#Mom said I was at risk of stealing dad's position as the cook of the house lmao

[bubblegum-snowdrop]

girl wtf you bake your own bread???? that sounds so hard

It's actually not hard! It takes a bit of arm strength and patience, that's all. Besides- it's lovely to make something and wear a cute apron. Mine has cat patterns on it :D

Baking in general is great. Cookies, cinnamon buns [actually made those yesterday too], cake, muffins, pretzels... and that's not even getting into cooking. I recently made my parents a breakfast and I had so much fun!!!! It was eggs [they were over-easy, I think is the term. It was my first time making eggs and I was so proud!], hashbrowns and bacon. Mom and dad loved them!!!!

But yeah- cooking and baking is so rewarding to me, and very calming too. I could spend all day in a kitchen just cooking all sorts of dishes, listening to music and seeing people enjoy it afterwards. I couldn't be a chef or baker though;;; I like going at my own pace far too much for that. BUT ANYWAY!!!! Please give cooking/baking a try, it's wonderful and rewarding. And you only get better with time!

[elisaphoenix13]

Bonds Of Love, Not Blood

Whimpers woke Stephen, but before he could even sit up, he heard shushing and watched through half-lidded eyes as a figure leaned over the crib and picked Valerie up. The baby coos as she's taken out of the master bedroom and the sorcerer relaxes back into the mattress with the knowledge that Tony was taking care of their daughter. He wouldn't mind the extra few minutes. He was on a baby binge for the past couple of weeks, so he was the one mostly caring for Valerie, and while he wasn't about to stop caring for her, he wouldn't mind letting up a bit. So Stephen closes his eyes and drifts off between sleep and awareness, and sighs with content when Tony throws his arm around him and pulls him back against his chest.

Wait...Tony?

Stephen gasps and jolts up into a sitting position, the action throwing his husband's arm off who grumbles in annoyance. If Tony was in bed with him, who took the baby? The sorcerer takes a couple of deep breaths as he tells himself that there were plenty of people that might have come in to take care of Valerie for a little bit, and that she was safe, no matter who it was. When he slipped out of bed and out of the room to check and see who it was, he did not expect what he saw.

Harley had Valerie.

From what Stephen could see, the teenager was soothing his youngest sister as he made her a bottle with one hand, and it brought a smile to his face. Harley could be a menace. He pulled pranks with (or on) Peter, teased his siblings, sometimes purposely shot their resident god with his potato gun...but he loved his family. Sometimes he helped Peter on patrols or with bullies at school, spent time coloring with Diana when Cassie couldn't, and now he was giving his parents a few extra minutes of sleep by taking care of his baby sister. Stephen didn't want to ruin the moment quite yet, so he slipped back into the master bedroom and into bed, and snuggled up to Tony.

"Where was the fire?" Tony asks half asleep.

"No fire. I just thought you had the baby. I went to go see who really had her."

"Did Quill steal Valerie again?"

"No. Harley did." Stephen says with a smile.

Tony blinks as he processes the sorcerer's words. "Harley?"

Stephen hums. "Harley. He's feeding Valerie as we speak."

"These kids continue to surprise me."

Stephen says nothing and curls into his husband's chest, and purrs when Tony throws his arm back over the sorcerer. The couple enjoy their few rare minutes of quiet and no kids, and savor the sound of listening to each breathe. Or to add to Stephen's case, listening to Tony's heartbeat as well. It was only a matter of time before one of the kids woke them up, or even a team member. The last friend to wake them up was Clint, and that was because he was climbing in the vents again. He accidentally fell into the master bedroom and into their bed, rudely waking the couple as well as their infant daughter, and Mama Bear was not pleased. Tony had to punish the archer with clean up duty before Stephen threw him into a hell dimension.

"You smell that?" Tony suddenly asks and Stephen pulls his face away from the engineer's chest just enough to sniff the air.

"Someone's cooking breakfast."

"FRIDAY? Who's in the kitchen?" Tony asks.

"Harley, Boss. He seems to be cooking a variety of food." The AI responds and the parents look at each other before scrambling out of bed.

They leave the bedroom and once again peer over the railing, and indeed find Harley at the stove making bacon, sausage, eggs, and toast. Before they can wonder where their youngest child is, they find the baby dozing in her swing in the living room and Diana watching cartoons on the couch nearby. Peter was nowhere to be seen but that was because he was just leaving his room with a yawn. He blearily looks at his parents before looking down to see who was making breakfast and he gawks.

"Harley can cook?" He whispers incredulously to the two men.

"We're just as surprised." Tony answers and the three of them descend the stairs and into the kitchen.

Harley temporarily looks up from the scrambled eggs in the pan and points in the direction of the living room as he looks back down. "I fed and changed Val. She went back to sleep."

Tony opens and closes his mouth like a fish, and Stephen does them all the favor of asking the oldest child what they've been asking each other.

"Cub...how long have you been able to cook?"

Harley shrugs. "Since before Dad broke into my garage in Tennessee. I had to make my sister food a lot."

"You've been making us cook all this time?" Tony asks.

"It was nice to have a home cooked meal made by my parents."

Well, they couldn't fault him for that. He had been cooking for his sister (and maybe even his mother) for years, and after losing them and coming to live with Tony and them, he wanted to sit back and enjoy a meal he didn't make for once. He wanted to be a kid and that was okay. Him being a kid sometimes drove his parents crazy but that was the whole point. Today, Harley decided to put the child aside for a little while and help out, and Stephen walked over and thanked him by kissing the crown of his head. The boy was an inch shy of him and Tony so that was all he could manage.

"Thank you."

"As soon as I'm finished here, I'm done being mature."

Stephen chuckles. "I expect nothing less."

Tony snags a piece of bacon and munches on it thoughtfully. "What possessed you to do this?"

"You and Mom do so much for us. I figured helping with Valerie for a few minutes so you can get a little more sleep, and making breakfast was the least I could do."

"Thanks kid...really." Tony pats Harley's back as Stephen grabs plates.

Breakfast was thoroughly enjoyed, especially once they didn't need to watch the occupied swing in the living room since Wanda was the first to come up. The witch cooed at the sleeping baby while they finished breakfast, and she picked Valerie up when she finally woke up as Peter started to clean up. Valerie did have her favorite aunts and uncles, and that was based on who held her. The more someone held the baby, the more she warmed up to them. Quill, Scott, Natasha, and Wanda were constants and the others had to fight them for a chance to hold the baby. Not including Tony and Stephen of course.

"Does she have magic too?" Wanda asks as she gently pats Valerie's back and Stephen shakes his head.

"I don't believe so. I didn't notice it before with Diana, but now that Valerie is here, I can sense it. Dia had magic when she was born. Valerie does not. Besides being born from magic, she's a normal baby."

"Finally!" Harley groans out. "Being the only normal kid sucked."

"I gave you a suit kid. Don't complain." Tony remarks.

"I came up early so I could have a chance to hold her. I learned my lesson with Diana...at least the little bit of time we all got to have with her." Wanda states and Peter looks up at her from his homework. 

"Probably a good thing since everyone has to fight a god for Val now"

It wasn't even an exaggeration. Stephen had been right when he said that Quill would be insufferable. The celestial may be occasionally hot-headed, big, and overprotective...but he was a teddy bear when it came to the girls. There were only two adults that didn't have to fight him for the girls and that was Scott and Stephen. It actually made Tony a little annoyed because two of the three girls that Quill protected were hischildren. One would think that Tony would be one of the few that wouldn't have to fight the god for his kids.

"We really need to give those idiots their own." Tony grumbles and Stephen huffs with amusement.

"That wouldn't change a thing. Quill would still hover."

"True." The billionaire admits.

"Boss, you have an incoming call from the NYPD." FRIDAY suddenly says and Tony frowns.

"What do they want?"

"It seems that Mr. Lang has been incarcerated just over an hour ago." She responds and both Tony and Stephen look at each other in confusion.

"What the hell?" Tony goes upstairs to grab his phone and talks to the officer on the line for a few minutes before hanging up. "Stealing? I'm calling bullshit. FRI, find out where Scott was arrested and send me any video feed you can find."

"Yes Boss."

Stephen walks into the bedroom as Tony gets dressed. "What happened?"

"They said he was caught stealing."

"Scott has no reason to do that. He and Quill aren't hurting for money, and even if they were, they would ask us for help. Not to mention he wouldn't risk going back to jail."

"Exactly. I'm calling bullshit and FRIDAY is looking into surveillance right now." Tony pulls on a jacket, and kisses Stephen. "I'll be right back."

Tony leaves the bedroom and then the tower, and Stephen walks back down to the living room to retrieve Valerie from Wanda when she starts to fuss again. She just needed another diaper change and feeding, but stayed with Stephen since she was content in his arms. Wanda moved on to playing with Diana as the boys did their homework for Monday, and a little over an hour later, Tony returned with Scott in tow. The younger looked a little upset as he went into the kitchen to get some juice, and Tony sits on the couch next to Stephen with an annoyed grunt.

"Well?" The sorcerer asks softly.

"Someone planted merchandise into his sweater. The charges were dropped once I showed video evidence, but he's not feeling great about it." 

"Well I have a secret weapon to help him feel better." Stephen says and gets up to join Scott in the kitchen, finding the ex-thief lazily drinking a Capri Sun and staring off into the distance. "Scott."

"...sorry for causing trouble." The younger mumbles.

"You didn't. We don't blame you. Now here."

Stephen pulls Valerie away from his shoulder and holds her out to Scott, and the ex-con takes the infant who coos at the sight of her uncle. Like the sorcerer hoped, it had Scott smiling as he held her to his own shoulder and finished his juice.

"Enjoy it while you can before your husband gets home." Stephen warns and Scott snorts.

"I'd like to see him try to take her away."

"Scott...all he has to do is bring out the galaxy eyes and you'll hand her over."

Scott pouts. "Tony just has to speak Italian."

"I am not having this argument." Stephen huffs and walks back to the living room where the boys have moved on to playing video games after finishing their homework.

Scott had Valerie for all of twenty minutes before Quill got back, and the man immediately went over to his husband to pull him into a hug. The baby on the shorter man's shoulder squeaks at the sudden pressure of the hug and Tony rolls his eyes when Quill demands Scott for the baby. Even though they could hear them tussling in the kitchen, neither Tony nor Stephen were worried. Scott and Quill wouldn't let the baby get hurt, especially the god. He would put himself in harm's way to protect Scott and the girls.

"Was Uncle Scott like this when I was a baby?" Diana asks.

"Sort of. Except he had to fight Aunt Natasha instead of Uncle Quill." Tony answers.

"Because Uncle Quill wasn't here?"

"Exactly."

"HA!" Quill shouts in triumph from the kitchen.

"Stephen gave her to me!" Scott argues and the sorcerer sighs.

"I think I made a mistake." He mutters and Tony laughs.

[gingerpeachtae]

Concentric [6]

masterlist

Words: 4.7k

Genres: fantasy!AU, angst, fluff, enemies to lovers, eventual smut (?)

Warnings: spoilers for season 7&8 of Game of Thrones

Summary: You had been ready for the end of the semester. You had been ready to spend time away from your best friend, Jimin, and finally move on from the feelings you harbored. Yet, after your friend was forced to reveal a secret, you found yourself in a new world that was chock full of magic, war, and wonder. So, here you were, basically thrown into your own fantasy novel, with your best friend on one side, and six male warriors on the other.

A/N: Here it is! I ended up finishing it later than usual but earlier than anticipated, so instead of waiting till 11:59, imma just post it now!It’s a bit on the shorter side so I sowy but it’s what ya’ll get since I basically wrote this in one day oof. thank you all for reading... engoy! 😘

You were walking alongside Jin, who was currently babbling about how difficult it was to have to cook for the members of his kiela all the time.

“You just can’t imagine the stress! And they eat like animals!”

You looked at him out of the corner of your eye as you ducked beneath a branch. “Honestly, Jin… I don’t feel that bad for you because you were the one who turned down my help, remember?.”

At your retort, the Saeni huffed then mumbled something along the lines of maybe letting you help cut the vegetables or some other tiny task from now on.

You chuckled and repeated what you had told him before, “If you ever want or need help, just let me know Papa Jin. I’d be happy to lend a hand.”

Brushing some leaves out of your face, you sent the black-haired male a smile, hoping he would understand that you genuinely just wanted to help and not try to steal his “caretaker position.”

You waited until he sent you a smile back, and then you glanced around to see how everyone else in the kiela was doing. Personally, your legs wet sore as heck, and your feet felt like they were about to fall off from all the walking and running you’d been doing, but the others seemed to be in no distress at all. Then again, they were definitely more used to this kind of hiking than you were.

You had been on the move for a couple of hours, still trekking toward the group’s destination. The only difference was that now you knew what that destination was.

I hope that makes you happy, chickpea brain.

After Jungkook had left you and Jimin alone earlier, you were finally able to sit down and have your much-needed talk with your best friend.

“I don’t have an alarm! How the hell am I supposed to do that!?”

Jimin let out an exasperated puff of air. “You literally just got punched in the face… and making sure you’re up on time to get punched again is what you’re worried about?”

“Hey, if getting punched a few more times helps me learn how to protect myself, then I’m doing it.” You sat back down on the mat and looked up into Jimin’s brown eyes. “Enough about Coco and punching, though. We need to talk.”

Leaning back on your hands, you titled your head to the side. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re a prince?”

“Wha-who-I-not-n-no!” He stammered out. “I’m not a prince, don’t be ridiculous.” He ran a hand through his apricot locks and avoided eye contact with you.

“Oh, save it, Slim Jim. I know you’re a prince, so don’t even try to lie.”

The half-Saeni let out a groan, closing his eyes and tugging at the roots of his hair. “Who told you? It was Tae, wasn’t it? That feather-brain can never keep his mouth shut.”

“Oh my gosh, it wasn’t Tae. Have some bloody faith in your brother, would you?” You rolled your eyes. “It was the bad guys from yesterday. They said something about it after they knocked your ass out.”

Your friend dropped his hands and blew out all the air in his lungs before he finally replied, “I’m… I’m not really a prince. Some people just call me that because my father was the previous king.”

“So, what? You’re an ex-prince?”

“More like a bastard.”

“Wait, so you’re like the Jon Snow of Illain?” Your eyes twinkled in excitement.

Jimin raised his eyebrows and looked down at your buzzing figure. “You know that Jon wasn’t actually a bastard, right?”

“Eh.” You waved your hand dismissively. “With how the writers treated that information in season eight, he might as well have still been one.”

“That… is a fair point.”

The conversation died down and all you could hear was the sound of the forest for what seemed like several minutes but was probably only ten seconds.

“Jimin…”

“Yeah?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jimin had sat down next to you and explained why knowing his heritage was dangerous, for you and him. He began his story by having you recall how his mom had stumbled into Illain (you still weren’t sure how that would happen, but hey, no point wondering about it now) and met and fell in love with his dad. What he had left out, was that his dad had been the king of Illain and was already in an arranged marriage. He didn’t love the queen and vice versa, but nevertheless, he had to keep his relationship with Jimin’s mom a secret. Both because it would have been considered taboo in addition to how it would have caused an uproar among the court officials.

Shortly after Jimin’s mom found out she was pregnant, the queen discovered the relationship and… she had not been pleased. She ended up murdering Jimin’s father and tried to kill his mom as well. Luckily, she had been able to escape back to Earth with the help of a friend, who had been one of the few who knew about her.

Once the king’s guard (who didn’t exactly excel at their job, in your opinion) caught the queen and interrogated her, it was reported that she kept saying that she wanted to see Illain fall into chaos and how she needed to eradicate the “key within the bloodline.” Whatever that meant. Nobody could really make sense of her, it was like she had suddenly went batshit insane.

After the events, nobody thought much of her words, beyond them being those of a crazed person. The world grieved and then crowned a new king. Eventually, the Saeni forgot about what the previous queen had said… until five years later. Stories rose up about an anarchist who preached about unleashing pain and suffering upon all of Illain. Those who felt as though the world was against them, that life hated them, that the gods mistreated them, were captivated by his message and joined his ranks. They began terrorizing Illain in the name of an unknown person, Uzjuk, and were soon known as the draikensu, or “the dark ones.”

Over the years, the draikensu had somehow learned that the deceased king had had a child out of wedlock, and they turned their attention to finding that child. To finding him and eradicating the “key” that lived within him. Nobody knew what they meant by that, but it was clear that it was not safe for Jimin to be honest about who he was. Which was why he goes by Chim in Illain and why he didn’t tell you the full story from the beginning. Those who know of his heritage are not only in danger themselves, but they also put Jimin at risk of being exposed. The only ones who are supposed to know are Jimin’s kiela, his father’s friend (who was the new king), and now you. Though, obviously, somebody else must have figured it out because the draikensu from yesterday had known.

As for your destination, Jimin had informed you that he had been summoned to the royal palace. He didn’t know exactly why and neither did his kiela, who had been sent to retrieve him, but the king had said he was needed urgently.

What a fucking shit show.

You had gotten some answers, but in their wake, more questions had sprung up. Who the hell was Uzjuk? What was the “key” within Jimin? Why did the king need him? Do the Saeni even train their royal guard? You pondered the questions as you stepped around a big hunk of rock that was covered in moss. Yet, although more unknowns had arisen, there was one thing you definitely knew: there was no way in hell you weren’t going to learn how to fight now. It was only a matter of time before more of those draikensu fuckers came after Jimin again. You needed to be ready. You wanted to help protect him. There was only one week left of travelling before you reached the royal palace, and you didn’t know what was going to happen once you got there. Would you be able to continue training with Jungkook? Would you all turn around and go back to the tree bridge?

Ugh. More questions!

No matter the case, anything was better than nothing, so you were going to make the most of the asshat’s training in the upcoming week.

“Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! Come on, little scorja! Wake your cute ass UP!”

You groaned and tried to push the weight on top of you off, but it only collapsed onto you even more and began poking your sides.

You cracked an eye open and whined, “Tae! Let me sleep!”

It was so damn early that your petals from yesterday were still in effect.

“Nu’uh! A little flower, aka you, told me yesterday that you needed to be up two hours earlier than usual to go to school.” He hoisted you up and you hung limply in his arms, making him hold your dead weight. “So, I’m your alarm clock and I say it’s time to get up!”

He emphasized his words by giving your body a hard shake. You reacted by slapping a hand over his face and then smacking him again and again in various locations on his head.

“Where’s the freaking off button?”

You continued smacking him until you heard his whimpers of how he had just wanted to help. You looked up into his pouting blue eyes and instantly succumbed to them.

Dammit. He knows how to get to me.

“Ugh, fine.”

He beamed, mood instantly shifting back to delighted. He gripped your head in his hands, squishing your cheeks and contorting your face into a forced, closed-lipped smile. “Ah! There’s that pretty, scorja smile!”

That made you genuinely laugh, and you peeled his hands away while stuck your tongue out at him. Then you pulled him into a hug, and whispered into his ear, “Thanks for waking me up, Tae.”

“You’re welcome,” he whispered back. “Oh! Here are your petals for the day.”

You took the delicate objects out of his palm and popped them into your mouth, stretching once their disorienting effects went away. You looked around and noticed that, besides Yoongi giving the two of you a glare for waking him up, the rest of the kiela was still snoozing away except for…

“Good, you’re up. Let’s go.”

You looked over your shoulder and saw Jungkook dropping down from a tree. He had a bow and quiver in his hand, and you wondered where he got it from since you hadn’t seen them before.

“I’ll see you later Tae Tae!” You parted after giving the Saeni a kiss on his cheek.

“They grow up so fast.” He wiped away nonexistent tears as he returned to his on-watch spot. “Learn lots and be safe!

You approached the burgundy-haired Saeni while chuckling. “Good morning, Coco.”

He grumbled out a “good morning, human” and started walking into the trees, leaving you to trail after him.

Jogging to catch up, you asked, “Where’d you get that bow? It’s not Tae’s and I didn’t think anyone else had one, besides Jimin of course, but his is… I don’t know where it is.” You briefly paused to admire a funky looking plant with wavy leaves before continuing. “Is that Jimin’s?”

Jungkook raised a brow at your talkative attitude, bewildered you were that peppy after just waking up. “Not Jimin’s. It’s a spare we keep in a … magic locker? I’m not completely sure how it works, but Yoongi is able to tuck things away into a space and I asked him to bring this out for you last night. It’s one of Tae’s old bows that he used during training. It’ll be easier for you to draw with.”

“Oh. Um, thanks for having him do that.”

It was another small glimpse into the thoughtful and soft side of Jungkook that often, or more like ninety-five percent of the time, disappeared around you.

After the two of you had walked far enough into the foliage to not wake up the others, Jungkook abruptly stopped, which caused you to stumble as you tried to evade running smack dab into his back.

As you regained your balance and moved around to face him, he said, “Okay, today we’re going to start by correcting your pathetic punching technique and then we’re going to do some tests with various weapons to-”

“You’re going to let-”

“Uh… I’m not finished.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

You couldn’t stop your snort. “Geez, who are you? Tyler the Creator?”

“No. I’m Jungkook the Maknae.” He said in a serious tone, lifting his chin up.

You blinked at him. “I… literally cannot stand you.”

“Perfect. We’re on the same page then, sweetheart.”

“Sweetheart? Wooow.” You smirked and placed your hands on your hips. “I’ve really gotten an upgrade on my nickname.”

“I swear to Exia, if you don’t let me finish, little human-”

“Oop. There it is.”

He growled.

“Alright, alright.” You raised your hands to signal your peace. “I’ll stop and be a good girl for you.”

Jungkook’s body froze and his pupils dilated as he stared at you. The only movement coming from his form was now the rising and falling of his chest.

You furrowed your brows. Sure, your words could’ve sounded a bit sexual, but you didn’t think you had to worry about the male in front of you thinking that way. Not with his low opinion of you. Plus, some part of you was still convinced that the boy was celibate as hell. Though, you found it odd that he wasn’t moving or taking his green eyes off of you.

“Jungkook?” You pursed your lips.

His eyes bugged out at your voice and he looked away before clearing his throat. “Ah, as I was saying, we’ll test out different weapons to see what kind of fighter you’ll be. Hence why I got the bow. You’ll also try out some throwing knives, a dagger, and a short sword.”

Anticipating your question, he quickly rolled his eyes and said, “Yes, I’m letting you use my short swords.”

“I just figured that you wouldn’t want anyone else touching your shit. Especially me. You seem a little… possessive in that way.”

He shrugged, shifting his gaze to the leaves above his head. Though you didn’t miss his hand moving to gently touch the handle of his ruby dagger.

That must be the thing he gets stingy with. I wonder what’s so special about it?

“We won’t be trying out a normal sword though, because, quite frankly, you just aren’t strong enough for that.”

You couldn’t even get mad at him for saying that since it was probably, most likely, definitely true.

Before anything else happened, Jungkook set down the spare bow and its quiver and led you through a series of static and dynamic stretches. Even though you already knew how to properly warm up your body, you were a dancer for crying out loud, you let him do his thing. Not only did you not want to piss him off, but he was also the one who offered to train you, so you were going to listen and do as he instructed… But he didn’t need to know that you were more focused on the birds’ singing and chirping than his voice while you stretched your quad.

“Alright, I want you doing that before every session, got it?”

You gave him a salute after brushing off your dirt-covered butt. “Aye, aye captain.”

He then directed you to show him how you held your hand during a punch. You did so, and he immediately sighed. He took your fist in his rough, scar-covered hands and turned it this way and that, observing and clicking his tongue in dissatisfaction.

“At least your thumb isn’t inside your fist. It’s good you know not to do that.” He prodded at the appendage. “Move it to rest below your curled fingers, between your pointer and middle fingers.”

After allowing him to adjust you as he saw fit, he also told you to squeeze your fist more, but not to the point of cutting off circulation. You listened attentively to his directions as a crisp morning breeze ruffled both of your hair. When he was pleased with your first, he nodded.

Tapping the knuckles of your ring and pinky fingers, he said, “Never lead your punch with these because it’ll break the shit out of your hand. And don’t try to make contact with this part,” he rubbed the flat part of your fingers that was between the knuckles, “always make contact with your actual knuckles, okay?”

“Okay.”

He went on to show you the proper stance as well as the best way to utilize your weight and momentum in an attack.

“Before I have you practicing actual punches on me, I want you to just practice the action to get the movement and feeling down so that you’re comfortable with it.”

With that, he told you that you were now going to start working with some weapons. Not to learn any advanced moves with them, but to simply see if you had a natural affinity for a any certain type. Your mind reeled a bit at how he wanted you to practice before punching, but was about to hand over some weapons and just… let you have at it? It seemed a wee bit backwards to you, but oh well. You were honestly more surprised with how patient and informative Jungkook had been thus far. He had yet to be condescending or snappy toward you. Instead, he gave off the impression that he was… excited. It was apparent that he really enjoyed fighting, both physically and conversationally. Even if it was just teaching a little human like yourself the basics, his voice was lighter and his eyes brighter than they usually were in your presence.

You were brought out of your head when he handed you a throwing knife, the coolness of the metal making you jump out of your thoughts. The blade was about ten inches long with cut-outs and it had a thick, sharp point. He told you that the end you hold when throwing depends on the blade, and to always hold whichever end is heavier, as it creates a more forceful throw. You hummed, and he moved on to show you how the grip the knife: pointer, middle, and ring fingers on one side, thumb on the other, and pinky finger curled at the bottom. When you finally grasped the blade correctly, he made a noise of satisfaction and eased it out of your hand. Then, he demonstrated how to move your body and follow through on the throw. He repeated the motion a couple of times and on the third he calmly released the knife and it embedded itself deep into a tree trunk a solid 25 feet away.

You whistled. “Well hot damn, Coco.”

He smirked at you and told you to go through the motion. You felt like you were transported back to when you were in little league softball, learning how to throw a ball for the first time. After several minutes of you throwing nothing and him tweaking your form, he gave you another knife identical to the previous.

Taking a deep breath and settling yourself into position, you waited for a big gust of wind to subside. Once it passed, you brought your arm back, took a small step, and threw the knife forward. Er… you had wanted the knife to go forward. You must have released prematurely, though, because it went up and to the right instead. Wincing, you held your breath as you waited for the asshat to say something about your misshap.

“Again.” He only handed you another blade.

This time, the knife went forward, but it still missed the tree by a good 10 feet.

“Again.”

Another blade. And another miss. This one to the left of the tree, since you had tried to compensate for your previous blunder.

“Well… that wasn’t as bad as Namjoon hyung, I’ll give you that. Though it still kind of sucked.” His green eyes met yours and you were shocked to see that they held no malice. “And yeah, yeah, yeah, I know ‘it’s your first time,’ but I don’t think you’ll be our new Hobi, sweetheart.”

“I… yeah, me neither.” You released a stream of light laughter as you thought about your failed attempts. “What’s next?”

“Dagger.” Jungkook reached behind him and withdrew a short, curved blade.

“What the heck,” you gasped, “I didn’t even know you had a dagger back there.” You ogled at him like he had just performed a magic trick.

He raised an eyebrow at you, mouth slightly curving upward. “That’s kind of the point, little human. It’s supposed to be hidden.”

Once your awe at his abracadabra moment faded, he asked if you had ever used a dagger before.

“No? Well, um, not before the… tent,” you said in a small voice.

“Oh, right.” He coughed awkwardly. “Uh, so anyway, you know how to use it on a surface level, yeah?”

You gestured to the end of the dagger, which was gleaming in the morning sunlight. “Stick ‘em with the pointy end.”

Come on… there was no way you couldn’t say that.

He looked at you blankly for a few moments, and you were about to tell him it was just a reference, but then he tipped his head back and yelled.

“Not that fucking line again! Chim wouldn’t stop saying it one summer and it haunts me!”

“Wait, you know Game of Thrones?”

“Is that what it’s called? I don’t know, sure. But that’s a quote from the wolf girl, right?”

You excitedly nodded and clapped your hands together rapidly, hoping you could take a short break and talk about the show.

The burgundy head moaned in defeat. “And to think I already had all the reasons to not like you, you go on and say that.” He chuckled to himself in pity.

You didn’t join him, though. The brightness of your eyes died at his words and you looking away from him.

Why are you so upset, Y/N? You knew he didn’t like you.

Well, maybe if he wasn’t so fucking back and forth between being civil and then saying something like that out of the blue, it wouldn’t be so shocking. You had also thought that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t dislike you anymore after the whole draikensu ordeal. Or at least, you thought that he wouldn’t be so openly vocal about it. Looks like you were wrong.

When he realized that you had gone silent, and he thought back to what he had said, his green eyes widened.

“I didn’t-I mean, I don’t…” He sighed when he saw all the playfulness gone from your y/e/c eyes when you returned your gaze to him. “Anyways, here’s how you use it.”

Eventually, you disregarded his comment and focused on the matter at hand. You knew you wouldn’t be drawn toward fighting with a dagger, especially after the other day, but you didn’t want to half-ass your way through it. After going through the dagger and the short sword, both of which you were mediocre at, Jungkook picked up the bow.

Prior to handing it to you, though, he presented an arm guard. Quickly slipping it over your wrist, you grabbed the bow and one of the arrows he offered.

Much to his surprise, you already knew how to notch an arrow. You threw a smirk his way. You also vaguely remembered the basic grip and stance for archery, so you fell into what you hoped was the proper form.

Thank you, middle school archery seminar.

Ignoring your smug display, Jungkook crossed his arms and told you to draw back. Gritting your teeth slightly at the tension, you did and waited as circled and assessed you. After a while, your arms were beginning to shake from holding the position, your muscles not used to that kind of exertion.

“You need to raise your arm a little bit.”

He stepped up right behind you, bringing his chest flush to your back, in order to correct your form. As you felt his firm front pressed against you, you flashed back to when you saw him shirtless. To when his muscles were out on full display and his thick thighs were evident through his damp plants. You recalled how utterly good he had looked, half-naked and dripping water.

Shit. Y/N, snap out of it!

You shook your head like the physical action would make the thoughts fly out of your mind.

“No?” You heard Jungkook question.

“Wha-huh?”

“I asked if feels comfortable for you? The position?”

Hell yes, does it feel comfortable… AH STOP IT! HE’S TALKING ABOUT THE SHOOTING POSITION, YOU HORNY IMBECILE!

Coughing, you choked out a yes. He looked down at you in confusion for your weird reaction, but instead of inquiring about it he just hummed and stepped away.

You were almost appalled with yourself. Yeah, he was really good looking, hot even, but how could you be thinking about the asshat in that way? You know, the person who basically hated your guts? Not to mention the fact that you had a big, fat, lovey-dovey crush on your best friend… and Jungkook was most definitely not your best friend!

You seriously wondered how he could make you feel so many different things in such a short span of time. You had gone from perky, to teasing, annoyed, happy, excited, disappointed, angry, and finally hot and bothered all within two damn hours.

You were so confused by this male and his words and actions. It was truly exhausting to try to keep up with his mood swings. You dropped your arms with an irked sigh, lowering the bow and bringing some relief to your straining arms.

“Everything okay?” The Saeni asked, his voice sounding slightly concerned.

“Yeah, I’m just… my arms aren’t used to this, and they were hurting. Go ahead and make fun of me for being such a weak, little human.” You had tried to add some fire behind your last statement, but it came out with barely a flicker of heat. You were just too confused as to whether you wanted to be turned on, mad, spiteful, or ashamed.

“Whoa, hey look, I’m sorry for what I said earlier… about, you know, not liking you… it’s just-I don’t-”

“You don’t have to like me, Jungkook. I don’t need every person I come across to like me.”

“It’s not that, it’s-I don’t know-”

You whirled around to face him, and you could see that his face was heating up. Yours was too, but yours was in complete frustration.

“Well, if you don’t know, then can you figure it out for fuck’s sake? If you like me, then great, like me and be pleasant toward me. If you don’t like me, then fine, don’t like me and be a dick.” You were in his face at this point, poking his solid chest with your pointer finger. “I just need you to fucking stop with the going back and forth! I never know which Jungkook I’m going to get, and I’m constantly worried I’ll say something to set you off and I don’t know what it’ll be, and it’s so. Damn. Annoying!”

You turned back around and raised the bow, shooting at a nearby tree. Although it didn’t hit where you had aimed, the arrow still thumped into the trunk nonetheless. Jungkook gaped at you as you angrily faced him once more and shoved the bow at him.

“I want to be an archer. And I want to learn hand to hand fighting. Does that sound good with you? Alright, perfect.” You didn’t even give him a chance to reply before you began stomping your way back to camp. “Thanks for the lesson Coco, I’ll practice the punching and see you bright and early tomorrow.”

As the burgundy-haired male watched your back vanish into the trees he let out a curse and crouched down, gripping his head with both hands. He stayed that way for minutes, letting himself be enveloped by the sounds of the leaves, birds, and bugs… but it wasn’t enough to make the sound of your echoing voice disappear from inside his head. He released a loud noise of annoyance and frustration, and moved a hand to clutch the handle of the dagger strapped to his waist before whispering to the trees, “What the fuck am I doing?”

previous [5] — next [7]

[jordan202]

My Boys: Beyond the Horizon - Chapter 9

Thanks @jia911 for taking her time off her busy schedule to help me out!

Previous chapters are HERE. 

My Boys: Beyond the Horizon – Chapter Nine

“Did Mom really cook those?”

Owen laughed when he heard the incredulity on Danny’s voice through the phone on the kitchen table. They were having the planned family dinner on that stormy Monday night and since the twins were away at school, Thomas had had the excellent idea to call them just as the family sat down to eat.

“I did and I can prove it,” Amelia flashed her son a smile, proudly showing off a perfectly grilled portion of salmon on her plate. “Dad just made it home so you guys can’t say I am lying. I did it.”

“I bet it was Meg who did it,” Robbie playfully nudged Danny’s shoulder with his own so he could fit in the tiny screen too. Everyone knew that aside from their father, the youngest child of the house was the only one who could successfully scrape together a recipe.

“How dare you,” Amelia replied with mock outrage, but she had to hide her smile behind the fork not to be caught so easily.

The way Megan and Owen chuckled in unison pretty much confirmed Robbie’s suspicions.

“I did everything, mom only set on the stove,” Megan confessed with a wide smile.

“Which is, of course, the most important part,” Amelia defended herself with an aura of dignity.

“No, the most important part is the part when we eat,” Lucas corrected her, reaching out for his portion. “Hey, you two dorks, are you guys making it this weekend?”

“Yeah, we are looking forward to it,” Danny answered while Robbie agreed with excitement. “We have to stay until Friday night but we’ll try to be free as soon as possible.”

Since Lucas had his first official game with the Seattle Sounders in the upcoming weekend, he had been adamant about having the whole family there. Robbie and Danny were currently living at a five hour flight distance and aware of their brothers’ difficulty to make it to the city and back in a single weekend, Lucas had decided to charter a private aircraft to pick up and later take his brothers so they could make it in time without it being too exhausting on them.

“I can’t wait to see you two,” Amelia added with a smile.

“Hey, is it okay if we bring a friend?” Danny tried to sound casual but the reddish look on his face didn’t go unnoticed.

“It depends,” Lucas asked after swallowing his food. Once he noticed the look on his brother’s face, he teased, “is she single?”

“He is kind of hoping she won’t be single anymore by then,” Robbie answered playfully.

As he heard Megan stealing the phone from Lucas’ hand to immediately start a lighthearted questionnaire on Danny’s possible date, Owen looked around and saw that while Amelia and Robbie laughed at Lucas and Megan’s quarrel and Danny’s predicament, Thomas remained in silence, observing the situation with a distant smile on his lips.

He waited until everyone was pretty much done with their meal and the twins said their goodbye following the strict hours at Westpoint to finally take action on what he’d been planning to do since the week before.

“Hey buddy, can you help me with the dishes?” he looked into his son’s eyes. “Mom and Meg already cooked,” he said in a convincing manner and then looked at his eldest son. “Can you take Peanut for a walk tonight? We’ll wait for you to have dessert.”

Lucas didn’t know how, but he understood the message that he wasn’t supposed to rush Thomas to go home or even offer to help wash the plates. With a head nod, he went outside followed by his mother and sister, eager to see the family’s loyal Golden Retriever.

“Kepner said you handled a hypertensive pneumothorax on your own today,” Owen started the conversation as soon as he and his son started arranging the dishes on the washer. “That’s pretty impressive,” he added, hoping for a positive start.

“Thanks,” Thomas shyly smiled. He’d been so used to not getting any positive feedback for the past weeks that the comment cheered him up a little.

“She said that if you had waited thirty seconds longer the guy would have most likely not made it,” Owen went on. Kepner had told him that the ER had been hit with a large number of casualties following a bus crash and by the time a supposedly low risk patient had started showing signs of instability, Thomas was the one in the room with him suturing the guy’s forehead. On the seconds it’d taken her to leave one critical case to answer the code call, the trauma surgeon had found the intern already decompressing the chest. “Not everyone would have the guts to make the call,” the chief of surgery admitted. “Especially after the rough few weeks you’ve been having. So… it was a great thing what you did.”

Thomas stopped stacking the plates and looked up to meet his fathers’ eyes.

“It’s fine, dad,” he shrugged. “It felt amazing to do it and I’m glad I had the opportunity to. I am just glad the guy made it through. He works delivering pizzas at night so he can go to school during the day. It wasn’t his time to go yet.” Thomas affirmed with conviction.

“Tom,” Owen stopped him from going back to the task his son had set to perform. Seeing he had the young guy’s attention, the surgeon proceeded, “how have you been?”

The intern seemed to think about his answer for a moment before he finally started to talk.

“Okay, I guess.”

Owen wasn’t convinced.

“I know the hours are long and…”

“They are long for everyone,” Thomas said, hoping to sound positive. “It’s a part of the job, right?”

“Why didn’t you update your charts?” Owen completely gave up on doing the dishes and looked his son into his eyes while serenely asking the question. He hoped not to sound judgmental.

Thomas hesitated, visibly uncomfortable.

“Dad, should we really be talking about this?”

“I am not asking you as your boss,” Owen assured him with security. “I am asking as your father. Nothing we discuss here will ever make it to the hospital. I promise.”

Owen had a pretty good feeling about what was happening, but he wanted to hear it from Thomas. The intern struggled a little while longer before finally admitting.

“Brown told us we weren’t supposed to do it,” Thomas admitted after long seconds. His resident wasn’t exactly the most inspiring teacher for them but they were still her subordinates and hoping to stay out of trouble with his immediate boss, Thomas had done what he’d been instructed. “She said that if we took care of pre and post ops, she would take care of the charts,” he shared, visibly embarrassed. “A few times I tried to argue that it was better that we wrote our own because we were the ones actually doing things, but she had us pick up her coffee and run labs saying she would do it and we should just focus on the tasks she gave us. I figured she just preferred to sit down and do the easy work,” he confessed. “I had no idea she was just using us to do her obligations and spending all those hours in the OR the entire time.”

Owen took a deep breath, believing every word his son had shared. Just like he suspected, Brown had failed her interns but it still didn’t mean they weren’t responsible for breaking a rule.

“Don’t beat yourself up about this,” Owen held his shoulder with his hand and looked deeply into his son’s eyes. “It was a naïve move and you fell for it, but the time to fall for it is now,” he wisely pointed out. “This is a job where most of the time we can’t afford to make mistakes, but we are not machines and we will make mistakes,” his role as father spoke louder than his role as chief when Owen added the words, “what you did wasn’t right, but it wasn’t the end of the world either. You learn from it and that’s it. Next time, you won’t swap your obligations just because it’s more convenient for someone else. I know it sounds scary, but sometimes it’s important to stand up to your resident and challenge them too, okay? They are not the infinite source of knowledge they think they are and remember that just a year ago, they were standing exactly where you are. You didn’t know better. They should.”

Thomas took in his father’s words and nodded positively, accepting them.

“I just thought…” he struggled. “I thought that this was one of those things we learn in med school but do differently in real life, you know?” Thomas confessed. “She spoke so comfortably about it that I figured it was probably one of those things they tell you that you absolutely can’t do but just as standard protocol… Kind of like having a cell phone inside the OR. Everyone does it, even though it’s not right.”

Owen chuckled, fully understanding what he meant.

“I know you’re at some awful crossroads, Tom,” he sighed heavily, feeling sorry that his son was paying the price for it. “I know you’re hesitating to come to me or Mom when you have questions or doubts because you think this will make up for special treatment or put you in a different position than your peers but just keep in mind that before being your boss, I am your father, okay?” Owen held the back of his son’s head, making sure he was listening. “I am your dad and I am always here for you if you have something on your mind.”

Thomas seemed touched by the words because his eyes sparkled with what his father considered to be unshed tears. The boy just looked exhausted and it broke Owen’s heart.

“I know it’s overwhelming sometimes,” the surgeon added. “But it helps to talk,” he shared the truth he’d learned by experience. “Mom and I are here for you,” the chief of surgery gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder before crouching down to the dishwasher again. “Always.”

Thomas heard the words of support and nodded his head with a shy smile, unable to find the right words to express his gratitude.

Owen kept silence for the following minutes, waiting for his son to process everything he was saying. He knew just how much pressure Thomas put on himself. It had always been like that, ever since he was a young boy. Even though he was particularly brilliant, Tom had always set high goals and didn’t stop until he got what he wanted. Owen admired his resilience, but just like his wife had wisely pointed out, Thomas wasn’t used to failing. And right now, looking at the way things were going in his life, it seemed like his son wasn’t in control of a lot of things. Owen could only imagine how much that was setting him off.

“I know you’ll think I’m on your back today,” Owen started out, knowing the following subject would most likely make his son even more uncomfortable, “but I think it’s past time we talk about what happened between you and Kate.”

Owen paused his speech, expectantly. This was a side of Thomas he could relate to, because to him, talking about his feelings and opening up had always been a challenge. He really admired people like his wife who, even though sometimes couldn’t quite understand what they were feeling, did a much better job at expressing their emotions than he did. And much to his own dismay, unlike his oldest brother, Thomas hadn’t taken after his mother in that regard.

“I wish I had a concrete story to tell you,” Thomas admitted after long seconds. Owen noticed that despite his son’s will to hold it together, the subject messed with him. The trauma surgeon wasn’t surprised. “But I try to look back and even I can’t make sense of it.”

Since at that point the dishes were already properly washed, Owen pulled another dishcloth from one of the drawers and handed it to Thomas, knowing by his own experience it would probably help him talk if he had his hands busy with something.

“Well, you know… Just like learning how to perform an appendectomy, talking about these things require practice…” Owen smiled, hoping to sound convincing. “So, how about we take it from the start?”

.

Megan said goodbye to Claire and Marianne in the cafeteria, hurrying to her afternoon class. Her music course was about to begin and despite engaged in a conversation with her friends, Megan didn’t want to be late. Even though Marianne was still pretty upset over the heartbreak she had experienced, she had been doing better for the past week. Megan was particularly determined to cheer her up. Even though they shared most of their classes, twice a week the teenage girl enjoyed her alone time in music class, something her two friends weren’t very fond of.

Ever since she was little, Megan had always been enthusiastic about music. She supposed it was something her father had passed onto her and her twin brothers. While they were still in school, Robbie and Danny had also been a part of the arts program and just like their sister, they’d done it mostly for their own entertainment. Megan knew she didn’t want to pursue a career in arts, but those two afternoons a week were like an outlet, a place where she could be away from the academics obligations and simply have fun enjoying one of her favorites hobbies in school.

Megan particularly liked to sing and while she knew she was no Celine Dion, the girl had also been given some pretty amusing compliments on her voice over the years. Looking forward to making the most of one her favorite classes in her senior year, the girl walked into the well-known room, spotting many familiar faces that greeted her with warm smiles.

And much to Megan’s dismay, a not so friendly companion stared right back at her as she entered the room.

Almost instantly, her smile vanished and she lost most of her previous excitement.

“What’s he doing here?” the girl grumpily asked a classmate, who shrugged her shoulders in response.

Before Megan could say anything else, their teacher walked in with her usual punctuality. Megan tried not to pay any more attention to JD Callaghan and focus instead on the warm welcomes by Mrs. Julian but for some reason, anger was already building up inside her at the mere sight of that annoying guy and just how bored he seemed.

As the teacher kindly welcomed everyone back and asked if they’d practiced over the summer, Megan couldn’t help but wonder what in the world JD was doing there. She would never think of him as someone who enjoyed music. In fact, it was hard to associate him with enjoying anything at all, mostly because he usually looked absolutely annoyed in most situations she’d seen him in.

Belatedly realizing she’d failed on her resolution not to divert his attention to the most obnoxious human being she’d ever met, Megan looked back at Mrs. Julian, being greeted by the smile of the short teacher with a powerful voice and large glasses that made her eyesight as sharp as her hearing.

“It’s good to see you have all returned for what I hope is a year of growth,” Mrs Julian warmly saluted her students. Most of them she was already familiar with, with the exception of a couple of freshmen and the boy with dark hair sitting alone in the back. “You must be JD Callaghan,” she supposed, after a quick look on her sheet. “Why don’t you come a little closer? I promise you we won’t bite,” the cheerful old lady proposed with a kind tone.

JD looked around and noticed all pairs of eyes were on him. There were about fifteen others students and everyone was engaged in conversation, except for him. He had no desire to be there, but after being forced by his coach with the risk of losing his position in the football team, the teenage boy had invariably wound up in that classroom.

Without any other choice but to approach the group, JD sunk in a chair beside the excited duo of freshmen who seemed to only giggle about anything that was said.

“Today’s class will be all about introductions, so I want you all to say your name out loud and then I am going to hand out these sheets with questions… You can think of them as a music survey that will help me guide you through the course,” Mrs. Julian informed them, already giving each student a sheet of paper.

As introductions were over, JD furrowed his brown heavily as he read the first line on the questionnaire.

Do you play any musical instruments or sing? If yes, which ones and for how long?

No.

Have you ever taken any music classes?

No.

Would you rather perform on an instrument or sing for the class, (solo or with a classmate)?

Neither.

What is your favorite musical genre?

I don’t have a favorite.

After ten minutes, the teacher collected the papers and suspiciously looked over at her students as she read some of the answers.

“JD,” she started, studying him meticulously. “Your answers were not very informative,” she opted for a lighter approach, thinking about the best way to engage the new student. “Judging by what you wrote here, I wouldn’t have a reason to think you’re interested in music,” Mrs. Julian added, hoping for some kind of response but the teenage boy simply sustained eye contact with her, without saying a word. “Did you discuss this decision with your football coach or…?”

JD picked up on the clue that she was offering him the opportunity to explain himself and purposefully replied as evasive as possible.

“He found a guitar in my car and assumed I was interested in music,” the boy shared, not really impressed by the deduction. “He told me I either enrolled in this class or was out of the team, so here I am.”

JD failed to add that the decision to bribe him into joining an arts program had come after the coach had decided he had anger issues and therefore needed something to channel his energy with. Football clearly wasn’t enough, because according to the man himself, JD was resorting to excessive force and therefore needed some other way to clear out that energy.

“Well, if you are interested in learning how to play the guitar, we can help you with that,” Mrs. Julian tried to sound encouraging, well aware that she wasn’t going to win the boy over in one day. Knowing that patience was the best approach, the teacher went on to once again engage the students in a group game, watching as most of them seemed to have fun with the activity.

After noticing they only had ten minutes before the bell rang, the teacher quickly scribbled some notes in her pad. To the students, the activities they’d performed that afternoon might have felt like a game, but to her it was rich material of observation. With many years of experience, it wasn’t hard for Mrs. Julian to figure out how to proceed.

“Okay, so I saw your answers and I think I have figured out what most of your interests are,” she cheerfully gave the class feedback. “I think for starters we would highly benefit if we could split the class in small groups and the most experienced students can help the new ones. Soon enough, everyone would be on a more leveled position and we can move forward as a group,” Mrs. Julian proposed wisely, looking at each student in the face. “Jack, you’re with Sean and Andrew,” she once again took note on her pad. “Sam and Barbara can train those high pitch notes together,” she winked at them, knowing the suggestion would please both girls. “JD, I think you’d benefit from getting some tips from Megan,” the teacher quickly turned around. “Brian, what do you think about having Tess and…?”

“Excuse, Mrs. Julian?”

Megan was shocked to hear that the same words she was about to say had already been spoken. Her surprise – and outrage – to be chosen as JD’s partner had promptly invoked her to raise her hand and protest it, but he had been quicker on the initiative to ask for the teacher’s attention.

“Yes, JD?” Mrs. Julian didn’t seem bothered with the interruption.

“Can I please switch partners?”

Megan later figured she shouldn’t be that much surprised, but at the moment, she was shocked. The girl had several reasons not to want JD as her partner, but he really couldn’t be serious.

Everyone else around them seemed to feel the same, unable to figure out why the guy would want to ditch Megan Hunt as his partner. Not only was she the best student in class, she was also friendly, kind and very generous. Many of the students there had benefited from Megan’s aid once or twice during the previous year. One would have to be a fool to…

“May I ask just why you feel like you need a new partner?” Mrs. Julian asked, finding the situation just as surprising. Megan Hunt was one of the best students and everyone in school seemed to like her. It was clear that JD Callaghan was having a hard time adjusting to the new school and judging by everything she knew about Megan, it was obvious there was no better person to help him fit in. Mrs. Julian had seen her do it to quite a few students before and it hadn’t been a coincidence that she’d paired them together.

“Sure,” JD replied unaffectedly, looking into the teacher’s eyes. “For starters, I really think I wouldn’t appreciate the company of someone who is rude, arrogant and absolutely disagreeable.”

“What?!”

Only when she heard the words Megan realized she had been the one to say them.

But despite her tone of outrage and obvious fury, JD simply glanced over his shoulder, looked at her and without a word looked back at the teacher.

“So, can I please be on someone else’s team?”

“Hmm…” Mrs. Julian had been caught off guard but following her peaceful nature, she tried to resolve the situation in the best way she could think of. “It really surprises me that you have that opinion of Megan, JD,” the teacher said, being supported by the other students in class. “I really think you are not being very fair to her.”

“Well, I am not interested in being his partner either,” Megan interfered. The flushed look on her face showed how enraged she was, contrasting with the easy, calm manners JD was showing. That infuriated Megan even more. “Why would I want to be near someone who has his head too high up his ass to actually be a decent human being?”

Mrs. Julian was left in shock. Never before had she seen one of her favorite students acting so emotional. But to her surprise, the nasty comment was enough to make the problematic student on her left actually laugh.

“See, she is a bully,” JD added, as if proving a point, even though a smile still lingered on his lips. “I don’t want her near me.”

“You are the worst kind of human being!” Megan abruptly stood up. How could he call her a bully? She was absolutely against any kind of discrimination and did her very best to make sure everyone could fit in, no matter how different they seemed at first glance! She was even…

“Enough!” Mrs. Julian cut the discussion off, using a harsher tone than she was used to.

Megan figured things had gotten a little out of control when she realized she was the only one in the classroom standing up. More than a dozen students had their eyes fixated on her, most of them holding her breath. Hoping she would just be left alone, the girl slowly took her seat back, taking deep breaths to regain control, absolutely embarrassed by her impolite display of wrath.

Much to her dismay, Mrs. Julian spent the last five minutes of class finishing dividing the class and handing out assignments. When inquired about it once again if Megan and JD could change their partners, the teacher simply said that the assignment was given and if they didn’t work together, it would reflect on their grades.

Megan felt personally offended and unjustly attacked, considering how much she looked up to the teacher and imagined that somehow, Mrs. Julian would have her back. Even though it’d become clear the teacher didn’t agree with JD’s nasty accusation, she hadn’t given Megan the way out she wanted, but rather insisted that she stayed partners with a person who obviously didn’t like her.

As she walked out of class, Megan thought about it and wondered if the anger and sadness she felt was really only about her teacher or the injustice of the situation. Today, she had been accused of things she knew in her heart she wasn’t, and yet she’d felt powerless in face of the situation. Megan knew she was well liked in school but it didn’t mean she was always right about everything. Sure, she had her own opinions and lived up to her ideals, but she respected what others think and felt too. It wasn’t often that she was antagonized but in the few times it had happened, Megan had dealt relatively well with it, because she genuinely respected that people could think and feel differently.

Yet now… it just had felt too personal. As if she had been rejected. The girl had never been so straightforwardly accused of anything like that and she had to admit, it bothered her.

She was just being silly, Megan told herself. Who cared what JD Callaghan thought of her? Even if he’d accused her of a bunch of lies, she shouldn’t mind it one bit. He was a jerk and he’d proven it many times over.

And yet, when Megan saw him walking down the empty school hallway alone, her feet acted faster than her mind could control.

“I really cannot believe you,” she stood up to him, wondering why lately that seemed to have become a habit. “What is wrong with you?”

JD stopped walking, quickly noticing how worked up the girl still seemed to be. For the first time since he could remember, she wasn’t surrounded by a large group of friends.

“You are very annoying,” he declared with a sigh of impatience. “I have football practice, can you please let me pass?”

“No!” Megan irrationally stood in the way, failing to realize he was at least ten inches taller and much wider and therefore could easily force his way through should he wish it. “You are staying right here and telling me what that little scene of yours was all about.”

“Oh, wow,” JD faked surprised. “Not only are you annoying, you’re also bossy as hell,” he added, discreetly leaning over her. “You are way too small to be this nasty. Move, you’re standing in the way.”

“Will you stop accusing me of things?” she chided, determined not to move an inch backwards even though he had approached her.

For the first time, Megan was looking straight into his eyes without any distractions and she couldn’t help noticing how strangely green they were. Not the kind of green that sometimes looked like blue, or the hazel kind with some brownish strands. But rather, a shade of green so bright and vibrant that made his eyes look like emeralds.

“You mean stop saying things about you without even knowing you like you did to me when you called me out in front of everyone last week?”

Megan opened her mouth to reply but the way he’d put the situation left her without arguments to defend herself. JD seemed to have sensed he somehow got through to her, because the guy smiled with the corner of his lips before adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder.

“Can you get out of the way now?” he asked, still noticing how pensive she looked. Had any of the guys done a third of what that bratty girl was doing, JD would have long before shoved them out of the way. He wondered why that hothead was able to amuse him at the same time she annoyed him. And he didn’t even like her.

“I am not a bully,” Megan childishly pointed out.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” she furrowed her brows, thinking she was being set up.

“If you say so, I believe you,” he pulled the strap of his bag, shifting it to his other shoulder.

“Really?” Megan frowned heavily.

“No,” JD smiled widely and for the first time, Megan thought he was actually being friendly. He looked straight into her eyes and added, looking more amused than she’d ever seen him be. “But I am kind of hoping you prove me wrong.”

Megan’s initial reaction was to feel flattered but she quickly regained her senses.

“Well, I don’t have to prove anything to you,” the girl folded her arms in front of her body, regaining control of the situation.

“No, you don’t,” JD agreed with a head nod, and once again Megan noticed he meant it. “Still, it would be nice if you did.”

Megan didn’t know exactly what to answer to that, so she settled for finally stepping out of the way.

JD looked at her one last time before stepping ahead but Megan’s question made him turn on his heel again.

“Were you really forced to join music class?” the girl didn’t notice her face looked more intrigued and confused than she would like to let it show.

“Yes,” JD affirmed with conviction, making eye contact with her.

“Why?” she unceremoniously asked, unaware of the confusion on her face.

“According to the coach, I have been using excessive force,” JD shrugged, uninterested. “But it was for a good cause.”

“How can any kind of excessive force be for a good cause?” she widened her eyes, still unable to believe him.

“Because that boyfriend of yours is a softie and he is going to cost us the season if he doesn’t lose his fear to be tackled,” JD calmly explained, unaffected by Megan’s horrified expression. “Yeah, the coach doesn’t want to admit that your precious Aaron despite having a good arm, isn’t exactly reliable when it comes to facing a tough opponent. The coach is failing to see that. But our opponents aren’t. They are going for him and when they do, it’s going to hurt way more than when I tackled him in practice yesterday.”

“So, is that how you justify your horrible manners?” Megan ironically asked, making sure to show her disapproval. “You hurt him, but it was for a greater cause?”

“Exactly.”

She still couldn’t believe how absolutely obnoxious he was when JD resumed his way, apparently not bothered by the situation he’d just exposed.

Megan was then suddenly reminded of a comment her twin brothers had made on the day they’d joined her to watch the school’s football practice. At the time, she had been reluctant to believe it, but maybe it was true that Aaron didn’t like taking hits.

Well, who did, she asked herself. Football was a very physical game and players were constantly being tackled. As long as Aaron did his job well – and he did – there was no reason for anyone to be on his back like that. JD was probably just being the jerk he always was, because it felt like whatever he set out to do, he eventually ended up hurting someone.

The realization scared Megan more than she would care to admit and the girl strode the hallways, ready to go home. If there was one thing she knew she wasn’t at risk for, it was being hurt by JD Callaghan. That whole music partners scenario was too cliché to be true and it annoyed her too much. She simply had no patience for it and it was better for everyone if they simply found a way to go make Mrs. Julian change her mind. JD’s rough manners and uncaring personality didn’t bother her so much at the moment though, because her biggest concern was exactly what it would take to make sure they never had to speak to each other, ever again.

–

thank you guys! 

[princeescaluswords]

If Scott is so boring, and Stiles/Sterek fans hate him so much, why do you think that they constantly steal Scott's personality traits and give them to Stiles?

This is going to get me so much backlash.    So Much Backlash!

Your question, while short, has many parts, and each one of those parts is a mine field.   To summarize, I’ll ask you to bear in mind two key factors: the concept of redemptive love and heteronormativity.    It is highly romantic to believe that being loved by someone and/or loving someone else makes you a better person.   It is also a tendency for people to force non-heterosexual relationships into a particular mode because its comfortable and/or attractive.  

PART 1:  Why do they think Scott is boring?

I feel we have to start with by examining Scott and Stiles at their base.   While they share some things in common, they have very different personalities.   Stiles serves as a foil to Scott in the narrative – his actions exist to highlight Scott’s qualities as the protagonist.   It is why I believe that others might see a schism lurking below the surface or why I believe that others might see Stiles as an alternative protagonist.    In my mind, crucial to the idea of ‘Scott is boring’ is the difference in their insecurities.  

Both boys are insecure, but they are insecure in different ways.   Scott has a very positive attitude about his identity.   He believes himself deserving of love, he believes he has a right to life and self-determination; he believes he is, at base, a good person.   What makes him a hero is that he believes this not just of himself, but of everyone, and is willing to risk his life for others to have these rights as well.

Scott’s weakness is his insecurity of competence.   Scott believes he may not be smart enough or capable enough to preserve his and other’s rights to life and self-determination.   “I can’t do this!” he cries.   “I can’t be this and be with Allison.”  Or, “Actually, I never know what I am doing.”  Or, “Wouldn’t it be better if I was no one again.”  Or, “Are you kidding?   You said you’d give me a few trade secrets, but right now, I need a full-on training manual.”  Or, “I should have done better, I should have figured something out.”    Scott knows what to do, he just doesn’t believe in his ability to accomplish it.

Stiles, on the other hand, always believes that he can accomplish things.  He always believes that he has the right answer, and people are stupid and ignorant for not listening to him.   It’s why he doesn’t see anything wrong with his biting sarcasm, with his manipulating people to get what he wants, but it’s also why he will charge headlong to save people without a thought for the consequences.   Even though he is human, he acts as if that doesn’t matter.  If you are confident you know what to do, why hesitate?

His weakness, though, is his insecurity of nature.   Stiles, believes, at his base, that he is a dangerous, if not thoroughy wicked, human being.   This springs from Claudia, but it is now an ingrained habit.  There’s  a reason he refused the bite from Peter; why he told his dad “I’m not a hero;” why he idolizes Scott; why he was targetted by the Nogitsune; why he won’t trade his life for his friends to the Chemist, even if he doens’t know if they’re alive or dead; why he couldn’t tell anyone about Donovan.   He doesn’t believe that he has the same right to life or happiness as everyone else.  He sees himself as expendable because he sees himself as bad.  

People think Scott is boring because an insecurity of nature is far more dramatic than an insecurity of competence.   When Scott makes a mistake, he picks himself up and says “I’ll do better next time.”   If he does suffer serious doubts, other’s belief in him can help him recover quickly.    Scott doesn’t dwell on it, because at his base he still believes that he can win.

Stiles, as Scott’s foil, doesn’t have that same internal resources.   When Stiles makes a mistake, this is just evidence to him that he’s a terrible person.   He deserves to be hurt; he rejects others’ belief in him.   Which is why he keeps things secret.   It’s very dramatic, and very sympathetic, but it’s also a weakness.   We saw in Season 5 exactly how much of a weakness it was.   If Stiles believed in himself enough to get help after Donovan, Season 5 might never have happened as it did.

Scott seems boring (and doesn’t seem to be ‘responsible’) because he, at his base, understands that he is trying his best.  He doesn’t need to flog himself when he makes a mistake – he fixes it.   He doesn’t isolate himself when he feels overwhelmed – he gets help.   If what interests you is unresolved angst, then that could be seen as ‘boring.’  It does make for a good hero, though.

PART 2: Stiles and Derek

Before I get into this part,  I want to restate that I am not saying ‘this is what all Ste rek shippers believe!’   That would not only be unrealistic but also irresponsible.   This is my speculation about it, and it is not meant to be the Final Word.  In fact, as many efforts there are that rob Scott to improve Stiles, there are just as many that don’t.

I think that ‘Enemies to Lovers’ trope is very, very popular becuase of the extraordinarily romantic nature of it.    It’s been that way form “The Philadelphia Story” to “Moonlighting” to this show.   The idea that attraction can eventually erode even the strongest animosity is so tempting because it offers hope.   It is the counter to 'no one could ever love me.’

The idea of their pairing also grows stronger when you bringing in the concept of redemptive love.   Both Stiles and Derek have, to their own minds, 'betrayed’ the bonds of love.   Stiles feels guilt over his mother’s death, even though he know it wasn’t his fault, and over Scott being bitten.    Derek feels guilt because of Paige’s death and the destruction of his family, even though he knows it wasn’t his fault.  

What a tempting picture to see these two damaged souls 'fix’ each other by falling in love!   There is undoubtedly a connection (which I personally do not see as romantic) between them.   Stiles’ emotional aggressiveness plays very well against Derek’s initial locked-own stoicness.   No scene, I think, underlines this better than the 'make a fist’ scene in “Chaos Rising.”   Their interactions are sharp and full of life.   I don’t see romance, but it doesn’t seem an unreasonable conclusion to me.

If you accept Stiles and Derek as romantic, there is a problem that frequently intrudes (and not just this relationship)  – heteronormativity.   We’re comfortable with established roles in a relationship because that is what we see every day.   There are exceptions, of course, and media is getting better at it, but this is still the norm.

With two clashing personalities like Stiles and Derek, the safest and most efficient way to ‘fix them’ with redemptive love is to force the characters into established gender roles.   This is where we get Pack Mom Stiles who likes to cook, remembers everyone’s schedules, and always has a kind word for everyone, even though he was a sarcastic thoughtless asshole in the show.     They need to Derek to be the  Man, strong and silent (and alpha!) and Stiles to be the Woman, caring and sensitive and efficient.   The problem is that Stiles, while fiercely devoted, is not particularly caring, and he is certainly not sensitive.   Scott, on the other hand, was the person who made the most emotional connections with others, including Derek, Isaac, Boyd, Lydia, and Liam.    

But if they make Stiles the caring and emotional person, it creates a disconnect because of his nature as Scott’s foil.   The dynamics of their relationship are off.   To maintain that balance, Scott has to lose those traits, and when he does, when he ceases to be concerned with everyone having the right to life and self-determination, then his moral certainty seems like arrogance and his insecurity of competence seems like selfishness.  

[im-not-a-what]

Forget the Name

Title: Forget the Name

Summary: Rumple and Belle's daughter meets a girl called Scarlet and makes her first real friend. But, this being Storybrooke, some awkward truths need to be addressed.

Rating: G

Genre: friendship, first meeting

Characters/Pairings: Rumbaby (OC), Robin Mills, minor Rumbelle

Notes: Set in the same verse as Long-Distance Call (part 1 & 2) and Friendly Chat. Yeah, finally updated this verse! Diverts from season 5. No Belle under the sleeping curse, and no Gideon.

AO3 link

No one at school questioned it, not even after all the times Ms. Blanchard or any of the other teachers called Scarlet by her real name during attendance. Most kids weren’t paying attention during homeroom unless their own name was rattled off and they needed to prove they were present (and awake). So they had reason to ask for her name, and her answer would be the same: “Call me Scarlet.”

If you asked around, many of her classmates would settle on her hair being the reason her name fit. Heck, the legendary Red Riding Hood got her name from a piece of clothing! Naming someone for their hair color (which was actually bright copper) sounded acceptable. And the girl herself advocated it, so why not?

Téa Gold didn’t know Scarlet by any name when they first met in the lunchroom. Scarlet was sitting alone, contemplatively eating her way through a fruit bowl and a plate of lasagna. Téa was letting her lunch bag swing by her side as she went finding a comfortable place to eat. When she spied the redheaded girl, her long legs self-consciously crossed but undeniably reaching the floor, she debated whether it would be okay to sit with a third-grader. It was a bit bold, a bit overreaching for someone who hadn’t made a real friend in the last two years since starting at Storybrooke Elementary. Her chances stood better with someone who seemed lacking in friends, too, but the clincher had been the sight of the red sauce speckled with meat oozing between layers of pasta and cheese. Her stomach growled in envy. Not that she was going to steal, of course.

“Aw man!” Téa announced as she passed the girl. “I didn’t know they had that for hot lunch!”

The older girl needed a few seconds to realize that Téa was talking to her, and specifically talking about her lunch. “Oh!” she said after swallowing. “No, I brought this from home.”

“Oh. Lucky!” Téa scooted closer, still tentative in action if not in words. “I just have a regular old sandwich. And some brownies. Mom’s not so good with cooking, but she’s got baking down pretty good. Um, is this seat taken?”

Scarlet raised her eyebrows. “Does it look taken?”

Téa’s voice wobbled as she giggled. “Right. Well, maybe if you had ghost friends, or something.” She chuckled again and made a point not to dwell on her awkwardness.

“Afraid not.” Scarlet’s gaze darted back to her food, a sign that even if the redhead extended an invitation, it would be a reluctant one. Téa started to back away, only to be stopped by the girl’s pale, shining eyes and embarrassed yet hopeful half-smile. “You can sit if you want.”

She didn’t want the girl to feel uncomfortable having a lunch companion, but the cafeteria was filling up fast with kids, and Téa preferred getting stuck with a stranger she had some interest in talking to. She slipped onto the bench, leaving a foot of space between the two students.

“I think this is my first time sitting with a third-grader,” Téa commented.

Scarlet bunched her eyebrows together. “How do you know I’m third grade?”

“I’m in second, and you guys always get out to lunch a period before us. And you look more . . . grown-up.”

“I do?” A surprised laugh got caught in Scarlet’s throat just as she took another forkful of lasagna. She had to cough.

Once the older girl cleared her throat, Téa continued, “Sure you do! You’re nine, aren’t you? Most of my class is still seven. You’re almost double digits!”

Scarlet shrugged.

“Trust me, it’s cool.” Téa’s lunchmate wasn’t giving her much conversation fodder to run with, but their limited rapport felt nonetheless comfortable. Maybe Téa intuitively understood the reason behind the hunched shoulders, the downcast gaze at the food instead of up at people. It was easier to hide away rather than risk people knowing more about you than you want. Or doing something that will make them not like you.

Téa unzipped her lunch bag. It was her second-favorite, decorated with Spider-Man web-slinging against a city backdrop. She took out her bag of homemade brownies. She presented a single roughly cut piece to the older girl. “Here, try this.”

“Uh . . .” After a couple false starts, Scarlet finally claimed the brownie and set it next to the half-empty fruit bowl. “Thanks.” Then her eyes rounded. “You have a Spider-Man lunch bag!”

“Yeah,” Téa said with a small rush of pride.

“I’ve been asking my mom to get a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles one, but she says it’s tacky. I think she thinks they’re too weird.”

“She kidding? They’re awesome! They’re from the same place as Spidey—New York City! I used to live there.”

“Really?” Scarlet lit up like a rainbow in a sunny spring shower. “What’s it like?”

Téa admitted she remembered only tidbits. She and her family moved to Storybrooke in time for her to start kindergarten. But she could recall the pretzels from street stands, the honking traffic, the gargantuan buildings that she pretended were frozen giants. It felt like things were always happening in the city, even if it was just people going from one place to another or hanging around the park. She vaguely remembered a park, or maybe a zoo. That last detail set Scarlet on a ramble about how she always wanted to see a city zoo, like what the pictures on the websites show. Storybrooke was too small to have its own zoo; the best alternative was the animal shelter, which she honestly liked visiting. That launched the girls into a conversation about what kind of pets they’d like to have. If only the bell for next period hadn’t rung, forcing the redhead to clean up the remnants of her lunch. She hadn’t finished her lasagna. Without a hint of a question from Téa, she pushed the plate over with a smile.

“Hey, I didn’t catch your name,” Téa said as the girl started walking away.

“Scarlet!” she called over her shoulder.

“I’m Téa! See ya!”

When Téa got home and told Mom and Pop about her new friend, you’d swear she’d told them she’d made valedictorian. Her mom was especially happy. They didn’t recognize the name Scarlet, but that hardly mattered. Téa caught the smallest wince on her father’s face, but it came and went so quickly it didn’t strike her as important.

Téa would be the first to admit she didn’t pay attention to gossip or general school knowledge, but as far as she was aware, everyone knew her new friend as Scarlet. It later surprised her how quickly the name had caught on considering that Scarlet started going to school the same year Téa entered second grade. She’d been homeschooled before then. As she got to know the older girl, she slowly understood how it came about.

The truth didn’t dawn until the following spring, just as the last month before summer break was closing out. Téa had started asking Scarlet about her address, her phone number, where and when would be the best way to keep seeing each other during the vacation. Scarlet had dragged her heels giving this info, which Téa respected as a desire for privacy, but it felt strange. She gave her own details in hopes that the favor was returned; Scarlet still hesitated.

“Scarlet, school’s almost out,” Téa pleaded as they waited for the bus to pick them up from the school parking lot. “I don’t want to spend the whole boring summer without you.”

“I know.” Scarlet scraped the sole of her shoe on the asphalt. Her reticence suddenly turned to veiled yet startling intensity when she looked up at Téa. “I just don’t want you to hate me.”

“What? Come on, how can I hate you?”

“Because I haven’t been honest sooner about who I am.”

A chill ran through Téa’s chest. Not of fear—not fear of Scarlet. It was more like she was the one with a secret that was under threat of being revealed. Maybe Scarlet was in a similar position.

“Well, I haven’t told you everything about me, either,” she offered.

Scarlet inhaled quickly. “So, if I ask you about your family, you’ll tell me the truth?”

“Yeah, sure I will.”

“Okay. Is your dad Rumplestiltskin?”

It would be wrong to call the heat washing over her face shame. She wasn’t ashamed of her Pop. She loved him to pieces. But she wasn’t blind to the way people sometimes looked at him when he, she and Mom walked to the shop or the library, or even when riding in the Cadillac. In those moments, flooded with confusion and irrational embarrassment, she clung to her mother’s words: Do the brave thing, and bravery will follow.

“Yeah, he is. And my mom is Belle.”

“Right,” Scarlet said softly, as though she needed to steep in this revelation for a moment. After a moment she said, “He’s the Dark One, right?”

Téa had heard that title, but not often. Only a couple times, usually when someone was really annoyed at her Pop. “I guess so,” she said with a shrug.

“Then you know that sometimes people will think things about you because of who your parents are,” Scarlet said.

That was not the reply Téa was expecting. Better than she’d hoped for, in fact. “Yeah. It’s stupid. But Mom says to ignore them. But she really wants me to have friends, and it’s hard because of who Pop is. I don’t know why.”

Scarlet nodded, silent. Téa cherished that silence. It was better that Scarlet wasn’t trying to comfort her or explain anything away. It was what it was. But now her curiosity was whetted—how did Scarlet understand all this?

“So, who’re your parents?” Téa finally asked.

Scarlet swallowed. She looked at her shoes. “My mom is the Wicked Witch of the West.”

Téa’s eyebrows popped up. Her mind flashed a picture of a green-faced woman, eyes hidden under a black hat, and a woman in white whispering in her ear. She’d seen the picture on several posters in New York. She asked her parents to help her read the word underneath. The word had been big, white, stylish. It had beckoned her to learn the name of this enigmatic image. Her mother had pursed her lips. Her father had frowned. Not at Téa, though. Eventually one of them—she didn’t remember who—read the title. Wicked.

“Whoa,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” Scarlet said. “There’s something else.”

Really? There was more? Téa clutched her backpack tight and, hardly breathing, watched her friend with wide eyes.

“My aunt—my mom’s sister—is the Evil Queen. You know, Snow White’s Evil Queen.”

“Oh my God,” Téa whispered reverently. This was the scariest and coolest thing she’d ever heard.

Scarlet didn’t agree. She sighed. “Pretty awful, right?”

Téa deliberated for a few seconds, choosing her words carefully. “I don’t know if it’s awful. But I would say it’s . . . wicked.”

Scarlet reeled a glare on her. “I’m going to smack you.”

Téa bit her lower lip to hold in the laughter. So worth it.

“And there’s one more thing.”

“What? Scarlet!”

The older girl shushed her, then pulled her closer. “This is serious. Just listen, okay?”

Téa sighed and nodded.

“My name isn’t Scarlet. It’s Robin.”

Now that reveal rocked Téa. It was far more baffling than the identities of her friend’s relatives. “What? But—how do you get Scarlet from Robin?”

“I don’t. It’s my middle name. My dad suggested it before . . . before he died. But my mom wanted to name me after my dad instead. So my birth name is Robin. Robin Scarlet Mills.”

“Oh.” Her utterance barely registered even in her own ears.

If she’d had any clue to what say, it would’ve been dismissed or forgotten at the sight of the bus. The girls wordlessly got in line, mounted the stairs and hunted for an open seat they could share. They found one closer to the back, which the older kids usually dominated. Scarlet claimed the window, as usual. An odd thought came to Téa: maybe Scarlet, or Robin, liked sitting by the window not just so her mind could wander while the outside scenery rolled by (like Téa did), but also because she felt safer from the world with the younger girl on the aisle seat. For some reason, Téa liked that idea. Kind of weird that she, almost a year and a half younger than Scarlet, was acting as her guard. But she liked it, and for that she never complained about giving up the window.

The bus needed barely an hour to circle Storyrbooke. Téa’s stop was before Scarlet’s. The younger girl dwelled on the uncomfortable possibility that they would be parting ways like this, unsure of their summer plans or any plans for their friendship. The burden of responsibility doubly weighed her down. Two stops before hers, she found the words and worked up the nerve to speak.

She leaned toward Scarlet. “Can we still meet up during the summer?”

Scarlet, as though startled from a nap, flinched at Téa. Her face was tight around the forehead and mouth, as though she still expected an unkind word from her friend. Téa wondered if her faced looked the same.

While not all the tension faded, Scarlet relaxed enough to nod and say, “That’d be great. Hang on, I’ll give you my phone number.”

It was the house number, not her mom’s or aunt’s cellphones. Both girls had to wait until middle school to get phones of their own. Téa watched Scarlet scribble down digits on a sheet of notebook paper she tore out of her binder. She liked the weight of the paper all folded up in her pocket when she gathered her bag and left their seat. She waved to Scarlet, who waved back, finally smiling. She felt for the pocket several times on her way up the walkway to the pink mansion she called home just to make sure the paper didn’t fall out anywhere on the way. When she stepped inside the house, and before she announced to anyone present that she’d made it back from school in one piece, she pulled out and unfolded the crisp white sheet.

She couldn’t miss what her friend had added under the phone number: Scarlet, with a heart. Téa’s smile jumped off and air rushed in when a rosy glow filled up the pen-drawn heart. The light cooled but left a blush in the shape’s empty core. Once the girl’s breath steadied, she snuck the paper back into her pocket and jaunted upstairs. Her smile grew again.

[slapmeagain-blog]

Remembering Betty

I don’t remember having ever met Betty.  She was just always in my life.  Like a sister, a slightly older sister.  Friend, guide, teacher, social advisor.  We grew up two doors away from each other, on Sundale Avenue, the south end of a one-block street-let  running into the football field at Hawthorne High, a wonderful space to hang out away from parents, and a walk to school that made little kids long for the days we’d be old enough to just roll out of bed at 8:20 a.m. and be on time for an 8:30 class.  We all got very good at climbing chain link and barbed wire fences barefoot when we were kids.  At least the boys.   The five of us, Cindi (my older sister), Mary, Lynn (my older brother), Betty and I (youngest of the 5), were all born within 6 years of each other.   The fact that we lived in separate houses, of separate parents, never got in the way of our going in and out of each other’s lives and houses pretty much like they were our own, only occasionally being told off by a parent for not knocking.  We were all, kids and parents, on a first name basis on Sundale.  Only Alice Tinkham, next to the Kean’s on the other side, insisted on being called “Mrs.” even though her own three kids called her Alice.  The downside of this casual freedom to come and go for me was the ever present risk of being told by Jean to sit down and watch the evening news with Baxter Ward on channel 5, or worse, be forced to listen to a Stravinsky symphony on an LP (“Wasn’t that just wonderful, Donnie?”), two things that would never, sadly,  have happened to me at my house.  I still tell everyone that Jean and Kirby were the two people in my world that could be counted on to try to force a little culture into our otherwise empty heads. When I graduated from Hawthorne High, Jean gave me a copy of Homer’s Odyssey and the Iliad, guessing that I’d only just begun a life of long journeys (I’d spent my junior and senior summers in Spain, Italy and Greece).   It’s the only gift I ever received that has meaning 57 years after the fact (She gets me.) I still have both books.

When we were younger, I was often Betty’s companion when there was nobody else more interesting her own age to hang out with… my brother, Lynn, busy, working, her sister or my sister too cool to bother with us.  She made sure I didn’t do anything to embarrass her (like wear white socks to school with wing tips – “Go home right now and change your socks!”)  Over time, friendship emerged as the primary driver, though it was understood she was always in charge of our activities.  She was a doer.  We didn’t just ‘hang’.  There was always a purpose, an event, an objective.  She took me to see Ike and Tina Turner at the Cinnamon Cinder in Long Beach (I was 13/14, she 14/15 so she did all the driving), to a dance at Disneyland, or to a concert somewhere.  I never complained, except the time we had dinner at a restaurant called Blue Bayou at Disneyland and something in the Bayou was bad.  I ended up wrapped around a toilet at 3 a.m. at home, my mom accusing me of having been out drinking (maybe the one time I was actually innocent as charged).  

But the thing I always remember when thinking of Betty is that Betty was there at every important moment in my life.  When I was hospitalized at 14, in a coma for several days, from an intentional overdose of some medication of my mother’s, Betty was the person in the room when I opened my eyes.  “There you are,” she said, in a soft voice.  And though I had no idea who she was at that moment, I felt safe and was comforted.   Betty was there again for me when I went with a group of friends to Disneyland, and one of the group tragically died when he, I and one other friend decided to jump in and out of the ride cars while it was moving through a dark chamber.   The next day, as word spread, and I was wandering around the neighborhood dazed and alone, Betty pulled up next to me in her Merc.  One look told her what she’d heard was true.  All she said was, “Get in the car….” .  Neither of my own parents was around or aware during those dark days for me when I blamed myself for Rick’s death.  Then, when  I was 16, Lynn, my brother died in a Tokyo hospital as a result of injuries suffered in Vietnam a week earlier.  Betty was as devastated as anyone, but I remember her being my personal guardian angel then, too.   These three incidents took place over just a 3 year stretch.  We were tragically busy teens.  We partied, we studied, we experimented with drugs – at least I did – and Betty made sure I didn’t do anything stupid.  One night, we had fun posing Mary like a Raggedy Ann doll when she was passed out in a chair in their living room.   I still have photographic proof if anyone’s interested.   It’s funny how we used to get into trouble whenever our parents were out of town, but I can never remember where they were!  Hippy days of pot, body paint, Jimmy Hendrix,  beer hidden in buckets at the bottom of our pool, Santana, the Beach Boys, (Hawthorne born and bred), Griffith Park love-ins, the Beatles at the Hollywood Bowl (Livy Arias married George), Jim Morrison and the Doors at the Whiskey a-Go-Go (tried to get in at 16).  We had no idea what we were living through or what we were doing.  

Betty was active and engaged at school.  I was actively disengaged except when I liked a subject, which wasn’t often. Betty was a budding journalist, and wrote me letters her entire life.  I tried to keep up with her.  My mom told me I was going to be a doctor.  Nobody told me I had to study.

We often hung out with Jean and Kirby when we had nothing to do.  We had fun with words on ‘martini night’ (for them, not for us!).  Parody book titles, “Under the Bleachers,” by Seymour Butts, or “Life in the Streets,” by Ima Mary Hoar.  We all knew that Kirby was close to his limit when he would flip his eyeglasses and wear them upside down, Jean giving him a look of feigned disapproval from her corner of the red leather sofa across the room, long thin legs crossed, cold beer on the table, unfiltered Pall Mall hanging from a lip.  I loved Jean’s stories about being a Navy Wave in Hawaii during the attack on Pearl Harbor, or her tales of the San Francisco earthquake (some relative was there).  It was, for us, like watching the history channel and a well-loved sitcom rolled into one.  I loved the driftwood coffee table with handles carved into it used as ashtrays (just vacuum), and the antique secretary with the champagne glasses that had rainbows in the light, a black dial phone on the workspace (Osborne 6- 2618), the oriental rug that smelled bad and the old Underwood typewriter on the table in Kirby’s room where I occasionally would type up some homework.  Everyone else in the neighborhood wanted new, modern things but the Kean’s were relentlessly traditional.  In fact, one of the few ‘modern’ things I remember seeing in their house was the blue princess telephone in May and Betty’s room.  And I remember their phone number from calling so often.   Jean smoked in bed but the house never burned down.  I’m pretty sure Jean came to visit me in my sleep the night she died.  I was at work the next morning remembering my dream of her when Betty called to tell me she had passed away that night.  I was in graduate school in Hawaii at the time so had been away from Sundale for at least ten years.

And there was the Kean lemon tree.  One morning before school, when I was sneaking into their backyard to steal a lemon (I have no idea why), I was witness to Jean literally kicking Kirby out of the house via the back door, Kirby trying to keep his footing as he hurtled down the steps, holding his lunch bag and muttering, “Jesus Christ!”. I never even saw Jean, just Kirby sort of flying out the back door and the door slamming behind him.  Unseen by Kirby,  I turned and hurried back down the driveway.    

Jean was the only mom that I knew of who could cook, really cook!  Not that it was appreciated by all.  Lamb (never in our house – too many army food memories for my dad.), wilted spinach salad (spinach made me gag), spinach soufflé, soft scrambled eggs (Kirby to Jean: The goddamned things look like snot!)  Once I was invited to stay for dinner (meatloaf) and when I started to go for a third helping, Kirby jumped up from his seat, grabbed the platter from the table, and rushing into the kitchen yelled, “He’s going to eat the whole goddamned thing!”  My dad never took lunch to work so I didn’t think about leftovers.  But then my mom’s cooking wasn’t something you wanted to have to face again the next day.

Mary was not there with us very often in the evenings at the Kean’s and I assumed she was out with my sister and Charles, Billy Cusac or the Arias’s, the Hares or Kluxdal’s, the older kids.  Maybe she was even a little embarrassed by her parents.  But Betty positively embraced them!  One afternoon, she ushered me into their bathroom to show me a particularly large bowel movement Kirby had left in the bowl for everyone to admire.  

You could often find me at their house without Mary or Betty around.  It was less depressing than my house.  I remember thinking that I wished my parents were just slightly crazy like Jean and Kirby.  Life was so much more interesting with a little crazy in it.  Our house had too much drama.  Kirby even once asked me to get him a joint because he wanted to try pot. Just like that.  I was maybe 17?  Jean was not amused.  I don’t even remember if he smoked it when I was there, meaning nothing must have gone amiss.  I just know that I loved Kirby for his bohemian outlook on life.  Betty, I think, was proud of her dad’s career as a photographer.  I once saw some beautiful photos he took of Vivien Leigh (Scarlett O’Hara) from “Gone With The Wind,” in costume for press packs.  

I loved that in winter, you always knew when the Kean’s had a fire going because the entire neighborhood smelled like a cat box since the fireplace is where Nefertiti (Nefi) used to crap.  I swear that cat was 100 when she finally died.  Kirby was a twin!  And they both, Kirby and David, sported white beards.  Kirby’s David married his daughter-in-law’s widowed mother, or vis versa. Whatever, it was cool.  Everybody loved David.  It was like a clone come to visit before we knew what clones were. They lived in Glendale (30 miles away), which might as well have been Tibet in those days for as much as people would drive from Hawthorne to Glendale.  But Clara – grandmother on Jean’s side? – maybe an aunt,  was my favorite.  She looked like somebody out of a 40s movie, frozen in time.  Car, cloth overcoat, hair.   But that was the whole family, except for the Princess Phone and Betty and Mary’s hair.  As far as I was concerned Clara was from Bel Air.

I think I remember Mary and Betty’s Blue Princess  phone because it was their lifeline to the outside world when they were holed up in their bedroom closet.  I’d get the call: Hysterical voices: “Help!!!!” then rushing to their place thinking there was an intruder in the house, to find the two of them in their closet, only to discover the intruder was a moth.  Jeff Campbell, or Gilbert Arias and I would have to go find it and kill it before they would come out of the closet.  Or at least pretend we found and killed it.  I think once Betty, though it could have been Mary, jumped out of her car (yes, she was driving her dad’s old Mercury) because there was a bee in it.  This is the same woman who (I only heard this from Betty, I didn’t actually witness it), went after her sister with cast iron skillet in the kitchen and, another time stabbed her at the dinner table with a fork.   I would have thought a bee or a moth wouldn’t have posed much of a problem at all.  Betty was almost never at a loss for words, well, except maybe the one time she was in the car with Mary and some girlfriends driving down the street when she suddenly saw what must have been a very hot guy, and all she could do was point in his direction, and say, “Boy! Boy!”

Speaking of romance, there was a signer named John from somewhere southeast of us, Orange County (Cerritos?  Tustin?), I think.  Betty had a huge crush on him and used to make me go with her to his shows whenever/wherever he was singing.  I didn’t mind.  He was beautiful.  

But then life changed.  Betty graduated.  Got a job or went to school.  My mom remarried and moved to Hawaii and I spent my senior year of HS living in our house alone.  Well, part of the time Teri Kluxdal was there with her African American boyfriend – probably the only black man in Hawthorne at the time.  But  I had refused to not finish HS in Hawthorne.  My mom couldn’t believe I’d pass on Hawaii to stay in “…this shithole of a town.”   One day, when I was playing Led Zeppelin (could have been The Doors) very loudly on my stereo, the phone rang.  It was Jean, telling me to turn down the music.  I turned it down.  Two minutes later, there was a knock on my door.  It was Kirby.  He was angry and told me to turn the  goddamned  music back up, that my house was my castle and that I could do whatever I wanted!   I was fine, he insisted.  I turned it back up.

So then I graduated and moved to Hawaii.  We wrote to each other, Betty and I.  She’s one of the reasons I’ve always been a letter writer.  She wrote more than I did.  I loved her letters.  I don’t remember if she ever came to see me while I was living in Hawaii.  If she did, it would have been after I had moved back, married, from Hong Kong to Honolulu for grad school.  While I was an undergrad, I would always come back to LA and work for the summers and see Betty regularly then.  I remember hanging out at her apartment in Redondo Beach. Carroll King’s Tapestry album was playing constantly (1971?).  One of her neighbors  - a college student in the building – had just been circumcised and his roommates had put a hotdog skin and some tomato juice in a jar and gave it to him.  Told him the doctor said he could keep it.  It was a fun summer.    

But we were all headed out on our separate roads.  Mary found John.  Betty married Tom.  I moved even further away.  Thank goodness for Betty reaching out to me and to everyone who moved away.  She kept us up-to-date on who was where, what they were doing and who was married, had a baby, passed away.  So much I would never have known about had it not been for her. She will always be with me, and no doubt, with others who, like me loved her and kept our shared memories dusted off for regular replay.    Never thought of it till now, but we were friends for 67 years.  Holy crap I’m old.

 Don Matteson

28 August 2019

[caredogstips]

5 Horrifying Things You Read Living In A Homeless Tent City

The phrase “homeless shantytown” isn’t often — if ever — used as a positive description( “You’ll affection this used, honey; it has a homeless shantytown seem to it! ” ). But if you take the time to really should be considered it, living in a city built with garbage and tents would still beat the hell out of living on the street, alone.

In the city of Seattle, homeless tent metropolitans are self-organized, law entities run by the homeless, for the homeless. That announced really strange, and genu of like it might be a post-apocalyptic nightmare run by a warlord wearing a helmet make use of pup skulls. So Chapped are determined to drop in and ask the residents what it’s like. We found that …

# 5. The Homeless Form Their Own Makeshift Democracy

On an average night in America 578, 424 people are homeless( you are familiar with, give or take ). Some of them are young junkies who got knocked out of the house by Mom and Dad, others are lifelong hobos living off the tract. Shelters can house only a small number of them, and that’s where homeless people tent cities come into play. In Seattle, two such accommodations of up to a hundred homeless tribes are operated by an organization called Share/ Wheel. They simply look like a much cleaner Bonnaroo …

Better reeking more . … but then there’s Nickelsville, an independent tent city with a bit more form TAGEND

So, less “hippie campout” and more “apartment with a realllllyyy open floor plan.”

Oh, and a fencing. We’ll get to the importance of that in a moment TAGEND Let’s just say there’s a lot more to it than precisely substantiating that friendly looking sentry entrance .

We encountered up with some former Nickelsville inhabitants, who call themselves “Nickelodeons”( actually ). The inhabitants “pay” for their stay with drive all over the camp — three four-hour security switches per week and one four-hour clean-up switch per month. Depending on whom you ask, the organizations of the system is either a well-oiled machine or scarcely runs( commanders we talked to say between 50 percentage and 90 percentage of residents did their hours without having to be hassled, which is probably better luck than you had with, suggest, your last college group campaign ).

Though, in fairness, flunking remedial psychology wouldn’t result in your group living under an overpass .

Still, our first sight of Nickelsville was not an inducing one: The security guard in the course of their duties informed us he was now acting head of security, because the previous HOS had quit last-place night in an unexplained fury.

Camp “government” consists of said HOS, the judge( who finagles internal kerfuffles ), and the external affairs coordinator( who canvasses subscriptions, deals with The Man, etc .). These are elected orientations, and they pass the camp.

Which, despite that they’re for leadership of a penniless tent city, is very likely to still be the most civil elections held in the two countries .

That might sound like the tent city exist as an island under its own rules … and, well, it sort of does. The local police tend to leave the tent municipalities alone, in a number of cases refusing to go inside, because, to repeat a source in Nickelsville paraphrasing a polouse, “If we dispossessed one of you, we’d have to evict all of you.” In lieu of defying the shank-forest that they acquire a homeless camp is necessary, the police tend to let the tent city’s elected officials deal with matters themselves. So, the cliques wind up in a kind of limbo where the city doesn’t concede explicit permission to operate but too doesn’t make an effort to shut them down. For a while, anyway.

For what it’s worth, the Nickelsville HOS and external affairs coordinator we fulfilled were both super confident, friendly, and not at all shady. They moved a clean, safe, unionized camp, filled with well-maintained, permanent organizations, like this TAGEND The address takes up the entire front line-up of an envelope .

But let’s not claim that several dozen indigent addicts will spontaneously model a utopia. For instance, several former Nickelodeons spoke of an notorious takeover by a meth-smoking clique that once took power of the camp. Harmonizing to Heather, a former occupant, “There were new people, and the new people that came in all voted together and took the top three positions.” This new regulating clique successfully ostracized their resist from the clique like Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome . They invested several happy days inhaling meths in their tents and ruling Nickelsville, until the land owner threatened to kick the whole clique off his property, which would have seriously( and maybe permanently) fucked up a lot of people’s merely residence to stay.

So how in the inferno do you obstruct a cluster of beings like that in line?

# 4. There’s An Old-West-Style Justice System

Nickelsville has a very frontier-town heart to it, like Deadwood, merely without the guns and maybe the same quantity of asserting. Most penalty in Nickelsville is done via forbidding tenants. Starting a raucous debate late at night or besmirching another man’s bindle might pay you a two- or three-day table. But a few infractions carry the ultimate sanction: a permanent forbid. And the various types tent metropolitans in Seattle communicate, so formerly someone is permanently barred from one camp, they won’t be welcome in another. Assault or embezzling another resident’s belonging is floors for a permanent bar.

While it would be great to trust that hopeless parties won’t steal from you because you’re likewise frantic, that isn’t often the occasion. What’s to keep a fixed swindler from shunning the lock on your tent flap and just slicing open the canvas? Being are prohibited from the only place you can stay other than the street, that’s what.

Which seems even more harsh than the actual justice system. At least jail has a ceiling .

That’s also where the volunteer security guards come into play( Document: Dropping sleeping during its own security alteration is another permanent bar ). We can’t emphasize this enough: Homeless people are insanely vulnerable. Over 60 percent of homeless youth have been abused, otherwise sexually assaulted, or beaten. Homeless women in particular — as many as 92 percent of them have experienced sexual and/ or other murderous assault on the street. Nickelsville offers a lot of resources to its residents, but the most valuable are those lookouts, that aforementioned fence, and its shining pink security shack( shown above ).

To stop bad guys from is moving forward, Nickelsville flows a kind of background check, though their resources are restriction. Harmonizing to Heather, “When you two are come in you give over your paperwork, your commonwealth ID, and we have printouts of the current schedule of sex offenders. The figures of beginners have to be checked against that list.” Also , no doses. We actually talked to got a couple of inhabitants from a nearby clique — both responded to the question, “Why don’t you live in Nickelsville? ” with, “Because I want to get fucked up, and they won’t let me.” Hey, you can’t say these people aren’t honest.

# 3. Food, Water, And Power Are All A Matter Of Human Kindness( And Logistics)

It’s awesome when people and eateries donate their additional food to the homeless — that material is what stops a lot of them from going to bed ravenous. But at the risk of resounding heedless, it’s not awesome when they use homeless person as a drop for scrap nutrient no human could safely ingest. “We got a lot of food, ” articulates Heather, “but about 80 percent of it wasn’t edible . … Some stores would drop off rotting meat exactly to get the tax breaks.” Or, as different sources, Leslee, supposes, “People would clean out their refrigerators and bring us whatever was bad.”

Nothing replies “basic human decency” like the refreshing tang of green mold .

Some companionships come through, though. “We all enjoyed Panera, ” remarks Heather. “You better get in on Panera morning quick, because it’s first-come, first-serve.” She’s referring to Panera Bread, the sandwich chain that donates their unsold cooked goods to the hungry.

As we mentioned, part of the responsibility for keeping the nutrient taps flowing lies with the resident who gets saddled with the exalted corporate deed of external affairs coordinator. But they are ultimately at the boon of the kindness of strangers. “Once, when we needed food, I put up an ad on Craigslist, ” speaks Janay, a former EAC, “and there was this religion pair, and they’d start fetching food every Tuesday.”

Remember, the clique had not yet been infrastructure — no flowing ocean , no power lines. On the day we were there, the camp was passing low-spirited on sea because no one had gotten around to announcing Goodwill hitherto to get jugs from them. Why? Because the camp phone was still accusing TAGEND This is what it takes to keep a cellphone going without a power store .

It’s all about working with what you’ve got — one occupant had even managed to jury-rig the shit out of a donated generator …

… and hook up a pretty decent residence presentation system, where many of the camp gathered to watch Archer for a couple of hours in the evening.

No topic how much of an audiophile “you think youre”, you will never placed this much affection into your setup .

# 2. Babies Make Homelessness Bearable … But Are Banned At Shelters

Hey, ever understand a beggar at a street corner sitting with his puppy and say to yourself, “How can he afford to feed a dog when he can’t even feed himself ? Ayn Rand was right! “

Counterpoint: D’awww .

Well, here’s the thing: Homelessness is fucking hard-handed. And standing. Domesticateds alleviate wearines and feeling, and they too do something less obvious: give their owners a schedule. Having a dog can help keep a homeless person alive for some of the same reasons they widen everyone’s lifespans, with the additional benefits that a dog can defend you from rampaging crack-heads. But shelters rarely accept animals, and neither do most of the tent cities. Nickelsville does, and as such has already become something of a sanctuary for homeless people with furbabies.

Keep in thought, most of the former-Nickelodeons we spoke to were homeless for less than a year( this is true of most people who experience homelessness) and owned their baby before they found themselves out on wall street. Well, how quickly would you vacate your pup or cat after you had just lost everything else? Several beings we talked to ascribed their animals with helping control their drug habit and, eventually, getting off wall street wholly. As Heather alleges, referring to her “cat-o-nine-tail”, “I think if we hadn’t had Sumi, we perhaps would’ve been participating in harder drugs. We agreed before we came in that we weren’t touching anything harder than marijuana, and Sumi was a lot of the reason behind that.”

Yes, they really are that important .

See, it’s easy-going to give up on taking care of yourself if you’re the only one suffering. It’s harder to watch an innocent animal abide if you can do something about it. So, having a domesticated is instantaneous motivation to try to get your shit together. It’s another little thing a homed person likely never “ve been thinking about”, but to the residents of Nickelsville, it can be everything.

# 1. No One Misses A Tent City In Their Backyard( And That Signifies The Clock Is Always Ticking)

That’s right, even in the progressive haven of Seattle , nothing requires a big stack of homeless people in tents next door. Nickelsville is allowed to exist thanks to a singular quirk of Seattle law giving religion universities the right to designate property under their hold as “sanctuary.” Homeless municipalities are simply legal when they dominate ground rented or owned by a consenting “religious host” or a private owned who must have a contract with that legion. But even those churches don’t want a permanent homeless settlement on their property — they accept them only with the promise they’ll leave after a year. And so, each year, the residents of Nickelsville have to pick up everything — tents, constructs, barricade — and move to some other recognise in the city.

Why this is preferable to a small, organized vicinity is anybody’s guess .

And, each time, it’s a fight. We said earlier that the city government won’t disposses Nickelsville formerly they set up shop, but they do to continue efforts to block it whenever it moves somewhere brand-new. On move day, the Nickelodeons rent a caravan of trucks with the help of fundraisers and gifts, parcel everything up, and make a beeline for their new ground as quickly as possible before The Man can show up and stop them. And, as with everything else, the logistics of these moves are worked out by volunteers, generally current and former occupants. In the case of vehicles of Nickelsville, it’s a former inhabitant identified Scott and his partner, Peggy.

According to Heather, “They would search for the places, put up fundraisers, do paperwork. They would do the things that nobody else could do.” Scott has, in fact, been planning the moves and feeling Nickelsville brand-new land for something like 20 times. He hasn’t been homeless for most of that time, either. Scott and Peggy are two who moved on, improved their statu, and decided to keep trying to make a difference . Hint intimate, all you difference-makers .

That seems to be the common thread between Nickelsville and the other cliques in the town — former renters come back, as they can never fully leave the tent city behind. At another camp, nicknamed “The Jungle, ” we met an old Vietnam vet, Mark, who was no longer homeless( thanks to assisted casing from the VA) but still came back every day. “I come down here and try to return meat for ’em, feed ’em. I usually manufacture these burrito eggshells with rice and meat. I’ve been there, and I’ve got the facilities to do it . … These are my friends, here. I didn’t have anyone until I congregated these people.”

If there is a better meaning to life than “Make good friends, and then bring them burritos, ” we sure as hell haven’t heard it .

Heather and Leslee are too no longer homeless. But as we sat all over the ardour pit at Nickelsville, bullshitting and enjoying a lovely autumn date in a residence that looked weirdly like summer camp, Heather spoke, “Holy shit, I missed this . ” She seemed pretty surprised herself, and insisted that it wasn’t life in the tent city itself she missed but that sense of community. And when you drive past a place like this, a battleground of tents or tarps or plywood, that’s what you’re ensure — a knot of scared castoffs coming together, relying on each other.

We’re not trying to romanticize it; some of them are felons and addicts, and many of them perhaps smell just terrible. But we don’t is a requirement to glamorize it. They’re beings. That should be enough.

It doesn’t take much to be concluded homeless. Find out how easy it is to get there in 7 Things No One Tells You About Being Homeless. Or check out 5 Mode Your Life Changes When You’re( Voluntarily) Homeless to get Adam Tod Brown’s insight into the situation .

Read more: www.cracked.com

The post 5 Horrifying Things You Read Living In A Homeless Tent City appeared first on caredogstips.com.

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[elisaphoenix13]

(FT) Readjustment

It took Peter some time to readjust to living in the tower, especially when his spider senses jumped at every little thing that approached either Cassie or Emma while he was sleeping. The first few nights found him more often than not, lunging out of a deep sleep at anyone who entered his room, and it was always either Tony or Stephen. Even Scott or Quill on occasion. It was frustrating to Peter because he knew everyone and trusted them, but the year on the run had redeveloped his senses.

They finally calmed down after a month, and now he only woke to Emma’s cries or if there was an actual threat. The former he didn’t even have time to get up for because Cassie or their parents got to Emma first. The first week at least. Peter had sleep he needed to catch up on, and thoroughly enjoyed doing so. At first he felt terrible that the others were taking care of his daughter while he slept, but then Stephen had threatened to force him to sleep and that had been the end of it.

Now, Peter had woken up to a quiet room and an empty bed. A quick glance at the clock on the bedside revealed that he had slept in, and then the next second he was flying out of bed and vaulting over the railing to the floor below when he heard Cassie’s scream. Peter lands in a crouch just in front of his girlfriend and is barely in a standing position when she starts laughing. He glances over over his shoulder to look at her incredulously and then looks back to her supposed attacker, only to find Quill looking a little sheepish.

“It’s okay Peter!” Cassie placates Peter after her laughter dies down. “I didn’t mean to scream. Quill just scared me.”

Peter huffs out a sigh of relief and reverts from a defensive position to a relaxed one. “Someone scared you?! Aren’t you used to everything that happens around here by now?”

“It was something stupid. He was walking around the corner and I wasn’t expecting it.”

“Sorry kid…I was just returning the munchkin.” Quill says and holds out their four-month-old daughter who coos happily when Peter takes her.

“Hey Little…have fun with Grandpa and Space Dust?”

Quill wrinkles his nose at the name. “Dude. Ouch. I’m not that old. Your dad is older than both of us.”

Peter grins and then passes Emma to her mother when she starts to crinkle her nose. He had learned quickly that it was her ‘I’m hungry and I’m about to throw a fit’ look, and always passed her off to Cassie when he saw it. He wasn’t the only one who figured out that look either. Stephen had been the first, and the others had made the discovery not much later. So while Cassie went up to their bedroom to feed their daughter, Peter makes his way into the kitchen to put together a breakfast of cereal and toaster waffles. Quill follows to steal from Tony’s stash of candy and then plonks himself at the table before throwing a handful of Skittles into his mouth.

“Nice breakfast.” Peter says dully.

“I had breakfast an hour ago. Bacon, eggs…all that jazz.”

“That sounds way more appealing than this.” Peter replies as he briefly looks down at his cereal and shovels a couple of spoonfuls into his mouth.

He was too lazy to make that for himself though, and he wasn’t the greatest cook anyway. Cassie had kicked him out of the kitchen on more than one occasion whenever he tried to cook until they eventually agreed it was best for him to stay away from the oven or the stove. He was just fine with that. Her cooking was much better and edible, and now they had the privilege of eating food that Stephen, Bucky, or Wanda cooked.

Also…free babysitters. Natasha predictably took Emma as soon as they moved back to the tower and properly introduced her to the team, and she only relinquished the baby when Emma got hungry. Quill had been in space for an emergency when Peter and Cassie were found, but when he got home and caught up on where they had been and why…he fell in love with the baby instantly. Scott had even softened when he watched Quill interact with Emma. Who knew the space outlaw would have a soft spot for babies?

“When did you take Emma?” Peter asks around a mouthful of waffles.

“Couple hours ago? Cassie specifically told me, while half asleep, to make sure Emma got tummy time.” Quill says with a smirk.

“And did she?” Cassie walks over with Emma in one arm and puts a hand on her hip.

“Lots of it.” The man replies as he throws another handful of candy into his mouth. Just as he was about to grab some more though, Tony snatches the bag out of Quill’s hand.

“You’re just as bad as Thumbelina with juice boxes!” Tony gripes as he closes the bag and puts it away. “Underoos, you need to pick up your sister from school today. Mom is sick and I have meetings all day today.”

“Oh…ok. Is Mom okay?” Peter asks.

“He says it’s just a cold, but you know how he is. Someone needs to check on him at least once.” Tony says with a lazy wave of his hand.

“I can make him some soup.” Cassie offers as Tony takes Emma to pepper kisses gently on her forehead and cheeks. The baby coos happily at the attention before her attention turns to Tony’s sunglasses and she grabs them.

“Not those baby girl.” Tony carefully extracts his sunglasses from small fingers. “You can have your Daddy’s.”

Peter snorts. “She got those ages ago.”

Tony eventually passes Emma back to Cassie and says his goodbyes before leaving the penthouse, and Quill soon does the same to go back down to his and Scott’s floor. Peter and Cassie spend the rest of the morning lounging in the living room and playing with Emma on the floor, and when lunch time draws closer, Cassie starts on soup for them and Stephen. Peter made up a web hammock in the living room that he settled in with Emma on his chest, and she had fallen fast asleep as soon as he used one of his feet to rock the hammock. With one hand on his daughter’s back, he took to lazily watching tv and Stephen eventually came out of the master bedroom. The man blearily shuffles into the kitchen with a red nose and sniffling into a tissue and Cassie redirects him to the table when he approaches the refrigerator.

“I’m making soup for lunch if you can wait for a few more minutes.” She says to him as he sneezes into his tissue.

“That would be wonderful. Thank you.” Stephen replies with a croak.

“Want some tea?”

The sorcerer nods and Cassie makes him his tea, something she and Peter had learned to make correctly much to Stephen’s delight, and sets it on the table in front of him. The next few minutes pass quietly, and when the soup is ready, Cassie gives Stephen a bowl first before filling another to take to Peter in the living room. The nineteen-year-old put their daughter in the playpen, something they had in the living room for times like this and didn’t want to leave her alone in their room, and then takes his serving from Cassie with a thank you and a kiss.

She had stayed with Stephen with her own so the doctor would be alone, and Peter ate in the living room to keep an eye on Emma. Cassie could tell that Stephen was hating being sick, and it was for the sole reason that he loved snuggling with Emma. The only person he could snuggle right now was Tony and the man was working. He didn’t want to risk getting Peter or Cassie sick either.

“What time is it?” Stephen asks groggily.

“Almost two.” Cassie replies gently and the sorcerer groans.

“I have to pick up Diana.”

“No. You’re going back to bed Mom.” Peter speaks up from around the corner in the living room. “I’m picking up Dia as soon as I’m done eating.”

A couple minutes later, Peter emerges from the living room and put his dishes in the sink.

“I’ll be right back. Emma is still asleep.” He states as he walks into the elevator and the doors close.

“Now you go back to bed.” Cassie teases. “I’ll bring you more tea when Peter gets back.”

“Hnn.” Was Stephen’s eloquent response as he rose and went back up to the master bedroom.

Cassie cleans up in the kitchen until she sees Emma lifting the top of her body up to look around, and abandons the dishes to take the baby out of the playpen and play with her on the ground. Emma was already rolling from front to back and vice versa, and she was already starting to accept some rice cereal. Tony was quick to declare that Emma was a genius and very advanced for her age, and Stephen only smiled at his husband’s preening. The engineer took proud grandpa to a whole new level, and spoiled Emma. Again, Peter and Cassie had to be careful what they said around Tony because if they were even thinking of getting their daughter a toy or something she needed, Tony bought it in a heartbeat. The necessities weren’t a big deal, but the toys? Peter has had to ask Karen to intercept orders quite a bit.

Emma loved it when Tony played with her. She loved it when all of her grandparents played with her, and of course she loved Mama Bear cuddles. She wasn’t immune to falling asleep against Stephen. In fact, Peter and Cassie had gone to the sorcerer when they couldn’t get Emma to stop fussing a few times. It took Stephen less than a minute to get her to fall asleep.

The elevator opens a little while later and Diana comes tearing out of it to join Cassie and Emma on the floor. “Hi Cassie!”

“Hi Dia. Anything fun happen at school today?” The eighteen-year-old asks with a smile and watches as the little girl hands Emma a nearby teething ring. Something the baby promptly drooled on as Peter approaches them and nudges Diana with his foot.

“Hey. Take your backpack upstairs before you start playing with Emma.”

“Kay!”

Diana stands back up and takes her backpack from Peter and goes upstairs (making sure to tiptoe past the master bedroom). She throws her backpack in her room, and then races back downstairs to her earlier position on the ground as Cassie stands.

“I promised Mom more tea when you got back.” She says to Peter and he nods as he sits on the floor.

“Better not keep him waiting any longer then. He’ll get crabby since he’s not feeling good.” Peter says with a grin.

Cassie snickers. “I’ll just threaten him from cuddles with Emma if he gets snarky.”

Peter laughs. “That is the worst punishment you could ever bestow upon him.”

“It’s fail safe then." 

"Now we just need a fail safe for your dad.” Peter replies dully as Emma rolls onto her back and holds her teething ring with both hands to chew on.

“Good luck with that.” Cassie says as she makes her way up the stairs with a steaming mug of tea and disappears into the master bedroom.

“You can always take away juice.” Diana suggests innocently.

“Pretty sure that won’t be enough Dia.”

“You could take away Uncle Quill.”

That had Peter laughing.