#foster care tw

[dreamdstate]

⤑  23,  non - binary,  they / he   𓇢𓆸   enzo becker  just hasn’t been the same since  janurary 2024.  i thought they would get even more  softspoken  and  intelligent  after they got the reason they were abandoned as a child after all own investigations turned up short,  but they’ve only become more  guarded  and  skittish.  i’ve known them for  twenty years,  and i see them all the time at their job as a  i.t technician  at  blackwater town hall,  but something just seems… different.

full name — enzo josiah bemis - becker.

nickname(s) — ?

date of birth & age — september 20th -– 24.

gender / pronouns — non - binary, he/they.

sexuality — bisexual.

species — empty. previously human.

occupation — computer technician at great bear library, otherwise living life as gods fucked up little ken doll.

notable features — various scars – in particular, a bruise looking scar on left knee, scar on face from the accident, in the middle of his forehead.

ABANDONMENT & FOSTER CARE TW born  in  god  knows  where,  united  states,  enzo  has  never  felt  like  he’s  belonged  -----  here,  there,  or  anywhere.  a  constant  search  for  something  more  than  himself,  there  was  never  any  answers  he  could  find,  himself.  born  to  two  anonymous  parents  who  were  much  too  young  to  have  a  child,  enzo  was  found  in  the  typical  fire  station  baby  in  a  basket  kind  of  way.  burnt  to  a  crisp  birth  certificate,  barely  making  out  his  first  name  attached  and  just  about  ready  to  crumble,  he  was  placed  into  the  foster  system  after  a  few  week  stay  with  a  firefighter  family. 

FOSTER CARE & DEATH TW was  placed  with  a  family  for  a  few  months,  then  another,  then  the  becker’s  (  hi  mom!  )  and  he  never  left  after  that.  was  eventually  adopted  by  them  when  he  reached  pre  -  school  age.  this  was  around  the  same  time,  coincidentally,  that  damien  had  passed.  it  was  then  when  he  began  to  shy  away  –  hiding  out  by  himself,  withdrawing  from  what  few  preschool  friends  he  had,  keeping  to  himself.  always  the  meek  kid,  it’s  not  like  they  tried  very  hard  to  break  out  of  their  shell.  enzo  knows  that  this  ever  -  lasting  loneliness  is  probably  his  fault.

schoolyard  blues  hit  him  hard.  spends  most  recesses  inside,  in  the  library,  using  the  shitty  computers  to  play  games  or  just  attempt  to  bypass  the  schools  system  and  google  random  things.  people  interested  him,  but  the  world  did  moreso.  threw  himself  into  his  hobbies  and  interests.  ever  the  collector,  there  was  many,  often  encouraged  by  his  family,  to  continue  to  persue  literally  whatever  he  wanted.  and  so  he  did:  room  filled  with  random  things.  books,  research  that  he  still  doesn’t  quite  get,  eventually  fell  in  love  with  computers  and  all  things  electronics.  started  by  taking  them  apart,  putting  them  back  together,  going  to  junk  yards  and  finding  random  things  and  mashing  them  together  and  failing.  his  own  frakenstein  computer. 

kept  to  himself.  involved  himself  in  the  nerdish  things,  which  also  didn’t  help  him  gain  many  friends,  but  he  was  actively  with  people  and  that’s  all  that  mattered.  time  grows  longer,  enzo  grows  larger,  and  the  fear  subsides,  if  only  a  little.  a  bit  more  self  trusting  and  confident  in  himself. 

graduates  high  school,  doesn’t  go  to  college.  uncertainty  in  himself  about  who  is  he  and  what  they  want  to  do,  enzo  does  what  they  do  best:  fuck  around  with  technology  until  make  it  work,  or  fuck  it  all  up.  it’s  working  so  far  –  working  at  the  town hall is  peaceful. occasionally  crafts  websites  for  those  who  ask,  does  bug  bounties  when  he’s  bored.  tries  not  to  be  too  much  of  a  reclusive  —  trying  to  make  friends.  please  god  please.  maybe  going  to  college?  who  knows.  not  enzo.

now playing — burial  plot  (  dayseeker  )  ,  night  vision  (  drives  the  common  man  )  ,  how  big  is  your  brain?  ( super  american  )  ,  bottle  rocket  (  briston  maroney  )  ,  thinkingoutloud  (  kenny  hoopla  )  . 

last watched — none. movie night ???

inspo — tbd.

MY  DREAMS  HAVE  BEEN  SO  FUCKED,  I  DON’T  KNOW  WHAT  IT  MEANS   [   … 

highly  empathetic  due  to  his  lonely  nature,  tries  to  see  the  best  of  people  even  when  he  so  badly  wants  to  be  a  pessimist.  so  very  kind,  but  extremely  skittish.  approach   like   a   feral   kitten   you   found   on   the   side   of   the   highway   at   3   am   while   interstate   traveling.   occasional   shakes   of   a   treat   bag   are   welcome   and   encouraged. 

if  he  likes  you,  you’ll  know  –  the  jokes  and  quips  he  keeps  locked  up  come  out,  and  he’ll  try  to  get  your  references  and  jokes  (  key  word  on  try:  he’s  trying!  )  .  will  blab  a  bit  about  his  favorite  things  and  do  not  get  his  ass  started  on  computers  and  technologies.   on  the  other  hand,  you’ll  also  know  if  he  doesn’t  like  you.  constant  death  stare  and  acting  like  he  doesn’t  hear  you  when  you’re  talking.  playing  the  silent  game  and  he’ll  win  every  time.  neutral,  you’re  fine.  he’ll  only  stare  a  little  bit  when  he  doesn’t  know  what  to  say,  which  is  always. 

extreme  mama’s  boy  —  after  damien  passed,  he  kind  of  clung  to  pearl  like  a  lifeline.  and  she  was.  his  biggest  cheerleader  and  confidant.  often  feels  like  he’s  worrying  her,  like  he’s  doing  something  wrong  and  not  being  like  his  sister  …  but  he’s  trying  his  best  to  make  her  proud. 

so  very  lonely  by  his  own  design.  but  is  trying  to  stop  doing  this.  blah  blah  blah  something  about  watching  life  go  by  and  see  all  these  people  having  fun  while  he’s  like  squidward  staring  out  the  window.  get  really,  buddy,  and  put  the  mouse  down.  very  much  socially  challenged.  it  used  to  be  a  lot  worse  -  hiding  behind  his  sister  and  mother  in  public  settings,  whereas  now  if  you  catch  him  off  guard,  he’ll  likely  take  a  minute  for  his  brain  to  catch  up,  then  reply  with  only  a  few  words.  does  not  like  to  be  ambushed  or  bombarded.  crowds  freak  him  out,  and  small  talk  gives  him  hives. 

scared  of  his  own  strength,  and  keeps  a  low  profile  —  despite  his  desperate  wanting  for  friends  and  more  people  to  connect  with,  he’s  often  afraid  he’ll  be  the  reason  something  bad  happens  to  them.  a  double  edged  sword.  he  doesn’t  want  to  face  the  blade  the  other  way,  so  he’ll  point  it  at  himself  instead. 

scared.  always  scared.  extremely  stubborn,  and  can  get  lost  in  his  own  head  almost  all  the  time.  please  ensure  he  is  paying  attention  before  you  say  anything  important. 

often  can  be  found  wearing  funny  tshirts  or  big  jackets.  treats  them  as  security  blankets,  like  he’ll  be  able  to  hide  in  them.  he  can,  but  it’s  the  principal  of  it.  has  worn  the  same  thing  for  years,  and  will  continue  until  they’re  simply  a  piece  of  fabric  barely  stitched  together.  tends  to  not  spend  money  on  himself  and  instead  his  family  or  friends.  sentimental  object  holder. 

DEATH  TW         /      a  listener,  not  a  talker.  didn’t  talk  for  almost  a  year  and  a  half  after  damien’s  death  –  being  in  the  house  at  the  time  was  traumatizing,  and  often  near  the  anniversary  and  holidays,  shuts  down  in  a  similar  manner.  grief  does  not  bode  well  during  full  moons,  and  enzo  can  often  be  found  in  his  room  and  away  from  others  during  this.  mildly  concerning,  yes,  but  as  a  child  it  often  lead  to  many  many  meltdowns  –  no  handle  on  his  emotions  and  how  to  keep  himself  in  check.  it’s  gotten  a  lot  better,  but  he’s  not  perfect. 

will  take  any  kind  of  electronic  device  apart  and  out  it  back  together.

includes  but  not  limited  to:  any  apple  product,  any  microsoft  project,  any  nintendeo  product,  walkie  talkies,  phones,  laptops,  mp3  players,  keyboards,  roku’s,  game  controllers,  wiis,  car  radios,  car  steering  wheels,  tablets,  desktops,  radios  /  stereos,  and  the  occasional  hand  held  vaccum.

carries  around  a  tablet  they  stole.  from  who?  aha,  well--  the  screen  is  cracked  to  shit,  and  it  hardly  works,  but  he  loves  it  and  has  had  it  for  a  solid  5+  years.  his  fines  must  be  crazy  on  that  thing.   carries  it  with  him  everywhere.  has  multiple  portable  batteries  just  in  case  there’s  no  way  to  charge  it.  loves  that  thing  like  it’s  a  real  person  and  it  is  like,  unironically  his  best  friend. 

obsessed  with  many  things  actually:  postcards,  pokemon  cards,  limited  edition  coca  cola  bottles,  movies  nobody  else  has  ever  heard  of,  star  trek,  old  sitcoms  from  the  70’s,  wolf  biology,  wolves  in  general,  national  parks,  and  also  cats  for  some  reason. 

obsessed  with  names.  probably  has  a  list  of  his  favorites  in  a  google  document  or  notebook  with  meanings  /  origins  /  etc. obsessed  with  notebooks.  collects  them.  has  some  from  2000’s  he’s  stolen  from  his  mother,  tore  out  all  the  pages  that  had  writing  on  them.  keeps  them  blank.  for  what?  he  doesn’t  know.

takes  things  maybe  a  little  too  literally.  does  not  fully  understand  sarcasm,  thinks  it’s  a  waste  of  time  and  when  he  tries  it,  it  usually  doesn’t  make  sense  or  falls  super  flat,  which  makes  it  funny. 

distrusts  the  government  and  social  media  and  all  that,  but  uses  it  anyways.  likes  to  be  in  with  the  kids  and  what  not.  loves  video  games  despite  this.  plays  minecraft  on  peaceful  and  does  NOT  go  under  ground.  he  likes  to  farm. 

maladaptive  daydreams.  a  lot.  it’s  a  bit  of  a  bad  habit,  now,  and  he  doesn’t  quite  know  how  to  stop  —  tries  to  play  it  off  to  little  avail  because  dude  doesn’t  have  a  cool  bone  in  his  body. 

KEY PLAYERS : WANTED.

friends.  dear  god  get  this  guy  something!!!!  jsut  kidding.  but  i  think  it’d  be  fun  to  explore  actual  genuine  friendships  ..  maybe  they  went  to  school  together?  maybe  theyre  neighbors?   maybe  they’re  new  and  town  and  want  to  take  him  as  their  pet  dog?  idk.  the  worlds  our  oyster. 

older  sibling  /  parental  figures.  i  think  this  is  also  rlly  fun  bc  he  is  a  very  concerning  individual  so  unfortunately  he  attracts  the  kind  adults  around.  maybe  knows  his  sister  and  mom?  family  friends  he’s  known  since  bebehood?  ..  a  sweet  kid  but  god  damn  it’s  like  watching  paint  dry  with  you  boy.  would  probably  try  to  cause  a  ruckus  in  their  home,  however.  watch  your  dvd  players  closely. 

mutual  dislike.  perhaps  something  happened  and  they’re  just  like  >.>  at  each  other?  it  takes  a  lot  for  enzo  to  actively  dislike  someone  and  try  to  bore  holes  into  their  head  by  staring  so  this  would  be  fun.

good  /  bad  influences.  those  people  who  are  like  brother  ..  my  friend..  you  need  to  be  at  the  club.  and  try  to  get  him  there.  devil  and  angels  on  their  shoulders,  if  you  will.  people  who  try  to  get  him  out  of  their  shell  either  way. 

grump  x  sunshine  dynamic  is  my  fave.  so  hello.

one  sided  crush  wld  be  cutesy  ..  like  boy  get  real.

[system-of-a-feather]

YO going through my "getting ready for work and eating breakfast" Youtube shorts and this came up and YO YOU GET IT

Sincerely,

A traumatized kid who communicates 50-60% of the time in solely bird noises and a part that communicates 90% or more in bird noises (+ in true cockatoo fashion learned some favorite other animal noises)

[logan-jones]

[ kristen stewart, cis-woman she/her ] Hey, isn’t that LOGAN JONES. I thought they went away for the summer? Did you hear they might be a WEREWOLF and have a connection to the FENRIR PACK? What I do know for certain is that they’re 29, and they’re HARD-WORKING and CALCULATING. They’re originally from MANCHESTER, UK, and have been in FENRIRSWOOD for A MONTH living in FORK’S ROAD. I wonder if they still work at WIN GARAGE as a MECHANIC. Best if they stay safe for now.

note: for this character i will primarily be using gifs from kristen stewart’s movie from 2020, underwater, but due to limited resources i may occasionally use gifs from other sources. logan’s outward appearance is as depicted in the aforementioned movie.

basics

full name: logan ashley jones age: 29 date of birth: june 15th, 1994 zodiac: gemini sun, libra rising, virgo moon species: werewolf gender & pronouns: cisgender woman, she/her spoken language(s): english occupation: mechanic at win garage sexuality: lesbian

appearance

face claim: kristen stewart height: 5'5"(165.1 cm) dominant hand: left hair color: bleached blonde eye color: blue scars: tbd tattoos: none

personality

positive traits: intelligent, hard-working, honest, resourceful, tough negative traits: blunt, hot-tempered, tense, opinionated, calculating

mentality

phobias: fear of failure disorder: borderline personality disorder, autism spectrum disorder allergies: n/a

background

hometown: manchester, uk birthplace: manchester, uk education level: high school diploma, working towards a bachelor’s in engineering familial connections: amir bacchus (adopted dad) @pclymcrphcus, unnamed biological parents and unnamed younger foster sibling

headcanons

logan is a recently turned werewolf, she was bitten 9 months ago and she's very angry about it. part of the reason why she came to fenrir's wood is she knew it had a decent supernatural population and after her first few transformations, she knew she wouldn't be able to hide her lycanthropy from her family for much longer. she didn't want to hurt them, so she chose to just leave without saying anything, hoping they'd eventually forget about her. she has anger issues, which have been made much worse since she's was bitten. she finds herself getting frustrated a lot easier than she used to and if provoked, she will start a fight with someone. over her course of being in fenrir's wood she's been working towards managing this better, but she still doesn't have a great handle on it. used to be a part of fight clubs when she lived in the u.s., which were a good outlet for her anger. she was in fight clubs for years so as a result she's very good at hand-to-hand combat. no one in her family knew that she was a part of these groups and she became very good at hiding bruises or injuries she got from them.

she has an adoptive brother who’s younger than her by 8 years and she grew very close to him in her time in foster care, they maintain a close relationship despite her moving across the country. logan is generally a pretty stoic person and her soft side comes out massively when she’s around her brother. she’s fiercely protective of him and will not hesitate to defend him when necessary.

logan has a muscular build, which she maintains by working out on a regular basis. to a certain extent she feels like she has to be muscular due to working at an auto shop, but she does actually enjoy working out. she learned the basics of cars from taking shop class in high school and it led to her taking an interest, so over time she learned more and more and has been working at auto shops since the age of 18.

[oculiaperticlausi]

— INTRODUCTING ATTICUS MCCLAIN

welcome to marina, ATTICUS MCCLAIN ( cis man, he/him ) ! they are a TWENTY-NINE year old who has lived over on LOCKE ROW for WHOLE LIFE and works as a FIREFIGHTER. everyone says they look a lot like DYLAN O'BRIEN. what do you think? — ALYSSA, 29, PST, SHE/HER.

b a c k g r o u n d ;

Every since he was born, it had always been him and his father. His mother left the second she could get up out of the hospital and never looked back.

His dad was his entire life, there was nothing in this world that meant more to him than the man who taught him everything there was to be a kind hearted person.

Expect, all that work would crumble apart. It was when he was 12 and his father lost his life in an accident at work, an accident no one would talk about.

He was immediately put into the system. He bounces from home to home because he pushes buttons in order to get kicked out of the homes.

No one gave him time to grieve, no one gave him time to adjust to life without his dad or even giving the boy a chance to realize his dad was really gone.

It was his last chance that made him shape up. He laid in bed at night next to one of the other kids and they just took his hand, told him it was all going to be okay and after that he fought to make sure he stayed in that home so he could protect the younger ones.

After that he wanted to make he was protecting others rather than hurting them.

It's when he started looking into firefighting.

After he turned eighteen, he moved out of the house and into Hyland Park.

c o n n e c t i o n s ;

almost — celeste beaumont

best friend — daniela carvalho

friends — isabella marino, juniper ridley liao

hookups — myria saengkaew, eden shepherd

[spotlitez]

ᴇᴢʀᴀ ᴠᴀʟᴇ - 𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒚-𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕. ᶠᵃᶜᵉ-ᶜˡᵃⁱᵐ : zayn malik. orientation: ᶜᵘʳⁱᵒᵘˢ ? MUSIC PRODUCER. born    and     abandoned     in     east     london        ,    ezra    grew    up    in     woodlands    house        ,         a    boys’    foster     care     home.           a     quiet        ,        introspective     child        ,        he    found    solace     in    music        ,         teaching    himself     production    on    a    stolen     laptop    at    14.         by    16        ,         he     was    sneaking    into    underground    clubs        ,         absorbing    the     way     bass     controlled    a     room.        aged    out    of    the    system    at     18    with    no     home        ,         he     lived    off     selling     beats    until    a    viral    soundcloud    track    launched     him     into     the    industry.        by    22        ,         he     was     producing    for     travis     scott        ,        the     weeknd        ,        and     kendrick     lamar        ,        crafting    haunting        ,        cinematic     soundscapes    blending    r&b        ,         electronic        ,         and    orchestral    elements.        now    ,        at    28       ,         he’s     a    grammy-winning        ,        oscar-holding    enigma        ,         known     as “        the     phantom    of    the    music     industry        ”        —        a    selective        ,        elusive     artist    who    speaks     through    music     rather     than     words.        rarely    seen    but    always    felt        ,        his     melancholic        ,        atmospheric    sound     has     shaped    both    hip-hop     and    film        ,        making     him    one    of    the     most     sought-after     producers     of     his     generation. [ ᴍᴜꜱᴇ ɪɴꜱᴩᴏ ; james blake ]

[fdedprophets]

INTRODUCING ABIGAIL LAHEY: i think i’m burning alive, but nobody sees the fire.

FULL NAME            abigail grace lahey.

BIRTHDAY              november 21st ( 28 ) . 

BIRTHPLACE          salt lake city, utah.

GENDER                 cis female.

OCCUPATION     film producer.

BUILD                     athletic.

HAIR COLOR         blonde (currently).

EYE COLOR           blue.

HEIGHT                  5’9

PARENTS              nicholas lahey ( father ) + cassandra lahey nee miller ( mother )

SIBLINGS        open younger siblings ( aged 25 - 27 )

PETS                    stellar ( black cat ) .

CHARACTER PARALLELS: meredith grey (greys anatomy), brooke davis (one tree hill), rebekah mikaelson (the vampire diaries), charlotte york (sex and the city), fiona gallagher (shameless)

BIOGRAPHY

trigger warnings: abandonment, alcoholism, foster care

Abigail Lahey was born on a gray October morning in Salt Lake City, Utah, into a world of chaos and instability. Her father, a struggling musician with big dreams but a penchant for self-destruction, disappeared when she was only six. Her mother, burdened with raising three children on her own, turned to alcohol to dull the pain. By the time Abigail was ten, she had become the de facto caregiver to her two younger siblings, cooking meals and doing homework by candlelight when the power was cut off.  

Despite her harsh upbringing, Abigail found solace in storytelling. Her escape was the secondhand camcorder her uncle gave her on her 12th birthday, a gift she cherished like a lifeline. She recorded everything—her siblings playing in the yard, the cracks in the walls of their dilapidated house, and the fleeting moments of peace in a tumultuous household. She dreamed of becoming a filmmaker, crafting stories that could transcend the pain she knew too well.  

Abigail's teenage years were marked by further turmoil. Her mother’s addiction worsened, and her siblings were taken into foster care when Abigail was 15. She stayed behind, determined to finish high school while working part-time jobs to support herself. The loneliness was unbearable, but Abigail used her despair to fuel her creativity. At 17, she entered a student film competition and won first place with a haunting short film that depicted a fractured family struggling to stay afloat. It was her first taste of recognition, and it ignited a fire within her.  

Abigail scraped together enough scholarships and odd jobs to attend the University of Utah, where she studied film production. Her professors recognized her talent, but they also saw the weariness in her eyes—the kind that comes from carrying too much too young. While her peers partied on weekends, Abigail spent her nights editing films and her days working as a waitress.  

At 23, with a degree in hand and a portfolio of award-winning short films, Abigail made the bold decision to move to New York City. She arrived with a suitcase, a handful of savings, and the weight of her past. The city was everything she had dreamed of and more—vibrant, chaotic, and bursting with opportunity—but it was also merciless. Abigail worked tirelessly, taking on assistant jobs for productions that barely paid rent.  

Her big break came two years later when she produced Through the Cracks, a raw, semi-autobiographical indie film that explored the resilience of siblings surviving a broken home. The film was lauded at festivals, and Abigail was hailed as a fresh voice in independent cinema. But the success was bittersweet; it forced her to confront the very wounds she had spent years trying to escape.  

Now 28, Abigail lives in a modest apartment in Williamsburg, balancing her burgeoning career with the ghosts of her past. She continues to create, pouring her pain and perseverance into her work. Her films are celebrated for their emotional honesty, but those close to her know how much they cost her.  

[ofthingsunwritten]

𝗯𝗶𝗼𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗽𝗵𝘆 - 𝗽𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘁 - 𝘀𝗽𝗼𝘁𝗶𝗳𝘆 - 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗱 - 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗲𝗿

[kismetharborconnections]

LEXI FONTENELLE IS LOOKING FOR HER YOUNGER SISTER!

tw: parental death, cheating, foster care

OOC: kayla

Character: lexi fontenelle

Type of Connection: younger sister

WC Name: up to player

Age Range: 27-28 years old

FC Options: up to player as long as they are half-mexican

Would you like to be contacted?: yes please!

Triggers: parental death, cheating

Connection Description: 

Lexi and this character were the only siblings adopted by the Fontenelle family. Their father left when they were kids from an affair and then their mom died when Lexi was 9 and this character was 6. They bounced around in foster care for a bit before they got split up and your character got adopted first. Eventually the Fontenelles found Lexi and adopted her as well when she was a teen. I imagine them to be close, having lost a few years of sisterhood when they were separated, but now are like best friends and of course can argue like sisters but are always there for each other.

[fadedstarsfms]

"It really helps when you're always on the go. Though I've found since having my son I've had to force myself to take more breaks than I normally would." Amelia laughed. She knew it was better to take some time to actually sit down and relax but she was always raised on the go. Or more accurately was raised on predictability and never knowing what was going to happen in the day, was she going to get kicked out of her foster home for the night or sent back in general? It always helped to never have to rely on a sitting down for a meal just in case. But Amelia had to constantly remind herself that she had her own life, she could relax and she was safe here. When she asked Amelia to join her, Amelia immediately grinned and threw her cigarette on the ground. "Yeah I'd really like that. Honestly I'm always down for one."

"I couldn't agree more. As much as I love a sit-down meal, there's something to be said about being able to eat on the go." Though Eden was usually pretty on top of things when it came to time management, there was the odd occasion where she would have to eat breakfast in the car on the way to work. Once, there was a mishap with a bowl of cereal, and she had definitely learned her lesson (and still sometimes found a stray cornflake hidden somewhere in the car). The mood between the two women was definitely lighter now than it had been. "Would you maybe like to join me for a chocolate milkshake? All this talk is making me really want one."

[alejandro-fontenelle]

INTRODUCING

[ rafael silva | 30 | cis man | he/him ] Hey, look! It’s [ALEJANDRO "ALEX" FONTENELLE] at [ENERGY ZONE]. Did you know they [WORK] there as a [PERSONAL TRAINER]? I guess they’re from [EAST HAVEN] and have been in town for [30 YEARS], living in [DOWNTOWN]. I also heard they’re a little [SELFISH], but also very [FORGIVING] which definitely makes sense.

TWs under the cut: car accident, death, foster care, infidelity

BIOGRAPHY

-Alejandro was born to two Brazilian immigrants and after they were both tragically killed in a car accident when Alejandro was a year old, he went into foster care. Thankfully he found a loving family in the Fontenelle's home and was adopted when he was five years old. 

-While he always knew he was gay, Alex wasn't ready to share that part of himself with the world for a long time. He feared the rejection that might come with being different and ended up dating his best friend in high school, Isla Ricci, so that no one would think twice about it. She knew who he was at his core but being the good friend she was, she never outed him to anyone.

-Alex played baseball all through childhood as his adoptive parents Shani and Ken required him and all his siblings to learn some kind of skill; either an art or athletic skill. He earned a scholarship to Arizona State University and left for college after he graduated high school. 

-While in college, away from his small town life, Alex finally came out as gay and started openly dating a man. He majored in kinesiology and was 22 years old when he was drafted to play third base for the Los Angeles Dodgers. 

-LA was everything Alex hoped it would be. He was thriving in his new job and loved feeling like he was part of something. He played 5 years of professional baseball and was on his way to being a major player in the game when he got caught up in a scandal. He was caught sleeping with the Dodgers team manager, a married man, and when his wife exposed them, Alex was released from his contract and had no choice but to move home to East Haven when he was 28, career over. 

-Since then Alex has been working as a personal trainer the last 3 years and has done his best to keep his head down, hoping that not too many people had heard about what happened in LA. 

[greywoodrpg]

𝕟𝕠𝕧𝕒 𝕒𝕦𝕣𝕖𝕝𝕚𝕒 𝕕𝕖 𝕝𝕖𝕠𝕟

appears as though she was born thirty-four years ago but is actually thirty-eight, she is a siren who lives in mystic grove as a defense attorney, and she is in no pod. she looks an awful lot like ana de armas.

“Develop enough courage so that you can stand up for yourself and then stand up for somebody else.”

tw: death, cancer, violence, foster care, drugging

Nova was born right by the sea in Valencia, Spain, to a single mother of seven. She was the eldest, and so she had to help her mother to raise her younger siblings. Her mother worked as a hairdresser, so money was always tight. As a result, Nova was forced to leave school at seventeen despite being top of all of her classes, and instead get a job assisting her mother at the salon. She wanted nothing more than to finish highschool and go to university, but the money just wasn’t there. As soon as she turned eighteen, she became a cocktail waitress, making more money this way from tips. 

Tragedy struck when her mother fell ill with lung cancer, and died within six months of being diagnosed. Although she was eighteen, Nova didn’t feel that she would be able to be the sole carer of her six younger siblings, so they were taken in by various foster families. The pain of losing her mother and her siblings so quickly was too much, and Nova fled Spain, ending up in New York. She took another job as a bartender at a grimy bar in upstate New York and worked there for many years. She worked her way up, eventually becoming a bar manager, and at the age of twenty-one, she decided to try and go to university. 

Because of her incredible grades, she made it into the first year of law school with discretionary admission, studying and attending classes all day and working late into the night to pay her school fees. At the age of twenty-four, she was in her third year of her law degree, somehow managing to stay top of her class while still working ridiculous hours. It was then that she met Roman. He flirted with her, and while she had had hookups in the past, she soon developed a crush on him. The pair started hooking up after a couple of months of his regular appearances at the bar. Eventually they ended up in a relationship of sorts, although Roman would often disappear months on end, and would offer no explanation upon his return.

Their relationship lasted just over a year and a half before Roman finally disappeared for good, leaving behind no easy way to contact him. Nova was now nearly twenty-six, and in her fourth year of her law degree. She was completely distraught. Within the month of him leaving, she found out that she was pregnant. Having always wanted to be a mother, and finding the thought of ending the pregnancy of Roman’s child too difficult to even comprehend, she made the decision to keep the baby. The next few years were hell - she worked even harder than before, now juggling pregnancy and then a newborn baby while still trying to work and study. When her baby, Lucas, was just three months old, she decided to go part time with her study, setting her back a few years. It took her another four years to complete the degree, Lucas just about to start school, and her thirtieth birthday looming. 

She began work as a defense attorney, becoming one of the best in her field, and life got a little easier after that. She was making money, Lucas was at school, and things had finally begun to settle. And then when she was thirty-three, everything changed. A client she had been working with was declared guilty, and unbeknownst to her, he was a siren. In a fit of rage, he took her out to dinner under the pretense of thanking her for her help, drugged her, and took her to the sea to drown her. For a year or so, she stopped working, focusing on keeping her son well-adjusted while she figured out how to live as her new species. 

Life eventually returned to some kind of normal, and when Lucas turned nine, he began to ask questions about his father. Nova hadn’t seen or heard from Roman since his sudden departure, but she knew her baby deserved to meet his dad, and so with a little help from a fellow lawyer and using the little information Roman had told her about him and his family, she tracked him down. Finding out he lived in Greywood was a pleasant surprise - she had never been around other supernaturals before, and over a few years, she made the decision to move her little family to the town. Now, newly arrived in Greywood , she is seeking answers. Why did Roman leave her? And what will he say when he finds out he has a son?

“what power did she attain when settling in greywood?”

Nova attained the ability to sense when someone is lying. She isn’t able to identify the real truth, but if she makes eye contact with someone while they tell a lie, she is able to sense that they have spoken an untruth.

penned by... may

[nullmocn]

𝗣𝗔𝗭 𝗥𝗘𝗠𝗘𝗠𝗕𝗘𝗥𝗦. Every detail is CARVED into the marrow of her being, every moment a stone in the river of her memory. She cannot forget, even when she wants to, even when the weight of it threatens to pull her under. She was never allowed to be a child — not truly, not fully. The role was stolen before she ever knew what it meant, replaced by the burden of CAREGIVING for those who should have cared for her.

Before adoption, her parents drifted in their own hazy oblivion, caught in a web of needles and powders that DULLED the edges of their lives — and hers. They forgot her needs in their stupor, and when they woke, they left her behind to chase worship in the bodies of others, DESPERATE to cope without their drugs, desperate to find more. Paz became the caretaker, the lifeline. She remembers dragging her mother’s limp body to the shower, scrubbing away the grime of days lost to addiction. She remembers her father’s rage, the sting of his hands when she dared to ask, at the tender age of eight, why they lived this way. She remembers feeding herself, teaching herself, patching together an education from scraps of books and stolen moments of clarity. She wonders what cruel lottery gave her this family, this fate, this relentless trial of survival.

And she remembers the end of that chapter, too. The overdose that took her mother. The cold inevitability of strangers arriving to take her away as her father was handcuffed. The homes she was shuffled through, each more PAINFUL than the last. In some, father figures let their eyes linger too long, their hands hovering too close. In others, mothers turned cruelty into discipline, punishing her for the sins of others. There were places where she was just a number, a source of income for caregivers who spent the checks on themselves while the children went hungry. She worked, she rebelled, she fought back, but none of it changed the system or the roles she was forced to play.

Then, at ten, the Kaius family came into her life. They saw her — a FERAL, wary thing, all sharp edges and mistrust — and they stayed. She tested them with every ounce of her defiance, certain they would abandon her as everyone else had. But they didn’t. They held on, nurturing her despite the storms she unleashed. Slowly, painfully, she began to let them in. She remembers the cautious hope that bloomed in her chest, fragile and new, as she became part of something larger than herself. The arrival of her younger sibling solidified it: a family. Love. A place where she belonged.

But even that joy was not eternal. Her sibling disappeared, and the family FRACTURED under the weight of grief. Paz stepped into the role she knew too well, mediating arguments, absorbing blame. Her mother, once a source of comfort, became a stranger filled with resentment, lashing out at Paz for the loss of her sibling, the one child she was able to carry to full term. Eventually, even she left. She left her adopted daughter and husband, and Paz took up the duty she had carried all her life. She stayed to care for father, as she had once cared for her birth parents. Every act of kindness was a ghost of a memory, a painful echo of a life that refused to release her.

She wonders now, in the stillness of this moment, if a child ever TRULY has control. Does anyone? The thought drifts through her as Charlie clings to her, breathing in sync, grounding them both. The words she told the blonde words she wished she had heard herself. But the moment, like all others, shatters. Charlie falters, her body betraying her, and Paz is pulled back into the present. She steadies herself, even as the weight of it all — the past, the present, the future — presses against her chest, threatening to crush her.

❛ The bathroom’s to the right, ❜ she says, her voice thin and tired, pointing Charlie toward a space of privacy. ❛ There’s a shower cloth — just use it. ❜

And then Paz stands after Charlie, though every fiber of her being BEGS her to stay down. Exhaustion blankets her, thick and unyielding, heavier than it has ever been. She has always been taught to endure, to be strong, to carry the weight of others without complaint. But now, for the first time, she feels the frailty of her own humanity. It cracks her open in ways she doesn’t expect, leaving her exposed.

She wants to scream, to claw at the air, to thrash against the UNFAIRNESS of it all. She wants to collapse into someone’s arms, to feel their warmth and know, if only for a moment, that she is not alone. She wants to run, to flee this life that has been nothing but a series of trials, one after another. But those are dreams, not reality. Her reality is this: the unending labor of care and protection, the relentless expectation to be more than she is, more than anyone should be.

And so she stands, her body trembling with the weight of it all, and she presses forward. Because that is what she does. Because that is ALL she has ever known.

In the aftermath of the fire, the world had changed in ways that Charlie, at thirteen years of age, had felt in physical manifestations. Plagued by episodes, as her aunt would say, where the entire weight of the world sat on her chest, or moments of waking in bed, sheets soaked and soiled despite having outgrown the habit for years.  Her aunt tried her best, but she had never really wanted kids, struggled to relate to a thirteen-year-old girl regressing to childlike behaviours to protect herself. Therapy had helped some, but the passage of time is really what assuaged her behavior. As such it had been years since her last panic attack, and heavily intoxicated, Charlie struggles to remember what brings her out of them.

The gripping of fear so intensely tightens around her heart, she wonders if it’s still beating. There’s a hand on her shoulder, warm, tender, grounding, yet all Charlie can feel is cold hands of terror wrapped around her neck, strangling her windpipe and rendering it useless. The labor of attempting to breathe normally presents in a state of extreme calefaction in her lungs, muscles contracting in short and unsteady bursts of exertion that achieved nothing except add fuel to the fires of panic. Is this really how her world fades to black?

End, I want this to end. In the walls Paz puts around her, Charlie crumbles, searing tears unforgivingly spilling out, dampening the collar of her shirt and the warm body that she temporarily buries her face in. Any breath she manages to pull in is accompanied by a guttural moan vibrating in her chest. Her body is so tense as she sobs, and yet she finds a moment to soften in the hold of the other woman, focuses (or tries to) on anything that would allow the heaving of her chest to dissipate back to a normal rhythm. Her hands fist around fabric, a lifeline in the choppy sea that had overthrown and threatens to drown Charlie.

We don’t choose to give in to fear, we choose not to let it incinerate us, her father had said when Charlie had asked how he could look at a monstrous fire in the face and standfast against it. She feels the heat of flames at her fingertips, radiating through every nerve in her body. Fear overwhelms her, nine years of living in a town that wants nothing but to kill her, to destroy hope, to snuff out life in the most brutal and eviscerating way. If Charlie could choose, she would die right here, in arms that feel more like home than her own skin, in warm reassuring breaths at the crown of her head, in hands so rough and yet tender in their comfort. She would let fear incinerate her knowing that when you set things ablaze, you do it with the intent that things thrown to the flames can never return.

Fall, that’s that it feels like. It feels like fall. Like time is getting shorter, and darker, and colder. Her undoing is so violent in her body that Charlie doubts she’ll ever be able to put herself back together. And then, like the sun coming out, she’s staring into warm earthly pools, bleeding with such concern and care that her stomach doubles over on itself. Through the blur she holds Paz’s gaze, can see her lips moving but can’t hear a thing she’s saying. It’s not real she hears Conor say from where Paz was, and he’s holding her face, his blue eyes staring into her own, lifeless. Charlie shuts her eyes tight, reopens them to find her father, Where’s mom? Did mom make it out? She screws her eyes shut again and brings a hand up to cover the one caressing her face, ground herself. In, out, in out. Charlie pants laboriously. Look at me, I’m real. She opens her eyes, meets Paz’s with such intensity and conviction, wanting the statement to be true. Her other hand releases the fabric it had been clutching and grabs Paz at the top of where her shoulder meets her neck, digs a desperate hold into the tight muscle there. You’re not alone.

Apart from her father, Paz is the only other person to have said those words to her and Charlie grabs on to the hope they cast.

Together, they take deep breaths, Charlie doing her best to match the steady pace that the other woman sets for her, eyes never leaving Paz’s. It’s an intimate hold they have on each other, even more intimate than their initial entanglement, and it evinces things from Charlie she can’t even begin to think about. What life have you led to make such softness so hard. The comedown is the most exhausting, several minutes of trying to regain both breath and control, to make the shadows in the corners of her eyes disappear. She keeps her gaze fiercely on Paz as her chest rises and falls, and she comes back into her body in a sickly sense of awareness. Her muscles ache, throat raw, eyes stinging. The pit in her stomach is still tight and heavy, and the blonde doesn’t trust that she’ll be able to stand. As her wheezing subsides, she releases her hold on Paz and averts her eyes, embarrassed to find that at some point the fear had been so intense, had constricted muscles so hard, that she’d wet herself. Heat flushes her cheek and Charlie bites back the urge to vomit.

“Don’t…” she croaks out, as though it would prevent Paz from being cruel, from seeing her as anything but weak. But Charlie feels weak, her hands tremble still, a cold shivering from the back of her damp neck. Hands tighten onto the fabric of her pants at her knees, measuring up what path would allow the most self-preservation out of this situation that doesn’t require moving to another country and changing her identity (which stuck in Arcadia seems particularly hellish).  

Leave, she wants to say, but instead she meets Paz’s gaze again. “I’m sorry,” she admits softly, not just talking about the state she’s in, but for barging in on what she's sure would have been an otherwise uneventful evening. There’s a thank you at the edge of her mouth but it gets buried in need of further help. “Is there…” she starts and then shakes her head, too exhausted to allow pride to remain, “is there somewhere I could rinse off?”

“Please.”

[javier-castillo]

BASICS.

Name: Javier Castillo Age: 30 Occupation: Barber / Weed Dealer Neighborhood: Westside Gender & Preferred Pronouns: Cis Man, He/Him Sexuality: Bisexual Face Claim: Tommy Martinez

BIOGRAPHY.

tw: deportation, death, foster care, crime

Javier was born to two immigrant parents from Venezuela in Los Angeles, California after they left Venezuela to seek out a safe place to raise a family. He has one younger sister that he hasn’t seen since he was five years old but he thinks about her all the time. When she was born there were complications and his mother had to go to the hospital. Because she and Javier’s father were undocumented, they were detained and deported shortly after Andrea was born. 

After his parents were deported, Javier was put into foster care where he and his sister were separated immediately. He was five years old and never saw his infant sister again. He bounced around foster homes all over the state for a few years until his behavior got out of control and he was sent to a group home in Half Moon Bay when he was ten. Javi spent the next few years there until he emancipated himself at sixteen.

There was never anyone who took an interest in Javier. No family to keep an eye on him, no foster parents that would love him. He learned to be self-sufficient and watch his own back at a young age. For a long time he wouldn’t let anyone close to him, pushing away every person who ever tried to be his friend. Until he moved to the group home and met the two best friends who would become his family. 

Noa and Ricky were both around his age and came from the same kinds of mess. At first Javi was skeptical that anyone could understand what he’d been through. Some of the foster homes he’d been in before coming to the group home were darker than he ever chose to speak of. To this day they’re the only ones he’s ever told about his experiences. It didn’t take long before the three of them were attached at the hip and causing chaos all over town together.

Smoking pot and petty theft kept Javier busy for a while but as he got older, the three of them started getting into more trouble. With no one to keep them accountable or guide them in the right direction, things got out of hand before he knew it. Javi started getting picked up by the cops and falling into trouble way too often. He didn’t see a future for himself that didn’t revolve around criminal activity so there was very little that motivated him to keep his shit together. Besides his budding feelings for Noa anyway.

It seemed he wasn’t the only one who felt that way though and when Ricky confessed his feelings for Noa, Javier took it hard. He got angry and pushed them both away, putting distance between them when the pair started to date. He got picked up by the cops more frequently, started selling pot and dabbling in using other drugs. It wasn’t until Noa told him that she felt something for him too that he pulled himself back from the ledge. Ricky and Javier got in a huge fight over it and before they could settle it, make things right, the unthinkable happened.

Things happened so fast after the shots were fired that night. Javier couldn’t get to Ricky in time but he could get to Noa. He threw himself on top of her and they barely escaped with their lives. He couldn’t say the same for Ricky. They’d gotten in over their heads that night, involved in something they didn’t realize was as dangerous as it was. When Ricky died that night, so did any chance of Javier ever making things right again. He did everything to push Noa away, realizing that if she didn’t get the hell out of Half Moon Bay, something or someone might come for her and that was a reality he could not live with.

Javier eventually convinced Noa to leave, but not without destroying their relationship first. He said a lot of hurtful things, it was easier to let her go if she hated him. She’d neve abandon Javier any other way and he knew that. So he broke both their hearts and never said goodbye to her, hoping that she’d find a life that was better and safer somewhere far away from here.

Nothing held any more meaning in Javier’s life and so he got himself locked up for a few years, assault and battery, possession of drugs, and grand larceny. Javi spent five years in a state penitentiary before coming back to Half Moon Bay and getting a job at a barber shop. He’s stayed out of major trouble since then, deciding that prison wasn’t his favorite place on earth and now keeps to selling weed and cutting hair.

Though he’s got a very rough exterior and doesn’t have too many people that he considers to be friends, Javi does have a good heart underneath it all. He’s terrified of letting anyone get too close to him but for those who somehow sneak past his walls, he will go to hell and back for them with no questions asked. He’s a ride or die in every sense of the word.

[fadedstarsfms]

"I wouldn't either." Amelia admitted with a smile, not wanting Ney to feel like it was a bad thing. "I get it though, I think it's really sweet how big of a heart you have. But I agree there's been too much going on lately that it feels like every time we try to get back up we just get knocked down again." Plus with Neylani's job it made sense why she would feel that way.

"I will, I promise. He'll be sad to miss you." She said with a small smile, knowing how much James liked seeing her. "Oh he told me all about it, was so excited for his treat."

Amelia tried not to jump when Ney touched her shoulder, it wasn't Ney's fault in the least but Amelia was jumpier lately. She always had to be on guard growing up, never knowing what each day or placement would bring for her. And ever since the festival she was getting gradually more and more back into that mindset. She stiffed slightly but tried to relax so Ney wouldn't notice. Amelia actually let the other make the food and did what she told and sat down with a sigh.

It made sense that demons would take the trauma and run with it to make someone suffer. But it didn't mean it hurt any less. "Rio was the only one who knew how bad it sometimes got. There were some nights I would run away to his house. He'd never ask what happened, only let me bring it up if I wanted." Was it any wonder that Amelia was in love with him? She'd never admit it out loud but she knew that it wasn't exactly a secret. "It would make sense the demon in him would know it too then."

Amelia looked down as the bowl was placed in front of her, trying to take deep breaths so she wouldn't start crying. She had been crying too much lately and Ney didn't need to see it. "I know but.." Amelia trailed off. She didn't know how to say that despite evidence showing otherwise, Amelia kept talking herself out of it. She felt that she was alone and was always going to be alone. After all it wasn't like anyone had ever chose her. Rio never *chose* her to have a family, Amelia just got pregnant. Rio was forced in the family they created, and despite how good they were she always worried that he was left with some regrets. Regrets about her. "I've always been alone, Ney."

Neylani offered the woman a mildly embarrassed grimace. "You're probably right, but I really wouldn't have it any other way," she admitted. "It's like.. If I don't have you guys to busy myself with, then what am I doing?" Made perfect sense to her! "Besides, I care about this entire town.. Lately it's like, so much is happening.. one thing after another, like domino effect.. I feel like there's never been a time more appropriate that we all stick together and be there for each other." Things felt so... dangerous, lately. There had always been some underlying tensions within the town, of course, but recently? It all felt like things were coming to a boil.

"Aw," a bit disappointed to learn James wasn't there, but that was just as well so they could speak candidly with each other, "well, make sure to give him a hug from me, when he comes home. I got to see him at the store the other day. If he came home with a sugar rush.. I'm afraid that was my fault."

Ney approached the woman, coming to rest a hand at the back of her shoulder in a gentle manner as Amelia spoke on what happened during the festival. The sheriff understood immediately, what Amelia must have experienced. She wasn't sure what insecurities and trauma they must have preyed on with her, but she readily trusted that whatever those were, had shaken her friend to the core if it had caused her to become a shut in. "Here, let me take care of this," she offered, referring to the food preparation, "and you sit down, okay? I got it." Ney didn't want her to have to worry about anything right then, other than herself. "After everything that happened, I read up on demons," she shared, as she dished out some of the chili into Amelia's bowl. "They take our innermost insecurities and trauma and turn it against us."

Once they each had a small bowl and spoons, Ney went to join her at the table. "They thrive on torture," she said, looking at the woman in sympathy. "I know it's easy to try and tell you not to let it get to you -- we're all people, we don't really work like that." If they could all just shut off their thoughts and feelings on a whim, then they would have. "All you can do is continue forward, putting fresh bandages on those wounds until the bleeding finally stops all over again, and heals itself back up. Which it will," Ney nodded, earnestly, "because you have your son, and Rio.. and others that care about you, and all of us will be here to remind you about whatever those bastards caused you to know, or forget, or whatever it is they preyed on. You don't have to go through any of it alone."

[torchflies]

Hi TG Fandom!

I love thinking about an AU where: Pete Mitchell is eight years old and used to being bounced around from foster home to orphanage to group home to foster home. An eight-year-old Pete who is scrappy and world-savvy and angry, just imagine a Maverick before he's Maverick — all that Maverick-ness balled up in this pint-sized Pillsbury biscuit can of whoop-ass. He runs the show wherever he goes with his loud mouth and sense of righteous fury. 

But then there's this new boy at the group home, this chubby nine-year-old blond boy with broken glasses held together with duct-tape and a big sweater with patches that covers his hands and half his face. He doesn't talk and spends most of the day hiding in his bed or reading an old Chemistry textbook that he brought from wherever he came from. Pete doesn't get him, thinks he's weird and the fact that the boy always looks so scared makes his tummy feel squirmy. 

So, he starts to sit next to Blondie, shares his food — basically the only thing of value he has, and starts talking, and talking, and talking and talking if only to fill up all the space that Blondie doesn't with his own words. Eventually, Blondie starts scooting closer to Pete, leans against him and starts to talk in a small whisper that only Pete can hear. 

Blondie’s name is Tommy. 

They grow up together in that group home, they bond to each other in a way they've never bonded to anyone else. They make plans to get out and join the Navy together one day, to fly; and they promise to never be apart or alone again.

Then Tommy gets adopted. 

Pete cries; Tommy screams. They might be teenagers now but it takes three men to get them to pry their hands off of each other. Tommy gets carried down the hallway howling, hands outstretched, yelling louder than Pete’s ever heard him speak before. Suddenly, the world is meaner and colder than it has ever been before and all he has left of his Blondie is that same scuffed up Chemistry textbook and a pair of broken glasses.

Pete runs away that night, glasses in his pocket and that heavy book stuffed into his backpack, but he never finds Tommy again… he finds Nicky Bradshaw instead. 

He starts to move on from the hope of ever seeing Tommy again… until Top Gun and Animal Night at the O Club, when Pete catches sight of the first boy he’s ever loved, hiding with shades on and a vodka glass in his hand, instead of a patchy sweater and a Chemistry textbook. 

Pete’s still a pint-sized Pillsbury biscuit can of whoop-ass and the world has changed them both into new people…

But when Iceman comes at him with bravado and snapping teeth, stinking of the alcohol that used to scare him when he was Tommy, regaling Maverick with tales of a father who loved a bottle more than him…

Pete reaches up to slip a little boy’s pair of broken glasses onto the blond’s face with a gentle, “Hi, Blondie.”

And Iceman crumbles away, leaving a crying Tommy in his place.

“Pete.”

He still says it the same way, like he's saying home.

[amoxicillin-tangent]

i am given birth to by my mother. i am brought home to a falling-apart trailer. i am fed and i am not fed enough. i am aged into a small being with opinions and some semblance of autonomy; my childhood is a video game and i am given three objectives: sit down, stay quiet, and cease to exist. i am made good at the last part; it is a god-like sort of art, and so i do. silence is suited for me as well as i am suited for silence. 

i am told, gently, by my third-grade teacher to stop writing in passive voice. the noun of the sentence should be the actor, the doer, the taker. i am not a taker. never the actor of my own consciousness, of my own unconsciousness, remember, now, i am ceasing to exist. 

i am uprooted like a wilting plant, no sunlight, chipped terracotta pot, placed, never planted. grow, says the sunlight seeping between the drawn shutters, and i deny its case. i am made a masochist at all of eight-years-old, i am made for withering away. i am made mother, made martyr, made clever, made more, made machine. 

i am placed in a foster home and told the new rules. i will sleep at 2130 and wake at 0600. i will eat blueberries and coconut yogurt and i will make good grades. i will behave. i will sit down, i will stay quiet, and i will cease to exist. 

i am told, gently, by my ninth-grade teacher to stop writing in passive voice. like this, you are the subject of the sentence. i am brought home; i am subjected to my sentence. i am taught, i am created, i am embittered, i am disillusioned, i am ceasing. it is all i know how to do.

blurring letters litter the pages before me. maya angelou, oh pray my wings are gonna fit me well. oh, tell the hell-child to return to her cell. mangled beast, worthless mongrel, ceasing. perfect child, perfect victim, passive. the sentences are diagrammed by my expert hand and i am diagrammed as well, pages in a folder, problem child, trouble-maker, mentally unstable. infinitive, preposition, page-break. 

my eleventh-grade teacher is asked why was it okay for maya angelou to write in passive voice? she responds, because to write in active voice would take the focus from the corpse to the crew. i like that. i understand it. the pages aren’t so blurry anymore. i trace them with my fingertips, letter-by-letter. her bones were found//round thirty years later//when they razed//her building to//put up a parking lot. 

i am no longer still, silent, ceasing. i am no longer wilting, and no longer made, i am maker. 

grow, says the sunlight seeping between the drawn shutters. i am neither the corpse nor the crew. i reach forward with trembling hands,

and i pull the cord, and the light floods through.