantly).
Eventually, he tired himself out and stopped crying. He was exhausted. His brain had trouble thinking and connecting and his eyes grew heavy even as he kept crying, pitiful whimpers interrupting the tears every so often. He felt himself starting to nod off.
The last thing Logan heard before he fell asleep was his family laughing the other room, presumably playing with the sticky hands once more. Enjoying themselves. Without Logan.
That was also a tradition, his family only enjoying Family Time without him. And he hated how that felt Right.
~
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The Grinch’s Parents and His Species
* for the majority of this post , i’ll be talkin abt the species within the seuss series as races and species interchangeably— the ones in specific being the Whos , the Knoxes , & the Whats.
most people would simply assume the Grinch’s race is , well , a Grinch. standing next to the Whos , it’s more than obvious he’s far different from them all. from green fur to simply his visage , it’s clear he is no Who. but standing next to another species , the Knox , one would begin to notice a few striking similarities.
the Grinch is not entirely a Grinch ——— in fact , the ‘ grinch ’ species isn’t scientifically ( within the world of the Whos ) a real race. look in your textbooks , you won’t find a single mention of a Grinch anywhere. what you will find , however , is a different race that — depending on whom in particular you’re looking at — may resemble what you’d assume a Grinch is : a What.
in the Jim Carrey adaption of the Grinch , there’s a conversation between Cindy Lou and her father about the Grinch. the father says “ you see , Cindy , the Grinch is a Who who — well , he’s actually not a Who , he’s ... he’s more of a — ” and Cindy responds , “ a what ? ” , and her dad replies finally with “ exactly , honey. ” now , while my portrayal of the Grinch has hardly anything to do with the 2000 film , i do want to take the implied race of the What and apply it to what the Grinch is.
let’s take a moment to look at the Whos ; they’re all very humanlike. their coat colors are more skin - toned , and they have hair and body shapes more like a normal person’s. it’s worth noting that the Whos don’t necessarily have fur —— while they have hair in places a human would , it’s not long nor thick enough to be considered fur , just normal people hair that’re a bit longer than the average person’s. this comes to support the fact why Whos wear clothes , their hair isn’t long enough to obscure their privates / genitalia so they have to wear something to cover it up.
now , Knoxes have more animalistic features —— animal - like noses , noticeable ears , fur , neck fluff , and proportions far from a human’s , like shorter legs and a longer body. we’ve also seen they can be many different colors in the Netflix adaption of Green Eggs and Ham. since their fur is noticeably thick , they don’t have to wear clothes since their hair covers up their junk for them.
and let’s look at the Grinch. he certainly resembles a Who in the face —— nubby nose and round features , no visible ears , and rather thin fur. but what’s similar with a Knox and he is the fact he has thicker fur on the rest of his body , the neck scruff ( albeit hardly , it being more frizzy and spread out to his shoulders , but it’s clearly there ) , the strange body , and the little stringy hairs on the top of his head ( while that’s not entirely exclusive to knoxes — since we’ve seen knoxes with full heads of hair — there is that sort of case. )
i know , you may be asking , why on god’s green earth does the Grinch have all these features , but is neither a Who nor a Knox ? well , you moron , if you didn’t come to the conclusion already , the Grinch is nothing other than a WHAT. Whats are not Whos , and they are not Knoxes , and they aren’t anything else. they are simply ... Whats.
a What is something you would look at and can’t help but wonder , what exactly is that ? they are normally made through interspecies / interracial mating , the genes not lining up quite right and creating a brand new , particularly unique baby. there isn’t anything that will make a baby What instantly recognized as a What , if their fur coat isn’t strangely colored at least. they can have a number of dominant and recessive traits taken from both parents —— for instance , a baby What can have thick or thin fur , they can have full heads of hair or maybe just stringy hairs , so on and so forth. the possibilities of a baby What are endless.
the Grinch has multiple traits and genes taken from Whos and Knoxes , and the reason is fairly simple : his mother was a Who , and his father was a Knox. while he doesn’t know this for himself , a simple DNA test will confirm he is half Who and half Knox , and thus the mixture making him a What.
i’m not sure how to segue into showing this but here’s a punnet square :
expanding on his parents for a moment —— his mother was a simple , young Who , who just so happened to fall in love with a male Knox ... in which was rare to see in a place like Whoville. back then , interspecies / interracial relationships weren’t exactly ... supported. they were deemed as unnatural , and when they tried being open about their relationship , the two would be bashed on. it wasn’t a great time to be in , but they couldn’t help their love.
soon enough , the two of them fell so deep in love that they wanted a family. having a child between two species is quite dangerous ——— there was a high chance of a What being born , rather than a Who or a Knox. and you may ask , why dangerous ? well , say you wanted to have a child , but the race your child was most likely to be born as was shunned upon the community you live in , and you weren’t able to decide what sort of race your child is born as. it’s a big roll of the dice , a risky roll , at that , but you were determined to have a baby.
now apply it to the Grinch’s parents. Whats , in Whoville , were mostly shunned and disliked among the community. they were seen as monsters —— unnatural beings. they were a mix of two species who shouldn’t be together in the first place. to top off the dishonor the Grinch’s mother and father already brought Whoville and their own families with just their relationship alone ——— they had a child. and the child came out ... green , when neither of the parents were green. there was a mixture of several Whoish and Knoxish features , no even balance between the two. it was a good thing they decided to take precautions and birth the baby at home , because with all these factors taken in , it only could mean one thing :
the mother had birthed a What.
it was like a scary dream — not quite a nightmare �� to see the creature in their hands. it was clear it was a What , there was no in - between. but the two weren’t cruel people — they were loving , and compassionate. they really wanted to take care of this baby the best that they could ... but they knew they couldn’t help it grow properly. they would have to be forced to shield the poor thing from the outside world until society decided Whats weren’t as horrible as they saw them as. but ... the mother and father didn’t know when this would be. it would be a leap of faith to bring the baby out with them , but ... it could very well be a leap of death too.
for just a few years did they try to raise the boy. there was no name given to him , as they were afraid to grow attached in such way , knowing they’d have to give him up. they helped him grow until the age of four ——— right before they would have to send him to school. that’s when they knew it ; they would have to put him in an orphanage. there was no other way. they couldn’t send him to school with no people skills , and on top of that , being a What.
the Grinch didn’t have a name nor memories of his family while at the orphanage. it was a ragged , untrustworthy place , but it was the only orphanage in all of Whoville. there he was dumped , alone and confused , with merely a scarf as a sort of ... remember me gift from his parents. that was the last and only thing he has of his mother and father —— and while he doesn’t know this , he kept it nevertheless.
being such an outcast among the rest of the Who - filled orphanage could really only end up with one result ——— the Grinch was the sole target of bullying. none of the caretakers cared for him , and all the children harassed and beat him so very often ... they purposefully would exclude him from fun activities , and most importantly , holidays.
ever since he’s ran away from Whoville and the orphanage , the society there has gotten more accepting of Whats , and now simply doesn’t mind them at all. there are very , very few that live there now , and whether or not there’s a lot , they’re there and accepted. non - oppressed , and loved. the Grinch isn’t aware of this acceptance yet —— his casualness about coming into town for whatever reason simply being because he just stopped caring about what looks people would give him. at least , that’s how it was at first , when he’d come down to shop. but now people give him smiles and treat him like a normal person ! while that doesn’t aid him in his trust issues at all , it’s something that’s improved for him and all Whats alike.
#◞ ` . 🎄 * 彡 ❛ tell your homeboy in a red suit to chill » ABT & HCS ! * .#save !#((AHAHAHSA THIS GOT SUPER FUCKING LONG#((I'M REALLY SHOCKED AT MYSELF#((THIS TOOK HOURS#((WTF!!#((PLEASE LOVE ME FOR THIS#((I STARTED TO DRABBLE IN THE MIDDLE OF THIS BUT#((also michellee n eb are Whats i dont make the rules
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clergy, sex, success, and me
I was born in the middle of 1941. The Second world war had just begun. I can't recall anything much before the age of eight, but I can remember certain places and events like they happened yesterday. Public schools in the inner city, and especially Jr. high, were repetitious, boring, and very dangerous to attend. Back then, every other kid had a switch blade knife, and they were plenty eager to wave them around to intimidate and threaten any body they felt like messing with, including teachers, and sometimes even cops.
Once, I witnessed a stabbing in the school cafeteria. The very quick and violent nature of that horribly messy act frightened me immensely, and it was that experience that made me realize that I was, unfortunately, a coward. It was very disturbing, and it affected me for a very long time afterward.
Up until 1954, I was what was considered to be a clod and a nerd at school, Something equivalent to a non-entity. I had no idea how suddenly my life was about to change. Every day I constantly faced being bullied on the way to school, at school, and on the way home from school. I developed rudimentary time schedules, and tentative escape routes, or safe places, in order that I could have the best chance of making it home unhurt and alive. That seemed to work most of the time, but several times it did not, and I paid dearly for the mistake.
Toward the end of the school year in 1954, just before my birthday, and a well earned, glorious three month vacation, I was run down by two boys on the way home from school, and I got roughly pushed around as they brandished their 'blades'. I was given the choice of sucking their dicks or suffering a beating by both of them. Now some will say never, but this frightened 13 year old left that culvert party unharmed beyond the humiliation, a few bruises from getting knocked around, and dirt on my knees, They let me go with a warning not to tell anyone. I did not. It was too embarrassing, and the stigma at the time would have isolated me completely from my peers, parents, and teachers, not to mention the fear of retaliation, but the worst thing of all, was to be branded a 'queer'.
Summer vacation finally arrived and a friend I will call 'Tom”, from school, came to visit me at my home on one bright Saturday morning and convinced me to accompany him to his friends house that lived in another part of the neighborhood to pick up some money, and then we could go to the movies, and get a hamburger and drinks afterward. I agreed to go with him, and we set off immediately. Soon we arrived at a very nice apartment building and Tom rang the bell. A buzzer sounded, and He pushed the door open widely and as we climbed the short flight of stairs, we entered into a very plush and rich interior filled with antiques and art. Two older men happily greeted us with smiles, and sat us down on a huge couch in the palatial living room. One of the elderly gentlemen went to the kitchen and brought out two beers and set them on the coffee table using coasters that depicted nude reclining male figures. I thought it was curious, but amusing.
The beer was bitter, and I knew I would not be able to finish it. I glanced at Tom as he took a sip of the beer and to my surprise, he downed the whole thing. After setting the glass back on the table, Tom quickly proceeded to undress right on the spot. I didn't know what was happening, until my friend pulled down his underwear, and revealed his very generous boner, which in turn, was immediately set upon by one of the elderly gentlemen, who began doing to him what I had to do to the two boys from school.. That was when the other guy began unzipping my pants and exposing my penis. I was frozen in my spot and my face flushed, my heart was pounding like a rod going out on a diesel engine. I was so embarrassed I thought it would be impossible for me to get an erection under this surprising turn of events. Why, I thought, would anybody want to suck my dick in the first place? Well, here was someone who obviously seemed more than happy to do it, and after a bit of gentle coaxing, I did get an erection, and he did get me to blow a load of cum on his tonsils.
I was complemented by the older gentleman for my 'pervormance', and I realized an immediate new sense of confidence in my sexual prowess, it seemed to give me a feeling of a new identity, as if a new person had unfolded in me that day, and as a result of this realization, the 'queer thing', as well as the age difference, became a non-factor for me. I had become sexually liberated! As we were leaving, my friend and I each received a ten dollar bill, for our obviously successful efforts, with an open invitation to visit at any time. We then spent the afternoon at the movies and stuffed ourselves on everything you can imagine that a thirteen year old would do with 10 bucks.
My life changed overnight that day. I felt 'adult' so to speak. Soon, my visits to the apartment became pretty regular, and I had plenty of money in my pocket. My mother worked as a hostess for a nightclub and her take home pay for a 40 hour week was $35.00. I was making more money than my hard working mother. At school, I loaned out lunch money and it wasn't long before just about everybody in my classes 'owed' me money. Life was good. And when you're on top of the world, it can be a long fall to the bottom if you slip.
I was fourteen now, and Tom, the same friend that introduced me to the homosexuals, invited me for a three way with a smart looking red headed woman in her thirties. The thought was scary and exciting at the same time. I had seen my Friend in action a few times by now, but never had contact with him in that manner. What could possibly go wrong? Well, the red head experience is one I won't soon forget, or get over, for that matter. I felt I had just secured my sexual 'spot' in the world, when Tom and I dated the older woman and he guaranteed that she was a good tipper. She picked us up at a local hamburger stand in the afternoon, and drove us to a secluded section of a nearby park whereupon I performed what I thought was a pretty darn good job, then Tom took his turn, and apparently, it wasn't received with the same enthusiasm, because when he ejaculated in her face, he also decided to urinate to finish the job. That red head really got pissed off. She was hot, hollering, spitting, and snatching her bra off the steering wheel, she kicked us out of her car and we had to walk home. I never got a cent for my valiant effort. Gee,.. thanks Tom,....
Three days after the episode with the red head, my mother had to take me to the doctor because of the large, very painful weeping sores which suddenly appeared on the head of my penis. It was so bad, I guessed they didn't even want to tell me the name of the disease, because they would only refer to the word in my presence using initials. Something like, T.S.P. , or L.S.D., I can't remember, but I do remember the tool of my new found trade being broken and the future of my primary source of income and enjoyment, was in jeopardy. But that was for the future, right now the pressing problem was answering a lot of embarrassing questions from a lot of pissed off adults. I was pretty sure Tom was going through the same thing, and I wondered how he was 'copulating' with the situation. I would have liked to have called and talked with him, but it was impossible, I was being too closely watched, like perhaps they might watch someone for attempting suicide or something.
I tried playing the unknowing recipient of some dreaded disease that I had obviously contacted from some unsanitary toilet seat at some unmemorable filling station. It seemed to work for the moment, but soon I was confronted with real names, and places and events with astonishing accuracy, and there was little I could do to offer any story, and I resigned myself to suffer the consequences for my actions. One of the conditions of my subsequent probation (for lying to police) was that I was told I was no longer allowed to communicate or see my friend Tom. That restriction however, did not last long. My dick healed up in about 3 weeks. It was too painful for me to get an erection or masturbate during that period, and I was celibate the whole time. One boy suggested that I had the clap so bad they called it “applause”... Very funny.
It amazed me to see how the size of my dick shrank in direct proportion to how sick I got. It finally got better enough that I began to gently exercise it, slowly bringing it back to life and serviceable operation. I wanted to continue enjoying the lifestyle I had enjoyed before the crash. I didn't know exactly how, but I was determined to resume my new found enjoyment-employment. The end of summer arrived, and the stress of school once again loomed before me, Because I was not allowed out alone, I spent a lot of time in my bedroom playing music, and taking long showers, to conceal my masturbatory habits. Sometimes In bed, would masturbate into my dirty socks, and put them in the laundry... Mother never thought to look there for evidence...
Returning to school, all I could think of was how I was going to face all my teachers and peers. Talk about stage fright! I was already trying to think of ways to gain some personal time out of the school day. Maybe volunteer for some activity or get study hall, or anything I could use to disguise some unsupervised time after school so I could resume where I left off...
Like an answer to my prayers, God Himself was to intervene and send me a mentor and benefactor, in the form of one Reverend P.J. Goodbody, (not his real name..), a local pastor who worked with wayward kids through his church, and with the juvenile court, turned out to be my assigned probation officer. Since P.J. Knew my case history, it wasn't long before ol' P.J. Had me in his office with his lips on my dick up to my balls... In his car...and several times, in the parking garage. Once, he suggested a filling station restroom for a quickie, but I drew the line at that for obvious reasons, and instead we ended up in a truckers shower on I-5, a few miles away.
My duties were mostly maintenance in and around the church. Our 'professional session' was “as needed” and if I literally “got off early” I could get time for myself that was vouched for by the good reverend, P.J. and needless to say, it was a “marriage” made in heaven. Mother would pick me up immediately after school and drop me off at P.J.'s office. He would take care of 'business' right away, and then I would water the lawns and shrubs, take the garbage out, and whatever was needed. After that, I could do what I wanted for a couple of hours, and that included going down town on 'errands'. Just like mission impossible, P.J. Did speak to me about being caught where I shouldn't be, and told me he would have to disavow any claims resulting from such a situation, otherwise, I should have a good time. I wasted no time.
Remember when I was worried about facing my peers? Well, a little advertising certainly goes a long way, and everybody in school was talking in front of, on the side, behind my back, and over my head. I would get razzing and giggles, and some unusual inquires, but everyone of the general population pretty much kept away from me. Oddly enough however, during this time, I was being covertly propositioned by some of the most unlikely students of both sexes. Several boys wanted mutual masturbation, another was interested in anal sex, A girl suggested oral sex. And then, My math teacher began occasionally keeping me after school for “Special instruction” which of course, took place in the cloak room. Opportunities abounded, but these were non paying jobs as far as I was concerned, more or less a good will tour, if you know what I mean.
Do you have any idea how hard it was in the 1950's for an underage boy to get a blow job on the street? If you were young, horny, and wanted sex, your best bet was to join a church. In 1955, I was bumping into other guys my age that were having similar experiences, and we would talk about them whenever we got together. I eventually 'gave' and 'got' through the school year with the help of P.J., who was thanked profusely by my mother for the vast improvement in my attitude and calming my wild ways. I wanted to say: Jesus mom, I blow a load of cum down his throat twice a day, No wonder I'm calm! But I didn't want to spoil it, I was having a good time, and things were looking up.
With spiritual guidance from the good reverend, I gradually acquired several regular 'customers' from the religious community. For a while, it seemed like I was going from 'parson to parson'. I have to say they were very gentle and grateful. I didn't always get paid in money, but there were pool parties with food, drinks, gifts, weekend stay overs, and the very busy hot tubs. I seemed to be popular at the time, because I had a good history of keeping quiet. And why not? What has being truthful ever gotten me? The whole idea of this 'truth will set you free' thing, seemed counter-intuitive to me from the beginning. The truth has never set me free. It only frees the cops, the attorneys, and the judge.
So far, My sexual contact with a woman had proven to be a rather negative, and downright disastrous event, but I still wanted to explore this realm a bit more intimately, and I came to the conclusion that I was not a homosexual, nor was I heterosexual, but just plain sexual. Which is not to say I was in it primarily for the sex, but more as the means to enjoy a social standing I would not normally have been able to experience. In other words, it became kind of a hobby with benefits. While there were the occasional negatives, there were far more positives as a result of those relationships. In a sense, my “friends” had become clergy, attorneys, doctors, dentists, you name it, I had the best advice and support that money alone cannot buy, and I have yet to meet a stingy cocksucker among them.
That summer and winter came and went and I was spending a minimal amount of time at home because of my involvement with the whole church business. The year seemed to pass quickly. Things had settled in, and my time became very structured in terms of who, where, when, and what. I had liked the way things were going, and I didn't want or think that it might end any time soon. Another boy who I did not know, but had seen hanging around Tom, spilled his beans after a brief cross examination by his parents, and my name came up along with others, and the cops eventually showed up at my door for a bit of a chat about who I knew, and when... I have to admit it was intimidating and I was genuinely scared, but I held out, hoping they would get tired and go away. I didn't want to get in a jam like I did last time, so it was all or nothing, todo or nada. I refused to talk at all. I clammed up as if frightened, and I was. Finally they left, but vowed to see me again. That was not the end of it by any means, but for now my mind was swirling with thoughts of doom. I had no idea what was going to happen to P.J. and the 'gang', and most of all, Me.
P.J. Wound up getting arrested for oral copulation with a child under the age of fourteen, and along with two other acquaintances, were convicted. I refused to incriminate him and instead, I extolled his virtues in my deposition, lauding him for keeping me on the 'straight' and narrow. As a matter of fact, my grades were very good, and I had not gotten into any 'regular' trouble since he became my probation officer. Coincidentally, My attorney turned out to be a queer friend of P.J.s, and he was eventually able to keep me out of the juvenile justice system. Unfortunately, I still had to deal with my parents. By this time, my parents had enough and sat me down for a discussion which consisted of them yelling at me for a long time. They finally got tired and threw their hands up in the gesture of giving up. Since the tough love approach didn't work, they were ready to allow my emancipation, but only when I turned fifteen in another month, and if I stayed out of trouble until then, I was good to go. I was delighted, of course, but with serious twinges of uncertainty.
I turned fifteen in the summer of'56, I was finally emancipated, and my classes had been modified to accommodate 'sexualized' students like myself. I was in a class with the bad boys, and I was accepted as one of them. A club, as it were, for comrades in arms and action. I was no longer considered a nerd, or a clod. I had graduated to 'punk loser', and in a weird sort of way, I couldn't have been happier with my new found identity. Looking back, you might say I would have been better off hanging out with the 'A' students, but I eventually went to work for an interesting gay and generous company that employed me for my skill in customer relations and closing important deals I was good at what I did, and why not? I had plenty of experience!
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Pagan meme 🌲🌳🍁
Tagged by @rosegoldtunic , @thepastelpriestess , and @daughterofthegoldenandthesilver
Do you have a magical/Pagan name?
No, I'm just Skyler or Sky
How did you find Paganism?
I don't know if I identify with the word "pagan" the way other ppl do. It makes me think of Wicca, which I don't practice. But I guess it started with Catholicism. I was raised non-practicing Catholic, but I always went to church with my grandmother when I'd visit her. And I loved it because country Catholicism in the U.S. Deep South is like doing a ritual. It's not the obligational, dry Catholicism of the "city" (my city had 50,000 ppl lol). It was magical. The people there also believed you had to eat black eyed peas and cabbage or pot liquor for dinner on New Year's Eve. And you had to have your whole house clean before New Year's. And hold your breath as you pass a cemetery. And they spoke of Marie Laveau and the Yazoo Witch in quiet, awed whispers. These weren't great times in my life, but I loved the old tales and the forests I ran around in by myself for hours.
As I grew up, I realized it wasn't the specific god being worshipped in Catholicism that interested me, but the solemnity and beauty of the connection and the marriage of ritual, belief, and history. So I started spending more time in the woods and fields, talking to the spirits, the fairies, and the trees.
That was all squashed, of course, as I was growing up, but it's been nice to rediscover it over the last few years.
How long have you been practicing?
Hm... Probably from ages 2-14, then again over the last few years. Though some of those traditions never really left me, haha.
Are you out of the broom closet?
I...honestly kind of hate this term. I don't know why! Of course, if someone uses it, it's their own thing and that's ok. My beliefs and practices are private outside of this blog.
Solitary or group practitioner?
I'm not really comfortable letting other ppl dictate or influence how I interpret the universe, the gods I worship, etc.
What is your path?
I don't really understand this question. No one defines my path for me. I follow my gut.
D E I T Y
What’s your brand of deism?
Agnostic pantheism. It's expressed outwardly as a mix of Hellenic polytheism (revivalist), Shinto-Buddhism, science, and nature. (I do not talk about the Shinto-Buddhism parts on my blog because I am not Japanese and I feel it would be appropriative. I generally keep those things private.)
Who is your patron God/ess?
I don't actually subscribe to this concept.
What Gods do you worship?
Directly: Tyche/Fortuna, Apollo, Athena, Hermes, Hotei
Indirectly: Hades, The Erotes, Jesus, Hyacinthus
Do you fear darkly aspected Gods/Goddesses, or rather respect them?
No. I generally disregard the "evil" or "darkness" ascribed to certain gods, or choose not to work with them. The world has enough negativity in it. Humans are capable of enough evil without godly intervention.
Do you worship the Christian God?
No, but see my answer to "How did you find Paganism?" I consider Jesus to be an example of good and how doing good can be its own reward. Take care of the poor, feed the hungry, clothe the cold. Do unto others as you'd have them do unto you... These are core things I believe.
Do you worship animals? Or plants?
Not exactly. But I do think everything has a certain energy or life force or spirit. And as a kid, I used to wander the woods alone for hours to commune with them.
N A T U R E
Do you regularly commune with nature?
Not often because living in NYC makes it hard to find nature to commune with. On a recent trip, I found that I still really enjoy being in the forests and on the sea. I love the calm beauty of nature just existing. With no other purpose, no rush. Everything happening when it should, no sooner or later.
Taken a camping trip just to talk to nature?
I went camping all the time as a kid and probably didn't realize this was why I loved it. I haven't been in a long time.
Describe the moment you felt closest to Mother Earth?
(When I was a kid, around 10 years old.)
Standing in the middle of a forest in Mississippi, surrounded by green and brown and the smell of pine trees. The ground feels "old" and solid in a way other places don't. It vibrates with energy and certainty. The air is filled with the chattering of birds feeding and squirrels scolding each other. The forest is quiet-loud. I'd pet the wild king snakes and anoles. Climb a big tree and sit in the branches, becoming part of the rhythm of the forest until the animals no longer noticed that I didn't belong there and they'd come out of hiding: raccoons, rabbits, foxes, whole families of deer. I was able to identify every plant, every sound, every smell, even if I didn't have a name for it at the time. I was alone, but never felt lonely. I didn't go home until the cicadas started singing, the mosquitoes started biting, and it was almost too dark to see.
Do you have a familiar?
No, not really. But butterflies tend to come up for me a lot.
Have you ever called upon the powers of an animal in ritual? Or a plant?
No, I do this more organically/innately. It's ingrained in a way I don't notice I'm doing it. For example, if I have to kill a spider in my house (can't get it outside), I apologize to it and try to make its death as painless and instant as possible. I thank animals I eat for their life which will continue supporting mine. Their energy, becoming part of me, means we are now part of something bigger, together. (If I could be vegetarian, I would. It's not an option for me, unfortunately.)
Do you hug trees?
No, but I spent a lot of time sitting in th when I was younger. I do say hi to them when I pass them on the street. I had some big oak trees in my backyard when I was 3 and I loved to talk to them for hours.
Give them gifts?
Not really. As a kid I used to leave daisy chains on their above-ground roots for any fairies or spirits living there, though.
What are your favorite plants to work with?
I don't necessarily work with plants directly. Though I use cayenne pepper, garlic, and sage (all from the spice section at the grocery store), along with honey, to create meals that soothe some of my chronic illnesses. I use tea tree oil and eucalyptus for pain. I'm also particularly drawn to cosmos, chrysanthemums, and irises.
What is your favorite holiday?
New Year's!
What is your least favorite holiday?
The 4th of July.
Have you ever held a ritual on a holiday?
I help my wife prepare things for Day of the Dead. I clean the house before New Year's. And we go to see the first sunrise of the near year together.
Ever taken a day off work to celebrate a Pagan holiday?
No, but my favorite/main holiday is conveniently already a national holiday.
Do you celebrate Yule on the 21st rather than the 25th?
I don't usually celebrate Yule. Instead, I focus on the new year.
Tagging - I'm not going to tag anyone directly. However! If you see this and you want to do it, please tag me so I can see your answers. :D
#pagan meme#hellenic polytheism#i grew up in Mississippi and Louisiana#my relationship with belief and religion is complicated#i didn't get to talk about science much lol#thanks for tagging me! :)
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Obtain the closest Wells Fargo Bank in Portland
Find The closest Wells Fargo Bank and even ATM Locations in Portland, OR. Get Wells Fargo locations in addition to hours, expert services and driving a vehicle directions.
Wells Fargo Bank 97214
Wells Fargo Bank, 310 SE Taylor St Portland, OR 97214
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Comes to an end afternoon before the Toil Day holiday and just one teller to help- absurd wait- very aggravating! Clearly may care concerning customer service.
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Super tiny location. That they only acquired one company when we went. Workers was friendly. Simply no restroom. Free 30 minutes airport parking out front.
Wells Fargo Bank in Portland
Wells Fargo Bank, 635 SW 6th Ave Portland, OR 97204
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Wells Fargo in Portland, OR 97201
Wells Fargo Bank, 1300 SW 5th Ave Portland, OR 97201
Reviews
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Evaluations
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Testimonials
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Wells Fargo Bank Portland, OR
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I really like my local community, but you can find no financial institutions close to my home. The particular only ATM's within taking walks distance are those questionable convenient kiosks that charge a couple of bucks. Those CREDIT bandits are withdraw just, naturally , so any other banking orders My spouse and i have to accomplish need some sort of special trip in the car. That makes me grouchy. Gratefully, the people at this kind of Wells Fargo diverge together with generally very pleasant. Now i am welcome with a enjoyable hello and some cheery chit-chat. Nice folks.
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The customer service here is below doble, and Wells Fargo inside general has been leading to us issues. The on-line accounts encounter issues as soon as a good calendar month, and I've experienced anatomical problems having the ATM at this area. When calling and acquiring the tellers browsing on me through the windowpane, they just continued to consume their food and ended up hesitant to help even nevertheless they could observe everyone on the phone dialling with the window while his or her cell phone was ringing in addition to they were only 12-15 minutes from beginning.
Reviews
I traveling frequently and love to become ready to stop simply by limbs as needed. My spouse and i ended into this branch and was treated now kindly. Everyone had some sort of smile and you could say to many people come in often. I love seeing company's have a compact town feel, especially around a hustle and bustle town.
Reviews
Seems going to be able to this branch for a long time mainly because my possibilities will be confined. I steer clear of coming into this branch on just about all prices. Twice now, a couple months apart, the same teller offers incorrectly applied a pair number of dollar payment in my credit card. Give thanks lord the pin number pad questions the customer to verify in advance of processing! One card I use usually for big purchases and the additional merely actually has ten to twenty dollars charged to it. Currently, I possibly said, "payment on the Cash Smart to Visa please" and she EVEN NOW put it on the particular additional card. The credit card that is presently PAID OFF. Also, a few yrs ago, a banker almost closed my accounts I actually share with the mother while i was at this time there with my own ex-fiancé for you to close our mutual balances. No one seems for you to spend any attention to be able to the details in the dealings they are processing. Now i'm so glad My partner and i changed the majority of my banking must a Credit rating Union.
Reviews
I actually had a good negative opening experience with this loan provider. I should have identified going for walks in, when I actually was attacked by some sort of fellow purchaser that it was planning downhill. Not of which My spouse and i hold this institution accountable for that. But I went in to order a few Canadian currency like their web page specifically clarifies their normal operating time with an cosmopolitan teller. I go in plus stand in line through the given times merely to learn the fact that "international teller" has in reality gone home and Items need to return another day. I used to be then told to be able to be sure into the future in during the morning when to ensure what We wanted was obtainable. My spouse and i understand the currency is definitely "first come, initially served" but upon contacting before my next take a look at, My spouse and i was told that had been not necessary. Consistency in connection in particular with retail can be pretty significant if a person ask me.
Wells Fargo Bank 97209
Wells Fargo Bank, 845 NW 11th Ave Portland, OR 97209
Reviews
We have only had excellent experiences with this subset of Wells Fargo. Whenever I go in I am approached the instant I walk in and certainly not possess to wait more compared to a time to be helped. I have caused the brokers (John plus Mitch) on this side branch numerous times to deal with supervision issues about both business and private accounts and have always was feeling well taken care associated with and all problems possess been recently quickly solved. Kudos!
Reviews
It takes some sort of lot for me to assessment a bank. I click on over for my do the job dealings like expense record take a look at cashing etc. I could utilize the ATM but I get in every moment. The people are why. Super nice and good. I think they recognize myself. Probably. l certainly not but you get that will perception. Furthermore they constantly have straps connected with $2s and I love that. Parking would be testing nevertheless I walk together with cycle.
Reviews
Tom as well as manager Michael will be amazing. I used to work with regard to Wells Fargo and may honestly say I've never ever viewed such amazing customer care around my years of financial. Thank you for resolving my troubles in addition to being so eager to support.
Critiques
Ok which means this bank can be HELLA outside of my way for literally every thing My partner and i need and there are usually nearer locations I could use yet I may not go at any place although here because I really like these kind of people. This staff is really freaking sweet and friendly and My spouse and i feel want they may my personal good friends hoping for us to do well. The bankers are really knowledgeable trying to help me in just about any way they can. They're very invested in the life and it is very reassuring! Mike with this branch is the nicest man together with is generally there as i need him. Highly, REALLY highly recommend this specific office. Is actually great. And Wells Fargo as a financial institution is just great. Quick to get rid connected with fees along with the app is usually hella straightforward to navigate. I'm a enormous fan so far!
Reviews
This kind of has not necessarily been my usual branch to accomplish business throughout, but I've had excellent service in this article every time My spouse and i occur in. Most recently, I actually had a fairly obnoxious transaction that essential several verifications, and was assisted proactively by Claudia here. Cheers for your follow-up in addition to working with me!
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16
This is my first blog post, titled Sixteen. Ironic. I have a blackhead mask on my nose and chin. Today is the first of January, 2018. Less than 24 hours ago was new year’s eve, which I had spent asleep in regards to a couple episodes of KUWTK. The time right now is 3 pm and I’ve just reminded myself to take the meat out of the freezer before my mother comes home. The sun is asleep and it seems that the clouds can’t hold the rain any longer. It’s humid and the skin above my brows is drenched in droplets of sweat, unready for another acne attack. It will rain, and when it does, I will turn my jazz tunes on.
The non-sense on your screen are of a sixteen year old girl who prefers to remain unnamed. She starts a blog to excuse herself from doing her winter-break homework. Tragic. She has exactly eight days to analyze one-hundred-and-five questions of subjects she mostly hates, and yet, here she is – her face mask too dry and her limbs plastered with mosquito bites. Almost unattractive and not her best appearance, but naturalistic and at a boiling state of peace procrastinating procrastination around herself.
The rain has poured. She turns on her jazz music like she even likes jazz. These are one of the things she does to keep her out of her comfort zone, and to make herself seem and feel more aesthetic and dreamy.
Two nights later, she wishes she had finished this excerpt from her never-ending afternoon thoughts. She wishes she had spent more time doing the things she likes and things she’s good at. It has been a trick she uses to delay her performance in completing homework – if you can’t bring yourself to finish your homework, then at least do something that’ll benefit you. You see, this confused teenage high-schooler hopes that her doodles, sketches, paintings, photography, short videos and poetry might bring her somewhere someday and that all the procrastination she does now will contribute to her bright future as a creative director or so. But, boy, is she wrong. Even after spending half of her life snapping shots and editing pictures for the gram, her notifications will remain dry as always. Don’t get her wrong, she appreciates the occasional I love your work dm’s and the OMG QUEEN comments from her friends, but she still feels her creative self can go further in the gram business than just occasional compliments and believes she has great visionary potential to help her start her creative-directing career. Nonetheless, regardless of the fact that she cant even pass 200 likes on Instagram, in her heart are still hopes of well recognition and endless requests of endorsements from well-known brands to supply all her with all her basic needs until she turns 25, at least. Sometimes she almost feels underrated for her multi-talented presence and the art she showcases on her feed. Some part of her is always ready to let go off her efforts and give up, because she knows there is obviously more to life than being a public figure on Instagram and #ad posts to keep her wardrobe exclusive and free, and that a creative career doesn’t start from Instagram.
This particular sixteen-years-old dumpling has bigger dreams than just being an Instagram public figure, obviously. She dreams to be a successful and independent daughter by the age of 23, applying her creative skills in a job she loves, freshly graduated from a reputable university, living in a small modern apartment in a big city while visiting her parents often. Her job preference is not a nine-to-five job in a cubicle doing analytics, it is a job where she can create, illustrate, communicate, and design, a job which takes her all over the world with a different destination every week (only because she’s never had a different destination every week, realistically she would be exhausted and spend more time catching up sleep and getting high on jetlags). In short, she desires the things Margaret Zhang seems to be doing on her updated Instagram feed and her ShineByThree blog, like creative consulting high-end brands, creating short-film ads for Chanel and Louis Vuitton, freelance writing for Elle, etc.
Other than sketching, photography and all that artsy creative stuff, this procrastinating blogger-to-be likes languages too. Her multicultural background of being raised in two countries, three cities and six different schools for the past 12 years guided her through an unceasing journey exploring all the different culture and picking up different foreign vocabulary every time entering a friend’s house. A constant voyage through culture has given her numerous friends from different corners of Earth, yet very little connection. That is her problem. An anonymous figure is great at making friends as she is outgoing, carefree and lit, but she is horrible at keeping connections and messaging her friends every evening to make sure they’re in touch which is why even after six school replacements, she only receives “omg girl lets skype i have some TEA” messages from exactly three people – along with another three responsive contacts on Snapchat. She feels she has enough friends to keep her updated on juicy dramas going on in her last home, but not enough connections and conversations to expand her friends circle and update her chances of doing things other creative sixteen-years-olds do, like creative collaborations and experimental projects, or just as simple as going to the movies.
At this age, you could classify this teenage frame we’ve been talking about to be quite…antisocial. She stays home on weekends and doesn’t get invited to parties, but she’s still happy. It’s what she prefers anyway. After having moved to a new juvenile delinquency of a society one-and-a-half year ago, her disappointment at the lack of manners and etiquette of the community in her surroundings have helped matured her perspectives and advanced the prudential quality of her response to life. The people in her current school think she is an awkward outsider, which in this case, she is – because she has absolutely no idea on how to end this blog post which resulted on her going on and on when she should’ve stopped on the third paragraph making this waaaaaay more of a rant than a first blog post. It feels awkward, like she had just met someone and she’s muddling on how to greet them, a hug or a handshake? So, uhhhh, thank you for reading. Good morning.
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