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outpost-31 · 2 years

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wow atlas posting ocs? that's rare

it's hot as balls outside and I'm dying so take some jojos ocs. part 5. ask me things about them, mutuals. I love them. please. please. (chanting)

this is a thick packed-full post so it's under the cut. no art though sorry I just need to write them down somewhere

Just a group of losers that's It. Not called on often, but they deal with situations regarding debts/negotiations in certain cities. Several also work as paid mercenaries or informants for missions regarding Passione's members and their personal grudges. it has nothing to do with the boss, its not an order (and possibly not allowed), they're just in it for cash and reputation.

I like making lists. this isnt even adequate writing about them theyre interesting i promise ihave so much stuff but im just trying to dump the basics as a collective so i dont forget

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Malvolio " Attore " Di Maggio

- 20, 6'1" (185 cm). Afro-Latino (Venezuelan)

- Agender (He/They) + Bi and Demiromantic

- Aloof, very blunt when he speaks. Honestly, kind of an asshole. Not even in an edgy bad boy way, hes just a cunt. He does it on purpose to drive people off, because he's horrible at getting close to people and doesn't want them hurt.

- His only role on his team is as a hired mercenary; he refuses to help with anything else due to personal goal, and the fact he joined the team for something " peaceful. " The only other people he'll go on assignments with are Breve and, reluctantly, Maledetta. He also refuses to accept the term ' assassin.'

- Smoker.

- Saddled with so much regret it could kill just about 5 grown men. In desperate need of counseling.

- exploding everybody who interacts with him in his mind constantly

- Tends to go off on his own. Absent from collective meetings often, takes lone jobs constantly, etc etc. He cares about everybody else, but he doesn't consider himself one of them and isolates on instinct (get therapy)

- Surprisingly great with kids. Breve is the only one he speaks more than a few sparse sentences to, and is actually kind with them. The mandated babysitter

- Ruthless in battle. Lacks any sympathy for just about anybody he faces off against, which enables his stand to be so horrifying without any guilt. He also carries eternal grudges. But, he's not an extremely violent person- in that aspect he's actually pretty average. More bark than bite apart from his vendetta.

- His stand, My Fairy King (after the Queen song), is.. Interesting, to say the least. much like Moody Blues, it's a manifestation of his crippling guilt. However, it's in a much more offensive way than the passive effect of that stand. Its power enables him to (metaphorically) enter your head and abuse your greatest fears, warping them into debilitating flashbacks and spectres that are near indistinguishable from reality. This makes fighting him quite difficult, though it is combatable. The drawback, however, is that using it can start to affect him too- triggering him into his own flashbacks if he isn't careful. Typically, with several opponents or overuse

Personality Muse: Yotsuyu Yagiyama, Oyecomova, Risotto Nero (jesus christ, man )

Playlist

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Raffaela " Felice " Gelli:

- 22, 5'10" (177 cm). White Italian.

- Cis Woman (She/Her) + Lesbian

- Deaf

- Very dependable and laid-back. Chill, fun, non-judgmental- etc. etc. She tries her Damnedest to not adhere to strict rules (tending to include the law itself) and promotes a very carefree attitude, making her excellent with most people. Even Attore. Her leadership skills are just awful, though, so she more tags along on assignments than accepts them on her own.

- That doesn't mean she isn't incredibly dangerous. She just masks it under layers of serenity.

- Works mostly as an informant, since the job is at her comfort level. She's beyond capable of other tasks, and has even tagged along with Ruscello on a few jobs, but its because of preference over ability. Plus, she's probably the most capable.

- The information she can dig up because of her childhood is unbelievable. She could doxx your entire extended family and your dog within the hour.

- Incapable of cooking. You know the Dubious Food from botw. yeah

- Has never sent a formal email in her life.

- Her stand, Rain Dogs (after the Tom Waits song) reflects her carefree ideology and urge to bring that freedom to others by being an essential support stand; with touch, it is able to manipulate near any chemical in the human body- though, at different levels, and depending entirely on emotional strength. She can't heal wounds, exactly, but her stand has a habit of clinging to shoulders during fights and pumping endorphins. It can also be incredibly dangerous, if used correctly, since an overload of anything can be deadly. The drawback is its fragility.

- (Not a unique concept, by any stretch, but one that reflects her well. Is it similar to even atleast 1 semi-canon stand? yes? thats intentional. )

Personality Muse: Gyro Zeppeli, Karera Sakunami, Guido Mista

Playlist

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Chisaka " Breve " Hiraoka

- 14, 4'8" (142 cm). Japanese-Indian

- Genderfluid (any pronouns) + Unlabeled

- The only natural-born stand user in the group, Breve manifested their stand before ever joining Passione. As such, they've had quite a bit of time to harness and refine its ability, despite being so young

- Selective mute and a pit of repressed emotions. This child is a ticking time bomb. They're very polite in interactions and resilient despite their situation, but due to their upbringing, tend to be incapable of letting themself show any sign of emotion without guilt. Their eyes and face are constantly devoid of emotion to a worrying degree.

- They work mostly as a debt collector and assassin alongside Attore, as he's the only person in the group they feel genuinely comfortable around. Like an older sibling, as they never had one.

- If you read their mind it would be this specific scream as loud as possible near constantly. Their face is calm but their mind is sobbing and punching holes in walls

- Very knowledgeable about illegal dealings, their workings, and the art of blackmail/manipulation due to being born in a family that was.. Well-versed in that knowledge.. If they hadn't been shipped off to Italy, they'd be considered an heir

- Their stand, Dear Prudence (after the Siouxsie and the Banshees version specifically), is honed and refined to a deadly perfection. While bound to their body, and meant for defense, they have manipulated it into something more dangerous with their creativity. They're able to cloak themselves with layers of invisible shields, radiating outward from their body much like a suit or bubble. They arent indestructible, but become stronger with environmental conditions such as heat- allowing them to tank atleast one harsh blow and retaliate. They repair themselves quite quickly, though not instantaneously- and, can be used to inflict extreme damage with physical blows. If one were to strike and shatter on your jaw, it wouldn't be pretty

- While this means that for function, their stand requires knowledge of hand-to-hand combat, that isnt any problem for them. Getting your shit rocked by a 14 year old would be humiliating, but it's about fate for anybody who crosses them. Not to say they're invincible, but they're.. Definitely a small target

Personality Muse: doesn't really have one. Kei Nijimura, outwardly, if anything.

Playlist

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Tederich " Pallottola " Altomare

- 30, 5'11" (180 cm). German-Mexican

- Trans Man (He/Him) + Gay and Asexual

- Literally just some guy

- Collects framed insects. He seems especially fond of moths and mantises.

- Very serious and maybe even a bit dull, but he's quite caring. He is incredibly strict with himself and takes his role very seriously- he's highly protective of those around him, with a surprising tolerance for extremely debilitating and stressful situations. His climb into this position wasn't exactly merciful, though. His eyes are too full of sorrow to look at for long

- Designated leader and mentor of the team. Like Maledetta, he is quite adaptable, and takes on any available role- usually as a guide for others present. He prefers to be an informant.

- His Stand, Bullet With Butterfly Wings (after the Smashing Pumpkins song) is an object that takes the form of a small, red-tinted glass vial. Small enough to comfortably hide in your palm. The dark liquid inside seems to regenerate infinitely on a timed cycle- this liquid can be applied onto anything via any method (ingesting, splashing..), and will immediately harden into a tough crystalline substance when it latches onto a person or object.

It has to be solid, however. in liquids it remains suspended.

In this instant, it is able to immediately affect the stability of anything; person, or object. Physical or even mental, and it's effect will last until it is scraped from your body or the affected area

- While this doesn't exactly seem special, it can turn battles in his favor, even if a bit dangerous. Crumbling buildings allowing for escape and cover, immediately unbalanced or distressed enemies giving him an edge in combat, etc.. It doesn't seem like much, but his potential for creativity is.. Unmatched. He's previously used it in ways comparable to a poison, hiding the substance in drinks and simply allowing those he wants gone to succumb to asphyxiation from the sudden cluster of crystals forming on the inside of their throat blocking their airway.

Personality Muse: Weather Report, (part 4) Jotaro Kujo, Bruno Bucciarati. Due to about one trait each, but it's not nothing. he's barely like them, actually.

Playlist

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Thorello " Ruscello " Abadie

- 20, 5'8" ( 172 cm).... French

- Cis Man (He/Him) + Bi

- So debilitatingly anxious and paranoid that he's constantly checking behind him and scanning his surroundings. Alone, in public, with friends..

- His upbringing was essentially in a horror movie " suspicious sheltered town with ominous spooky things going on. " Residual panic from that and the town's beliefs. He thinks they're hunting him. Whether or not they are is up for debate

- Nail-Biter

- Only wears tight clothing because it makes him feel.. safe. The compression is comforting for him

- Debt-Collector. His stand can be. Surprisingly good for torture?

- His stand, Sex & Candy (after the Marcy Playground song), is automatic, ranged, and highly protective. Like most automatic stands, it is fairly simple, but ruthless. If anything the user considers a threat enters within 10 meters, Sex & Candy will activate and automatically begin to home in on them- though, slowly. While it has no strength to speak of, forcing Ruscello to defend himself, once it touches you.. It's not exactly a problem. It turns any being it comes in contact with incorporeal, unable to interact with anything or anyone but the stand itself, and this effect remains for as long as you remain in range- and, if you remain within that range while incoporeal for too long, it will begin to permanently dematerialize your body: beginning with fingers and toes. However, this process is slow (but painful) and takes atleast 5 minutes of exposure to the 10- meter span. This makes fighting him require alot of creativity, or a long-ranged power of your own.

Personality Muse: Pannacotta Fugo, Rykiel. I don't know, man

Playlist

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Xaviera " Maledetta " Cavalli

- 23, 5'6" (167 cm). White Italian

- Cis Woman (She/Her) + Lesbian

- Used to be a serial robber (and more! alot more!)

- " Oh she's a little bit fucked up actually. "

- Crazed. Obsessed. The whole deal. She's awful at getting along with people, and simply joined the team for sanctuary from the consequences of her.. Horrible horrible actions

- The most diverse of the team when it comes down to jobs. She takes on nearly every role depending on what they need, and takes a strange joy in seeing the cash it brings in even if the task involves the harm of others (which, it usually does).

- Her stand, Everlong (after the Foo Fighters Song), is long-range and is another with a humanoid appearance. It's abilities vary, but all seem to revolve around inflicting harm- in increasingly worse ways. Its physical power isn't too impressive, but if it manages to land a hit, it can become devastating quickly. While this doesn't apply to wounds from its fists, if the stand manages to cut you with any of the sharp barbs on its body, the wound begins to slowly spread outward from the source. This keeps it from closing, and can be especially dangerous due to these barbs also inflicting an anticoagulant affect on the victim. With no blood clotting, and a quickly spreading wound.. Defeating her or exiting her range, or simply lasting the time before it wears off, causes the anticoagulant to wear off. The wounds stay

- Uncommonly, her stand is one with its own sentience; and, thankfully, it seems kinder than Maledetta herself- almost pitying those she fights. Stupidly, the 2 get into frequent arguments. It's clearly anoyed by her arrogance, but follows orders regardless

Personality Muse: Yukako Yamagishi, Gwess, Terunosuke Miyamoto (yikes. not because of teru though.)

Playlist

#WOW thats alot #mutuals please ask me about them im begging you. i have way more ocs but i think about this group the most. i need to talk about them #also for them i refused to go with the part 5 food names im sorry. they go by alias(s) though which is close enough #no art to go with this because i cant get their designs to look right rn. tripping and falling #jjba ocs #rambles #also here this is how I'm posting the playlists #I PROMISE THEYRE MORE INTERESTING AND IN DEPTH THAN THEY LOOK ITS JUST BASIC INFORMATION

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leonbloder · 2 years

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A Better Story of A Bigger God

A church member recently gave me a copy of a terrible letter she received in 1982 from the elders of the church she attended as a young person.

The letter, which was typed on a piece of paper, and signed by all of the elders (all men, of course), was apparently prompted by her lack of church attendance (which was due to a health issue, by the way), but it took an incredibly nasty tone.

The elders of her church quoted all kinds of Scripture, all entirely out of context and awfully misused, and then said this:

We are concerned about your soul's welfare, and fear that you cannot go to heaven in your present condition.

So to make sure that she knew they meant business about her repenting of the sin of not coming to church on the regular, these charming fellows offered the following solution:

"...we are withdrawing fellowship from you. Members of this congregation will have no social contact with you. We take this action in love..."

Yeah, you have to dig that last part, right? I'm sure she felt the love. As I read that letter, I was saddened but not that surprised. I've heard more than my fair share of those stories, and I've seen firsthand the effects of that kind of ostracization.

When I worked at Walt Disney World many years ago, I learned that several of my employees belonged to the same church. They ate lunch, hung out after work, and were always together in a tight-knit community.

Then one of them got kicked out of the church for moving in with her boyfriend (they weren't married). Their church leaders told the rest of the group that they had to ostracize her, so they did.

I will never forget watching her eat her lunch alone and how the people who had been her fast friends studiously avoided speaking to her. Eventually, she transferred to another department.

At that time, I did not identify as a Christian, though I had spent most of my life in the Church up to that point. I chalked that moment up to scores of others I'd seen like it---all reasons I wanted nothing to do with the Church or Christianity.

But years later, I discovered that there were other ways to be Christian that were grace-filled, loving, and focused on Jesus.

I have also realized that people need to know this, especially those who have experienced the trauma of rejection because of people like these dudes in the letter sent to my church member.

Nicole Serrano is a former megachurch worship leader who wrote songs for huge Christian music artists like Chris Tomlin. When she came out as a lesbian, she lost everything--her job, a record deal, gigs, you name it.

She didn't lose her faith, though. Somehow she held on to her faith in a God who was bigger, more accepting, and unconditionally loving than she had been taught in her youth.

She recently wrote a song entitled "Time for Everything," which I love because it speaks directly to the need for a better story of a bigger God. Here's a bit of the lyrics:

I know the truth is worth fighting for But something isn't lining up anymore 'Cause a god who'd rather die Than not have us right by his side Is more about love than we'll ever know They're more about love than we'll ever know...

Come on! How powerful is that? Powerful enough to change the world, I'm thinking. God knows we need some change---in the Church, for sure, but also in our hearts and minds.

And if you have ever felt rejected by the Church, you don't have to carry that around with you any longer. Many loving, caring, open, and accepting communities of faith believe in a bigger God. I'm proud to be a pastor in one of them.

You can let those feelings of rejection go---they are not from God, not by a long shot. You can live in hope and joy of a God big enough to love without conditions.

May it be so. And may the grace and peace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you now and always. Amen.

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its5amgotosleep · 3 years

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Catch me if you can | Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: You jump out of a window for Wanda to catch you.

Warning: Cursing, explosions, and knives

Let me know if there's more

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You and the team were sent on a mission to take down one of Hydra's large hide out. The Maximoff twins were also put in the mission despite only being an addition to the team for only a few weeks.

"You know you Steve, having to twins here wasn't such a bad idea." You talked through the earpiece as making your way to the center. "They'll be fine Y/N, you worry too much." Steve came down to you bodies of Hydra agents on the ground. "You worry too little."

You were one some of the people that welcomed them with open arms and a warm smile, even despite Ultron and Sokovia.

Steve went out to the halls stopping Hydra agents from getting to you as you hacked into their plans. "How sweet of you to tale them down for me Rogers." "Just get ut and get out Y/N." "Ok capsicle whatever you say." You rolled your eyes.

"Piet, Wans how you two holding up?" You asked as you put the flash drive in your left boob. "I'm doing good haven't decapitated anyone yet." Wanda said through coms and you widened your eyes.

"You know I'm 12 minutes older than you right, but you scare the living shit out of me sometimes." Pietro admitted. "Language."

As you walked down the hall you saw a giant buit hydra guy stomping his way towards you. "Hey Clint and Nat, how's the bombs doing." You began to walk backwards away from the large man.

"We got them done already thanks to the hella fast kid." "Ok good, Steve I thiught yoy got all of them but there's a big guy that looks like he wants to eat me alive."

"You aren't gonna go easy on me are you." You attempted to slide under him but he just grabbed you and slammed you against the wall.

"I guess that's a no then." You stuggled as he squeezed your neck draining the air out of your lungs. You retracted the claws from your gloves and began digging them into his arm setting you free and granting the air for your depraved lungs.

"Y/N you ok? Talk to me." Wandas voice filled with concern boomed through your earpiece as you wheezed for air. "Can't really talk since that mother forker almost squeezed me to death."

After being thrown around like a ragdoll you got up again and put your hands up even if your body screamed at you to stop. "I can do this all day big guy." You say as begins to charge at you again.

"That's my line." Steve said through the earpiece. "I know I know." You admitted as you charged at the large man knife in each hand.

"You really need to stop throwing me around dude." You twisted the knives in both of his shoulders. You took this chance to run. "This would be a really good time to blow the place."

"Is anyone on the east side of the building? Jesus this place has really long halls." You jumped swiftly through in front of a window.

"I am, where are you?" Wanda looked around not seeing you outside. "Great I'm gonna jump out the window, you're gonna have to catch me."

"What?! Are you out of your mind?! I can't Y/N." Wanda frantically said as she saw you several stories up. "Look, I know you're still not on oar with your powers yet but I trust you to catch me."

"Then trusting me is the stupidest thing thing you've done, I can't-" Wanda was cut off when she saw you jump out the window despite her protests.

"I take back about thingking of taking you out" She caught you with her powers but couldn't control it for long so she caught you with her arms instead.

She made a forcefield around the two of you as the place exploded and debris flying everywhere. She broke the forcefield arou d you two after the explosion and looked at you like you were crazy.

"Are fucking crazy! Why would you jumo out the window like that! You could've atleast counted to three before jumping jesus christ." She scolded but at the same time checked you for injuries.

"But you still caught me." You smiled at her making Wanda's heart melt. "Y/N? Are you alright?" Steve checked as the rest regrouped.

"Yeah I'm fine. Thanks to Wanda I get to live another day." Y/N joked like she wasn't thrown around like a ragdoll and then jumping out of a window.

"Don't do that again..please." Wanda mumbled the last bit, you wrapped your arms around her nape pulling her in an embrace.

Catching her off guard but wrapped her arms around you pulling you closer to her. "So you aren't planning on taking me out?" You pulled away from the embrace.

"I'll think about it." She said staying true to what she said earlier. "If you won't ask her out I'll gladly do so." Pietro walked to the two smirking.

She pulled you close to her playfully glaring at her twin. "How about next week, dinner?" She looked at you her a blush lightly painting her cheeks.

"I'll think about it." It was your turn to tease her, she mocked a hurt expression as you hit her lightly on the arm.

"Come one lesbians, you two can poubce on each other when we're home." Nat patted both your shoulders with a knowing smirk along her face.

"Nat oh my god." You faked a disgusting face as you walked to the quintjet with the twins behind you.

"We aren't there.. Yet" Wanda whispered to your ear as she walked passed you giving your butt a light squeeze which left you there in shock as you looked at Pietro.

"I didn't teach her that."

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#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x you #wanda maximoff x female reader #avenger x reader #natasha romanoff #wanda and pietro #pietro maximoff #steve rogers #captain america

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apenitentialprayer · 2 years

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I'd like your take on this, I'm 16, going on 17. I'm a lesbian, for sure. I know I'll never be able to fall in love with a man. What do I do? So my only choice is between burning in hell for all eternity or being perpetually alone down here? I've thought about it for quite a long time, you seem to know quite a bit about religion, and it's not really a question I can ask anyone in real life.

I saw this before Mass this morning; you were my intention for today, anon. I'm ashamed to say that I briefly, and selfishly, thought about just not answering this message:

First, because I wasn't sure if a random straight guy in his 20s is really the most appropriate person to be talking to you about this. But, if you want other perspectives after this, I follow several LGBT Catholics (both those who follow Church teaching and who conscientiously object); I can dig around and see if any of them are open to talking to you.

Second, because I find this to be an issue that causes me a lot of heartache and distress. But you just said that you have no one to talk to in person about it, and I imagine your heartache is uncontestably worse than mine. So how about I get my head out of my ass?

So, there are two things I think I need to say. The first one is not easy, and I'm not going to sugarcoat it. The Catholic Church makes it... abundantly clear that it considers all sexual activity outside of the marriage of one man to one woman to be sinful. And that seems to be the more or less unanimous teaching in the Christian tradition for the first 1900 years or so. I have seen arguments, either about the grammar of the Scriptural text or interpretations of it, that argue that this is a misinterpretation or mistranslation, but the ones I have looked into are (to me) unconvincing and go against how the tradition itself has (again, pretty much unanimously) understood those passages.

But, now that we got that out of the way, there's a quote by Cardinal Basil Hume that I want to share with you, anon. It reads:

Love between two persons, whether of the same sex or of a different sex, is to be treasured and respected. “Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus.” we read (Jn 11:5). When two persons love, they experience in a limited manner in this world what will be their unending delight when one with God in the next. To love another is in fact to reach out to God, who shares his lovableness with the one we love. To be loved is to receive a sign or share of God’s unconditional love. To love another, whether of the same sex or of a different sex, is to have entered the area of the richest human experience.

And I want to drive that first point home. Love between two persons, whether of the same sex or a different sex, is to be treasured and respected. Authentic love, the kind that does not objectify another for our sake but wills the best for the person receiving our love, is always from God. And I am saddened that you are worried that you might have to live a life of nothing but loneliness.

You're 16 going on 17. You've got what will hopefully be a very long life in front of you, a life where you will love and be loved by a variety of different people in a lot of different ways. That's one of your callings, and no one can take that from you. And this might mean you need to do some soul-searching to determine how you express that love, and in which ways you choose to do so. But... you can do that. I'm not here to tell you what to do in the complexities and obscurities of your life - I'm not qualified, even if I had the arrogance to think that I could.

But I want you to know that, in whatever circumstances you find yourself in, and whatever courses of action you choose for yourself, you are loved. And that all love comes from Him who is the source of all love.

And I'll be praying for you, for your eternal salvation of course, but also that you find fulfilment in the relationships that you develop in your life. If you're the praying type, I really hope you'll do the same for me.

#asks

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whentherewerebicycles · 3 years

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wow okay i am skipping the lingerie party lol and am instead going to just briefly jot down some thoughts before i go to sleep and wake up at 5 for my flight tomorrow morning. jesus christ i have ONE MILLION thoughts and feelings about this weekend. i want to preface this by saying that on the whole, it was a fine social experience! it was nowhere near as awkward or painful as i was expecting. or like, parts of it were painful, but it was 100% to do with my own complicated feelings about literally every part of this tradition and the wedding industry in general lol, and not anything to do with the people themselves. the other women were friendly and very welcoming, i made an event best friend who was wonderful company, and it was really fun to get to spend time with both my sister-in-law and her older sister, who was so charming and wonderful. i’m glad i came even though thinking about the $$ i spent on this trip makes me physically gag.

but okay i want to just record some THOUGHTS that maybe i will continue unpacking with some distance. i feel likeeeee okay here are my thoughts.

the social norms around femininity are just a fucking minefield and i feel like i really just gotta keep walking back the impulse to judge other women for the choices they make as they navigate around the manifold traps and snares and half-buried landmines that constitute the landscape of being a woman. like jesus christ. it’s so fucked up, it’s so fucked up, the received and socially enforced norms of femininity are just so fucked up. I think ALL THE FUCKING TIME of this margaret atwood poem i love so much, which was REALLY on my mind this weekend:

How can I teach her some way of being human that won’t destroy her?

I would like to tell her, Love is enough, I would like to say, Find shelter in another skin.

I would like to say, Dance and be happy. Instead I will say in my crone’s voice, Be ruthless when you have to, tell the truth when you can, when you can see it.

I feel like the first bit was very much on my mind throughout the weekend, but those last three lines have come to the forefront over the course of this last day, as i have tried to do some Thinking about what i observed/experienced/felt this weekend. whether or not this is what it means in the context of the poem, tell the truth when you can, when you can see it, expresses something of my complex feelings: I don’t know that I can tell the truth about femininity because I don’t know that I can see it. i am both too close to it/still emotionally entangled in it and too far from it to know which parts of it are ‘real’ and which parts are just performance.

i feel like one thing that struck me this weekend, in ways that i don’t know if i’ve noticed as much before, was that so much of the things women say to each other or do in these social contexts is performative, and they know on some level it’s a performance, but we are all going through the motions of doing and saying the expected things anyway. that has not always been clear to me. i have spent so much of my own life as a woman thinking that other women perfectly, seamlessly, naturally embodied the norms of femininity, and i was the only one (or part of a group of only ones) who couldn’t remember my lines, or kept fumbling my cues, or felt so painfully, self-consciously aware that i was playing a role that i could never deliver a convincing performance. but this weekend, after the initial social panic had passed, i started trying to get out of my own head a little bit and look for things that disproved the very strong theory i had brought into the weekend. and of course then i started seeing more and more of the little moments where women say one thing and do another, or profess one belief/conviction but then the whole corpus of their lived experiences and choices contradicts that stated belief, or whatever. and also just like, moments of pathos, where someone i had judged harshly at the beginning of the weekend offhandedly revealed something about her past that really changed my perception of her, or at least made me think like, ah god, i have to have empathy for and with this person, because i think she might be a complex person just like me, with an intricate inner life that her performance partially reveals and partially occludes from view, and agh, it sucks to have to think of people as complicated instead of as safely two-dimensional & easy to dismiss, and the reason it sucks is because then it forces you to realize that you share more with this person than you’d like to admit, and that some of your wounds are the same, even if you dealt with those wounds (the wounds of girlhood, or rather the emotional wounds that our culture inflicts upon girls, which then become tangled up in complex and painful ways with the lived experience of girlhood itself) in really different ways.

but also ugh. we are all performing gender norms but there is just something that does not feel playful at all about embodying conventional femininity. i can’t think of a better way to phrase that right now but it’s like.. the performance isn’t fun. it doesn’t seem to be fun. i don’t know that anyone here was having fun doing it, even if they were having fun being with each other. but it was like doing the intensely gendered social rituals was like, the price of admission? like it was the toll we had to pay to be together spending time in the company of other women? i don’t know man but it fucking exhausts me. like i can push myself to stretch my genuine empathy and sense of solidarity with other women much further than my knee-jerk judgmental reaction, but i can’t ever get to a place where i find any of those social rituals anything other than fucking exhausting. they feel so fucking joyless. they feel like things that many women have internalized as ‘things we must do in order to have relationships with other women.’ (please do not even get me started on how exhausting heteronormativity is i think i could write an entire other essay on how women use these bachelorette party-type rituals to spend time with their closest female friends, but the whole event is still implicitly organized around men, and these women’s male partners are still positioned as the priority in their lives, and the whole event is framed as like, a last burst of intense closeness between women before the bride is delivered over to her husband. like i KNOW that this is not how women think of it but all the RHETORIC of the bachelorette party, the little events and rituals and games, the little comments everyone makes all fucking weekend, good fucking lord, my jaw is so TENSE.)

anyway god i just AGHHHH. idk sorry this is definitely not coherent at ALL because i’m tired and still need a bit more distance/time to process some of this. i guess here is one last thing i want to register before i sleep. i am in my 30s now and i am living a life that is so, so far removed from the social world i grew up in. marriage is not a norm among my friend group, almost all of my female friends are queer women, many women i know are not partnered and have no interest in being partnered, and the friends who are in heterosexual relationships tend to be in very gender-balanced relationships or slightly nontraditional relationships where it feels like both partners have engaged in conscious reflection about what they want their relationship to look/feel like. also i now date women, am out as a lesbian, and spend most of my time teaching/working with queer- and trans/nonbinary-identified kids.

so like, the world i live in now is just so different from the world i grew up in. and sometimes it is easy for me to kind of downplay the intensity of my own gender distress as a teen and young adult, or to sort of - act like it was a phase in my life that had much more to do with me than with the social environment i lived in. i don’t mean ‘phase’ in a dismissive ‘those feelings weren’t real’ kind way, but more like, ‘oh that was just part of the normal growing pains of figuring out who you are and what kind of person you want to be as an adult - everybody pretty much goes through some version of that.’ it’s true that everyone DOES go through some version of that, as just like, part of the process of individuation in that age range. but also like. idk man. being back in this environment - straight white women from the midwest and south, all engaging in the rituals of heterosexual white femininity - was just so intense and so MUCH, and it brought back a flood of feelings and visceral memories that i feel like i will need to spend some time sorting through over the next few weeks. like, what i experienced back then really WAS gender distress, and it was so, so distressing. i spent the years from age 11ish to 24ish existing with this constant lowgrade baseline feeling of wanting to claw my own fucking skin off because my own gendered body felt like such a prison, and i sometimes felt like i literally wanted to destroy my own body because i could not yet conceive of an alternative to inhabiting that body or playing the role that had been handed down to me. until i started reading queer memoirs and inhaling lesbian media and (especially) reading about queer femme identities, i literally did not have an image or any kind of felt sense of what another way of inhabiting my own body might look/feel like. i literally could not imagine it!!!

and that is why the distress feels so distressing, and becomes internalized in such violent ways, i think. because it’s the blind, mindless panic of a trapped and wounded animal. except that you lack any real understanding of the larger social forces at work, or any language with which to describe or conceptualize what social norms are or how they’re enforced. so in your mind, the only thing you can see wounding you is your own gendered body, or the way that gendered body is socially 'read’ by others. and that is why you want to claw your own fucking skin off, just literally dig your nails into your own flesh and claw it the fuck off. because you can’t see a norm, but you can see your gendered body, and you can see the ways that it causes other people to react to you, or treat you, or hold you to a certain set of expectations, and so in your mind you are like: this must be destroyed. in your mind you are like, the only way out is to get out of this fucking body, but that’s impossible, surely, you can’t get out of your own body, so you have to settle for starving it and self-harming it and ruthlessly punishing it in a thousand terrible ways, because you might not be able to leave your girl’s body behind, but you can make it suffer and pay for what it’s done to you.

i am old enough now, and have spent enough time thinking and writing about those feelings, to identify them when they arise again, and to get the necessary distance from them so that i can say, what i want to destroy are the norms themselves, and the distress they cause, and not the body that has done nothing to me but be me. so i am not quite as sucked under as i used to be. but i think that there is something about the violence and intensity of those feelings that i forget sometimes, or misremember with age and distance. it’s easy to be a little bit patronizing to my younger self (or by extension to my younger students sometimes), because i now live in a social world that is largely arranged in ways that minimize rather than intensify or amplify gender distress. but when you have no choice in how to arrange your life, and no language with which to understand what is happening to you or what you are experiencing, and no frame of reference to help you understand that this is a period in your life and not forever, and no models you can look to in order to discover alternative ways of inhabiting your body or arranging your life... my god, that’s quite different from being an adult with a wide range of experiences and with much greater autonomy over your own body and life. anyway idk i need to keep thinking but now i must go to bed and try to sleep five hours before the plane.

#how can i teach her some way of being human #that won't destroy her!!!#gender #mw #to think further #girls I have been

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slashingdisneypasta · 3 years

Text

MultiVillains x Reader || Drabble Set

Part 2 to this post.

Plot/s and Includes: Basically, your relationship with each horror villain has changed (Developed to friendship/platonic love) since your sister/friend + their S/O died, independent of both your relations to them.

Jason Voorhees x DeadS/O'sStepSibling!Reader- Set during the events of FVSJ; Jason saves you from Freddy. You're his person. And no one will touch you.

Which totally works for you.

Mayor Buckman x DeadS/O'sSister!Reader- Some dudes at Pleasant Valley wont leave you alone no matter how many times you ask/tell them to go away until the mayor comes to the rescue (Their rescue) + Some nice fluffy 'coming out' and acceptance by the old fashioned coot. Reader is a lesbian, and unrelatedly... a badass.

Warnings: ATTEMPTED RAPE, Sexual harassment, blood, and crude language (Respectively by drabble except the crude language- that's throughout)

Notes:

Yep, no Hoyt, sorry ): I really cant write for him at the moment.

Yayyyyy, more non-romantic drabbles! ^^ I really should do more of these. There's also this one though if you haven't read it and want more platonic love immediately XD: Slashers x Reader(Mostly Chucky and Michael) || Oneshot)

Also Jason's genders are not specified but Buckman's is a female.

Jason Voorhees:

One minute you were mistakenly trudging through the forest towards Jason's cabin, unknowing of the shit that is currently going on in his life, and the next there's rough, hard tree bark digging unpleasantly into your back and you're winded.

Slowly opening your eyes from the shock of being grabbed and rammed into a big tree (Luckily your head didn't clonk back into it, lest you would feel dizzy, too.) you find the unfamiliar burnt face of a man in a horrible brown fedora practically licking his chops at you.

Oh, boy.

"U-ummmm... " Awkwardly straightening up against the tree, hands still in your pockets but now balled into tight fists, your gaze flickers around the forest of what you can see behind the guy. No signs of Jason. No signs of anyone, actually. Its deadly quiet except the sound of trees rustling overhead and leaves floating to the floor. When the man doesn't say anything, you feel compelled to do so yourself. "Hello? I'm- I'm Y/N... "

Perhaps spending so much time with a machete wielding forest maniac has destroyed your sense of self preservation, a little bit.

This does not, though, prevent the stutters from appearing in your voice, and the high tone you speak in. Because the way this man is looking at you chills you to the core.

Where did he even come from?? The burn ward!? How has strayed so far from the hospita- wHAT is THAT on his HAND!?

Your eyes widen to the size of dinner plates and your body stiffens up even more, as a hand comes up into view and theirs knives instead of a fingers. Or- maybe there are still fingers. You don't know. You're a little focused on the knives that are nearing your throat to really care about the mechanics of this thing.

What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck-

"Y/N... " Oh jesus, his voice sounds like someone took a cheese grater to his lungs. Jason where are you?? "Now... this, is God... " Is this man seriously referring to the finger knives as G o d? You would honestly roll your eyes but ah... not in this kind of prickly situation. His lips suddenly stretch into a bright smile. "Say hi!"

Great, a loon.

But you are not one to argue with the knife-fingered man, so... "Hi... hi, God... " I'm still looking around and hoping, praying that Jason appears out of nowhere like he tends to do, like he isn't the behemoth that he is but Easy-Bake-Oven-Gone-Wrong doesn't seem to like that, and you flinch sharply when the blades suddenly slam haphazardly, hard against the tree right by your head- one catching your cheek on the way and causing a long, luckily not-too-deep cut, there. Like a cat scratch. Still, a hiss escapes you and you look down, catching your baring's again.

This is really happening. This is really happening.

You're stuck in the middle of the forest, where no one will find your body for days, and no one can hear you screaming, with a man possessing a weapon... your heart starts to finally speed up, and you start freaking out appropriately. Breathing becomes harder, heavier as you glance back up at the man.

... He's smirking. Undoubtedly pleased with your new, panicked state. You flinch again when a hand, not the one with knives, holds the side of your head in a mocking gesture of 'comfort'. Your eyes snap closed, too. "Tut... scared? Oh, don't be... I'm only going to turn you inside-out!"

He's gotten so close now and you can tell without even opening your eyes, which squeeze even tighter closed, as you feel his breath on your hair. "Hmm, but first thing... "

A knife digs in between your skin and the waistband of your pants and your eyes suddenly snap open, fists coming out of your pockets and trying to push him back by the shoulders. "No- No no. Let me go, let me go- JASON! Jason, help me!!" With a knee to a side of his hips you force him to stay back and off you and with a forearm you keep him from moving closer- but then you see the knives, wriggling nearing your soft, fleshy side and gasp- Oh no.

Breath catches in your throat, no longer screaming for Jason, and your mind's just racing - what can you do, what can you do, what can you do, - when heavy footfalls appear out of nowhere and suddenly, to your utter relief, the burnt man is ripped away from you- and lands, groaning in pain a good couple metres away on the forest floor.

Jason is in front of you now instead, and as you both breath heavy - you calming down from your blind panic earlier, and him trying to level his fury at seeing you in trouble, hearing your fearful screams, -, Jason just looks at you. Assessing you thoroughly with his eyes. Are you hurt? Any marks!?-

You can tell when he sees the scratch on your cheek because he stiffens up, and rights his shoulders, and intensifies his search. Grabbing your wrist firmly - but not painfully, - he yanks it up so he can see under it and look for any tears in your clothes or signs of blood, and you just sigh- tired from being scared and not super energised enough to call him off. "Jason... - I'm fine. Just shaken- ah!- " You nearly trip when he twirls you around to see your back and roughly bush off bark and dirt from the back of your jacket. Luckily you manage to fix your footing before you faceplanted into the ground and got a mouthful of dirt like the man Jason flung off you, holding the arm that Jason has not got hold of, out for balance.

When he's assured that, visibly, you're okay, he lets you go and looks at your face. If you didn't know any better, you'd say that he was scowling at the cut on your cheek, before his dark eyes flicker to yours and you manage to give a soft smile, despite the uncomfortable way your heart and stomach are still flipped. You do feel safer though... as long as Jason's here. He wont let anything happen to you.

He does not seem entirely convinced of that smile, which is fair, as it doesn't totally reach your eyes; But he manages to step back from you. You cross your arms and sniff, feeling a dull throb as wind screams across your cheek and look to the ground for a moment- catching your baring's once again.

When you look up this time, Jason's pointing in the direction of his cabin. You open your mouth to object, say you kinda want to go home now, but the man reads your mind and turns you around gently by the shoulders, and pats you on your back till you get moving.

Like, off you pop.

See you soon.

Just gotta rake up up some crap off the forest floor.

Mayor Buckman:

These three assholes have been following you around on and off since lunchtime today at the bar. Goddamn you just wanted to enjoy some whiskey with Boone, but no- No, evidently that was no in the cards.

Because these three douches, decided that their desire to harass you was more important then your decision to do what you felt like. Jesus christ. You are fricken furious.

Every other week, especially during spring break, a group of kids including at least 2 boys like this turn up, heading for beer pong and body shots and decide, because they're held up here by choice, that they can spread the party animal lifestyle with everyone here.

And generally that's okay because the residents of this town are more then happy to humour them until their deaths- but you, have never, offered any inclination that you are part of this.

My god, are you pissed off. Totally, and utterly, furious.

What the fuck is wrong with these people!?

And yes, you do acknowledge the irony in that statement coming from someone who hangs around a group of cannibalistic, confederate ghosts but alas- you're too mad right now to see sense.

You! Are not! Here! To Entertain! Stupid sex-obsessed college boys!!

Not to mention the fact that you are a motherfucking lesbian. A fact these 'gentlemen' have not even considered. Of course.

Doesn't matter.

A large hand suddenly comes down to connect and caress the bare skin of your upper arm suddenly and you immediately whip around- knocking the bastard in the face with your elbow. He goes 'oof' and his head snaps back satisfyingly swiftly and you smirk in triumph before scowling, again. "Do not touch me."

"Fucking christ, bitch!" The blondes nose starts to bleed down over his lips and onto his stupid beach boy's tank top as he covers his nose, looking horrified that you would do such a thing- even after you told him, quite firmly, more then once to not touch you. "The hell was that for!?"

Ughhhhh, what a goddamn moron.

His two friends are kinda chuckling at the side over this; Covering their mouth and sniggering to each other. Your poisonous gaze connects with theirs, slowly, and they quickly try to stop laughing...

before just collapsing into total, uproarious laughter- bending over and holding their stomachs and knees. Your eyes narrow at the display.

"Oh- my god, man! Haha." One of them fights to speak, glancing up at you but only beginning to laugh harder. "You're trying to look scary, haha b-but hahaha... ohhh my god... " He wipes away a tear. "haha, you just look, ha ha... cute... "

At that, you roll your eyes deeply and turn away. Jesus christ, you need to get out of here. You hate them; that's it. Total dickwads.

But once again,

they mother

fucking

touch you.

One of the funny boys, who's still sighing and lightly giggling, drops a heavy, sweaty, stinky arm over your shoulder and pulls you close to him. "Oookay, baby. I'm sorry- we, we're sorry. We wont do anything to you again. Just come on back and have another drink with us! We'll even pay- right boys?"

"Yeah!"

"Fucking bitch, I think she broke my nose. Probably a dyke- "

A slapping sound reverberates around the area, and oddly enough- it didn't come from you as you stiffen up slightly under your skin. "Dude! Don't say that."

"Yeah!" The guy still fucking holding you, leans his face in closer to you, and smirks. "We still have a chance, I think."

Where in the world did he get an idea like that!?- OH-

You've had enough, and take hold of the part of his sticky, floppy arm that's hanging over your breasts and pull him taught against your back- then bend over and fling over and onto the damn ground.

He lands with a groan - hopefully on some pointy rocks, - and his hair spreads out around his head like a grotty, poopy halo as his face twists in pain. "Ohhh... "

Yeah, 'oh'.

"Christ, whore!! Uncalled for!!" The guy, the ginger, who slapped the other guy moments ago exclaims accusingly at you- fury in his eyes. Oh good, even playing ground.

You're about to rush at him next, but you barely lift off before an arm - a familiar, beige suit clad one this time, - curls around your waist and yanks you back, behind them. Buckman approaches the men carefully, hands up in a gesture of surrender as you just stand back, arms crossed tightly and seeth.

Honestly, you're probably steaming.

"Woah, there. Now, what seems to be the problem, here?" Buckman glances back at you shortly, before offering ear mostly to the two standing, boys. The ne on the ground is still by your feet whining and you consider stepping on him. You are so mad. You don't remember the last time you were this mad. "I'm sure we can talk it out."

"That chick just went crazy, dude." At that, you let out a puff of laughter. 'Dude'- Buckman must just be loving, that. We were just offering to buy her a drink! But the stupid lesbo punched me in the face! And took down Trent- look! Bitches insane."

Rolling your eye, you slowly release a sigh- calming down. Buckman turns to raise his eyebrows at you like is this trueee?, and you avoid his eyes. "I elbowed him- I did not punch him." The mayor sighs, evidently exhausted, before gathering his wits again.

"Ach- technicality, slut!"

What is with these boys? Calling you a slut and whore. Isn't the problem that you aren't either of those things???

"Okay, okay, okay," Buckman turns back to the boys, raising his hands in a 'stop' gesture this time. "First of all, we don't need ta' be usin' language like that. You sure ain't gonna get anywhere with a lady like that, especially this lady." With a thumb he points back at me, getting eye rolls from the two boys he's standing before. "Second of all, allow me to apologise genuinely for her behaviour- "

"What!?" You squeak out, totally shocked. He didn't even ask you for your side of the story! The true version- He but waives you off.

The ginger smirks at you like a weasel and you struggle against the urge to jump on his back and rip out his hair; He seems to recognise the look in your eye, and averts his gaze back to the mayor.

You cross your arms again and look off to Granny Boone and some of the other women, to distract yourself. "Stupid fucking canary man, with the deeply offensive fucking eyepatch, and little dismissive waive!? Do I look like Y/S/N to you?!-"

"- and offer a free meal for each of you at Boones infamous, hotel bar. Just tell 'em that Mayor Buckman sent ya, and they'll bring you on out some of the yummiest gruel you ever did taste. Sound good? Can we put this whole mess behind us, hm?"

Uh, no-

"Oh, sure!"

"No?!- " Another slapping sound. Again, from the red head to the bleeding blonde.

"Dan! F r e e f o o d !! Shut the fuck up."

Trent just groans on the floor, sitting up suddenly and dealing with the headrush that comes with recovering from that particular attack.

You're just enjoying the view of him holding his head and moving suuuuper slowly, when Buckman trudges over to you and links his arm with yours as he passes- effectively dragging you promptly along with him. "Yeek- "

"Now, What. Happened? You know we aren't supposed to bother the guests," A small, devious smirk stretches one corner of his mouth at the word 'guests', but quickly he moves on as you roll your eyes. "And there you were- bothering them."

For a moment you consider explaining yourself as you turn your head to look at Buckman, but ultimately decide you're too tired and make 'pfft' sound, looking away again.

He slows to a stop and rounds on you now, gripping your arms so you don't walk off. "Don't you 'pfft' me, young lady." You peek up him from under one eyelid, as you have now closed them and turned your head away stubbornly and see the man giving you a stern look if you've ever seen one. It honestly cracks a little smile out of you- Who does he think you are? His wayward child??

Then you close your eyes tight again and cross your arms more cured around your chest, looking down to the ground uncomfortably. Taking a deep breath, you look up again and open both your eyes. "The bastards wouldn't leave me alone. Kept touching me when I asked them not to."

At this, both yours and Buckman's eyes snap to his hands on you but you just give a shrug.

Quickly he moves on- "Well that's understandable. Don't you worry- they'll be all yours soon enough." He winks, conspiratorial about the whole thing. You roll your eyes, but sigh.

"Right... hah... "

"Also, pumpkin," He slips an arm over your shoulder this time and the two of you start walking again. "What was that I heard about them callin' you a... errr... I think the term was 'lesbo'? Any idea what that one is is?"

Your chest cavity, and everything inside it, goes cold all of a sudden.

"Iii... uh... it means.. lesbian... "

Glancing at him to see his reaction, you see that he just blinks. In 0.2 seconds, he's going to get awkward and you're going to feel uncomfortable, and you desperately want to avoid that but you don't know what to say so your mind absolutely races- but- he speaks up first.

"Oh- well I get it, then. Reprobates were callin' you that just cuz you didn't reciprocate their disgusting feelings??" You double take at the freezing cold, hard look in his one eye as he says that, and honestly start to feel a little bit chilly under the hot Georgia sun.

"I- I guess, yeah... "

He shakes his head, looking away. "... wastin' perfectly good food and whiskey on good-for-nothin's like that... "

As he mutters to himself some more, language becoming darker and more foul as he disappears deeper into his own little world, you start to feel quite awkward. And waive a hand in front of his face. No no no, none of this right now. No thank you, sir-

Good grief, how did Y/S/N deal with this all the time, I am at the end of my tether with this man...

He wakes up with a jolt, glancing around then at you, flashing a pleasant smile. "Sorry, pumpkin, my bad. Just burning thunderwood." Clearly. You start moving again, and you realise with frustration that you're headed towards the bar. "Anyway, even if you did like women- who could blame ya? Certainly not me." He taps the side of your head with fingers on the arm laid out over your shoulders to get your full attention, and lowers his voice. "Granny Boone, either."

Then he winks, and lets go of you- your eyes wide at him.

You slowly let out the breath you were holding back anxiously before, shoulder dropping. What... really?? Is he saying what you think he's saying??? He nods, and smiles brightly. Ohhhh, that's why she dealt with him, you think, sighing with utter relief.

Then you glomp him.

#Platonic Drabbles #Horror Villains x Reader Drabbles #Drabbles #Jason Voorhees #Jason Voorhees x Reader #Jason Voorhees x Reader Drabble #Mayor Buckman #Mayor Buckman x Reader #Mayor Buckman x Reader Drabble

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fictionalabyss · 3 years

Text

Saving face with the dicks downstairs.

Pairings : Sam x Reader, Sam x Gabriel, Michael, Lucifer, Raphael, Dean

Word count : 4,144

Written for : @samwinchesterbingo

Square : Fake dating.

Beta’d by : @iflostreturntosteverogers

Warnings : AU. Reader is Michael, Lucifer, Raphael and Gabriel's baby sister. Quick best friends, Sam's in the closet, Gabriel is out, Raphael is a dick, over protective big brothers Michael and Lucifer, especially Lucifer, Dean is no fool, party, drinking, high school politics, almost smut (none depicted in detail, but some faked), threats, Lucifer threatens people, talk of Lucifer being arrested in the past for beating a minor, talk of a past shitty 'relationship', talk of parent abandonment (Chuck and John are similar in the dad department), Sam gets a boyfriend, hint at a possible new relationship at the end.

Masterlist • Patreon • Ko-fi.

Sam Winchester Bingo Masterlist.

Sam Winchester. Okay, maybe not the hottest guy in school, but he had his charms. He was sweet, quiet, good looking and tall. Damn, was he tall. You’ve talked to him before, at school, at parties like this. Drinks were flowing, music was blasting through speakers that shook the windows. And you got lucky enough that when you whispered to Sam that it was too loud down there, he nodded and led you up to a bedroom.

As soon as the door was shut behind you and you had locked it, your lips were on his, drinks discarded onto someone’s dresser and forgotten. Sam’s kiss was reluctant, awkward. You figured it was the shock of you making that first move paired with all the drinks he’d been pounding back all night, so you continued to lead. Guys like that anyways, right?

You started pushing him back, keeping him moving and not letting him go, keeping the kiss going until he fell back against the bed, sitting there, looking up at you with something in his eyes you couldn’t quite read.

Your lips met his again, a little sweeter this time as you climbed into his lap, knees digging into the mattress on either side of him. “Wait.” he mumbled as you pressed yourself closer to him, fingers in his hair and holding him close. “Wait, wait-” He pulled back, and you gave him a confused look.

“What’s wrong?” He didn’t answer right away, and you chuckled. “It’s okay, Sam, I’m sober enough to know what I want. You don’t have to-” as you spoke, you were leaning in for another kiss, but he stopped you. “Do you not want me?” Sam looked down, licking his bottom lip as you sat back against his thighs, giving him a bit more space. “Sam-”

“I’m-” He started to speak but he couldn’t seem to finish.

It was like it clicked in your head. “I don’t have what you want..” you breathed out in realization. Suddenly there was fear in his eyes, his nails scratching against your jeans as his fingers tightened on your thighs. “Hey-” You cupped his face, making him look up, but he pulled his head away.

“Fuck off.”

“Sam-” He shook his head, but you grabbed him again, forcing him to look at you. “It’s not a big deal.” you chuckled softly.

“Says you. Lesbians are ‘so hot’.” he mocked.

“I won’t tell anyone.” You chuckled softly, watching him but not getting off his thighs. “You can trust me.”

“Yeah, right.”

“My brother’s gay, Sam.” His eyes came up to meet yours at the confession. “It’s really not a big deal to me. All you had to do was tell me and I wouldn’t have thrown myself at you.” you smiled at him.

“Didn’t exactly want anyone knowing.” Sam mumbled, picking at a loose thread on the edge of your shirt.

“Know what you need?”

“What?”

Your smile widened. “A fake girlfriend.” Sam cocked an eyebrow. “Look, we’re up here, right? There’s no way that went unnoticed. We’ll just pretend we had a bit of fun. You save face with those dicks downstairs, I get to have a hot date for lunch hour, and I’ll introduce you to my older brother.”

“Just because he’s gay too, doesn’t mean I want to fuck him.”

You laughed and shoved at his shoulders. “To have someone to talk to, you idiot.”

“Why would you do that for me?”

You shrugged. “Because I remember what he went through. We’re friends, Sam. I don’t want to see you as broken as I remember seeing him.” Sam gave you a small nod. “Deal?”

“Deal. So how do we-” he was cut off by you shoving him back on the bed.

You leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Don’t be quiet.” with a grin, you sat back up, still on his thigh, and started bouncing on him. You chuckled at the surprise on his face as the bed under him started to creak and groan with the motion. “That’s it, Sam.” you praised out loud. “Yeah, right there.”

Sam started to laugh, but the look you shot him made him hold it in. His tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip, before he blurted out “Your.. pussy feels so good.” You couldn’t help but snort, and you both muffled your laughs. “Sorry.” he whispered behind the hand he had covering his mouth. “Dirty talk is not my strong suit.”

“It’s good.” you shook your head at him, getting yourself back up right. “It was just.. so weird coming out of you like that.”

“Fuck off. Dirty bitch.”

“Oh! That’s the good stuff. Say it again, Sam!”

“Oh, god.” Sam rolled his eyes at you, but smiled all the same. “You’re disgusting.”

“I’m your girlfriend now, handsome. That means you’re disgusting, too.”

You chewed on your bottom lip as you knocked on the open door. His room was the last in the hall, right next to yours. “Gabe? Can we talk?”

He looked up from his computer, turning his chair completely around as he watched you stand awkwardly in his doorway. “What’d they do, now?”

You smiled at him. “Nothing, I promise.” He motioned for you to come in, so you stepped in before shutting the door behind you. You crossed the room to his bed and sat on the edge before sighing.

“What’s up, kiddo?”

“I uhm. I sorta of have a boyfriend.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ.” Gabriel muttered with a shake of his head. “Mikey and Luci are gonna lose their shit.”

“I said ‘sort of’ Gabriel.” He waited for you to elaborate. “I want you to meet him.”

“Why? Why me? I don’t usually meet ‘em unless I’m holding Luci back from killing them. What changed?”

“He’s gay.” Gabriel’s eyebrows shot up at that. “He’s scared about people finding out.” Gabe shook his head, and turned his chair back towards his computer. “Please, Gabriel? He’s really nice, especially to me. He always looks out for me at parties.”

Gabriel turned to look at you again. “Pumpkin-”

“He reminds me of you.” That gave him pause. “Remember when everyone found out? Mike and Luci didn’t care too much, but Raph, he spread it everywhere and treated you like shit. You cried, Gabriel. Every damn night. I remember it because I was there, I held you any time you would let me.” He sighed. “Please. I’m covering for him, I don’t mind that, it was my idea. I just want him to know he isn’t alone, you know? Please? He’s a really sweet kid and I don’t want them to break him.”

“Mikey’s got work tonight. Luci is out doing whatever the fuck he’s out doing. I’ll tell Raph to fuck off. Invite him over for dinner.”

Your grin was wide when you leapt up and threw yourself at him. “I knew I could count on my favorite big brother.”

“Yeah, yeah. You owe me.” he muttered.

When Sam showed up for dinner, he had smiled nervously at you as he stepped into the house, but once his attention turned to the man who stepped out of the kitchen, he froze, smile falling from his face.

“Sam, this is one of my brothers, Gabriel. Gabe, this is Sam.”

“I’m the favourite brother.” Gabe smirked, hand reaching out for Sam’s.

You smiled, watching Sam as he tried to sneakily wipe his palm along his jeans before taking your brother’s hand for a shake. “S-Sam. I’m Sam.”

“Yeah, I got that.” Gabe chuckled, glancing to you and how you smiled so brightly. “Dinner will be ready in about 10. You want anything to drink?”

“Wa-” Sam’s voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “Water will be fine, thank you.”

Gabriel laughed. “If you insist, but we’ve got beer, too.” he started for the kitchen.

“Glad I introduced you?” you whispered to Sam with a shit eating grin before skipping off to follow your brother. “Can I have a beer?”

“Hell no. I don’t got a death wish.”

Dinner went well. Gabriel was able to make Sam relax and laugh in no time, but you knew he would, Gabriel had that effect on everyone. Sam was amazed by Gabriel's cooking, raved about it, which just had you wiggling your eyebrows between them and laughing every time Sam blushed bright red.

After dinner, the three of you moved to the living room. Some movie put on that you all half paid attention to. Sam sat between you and Gabriel, letting the two of them talk without them having to talk over you. Sam seemed to be more and more comfortable around Gabe, and that made you happy.

You were all smiling, laughing at some comment Gabriel made when you heard the front door open and everyone got quiet. Your face took on a look of panic when Michael appeared in the hall and glanced in.

He looked from Gabriel, to you, then to the boy between the two of you. “Who’s this?”

This wasn’t good. You were about to answer when Gabriel spoke first. “A friend.”

“A friend?” Michaels eyes shot to you, and he found you biting your bottom lip nervously. “Bullshit.” he spat before heading up the hall.

“Mikey, wait!” you shot up from your seat and hurried after him. When you caught up to him, he was entering the bottom floor master, and he was fuming. “Please, just listen to me-”

“Did you think I wouldn't fucking find out? That I wouldn’t be pissed?” he spun around on you. “I’m fucking livid! You know how we feel about you having a fucking boyfriend, and you bring him here when I’m not home? Are you fucking insane?”

“Mike-”

“What if Luci had come home first, huh? You think Gabe alone could stop him from killing the fucking guy?” Tears brimmed in your eyes. You hated disappointing him, he might be your brother, but he’d always been more of a father to you. “You know how he is when it comes to you. Remember when you were fuckin’ 13? Remember what happened?” You nodded sadly. “You want that to happen again?”

“No.”

“Then tell me why you thought this shit was a good fucking idea?”

“He’s gay, Michael.”

“What?”

You sighed, and wiped at your eyes before looking up at him again. “He’s gay.”

He stared at you for a minute before scoffing. “Yeah fucking right. His ass better be out of here in 5 minutes or I’m letting Luci-”

“He’s gay.” you reiterated. “No one knows. Remember what happened to Gabe when he was in school and everyone found out? Remember how fucked up he was? I don’t want Sam to go through that, so I told him I’d be his pretend girlfriend and I introduced him to Gabe so he’d have someone to talk to. Please, Mike, I’m telling you the truth.”

He kept his eyes on you as he moved past you, only taking them off of you when he was out in the hall and then he stormed his way back to the living room, you rushing behind him, begging him to believe you. “You fucking gay?” the words exploding out of his mouth the second he stopped in the doorway. Sam was standing with Gabriel, eyes wide with fear before they shot to you. You gave him a small nod, letting him know it was okay to answer. “Are you fucking my sister?” he demanded.

“No.” Sam swallowed. “I’m not fucking her.”

“You could stand to have a little more tact, Mikey.” Gabriel scolded.

“Fuck your tact.” Michael spat at him, still worked up.

“Mikey, please..” you moved around him, stopping in front of him and doing your best to play on his heart strings. “You can tell Luci if he swears to keep it quiet, but Raph can’t know. You remember how much of a dick he was to Gabe, he’s an asshole and I don’t want to risk it. If you and Luci seem okay with it, he won’t do shit about me and Sam.”

Everyone was quiet for a minute, Michael’s eyes burning into Sam and Gabriel, then he looked down at you. Before he could say anything, the door opened and Raphael strolled in. “Am I allowed in my own fucking house now?” he asked as he slammed the door behind him. “What’s going on?” When he looked into the living room and saw Sam, he furrowed his brows. “Who the fuck is this?”

“Please, Mikey.” you begged.

“Oh shit!” Raph’s face all but lit up. “I got kicked out so the little princess could sneak in a boyfriend! Fuck, you’re dead. Luci just pulled in.” He pointed to Sam.

“Who’s dead?” Lucifer walked in, shutting the door behind him. “What the fuck happened now?”

“Someone’s got a boyfriend.” Raph grinned. He always did like to rile either Lucifer or Michael up as much as he could.

“What!?” Lucifer started to storm in, pushing past everyone to get into the room. “You better fucking start running.” he threatened, finger pointed right at Sam who looked terrified.

He wasn’t the only one. At the look of fear in your eyes, Michael grabbed Lucifer and pulled him back. “We need to talk.”

“She knows the fucking rules.”

“Now. Raph, fuck off.”

“No, this is the most interesting thing to happen-”

“Fuck off!” Michael screamed at him. “You two, upstairs.”

“So, what, she’s got a boyfriend and we’re just going to let that happen?” He looked from a fuming Lucifer to you standing between them and Sam. “Since when don’t we let Luci just beat-”

“GET THE FUCK OUT!”

“Fuck, okay. Jesus Christ.” He glared at his two older brothers before storming back towards the door and out. “Fuck this bullshit.” he spat.

“Upstairs while the grown ups talk.” Michael spoke again, just a little calmer as he pinned a fighting Lucifer to the wall. You grabbed Sam’s hand and rushed for the stairs while Lucifer spat profanity at everyone.

The sound of it followed you up the stairs, only cutting out once your door shut behind Sam. “So.. how many brothers do you have?” he asked nervously.

“Just the 4, thank fuck.” you groaned, dropping onto your bed.

“They’re uh- they’re really over protective..”

You nodded. “Yeah, I’m sorry, I should have warned you about that.. I had hoped I’d have time to talk to Michael before you met anyone other than Gabriel.”

“If they’re that protective, I don’t think I want to meet your dad.” Sam chuckled nervously before sitting next to you on the bed.

“Luci is who you need to worry about. My dad isn’t really around, Michael pretty much raised me. I’m not just the baby of the family, I’m the only girl. I’m the last link to mom. Luci loved mom more than anything and he was her favourite. When mom died..”

“Mom dies, dad goes off the deep end and big brother takes over?” You looked up at him, confused how he knew. “Dean, my older brother, raised me too.”

“Luci doesn’t let anyone near me. Michael raised me, but Lucifer… he was my prince when I was little.” you smiled. “My knight in shining armour, always protecting me. There’s a reason I’m not allowed to date despite being damn well old enough.” you sighed. “When I was 13, I liked this guy. Rob. He liked me.” you smiled softly before ducking your head down. “He was 15. No idea why he was interested in me, but I wasn’t questioning that. I only knew him because he was always at my friends house with her older brother. He took me out on a date, Michael had approved of it, and it went fine.”

“What happened?”

“Rob told his buddies that he’d done more than he did with me. When I heard, it broke my heart. I called Luci crying from school during 5th period. By the final bell, he was waiting outside. We found Rob with his friends, Luci threw him at my feet and made him apologize for lying. Then he punched him. Broken nose, broken jaw.. One of the other kids called the police and Luci was arrested.”

“Jesus Christ..”

“He has anger issues, that’s no secret to anyone who knows us. But he looks at me like I’m his last link to mom because I look just like her. I remind him of her. To him, I need protecting at all cost, especially from men who would just hurt his precious little princess.”

Sam nodded, understanding a little better. “Well, I have no intention of hurting you.” he gave you a smile, hand going to your thigh to reassure you.

“Let’s hope Luci believes that.”

The door burst open so fast it slammed against your wall and the knob left a dent. Sam’s hand jerked away as if burned when he saw it was Lucifer in the doorway. “You hurt my fucking sister and I’ll rip your balls off and feed them to you, am I fucking clear?”

“Crystal.” Sam nodded quickly.

“Did Mikey-”

“Yeah.”

“Are you going to tell Raph?”

“No.”

“Thank you, Luci.” You got up from your bed and rushed to him, wrapping your arms around his waist and hugging him tight. He held you tight, and you were sure he was still glaring at Sam over your head, but the fact that he wasn’t swinging a fist, you’d take it. “I knew my prince would understand.”

“Fuck off.” he pushed you away, but you could tell he was fighting to hide his smile. “I’m serious, fake or not, you better not hurt my fucking sister.”

“I have no intention to.”

“Good. Now fuck off. Go home. It’s getting late and there’s school tomorrow.”

“Can you try to be nice?” You gave him an annoyed look.

“Please.” he ground out. “Happy?”

“Getting there.” you teased, sticking out your tongue.

“Hey, Sam.” you leaned in from behind him and kissed his cheek. He was sitting at a table, surrounded by his friends as he ate lunch.

“Hey.” he looked up at you and smiled.

“You two!?” Jason, one of Sam’s friends who was also in your English class, looked between the two of you. “That’s who you were with at the party?” Sam shifted so you could sit on the bench next to him while Jason continued to look shocked. “And you’re still fucking alive!?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Sam laughed, arm going around your waist as you shifted closer to him.

“Dude, I gave her a lift home and her brother almost broke my fucking arm!”

“No, you tried to come into my house and my brother almost broke your fucking arm.” you smirked over at him.

“Luci?” Sam asked, and you nodded. “He’s not so bad.” he shrugged as if it was no big deal.

“Not so bad!? Have you even met him? Dude is fucking nuts! No offence.”

“None taken by me, but he might not like the comment.” you teased.

“Oh fuck, don’t tell him.” Jason groaned. “Please don’t fucking tell him.”

“Winchester’s got balls.” someone walking past chimed in, clapping Sam on the back. “Half the fucking school has been too afraid to touch that.”

You leaned in closer to Sam and whispered “I told you. All you needed was me.” He smiled, pulling you closer and kissing your forehead. “So, who’s hosting the next party?” you asked, eyes scanning everyone else at the table as you friends started to come over and join it.

You had been “dating” Sam for about two months now. You hung out at lunch most days, always went to parties together, and he’d often come over after school, though he had his own reasons for that. He was smitten with Gabriel, not that he would admit it.

You walked out of school, hand in hand with Sam and grinned when you saw Gabriel waiting by a car outside. “Want a ride, cutie?”

“Yes!” You grinned, rushing forward to hug your brother.

“Wasn’t talking to you.” he teased as he hugged you back, laughing when you shoved at him and called him a name.

“Hey Gabriel!” someone called out, and Gabe sent them a wave.

“I’m the cutest damn person here.” you grumbled at him.

“I beg to differ.” he teased, looking to Sam. “Ride? You’re coming over again, aren’t you?”

“Uh-yeah.. Yeah sure.” Sam smiled shyly.

“Then get in.” Sam started for the back door, but Gabriel cut him off by opening the passenger side door and motioning for him to get in. Sam glanced from the door, to Gabriel, then to you only to find you opening the back door and getting in with a smile on your face. “Get in.”

Sam swallowed at the sound of Gabriel’s voice so smooth and so close. He just nodded and hurried around Gabriel and ducked into the seat. Gabe smiled as he shut the door and made his way around to the other side. When he turned to look at you in the seat behind him, he found you pretending to be focused on something else.

“So.” Gabe cut into the silence as he shut the door behind him and started up the engine. “Take out and movies tonight?” He glanced to the rear view at you before side eyeing Sam as he pulled out of the school lot.

“Your room?” you asked.

“If you guys want.”

“I think Sam wants.” you teased under your breath with a shit eating grin.

Sam’s face went beet red as he turned towards the window, shooting you a glare in the side mirror. Gabriel did his best to hide the way his lips curled up at that, pretending he didn’t hear for Sam’s sake. “What was that?”

“Nothing.” you grinned, and when he glanced to the rearview at you again, you could tell by his eyes he had damn well heard you.

Dean loved you, joked you were too good for his baby brother. You had finally met Dean about three months into the relationship. Sam didn’t know it, but Dean had known about Sam for years. He was grateful for what you were doing, though he wished his brother could just be himself. He understood why Sam was afraid. And when Dean met Gabriel a month after that, a shit eating grin had spread over his lips at the way Sam had said Gabe’s name and when he looked at you, and you nodded, confirming his unvoiced suspicion of his brother’s crush, he happily extended his hand to your brother.

Seven months into the relationship, and high school was over, summer had passed and it was off to College. You and Sam celebrated your 1 year anniversary in the California sun. He was your best friend, the one person you trusted more than anything. He was your world, and however long it took him to be comfortable enough to tell others who he was, you’d wait, letting him have that time. He deserved it.

While Michael and Luci had lost their shit about you thinking of moving across the country to go to school with your ‘boyfriend’ (no thanks to Raphael who egged them on constantly) Gabriel had instead bought a house, handed you a key and said “Now you don’t need to live on campus.” and winked.

He had ulterior motives, of course.

Because 6 months after your 1 year anniversary with Sam, you walked into the house after class to a massive mess of baked goods all over the kitchen, and a trail of filthy discarded clothes making its way to the bathroom. You couldn’t help but smile at the sounds coming from behind the closed door.

Banging on it with the side of your fist, you yelled out “HAPPY ONE YEAR, YOU FILTHY ANIMALS!” only to hear them laugh in response.

About 15 minutes later, they had moved to their shared bedroom, and your phone was going off.

>> Hey, I’m in town. Was thinking of grabbing dinner and stopping in, but Sammy isn’t answering.

You smiled seeing the text was from Dean.

<< Sam can’t come to the phone right now, he’s a little occupied. I’m up for a meal, but might I suggest your place, since I doubt you want to hear the animal-like noises coming from their room that I’m being subjected to. It’s loud and messy, cakes everywhere.

>> Point taken. >> What’s the occasion?

<< 1 year of these too being love sick dorks.

>> Oh shit, that’s today? >> guess you’ll need a place to sleep? I’ll switch my room for a double, you can crash here.

<< Sounds like a plan, handsome.

>> I’m at Motel 6.

<< Sunnyvale?

>> Yeah, need me to pick you up?

<< I’d never say no to a ride, Winchester.

>> Fuck, you’re going to be the death of me. >> I’ll see you soon, kid.

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teaboot · 4 years

Note

Not to be that person but if someone doesn't want to date anyone, for whatever reason, they don't have to, you're not discriminating against anyone because they happen to not be part of your dating pool as far as you respect their rights and identities

Bluuuuuuuuh okay so this may or may not be a longass post depending on how coherently I can translate the concept in my brain into English words, so apologies in advance.

Okay, so if a dude comes up to me and asks me out, I can say 'no thank you'. That's a thing I am 100% within my rights to do. It doesn't matter if I'm attracted to him or if I'm not attracted to him or if I think he smells bad and it turns me off, it's not important. I am allowed to say no to the king of France, I can say no to Joe Shmoe at the liquor store.

A step further is HOW I say no. Do I say, "no thank-you", or do I say, "ew, no, your face is gross"? One of these answers is polite and concise; the other, no matter how true to me, is something they're going to have to live with.

For the rest of their life, every romantic interest they pursue, they're going think of that person who told them they were too ugly, and they're going to be ashamed or insecure or embarrassed. Maybe they'll shrug it off eventually, but maybe they won't. Either way, is that the impression of yourself you want to leave on people?

Now the fun question: what if he's a trans guy?

Once again, you can say no. For any reason at all, you can say no. Maybe you aren't attracted to him, maybe he has bad breath, maybe you're new to the concept of gender identity and your fear of somehow fucking up and hurting him is getting in the way right now. For any of these reasons you can say no! But you DON'T GET TO MAKE IT THEIR PROBLEM.

Saying no-thanks to a trans woman because you aren't attracted to her? Totally fine.

Telling her "NO, I DON'T LIKE DICK"- that's real sweet. That's something she has to walk away with, now- every time she meets someone she likes and wants to get to know, that person's first thought is going to be about her genitals. She'll never be good enough for anyone because all anyone cares about is her junk.

You're not interested in a trans person? Cool, you don't have to be.

You're not interested in a trans person because you haven't made peace with the reality of trans identities? Obviously not great, but sure, take the time to figure things out.

You've never been interested in someone you knew to be trans, and announce "I NEVER WANT TO DATE A TRANS PERSON"? That's a different statement. That's saying, "There is one defining characteristic that makes all trans people the same, and it's something I find repulsive!" And- Surprise!- THAT is Transphobic. Which is, at it's barest bones- say it with me now- MAKING IT SOMEONE ELSE'S PROBLEM.

And imagine, if you will, dating a lady for a few weeks. She's clever, funny, beautiful, kind- you're head over heels for her, until the very first time you have sex, and you see her vagina. And you think to yourself, "that's an ugly vagina", and break up with her.

If that was a deal breaker for you? Who gives a shit. Some would say it's a bit shallow, but so.long as things break off amicably, life will move on without anybody getting hurt.

Same situation, but you tell her "I can't be with someone who has an ugly vagina!"... Jesus fucking Christ, my guy. What the Fuck. Why the fuck would you tell her that? What on earth made you think your personal aesthetic preferences were more important than her sense of self worth? You entitled jackass. Who died and made you Empirical Minister Of Visually Pleasing Hoo-Has? Why would you SAY that to someone??

Same situation, but she's trans. "This isn't working out for me"? Sure. "I don't know anything about this subject, I don't want to move forwards until I know more"? Hard, but not cruel. "Bye honey, shlongs gross me out"??? WHAT KIND DICKBAG ARE YOU????

And that's kind of what gets me on "Can I say I'm not attracted to genderfluid people?". Because, like... I'd never tell a lesbian, "oh, you aren't attracted to men? Have you met every man on the planet? Sure, sweetie" because, like... Cis men are men all the time. You're attracted to women, whatever. Cool.

But someone who DOES experience attraction to men tells me, "Oh, I'd never DATE one!"- Then I'm sketched out. Because, like.... Why? What do you think all men have in common? You didn't say you weren't attracted to them, just that you'd never date one.

"Oh, I could NEVER date a trans man!"... Why...? The only thing I can conclude is that you're boiling down everything they are to a set of genitals, at which point, fuck, they're probably happier without you.

And by the way, how often do you hear, "UGH, I could NEVER date a CIS woman"? Think about that one for a sec. How does that one feel to a cis lady? Probably pretty shitty. Imagine hearing that from someone you have a crush on. Do you feel outraged? Embarrassed? Maybe you feel disgusting, like someone you admire is repulsed by your body.

Fucking *Ouch,* huh?

SO. Easy rules for not being a dick:

1. If you want to turn someone down, you can, no matter what your reasons are. BUT YOU DO BOT HAVE TO SHARE THOSE REASONS.

2. Their hang-ups are not your responsibility, but YOURS AREN'T THEIRS, EITHER. DO NOT tell someone you can't date them because they look like your mom, just say no and move on! DO NOT tell someone you don't want to have sex because you think their feet are gross, just say no! DO NOT bring up someone's voice or hair or eyes or genitalia, JUST SAY NO! TELLING SOMEONE YOU LIKE THEM IS HARD. BE POLITE, MOTHER FUCKERS.

3. Maybe you're already dating someone you like, and you discover new information that you weren't expecting. Maybe they're trans, maybe they had a hysterectomy, maybe they have a tattoo or a kid or a criminal record, maybe they wear a wig or have a disability or have a rubber duck fetish. Whatever it is, it's an emotional topic and you need space to process. Good! Think things out! If that ends it for you, okay, but none of these things makes someone a bad person or an ugly person or unworthy of love! Don't make them feel that way. Again, your hangups are on you, not them.

4. The next time you go to say something like, "I'd never date a trans guy", or, "I'd never date a black girl", or, "I'd never date a disabled person"- Stop, and think about why you feel that way. What is it about this group of people that you don't like? Is it a real reason, or a stereotype? Is it an aesthetic reason, and if so, don't try to dismiss is as "that's just how I feel". There's a reason. Keep digging for that reason, and once you find it, figure out if it's a belief you want to hold onto. Always ask yourself "why?". Never let yourself fall into the belief that any group is worthy of wholesale dismissal.

5. Breathe. Stay calm. You're not a bad person. Society has programmed us with a lot of biases- it's not your fault you have them, but it isn't a free pass to remain ignorant and hurt others. Be gentle with yourself, but be willing to reflect on your feelings and behaviors and rein in the ones that are harmful. No matter your feelings, at least be kind. We're all trying our best, and we all just want to be loved. Keep that in mind.

Anyhow, that's just my two cents. I hope this wasn't too winding or rambly, I'm still working out my thoughts on the matter myself. Being genderfluid doesn't make me an expert on trans issues, and I certainly don't have the experience to speak further.

If there are any corrections to be made, please let me know. Always learning!

Please take care.

#Long post

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a-hundred-jewels · 3 years

Text

cruel summer ch 12: i have these lucid dreams

Ao3 Wattpad

Summary: sabrina starr, pegasuses, and oh no! the fourth wall broke! do we have a carpenter in the audience?

Word Count: 9000 ish

Tags: Rachel Elizabeth Dare/Jane Penderwick, Rosalind Penderwick/Tommy Geiger, Nico di Angelo/Will Solace, Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Jane Penderwick, Rachel Elizabeth Dare, Rosalind Penderwick, Skye Penderwick, Chiron (Percy Jackson), Martin Penderwick, Elizabeth "Batty" Penderwick, Elizabeth Penderwick (senior), Iantha Aaronson-Penderwick, Ben Aaronson-Penderwick, Nico di Angelo, Will Solace, Annabeth Chase, Jeffrey Tifton-McGrath, Percy Jackson, Demeter (Percy Jackson), Apollo (Percy Jackson), Camp Half-Blood (Percy Jackson), Camp Half-Blood AU, Demigods, demeter!elizabeth penderwick, demeter!rosalind (second generation), demeter!batty (second generation), apollo!alec mcgrath, apollo!jeffrey (second generation), demeter!jane (second generation), demeter!skye (second generation), all of that's in no particular order, main focus is on jane because i love her and she's so so fun to write, tomsalind is there (and stuff will happen - i can't really say what, it will really be eventful though), yes of course there's solangelo, takes place right before Penderwicks In Spring, After Trials of Apollo, more tags to come??, Minor Swearing

Notes and Full Chapter below cut:

Hello everyone and welcome back! I'll admit, this is a little later today than I'd been planning to post (was hoping to get an early start), but hey! If the Puppet History season 4 finale can be late, then so can I!

First off, a massive massive thank you to waterbottle_stickers for being the best beta reader ever. This chapter would be a mess without you. Also, if you haven't already, please check out their enola holmes fic wherever you stray, i follow it's truly wonderful.

If you've been following me on tumblr, then you'll know that, in addition to reblogging an alarming quantity of good omens fanart, I've been making some plans for fics this month. The original plan from back in august was to post every day of the month, but... ahhh.... I just don't work that fast lmao. I'll have to be content with just posting a fair amount this month. Happy october! Anyway, stay tuned.

On this fine day, we've got two lovely QUEER fanfic recommendations that I'm very excited to share. Up first is one from the tumblr blog izzielizzie (which you should all absolutely check out! especially if you're into the one of us is lying fandom!). it centers around the skye/melissa pairing and their senior prom, which Skye is said to have only gone to last minute, and also wearing a lab coat, in a passage of the penderwicks at last. featuring some oblivious lesbians and also jane. once again a massive thanks to izzielizzie, as this fic is one of my favourites!. click here to take a look! (also keep an eye on her blog in general bc her penderwicks fics are awesome!)

The second fanfic is also one I'm very fond of, as it focuses on the siblinghood of skye and jane, which is one of my favourite topics on earth. check out rolling down the ancient high street by hanchewie/ramblemadlyon (tumblr and ao3 respectively) for the sibling antics of aroace skye and bisexual jane when the latter visits the former at her college in california! and, if you like it, ramblemadlyon has two other penderwicks fics from the past couple days that look fantastic as well, and that I look forward to reading.

This chapter is dedicated to my therapist, since I've decided this will be the month of oddly specific dedications. thank you for telling me to stop referring to cruel summer as my "trash baby" and help me recognize the true worth that it holds in my life.

Disclaimer: not my characters, you know the drill. Jeanne Birdsall and Rick Riordan are lucky ducks indeed. chapter title is (obviously) from "lucid dreams" by Juice WRLD.

FROM THE POV OF JANE PENDERWICK

The woods loomed around me, seeming as tall as buildings as they invited me in further. I took another step, the sharp pain of a pinecone digging into my foot barely registered in my mind. I kept walking. A crack sounded throughout the air, and, behind me, a tree splintered round its base and fell down, only inches away from crushing me dead, and completely blocking the path out.

Frightened, I began to run, looking for a way out of the forest. But no matter which way I went, there were only trees in front of me. Where was the path? Where was the grassy hill I had walked down to get in here in the first place. Had I even walked down that hill to begin with? Now that I thought about it, I wasn’t sure I remembered coming here. I wasn’t sure I remembered waking up this morning, or going to bed last night, or anything besides existing in the forest. Who was I? What was I doing here? How could I get out?

Panicking, I stood in the middle of a clearing, looking frantically at the trees around me, trying to find something familiar. Nothing. I was exhausted. How long had I been here? An hour? A day? A lifetime? I collapsed at the base of a tree, sobbing as I tried to remember. Something. Anything.

Then, a voice echoed around me. “Welcome,” it said, and my mind went black.

I bolt upright in bed, a scream halfway out of my throat. I clamp it back, not wanting to wake my cabinmates. Thin light whimpers through the window--enough for me to see my white-knuckle grip on the sheets, but not enough to pass as daylight.

What time is it?

Our cell phones don’t really work here--that was one of the first things Miranda told us when we arrived, and Batty’s been gleefully lording it over us that her Mp3 player will still play music and, like, function, while our smart phones recline sadly in our duffel bags. That being said, I don’t feel quite brave enough to get out of my bed just yet and tiptoe over to the big analog clock that Rio bought at a pawn shop in Colorado. Maybe my phone will at least show the time.

I reach under my bed and fumble for my duffel, hooking my pinky through the zipper loop and yanking it out onto my floor. My phone’s in the front pocket, buried under two pairs of headphones, several gum wrappers, and some strawberry leaves (?????). A piece of gum peels off the screen as I disentangle my phone, and I mentally chide my past self for being so messy.

My phone does not turn on. Big clock it is.

I tiptoe across the cold tile and peer around the tree.

5:45 .

Jesus Pagan Christ.

It’s too early to wake anyone up (as I think this, Batty lets out a snore to rival any crabby Tyrannosaurus Rex), so I wrap a blanket around myself like a criminally attractive burrito, and creep out onto the porch, with my notebook and pen tucked into my shirt.

As long as I live, I will never get tired of summer mornings. There’s something deeply lovely about the soft light of the still-sleepy, pink lemonade sun, the quiet anticipation of the cool air, damp from dew and preparing for the upcoming heat. At home in Cameron, Skye’s woken me up many an early morning to go for a run or do soccer drills or for a grueling “Seven Minute Workout Except You Don’t Follow The Rules And Torture Your Sister by Making It Actually A Forty-Nine Minute Workout.” (But it’s okay, I’m not bitter). But, as delightful as those experiences have all been, I don’t think Skye really gets it. The beauty of the summer morning is not what it can do for your workout schedule, but rather in its gentle softening of an otherwise boiling day. It is to be appreciated in the way that I am now, sitting curled up on this frighteningly creaky porch (I mean, seriously, who built this?) and calling up the Sabrina Starr section of my brain to try and write away the residual panic from my nightmare.

Sabrina sighed as the plane took off. She wasn’t sure if she should have followed the voice in her head telling her to come here. Saying it out loud--even just thinking it--made it sound ridiculous. A dream, a voice in her mind. Barely more than a whim.

Worse than that, Sabrina wasn’t even sure where this whim was taking her. On a napkin in her pocket, she’d scrawled everything she remembered about the dream from the night before. The dark sky, lit only with spiderwebs of lightning, the shadowy figure huddled on a beach and soaked through with rain. The voice crying for help.

And a name. Aeaea.

After she’d woken up, Sabrina had looked up Aeaea, too tired to fully connect why the name felt familiar. Her heart had sunk further after reading the Wikipedia entry, and a breath of hopelessness had left her lips. According to the internet, Aeaea was not a real place. It had been the island prison of Circe. Fiction wasn’t new to Sabrina, and neither was mythology (she recalled an adventure spent with a ghost called Rainbow from a few years back).

Fictional places, though, were another matter. How could she get somewhere if she didn’t know where she was going? Was she trusting her gut with too much this time?

Sabrina folded up the napkin and put it back in her pocket. There was no point in worrying about that now. She’d looked at enough maps to make a guess at where Aeaea might be if it was real. When she got there, she could get more information. Sabrina Starr had survived this long in her career of rescues and whims. She could survive one more adventure. Worst case scenario, she said to herself, I spend a few days running around for nothing and have to brush up on my Greek.

She repeated it to herself like a promise. Worst case scenario, worst case scenario… Eventually, tired out from all her anxieties, and from trying desperately not to worry about what would come next, Sabrina fell asleep.

FROM THE POV OF RACHEL ELIZABETH DARE

“Okay, I give up. Tell me what’s wrong.” Annabeth’s voice startles me away from my plate of eggs, which I had been pushing around with a fork. Anxiety bubbles in my throat, just as it had been since I woke up, and food just doesn’t sound like a good idea.

“I--what?”

Annabeth waves her hand impatiently. “Don’t play dumb. I’ve been talking to you for five minutes and I don’t think you’ve looked up once. Also you’re always hungry in the mornings, so unless you, like, ate an entire cow before I got here, this ,” she gestures to my uneaten eggs, “is unusual behaviour.”

I give her a look. Sometimes, I get the feeling that Annabeth exists as a part of multiple different dimensions at once, like she’s having four other conversations that I can’t hear, and is still ten steps ahead of me in the one I’m actually a part of.

Or maybe I’m just easy to read.

“Nothing’s wrong.” I don’t want to talk about it. “I’m fine.” I’m terrified.

Annabeth sighs. “Is this about the prophecy?”

“No,” I spear another piece of egg, and don’t eat it. “Maybe. Yes.” I feel like going back to my cave and staying there for the rest of my life. Waiting with a book and some paints for the prophecy to get bored and go away. Maybe I’d take Jane with me, or Nico, for some company. That sounds nice.

My plate is pulled away from me as I aim my fork again. “I can’t pay attention when you do that,” Annabeth huffs. I think I wouldn’t invite her to stay in my cave. She’s too on the nose when I want to mope. Then again, she says the same about me.

“Fine,” I turn and face her. “Let’s talk feelings.” Connor Stoll, who had been making his way towards our table, abruptly turns around and walks the other way. I should get Chiron to hire a therapist. Gods know we need it.

Further proving my point, Annabeth’s eyes widen a little, before she remembers it is I who will be spilling. (I make a point to corner her later. It’s a routine we have). “Wow. You broke fast.”

I nod. “I’m tired and you’re annoying.” (False. We both know it. Another routine). “Like you said, I’m nervous about the prophecy.”

Annabeth nods. “And?”

I frown. “What do you mean, and ? There’s no and.”

Annabeth frowns back at me. A mirror, a mime, an annoyance. The nerve to look disappointed in me. “I thought you were spilling, Red.”

I roll my head back and study the roof of the pavilion, which Annabeth designed, and slowly lean my head down to stare at the table. I really don’t want to have this conversation. I go along anyways. “I’m worried about Jane.”

Annabeth leans back, triumphant. “Ah, yes. Your girlfriend.”

Maybe if I try reeeeeeeally hard, I can activate the Oracle of Delphi and freak Annabeth out enough to make her go away. “ Not my girlfriend. You know that.”

“You called Percy my boyfriend for weeks before we actually officially decided.”

I wave my hand dissmissively. “That’s different, you guys were dancing around each other for like three years. You needed a bit of a push. Jane and I kissed once! Over a week ago! And nothing came of it.” We actually haven’t really talked about it. We’re in this sort of in-between zone where we spend a ton of time together, but don’t have a label for it. Honestly, it’s been nice.

Annabeth grins, apparently reading my thoughts. “You’ve been eating lunch with the Demeter cabin, like, every other day. I saw you doing archery together yesterday. Both of you were awful at it, but you stayed there for hours. I’ve never seen you focus on something that long outside of your paintings.”

I stare at the ceiling again. Maybe Annabeth designed it so that a single square foot of rock might fall down onto my head and relieve me from this conversation. “Yes, fine, we spend a lot of time together. But that doesn’t make us a couple, and has nothing to do with what I’m actually worried about!” I can see in her face that Annabeth is more serious now, and is about to fully listen to me, when Percy and Malcolm show up, sliding into the seats across from us, and clanging several plates of pancakes down onto the table in front of them.

“Made them ourselves! Wanna share?” Percy gives Annabeth heart eyes and a kiss on the cheek when she folds a large blue pancake into thirds and bites it like a burrito. I roll my eyes at them because they are a horrifying and disgusting couple and also I kind of want to be them when I grow up. Malcolm ignores them, instead turning to me. “Were you talking about Jane?” he asks, pushing wire rimmed glasses up his nose.

I frown. “Sort of. Why?”

He shrugs, sheepish. “You know. Just, uh, just wondering.”

I narrow my eyes at him, then Percy, who tears himself away from looking at Annabeth to sigh dramatically. “Malcolm wants to ask out Jane’s sister. You know, the blond one.”

I snort. “ Skye? Seriously?”

Malcolm looks vaguely offended. “What’s so weird about that?”

“Sorry, it’s not weird.” I reach over the table to pat him on the shoulder with my fork. “Perfectly normal teenage hormones.” He glares at me and I smile sweetly back. “I just can’t imagine Skye going out with anyone, that’s all.”

Malcolm stares down at his pancake, disappointed. “Oh. You sure?”

I nod, feeling a little more normal with my friends and less doom-related breakfast conversation. My eggs are past the threshold of “warm and appetizing” but I take a bite anyway. “Pretty sure. Jane told me that she’s aroace and, based on past occurrences, there’s a seventy percent chance she’ll punch anyone who asks her out. Anyway, why the interest? I didn’t know you guys talked.”

Malcolm shrugs. “We don’t, really. She just seems cool.”

Percy pipes in, “He’s been practically obsessed with her since she won that soccer game against the Nike kids and made them cry.”

I nod approvingly. “Well, Malcolm, at least we know you have good taste.”

Annabeth pats him on the head, ignoring his complaints that her hand is covered in blue maple syrup. “Better luck next time, brother of mine.”

Piper and Leo join us next, contributing an alarming volume of grapes and a single hardboiled egg to the breakfast display. Leo grabs a pancake and wraps it around some grapes, before taking a big bite. “I hear you’re discussing Malcolm’s romantic failures,” he says around the world’s worst breakfast burrito. Piper gasps in mock offense, then swallows the unpeeled hardboiled egg whole, like a snake. (This is a regular morning routine. She’s trying to work up to being a sword swallower, since her dad did it in a movie once and she thought it looked like fun). “ Malcolm, why didn’t you come to me? I could have given you a verdict within five minutes!”

“I wanted advice on whether I should ask out that Heaphestus boy two weeks ago and you told me to fuck off.”

Piper pouts at him. “That’s on you, you caught me at a bad time.”

Annabeth holds up a pancake with the air of a respected royal and we turn to her. “As delightful as this is, Rachel and I were initially talking about her romantic prospects and also her worries and fears, and I feel that we should get back to that before she slinks off and avoids the rest of the conversation.”

I glare at her. “Why would you bring this away from the very nice conversation we were having about everyone else’s problems? Do you hate me?” Annabeth rolls her eyes. “No, dumbass, I’m just not letting you walk away from a potential breakthrough. Now, where were we? You were saying that you’re worried about Jane but it has nothing whatsoever to do with your relationship, or lack thereof.”

I give a long suffering sigh, and try to communicate telepathically with Piper that she needs to Save Me Now, but she’s looking at me in interest with her chin resting in her hands, her long fingers adorned with rings sent to her from her Mortal girlfriend, Shel, who bought them at a vintage punk store. The traitor. Defeated, I turn back to Annabeth.

“It’s just that, whatever ends up happening with this prophecy, I don’t want it to fuck her up, in the way the quests have sometimes done to us. Like, we’re used to this by now, but it hasn’t been a smooth road. I don’t exactly like going on quests, and at first I was really worried at the prospect of being included in a prophecy, since that’s fairly abnormal, but Jane was only made aware of her heritage a couple months ago! What if this turns out like Silena or Beckendorf or-or Jason, and the prophecy destroys her, and it’s all my fault because I’m the one who pulled her into all this?”

Everyone tenses up at the mention of Jason, but they continue to look at me with a mixture of concern and love that makes something soften inside of me. For the hundredth time, I think of how lucky I am to have these people who love me unconditionally. Even if they really, really need therapy.

“I know that I didn’t plan any of this, but we’re both tied in now, especially since both Chiron and I had the prophetic dream and I actually gave the prophecy that day in the woods, and, well, this isn’t her world yet. She’s only got a little bit of ichor in her, and she grew up knowing nothing of any of this. In a way, I did too, and I have no ichor, but I had clear sight. For me, it was ineffable, but she could technically leave any time, if it weren’t for the prophecy. She can leave, and I feel like it’s up to me to make sure that doesn’t change.”

“Oh, Rachel.” Annabeth reaches her arms out to me and I let myself be pulled into an embrace. “Jane’s going to be okay. We’ll make sure of it.”

Sabrina stood in line at the boat rental hut, her arms crossed and a frown plastered on her face. It had not been a successful afternoon. For hours, she’d been searching the coastal towns near where her plane landed, looking for some trace of Aeaea, or anything else she’d seen in her dream. She was used to working with dregs. It was normal for her to have to squint a little at the evidence, have to shuffle things together around big holes of “Maybe,” like she was working a jigsaw puzzle with half the pieces missing.

But this was something else.

Sabrina had read about places where mythology shaped the culture. Places where the tourist draws were events that had supposedly happened thousands of years ago, or creatures that only existed in grainy photographs and people’s imaginations. Hell, she’d met the Loch Ness monster. Was it insane for her to have assumed she’d be able to find the same kind of thing here? All her training and years of experience had told her that, if you sniff around long enough, you’ll find a conspiracy theorist or a slightly off-the-rails guidebook.

So far, though, Sabrina had found nothing. Absolutely nothing. She hunted around, searching up library catalogs, checking every store on the street. “Aeaea,” “Circe,” even “the Odyssey.”

Nothing.

The line edged along slowly, and Sabrina ran her hands up and down her arms. The air was chilly from its proximity to the cold sea water. There were three people in front of her now. She just had to wait a little longer, then she would have a boat and be able to explore these waters herself.

Something was wrong with this place. Something was wrong with all of these places. And Sabrina was going to figure out what.

Later, Jane and I are taking our time walking to the pegasus stables to watch the riding lesson that Rosalind has reluctantly agreed to let Batty take (provided that Percy, who’s teaching today, doesn’t let her fly high enough that she’ll die if she falls off, and that Batty wears all of the necessary protective gear). Jane looks lovely, wearing a sunshine-y yellow bandana that sets off her dark curls and warm sepia skin. She has on her Camp Half-Blood shirt again, and a short green skirt, and all of it should clash horribly, but it doesn’t.

We’ve decided to cut through the strawberry fields, and I swallow a sun-warmed strawberry while Jane tells me about the dream she had last night. I think back to my conversation with Annabeth this morning when she tells me of the dark woods and the feeling of drowning, the memory warping and the echoing voice. At some point we sit down in a patch of grass, a simple circle amidst strawberry plants with a couple logs where the campers and satyrs take their breaks when they work here. Jane finishes her story and we sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, only broken by the grunts of annoyance Jane makes while trying to get her plant powers to activate again. She’s been doing that a lot.

“Well that sucks,” I say finally. “Have you been having other dreams like it?”

Jane shrugs, the neon orange fabric of her shirt wrinkling on her shoulders. “One or two, I think. Last night’s was the first one I really remembered. ” She smiles out of the corner of her mouth. “I hardly ever remember my dreams. It used to upset me. I thought I was losing potential writing material.”

I laugh. It’s such a Jane thing to think, that I can’t help it. She goes quiet, like she’s reminiscing, and I picture a tiny version of Jane, sitting crossed-legged on her summer quilt, writing. I look at her now, scrunched up nose and big brown eyes. Oh gods, she must have been an adorable child.

“My mother used to say that my imagination was the eighth wonder of the world,” Jane says. She’s looking down the hill at the cabins, plant powers temporarily forgotten, and I remember her telling me about her mother, the first Elizabeth Penderwick, who came here and was a daughter of Demeter and loved opera. The Penderwick siblings’ beloved mother who died so young.

I move closer to Jane on the log. “I can understand why she’d say that.”

Jane smiles again, a little sad this time, a little absent, but full to the brim with love.

“Bet you she’s in Elysium,” I say softly. I explained the Underworld to Jane a couple weeks ago, and she’d gotten this same absent look on her face, that I now know means she’s thinking about her mother. Jane nods, now, then turns to me. “Could we talk about something else?” Her voice is quiet, her eyes a little shiny.

“Course,” I say. “Shall I regale you with tales of dimwittery at this camp in the years past?” I told her last week about the time some Hermes kids tried to order pizza to the camp, accidently causing Chiron to think we were under attack. Jane had nearly fallen off the bench laughing.

She grins now, but shakes her head. “Tell me what it’s like being an Oracle.” I give her a look. She’s asked me before and I never really know what to say. When I give prophecies, it’s like I black out. I’m taken over by another entity who shares my body. (“Like that lady in Suicide Squad ,” Leo had said when I tried to explain it to him once, but I’d refused to be compared to such a gods-fucking-awful movie). So, in a way, I don’t know what it’s like to be the Oracle.

As if reading my thoughts, Jane shakes her head. “Not that part. I’ve seen you all green and smokey, and I know you can’t feel it. I mean the other stuff. How did you know it was you? What did you have to do to become the Oracle? That kind of thing.” I relax a little. Jane’s asked me all sorts of weird questions about Greek mythology and the gods recently. She calls it “research for her book,” but sometimes I think she’s just nosy. It’s cute.

Jane shrugs and looks off into the distance. If you tilt your head a little you can kind of see the stables from here. We have fifteen more minutes to get there, according to my watch. I decide to take it easy. “Delphi is this weird ethereal spirit,” Jane continues, “but there’s also just everyday, Oracle you, who likes paint and denim and bagels.” At that, I laugh. “I actually don’t like bagels that much. I’m just late to breakfast so often that they’re usually the only things available.”

Jane pouts at me and plays with the bracelet tied around my wrist--the one she gave me. “You know what I mean! You know all this weird shit about me because my siblings don’t shut up at lunch, and I know stuff about you, like the denim thing, which I still think is funny by the way. But you’re also the freaking Oracle! Your dormant self lies waiting!” I laugh at her, and she rolls her eyes, but I see the corner of her mouth tilting up. “Rachel, that’s very cool!”

I give in. “Honestly, there’s not much to say, that’s why I don’t talk about it.” I pause. “Well no, it’s that a lot of the stuff beyond the obvious is actually sort of creepy and weird, and not in a good way. There’s stuff I try not to think about, is what I mean.”

The edge of her yellow bandana sticks up as Jane tilts her head at me. “That makes sense. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

I shake my head. “No, it feels okay right now.” I mean it. Now that I’ve gotten into the swing of it, I do want to talk about it. Still, a small sigh escapes me. “I like being the Oracle, because that’s what brought me to a place where I feel like I belong and I have people who love me. It’s nice to know that I’m fulfilling my purpose in life.”

Jane pulls her knees up to her chest. “But?”

“But I also get lonely.” It comes out in a rush. “There are other oracles, but I didn’t know about any of them until the Apollo thing happened, and even then, they’re all supernatural beings--I know, I know, but not in the way I am. It’s not the same. Also, there are all these weird rules. Like I have to stay an unmarried virgin my whole life.”

“That’s fucked,” Jane says softly.

“I know! Chiron won’t even tell me why, just that it’s ‘the rules’” I let out an annoyed huff. “And, like, it’s not even that the idea itself bothers me. That’s pretty much what I was planning to do with my life anyway.”

“Same.”

“But it’s the principle of the thing!” I flick a strand of hair out of my face, offhandedly noticing that the tip of my pinky finger is slightly green. I ignore it. It’s not important. “Just because I don’t want to have sex or get married doesn’t mean it’s a fair rule to impose on me! Besides, why is it always the women in these things whose identities are tied up in who they do or don’t fuck? Last I checked, Grover didn’t have to sign an ‘I shalt not fornicate’ contract when he became Lord of the Wild!”

“Exactly!” Jane raises her hands and shouts up to the sky. “Don’t you fuckers realize we’re more than that?”

“The Hunters of Artemis, too!” I’m a jack-in-the-box, and something’s winding me up. “Thalia and Reyna send me letters all the time, and they seem really happy! Which is great!” I pause to emphasize the greatness of their happiness. My pinky is completely green, now. “But, they also had to make a stupid ‘ode of chastity,’ like I did!”

“Are you kidding me?” Jane’s hair flips as she turns to me. “I thought Artemis was one of the good ones!”

My voice lowers to a husky rumble, and I stare into the distance towards you, the reader. “In a broken system, there are no good ones. Abolish the police.” I clear my throat and my voice turns back to normal. “Sorry, zoned out for a second.” My green pinky has begun to vibrate.

“Happens to the best of us,” Jane’s voice is light and nonchalant. “And yeah, I know. Pretty much all of the gods have skeletons sitting on their shoulders, but it just seems out of character for her. I thought all of Artemis’s groups were supposed to be safe havens, not oppressive structures in their own right.”

I frown. “Yeah you’re right, that is weird. I’d never thought of it much beyond the gods having weird rules, but I wonder if something bigger is at play. The gods might be fucked up in the way that regular people are, and are undoubtedly responsible for all sorts of crap. But then there's more personal things, like the ‘chastity vows’ the Hunters and I had to take, and the fact that Nico was initially outed by Eros, and the weird unexplained eye condition that Piper had during some of her quests that made her eyes a bunch of bright, Eurocentric colors, rather than their natural brown. All sorts of other stuff, too.”

“Wow!” Jane says, sitting up straight on the grass. Her hand moves from where it was resting in her lap to cover her heart. “It’s almost like a bunch of genuinely good and inspiring material, such as including prominent queer people and characters of color in fun children’s fantasy, as well as having an immortal group of warrior women who support each other and are free from the gaze of men, was taken into the hands of a cis white man armed with unchecked misogyny and a fair amount of white Twitter feminism, both of which really showed when he tried to create an inclusive and empowering book series for children! Like yeah, it had its moments, and definitely some good characters, but overall, a lack of meaningful research in certain areas really made it fall flat!” Once again, I stare through the bindings of URLs and internet coding, now joined by Jane as we lock eyes with you, the reader. This time, we hold eye contact for nearly a minute, giving you time to read and process the long tangent spat out by this fanfic’s author, who, if we’re being honest, has gone just a tad off the rails right now. Finally, Jane and I look away from you, and resume our roles as fictional characters, still shaking off that strange cloud that comes with staring into the soul of those who give you life.

“Ugh, what’s going on with me today?” Jane groans at the same time I mutter, “What’s Twitter?” We turn to each other, blinking in the sunlight, then grin. This is normal. We’re fine. Jane looks up at the sky again. “I wonder if the gods are watching us. Maybe we should make them think we suck so they’ll leave you alone.”

I laugh as she sticks her tongue out, grinning wickedly at a nearby cloud. “Better yet, make them think we’re too powerful to be messed with,” I say. Jane sees me watching her and opens her mouth, sucking the cloud in between her teeth. The sky seems bluer in the space where it had been, and Jane’s eyes glitter with mirth as she swallows. “Mmm, tastes like sugar.” I giggle, feeling a small shiver on the top of my head. When I peer up, I see another cloud has floated over to me. I open my own mouth, and take it in, just as Jane did hers. “Sugar, yes. But there’s a touch of blood, too,” I say. Jane nods sagely. “What were we talking about?”

“The inherent misogyny in much of Greek mythology and the world of Camp Half-Blood in general.”

Jane nods again. “Right. A very important topic. It makes it weird when I’m writing sometimes. You know, cause I want to bring in Circe and Zeus and Apollo and all these fascinating characters, but there’s just so much bad stuff tied up with them that comes up when I research.” She looks down at our feet, which are standing in the midst of a strawberry patch. We seem to have been walking, crushing sweet summer strawberries as we go, which is odd because I don’t remember getting up. “You know Rachel, I’m feeling a bit strange.”

I look at her, and see an odd blankness in her warm brown eyes. “Now that you mention it, Jane, so am I.”

“My thoughts and words are my own,” Jane says, “But there’s something up with my body. I can’t really feel it.”

“I agree, I’ve honestly gone a bit numb.” I try to glance down at my fingers, wondering idly if they’ve gotten any more green, but find that my neck won’t bend.

Jane’s eyebrows furrow. “Yet, at the same time, I feel as though I could do anything. Grow another grass blade. Grow a flower. Grow a tree. Bend the world to my will if I wanted to.”

“Or is it the world bending me to its will.” I grin at my own philosophical point, but find that the smile won’t go away. Pretty fucking inconvenient, since the next thing I was going to bring up was part of the whole serious misogyny conversation. I decide to go for it anyway. “And I’m not the only one with weird rules!” Jane nods, as if this is a perfectly normal segway, and the only extraneous thought that floats through my mind as we find ourselves walking down a hill is how unfair it is that she still has control over her neck and I don’t. “Remember when I told you about the Hunters of Artemis?”

“Oh yeah! Your friends Reyna and Thalia, right?”

“Yeah, them! They send me letters sometimes, and seem really happy, which is great.” I pause, meaning to add emphasis, when I’m hit with a great sensation of deja-vu. “Wait a second, we already talked about this, didn’t we?” I try to remember, but something in my mind is rapidly melting. I cannot find it. I cannot find anything.

“Jane?” My voice quivers, and I squeeze my eyes shut. Oh gods, please let this be a dream. For a moment, I try to convince myself that it’s the Oracle of Delphi taking over, just like she did the other day and generally does a couple times a year. But I know that I’m lying. This is not what that feels like. “Jane, where are you?” I can barely move my mouth to say the words. I can feel nothing but the frozen fear of paralysis, of lost control. When I open my eyes, this other thing in my body has brought me to the edge of the forest. “Jane? Jane?” She could be right beside me, unable to speak, and I wouldn’t know because I can’t turn my head, can’t move my eyes, can barely even hear right now.

It’s okay, something says.

“Jane?” It’s not her voice. It’s no one’s voice.

It’s okay. You’re home.

With every cut the wooden oars made through the choppy ocean water, Sabrina knew she was getting closer. She could feel it in her bones, in her brain, a little voice that whispered in her ear. It had been three hours. Her body was worn down, energy levels dipping dangerously low, when she felt something scrape the bottom of her boat.

A rock.

Frantically, she peered through the fog that had begun to surround her boat a mile ago. The island. Had she finally made it?

As if answering her call, a peel of thunder rang out, and Sabrina’s boat began to fill with rain that pounded down from the sky. The storm from her dream. She rowed even faster, then, fear sparking a renewed strength in her tired muscles.

Just as Sabrina was about to reach the shore, a massive wave crashed over her, and her boat capsized. She came back up, sputtering, holding her sopping wet bag above her head. Another wave swept against Sabrina’s face, and she found herself spitting out a mouthful of saltwater. Finally, she washed up on the shore, heaving breaths raking through her lungs.

Sabrina blinked, pushing herself up onto her elbows. It was real. She was here.

She had made it.

FROM THE POV OF ROSALIND PENDERWICK

It’s been a pleasant day so far. Breakfast with my siblings and some of the Demeter cabin (though Jane did seem a bit absent-minded). Miranda, Florien, and Rio convinced me to practice some plant magic with them for a couple hours and I built up to growing a small sunflower. Lunch (again with Jane seeming distracted, though Rachel ate with us this time, which appeared to help). Then, Skye and Jeffrey disappeared with some of the older campers (supposedly for a regular game of soccer, but the unsettling gleam in their eyes had me doubting that was all there was too it), Jane and Rachel went to take a walk in the strawberry fields, and Batty and I were left to prepare for a pegasus riding lesson. If it had been up to Batty, the latter could have easily taken up the entire afternoon, but changing into durable pants and finding a bandana can only take so long.

After a somewhat restless hour, during which I grew three peonies and Batty rhapsodized about the stable of unicorns that another demigod camp apparently has, Batty and I arrive at the stable. We’re ten minutes early, and she’s been talking a mile a minute the whole time, not stopping from before. I swear I now know as much about pegasuses as she does. According to Rachel, the teacher today is Percy, her friend, who’s very responsible “when he puts his mind to it.” I wasn’t sure how to tell her that’s actually not very comforting, but Batty looked so excited and I figured there will be plenty of other people there, so. Why not. She’s been spending so much time there anyway.

Needless to say, I very much regret my decision now.

The stables are modest, made of wood and painted green, and I’ve been there several times by now. There’s a long line of stalls visible when we first walk in, but Batty skips straight to the far end, where a massive pegasus the color of a carrot pokes its head over the door and nuzzles Batty’s hair. She looks up at me with a smile that could melt anyone’s heart, and pats the horse on the nose. “Rosy, this is Queen Lotus Flower. Percy said we have a impenetrable bond.”

I look at the two of them with a questioning gaze. How can they both have the exact same puppy-dog eyes? I swear to god. The gods. All of them. “Batty, sweetheart. That horse is like ten feet tall.”

She nods enthusiastically. “I know, she’s so much taller than any other horse I’ve seen. Percy says she has the biggest wingspan of any horse at camp.”

I nod, slowly, wondering why my sister picked the biggest pegasus to fall in love with. At that moment, Percy pushes the door open. “Hey Batty! Ready for your lesson?” Batty leaves her post by Queen Lotus Flower to wrap her arms around my waist and nod. I look Percy over. He’s a few inches taller than me, with brown skin and curly hair. A beaded camp necklace, orange tshirt, and jeans. Weird arm tattoo aside, he’s one of the most normal-looking people at camp. I’ve only met him a couple times before, but, my nerves over Batty flying around on massive horses aside, I do trust him. Rachel seems to have a good taste in friends. Also, Batty likes him, and she’s still shy around a good number of Skye and Jane’s friends back in Cameron.

For the next few minutes, I watch as Percy instructs Batty on buckling Queen Lotus Flower’s giant saddle and looping the bridle over her nose. Not wavering a bit from the “lesson” aspect of all this, he steps back to let her show what she’s already learned from hanging around the stables so often, only stooping in to guide her when she gets confused. As the minutes tick by, more people show up for the lesson: three other students, and a good sized crowd of people who just like watching the pegasuses. By then, I’m seated on the grass outside the stables, soaking in the blistering sun and watching as Percy (seated atop a wiry black pegasus who Batty pointed out as Blackjack) darts around the large dusty enclosure, making final preparations for the lesson.

Skye and Jeffrey show up then, and sit on either side of me. I want to ask them where Jane and Rachel are, but they’re talking non-stop about a game they just played in the woods with some of the other campers, only switching the subject when Percy and Blackjack return and they begin discussing whether or not it should be scientifically possible for a horse to fly.

Just as Batty and Queen Lotus Flower begin a gentle trot around the enclosure, I feel a tap on my shoulder, and hear the familiar sound of Tommy’s chuckle. “She’s got a weird knack for that,” he says. I nod, grinning.

It’s been good with us. We’ve had breakfast together a few times, even played a game of basketball one afternoon. Our conversations aren’t the same as they used to be, and there’s a sense of newness that feels cold and strange every so often. But it’s good. It feels right. At least for now, this feels like where we’re supposed to be.

As Percy starts demonstrating how to take flight, I look around again. Jane and Rachel still aren’t here. They promised to come. (“For moral support!” Jane had said. “Wouldn’t miss it,” Rachel had added with a smile). I try to push it out of my head. This lesson is a big deal. Batty’s going to be flying.

She leans forward on Queen Lotus Flower’s neck.

They begin to run, moving together like a single being.

Just as they burst into the air, Batty’s euphoric smile lighting up the sky, Katie grabs my shoulders from behind. I shush her so I can lean forward and watch Batty silhouetted against the pegasus’s wide orange wings.

“Rosalind. Rosalind, guys. ” Something about the panic in Katie’s voice makes me turn around. Her usually tied back hair is loose and her clothes rumpled, giving the impression that she was dragged out of bed for this. (Some part of my brain distantly remembers her saying she was going to take a nap). Skye and Jeffrey turn around, too.

“What, what’s happening?” I reach out my hands, trying to calm her as she collapses into a squat, breathing heavily.

“Billie… found me in the cabin… had been looking for you guys… been running all over the camp… lucky I remembered about the riding lesson…”

Jeffrey leans over and puts his hands on her shoulders. She stares down at the dirt while her breathing levels.

“Katie, what are you saying? Why were you and Billie looking for us?”

She looks up, and I see that her forehead is drawn into well-worn creases of worry. “Jane and Rachel have gone into the woods.”

Something was wrong. Sabrina crouched on the wet sand, straining to see through the heavy rain. In her dream there had definitely been someone else on the island. She remembered the hunched figure, the sound of sobs leaking through the rain.

But she’d circled the shore at least twice by now, and there was nobody to be found. “Am I late or something?” she wondered aloud. Somehow, she’d gotten that dream It felt like it had been sent to her. Why did it show a person when there was no one?

Sabrina sighed and began to traipse inland, tucking a knife in her pocket. It wasn’t a big island, and she might as well find some shelter aside from her boat, which was now overturned somewhere on the beach. Circe lived here, didn’t she? There must be some sort of roof, especially if this kind of weather was standard.

Or maybe this was just a random island and there was no Aeaea and Sabrina’s dream had just been the unhinged work of her unconscious mind.

There was a small grassy hill set aside from the sand, which Sabrina crawled up with the determination of a dying warrior. Something was pushing her back. An invisible force, a last crumb of survival instinct, plain old fatigue, she wasn’t sure. But something wanted her out of here, and it pushed back harder and harder as she climbed.

She let out a cry of frustration, clawing at the ground, at the air, at whatever this goddamn thing was, and found a renewed burst of strength that pulled her to the top of the hill. Once there, the force that pushed back ebbed a little, like it was giving up. Sabrina let herself relax, and simply took in the view for a moment.

The hill she lay on top of gave way to a deep valley, sprawling and green. In one corner, there was a cluster of trees that looked healthy and comfortable, despite being on a random Greek island in the middle of the ocean. A modest garden lay next to it, somehow appearing unaffected by the rain, and a narrow river wound around the whole scene.

There was also a house.

Sabrina wasn’t sure what she might have expected from the lair of an infamous Greek enchantress, but it wasn’t this.

She hauled herself up on the hill and started down, rushing through the rain onto a wide wooden porch. There was a large stone vat of something dark and crumbly, with a heavy looking staff of sorts leaning against it. The door to the house was short, and Sabrina heard it scrape on the floor when she pushed it open.

The scene awaiting her was surprisingly cozy when she stepped inside. There was a fire in the hearth and rows upon rows of little viles arranged on a set of shelves beside it. A broom leaned against the wall. Sabrina looked around, noting the way that the rain didn’t make any sound as it thrashed against the roof and window, and the almost drug-like stupor that threatened to take over her brain, whispering that everything was fine, she was safe, nothing bad could happen to her.

Sabrina had encountered hypnosis before, and it only ever made her more jittery.

There was an open hatch in the floor with stairs that lead into darkness. She followed them down, feeling the air grow cooler with every step. Sabrina was quiet, taking tiny steps on her toes, and wincing when one of the stairs creaked. She didn’t know what was down there, and she didn’t want to find out the hard way. But there were no arrows flying up from the space below, no sounds of footsteps or slashes of swords.

Sabrina stepped onto a dirt floor and let herself exhale, shuffling along until her toe hit something hard. Only seasoned reflexes made her reach for the knife in her pocket instead of crying out in fear. She knelt down and squinted in the darkness, trying to see what she’d hit.

A leg.

She frowned, shaking it until she heard a low growl. “Stop that.” She stopped.

“Who are you?” Sabrina leaned closer. If they hadn’t killed her yet she was probably safe.

Instead of answering, they reached out a hand. Sabrina could see a gold ring on the thumb that glinted in a little sliver of light that had crept down from the room above. “Pull me up,” the figure said. “I’ve been paralyzed by the witch.”

Helping the stranger sit turned out to be no simple feat. They were tall and muscular, wearing a cape and a heavy metal chest plate. “The witch?” she questioned, propping them up against one of the cellar’s dirt walls. Her eyes were beginning to adust to the dark, and she could just make out their sharp chin sticking out as their head lolled back.

The figure made a noise. “The witch, the sorceress, the woman. Whatever you want to call her. I figure she sent you down too?” They snorted. “Good luck. I told Zeus not to sent mortals, but does he ever listen? You’re gonna die.”

Sabrina tried to piece together what she could from all this. The witch must be Circe, unless she’d wound up on an entirely different island. And if Circe was going around paralyzing people, then something must be going on. She must be hiding something. As for the person in front of her, Sabrina wasn’t sure who they were. By the way they talked about Zeus, and casually said “mortals,” she’d guess some sort of god? As if that narrowed it down. She’d have to be careful.

“Why did she paralyze you?”

Another weird gutteral noise. “She didn’t like my offer. It’s not the first time this has happened.”

She was growing impatient. Why’d he have to be so vague? “What?”

“Yeah, I don’t know why he always sends me. I don’t think he trusts me. He’d rather me stay her paralysed in the basement of a witch than come back home.”

Sabrina let out an exasperated sigh. This wasn’t working and she needed answers. A whole coast of people with mythology-shaped holes in their memories awaited her. “You’re going to need to be a little more specific. I don’t think we’re on the same page.”

The figure sounded confused. “What do you mean? Don’t you know who I am?”

She leaned forward and inspected them in the darkness. “No. No I don’t.”

They slid their eyes down to her face. “I am the god Apollo. I came here for Circe and she did this to me.”

“What? Why?”

The stairs creaked behind Sabrina and she felt a long nail drag up her back. “I just want to be left alone,” said a voice as deep and powerful as the smell of red wine. “You don’t mind, do you?” Before Sabrina could grab her knife and turn around, before she could even scream, strong arms had surrounded her shoulders and a hand was clamping a damp cloth over her nose and mouth. Shock made her breath in, sharply, and she smelled the sweetness of sleeping drugs.

A heartbeat, a brief struggle, and Sabrina Starr was gone.

#cruel summer fic #cameron writes #the penderwicks #penderwicks #camp half blood #camp half-blood #rachel elizabeth dare #jane penderwick #rosalind penderwick

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