#i need to start working on it. i think ill have to get the ged b4 i can get a job. Note to self to start working on that. bc so far no jobs | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

doberbutts · 4 years ago

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So with this whole thing going down with the CPDT and APDT, what are your thoughts on the International certifications?

I stopped just short of being ‘graduated’ from my training course this past year (thanks to COVID and it not being safe or really practical for me to film myself talking to groups of 3+ about my dog and training to others and teaching them about him) and taking their certification tests. Not that I wanted the APDT cert in particular because I would have rather not been forced into the LIMA box and get my cert yanked if someone saw me working Aegon in his pinch anyway.

I think there are a lot of problems with the draft as-is and, as a result, it is not written in a way that will get passed if any lawmakers with even a tiny amount of sense read through it.

I don't think having five people per state in charge of the entire licensing and disciplinary process is a good idea. I think that's far too few. And a friend who speaks better legalese than I do has told me the disciplinary sections allow for imprisonment without due process, which should scare literally everyone.

I don't like how vague some things are worded. Trainers are supposed to have 'good moral character'. According to who, exactly? Some people think LGBT people lack good moral character. Some people think the same of POC. Some people think that due to how someone dresses or where they live or who they associate with. Some people make that judgement call based on religion. What is the determining factor here? It's never specified which means it can be used as a weapon to keep marginalized people from obtaining their license.

Add onto that that it allows for people to anonymously report infractions, so that means that a dog trainer on social media talks about being at a concert or having a DnD night or smoking weed and suddenly someone with a vendetta has entirely ruined their career depending on how 'moral character' is judged. THAT should scare people.

Why does a dog trainer need a high school diploma? What does a GED have to do with training dogs? Is that not just a classist way to exclude people for no other reason than just because they can?

This bit right here:

Was used by Petco to forcibly put me on an unpaid leave of absence when I injured my knee because they decided it was 'too dangerous for the dogs' for me to train from a wheelchair. It's not hypothetical. It's already happening. Fuck you if you're disabled, mentally ill, or recently injured I suppose.

WITHIN THE PAST YEAR you can't have been 'habitually intoxicated' so fuck you if you drink on the weekends (guess the entire AKC showing community is not illegal) and also fuck you if you're a recovering addict trying to get your life together. Fuck you if you have chronic pain and now are addicted to your painkillers. Fuck you if you experiment with microdosing for funsies with your friends in a safe environment. Fuck you if you've ever lived a life other than squeaky clean.

Supposedly this section is getting removed and rewritten. We'll see. This is what's got a lot of people up in arms.

You MUST train their way. Period. And they are allowed to make up more rules as they go and you have to follow those too.

This is a big reason why it won't currently pass as-is. Police and military trainers are not going to just start training the CCPDT way and that would technically make them all illegal trainers and that's not going to fly. But if they make allowances for the compulsion and coercive training seen in many PDs, then at some point they will need to address the logical fallacy of why it's okay for some dogs and not others if we're justifying these laws by saying the training itself is harmful to dogs. Will this lead to outlawing the use of dogs in combattive roles? I can tell you that will likely lead to EVEN MORE PEOPLE being shot by police- it will be fuel on the fire, not helping put it out.

[also I have a question: a lot of wild cats in zoo ambassador programs are walked on prong collars, so like... where does that leave them? And why is it okay for wild animals but not for domesticated ones? And if it's not okay, what do we use as our 'oh shit big kitty wants to eat that toddler' device? Do we just not do ambassador cats anymore?]

I really don't like this anonymous complaint thing. They say later that it must be in good faith but... how would they know? Dog trainer drama is Something Else and people already try to fuck up people's livelihoods for no reason. I've had people try to call Creed's breeder to tell her to repo him from me because I was abusing him for having a prong collar on. I'm not kidding. As it is, if you are unlucky enough to get a complaint, they can yoink your license and put you on unpaid leave while they investigate and don't you dare train dogs while you're being investigated or else you can get up to six months in jail.

Because you'd be labeled as committing fraud for training without a license. Same as if you break any of the above rules.

A different friend brought up that one of these orgs refused to allow a transgender individual to be certified under their chosen name, requiring instead that they use their legal deadname. This right here says that you can't train under any name besides the one you're licensed as, and you get your license through certification. So I guess fuck you if you figure out that you're trans, or decide you just want to go by a different name, or prefer your nickname, or are trying to hide from an abuser, or get married and don't file the documents in time.

Another weird thing about it is that you must be licensed within the state you practice- so in order to practice in another state you have to also get a license in the other state. So fuck you if you want to fly someone in to teach a seminar or workshop, I guess. How will that affect online classes? It's not specified so no one knows!

Behavioral training for dogs with severe behavior problems is not being discussed at this current moment- does that mean all trainers now need to refer behavior cases to behaviorists? What counts as a behavior case? How bad does it need to be before it's referred out? Are we talking destructive separation anxiety or are we talking dog aggression? If the dog is marking in the house does that need a behaviorist? Barking at the mailman? Digging holes in the yard?

A 'dog trainer' is 'someone who accepts compensation for training services'. Are you a dog trainer if you normally let your neighbor's dogs out and you notice one has a chewing problem so you recommend they get a nylabone and they thank you by baking you some cookies? Are you a dog trainer if you're at an event with a friend and they ask you how to get their dog to go up and down steps and then they hand you a bag of weed a few days later saying that really helped? Are you a dog trainer if you and your nephew go hunting with his new puppy and you show him the ropes and next season he gives you the best cuts from his catch as a thank you? Are groomers dog trainers since they are teaching young puppies to tolerate grooming? Are professional handlers since there's usually some amount of training involved? Judges that help juniors figure out how to show their dogs? Breeders that get their puppies started on socialization and potty training? Fosters at rescues getting tax recompensation? Doggy daycares? Boarding kennels? Vets? Pet sitters? Dog walker?

What counts as LIMA? Because technically sports that require certain technical aversive tools *could* use a different tool. No more dog shows with tightening collars, now they must all be on kindness leads? No more fursavers, now they must all be on thick leather collars? Do GPS collars count as an 'electronic collar'? Some places have banned them because they simply *look like* an e-collar. No more coursing leads? Do vets and groomers need to change their slip leads to something less aversive? Some obedience trials are done with a slip lead, what happens there? These are all arenas that *could* have a less aversive tool being utilized, but they currently *require* what they have. This type of law would force so many rule re-writes.

Lastly I really don't care what anyone's feelings about tools are but I do think it's incredibly bad practice to try to legislate a VERY LARGE CHUNK of your competition out of business. This would outlaw about half the dog trainers in this country AND several entire sports. Overnight these people's livelihoods would disappear. We're already in economic crisis, we do not need to suddenly make a whole bunch of people unemployed.

And this, again, is why I do not like when animal legislation is written because of people's *personal feelings* on various matters, because then legislation like *this* is drafted. And this is a Bad Draft. And the CCPDT is effectively doubling down on what they've written saying that this is Actually Good and people need to stop fussing about it because it's ~just a draft~.

I would *love* if the dog trainers of the world could work together on legislation that was fair to *everyone*. Currently that's really not what I see here.

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castielific · 5 years ago

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Title: Fancy and the tramp

Story status: Complete, 8 chapters

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Dean/Castiel, Alternate Universe, Fake boyfriends, pretend relationship, homeless!Dean, rich!Cas, family, angst with a happy ending, temporary breakup, getting back together, coming out, past!homophobia, self esteem issues, Dean Winchester has a sexuality crisis, first time, homelessness, bed sharing, pining

Sex tags: anal sex, switching, bottom!Cas, bottom!Dean, first time, frottage, marking, blowjob, fingering, barebacking

Special warning: Contrary to what the title may presage, there are no spaghettis in this story.

Summary:

"Okay, let's be clear on one thing from the start. This is not a lifetime movie and I'm straight, so no falling in love, get it?"

"I get it, Dean," Castiel nods.

Well, that's it then, apparently Dean is going to a fancy engagement party with his new fake boyfriend. What a weird day.

Link to AO3

Chapter 1 under the cut:

************

"Come on Ricky, you owe me that money!" Dean says on his phone, taking a step forward when the line of the coffee shop shortens.

"I don't owe you shit, Dean. You still owe me the last three months of your rent," his ex landlord says on the phone.

"And I'll pay you, you know I will. But to get the money, I need a job, and to get that job I need some new clothes and-"

"Yeah yeah, I know the deal. You think no one has told me that one before? No bueno, man, I'm keeping your deposit," Ricky grumbles.

Dean groans in frustration. "Come on, all I need is fifty dollars so I can buy a pair of pants without any holes in it. You give me fifty, I get the job and I pay you back, how does that sound?" he tries to negotiate.

"Like a fucking lie," Ricky spits just before hanging up.

"No Ric-fuck!"

The woman in front of him in line sends him a dark look. Dean rolls his eyes at her. Like she hasn't heard worse before.

Ricky was his last shot. It was a long one, he really does owe that bastard some serious money. Guess he can kiss the job interview at two goodbye. It's some kind of assistant job. It sounds easy enough, buying coffee and picking dry cleaning and stuff. It was still a long shot anyway. Dean's only real job experience is being a bagger boy when he was seventeen and it lasted about two months before his dad decided to move them further east.

So far, he'd always managed to get by doing repairs or cleaning at gas stops and motels. The older he gets and the harder it gets to find that kind of random job. People are more willing to give a few bucks in exchange for manual tasks to a kid than they are to a nearly thirty years old guy. Now they just tell him to fuck off.

And since it's always been casual and off the book, the only official work experience he has is the bagger thing. He doesn't even have a high school diploma because he dropped out long before that. Not exactly a stellar resume. Which explains why he hasn't found work in eight month and is currently living in his car. Thank God he has Baby.

He had been too ambitious thinking he could get his own place. It could only pay rent for about five months before he went broke. He's never had a home before, and had no idea that having an apartment cost so much. In motels, you don't exactly have to pay for water or heat or utilities. There was a bunch of stuff he hadn't planned for that ate up the last of his meagre savings. Ricky threw him out after three months when Dean couldn't scrape up enough money to pay rent anymore, putting a violent stop to Dean's pipe dream of living a normal life. He hoped it would be simpler to get a job if he had an actual address, had even thought about scrapping up enough to maybe get his GED. He's not sure what he's going to do now.

He's always wanted to be a mechanic. If his dad ever taught him anything, it was how to take care of the Impala. John taught him all the basics and Dean got the knack of it. As a teen, he spent days reading car magazines and working on the Impala, trying to learn as much as he could about how cars worked and how to repair the different parts. He knows enough by now that he could easily work in a garage, but he's got no diploma, and hasn't found anyone willing to hire him on faith alone.

The line of the coffee shop shortens again, the barista asking her order to the goody-two-shoes in front of him. Dean looks regretfully at the display of sandwiches. He searches his pockets and only comes up with three dollars. Of course, the cheapest piece of food cost four dollars. Dean sighs. Guess just a coffee will have to do today.

He won't have another choice but to go to the soup kitchen tonight. He hates it there. The food is crap and he wants to punch the prancy people serving it. They always try to give him some Jesus bullshit with his food, like Jesus is ever gonna put a roof over his head and find him a decent job. Neither Jesus nor God nor whatever gives a crap about him. Not that he blames them. Hell, if they exist they're probably not big fans of the guy that used to slip into church as a kid to pick the lock of the donation box

"Just an americano, please," Dean says regretfully when the barista asks for his order. At least it will keep him warm and fill his stomach for a short while.

Halloween just went by and the weather is becoming really cold. He should use the last of Baby's tank to go as far south as he can before winter really hits. He probably won't get farther than Wichita though, and the thought makes him shiver. No one wants to get stuck for a winter in Wichita. Maybe he could go and see if he can make a few bucks at the nearest motel, that kind of place always needs a handyman's help. He hasn't tried the one on Corn Street yet. He's noticed only two lights are still working on their sign, he could offer to help with that. If he makes fifty bucks, he might be able to reach Austin.

Dean stops on the sidewalk in front of the coffee shop, pondering if he should walk to the bar a few streets down or the motel. Sometimes Benny, the owner of the bar, lets him use the sink in the back to wash up. If he's lucky, he'll even get some leftovers from last night. It's generally just some stale pretzels, cold fries on good days, but it's still better than nothing. He's got two cans of beans and a car with an near empty tank to his name right now, so he's not picky.

Dean takes a look at his watch. It's eleven thirty already, the leftovers are probably already in the trash at Benny's. The motel is probably his best bet.

"I'll give you a hundred dollars if you pretend to be my boyfriend." comes a hoarse voice, way too close to his ear.

Dean jumps, nearly spilling his coffee on himself. He spins to the right to face the man who just talked and is met with a pair of clear blue eyes. Way too close again. He waits a second for the man to take a step back as he realises as close Dean turning brought them, but the guy just continues to stare at him, head slightly tilted to the side. He's wearing an oversized trench coat over a dark blue suit that looks expensive. He's so close a gust of wind makes the bottom of his coat brushes Dean's shin.

"Dude, personal space," Dean reproaches, taking a step back. "And fuck off, I don't swing that way," he adds, not meanly. It's not the first time he's getting hit on by a dude. Sadly, not even the weirdest. He's strictly into chicks though, so no dice.

"Two hundred bucks," the man insists. He looks ready to fall on his knees and beg, eyes going wider and wider as he throws a panicked look to the right of Dean's shoulder. "It won't take more than ten minutes and all you have to do is nod along," he begs, making Dean wonders if he's in danger somehow. Maybe he has a stalker or an abusive ex?

Dean follows his eyes to a woman coming closer. She's very elegant in a grey pantsuit and a long white fur coat as she walks straight toward them. He can feel her eyes judging him even from thirty feet away, looking at him from head to toes. If he wasn't already self-aware of the number of holes in his jeans, he would definitely be under that gaze.

"Five hundred dollars," the other man whispers just as the blond woman reaches them.

"Castiel, dear, you should have told me we would have company, I would have notified the restaurant," the woman says, sending a clearly disapproving look toward Dean as she deposits a kiss on the other man's - (Castiel, apparently, what kind of name is that??) - cheek.

"Mother, let me introduce you to my boyfriend," Castiel says, looking ill at ease. He's obviously not a very good liar.

Dean blinks a few times as their attention turns toward him. Castiel seems to be trying to communicate something with his eyes, and Dean frowns in incomprehension for a moment before he gets the hint.

"Huh. Dean. Winchester," he finally says. "Ma'am," he adds when she just continues to stare at him like he has grease smeared all over his face. He's pretty sure that she wouldn't want to touch his hand if he were to offer it to shake, so he doesn't.

"Naomi Novak," she introduces herself. "What a delight to finally meet Castiel's new companion," Naomi says, her deadpan tone contradicting her words. "Of course, I would have preferred not to be ambushed by such an announcement. Castiel, you know, that Le Délice hates it when we change our reservation last minute. Who knows if they will even have a table for three," she declares, already composing a number on her phone.

"It's okay, mother, Dean won't be joining us for lunch."

"Oh, is it because your attire isn't appropriate?" Castiel's mother asks, looking at the holes in Dean's jeans and the big leather jacket that used to be his dad's. "I assure you they won't say a word about it if you're with us," she reassures.

Dean squirms a little, wondering what the hell is even happening. Ten minutes ago he was buying a coffee and going at his day like a perfectly normal person (well, albeit a homeless and jobless one). Now, his fashion sense is being criticized by the mother of a man who is pretending to be his boyfriend. Did a piano fall on his head or something? Has he finally lost his mind?

He looks to the man beside him. He's scratching the side of his neck in nervousness. The move makes his coat fall a little over his wrist, revealing a freaking Rolex watch. Dean looks back to the woman, eyes sliding on her diamond earrings and the huge rock around her neck.

You know what? That's not okay. His stomach has been crying for food since last morning, and he's what? Supposed to help this stranger by saying no to free lunch at one of the most prestigious restaurants in town? Fuck no. He's gonna eat like a king and make a few hundred bucks off the back of those rich assholes.

"In that case, it would be my pleasure to join you," Dean announces with his most charming smile.

"What?" Castiel can't help but bark. "But y-your work thing?" he tries, sweating. The round panic eyes are back. Dean sends him his best shit eating grin. They both know he now either has to invite this stranger to lunch or reveal the lie to his mother. The guy is trapped and may as well continue to play along.

"It's not as important as a chance to finally get to know your mother, honey," Dean answers. "He's told me so many nice things about you, Naomi. Can I call you Naomi?"

"Of course, dear," Naomi says. She looks a little wide eyed too, probably thrown by Dean turning on the charm to the max.

"Perfect! We shall go now, we don't want to miss your reservation. I do hope it won't be too much of a bother for them to add a chair to your table," Dean says. He should probably tone it down with the pompous tone, because he nearly added an English accent here.

Naomi leads the way, and Dean is going to follow when a hand grabbing his arm makes him fall a few steps behind.

"What the hell are you doing?" Castiel hisses.

"Acting as your boyfriend?" Dean says innocently. By Castiel's glare, he's not fooled.

"I asked you to nod silently for ten minutes, not to do method acting for a whole meal," he reproaches. Naomi sends a look behind her shoulder and Castiel smiles at her like there is no worries, indicating for her to lead the way,

Dean shrugs. "I had some free time."

"I'm not giving you more money than planned, if that's your goal," Castiel says with a suspicious squint.

"I'm fine with the five hundred as long as you're also paying for lunch," Dean says, wiggling his eyebrows as they walk toward the restaurant. Something passes on Castiel's face that Dean can't quite identify. The other man stares at him for so long that it's a wonder he doesn't trip. He finally relents with a long suffering sigh as they enter 'Le Délice'.

Apparently, Naomi Novak is prominent enough that they don't mind changing her reservation after all. They're seated at a table near a legit indoor fountain. Dean is looking around, trying not to let show how impressed he is by the place. The walls are made of stone and covered in frescos that he always thought you couldn't see outside of a church or castle. A waiter gives him a leather covered menu and Dean opens it eagerly. After a few niceties to Naomi, they're asked what they want to drink. Dean has an inkling that he probably shouldn't ask for a beer in an establishment like this.

"Same for me, please," he says after Castiel ordered some wine with a name Dean can't pronounce. At least, he hopes that's wine. Who knows. Hell, in this place the bottles of water are probably more expensive than his usual brand of beer.

Dean starts to second guess his decision when he realizes that the menu is in french. What is it with rich people and France? He just wants a damn steak, how do you say that in french? Is there even steaks here or is it just frog legs and snails? Oh god, he hopes not.

"I think I'll take the duck today," Naomi notes. "Nobody cooks it better than chef Francis. How about you Dean? Have you ever come here before?" There is a mean glint in her eyes that says she knows perfectly well he hasn't. Hell, from the side eyes he got from everyone as they crossed the room, everyone here knows he's not from their world. There are three holes in his jeans, threads hanging from the bottom and his dad's leather jacket probably should have ended up in the trash about three years ago. Even now, it's still too big for him and the sleeves are so scruffed that they're nearly paper thin. The original dark brown color has turned to a light beige in most places from wear. His scruff is just the bad side of too long now, and he hasn't had a haircut since April, strands starting to fall into his eyes. At least, he's wearing his best plaid shirt and managed to wash up last night, so he's not smelling too rank. Why would Castiel pick him out of all the people in the street at that moment to play his boyfriend? It makes no sense at all. From the guy's obvious discomfort as he hides behind his menu, he probably realizes it.

"Actually, Naomi, duck sounds like a delicious idea," Dean says, voluntarily ignoring her question. To be honest, he’s never even eaten duck before, but it's poultry so it probably taste like chicken. You can't go wrong with chicken, right? His stomach certainly likes the idea, gurgling so loudly that he has to hide it behind a cough.

Castiel ends up ordering some fish and soon their drinks arrive. Dean barely has time to sip at his red wine before Naomi pounces.

"So, tell me everything, how did you two meet?"

Dean nearly chokes on his drink. Castiel seems to gulp down his whole glass.

"We met at a coffee shop. Dean was in line in front of me and we started to talk," Castiel explains, not quite meeting anyone's eyes.

"How quaint!" Naomi exclaims, clasping her hands in delight. "I'm just sorry that you didn't tell me about it sooner, Castiel. How long have you been keeping this charming man a secret?"

"Not-," Castiel clears his throat, "-not long."

"Well, it's nice to finally meet you Dean. I sure wish this luncheon will give me the chance to learn everything about you."

Luncheon? Who even talks like that outside of Downton Abbey?

"I do hope I'll get to keep some mystery, we wouldn't want this guy to lose interest," Dean says with a wink. He pats Castiel's hand on the table. Should he hold it or something? How open on PDA are gay people those days? Not that he knows more about how heterosexual couple act in public anyway, especially in those crowds. It's probably safer to keep the PDA to a minimum here.

"You have to at least tell me some things. For one, what career path are you on?" She looks like a shark circling her prey.

"I'm a mechanic," he lies. He'd rather stay as close to the truth as possible. It's a little unfair that Castiel is letting him do all the talking when his initial demand was that he stayed silent, especially since it's his skin that Dean is apparently saving, but the guy looks like he's swallowed a potato whole.

"Oh, that's...interesting," Naomi says in that insincere tone of hers. She looks like he told her he was fucking children’s corpses every full moon. He's two seconds away from telling her that he's actually jobless, penniless, and homeless, just to see her face, when Castiel intervenes.

"How is Anna's engagement party coming on?"

Thankfully, this seems to be a subject Naomi loves because she tells them about every aspect of the future party all the way through their meal.

Duck, as it turns out, is actually very good. It's more like red meat than chicken, which is a great surprise. Although, Dean isn't a fan of the way rich people put tiny quantities of food in very large plates. He eats all the dinner rolls and scrapes every single bit of sauce out of his plate, yet he's still hungry by the end of it. He nearly starts crying when the waiter asks them if they'll take dessert and Naomi declines. He's starting to wonder if that little piece of duck was worth sitting through lunch with her.

"That sounds like you're turning this into a wonderful event, mother, Anna must be delighted," Castiel compliments.

"Oh, you know your sister," Naomi waves it off. "It sure feels like a nice opportunity to introduce your new beau to everyone."

Dean frowns. What's a beau? Is that him? That's not him, right?

"I wouldn't dare take any attention away from Anna," Castiel tries to refuse.

"Don't be daft, you know your sister won't care. Everyone will be so happy that you've finally found-" she passes a long look, over Dean, like she's doubting anyone would actually approve of him. She certainly doesn't seem to, "-someone," she finishes lamely.

"Oh shoot, I don't think I'm available that night," Dean tries to play off.

"I'm not sure I've told you the date of it yet."

"Cas did," he says. The other man perks up at the surname, but whatever, 'Castiel' is a mouthful. "And I have this huh work thing, you know? Bummer," Dean says with a fake pout.

"What kind of 'work thing' can a mechanic possibly have on a Saturday evening?"

Dean tenses up, pursing his lips. "One he can't get out of?"

"Nonsense, you're coming," Naomi brushes off. And that is that apparently. Shit. There is a vein about to pop on Castiel's forehead. "Castiel, dear, you look a little white. Was the fish okay?"

"I-Yeah-I-Actually, do you think we could possibly cut our lunch short? I am indeed feeling quite unwell."

"Of course, my dear," Naomi says, leaning forward until her hand touches his forehead. "You're as clammy as a fish. I should come home with you, and make sure you're okay," she announces, taking her napkin off her lap and deposing it on the table, ready to stand up.

"No!" Castiel stops her, a little too brusquely. "I-Dean will take good care of me, don't worry," he says, getting up and grabbing Dean's arm so he does so too. Dean follows his lead, all too happy to get out of here. "Stay and enjoy your tea, mother."

"If you say so," Naomi says, sending an unsure look at Dean, obviously upset at being brushed off in his favor. "Call me this evening, or I'll worry all night."

"Of course, mother," Castiel acquiesces, kissing her cheek. Dean hovers behind him. Is he supposed to kiss her too? Wave hello? Shake her hand?

"Dean," she says as what is apparently a sufficient goodbye. Thank God. "I'll be sure to see you on Saturday," she reminds just as they're walking away.

Cas turns on him as soon as they're outside the restaurant.

"What was that?!" he asks, not quite yelling. He starts pacing, rubbing a hand through his already pretty ruffled hair.

"You owing me five hundred bucks? Dude, you're lucky I don't charge you more for the fresh hell I just lived through."

"You went through hell? You?!" his pacing gets faster and Dean has an idea that if he stops pacing he might punch him in the face.

"That's what you get for asking this kind of stuff from a perfect stranger," Dean shrugs, pushing a pebble with the point of his shoe. His red sock is peeking out from a tiny hole near his big toe. It's such a contrast to how grand everything and everyone looked in there. It's making him feel like shit. He's maybe feeling a tiny bit guilty for trapping Castiel like that too. He doesn't seem like a bad guy, albeit one with a psycho mom.

Cas turns on him, eyes glaring and mouth open in what will probably be a flow of reproaches. He stops himself before he says anything though, seeming to deflate. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breathe instead, shoulders falling. "I'm sorry. You're right. I should be thanking you. I have no right to make you any reproach when I brought this on myself."

"It wasn't so bad, though, was it? I mean, I think I sold it?" Dean asks, a little hesitant. He even used pedantic talk and everything.

"You did as well as could be expected."

"That's not much of a compliment…".

"I shouldn't take more of your time," Cas apologizes, taking his wallet out. Dean goggles at the amount of cash in there.

"You really shouldn't have that much cash on you, that's, like, asking for trouble."

Castiel squints at him like he's wondering if that means Dean is gonna rob him for a moment, before he hands him a wad of cash.

Dean's eyes bulge out, "That's way more than five hundred dollars."

"There's also an advance in there to buy some clothes for the engagement party."

"The what now?" Dean blinks dumbly for a second until his brain catches up to what is happening. "Dude, no, I'm done!"

"You were the one to push it so far in the first place," Castiel reminds. Accuses, really.

"I just wanted to eat fancy food, okay! Not, like, go steady."

"There will be lots of food at my sister's engagement party," Castiel tries to persuade. Badly.

Dean gives him a nonplussed look. The cash feels heavy in his hand. He's never had so much before. This could help him get a new start. What's a night of playing Downton Abbey compared to the many many nights he might not have to freeze his ass off in the backseat of his car thanks to it?

"Why are you even doing this anyway? And why would you choose me? Do I look that desperate for cash?"

"No," Cas says after what's definitely a too long pause. Dean scowls. "You were in front of me in the coffee shop line. I heard you talking on the phone. You said you needed some cash to buy a new outfit for a job interview. Begged, really."

"Where the fuck do you get on listening in on other people’s conversation?"

"I didn't listen, I just heard."

"You know, what? Fuck you," Dean spits, "I don't need that bullshit in my life right now." He has enough cash to get to Austin and replenish his stock of food, even buy some new clothes. At least this way he can keep his dignity rather than being insulted by a bunch of rich assh-

"Please," Castiel begs, following him as Dean storms away. "You don't understand…"

"Oh I understand perfectly," Dean says, stopping and turning around so brusquely that they nearly bump into each other. "You think you can shit on other people from your high horse and that they'll still do your deed for a few hundred bucks. Well, I'm not your freaking puppet, man."

"I have never shitted on any-" he stops himself with a frustrated groan, before turning on the puppy dog eyes. "Dean, please. Listen to what I have to say at least?"

"I know what you're gonna say. I've seen that movie before, Cas. You're going to bring me to that party, so you can parade me around like I'm some earned price or some shit. Meanwhile you get to appease mommy dearest and the clan of hyenas putting pressure on you to find a husband, while still having the satisfaction of giving them a huge fuck you by bringing a guy like me instead of the golden boy they're dreaming of."

"I-" Castiel stops himself, pursing his lips. "That's actually not that far from the reality."

"Of course it isn't. Told you, I've seen that trope before. Except this is real life and your plan sucks, so you can keep your money and I'll keep my dignity. Just grow a pair and tell them all to fuck off, will ya?"

"You sure do like saying that to people," Castiel sulks. "Are you sure you can't do it for me?"

"Oh believe me I would love to tell your mom to fuck off, but I like my balls attached to my body, so that's a hard pass."

Castiel laughs slightly at that and Dean can feel his own anger start to abate at the sound. "Good self-preservation instinct on your part," Cas mumbles. The puppy look is still there, except now it's making him feel like he's kicked the puppy.

"You know, we're in the 21st century, right? You shouldn't feel pressured to the point of inventing a boyfriend. Who gives a shit about that nowadays?"

"My family does," Castiel answers in a long sigh. "You don't get it, how could you... I have three brothers, Dean," Castiel explains. "Two sisters. My little sister, who is just nineteen, just got engaged. I was already seen as the irremediably unwed one and now I…," he pauses, sending a nervous look at Dean, looking ashamed.

"Oh come on. How hard can it be? You're rich, objectively good looking. Do you have weird kinks or something?"

"I-I wouldn't know. I've never even been in a relationship before," he confesses, looking at the ground.

"When you say 'relationship', you don't mean you've never…" Dean inquires. Cas' cheeks redden, and Dean blows like he just got punched. "Wow. That sucks."

"Yes, it's very pathetic."

"What? Eh no, it's not pathetic. Surprising, yeah. But, to each their own, you know?"

Cas inclines his head like he's not sure he does know.

"I'm sorry I tried to drag you in all of this. You seem like a good man. You don't deserve-"

"-to be served on a platter to your family?" Dean asks, searching Castiel's gaze until they exchange a smile.

"Yes. That." The man is still looking dejected. The money is still in Dean's hand. That duck really was good. Damn it.

"The food better be freaking awesome," Dean relents with a frustrated grunt. Castiel seems instantly relieved. "And you're not pretty woman-ing me," he warns, pointing a finger at the other man. "I'm choosing my own clothes and I don't give a shit if I don't know which fork to use for fish."

Castiel's head is tilted and he's blinking owlishly, like he doesn't understand a word that Dean is saying. Figures. He's not sure how he could convince anyone that he's this dork's boyfriend, honestly. Naomi certainly looked like she wasn't fooled.

"I'm sorry for the way my mother behaved toward you. I assure you, being yourself will be amply sufficient to the task."

"Dude, the way y'all talk, where do you come from, Victorian England?"

"I-I don't think I have English ancestry, no. Why?"

They blink at each other for some time.

"I must be a freaking masochist."

Cas' face scrunches up even more in incomprehension.

"Okay, let's be clear on one thing from the start. This is not a lifetime movie and I'm straight, so: no falling in love, get it?"

"I get it, Dean," Castiel nods.

Well, that's it then, apparently Dean is going to a fancy engagement party with his new boyfriend. What a weird day...

You can read the rest on AO3

#destiel #destiel fic #deancas #dean/castiel #dean/cas #spn fic #ao3 fic #destiel fanfiction #AU #pretend/fake relationship #homeless!dean #rich!cas #myfic #my fic #castielific #castielificfic

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luvargas · 4 years ago

Photo

i think i just saw LUCILA “ LU ” VARGAS ride by on a golf cart . at least i think it was her . after all , CREDIT IN THE STRAIGHT WORLD BY HOLE was blasting on the transistor radio . maybe she was on her way to work , i hear she’s a PERSONAL TRAINER . but she totally could have been on her way to SNEAK IN A SMOKE AT THE GARDEN . guess we’ll never know . you’ll definitely know its her when you see LOOSE AND TANGLED HAND WRAPS , BUTTON BADGES ON VEGAN LEATHER , AND HEAR THE SHRILL SOUND OF BICKERING around the country club . let’s just hope she stays off the green after hours or else the sprinklers will get her !

( new muse, messy thoughts, u get the gist. pls know the views of this chara do not reflect my own. the name’s katya, 21, she/her pronouns & im ready 2 party. feel free to hmu wnvr or drop a like to plot n ill com 2 u ! x — oh n pls be a pal n read this quick disclaimer. tysm ! )

BASICS

24 years old

15 april 1997

5′1″ or 1.55m tall

bisexual cis woman, she/her

aries sun, aqua moon, and aqua rising

love languages : quality time & acts of service

BIO POINTS

kid o’ divorce, lived w her ma in chicago til she was 6 then w her dad in highlands til 14 then back to her ma !

def a daddys gorl. so used to her white pop’s leniency that livin w her strict latina ma durin her teen yrs was So Not Her Vibe ergo * cue her rebel grrrl phase *

did not finish hs ! left senior yr 2 to go w her “ radically progressive ” college bf to [ insert dev country. ] they broke up after a few mos but she kept at that life for a couple more yrs

seen some places. lived in new countries. done some shit. some good, some sus, but all generally well-intentioned. tis a whole thing but u get the gist, nywy !

lu’s back in da usa by 21. rel w the ma is strained but the pa is chill w stuff, they kept in touch. he said shell get her college fund if she gets her ged so she does !

her dad is v active n stuff so shes just always been v sporty w him. lu turnin 23 w zilch plans worried him so he implored her to get certified as a personal trainer ! n when she did, he called in a few favors w a pal he knows et voilà ! ur hired.

LU AT WORK

shes been workin at the country club fr a little over a yr now. most her clients are influencer-type gals n they luv her bc shes can take rlly cute pics n stuff for content. lu sorta likes some of em n she fakes the rest for the bread. u can bet she clowns all em richies behind their back

unless she got clients, catch her runnin’ about the club n minglin’ w the other workers. does it annoy mngmt ? yes. n she luvs that. but bc her soon-2-b-karen clients luv her n wont stand for her bein booted, she can milk that impunity

actually knows her shit n lowkey rlly enjoys the work. she picked back up the boxing n tae kwon do she did when she was younger plus she was always in the track team at school. v healthy lifestyle save for her smokin vice n the party moments

PERSONALITY

passionate ! has lotsa opinions. helluva a drama queen, bit of a loud mouth, argumentative n stubborn but her heart’s in the right place, albeit a lil misguided. comes w the whole activist bit, bitin her tongue just aint it. highkey makes everythin political n smtms gotta realize .,.,. it just aint that deep chief. some say shes needlessly defiant, but maybe thats a in the beholder typa thing ? fingers crossed 4 lu’s sake

fun, fun, fun ! can be real naggy but shes no buzzkill. wannabe anarchist-slash-mutineer who wants 2 stick it 2 the man ! get rowdy go crazy

fight, fight, fight ! goin back to the first bit, she talks big. esp w like ,, men n the whites lol. she can actually walk her threats tho she isnt actually violent. w arguments, she likes to start em but finishin is ... ruff. also any dare, she wont back down in either doin it or arguin why doin it wld be smth-ist. shes not the sharpest tool ok rip lu

loyal legend ! fr her friends n buds, shell turn a blind eye. pals r the only exception ! truly ride or die n will do errthng 4 em. v much a believer in the power of community n ppl needin ppl or wtvr, yk, all that stuff. shes mouthy but like, she helps ppl

here’s a brief blurb n a more coherent look into lu as a character

TIDBITS

lu can understand spanish but hers is a bit broken, tis her secret shame shhh

she doesn’t believe in the institution. any institution. u name it, shes got beef

pls dont fact check her she cant hear u

probs lowkey thinks shes better than u bc shes vegan

prefers 2 be called “ lu ” n ny1 who insists on lucila is dead 2 her

comments abt her not lookin like a pt w her height n frame will result in an earful n a dramatic outburst. it aint worth it chief

watches lotsa sports w her pops. mostly indiv ones. mma, boxing, tennis, track, etc

dont ask me abt her principles n politics, i cant explain em either. v inconsistent n just messy at this point tbh but here’s a lil attempt ig

she drives a 2018 prius n lives in a p nice 1br apt outside the club

her mom’s middle class n her dad is almost upper-middle class. he isnt a member of the club but, like ,,, he cld be if he wanted to lol. he spoils her sm while she hasnt rlly Spoken to her mom besides civility, rip they both stubborn, tis a vargas thing

she is v much in a comfy position money-wise n dsnt hav much Need to hustle but sis does hav a couple of organizations she regularly sends some dough to so thats nice ig

she went fr grassroots activist to a veteran twitter/tumblr/reddit/wtvr ranter n a change.org gofundme petition regular. is it burnout ? is she ok ? honestly who knows

WANTED CONNECTIONS / TAKEN CONNECTIONS

found family ! pals n squad wanted. y’all gotta hav patience or ear plugs to power thru her self-indulgent mini-rants but shell luv ya back tenfold !

carpool buds ? cld be a pal ! or maybe yall had a lil argument or small beef but lu still drives ym bc her pride ? said mother earth first even tho the tension n silly drama is funny

homies to smoochies ! just sum nsa makin out. cld be pals, cld be flirty, idk, but if u wanna kiss her shes probs ok w that

smoke bud ! just sum1 thats her go-to 2 smoke w on her breaks. knows not to call her out on how its not healthy fr a trainer yada yada she knows ok. let her live

an ex ? idk yet shes not rlly datey but thats out there

crushes ! this bitch hot but does she know how to flirt ? not rlly. watch her fumble

debate club ! aka sum1 she bickers w relentlessly. its valid, sum1 fite her. r u a worker or a club member ? either works. its a whole club bc she can have tons, lu can be hella annoying n testy

clients ! self-explanatory. do they get along tho ? lets find out !

( im officially braindead now but if y’all got more ideas or think theres smth lu wld fit just lmk !!! down 4 wtvr, wld luv 2 hash it out w yall <3 )

#highlandsintro

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the-hopeless-haze · 5 years ago

Text

Someone to Know You Too Well (Being Alive Chapter 5)

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Read on Archive

CONTENT WARNING: Mentions of domestic violence & homophobia

It’s easy again between the two of you when you come back from Massachusetts, but it isn’t the same. You’re in a much better mood, and Rafael’s glad you went, especially because you come back with good news about your brother - he should be finishing his GED in the fall.

But just because things are good - it doesn't mean Rafael is calm. On the contrary, that makes him even more nervous. Good things don't have the habit of sticking around.

But for whatever reason, you are.

Spring turns into summer - where did the time go? - and you’re always dragging him to the beach when your schedules permit. You seem to be more in your element there than anywhere else he’s ever seen you, what with the sun causing your skin to glisten with sweat and saltwater, the hot wind blowing your hair, the permanent smile on your face. He learns that your father used to have a summer house in the Cape where you spent your summers until he sold it after the divorce, but your love for the water never faded. And apparently your father’s never did, either, as his new house with his new wife resides on a lake. But the ocean is much more turmoiled than a lake is, and if Rafael were more of a poet, maybe he’d draw some resemblances between you and the ocean, but that’s overwrought. The world didn’t need another hackneyed poem about why his troubled object of affection reminded him of the waves. Clichéd comparisons aside, he can see why you love it so much.

Rafael isn’t as opposed to these dates as one might assume. Maybe it’s his Cuban heritage; in his blood after his ancestors spent so long working and living by the sea on that godforsaken island that betrayed them, but he feels a sort of kinship with the ocean, too. You tease him the first time you see him in shorts and sandals, saying you half-expected him to show up in his three-piece. He didn’t tell you, but he comes to the beach alone quite often, or there’s always yacht parties where he can nurse a glass of scotch, just keeping score between all the married couples there; who cheated on who, what wife wanted nothing more than to divorce her husband, what husband was calling their wife a bitch... Most days, he prefers the precinct for company over the stuffy culture law school brought him into...he swears marriage makes people crazy. It made his mother miserable, his father wrathful.

And maybe one could argue that his mother had an inclination for melancholy or that his father was just a mean-spirited man regardless. But the marriage vows certainly brought out the worst in both of them. An ill-fit, sure, but they’d thought it would work out when they met each other, didn’t they?

Another reason he’s anxious is that the squad is getting closer to figuring it out by the day. Rafael is good at concealing his emotions, he thinks, but it’s difficult to hide anything in a room full of some of the best detectives in New York City. Sometimes he even catches Olivia looking at him differently when he glances discreetly at you - and he’s dreading the day he gets the chewing out he deserves.

And third - you start remembering things he says. It’s almost frightening. Of course.... you had to have a good memory for the spoken word - you couldn’t take notes on everything a witness said. But still.

You remember dishes he orders in restaurants and attempt to recreate them in his kitchen. You bring him coffee, just the way he likes it, on your days off that he’s on, or sometimes you manage to sneak away to bring it to him during your breaks. You know he likes you in red and green and blue, bright, vivid colors that bring out the colors of your eyes and hair, and you make sure to wear them. Sometimes he thinks you’re psychic, or you have some kind of womanly sixth sense; because oftentimes you’ll wear the same color of his tie. One time Carisi even made a comment that the two of you were going to prom together, and you’d swatted him on the arm but smirked at Rafael the way you did; when you knew you had him down cold.

And maybe you did.

But you didn’t know everything about him, yet, how could you? It’d only been four months.

Rafael's hands tremble at the thought of telling you what was on his mind. He needs some liquid courage if he's going to tell you anything. He's had awful conversations with women concerning this topic, and he's prepared for tonight to go wrong, too, you screaming at him with tears running down your cheeks, and then work, oh, work would be a living hell. Maybe he'd transfer to another district. Jesus Christ, he couldn't handle that again, so soon. Maybe it was best to keep quiet. Maybe this is why he shouldn't have been so stupid to date a detective in his district, in a unit he worked closely with. What if this did go wrong? It was hard, being able to see each other outside of work sometimes, and it was hell trying to hide it from the SVU, but god, he'd miss you if you left even if he wasn't entirely ready to commit to you.

But you deserved to know, didn't you?

"Hey, Rafi? You doing alright there?" Your voice cuts in, clear as a bell, the way it always did when he lost himself in thought.

"Yeah, uh, I'm fine," he says, loosening his tie and taking it off. You were cooking again, fish, and it smelled heavenly, and god, he didn't want to lose this but he didn't want to tell you either and by not telling you, he could lose you. Weren't you supposed to know your partner? Did you really know him if you didn't know these things?

"You sure? You look like you're nervous," you say, an edge in your voice. God, did you think... maybe you thought he was going to break up with you. Fuck.

"Yeah. I'm nervous. Okay?" he snaps, but he doesn't mean to. He takes another sip of his scotch.

"Why the hell are you nervous? Afraid of some broccoli?" you joke, but your smile doesn't meet your eyes. He'd scared you. Fuck, he was such an idiot.

"I need to talk to you. Okay?" God, why couldn't he be normal like you and just spit it out?

"Okay. Then talk. But if you want me to leave I'll just get out. I don't need to hear the reasons why," you say, turning back to the food.

"No!" Rafael gets up quickly, hugging you from behind. "No. I don't... that's not what I want to talk about. No. This is going good, better than I thought it would."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Fuck me. I keep talking myself in circles," he mutters under his breath.

You turn around, but he keeps his hands around your waist. You're close, and he pecks your lips. You chuckle. "You're a dork. Just spit it out, Rafi."

"I don't want... I don't want this to turn into a fight."

"I don't either, whatever it is. But I need to turn the fish over or your smoke alarm's gonna go off," you say. “Hang on a minute.”

He grips the counter for support and he hates you so much, it’s rage he’s feeling now, and he has to swallow it down, tell himself this was good for him, this was happening for a reason, and that you were different the men and women that had walked out on him before. Or what about those he’d never felt close enough to tell? That was a longer list.

You finish the fish in a few minutes, tell him the potatoes are going to be a few more in the oven, and you start the broccoli on the stove.

“Okay. Talk to me. I’m listening,” you say, smiling at him, but he can tell you’re still scared, still wondering what he’s going to say.

“I’m bisexual,” he blurts out, and he doesn’t know if it would’ve been better if he beat around the bush.

You’re silent for a few seconds, then you smile at him. “Oh, honey, that was it? I thought it was something bad. Jesus, you scared the hell out of me, Rafi,” you say and hug him tight. He hugs you back, somewhat in awe of your reaction.

“You... you... don't care?"

“Rafael, I'm honestly offended that you think I'd be that prejudiced. Of course it doesn't bother me.” You pull away, still holding onto his arms, looking at him that way you did now, that look that doesn’t feel too different from a punch in the gut. "Why did you think I would be upset?"

Rafael shrugs, still at a loss for words.

“Well... for the record, I’ve hooked up with a woman, you know,” you say, turning back to the broccoli.

“Y-you have?” Well, that was a surprise.

“Yeah. I don’t know if I’d ever date a woman, but... I gave it the college try, had experiences. It was fun. It was a coping mechanism if you think about it too much, but it helped me, I think,” you say, and shrug, turning to your side to better face him as you sauté the broccoli. “I mean...we were friends in college. And she took her time with me, you know...in ways college boys wouldn’t.”

“Mm,” Rafael says, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “Bet she did.”

You blush beet red, laughing nervously. “That’s not what I meant... although, yes... she was thorough. But no. I meant she respected me and didn’t get upset when I wasn't ready to put out, you know? She let me set the pace and she was the first person I’d been with that gave me that. But... anyway... enough about that. I really appreciate that you trust me enough to tell me. Do you feel better?” you ask, looking up at him.

He nods. “Believe it or not, you’re the only woman that hasn’t flipped out on me when I said this.”

“Oh, honey. I’m so sorry. No one should feel that way about that.” You lean up, kissing his cheek.

Yelina was the first woman he told, and she didn’t take it well. Immediately, she flew off the handle, accusing him of wanting to leave her for a man - but there was no man. It was just something he'd come to terms with after fighting with himself for so long, and he wanted her to know because he thought he loved her. But he backtracked for her, he pled with her, they both cried, and their hour-long phone conversation ended with Rafael saying that he was just confused, and wasn't really bisexual. He’d never felt more lost in his entire life than when he hung up the phone that night, and it took him a long time to be assured of his sexuality in the same way as he was before he called her.

Some of the women were better than others, but he hadn’t told all of them and he’d never been met with outright acceptance...until you. And maybe it’s a byproduct of the politics of your generation or your own dalliances in same-sex affairs... but whatever it is... you’re still taking him in with open arms, and he feels like he doesn't deserve that.

“You hungry? It’s all set.”

“Yeah. It smells great, (y/n),” he says, his mouth watering at the potatoes you pull out of his oven. God, who knew how good an apartment could smell when you used it to cook?

He has memories of his abuelita cooking, of his mother, but he never stayed in the room and watched them work. His father always said it was a woman’s job, and it went on the long list of things he could never forgive him for. Watching you cook, he realizes it’s an expression of caring and that his father had ignored the league of male chefs there were in the world in support of a chauvinist ideology. Rafael wishes he could cook more than his embarrassing repertoire of eggs, grilled cheese, and boxed macaroni; he wishes he could do something for you.

He swallows it down. This was too much too soon, wasn’t it? What was he doing?

He doesn't have any idea. A relationship should tie you down to the earth, make you remember you inhabit it, but he's been in his head far too much lately. So dinner is quiet, almost painfully so, because he can't stop the thoughts racing through his head and manage to make conversation with you.

Evidently, you realize that too, kissing him deeply after you both cleaned up the kitchen. "Are you okay, honey? You still seem stressed."

"I'm fine." God, you calling him “honey” went right through him. No one really ever used pet names on him before, probably because he was too stiff. How did you know the simple use of that melted him to the core, made him momentarily forget his reservations?

"You certainly don't seem fine. Did something happen at work?"

"Just stop," he murmurs, avoiding your gaze. Why did you care? Why should you care? You were starting to get too close for comfort - but god forbid you start pulling away.

But you do, physically, at least. You let go of his hand, and hurt flashes through your eyes. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No. But I don't want to talk, either."

"Rafael--"

"Don't."

"Okay," you nod, pursing your lips, and you take his hand back in yours. "Do you want me to just sit with you?"

He nods wordlessly, topping off your scotch glasses and meeting you on the couch. You don't touch him at first, but then you take his right hand back in both of yours, massaging through the cramps in his palm from writing scrawled notes on his legal pad. "You don't have to," he says quietly.

"I want to," you respond, pressing your lips to his cheek. "Let me take care of you. Turn around so I can massage your shoulders."

"(Y/n)..." he protests, but he has a feeling you know what he needs better than he does, so he doesn't argue with your firm glance.

You're tentative at first, but you find a rhythm, and he feels the tension dissipate as you work your hands across his shoulders and upper back, and all he can think is that he never did one thing in his life that would warrant this tenderness.

And then.... you run your hand across his side, featherlight, until he's chuckling in spite of himself. "Jesus, (y/n), stop it," he says through laughter as you tickle him with more intensity, your fingers skittering across his stomach.

"I think you should make me," you challenge.

And he's breathless, trying to catch your hands in his own, but he can't stop laughing, either, as he tries and fails to gain leverage against you. You dodge him every chance you get, but at this point, you can't tickle him as much you jab at his sides and stomach. Eventually, his fingers dig deep into the flesh of your waist, and you let out a shriek - and it's then that he enacts his revenge, his long fingers dancing across your thighs and up your stomach until he looks up at you. You're giggling and blushing, your hair splayed out across his couch... and you look back, your laughter slowing as he leans down to kiss you. All he intended was to brush his lips against yours, but your hand comes to the nape of his neck, and your tongue slips past his lips, and you're seemingly still intent on leaving him gasping for air. "Trying to kill me?" he pants, smirking against your lips as he pulls away.

"No. I just know you needed the laugh," you say. "I know you said you don't want to talk, Rafi, but I... I think you should. I want to listen."

Rafael sighs heavily, gently moving off you and helping you sit back up. "I lied to you,” he says softly, not meeting your eyes. “I lied. SVU is difficult at times... for more personal reasons. I didn't go through anything like what you had gone through and believe me... I'm not trying to draw comparisons. But..."

“It was your father, wasn’t it?” you ask softly.

Ah. You know. You read him like a book. He nods. “Yes. He wasn’t a good man.”

“I didn’t... I just, you rarely talk about him, and I just assumed there was a reason why.”

“There was.”

“Do you want to talk about it?"

Rafael nods, finding the strength to meet your eyes again. “He... he would hurt my mother. I didn’t face the brunt of the abuse, she did, for me. But he... if I... he’d hurt me, sometimes, too, hit me if I talked back. He’d never hurt me the way he hurt Mami, but he was abusive toward me as well. I spent a lot of time at my abuelita’s apartment because of this, and she is...she’s the best woman I know. She did all she could to keep me safe. Ultimately, though, in high school... I came out to my mother and her. They didn’t understand it, really, and gave me some good old Catholic shaming. I still loved them, even if it was hard at the time. They didn’t dare out me to my father. They didn’t know what he would do. Well... I had a boyfriend that last year of high school, and my father saw us... and... you can guess what happened.”

“I’m so sorry, Rafi,” you whisper, scooting closer to him.

“I had to go to the hospital,” he whispers, unable to fight the tears. It feels like something’s closing in on his throat. He takes your hand for support, running his thumb over your fingers. “He somehow managed to break one of my ribs. I... he kept saying, ‘I pay for Catholic school for you to end up being a faggot?’ And I... kept thinking, kept saying, ‘no, Padre, you don’t understand,’ kept begging him to stop. He didn’t until he heard my rib crack and... I think he understood, then, that he’d crossed a boundary. It was one thing to him to hurt his wife, he hated women, but his child, his only son? I never told my mother what happened, because it would’ve just worried her and I was terrified. I just... I just said someone at school beat me up. My father... he was never good to me or my mother, let that be clear, but after that, it was almost like he was ashamed, I guess, because I had something over his head that he knew my mother would leave him for. Anyway... he died about 15 years ago.”

You tuck your legs underneath you, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “I’m sorry,” you say softly, kissing his cheek. “No one should have to go through that. Your mother is a strong woman, you know that right? Didn’t you tell me she runs a charter school now?”

“Yes. She does. Single-handedly, really. I owed it to her to make something of myself.”

“You did, Rafi, you did. I know she’s proud.”

“I hope so,” he mutters.

“You’re a better man than your father,” you murmur, rubbing his back. How did you know that was what he needed to hear? Even still, it didn’t feel real. What basis did you have for that?

“The jury is out on that one,” he mutters. “I haven’t had a child to destroy.”

You pull away from him, sit back on your side of the couch. “Rafael. Look at me.”

He exhales slowly, and does, meeting your concerned eyes, the ones all the victims that have come through your precinct have seen, and he hates that.

“Did it hold you back? Is that why you haven’t had children?”

Your voice is small like you almost don’t want to say it, don’t want to put a voice to it, and he wishes you didn’t, he wishes you stayed quiet. He leans back against the couch, a few silent tears leaving his eyes of their own volition.

But you knew him. You knew why. You’d hit the nail on the head once again.

“I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry, Rafael. Please,” you say, and he looks over at you to see your eyes welling up too. “It’s not my business. I’m sorry. D-don’t be mad at me.”

He doesn’t say anything, just leans over and grasps you in a hug. You start crying, murmuring your apology over and over again. Your whimpers in his ear could kill him if he let them. You pull away from him with shaky hands on his shoulders, gripping on his suspenders for support. “I’m so stupid. I shouldn’t have—“

But he kisses you and he can feel your shock as your body tenses up against him. “Don’t you ever fucking say you’re stupid again,” he murmurs against your mouth. “You’re too smart for your own good.”

“Rafael, I overstepped.” You move your hands back to your lap.

“Maybe you did,” he shrugs, wiping his eyes with his shirtsleeves. “But you were right.”

You’re silent. He can tell you feel guilty; you’re wringing your hands and only looking at him when he’s not looking at you.

“I’m not mad at you,” he says, and you visibly relax, leaning over to hug his waist. “I never realized it... until... this woman I dated, her name was Yelina. She wanted a whole white picket fence deal, lawyer husband, three kids, money. And I... I couldn’t give any of that to her at the time. I didn’t want to get married, I was terrified of having a wife. I didn’t want to have children... I was afraid I’d turn into my father and hurt them the way he hurt me. So she left me for my best friend at the time.”

“Oh, honey. You’ve had bad luck,” you say, your voice slightly muffled against the fabric of his shirt. You rub his back comfortingly. “She wasn’t a smart woman. Couldn’t she see you were in pain?”

“I...guess not. Maybe I didn’t even really know I was then. She wanted kids, marriage, all of that, right away, and we were young, then, younger than you. But she didn’t want to wait for me to work out my issues. I can't really blame her. I still haven’t now, so maybe she was right to leave me. Who she left me for... well, that didn’t exactly work out in her favor. I prosecuted him for child pornography about a year ago.”

“Ah. Perhaps she should have learned about delayed gratification before leaving you.”

Rafael chuckles at that. “Why are you saying that?”

“Look who you turned out to be. She knows she made the wrong choice now.”

“I don’t know about that. Maybe neither of us were the right one for her. I’m still my father’s son. I could still turn out...how I feared.”

“I don’t see that in you, Rafael,” you say softly.

“My mother didn’t see it in my father, either,” he says, rubbing his face with his hand. “Part of it is genetic. It has to be.”

“People throw down the deck that they’re dealt and demand a new one all the time,” you tell him. He wraps his arm around you.

“But do they get one?”

“I think so,” you say. “If they fight hard enough and they have the resources. Some of it is luck, no doubt... But you can.”

He feels guilty, because he knows you’re thinking of your brother, who can never outplay the cards he was dealt.

“Well, I guess I never wanted to play the game and risk it," he says bitterly.

“Well, what about now?”

“Who’s going to marry me now, have kids with me? I’m an old man. That ship has sailed,” he says, hating himself and you, a little. Maybe you’d leave now like Yelina did. You were young and pretty, and you could find a man closer to your age that would father your children if that’s what you wanted.

“Do you really believe that?” Your voice is small again, treading lightly. Maybe you were scared for your own future if you stayed with him. Maybe you should be.

“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” he murmurs. He knows what he can’t believe: the fact that you’re still here, still holding onto him like your life depended on it. And you knew him, now, you knew what kept him up at night... and you were still here, acting like he was all you wanted.

“I just want you to know that I’ve been held back, too, Rafael. Abuse does that. I couldn’t have meaningful relationships with anyone for a while, and sex scared me. It still does, sometimes. You’re...you’re one of the few who’s waited this long for me to be ready and not gotten upset. I just want to thank you for that. And that’s how I know you’re not your father because from what you’ve told me, I don’t think he would’ve been as forgiving toward me. You can break the cycle, Rafi. You can if you want to.”

“You shouldn’t be thanking me for that. I’m not going to force you into doing something you’re not ready for.”

“Proving my point, Rafael,” you say, squeezing his arm. “Would your father have that same mindset?”

“Well...no. Probably not.”

“Would your father go to law school with the intent of helping the helpless?”

He shakes his head. His father didn’t do anything to help anyone. "That's not why I went to law school, either. I went to get the hell out of that barrio."

"Why'd you choose SVU then? There are much more lucrative paths you could've taken with a law degree. Why is it every time I try to show you that you're a good man you insist on fighting with me?"

"Because I don't deserve to be put up on a pedestal, (y/n). I'm just trying to survive," Rafael says, shrugging. "I'm not some martyr for a cause, or a Christ figure or--"

"I didn't say that you were. But you’re also not your father, Rafael, and I don’t see any danger of you turning into him, either,” you say and he hopes you’re right, he hopes you know him better than he knows himself, and that you see something in him he’s never seen, something all the men and women before you never saw either. “You still have time.”

“Not as much as I used to,” he says, but that’s the thing, isn’t it? Rafael sighs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. Look at the two of you, both damaged, both broken by what the world threw at you, but here you were, together. Were you healing each other or hurting each other? He can’t tell, at the end of the day.

You sit up a little, and he loosens his grip around your shoulders. You kiss him softly, comfortingly.

All his anxiety about this night is gone, but it isn’t replaced with relief like he’d hoped. Instead, there’s this gnawing ache, this need to tell you to leave, that he was bad news and was going to break your heart, that he was over 40 and didn’t know how to love anyone that wasn’t his family. Why couldn’t anything scare you away?

Part of him knows he doesn’t want you to leave despite all this, even if he’s terrified. You must know, too, because you stayed.

Tags: @caked-crusader @thatesqcrush @law-nerd105

Want to be added to my tags? Let me know!

#rafael barba x reader #raul esparza #rafael barba #svu #law and order svu #barba #company #law and order: special victims unit

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connormoving · 8 months ago

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like i think if i tried to flirt with somebody id just be like . Hi. and then id get scared and have to run away to have a panic attack

#its so embarassing. but once my life is better ill be normal again #i need to start working on it. i think ill have to get the ged b4 i can get a job. Note to self to start working on that. bc so far no jobs #r biting for highschool dropout with no license who has never worked a job for more than a year. Weirdly....#i also will talk to mein mamma to see abt umm. me possibly getting like... a pcp again and getting back on t and maybe getting back into #therapy. i cn make my own appts and stuff its just. Transportation #i think were supposed to be getting a car again soon gd willing...#and one day i should probably work on learning to drive. im just like very terrified of it #+ idk if ill ever be able to afford a car. and idk if im responsible enough for a car. and stuff... SIGH #ideally ill live in a city or smth where its easier to walk to places or just get rides. but cities expensive and etc. i hope i can get a #job somewhere close that isnt super inconvenient for my parents to drive me until i cn drive #i also. skull. i never got my id updated or anything . It has been like 7 months. BEAUTIFUL WOMEN ! wtvr.#im also quite paranoid abt how long i havent had a job bc i feel like it might also be playing a part in why im not getting any jobs. but i #cant. fix that without getting a job . so like #SIGH. but its whatever itll work out. and if it doesnt ive got a plan for that also. so all is well

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freakscircus · 4 years ago

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hi i don’t know if you’ll see this but you’ve always inspired me to pursue my academic passions so i wanted to ask you about this.

all through high school and up until very recently i suffered from undiagnosed and untreated ADHD as well as other mental illnesses that made doing well in school nearly impossible for me. ADHD sucks because usually we’re really intelligent and passionate and want to learn but we have trouble with things like homework and large projects that are important to do well in the academic system.

i ended up having to choose between an extra year of high school and getting my GED and i chose the latter. it’s also worth noting i didn’t take the SAT because my original plan was art school, but i backed out. i tried cosmetology school for a bit but it wasn’t for me.

eventually i realized that out of all my interests, what i wanted to do most was to study russian and chinese languages and history. i got into community college and started taking classes, but i still wasn’t being treated for ADHD so i spent several semesters starting and dropping all my classes. last semester with the help of medication i was able to do ok and pass two classes, and this semester i should get good grades in the 2 classes i’m taking and raise my GPA back to average. technically i’m still a freshman.

what i’m wondering is, if i get my shit together and i’m able to work as hard as i need to, how much is my past going to affect my future in academia? i know that’s sort of a vague question but i’m having trouble narrowing it down. i just want to know that if my past might outweigh any current academic progress i might have made by that point.

i think it is definitely possible!! is there a counselor at college that can help you make the right decisions? i think if you work with somebody to plan next steps and you are transparent in your applications you definitely have a chance. are you trying to transfer after community college? if you do a couple of years in CC and do well, you can transfer into a university program and it may actually be easier than applying right off the bat out of high school. i teach some students who started in community college and now attend my R1 school! i would get in touch with somebody at your college who has experience in transferring or going further in academia and just make a plan and talk to them about your chances and options. i’d say if you do well over the whole four years and really round out your CV (academic resume) with extra curriculars and relevant work experience you wouldn’t have a problem going further in school.

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copiouscouples · 5 years ago

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Lots o’ Random Thoughts on Good Girls

I want to start off by saying I’m a massive fan of this show. There are many things about this show that I love: Ruby, Beth, and Annie, season 1, Brio chemistry, the humorous moments, Stan and Ruby’s love. Good Girls and This Is Us are the only shows I bother to watch live. I’m committed and hopeful about what the season may bring.

That said. Some of the following points may seem a little negative. Some of them are just shower thoughts/observations.

The writers seem very millennial and very SJW. The Beyonce references, Plan B, anti-guns, talk of slut shaming, etc are all kind of hot button words/phrases of the millennial SJW crowd.

The girls aversion to guns is ridiculous at this point. They want to make counterfeit cash and have ex-cons do their dirty work. Scaring a guy about contacting his parole officer is gonna work with like one guy. They’re gonna need guns if they want to be successful. It’s like saying you want to be an astronaut but don’t want to use a rocket to get to outer space.

Annie/Beth seem like they are borderline white trash or come from white trash - the heavy drinking, Annie’s content with living in squalor, the lowbrow and inappropriate sexual humor (Beth laughing at Kenny’s beef stroganoff joke at the dinner table - a) not really funny and b) gross - it really bothers me when little kids are exposed to that kind of humor), the bad parenting (both from their parents - why was Beth driving to get groceries at 14? and the fact that neither is that great of a mom - Annie’s kid parents her and Beth’s kids are straight up rude and ill-mannered and she doesn’t say boo)

I still root for Annie and I’m excited about her getting her GED and becoming a paramedic. I hope she doesn’t give up just because her therapist is in a relationship.

I don’t know how I feel about Stan’s criminal prowess yet. I love to see him be so good at it, but I kind of miss the old Stan (although not the naggy, guilt-trippy Stanley). It’s OK to have a conscience. It keeps us from doing things we’ll regret.

Beth’s total lack of care for how her home looks drives me batty. There are three kinds of people in this world those that clean for company, those that have a spic and span home 24/7, and those that don’t care at all. Neat freaks don’t stop being neat freaks because they get a job. That scene in Rio’s apartment. She was eating up how clean and organized it was. I miss that side of Beth.

It boils down to the inconsistent writing. Two seasons, Beth is a cleaning/organizational wiz. The next season she’s not. Two seasons, Beth feels betrayed, lied to, and unappreciated by Dean. The next season the romance is rekindled. Two seasons, Beth and Rio have a weird, somewhat romantically-charged kind of mentor/mentee relationship going. The next season she’s hiring a hit man. Two seasons, Stan is a loyal, loving, good-hearted man who struggles with his wife’s criminal activity. The next season he’s totes cool with doing crime himself. Where you going with this writers?

Did they assume that they were going to get canceled at the end of season 2? Is that why they did the shooting?

They did not have appropriate build up for the shooting last season with all the romantical times with Brio. If it had been just the bathroom hookup, I wouldn’t consider their relationship romantic. But the Dubby? Leaving her her favorite drink? The saltiness of her blocking his calls? Her saltiness at him not kissing her in his apartment? The dots were not connected well. When Rio was shot, we should’ve been like, oh, I see it. I get why that happened. Instead of WTF? Things can be shocking and still make sense.

Compare GG to This Is Us. They have random stuff all the time that you’re not sure how it will connect, but throughout the episode/season they connect the dots and you get it.

This season? After what happened to Lucy? I could see a case for them wanting to kill Rio. I can see now why Beth wants him dead (and it breaks my Brio loving heart). Last season, it just felt so random and out of the blue.

I think Rio is gonna die this season. All roads point to Rio getting shot again. Unless something drastic happens.

I think in the first two seasons Rio was “initiating” her into his gang. He had her doing things to prove she was loyal to him. But that said he went a lot easier on her than he likely did anyone else.

This season Rio is just mad. And I miss the flirty banter between Beth and Rio. I understand why he’s so angry but I wish they could go back to a time when she hadn’t tried to kill him/wasn’t actively trying to hire a hitman.

I love Brio, but even before Beth shot him I never had any hopes for a HEA for them. At best, I could see them going all Bonnie and Clyde.

It’s hard to see a path for them romantically. But that doesn’t stop me from hoping they’ll smoosh booties again one day. As long as Rio is alive, my hope for Brio still lives. Sad, I know, but true.

#nbc good girls #good girls nbc #brio

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miraculousanarchy · 4 years ago

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Hey.

I’ve been trying to think of what to say about my return to this blog. Basically I’m coming back to this after nearly 3 years now because I feel the need to reclaim this part of myself. The episode of psychosis that led to me abandoning this blog is something that I’m finally starting to heal from. I feel like I’ve finally begun to overcome the narcissistic abuser that tried to chase me off the platform over a mis-click and I’ve realized that I cannot continue my life in fear of her. I have been terrified of being doxxed and hunted down and even being killed for years now. I recognized recently that the more extreme of those paranoia sticking points comes in combination with how I was raised. My parents allowed for me to essentially be hunted for sport by my cousin, in multiple ways. I was prey my entire life, and the narcissist that tried to chase me away knew that. She took one of my worst fears, an intrusive thought of mine reaching OCD levels, and made it out as if that was who I am. She tried to accuse a pregnant, 18 year old, incest and cocsa victim of becoming the monster that hurt her. And that’s not who I am, and I really never should’ve had to say that.

It’s taken years of therapy to overcome this paranoia she planted in my head. I’ve never had a sense of identity, I was never in a safe enough place to form one. I’ll be 22 in April, and I’m finally starting to figure out myself, however hidden away she may be under heaps of trauma and BPD (now with official diagnosis.) In the time since leaving this blog, I have gone under some heavy... life readjustments? I had children, 2, they’ve since been adopted by a wonderful couple I’d trust with my life and they’re safe from my family. I spent a few more years being abused and thrown around some more by said family, finally moved out this summer. I ended up chasing away nearly every friend I had in my depression. Got a job, and got fired. Had a lung infection that took to long to clear up and the breadstick filled restaurant Tumblr loves to hate threw me out on my ass in the middle of the pandemic.

I’ve spent the last few months in particular reading as many books as I can find on BPD, trying to get my GED, and looking into starting a soap making business for myself. I’ve been looking into different therapy methods, service dogs in particular, and have been considering applying for disability and I really start to understand how impacted my head is with different mental illnesses. I’ve entertained writing essays on mental health and even a visual novel. I’ve been putting so much work into myself and it feels horrible to let a blog that contains so much of myself rot because of one horrible person.

So anyway, to my old friends that are still on here and never hated me enough to unfollow, I’m here if you’ll have me. And I promise I’m getting better.

And if you can’t remember me, I’m Nat. I used to run a discourse blog when I was a shitty little teenager.

I’ll keep this pinned for a little while now that tumblr has that feature. I still haven’t decided on a good url to use, so it’ll change a bit over the next couple days. If you have any questions, feel free. I do have some essays planned, if there’s interest, mostly focused on BPD.

#a post by me

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omgjasminesimone · 6 years ago

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Juvenile Delinquents Part 2

Previous Part: Part 1

Next Part: Part 3

Author’s Note: I just moved, and I currently have no internet, which seems like the perfect time to work on my many unfinished fanfics! So this is unedited because I had to go to the library to post and it closes soon, but hope you guys enjoy!

Word Count: 3600

“Sanchez, you’re up.” A guard calls out gruffly. Logan nods, appreciatively taking the payphone offered. Logan tries to remember the number he’s supposed to call in this situation. He’s not calling the shop. Right now, the police currently have nothing definitively tying him to the Mercy Park Crew, and nothing trying the Mercy Park Crew to the unassuming Kaneko autobody shop located in South LA. So, this is a situation for Kaneko’s burner cell phone.

Logan tentatively dials in the numbers, not quite remembering if the last digit was a 6 or an 8. He really hopes he’s not blowing his one phone call.

The phone rings several times, before an unfamiliar voice picks up.

“Hello?” The voice calls impatiently.

“Umm… is this T. K’s phone?” Logan asks, knowing this conversation is no doubt being recorded.

“Who wants to know?” The voice is suspicious.

“Logan.” He replies, narrowing his eyes as he leans against the wall, trying to turn away from the other inmates in line for the phone listening in.

“Oh, Pop’s former protégé.” The voice mocks. “Thanks for getting yourself locked up. Opened up a spot for me.”

“Colt.” Logan growls. He’s never met Kaneko’s son, but from what he’s heard from the crew that must be who he’s talking to.

“What’s up Logan. How’s juvie?” Colt returns.

“That’s enough Colt.” Logan hears Kaneko admonish his son in the background. There’s a slight shuffle as the phone is handed over. “Logan, what did they book you on?” Kaneko asks.

“Public endangerment. Speeding. I’m looking at three to four months.” Logan had been surprised at the leniency of his sentence. But as his public defender explained, he wasn’t driving the stolen car. The police couldn’t prove he was actually in the Mercy Park Crew, not beyond a reasonable doubt. So, they could only charge him with what they knew he was guilty of.

“Glad to hear it. I knew the juvenile courts would be lenient.” Kaneko responds.

Logan absently tugs on the phone cord. “So, what happens when I get out? Can I come back?” Logan asks worriedly.

“Of course, Logan. I’m not one to abandon someone who’s loyal to me.” Kaneko insists.

“What about Colt?” Logan questions. For someone who doesn’t abandon those that are loyal, Kaneko sure seems to have replaced him pretty quickly.

“Colt is finishing out his senior year here, after being expelled from his high school in Texas, but he’ll be heading to college by the time you are released. Your place is secure.” Kaneko reassures.

Logan doesn’t 100% believe Kaneko, but he’s currently in no position to question anything he’s told. “Did you guys get my car?” He asks, treading back to lighter waters.

Kaneko chuckles. “We did. X picked it up, and Toby has already started on the repairs.”

Logan lets out a sigh of relief. He was more worried about his precious Devore GT than his own injuries. He’s been in jail overnight, and the bleeding has mostly stopped. But he still has a bandage wrapped around his forehead.

“Sanchez, times up.” The guard warns.

“I’ve gotta go. See you in a couple of months.” Logan hangs up as the guard shuffles him into the waiting line for transfer. He’s headed to the juvenile facility today, processing now complete.

He’s shuffled onto a bus with several other juvenile delinquents. They already seem to be jockeying for position, trying to prove themselves the biggest, the toughest as they shove and fight for seats at the back of the bus. Logan ignores them, taking a seat up front as the guards try to call for order.

A fist is thrown in back, and the guards rush back to break up the fight as the teenage boys yell out and egg the combatants on. Logan leans back in his seat, eyes closed. This is going to be a long couple of months.

When they arrive at the juvenile facility located fairly far inland an hour later, the boys are taken to an orientation of sorts. The guards force Logan and the others to strip as they check them for weapons. It’s dehumanizing, but Logan has had worse experiences. Like when one of the girls in the group home got lice, and then the administrator cut all their hair short, threw away all their pillows and bedding, and made them all submit to lice inspections.

Logan is given a grey sweatshirt, a grey t shirt, and unflattering grey sweatpants. But he tells himself at least it’s not orange as he tries to focus on the bright side. Once they’re all dressed in their grey jumpsuits, they’re forced into a single file line as they head toward the dormitory portion of the facility.

Logan is surprised to see a line of girls being walked past them to a neighboring dormitory. One of the young female guards seems to note his surprise. “Budget cuts. Weren’t enough girls to justify a separate facility, so they just tossed them in here. As if our jobs weren’t hard enough.” She grumbles. “Alright inmates, keep moving!” She shouts once the girls have passed by.

They’re assigned to their rooms. Logan’s roommate is a boy named Gabriel Hernandez. Gabriel asks if he plans to join the Latin King gang, and Logan emphatically says no. Gabriel stresses that Logan will need the protection, but Logan says he’ll take his chances.

…

Part of being in juvenile detention means that they’re all forced to go to class, something most of them probably don’t do on the outside. The teacher is a volunteer, and although she obviously means well, she’s clearly ill equipped to deal with juvenile delinquents. Most of the class spends the time sleeping, while the few who are awake are disruptive and make it almost impossible to learn anything.

Despite the setbacks, Logan tries to work through the handouts diligently without instruction. If he has to be here, he might as well do something productive. Maybe he can even test for his GED.

…

It’s a full week before Logan earns yard time for his good behavior. He has been good, keeping to himself, going to class, doing his work, reading to pass the long hours locked in his cell. It’s already starting to get monotonous though, and Logan is itching for a break in the routine.

He’s walking the track when Eleanor jogs up to him. She’s also dressed in the facility issued grey jumpsuit, but she’s rolled up the sweatpants at her waist, making the fit more flattering. She’s tied the t-shirt, exposing her midriff in a way that’s very distracting for a teenage boy who’s been surrounded by nothing but other teenage boys for the last week.

She smiles at him. “Logan, we meet again.”

“Eleanor.” He returns, and her nose wrinkles.

“No one calls me Eleanor except my Dad when he’s mad at me. Which is most of the time now-a-days.” She lets out a short laugh, and he feels the corner of his lips curving into a smile. It’s been a while since he heard anyone laugh, let alone anyone with a laugh as melodious as her’s. “My friends call me Ellie.” She informs him.

“Are we friends?” He questions as she falls into step with him, making slow progress along the track.

She smirks at him. “I have a feeling we’re going to be. Besides, you definitely need someone to show you the ropes around here.”

“And you’re a veteran, right?” He asks.

Ellie smirks. “Tour number 3. First time, I just got a week for shoplifting. Which I think normally wouldn’t have even gotten time, but my Dad was trying to scare me.” Ellie rolls her eyes. “The second time was for check fraud, when I tried to cash my dead grandfather’s social security check to put down a deposit on an apartment. That time I got a month, which I think would have been longer, but my Dad pulled some strings. But now he’s done pulling strings apparently, and I’m looking at 6 months for selling prescription drugs at school. Which doesn’t that seem unfair to you? They’re trying to discourage my entrepreneurial spirit.” She spits out all this very personal information flippantly, to almost a complete stranger.

She stops suddenly, standing in front of him to prevent him from continuing with his slow walk. “So, now that you know my story, you owe me yours.” She insists.

“But I didn’t ask for your story.” Logan argues.

Ellie smirks. “But you wanted to know.” She counters, stepping into his personal space, almost as if she’s going to kiss him.

“Wheeler, do you want to go back inside? You know the rules!” A guard shouts irritably, coming towards them from the basketball courts.

Ellie rolls her eyes and steps away from him, putting approximately a foot of space between them. “Ughh, the one foot between boys and girls rule. It’s 6 inches for same sex, which seems kind of stupid when you consider how many more same sex relationships happen in jail.” She mutters.

“Seems like it would have been easier to just keep the separate facilities.” Logan murmurs.

“Budget cuts.” Ellie reiterates what the guard told him. “There aren’t enough bad girls to justify a whole facility.”

“You’d think with your rap sheet you’d be able to single handedly keep that female juvenile facility in business.” Logan jokes, and to his relief Ellie doesn’t seem offended based on her laugh.

“Too bad they’re not all like me.” She says flirtatiously, winking at him. She stretches up to put her hair into a messy bun, and his eyes fall unbidden to her pierced belly button which is exposed from the action.

“You’re trouble, aren’t you?” He breathes out softly, raising his eyes to look into her twinkling brown orbs.

“Only the good type of trouble.” She insists.

…

“Hey.” Ellie greets as she sits next to him at his previously completely unoccupied library table.

She startles him out of his studying. “Hey.” He returns.

“What are you doing?” Ellie asks, glancing at his open algebra textbook.

“Math.” Logan responds shortly. He’s not really annoyed with her, although that’s how it might be coming off, he’s mostly embarrassed. Over the last three weeks of being incarcerated with her, he’s learned how smart she is. He’s sure she’s never had to study basic college algebra, it probably just came to her completely naturally.

“So, I’m guessing you didn’t get one of the few competent juvie teachers then?” Ellie questions, sounding sympathetic.

“She’s nice, but I don’t think she’s cut out for juvie teaching. She’d be better at kindergarten.” Logan answers.

“What are you having trouble with? I can tutor you.” Logan looks hesitant to accept her help, so she adds. “Come on, it will look great on my Langston College application.”

Logan leans back in his chair and looks at her curiously. “Langston College? Isn’t that super competitive? You don’t think your record is going to get in the way of that?”

Ellie waves off his concern. “Juvenile records are sealed, so they won’t know. I intend to be good once I turn 18.” Logan looks at her skeptically, and Ellie laughs. “What?! I can be good! I was good for 14 whole years.” She insists.

Logan grins. “I’ll believe that when I see it troublemaker, but I could use your help if you’re offering. Let’s start with systems of equations, I’m totally lost.”

An hour later, Ellie has managed to teach him what the volunteer teacher has been unable to get him to comprehend over the three weeks he’s been in her class.

…

“How’d you get an iPod in here?” Logan asks when Ellie shows him her contraband item a few weeks later as they sit on the bleachers, halfheartedly watching the basketball game going on during yard time.

Ellie grins at him, looking awfully proud of herself. “I have my ways.” She answers.

Logan glances out at the guards patrolling the yard. “You could get in a lot of trouble for that.”

Ellie rolls her eyes. “They should have more important things to worry about. Like gang violence. How am I hurting anybody by listening to a little Justin Bieber?”

Logan just shakes his head, smiling at her fondly. “Of course, you’re a Bieber fan.” He says with mock disgust.

“Oh yeah? What do you listen to? No, let me guess.” She gives Logan a long look, as if she’s deciphering him. It honestly makes him a little uncomfortable. “Something not well known, you’re one of those ones who’s all proud of liking a band before they become big and popular. Hmm…. RINI fan?”

Logan’s eyes widen. “How could you possibly guess that?!” He wonders.

Ellie smirks, shrugging nonchalantly. “I’m very observant. I have ‘Meet Me in Amsterdam’ on here.” She holds out an earbud to him, waving it at him in a tempting manner. “Come on, you know you want to.” She sing-songs.

Logan shoots another look at the guards before quickly taking the earbud from Ellie and putting it into his left ear.

She smiles as she puts the remaining earbud in her right ear, covering it with her hair. She reaches over to move some of his own long hair in front of his earbud, concealing it from prying eyes. Her hand lingers for a beat afterwards, and Logan has to fight down his blush. Eventually, she drops her hand and starts the song. She smiles when he starts to bob his head along with the beat.

…

Logan frowns when he spots Ellie across the cafeteria hall. He excuses himself from Gabriel and the rest of the non-gang affiliated Latinos he’s fallen in with. Jail, even juvie, forces people to generally stick with their own, and the whites wouldn’t accept Logan because he was clearly half not white. So, he found himself with the Latinos. The bright side is that over the 2 months he’s been incarcerated, his Spanish has gotten way better.

When he reaches her, Logan cups Ellie’s bruised face tenderly, running his thumb over the shiner she’s sporting. “What happened?” He questions worriedly.

“Nothing.” Ellie insists. “I’m just not everybody’s favorite in here. Dad being a celebrated LAPD detective and all.”

“Sanchez, you know the rules!” A guard shouts, and he quickly drops his hands from Ellie’s face. They both take a step back to put the required one foot of space between them. Logan’s fists clench at his sides.

“Who hit you?” He demands to know.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll handle it.” Ellie replies, turning away from him to wait in line for the sludge they call food in here. Logan falls in line behind her, although he already got his food and it’s currently going cold (well, colder, since their food is never really as warm as it should be in here) at his table.

“I am worried about it. Was it Piper?” Piper’s been in juvie for two years now, for a violent crime. Some of the inmates insist she has a murder charge, but the record is sealed so there is no way to know if Piper is actually as dangerous as she claims to be.

“No, just drop it Logan. I promise you I have it handled. Trust me.” She presses, looking at him pleadingly.

Logan sighs, but reluctantly gives her a nod.

Ellie smiles, giving his hand a quick comforting squeeze before any of the guards notice. “Thank you.”

A week later, Logan is returning to his cell from his new part time juvie job at the library when he notices Ellie’s roommate being forcefully removed from her cell.

“We turned up not only drugs, but a shank under you pillow during the sweep Johnson. You’re getting at least a month in the SHU for this.” The guard holding her arm informs her.

“That’s not mine! Why would I leave that shit right under my pillow?! That bitch framed me!” She gestures to Ellie, who’s sitting on her bunk reading a book.

Ellie looks up innocently. “Me? Why would I want to frame you?” She feigns surprise in her tone.

Johnson glowers. It’s not like she can admit that she beat Ellie up last week in front of the guards. She’s ushered away to the segregated housing unit, where she’ll spend a month in solitary with no yard time.

…

Ellie plops herself down on a nearby table as Logan restocks books, eating her Doritos cheerily.

“You know you’re not allowed to eat in here, right Troublemaker?” Logan asks.

“But when you’re on library duty, I can get away with it, because you like me, right?” Ellie teases, tossing another Dorito into her mouth.

Logan blushes at that, wondering if she knows just how much he likes her. He’s nursing quite a crush on Ellie. He’s never met anyone like her before, and he has a feeling he won’t be meeting anyone like her in the future.

“Plus,” She adds when he stays quiet, “I always share my commissary goods with you, so you really can’t complain.” She stands from the table and pops a Dorito into his mouth, grinning as he chews on the treat.

“Well, we don’t all have daddy putting a generous amount of money into our commissary accounts. Some of us have to make do with our 10 cent an hour job.” Logan teases.

“It’s really the least my Dad can do. If he wasn’t so overbearing, I never would have ended up in here in the first place.” Ellie insists.

Logan doesn’t argue with her. He’s tried that before, telling her there are worse things than having a father who cares about you. She wouldn’t talk to him for a full week and being that she’s the only bright spot in his day, it was a pretty terrible, lonely week. So instead of mentioning Ellie’s responsibility in her current predicament, he says “Can we get some more twinkies later?”

Ellie smiles. “Of course, we can! We deserve twinkies.”

…

Almost three months into his incarceration, the juvenile delinquents earn a movie night for making it one whole month with no fights (that the guards know about.)

There had been a vote on which movie to watch, but they’d been given very few options. Nothing with sex, violence, drugs, or anything fun really, was allowed. They’d settled on Little Rascals.

Ellie yawns, leaning her head against his shoulder as they sit in the back of the cafeteria, which has been converted into a makeshift theater.

“Wheeler, do you want a shot?!” A guard asks, waving his infraction citation pad around threateningly. Ellie rolls her eyes, sitting up to put more space between her and Logan.

“Don’t they have anything better to do?” She mutters under her breath.

“I think they actually take a lot of pleasure in being able to deny us any chance of fleeting happiness.” Logan theorizes.

“Why else would they go into corrections? It’s definitely not for the money. It’s the sense of power, being able to tell people what to do. They get off on it. My Dad clearly missed his calling becoming a detective. He’d be much happier working in a prison.”

Logan chuckles. “As much as being in here sucks, I’m really glad I met you Ellie.” Logan admits.

Ellie smiles, burrowing into his shoulder again. “I’m glad I met you too.” She reveals.

“Wheeler, Sanchez, if I have to say it again, you’re getting kicked out of movie night!” The guard yells.

…

“Logan!” Ellie calls as he comes back in from the yard. He’s surprised to see her dressed in the Langston college and jeans from take-in instead of the standard issued juvie uniform he’s used to. She rushes towards him, about to leap into his arms before she notices the way the guards are looking at her and thinks better of it, stopping just in front of him. “I’m getting out!” She says excitedly.

“So soon, I thought you had 3 more months?” He can’t quite keep the dismay of her leaving out of his voice.

“I thought so too, but I think my Dad ended up pulling some strings. I guess he figures I learned my lesson.”

“Did you?” He questions, brow quirked.

Ellie smirks. “Not a chance.”

Logan smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m happy for you Troublemaker, I really am. I’m definitely going to miss you though.”

Ellie’s eyes soften. “I’m going to miss you too. More than you know.”

And then, she’s kissing him. Hands in his hair, tongue in his mouth. His hands falls to her waist, hauling her against him as he deepens the kiss.

“Hey! Break it up you two!” A guard yells.

Ellie pulls away, smiling up at the stunned expression on his face. “Something to remember me by.” She whispers, raising up on her tip toes to kiss him again.

This time, a guard forcibly grabs her arms and pulls her away from Logan. “If you want more time here Wheeler, I can easily make that happen. Trust me.” He threatens. He turns his attention to Logan. “And Sanchez, that’s a week of no yard time.” He doles out Logan’s punishment.

Ellie casts him a sympathetic look, but he just grins at her. “Very worth it.” He tells her.

Ellie offers him one last smile before the guard pulls her away to be processed out.

Logan immediately feels her absence. He doesn’t know how he’s going to get through another month here without her.

….

Taglist: @choicesarehard @ifyouseekheart @brightpinkpeppercorn @regina-and-happiness @drakexnadira @flyawayboo @fairydustandsarcasm @alesana45 @umiumichan @maxwellsquidsuit @lahelable @god-save-the-keen @mrsmckenziesworld @paisleylovergirl @iplaydrake @sinclaire-made-me-sin @choicesgremlin @lovehugsandcandy @desiree-0816 @cora-nova @justdani14 @emceesynonymroll @emichelle @badchoicesposts @client-327 @riverrune @liamzigmichael4ever @princessstellaris @mskaneko @anxious-arliah

#ride or die #choices fanfiction #logan x mc #logan rod

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swiftythewriter · 5 years ago

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i have no one to talk to. i have no one. so, i am just here, venting and hoping that saying it outloud getting my thoughts in order will make it better.

my best friend wont talk to me, it’s been weeks and longer since she has reliably answered my messages. the two friends i’v managed to make in my conversion class aren’t talking to me either. just, stopped answering their phones all of a sudden. i don’t now what id did. i don’t know. did i do anything? and my grandma has just dismissed me as a lost cause since i was arguing with her, since i just wanted her to understand my perspective rather than jut go along with her decisions like always.

i have been trying so hard. not to give up. not to give up on me, on living. trying to live and get better. do the work. but how can i if everyne else has already given up. do they...do they just see me as a lost cause? am i? i’m trying, i swear i am, but am i?

what did i do? what should i do? how can i possibly fix any of it

i’ve been lying for a very long time saying that i have my life, my future under control, as if my dreams and ambitions i could will into existence. but i don’t. i don’t. gd i don’t. im nineteen going on twenty going on the rest of my life and i don’t have a diploma or a GED. i need to fix that, i want to fix that. but it’s so hard.

thing is, i stopped studying near completly around 6th grade. i was homeschooled. no one noticed for a very long time. and i have reasons for that, excuses. i never really expected to live past eighteen. never expected to have to deal with it. but i’m here now. trying to get everything back on track an i feel like i’m drowning under the weight of everything i do not know.

i took a test today for something called dyscalcuia. not an offical one, just an online thing but my score was still in the top percentials. and it makes sense. it makes a lot of sense. i was relieved. if it’s true, it means i’m not lazy or stupid and that my adversion and extreme anxiety whenever the subject comes up has a cause and a reason rather being a personality flaw. it goes hand and hand with dyslexia, too, which I have, and adhd, which i think i have.

but, um, mimi didn’t react that way when i told her. she thinks this is just another thing i found to put a road block to my actual studying. she’s like that, you know? when i say my depression or anxiety makes X task difficult or affects the way i approach it, she dees it as me saying i refuse to do X because i only think i’m can’t, that i’m frozen. so, she took that as another excuse in order not to do math.

and, uh, maybe it is? maybe i want a way out. because it hurts, sometimes. it just, doesn’t make sense. there’s logic, maybe, but it’s not the right kind of logic. there’s no feeing behind it, it’s not a person’s mind, it might as well be a machine. every other subject i am able to grasp some level of comprehension, of appication, but not this. it’s just cold.

mimi says it’s just memorization, that i just don’t want to do it, that i am the kind of person that jus gets too caught up on the abstract, on the why’s of everything that this causes me trouble because it would take forever for me to go through each problem and trace it back to it’s roots and history and i just have to focus on the memorization and i try but it’s so hard.

i remember being a kid and thinking that everytime math started to make some kind of sense i got the rug pulled out from under me and i’m still thinking that. i’m still here, staring at the numbers that don’t make sense, i’m still here and i’m falling.

i need to fix my life. i need to get a GED. to get a GED i need to do math, because that’s the part everone fails on, they say. mimi says not to focus on the other subjects even though i’m drowning under the weight of everything i don’t know. mimi says to focus only on the math, to focus on the exact problems they’re going to have on there. don’t go back to the basics even though i am drowning under the weight of everything i do not know, we don’t have time. you’ve wasted so much time. we’re running out of time. and i try, i try but i need.

youtube videos, unconnected, different instructor, the same lesson over and over in different words then skip ahead, no too far i don’t understand, go back we’ve done all this my brain slowing to a crawl. i scream i need structure, that i can’t keep going like this but it gets lost in the place between my throat and my teath, comes out in frustrated tears and mimi saying “i give up, it’s your life, do whatever you want.” only help i have gone, gone, gone an how can i fix it? don’t give me the world, it’s my world but don’t give me it, my hands aren’t steady enough i can’t keep it from breaking.

i need a GED. i need to go to college. i want to go to collage. i want to major in psycology, go to med school, become a psychiatrist. spend my live helping people because writing isn’t an option as a career and if i can’t spend my life doing what i love at the very least i want to spend it doing something i value. i’ve turned this over and over in my mind until the dream has become a sort of truth, but my hands are empty, i am alone and i don’t know how to fix it.

i always thought that, with the depression that hit that time of my life that staying in public school probably would’ve killed me with all the academic and social pressures. it’s one of the reason why i refused to attend the last year of highschool when i had a chance, even though i deeply regret that choice.

but i’m now wondering if the lack of structure in my life was part of my depression being so strong. i had no routine other than the one i created, no socialization, no reason to study because i lacked any reward systems for when i did get anything right and no oversight when i got it wrong. after age 11 didn’t even have a babysitter and i could just, do what i wanted becaue mimi was always at work and and i don’t think it was very healthy for me and that it left me with a lot a negative habbits to this day.

so, right now i’m guzzling a caffinated drink and waiting for my hands to stop shaking because i read somewhere that caffine helps adhd and even though it makes my anxiety and the symptions of my illness worse i despretly need the focus. and i’m hoping that hashem will help me in this, because i honestly don’t know the way out of it

#personal #vent #mental health

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nutritionbymalika · 5 years ago

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Health & Wellness from a Nutritional Therapist’s perspective.

My name is Malika and I am starting this blog to help you navigate the world of Health and Wellbeing.I am trained in Naturopathic Nutrition and my passion is to give you simple tips and recommendations to make it easy for you to make small changes that will have a big impact in your life.I am often asked if Health is only about what you eat or don't eat...If by taking such or such supplements someone’s life and health will improve...

In a world where there is so much ambiguity and so much conflicting information about what constitutes a healthy lifestyle and a healthy diet,I am here to bring you facts based on the latest research, so you don't have to do the work !

Firstly ,let’s define what we understand by Health and Wellbeing:

According to the Oxford dictionary,Wellness is defined as the state of being comfortable ,healthy and happy .

The Naturopathic definition of Wellness is something else...Wellbeing is defined as the ‘complete integration of body ,mind and spirit.It is the realisation what everything we do, think, feel and believe has an effect on our wellbeing’.(G.Anderson).

As alternative practitioners, we believe that the body is designed to heal itself and regain balance.My job is to help you identify and remove the obstacles to healing, by supporting the body to achieve optimal health and vitality!

So what are the obstacles to a healthy lifestyle?

The food we eat :Studies show a strong link between highly processed food( and refined carbs) and low energy and dis-ease.What does that mean?It means that Brain health is linked to Gut health and vice versa. Your diet will impact your mental and emotional state and your energy levels but it will also impact how you respond to infection and dis-ease.

The way we deal with stress:Have you heard about the ‘Fight and Flight response’ or Rest and Digest?All it means is that your body can't be working properly if it is under stress or unable to deal with stress in a helpful way.Indeed,the stress response is appropriate in case of imminent danger (like if you are attacked by a lion; it helps your body run away fast!!! However, if there is no ‘apparent’ danger ,the body needs to be in a relaxed state to be able to do function effectively : digesting and absorbing nutrients , fighting infection, growth and repair...

The quality of your sleep:A lack of quality sleep is linked to an increase in inflammation, stress, poor memory, weight gain, depression and many more health issues.Your body needs restful quality sleep for growth and repair , to be able to lower the inflammation in your body, and to consolidate memories.

Exercising:Little or no exercising is linked to cardio-vascular issues, like Type 2 Diabetes, Hypertension, Obesity etc.The lack of exercising is also linked to anxiety and depression .

Now that we have established the main obstacles to Health.What can we do about it?

Stress Management.

Mediating just 10 to 15 min a day every day can dramatically reduce stress and anxiety .Try mediation apps like HeadSpace or Petit Bambou. Allow yourself to relax for 10 min each day in the morning before you start your day or the evening before bedtime.

Breathing:Try the 4-7-8 breathing method .It will only take you a few minutes to do. Every time you feel anxious or stressed, take a few minutes to calm yourself down using this method

mindfulness:Try and be more present in your daily life.Take your time to chew your food when you eat.Wake up early to give yourself enough time to get ready for your day.Take a walk in a park and observe the world around you without judgement...

A balanced Nutrient dense diet:

Eat a rainbow!! A diet rich in colourful vegetables and fruits will help you get the essential nutrients you need to stay strong and healthy.It will also help you feel great mentally and your gut will thank you for that!Aim to eat at least 5 portions of veggies and 5 fruits a day.

Mediterranean type diet:This is composed of oily fish, healthy fats seeds and nuts, whole grains, fruits and veggies.This diet has been linked to a reduction in the incidence of heart disease related illnesses (like diabetes, strokes ,hypertension ) but also with condition linked with inflammation (like rheumatoid arthritis) .Introducing these nutrients will also help you maintain a healthy weight and ease depression.

Hydration:Our body is composed of 70% water.Good hydration is essential for health! Make sure you drink at least 1.5L to 2L of water a day to improves your mood, cognition and energy levels.Good hydration also promotes cardio vascular health and helps the body ged rid of toxins

Consider some basic supplements:

Vitamin D:Especially if you live in places like U.K where we don't see the sun much!It is helpful to get your Vitamin D levels checked with your GP before your supplement.Start with a basic maintenance dose of 1000 IU a day.Vitamin D3 is essential for immune function .it helps you keep your muscles, nerves and immune system healthy and strong.

A good quality Multi vitamin and mineral.Although I always advise to get as much nutrients from the diet as possible,It is not always easy to meet you daily requirements of vitamin and minerals.Today’s soil is so depleted that the fruits and veggies do not contain what they used to contain in the past.

Omega 3:especially if your are not eating enough oily fish!The typical western diet (processed food, simple carbs etc ) is rich in Omega 6 (which are pro inflammatory ) and poor in Omega 3 fatty acids.The Omega 3 high in EPH and DHA are important to reduce inflammation in the body.They are important for your heart and brain health and also good for for your skin.

Probiotics:70 % of our immune system resides in our gut.We, human are 90% microbial.We have 10 times more microbes than cells in our body. So it makes sense to make sure that we have the right kind of bacteria to support this ecosystem.An unbalanced microbiome can hinder absorption, digestion, metabolic and immune function.

Remember... Introducing all these recommendations overnight is unrealistic if this is new to you.Small ,consistent, postive Changes is what matters in the long term.

To have the knowledge is the first step towards a healthy,happier you!

I wish you well .

Malika

www.nutritionbymalika.co.uk

#nutrition #nutritionaltherapy #health #wellness #wellbeing #supplements #healthy diet

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365daysofsasuhina · 6 years ago

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[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Three Hundred Thirty-Four: Street People ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina, homelessness, blindness ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

They met quite by accident.

After the death of his parents and the disappearance of his brother, Sasuke was tossed from family member to family member. But wherever he went, ill luck seemed to follow.

The final straw was his aunt - his mother’s sister - facing a rather sudden death. Her son, Shisui, was already in college several states away when she took Sasuke in at the age of fifteen. For months, things seemed...normal. Manami had claimed she didn’t believe in superstitions like so many others in their family. According to her, they’d always been a magnet for misfortune.

But not long after his sixteenth birthday...Sasuke lost the last safe harbor he’d been afforded. After military service that took her leg, raising a son by herself, and mourning the death of her younger sister...Manami was killed ever so simply in a car wreck.

...she wasn’t even driving. A pedestrian struck on the sidewalk by a drunk driver. Her lacking limb meant she was too slow.

...too slow.

Sasuke found himself with nowhere else to go. Shisui couldn’t take him, and Sasuke refused his apologies.

“I’m not your responsibility. Don’t give up on your future for my sake. Don’t quite school. I’ll figure something out.”

‘Something’ turned out to be couch surfing for a while. But that was soon given up when his dropping out of highschool soured his reputation to many a parent of many a friend.

And so...Sasuke was officially homeless.

Shisui, refusing to do nothing, had given Sasuke his car, claiming he was getting by in the big city without it. It was his only home, a place he could sleep, live, and travel in.

...but that didn’t change the fact that he was alone.

He worked odd jobs as best he could, but few wanted him around. A high school dropout, homeless, and with a bit of an attitude...he wasn’t exactly prime worker material.

Lounging in his car one night, he tried his best to think up some way to make money. He just needed enough to scrape by. Once he turned eighteen, he was sure, he could try to get his GED. Try to start putting pieces of a life back together. And Shisui would be back to help him out. But at the moment...he was stuck.

...and then it hit him.

Literally.

Rolling over in the back seat, he gave a cry and a curse as something along the rear dash tumbled off and clunk him on the head. Scowling and rubbing at the sore spot, he spotted one of the few things he’d managed to keep with him.

His guitar.

...of course…!

The next morning, he found a decent parking lot in a grocery store nearby one of his hometown’s parks. Locking the cart and jogging across a few intersections, he found a bench sat along a fountain. Sighing to steady his nerves, he placed a cap on the ground before him...and started to play.

Admittedly, he was a little rusty - he hadn’t picked the thing up since Manami died. But he knew quite a few tunes, and after a while to warm up...was actually doing pretty well. A few people stopped to listen, some even coming up to throw a few spare coins or bills in his hat, which earned them sheepish, grateful smiles.

And that’s when she showed up.

Drawn by the music, a girl his age carefully maneuvered through the crowd, stopping at the rim of people and listening. This guy was actually pretty good, she couldn’t help but think.

And then he started playing a song she knew...and it was her turn to have an idea. Cane in hand as she carefully guided herself to the edge of the fountain, Hinata sat along the lip...and began to sing along.

Startled, Sasuke had actually fumbled a few notes, looking to his unexpected companion and earning amused laughter from his little crowd. She was angled away from him, just...sitting there singing.

And honestly? She was...really good!

Gawking at her a moment longer, Sasuke eventually reverted his focus, finishing up the song and earning applause. Several people came forward and dropped money, and guilt quickly bloomed in his gut. Scooping up the hat and muttering thanks, he approached the girl, still sitting along the fountain’s edge.

“Hey, uh…” How to address this… “Look, you obviously earned some of this. You want a few bucks?”

“Oh, no - I’m fine. I...I hope I didn’t interrupt…?”

“No! Actually I think that really helped,” he admitted, spare hand itching his neck. Watching her, he realized she wasn’t looking at him, instead staring a bit over his shoulder with oddly-pale eyes.

...wait a minute…

Glancing to her side, he saw the telltale white cane. And then it all fit together.

“Are...are you blind?”

As soon as he blurted it, he went red in embarrassment. That was so rude, he did not just do that...!

“I-I mean -?”

But she just laughed. “I am. And d-don’t worry, I get that a lot. I have minimum vision - I can perceive s-some light, but...otherwise, I’m unable to see most things. Hence the cane.”

“...wow. Uh...I’ve never met someone blind before.” Thus he...really had no idea how to react. “...you...you sing really well.”

“Thank you. I took choir when I was in school.”

Sasuke’s brow furrowed. But she looked his age… “...have you already graduated?”

“No...I had to quit. I...ran away from home a few months ago. For a while I stayed with a friend, but...it didn’t, um...d-didn’t work out. So now I’m doing this solo.”

“Blind?!”

Another laugh. “Well...so far it’s actually h-helped. People tend to be pretty sympathetic. But...it’s still difficult, yes.”

Sasuke scrambled to think of something - someone like her shouldn’t be navigating all of this alone! “W-well...I have a car! If...you need someplace to crash, I’d be fine with it. I can’t just leave you by yourself. That’s not right.”

Her lips curled in a somber smile. “Taking pity on me?”

“N-no, I just -!”

“I’m just teasing you. May I...ask you your name?”

“...Sasuke. Sasuke Uchiha.”

“I’m Hinata Hyūga. Nice to meet you.”

A bit of an awkward silence bloomed.

“...y’know, I...was serious. If you need someplace to go -?”

“I’m sure you’re crowded enough, but I appreciate it.”

“No, really. I can’t just walk away. My mom would kill me. Just…” A nervous hand ran back through his hair...and then he asked, “...what if we just...did this together?”

“What?”

“Y’know...all this. And the performing. I’ve only been here an hour but there’s at least twenty bucks in here. If we, y’know...pooled our talents, I bet we’d do even better. Maybe even make enough to scrape by. And that way neither of us have to go it alone.”

Hearing he was serious, Hinata hesitated. “...you really...want to help me?”

“Hell yeah I do. I know it’d work. We can at least try it today. See what happens. Either way, I’ll buy you some dinner for your help if you decide to leave. How about it?”

Milky eyes blinked, clearly taken aback. “...all right. Let’s try it…!”

And so, they put their heads together, plotting out songs they both knew. The rest of the afternoon was spent doing slightly-shaky duets, Sasuke filling in gaps to let Hinata’s voice rest.

By the end of the day...they’d made over a hundred dollars.

“Man, this is the way to do it!” Sasuke couldn’t help but whoop. “Here, this is your half...want to go get something to eat?”

“Oh, yes please...I’m s-starving!”

One round of fast food later, they made their way back to Sasuke’s car. “Well...it’s not much, but for now, it’s home.”

“I’d be happy to see it,” Hinata lightly joked. Carefully, she felt her way into the passenger seat. “...well, I suppose I’ve broken my promise to Father about g-getting into a car with strangers.”

Sitting in the driver’s side, Sasuke just snorted.

“So you sleep in here…?”

“Yeah. That’s about the only time I’m in it, honestly. Move it when I have to, but otherwise I’m out and about trying to scrounge up money. Food. A shower. Stuff like that. I’ve managed okay so far.”

“...may I ask...w-why you’re homeless?”

“Lost my parents when I was seven. Was traded around by family, but...weird stuff kept happening. Last straw was my aunt dying in a car accident. Hit by a drunk driver.”

“Oh no…”

“My cousin’s away at college, said I could have his car. Took some finagling to get it in my name, and paying for gas and insurance makes things hard, but...so far, so okay. Shisui - my cousin - says he’ll come back and let me room with him once he finished up school. He’s going for his masters right now. Another year or so and he’ll be back.”

“Wow…”

“...what about you? You said you ran away…?”

Hinata gave a small nod. “...my father has always been strict, but...the older I got, the worse his treatment of me became. He treated my condition as a burden. I wasn’t the p-perfect daughter he wanted. A friend offered to let me stay with her, so I left...but her parents ended up saying I couldn’t stay. I’ve stayed in a shelter most of the time since. But, um...it’s not ideal.”

“Neither is living in a car.”

“No...but I guess n-none of this is easy. Being street people, I mean. I could go back to the shelter, but…” She seemed to dim. “...it can be...unpleasant.”

“...well, my offer still stands. It’s not grand, but it’s something. I bet we can make enough to get by pretty easy, between the two of us. And we wouldn’t be alone.”

Absently, Hinata slowly turned her cane in her grip, thinking. “...all right. I-I’ll stay.”

“Just until my cousin comes back. Then you can bunk with us.”

“B-but -?!”

“The way I see it, we’re friends now,” Sasuke replied airily, clearly ignoring her refusal. “And as your friend, I’ll just have to let you couch surf...once I’ve got a couch. But couches aren’t good for sleeping, so...it’ll just have to be a bed. Then you and I can catch up on studies, get a GED, and then...go from there. Until then, we give the folks a little song and dance for our dinner, huh?”

After a pause, Hinata just giggled softly. “...all right. It’s a deal.”

.oOo.

So this is...very random. While the term 'street people' doesn't HAVE to refer to homeless people, it's the most typical example. I've had friends go through homelessness before, but know very little about it personally, so I didn't want to come off as either glorifying or ignorant. Hopefully I managed that much ^^; Anyway, uh...not sure how to really extrapolate about this one. I likely got a lot wrong, lol - but I tried. I just like the thought of them pairing up and helping each other out, using their talents to scrape by until they can (hopefully) get a second chance. Probably won't continue this one, but it was neat, I guess! But it's late, I'm very tired, and I better get to bed, so I'll leave it there. Thanks for reading!

#sasuhina #uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #homelessness //#blindness //#best years of your life [ au ]#365daysofsasuhina

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rocket-roach · 6 years ago

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Bruce Wayne has to go undercover working at Bat Burger. He hates his life. He tells no one, but somehow, everyone finds out anyway.

allow me to share some of my experiences working in retail pharmacy through bruce suffering in fast food

word count: 2164

“I’llbe dark for the next few weeks. Do not try to contact or find me. I can’tstress this enough,” Bruce said as he spun in his chain to face his assembledkids. “Gotham is resting on all of your shoulders. I know you can handle it. So,take care of her, okay? I’ll be back whenever the mission is done.”

Dicknibbled on his lip as his eyes flashed to the batsuit encased in glass.

“Do youwant me to go out as Batman?” He asked as his brothers and sisters eyestraveled to the offending case.

“No,”Bruce stood. “That won’t be necessary. We’ve gotten them quiet, and they shouldstay that way for a while. But don’t start any big cases until I get back. Thisis just patrol.”

Jasonpulled a pack of blue Camels out which was quickly followed by his Zippolighter. He lit up, blowing a smoke ring towards the roof of the cave. “What’sthe mission?”

“Stopsmoking in the cave. It upsets the bats. Also, that’s classified.”

“Classifiedfrom family?” Tim asked as he headed towards the fire extinguisher.

“I gethow the Justice League feels now,” Steph added.

“We’llkeep Gotham safe,” Dick said as Tim sprayed Jason with the fire extinguisher.

Withthe arrival of Bruce’s third decade of his vigilante career, he was getting damngood at putting on wigs and applying fake beards. He pulled the carefullyrumpled and wrinkled big box store button up from his suitcase and lookedaround at the crappy bedroom he’d rented in the larger, shittier two bedroomdeep within Gotham. He’d found this place after scouring Craigslist. It was 750square feet, with a gunk covered stove, blackened oven, and dish filled sink.Additionally, the bathroom appeared to have been designed in the 1920’s andthen had never been cleaned. His roommate was one Isaiah Addams.

Arecent grad from Gotham University, Isaiah was a country boy trying to make itbig in the big city. He was working at Big Belly Burger as well as a dive bardown the street. Isaiah was simple, ineffective, and for the sake of this case,an ideal roommate. But Isaiah only knew Bruce as Paul Scott, a down on his luckrecent divorcee who was out a wife, a job, and a house.

“HeyPaul?” Isaiah asked as Bruce finished checking over the resume he printed.

“Yeah?”

“Areyou uh, hungry? My friend Deb recommended this ramen place down the road. Shesaid I needed to try real ramen. I guess Maruchan isn’t the gold standard.”

“Thankyou, but I think I’ll pass. I need to save money until I can find a job.”

“Yourloss, man. By the way, Bat Burger is hiring. They’ll take anyone with a pulse.Have a good night.”

Brucewaved as Isaiah grabbed his keys, and slammed the rickety front door shut.Bruce ran a hand through his hair, letting out a heavy sigh. The apartmentreeked like the backed-up sewer that ran beneath it, and the stench of sewerwater was helping Bruce get further into character.

Thenext day found Bruce sitting in the chaotic closet that was the manager’soffice. Zach was a burly man, nearly too large to fit in the room. With eachmovement, the black swivel chair groaned.

“Yourresume’s impressive,” Zach started. “But you don’t have any food serviceexperience.”

“I’m aquick learner. I have some retail, customer service experience. To be honest,working in food is something I’ve always wanted to try. I’m always on time.”

“Youlive close?”

“Justdown the block.”

Zachsighed as he placed the resume on the television tray that was apparentlyserving as a desk. “Well, jobs yours. You can start today. Janey can starttraining you. You just missed the lunch rush, but by dinner we’ll have youflipping burgers.”

Janeywas a single mom of three, with only a GED and a 1990 silver Toyota Camry toher name. Her teeth were yellow from the cigarettes she’d been smoking sincesixteen and her hair had been permed into oblivion. But she was patient, whichmade his training go exceptionally.

“Alright,so Paul. You’re gonna get complainers. Old people, mainly. They’ll throw a fitif you so much as look at the burger wrong. The easiest thing to do is justredo it. But sometimes, they’ll throw a fit for a voucher. Cashiers can’t give‘em vouchers, and they know that. They’re gonna scream for the manager andZach’s always here. Just get Zach, sweetie. It’s less of a headache.”

Paulnodded, filing all this information away. He looked around at the fewcustomers, each sitting in their own booth, chowing down on the grease filledburgers with relish. Janey carried on through the training, showing him how tooperate the registers, which codes to call when he needed change, or when therewas too much cash in register. Then she moved him back into the kitchen. Oldfridges and even older ovens lined the walls, covered with black grease. He wasafraid to look into the grease traps.

Janeypassed him off to Daniel, the cook for the midshift.

“Youever flip burgers before?”

“No,”he answered honestly.

“Youabout to learn.”

Eventually,Daniel banished Paul from the kitchen. He had burned just one too many burgers,and that was how he found himself standing back at the register next to Jackie.It was five o’clock.

Brucewatched as the parking lot began to fill up with the cars of the people justgetting off work from Gotham’s downtown. Janey took a steadying breath, and thesmell of her most recent cigarette filled Paul’s nostrils.

DickGrayson walked in, his eyes rimmed by dark circles.

“Lemmeget Bat-beef deluxe with cheese and no tomatoes, please, Janey.”

“Surething, hon. You want to Jokerize that?” Janey asked as she typed in the order.

“Pleaseand thank you,” Dick narrowed his eyes as he took in Paul. “Haven’t seen you inhere before.”

“He’s anew hire. Name’s Paul. Little shy but got a good head on his shoulders. Paul, Iwant you to meet Dick. He’s a cop.”

Dick’seyes were still narrowed.

“Paul,huh?”

“Uh,yes sir. Today’s my first day.”

“Anyoneever tell you, you kind of look like Bruce Wayne?”

Afterthat, and a few more days of training, Paul offered to take theovernight shift. As he wiped down the tables, counting the customers in therestaurant, the amount of food they’d ordered, he decided that there was no waythis franchise was making enough money to stay open twenty-four hours a day andpay workers and other bills. When he was back in his mold-ridden apartment, headded notes to the ever-growing file he kept stashed underneath his mattress.He dressed in the ill-fitting batsuit and began his trek towards his job.

Theyellow streetlamps were bright enough to see the sidewalk, but not brightenough to illuminate the cracks and uneven slabs. He had a few skinned knees toprove it. But tonight, had been fall free. He stretched his arms above hishead, his neck cracking loudly as Sal, a regular, stomped back up to theregister.

Heslammed a half-eaten Mister Freeze dog onto the counter.

“I onlygot half a dog!”

Brucewatched as the ketchup oozed. “I gave you the full dog you ordered, Sal.”

“Don’t‘Sal’ me, Paul. You only gave me halfa dog. I want my money back. And a voucher. You know what? Get me your manager.I want to talk to Zach.”

“Hewent home for the day.”

“Thencall him! I can wait.”

“It’stwo in the morning. Zach won’t be in till about eight. I can get you Jazz,she’s working now.”

“No. Iwant to speak with the store manager. I want you fired.”

Brucealso wanted to be fired.

“I’llbuy his dog,” a deep voice that Bruce knew very well, cut in. “Sal, do you wantanother Freeze dog?”

“No!”

Redhood turned to face Sal, his hands drifting towards his hip holsters.

“I’mgonna ask one more time.”

Brucequickly picked up on Janey’s tactic of going outside for a smoke. He didn’t smoke;maintaining his peak physical form and all that, but getting the fresh, sewagescented air of Gotham did help clear his head. Usually. When Jason wasn’tsmoking a cigarette three feet from him.

“Howlong?” Jay asked.

“Howlong what?”

“Don’tplay dumb, old man. I know who you are. Who you really are.”

“I’mPaul,” Bruce wanted to yell at him.

“Okay, Paul,” he said after blowing a smokeright. “Why are you here?”

“I needmoney,” Paul was starting to get a little pissed.

Jasonlaughed as he crushed the butt under his boot. “I need money, too. Yet, Ididn’t realize we were so destitute that you had to pick up a side gig at BigBelly.”

“I haveto go back to work,” Bruce’s face was pinched. If his damn kids didn’t stop,the whole thing would be blown. “Have a good day, sir.”

“’Sir’,” Jason started laughing. “You’re agoddamn hoot, Paul.”

Paulwas locked into his room, buried in his notes when he heard Isaiah shouting forhim. He ignored him, hoping that Isaiah would shut up and let him work inpeace. It usually worked in the past. Usually. But soon the sounds of a scufflereached his bedroom.

Aheadache bloomed behind his eyes as he heard Tim Drake shouting his way toPaul’s room.

“Listen,kid, I dunno ho yougot in here, but you have to leave!”

“Isaiah,right? I just really need to talk to Bru- Paul. He’s behind… on his loanpayments.”

“Youlook like you’re twelve!” Isaiah said.

“Internship,”Tim fired back before he jimmied open Paul’s lock.

Paulhad been desperately trying to shove all his papers under the mattress, butthis damn kid was too fast. He darted over, snatching up as many papers as hecould. Bruce lunged for him. Tim dodged.

“Goddamnit!What part of ‘Dark, do not contact me,’was unclear to you all?” Bruce nearly snarled.

“It wasfine until we realized you’re trying to dethrone the Falcones. They knowsomeone is working against them from the inside, Bruce,” Tim waved as hescanned Bruce’s notes. “You’re writing as Paul, not Bruce. There are key factsmissing from this case—”

Brucewalked over to Tim. He grabbed the back of the boy’s shirt, and bodily liftedhim into the air. It was only then that Tim saw the anger bubbling in Bruce’seyes. He’d thought his dad would have been happy to see him after so many weeksgone, but Bruce just tired, frustrated, and bordering on pissed.

“Gohome,” he said lowly. “Tell everybody else this area is off limits. If I see any of you, you’ll all begrounded for the rest of your lives. Clear?”

“Crystal,”Tim gulped, slowly curling into a small ball.

Paulwas coming up on two months on being undercover. After his conversation withTim, his children’s visits had cut down significantly. But tonight, as he threwthe heavy black trash bags into the dumpster behind the building, he noticedone small shadow that was out of place. He wiped his hands on his pants legs, looking up at his daughter.

“Cass.”

Theshadow disappeared for a moment, then appeared right in front of him. Her darkeyes were staring intensely at him; and with that Bruce realized she was aboutto ream him out. Her hands began flying, and it took every ounce of Bruce’sstrength not to immediately head home and start packing up his stuff.

“Iknow. I’m nearly done.”

“You’relying. To me,” she said.

“I’llkeep trying till you buy it,” He smiled sheepishly.

“Even Icould tell that you were,” Damian’s voice reached him from above.

Brucelooked up, mildly impressed with his youngest’s ability to sneak. He wasgetting better. Glacial blue eyes flickered to Cass, and she was grinningproudly.

“Oh,god. You two have been teaming up,” he groaned. “Fine, two more weeks. I’llhave it all wrapped up.”

It didn’ttake two weeks. It didn’t even take one. The Falcone’s goons blew up hisapartment as he was leaving for work that night. Isaiah, thankfully, had gone outto sing in the subway. Bruce sighed as the flaming remnants of his notesfloated to the ground. He went to work after giving a statement to the policeand ignoring the way Gordon kept staring at him.

The doorcreaked open.

Insidesat Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin, Orphan, Robin and Spoiler. Hog tied at theirfeet sat the Falcone family, gagged and growling.

“Paul,”Nightwing smiled. “Did you know you were working for the most notorious crimefamily in Gotham?”

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