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purplesaline · 2 months ago

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In our current society (in North America and much of the western world) we can't completely avoid capitalism, but with some work and dedication we can reduce how much we have to participate in it.

Building community is hard, and it often requires a lot of up front investment in time and energy before you start seeing returns on that investment. I know not everyone is in a place where they can make those expenditures without getting anything back right away which is why it's even more important for those of us who can to start building sooner rather than later.

When you have a healthy, thriving community of people you can start withdrawing yourself more and more from reliance on a broken capitalist system. Yes there's mutual aid within a community but what's even more exciting to me is the option of participating in a barter/trade economy because it's so often more empowering for disabled folks and other marginalized groups that struggle in a capitalist economy.

And even more importantly than that, it's how we can survive a political landscape that is openly hostile to us. It's as impossible to avoid the fallout of the current political situation as it is to avoid participating in a capitalist economy, but being part of a strong and healthy community can at least help mitigate some of the harmful effects.

Neighbours sharing produce from their gardens can lessen the chances of food-borne illness as a result of lax food safety regulations.

Creating, maintaining, and sharing resources that help marginalized groups can help protect vulnerable people in your area when the larger resources are being dismantled or when people acting in bad faith are pretending to be a helpful organization.

Communities have more leverage (and resources) when it comes time to put pressure on local government to make progressive changes

As communities grow, empathy and compassion for the people in the community also spreads and that can help create allies against the bigotry and prejudice some of the community members face. When you're in community together with someone it's harder to depersonalize them. They aren't [insert oppressed group] member, they're the person who walks your dog and brings you beets in exchange for piano lessons, or the person who loaned you a spare tire so you could go to work and when you got home that evening they'd fixed your flat tire for free because they had the time and some spare material laying around from a repair they did on their own tire.

It's going to be really easy to give in to despair in the coming months and I'm not going to lie and say you can survive it. Some folks won't. I'm not going to lie and promise if you can make it through that things will get easier, they might not!

But if you can hang on I can promise you there's a chance things will get better, and I can promise you there's a whole heck of a lot of us out there trying to make sure it does get better. I can promise you that building community will help you survive when things start getting harder, and I can promise you that community can be a beacon of light in dark times, a bastion of hope in a desert of despair.

I know you're tired and I'll understand if you can't keep fighting, but I really hope you've got enough resilience left to hang on long enough to find a community to be part of.

#i don't know where I'd be right now without mine #these last few months alone I've had so much help #from people getting me to and from my weekly hospital appointments #to folks helping with my move #either offering their time #or supplies #i had a bunch of people searching for places in my budget #and making lists for me #and even had one person offer to let me use their 40ft trailer/fifth wheel #and the place I ended up living #is building an addition onto their house for me to live in #it's not gonna be a huge space #just under 300 sq ft #but I'll have full use of the rest of the house too #and be paying less in rent than I was even before the rent increase at my shitty apartment #i have people offering to help me do household chores #and people offering to help me fix my car #folks don't have extra cash to help me pay for stuff #but they're happy to offer their labour and time and skills #one friend lent me use of 12 bigbplastic totes to help me move #and another paid for a bunch of uhaul boxes for me #the people I moved in with let me use their 3 horse trailer so I didn't have to pay to rent a van/truck #and I had a bunch of people helping me load up and unload the boxes and furniture #it took a long time to build this community I'm a part of #and it took awhile before I started seeing a return in my investment of time and energy #but it was so #so worth it

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goldeneyedgirl · 1 year ago

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TwiFicmas23 Day 3: Hybrid (The Party)

Good evening! I might have spent today reading a very old draft and realizing that as bad as the draft is, there is potential there. I'm pretty excited, and hoping I can salvage some of it for a future day.

But today I humbly offer a new scene from the OG Hybrid. This particular scene comes from earlier in the fic - after Jasper tried to feed on Alice and the Cullens begrudgingly welcome Alice to join their lunch table, but you wouldn't call them friends yet. Plus Alice is still set on being a normal high schooler with normal experiences.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

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The party is exactly what I expected - eighty teenagers in a log house unsupervised. There’s a good mix of Res kids and town kids; and from the conversation that I overhear, it's not just Forks High students from town either - at least a few are from the hippie school which might explain the distinctive smell wafting from the den - and a few people who have definitely graduated.

I feel awkward from the moment I arrive; after all, other than Angela and the Cullens, I don’t really hang out with many kids from school. I was so determined to have a normal experience and go to a high school party without vampires, I hadn’t really considered the reality of the situation. And the sheer amount of complete strangers here puts me on edge - it’s one thing to try and hang out like a normal teenager with my classmates and schoolmates. It’s an entirely different thing to be faced with a house full of random people when I don’t have anyone here to watch my back. The few parties I had attended in Chicago, I had gone to with one of my foster siblings, and no matter how much we disliked each other or what arguments we had, we always had each other’s back.

And Cynthia was way too young to be dragged to a high school party - no matter how enthusiastically she would have attended this with me - so I was on my own. I could do this, I had been to parties before. Hell, I’d been a homeless middle schooler when I went to my first party, a rave in an abandoned warehouse. A house party was nothing to be nervous about.

It’s easy enough to get a slice of pizza and a cup of what I know isn’t just a sugary sweet concoction of soda and juice. I smile and I talk - compliments for a girl in a bedazzled mini-dress, and another one with long pink and white hair; a couple of jokes for the guys manning the pizza boxes. I feel like I’m playing the part of a teenage girl at a party more than I feel like myself, but it’s something. I even manage to smile prettily and take a puff of a cigarette that I know isn’t tobacco and maybe have another drink and another until I’ve made party-friends with a group from Port Angeles who know a guy who knows a girl who got an invite or something. I feel a little more at ease with the alcohol in my system, and when the conversation turns to something I’m more familiar with.

In fact, I’m in the middle of explaining how we used to do our nails at my last foster home, when I’m rescued by a group of Forks High classmates; Mike Newtown is clearly their spokesperson as he unwelcomely grabs my arm.

“Hey, we didn’t know you were here,” he says loudly; I can tell from the flush on his cheeks, he’s either helped himself to the beers piled into the bathtub down the hall or he’s been drinking the same punch as I have.

“I’ve been here a while,” I say, and decide that I’m not going to make a fuss that he’s glanced down at my chest right now. He can look twice, and then I start getting bitchy.

“We’re about… about to play a game. Connor’s setting up, come join us.”

There’s something about the way that Mike is pulling on my arm, and two of the girls he’s with are looking at me that makes me agree, quickly bidding the group I was talking to farewell.

“You’re Alice, right?” One of the girls sidles up to me, sloshing her drink a little. “First party, huh? I’m Jennifer. A lot of these people crashed tonight. You gotta look out for each other.”

“Mrs Sawyer is gonna lose her shit when she sees this,” chortled the other girl, shoving a full cup at me. “Rob isn’t going to see the light of day until he’s like thirty after this.”

A boy I recognise from English - Austin - sidled up to us. “Rob’s in the den and he’s out. He’s not gonna have a clue what happened here. Told him to pace himself, but he never fuckin’ listens. Conner’s set up, let’s go.”

I take my seat at whatever dumb drinking game this is, and everyone seems eager to play. Jennifer and Samantha sit with me, but it doesn’t stop Mike Newton - who seems somewhat out of place here, without his usual group of friends - from clumsily flirting with me. I’ve had too much of the soda to appropriately call him out and make him stop, and my lukewarm disinterest seems to actually encourage him, though Jennifer swats at his hand when he attempts to casually touch my leg.

It’s not the worst night or party I’ve been to. It’s hot and loud, but there aren’t any fights breaking out, and most of the illicit substances seem to be kept in the back rooms of the house. It’s amazing how time locked up in a mental hospital cured me of any interest in anything stronger than weed and whatever was in my drink; plus the last thing I wanted was to get that kind of reputation.

But by midnight, I feel… sticky. I’m sweaty and my mouth tastes sour and sickly; my head is spinning and I’m too hot and I need to get out of this shitty house and away from these people who don’t even know who I am. Samatha and Jennifer have clearly decided to keep track of me, and there’s some obligation because I’m one of them, but they aren’t my friends and we probably won’t acknowledge this night ever again. Plus, a few of the hippie school guys have been watching me from the corner, and even through the haze of alcohol and weed, alarm bells are ringing - I can sense animosity from a mile away.

I need to get out of here.

It’s easy enough to excuse myself to the bathroom and then just leave through the laundry room door without anyone noticing. My head feels syrupy as I make it down the deck stairs and out into the night.

It’s colder outside than I remember and the air is such a relief, I want to press my face to the ground. I wish I had some water, but I need to get home - I was supposed to get a ride from someone here, but I didn’t trust myself to ask the right person right now, and I don’t really want to wait around any longer.

Plus, it was only a ten minute drive from town to this house, I could easily walk it. I’d made Simon drop me off at the crossroad half a mile away, I knew the way home.

Stumbling down the driveway, I let the noise and light of the party fade away behind me. The house was right up against the lake, and the drive wove through the forest from the main road - leaving me in the dark. But it was nice; a relief.

It was a beautiful night, and I was enjoying the walk - it was even helping sober me up.

At least, I was right up until about halfway, when I tripped over something and landed flat on my face in the gravel. That also indicated to me that I was… not quite as sobered up as I thought, because the pain felt very distant in that moment, like I was filing it away for later.

I shouldn’t have had so much to drink when I knew it was spiked.

Getting up was not a possibility. My ankle was sore, the world was spinning, my knees were burning, and the ground was nice and cool. The best I could manage was to half crawl to the side of the driveway and collapse in the long grass to wait for it to pass. I wasn’t sure if that was the night, my drunken state, or my inability to stand up, but I figured I could wait it out. I was comfy.

It was a pretty night, with the clouds drifting across the sky. It’s pleasant enough that I just lie there, staring up at the moon and the stars, with my head swimming. It’s not as bad as the feeling I used to get in the hospital when they’d give us the drugs to make us sleep. That made me feel like I didn’t have control over my arms and legs, like I was stuck and trapped and at the whim of someone else. This is warmer, and I’m still in control; kind of like I’m dreaming but awake. It was nicer. I kind of understood why some kids had preferred alcohol to meds now.

It’s just so peaceful, even if the damp is seeping through my top, that I lose track of the time. Dad had been worried letting me go, and made me swear I’d be home by one but I was nearly certain that I was going to miss that deadline. It was weird having a curfew - unless I was homeless, curfews at the hospital and in my foster homes had been more of the ‘in bed by nine, don’t even consider an alternative’ flavour.

At a certain point, though, reality began to break through the peaceful little haze I had going on, and I remembered my phone in the little sling bag that had gallantly survived the entire night without getting lost.

There were no cabs in Forks to my knowledge - and from what I had seen at school, there was a fifty-fifty chance they’d refuse to pick me up for one of three reasons: I was the daughter of the gay guys, I was the mysterious newcomer, or that I had been drinking at a high school party. After a few weeks in Forks, I’d found that the small-town judgment and prejudice were quieter than expected but it ran deep.

Cynthia had programmed a bunch of useful numbers into my phone for me, so maybe that included a solution to the fact I was lying in the mud next to the driveway of a classmate’s house.

Scrolling through my phone contacts, I wondered if I should just bite the bullet and call Dad or Simon, and own the fact that I was still a little bit high and still a little… okay, a lot drunk. I wouldn’t be the first ex-foster kid to come home drunk, and I wouldn’t be the last. But I also dreaded the look on my Dad’s face; that tired and disappointed one that looked like he had failed me and not the other way around. I wanted so much to be able to say that yeah, the party was fine, and have that been the end of it. I didn’t want the lecture, I didn’t want the embarrassment and I didn’t want…

I froze as I looked at my list of contacts. Five new numbers that I had certainly not programmed into my phone, and Cynthia certainly hadn’t added because if she knew and had these numbers, I was nearly positive that she would have sold them off to the highest bidder in the middle school cafeteria.

How the fuck had the Cullens’ collective numbers ended up in my phone? Had I done it at one of our awkward lunches? That seemed unlikely, but my brain couldn’t completely rule that out as a possibility, especially when I was sleep-deprived or bogged down with homework. And why would Dr Cullen’s number be included if we’d exchanged numbers during lunch? As shitty as their high school act was, they at least knew that offering me Dr Cullen’s number would be fucking weird.

Scowling, I selected the one member of the Cullens I would actually willingly talk to - well, the one member of the Cullens that I was quasi-certain wouldn’t immediately pass the phone off to any of the three members of the family I refused to speak to on principle.

Emmett seemed cool, but I sensed weakness in him when it came to the will of Rosalie and tonight was not the night to test that theory out.

If I hadn’t had so much punch, this would seem like a terrible idea. But if I hadn’t had so much punch, I’d be cheerfully walking myself home. Well, not cheerfully. But I’d be home in bed already, willing tonight to just go down in my personal history as mediocre and not worth repeating.

“Hello?” The sound of Jasper’s voice sent a shiver down my spine and a spike of … reassurance? Like everything was okay or would be okay because he was so good at putting things… putting me… back together.

Or he would be, in the future. I had seen it.

“Why is your number in my phone?” In my head, it sounded indignant but even I could hear my words run together. Fuck. “I didn’t put it there.”

“…Alice?” The way he said my name… I thought I’d known what it would sound like after years of visions. But it was different in real life, better. He sounded confused and slightly startled, which was new. Normally when he said my name it was a polite greeting. In my visions, it was warmer and more intimate.

“Yes, it’s Alice - do you and your family regularly inflict your phone numbers on unsus… unsusp… teenage girls that don’t know you stole their phones? You’re getting us all confused?”

“Alice are you… intoxicated?” He sounds incredulous.

“Why does that matter?” I demanded. Jasper might be the love of my life, but he had not yet earned the privilege of commenting on my chosen activities, let alone get to police me. “For your information, there was a party at Rob Sawyer’s tonight and all the real teenagers went. You and your family need to be more convincing.”

“I can attest that not everyone went, because Bella is downstairs with Edward,” Jasper replied.

“Well, her high school priorities are clearly different to mine,” I retorted; I was irritated that he was so calm and I couldn’t work out why. “I prefer to enjoy my youth. It’s fleeting, you know. One day she’ll look back and wonder why she spent so… so much time listening to her old man boyfriend play the piano when she could have been doing something fun… like going to a rave.” What was I saying? I hated raves. I liked getting dressed for them, because it was fun, but I hated how sweaty and crowded and smothering they were.

“Where are you, Alice?” Jasper sounds far too amused for my liking, and if he were here, I’d have smacked him.

“I’m fine.” My back was actively wet now, and I was certain I was covered in mud.

“Uh huh. Are you alone?”

“Yes.” There was a nearby frog I could hear, but nothing else. I was surprised - no one had left yet. Was it normal for Forks High parties to go on this long or did people stay over or what?

“You should call your parents, Alice. Get them to pick you up. Or Carlisle can if you’re worried,” Jasper says so kindly that all my indignation deflates like a balloon, and a ball of panic wells up in my chest.

“No. You cannot tell my father about this,” I said. “You have to swear.”

“Alice, I think your parents would prefer you were home safe rather than alone and intoxicated,” Jasper said soothingly.

“No. I don’t… they aren’t allowed to see this. I’m already too much trouble and messed up their lives, and I don’t want to disappoint them again,” I said, and felt tears well up in my eyes. “I must be costing them so much and they have to take me a bunch of places and watch me and every time I mess up or say something wrong, they get this look on their faces like they screwed up. It’s not. They didn’t have to take me into their home, not really, and I… I want to make it worth it for them.” I sniffled.

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

“Tell me where you are, Alice. I’ll drive you home.”

“Rob Sawyer’s house party. It’s on a dirt road.”

“That’s not… Don’t hang up, okay? I’m going to track your phone.”

“That sounds illegal, Jasper,” I said, wriggling around on the grass to get more comfortable. “How do you even do that?”

“It’s a long story. And yes, it is. But desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“I’m fine.” Kind of cold and muddy, and my knees and ankle were hurting in kind of a distant way, but the sweaty nausea had passed. I could easily fall asleep here. It wouldn’t even make the top ten worst places I’d slept in my life.

“We’ll agree to disagree, Alice.” I could listen to Jasper say my name forever. “But I do have a question for you while we wait.”

“Okay?”

“Why did you call me? I put all the numbers in your phone. Why me?”

I froze. He didn’t sound like he resented that I had chosen him; there was a note of something in his voice, something raw and real and even a little bit… not eager. But something. Maybe curiosity?

“Who else would I call? I hate doctors. Rosalie hates me. Edward doesn’t trust me and he reads minds. Emmett was a possibility, but he looks easily broken,” I said.

“And Esme?” Jasper sounded disappointed.

“I have a lot of mommy issues, let’s not unpack that box. I didn’t see her number there anyway.” I propped myself up on one arm. “You weren’t the last resort, Jasper. You were my first and only choice.”

“…Why?” Now I could hear the self-loathing in the boy’s voice.

“Because I trust you,” I replied. “You’re the person I trust the most in the world. Or you will be one day.”

Silence again. “I don’t understand.”

“I’ve known about you for a long time,” I said, watching the clouds move across the sky. “You’re a protector, a planner. You love to read and learn but you loathe high school. You have a wicked sense of humour, and you just… fix everything. There’s nothing too terrible or silly or chaotic that you don’t make better. Just by being there, you’re making things perfect…” He was. I had years of dreams of laughing and talking together, of the way he would stroke my hair and wrap his arms around me. The way we’d lie together, him reading and me drawing or messing around on my phone. We were meant to be so happy.

And it had to be said that he was… goddamn magnificent in bed. And like, I wasn’t entirely sure when he had died, but it was definitely in a ‘lie back and think of England’ era for women, so I felt like I should send a fruit basket or something to whichever ex-girlfriend had intervened because he was… outstanding. I’d only seen stuff like that over the last few years and it had been very enlightening on multiple levels. It had also been comforting that after every single thing that I’d lived through, I’d still be able to have that kind of intimacy with another person without all that fear and grief looming over me, and even enjoy it.

If he gave me one single chance to be something, whatever he wanted, I’d be his ride-or-die forever. I knew how fiercely and completely we’d love each other, and I wanted that so badly. He’d been my best friend long before either of us had set foot in Forks, and I just needed him to take that leap of faith and trust me, the weird girl who knew too much, to capture that future that we both desperately wanted and needed.

And I had no idea how I would convince Jasper of that. That I wouldn’t ask for this if it wasn’t something that I was so very certain we both wanted…

The phone had gone quiet.

“…What was I saying?” I yawned.

“I hope I can live up to your expectations.” Jasper’s voice was softer now. “I’ve got your location, Alice, I’ll be there soon.”

“I’ll be waiting,” I said, as the phone line went dead. Awkwardly jamming my phone back into my sling bag, I closed my eyes for just a moment. Jasper was coming to get me and I’d go home, and everything would be okay.

#alice cullen #jasper hale #jalice #ficmas #ficmas23 #my fic: hybrid #alcohol is bad kids #jasper just at home reading on a friday night and alice drunk calls him and he's bewildered #ma'am this is a wendys #alice staring emmett down and going 'it's no use. you're a wife guy. you'll fold faster than superman on laundry day.'#jasper being oddly touched and humbled that alice picked him #jasper being intrigued and then terribly embarrassed about drunken alice's rambling #the image of cynthia standing in the middle school cafeteria taking cash offers for each of the cullens' cellphone numbers #“*five* dollars for edward cullen's number? please. five dollars won't even get you *my* number. try again. i know you have birthday money”#mike newton tries and fails again #for comedy purposes we need a fic where mike is leah's imprint and is the best damn stay at home boyfriend ever #justice for mike newton

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