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beanenigma · 5 years

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Having step-parents - a writing guide on new families - part 2

Cinderella’s evil stepmother? Having a new mom? Which one really is it? What about a stepfather? Are they always as bad as they sound in media?

Hi, I’m Isabella and last week I told you about my nine half and step siblings. You can find it HERE. That guide was getting pretty long, so I decided to break it into at least two parts. So today, I’m talking about step-parents. My credentials is I had 6 step-parents along the way.

Still, as I said in the previous part of the guide, I want to give a disclaimer that this is based on my particular experiences (and my siblings’) and it doesn’t pose the absolute truth - but it’s still more real than what I normally see around.

Getting a new step-parent is a very interesting process. There is a myriad of aspects that can influence how this experience is going to go: how old you are, how well all of the parts handled the previous divorce (mother, father, child), if said stepparent was involved in some way in the aforementioned divorce, how mature are all of the parts, how willing the stepparent is to accomodate for you, etc. I’m going to try to go over all of the parts, focusing on the roots of this experience, hoping it can be useful in your writings.

Mommy? Daddy?

How your character calls their step-parent is really a matter of how they feel about their step-parent and when they met said step-parent.

I always feel like it’s so weird characters in books and movies call their step-parents coldly by their names, even if they met these people when they were children.

In the distant times of 2002, when I was about 5 years old, my dad introduced me to his friend. At the time, he told me to call her aunty Lena.

Aunty Lena became my step mother months later. She was my darling companion for the next 6 years. She gave birth to my sister and she made sure her two older daughters were nice to me. And I loved her like another mother. I kept calling her Aunty Lena, though, and I still did even when she divorced my dad. Because that’s how she was introduced to me, and it sounded like someone who was family. Because I grew up with her.

Around the same time, mom started dating Luiz, who she introduced to me as Uncle Lu and I later started calling Uncle Lulu (including in front of his employees, which embarrassed him). He would come to live in our house, meaning he would be as close as anyone could be. I never thought of him a new father like I thought of Lena, mostly because I thought him to be sort if weird and uptight. My mom told him this, which made him loosen up which made him ever weirder, but sort of endearing, because I knew he was actually trying to impress me by being more casual. I still call him uncle to this day.

HOWEVER, later, in the cringy times of 2010, when I was around 12, my dad introduced me to Melissa, who had become my stepmother just recently. Despite loving her two boys - and later my sister - for the next 6 years, I tried to call her anything other than her name. I tried nicknames, but it never felt natural. My middle sister (Aunty Lena’s daughter) had more success in this area.

The reason for that is because our new stepmom would pick at any detail she could and continuously sabotage our attempts to feel at home on her house. She never antagonized us directly, but in several occasions it became clear she was competing with us for our dad’s attention.

Alternatively, I frankly don’t remember when my mom introduced Eddie into our lives, but I’ve been calling him by the nickname from the start. Not having any other children, he walked into our family with open arms. He pampers me and is always getting me stuff and taking me places. I’m not sure I’d call him a new dad - because out of the two of us, I’m the responsible adult - but he surely is my family now.

Finally, just last year, when I was 20, dad introduced the three of us to my new stepmother, who I have no problem calling by her nickname and that was super kind on accommodating the three of us in her life.

So as you can see, how your character refers to their step parent depends on a variety of factors, and it’s up to you to choose how it goes in your story.

Previous divorces

After a couple of divorces, things start to get hairy. Children miss their parents, resent the new step ones, have to addapt to new routines, to seeing their parents less, learn how to deal with this new set of circumstances, including new siblings, new houses, new people. But parents also have messy business going on inside their noggings.

Sometimes, your current step parent was unvolved in the previous one’s abandonment. When you’re a kid, that hardly matter because people won’t tell you anything and even if they do, you don’t understand what it means. When you’re older, there are decisions to be made. If you’ll take a stand and chose one of the person’s side.

Previously, I always took my father and mother’s sides. I regret that decision only once in my life, but what’s done it’s done and I know I did the best I could at the time. Your character will be under a lot of pressure from emotional change. He won’t always make the best or most logical choices. But just know that supporting their step-parents when their parents frick up is an option and it should be considered.

In other times, divorcees might see themselves getting involved with their children’s new siblings that have nothing to do with them. My step mother’s ex-husband grew to really like my youngest sister, for example. These new kinds of families get real complicated really quickly. And taking advantage of that would be a great idea and I’d love to read something like that.

Maturity

Some people are not ready for the responsibility of receiving a sad child of divorcees into their homes. Some people are not used to a reality where not all children are shared and attention from their betrothed needs to be divided. Or they’re not mature to divide how they feel about their spouse about how they feel about their children or their spouse’s children.

This section is here because of one of my stepmothers. She frequently competed with me and my sister for my father’s attention, frequently invented plots we it our mother’s would plan against her and her daughter, and one time even vandalized one of my books because she was mad at me. All the while, trying to make me and my middle sister feel bad about not liking her. When my dad divorced her, she constantly tried to guilty my sister (her daughter) into pitying her and spy in my dad - which my super smart 7 year old of a sister refused and told her to get lost.

She was everything that media said she would be. But when I think of her, I’m not angry at her. I never did anything to antagonize her when they were still together. Because I pity her. She’s not evil, she’s not a bad person. She’s just immature and we all knew it. Out of my six experiences, this was the only truly bad one.

But also, no one is obligated to accept this treatment. At one point, I told my dad I loved him and my sisters, but that from that day forward I would not go to this woman’s house again. I was mature enough, at around 18, to separate what I felt about my dad and sister from what I felt about this woman. And to feel confident in my dad’s love for me to tell him I wasn’t comfortable with this in a non-violent way. And I had the luck that my dad did the same and eventually chose me. Once again, this is not a choice that worked for me and it’s not one everyone can make.

Certainly it would make things interesting. Want examples? Instead of killing parents, try a hard divorce. Try someone choosing themselves over feeling bad at a house. It doesn’t have to be traumatic to work or feel realistic.

Accommodation

The main reason for me to love some of the step-parents that I had is because they accommodated me in their lives, in their homes. Like Aunty Lena, who gave me a bed and closet space in her house. Like Uncle Lulu, who got over his distaste for dogs because I loved them so much and wanted one.

Again about my stepnightmare, she would never have a bed for us at our house and refuse to give us closet space. She’d put down matresses for us and they had to be at their daughter’s room and nowhere else we wanted to choose. These were things that at the time didn’t seem like a big deal - we were hardly ever there - but when comparing to the way Aunty Lena treated me, it was clear that something was wrong.

And this is a major thing I think good step-parents do and it breaks my heart in fiction when it goes under appreaciated. Because it’s no easy feat to open your heart and house to a little person who is literally the product of a love that came before you. And to do it graciously, treat them as your own and help provide for them is such a great effort that I would love to see it praised more.

My sister’s grandmother and my ex-ex-stepmother’s sister

Getting new step parents doesn’t stop at having step and half siblings. It means that you have a whole new step family. Step grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins and everything else.

It gets confusing so easily when telling stories. I’ve grown accustomed to asking people if they want the short version of the long version. If it’s the short version, I say “an old lady did this when I was at their house”. If they agree to the longer version (and they normally do), I say my sister’s grandmother was a german old lady who would make pickles and plant flowers. They ask why is she not my grandmother too, and then I explain the whole three divorces thing.

This would very much vary from person to person: how easily they get attached to people, if they live with the new family, if they’re welcomed by the new family. In wife #2’s family, all of the aunties and uncles were my a uncles and aunties because I was still a child. Their mother, however, wasn’t my grandmother. She was Mrs. Paula, because I didn’t feel like she felt like I was her grandchild.

In angry lady’s house, all of her siblings I called by name - because I was older by then and I didn’t feel like they wanted me in the family ( just like said wife). HOWEVER, gossip I heard points that these people were the ones who constantly told this woman off for being rude to me and my sisters and wanted us to stay around. Their children, my sister’s cousins, I love them to death - and I recently found they still love me too.

So take into consideration all of the family mess that can happen. In a post-apocalyptic environment, for example, I would go looking for some of those people. Just imagine someone trying to leave a resistance for your lost sister’s cousin. The leader doesn’t understand: “this person isn’t even your family”, but they don’t know.

You never know until you’re in it.

As I said before, this is a very short guide and it could never encompass the myriad of experiences that compose new types of families, but I did my best. If you feel unsure about any step-situations in your story, shoot me an ask. Also if you have any suggestions on topics you’d like to hear about for your writing.

And again, I’d really really appreciate any adition you can make with your own experiences.

Happy writing!

#writing advice #writing tips #writing #writer #writers #writing guide #writeblr #writing inspiration #writers on tumblr

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ko-fanatic · 6 years

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A Young Ootori’s Notebook (part three)

Rating: Explicit / Mature (for series as a whole)

Fandom: Ouran High School Host Club

Relationships: Kyoya & hosts, mentioned unrequited KyoTama, Yoshio Ootori x Yuzuru Suoh

Trigger Warnings: Drug abuse/addiction, depression, suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt, self harm

Summary: It's so warm, so happy, but he just feels hollow. He's looking in on someone else's Christmas, or it feels like it. Nothing's real, anyway...

No knowledge of A Young Doctor’s Notebook needed.

BEFORE WE BEGIN, BECAUSE I KNOW I'LL GET A MILLION COMMENTS IF I DON'T CLARIFY: My headcanon for Kyoya's grandmother is that she's both English and Christian. Their grandfather was pretty much an atheist, so they tend to go with more Christian traditions and holidays. Kyoya was even a choir boy for a little while.

Other parts of this series: Part one | Part two

It wasn’t before long that the clink of glass on table grated against Kyoya’s pounding head, Haruhi never did learn Tamaki’s “pinkie trick” properly, but he was thankful that she was more punctual than her husband. His throat was dry, he was nauseous, and he had to steady himself as he sat up, the world tilting dangerously sideways. Instead, he felt Kaoru’s gentle hands on his shoulders, guiding him into a more stable position, before leaving his bony frame to brush his too shaggy, unprofessional hair away from his sweaty forehead.

The passage of time was not always something he was acutely aware of, but that was the norm for someone who indulged in his… vices. Everything was questioned; was it even real? Time was real, despite some saying that it truly wasn’t, because it all just seemed to press down on him in that one moment. Clear and hazy seconds, minutes, years just seemed to hit him all at once and, for the first time in a while, Kyoya felt old.

He was only in his, admittedly late, forties, and he felt like some sort of frail octogenarian; it was a little humiliating, and his cultivated vanity was appalled. His hair was starting to grey also, from the stress and strain he put himself and his body through. His knees were aching, despite him sitting, and he could see how prominent the bones in his hands were. He was a wreck, really. A pretty boy turned into a mess of an addict.

Still, it was actually rather amusing, in some sickeningly morbid way. He was obviously unwell, displaying all the red flags that the media liked to pounce on, draining it of any potential scandal that it could hold. Before the truth came out, before he got too desperate to hide his issue from the public, the worst insinuation was that he was ill.

No drug rumours, nothing about anorexia, or anything of that like, because that wasn’t what an Ootori was. An Ootori was strong and composed, they certainly didn’t dabble in things like prescription pills, morphine, and even heroin. Diamorphine, that’s what heroin is in medical terms, used for moderate to severe pain. After all, diamorphine has the same effect as morphine at half the dose, and he can only justify and fudge so many numbers.

Kaoru’s hands helped steady his shaking ones as he brought the glass to his lips. He gave the other man something of a half-hearted glare, despite the fact that he almost spilt it over himself. He just took deep breaths between sips, trying to get his stomach to settle, pretending that this wasn’t as pathetic as it was.

“While we get that you felt miserable, why all this?” Hikaru huffed, though there was genuine concern and query in his eyes, from what Kyoya could see, “Why forge prescriptions? Why morphine? Why fucking heroin?”

“It’s not like I set out to become a drug addict,” He drawled, but it only seemed to make him sound even more tired, “It didn’t start like that. At first, I needed what I was prescribing myself…”

He was miserable.

That wasn’t particularly a new state of being – he’d been on the receiving end of far too many well-meaning hair ruffles and pitying coos to be blind to the so-called “tragedies” in his life. Still, this particular brand of miserable was nearly unbearable. It reminded him far too much of middle school, his chest tightening at the realisation that it might be happening again, when that wasn’t an option.

He wasn’t sleeping without over the counter pills, he wasn’t hungry and couldn’t make himself eat, he didn’t want to see anyone. He’d just holed himself up in the nice apartment his father had arranged for him, close to his university; like he somehow managed to combine coddling and independence. Thinking on it now, it was probably his stepfather’s involvement also, but still. He was rather grateful for not having as many responsibilities as “commoner” students, having spent most of the day drifting in and out of sleep.

He knew it was lazy, not to mention unbefitting and more than a little antisocial, but he didn’t really have the energy to care anymore. That was the real issue. Not caring, then caring too much about said apathy, and it was something so confusing that he often just stared at the wall, head feeling as if it were floating several feet above his shoulders.

Still, his family didn't even notice when he returned for the holidays. Wasn't that a slap in the face? Yuuichi and Akito were grinning while running around the mansion with Fuyumi's little boy and girl, trying to discover the hidden presents. His father and step-father were in the kitchen, attempting to bake gingerbread without assistance, clad in hideous Christmas jumpers. He'd already heard the fire alarm go off several times, so he supposed that it wasn't particularly successful.

It was... odd. Like he was watching everything unfold behind the glass of a television screen. No one could see him, he was just on the outside looking in. The mansion was warm, there were so many people, but he still felt so... cold. Lonely. Isolated. He sighed, finally unlocking the door of his old bedroom and immediately catching a whiff of burnt sugar. Well, that was going to hang around for days.

It was all too little and too much at the same time. The terrible twosome - and the children - seemed to have moved on to somewhere else, leaving the hallway feeling almost abandoned in the cool December light that peeked in through the windows. He could hear muffled commotion, but nothing clear or vivid.

“Yuzuru, get off!”

“Come on, Yoshi; it's mistletoe!”

“Oh... You incorrigible old sod.”

It was so... happy. Surely his grandmother and grandfather were around somewhere, probably in the courtyard if those screeching noises really were tires on asphalt. His aunt would probably stay in her cave on Mount Crumpit until it was time for mass, whereas his uncle promised that he'd say hello before hitting the bars this year.

“WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT CORRUPTING MY KIDS?!”

“It’s the witch, run! Protect the presents!”

“WHAT DID YOU JUST CALL ME, YUUICHI?!”

Kyoya swallowed around the heart in his throat, blinked back the sting in his eyes. It was all fine, there was nothing to be upset about. It was just one of those times where apathy rubbed away, revealing something rawer. He was tired, a little frustrated with himself, and he knew that if he were to go downstairs, this feeling off hollowness would at least be warmer for a little while.

Rather than go downstairs, Kyoya had a different idea in mind. After all, he'd managed to diagnose himself, and he didn't want to admit that what he had wasn't even physical. There was no medical reason for his low energy and even lower mood, merely something psychological. Basically psychosomatic, really.

No, rather than go down and sit by the fire, letting Yuzuru ruffle his hair and his father watch him playing puzzle games on his phone, he snuck across to Yuuichi's office. His brother had taken it over since their father retired, very much intent on sticking around, much to their fathers' hidden dismay, and there was one key difference to how Yuuichi and their father arranged the space; Yuuichi was predictable.

He closed the door softly behind him, though took normal steps - not tiptoeing like he once had. It was less conspicuous to act as if you were doing nothing wrong, after all. He merely went over to the desk, opening the top draw, and there - under a file - was his brother's prescription pad. There were even pens in a nice little stationary cup on top of the desk, waiting to be used.

He put the pad on the table, putting the pen in his left hand rather than his right to imitate that God-awful scrawl his brother wrote in, and filled in those important little details. Sertraline, 50mg, to be taken once daily. Easy enough.

He tore it off neatly, like his brother tended to do, and pocketed the slip. He'd take it to the pharmacy soon. Not the one in the hospital, of course; that would just be stupid. It would be too easy to get caught out, after all.

For now, he just went back to his room to put the slip in his bag, feeling at least slightly more productive than he had in weeks, finally with a plan.

When he finally settled down in front of the fire, the little ones swarming him with their cute cries of uncle Kyo, it still felt a little empty. He just played around a little, got them to settle down, and laid down next to the little rascals, cuddling up to them as they snuggled into the ugly – but fluffy – rug that Yuzuru had insisted on.

It would do for now.

The Christmas season has come once more, it seems, and Kiyomi and Daisuke are growing like weeds. It seems like only yesterday that I was their age, and my brothers were running around with me to find the hidden presents. Time flies, I suppose; whether you’re enjoying it or not.

It’s the fragility of the line between past, present and future, I suppose. After all, when is it drawn? The past ceases to exist and then you find yourself looking back over it, going by in a rose-tinted blur. It always seems sunny in hindsight, I find. It’s just a shame that I’m a miserable sod in the present, but I look back over memories I once found boring and feel warm nostalgia.

Perhaps, if I allow myself to dig into my own psychology for a moment – which is the purpose of these entries, I suppose – it’s probably due to my own set of complexes. I won’t allow myself to find joy in frivolous things in the present, so it’s a delayed reaction. Suppressed. It’s just another way I differ, it seems; usually, people repress the bad to protect their psyche from trauma, whereas I do the opposite.

Of course, I also suspect that the past looks so sunny because it holds some of my most innocent mentalities and cherished memories. I remember sparkling princess dresses and my rosy cheeked, albeit temporary, crush on Kuze – not that it didn’t end in heartbreak and the loss of some innocence, on both sides. I remember church choirs and being picked for my first solo performance, and how much praise I was given by my grandmother and even my aunt. I remember stargazing and lips pressing against my own, both of us laughing as if we were normal teenagers who had no worries, yet acting like we didn’t know each other that following Monday.

Of course, I also remember the host club. It’s still so strange to thing that it slipped into the past, almost like sand between my fingers. I feel so isolated. Tamaki and I still see each other, now stepbrothers, but he’s not here yet. He wants to spend time with Haruhi and Ranka, but he did promise that he’d be over soon.

I don’t want to be so dependant on the relationship we have, but Honey was never my favourite person, and my friendship with Mori was more silent companionship. We’ve drifted apart, somewhere along the way. Hikaru isn’t interested in talking, any texts we try to send back and forth tend to be succinct, and not in the pleasant way.

I haven’t spoken to Kaoru in months, I’m not sure why. Perhaps I should reflect on that more, rather than the past. After all, I still haven’t answered a single text or email he’s sent, feeling far too… afraid of rejection, I suppose. Perhaps that’s why Hikaru has nothing to do with me anymore…

“Oh, boo hoo.”

Kyoya huffed, turning to see the damned old man again, still looking less than put together. To add insult to injury, it also seemed he was going mad. Some ghostly spectre that looked to be a cheap knock-off of the ghost of Christmas future had obviously taken a liking to him, and the bastard’s hobby was nit-picking.

“You know why you don’t want to talk to Kaoru, you just wrote it,” The old man drawled, hauling himself up pathetically into a half-sitting position, “You’re a coward, and an idiotic one. The solutions to your problems are just so simple but fear always gets in the way. That’s what Kyoya Ootori does the best; run away.”

“Shut up!” He snapped, feeling far too drained to deal with the assault on his character at the moment, “I didn’t ask your opinion.”

“Self-reflection,” The man smirked, voice lilting almost serenely until he doubled over, dry-retching over the arm of the chair he’d sprawled over.

“Oh… Whatever,” He muttered, closing his notebook with an air of finality before climbing into bed, eyes straying to his bag. He’d take it to the pharmacy soon, and he’d be fine. He would.

#ouran high school host club #ohshc #yoshio x yuzuru #kyoya ootori #ootori kyoya #Yuzuru Suoh #Yoshio Ootori #Fuyumi Ootori #Akito Ootori #Yuuichi Ootori #tamaki suoh #Mitsukuni Haninozuka #takashi morinozuka #haruhi fujioka #ranka fujioka #kaoru hitachiin #hikaru hitachiin #my fanfiction #a young ootori's notebook series

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thislifeandnext · 6 years

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4th February 2018

The last couple days have completely blurred together with emotions, lack of sleep, alcohol, and people. Wednesday and Thursday were just standard ‘mehh' days for me and my mental health. I had the standard low feeling and didn’t have the energy to do anything or see anyone. I did, however, manage to do some cleaning and tidying around the house and also get a load of clothes washing done so at least I managed to achieve something ! I also came down with a cold sore on Wednesday from were I’ve gotten so run down recently so have been doing everything in my power to try and get rid of the bastard.

Friday was the beginning of my birthday celebrations and I went to Bath for the night with my ‘boyfriend'. The thought of going to bath for the 2 weeks running up till had set off my anxiety and made me question and over think everything. But I loved 90% of the time we had away. The hotel was lovely and I was wonderful to be away from home and the dramas the go along with it. I was just relaxed and it was bliss. We got to bath and parked at the hotel and had a drink in the pub across the road called the bath brewhouse, which was super quirky and lovely. We then walked into town and had a mooch about the shops and I bought some more makeup from mac and some new jeans. After mooching we walked back to the hotel. The hotel itself was lovely! I had booked a balcony room for us purely to be able to smoke and it was well worth every penny. We then chilled at the hotel for a bit before I then got ready to go out for dinner and drinks. We then went out and went to a place called the pig & fiddle which was such an awesome place with such a mix of people but an amazing atmosphere as well. We also had food here as well, just a burger but was still enough for me. There was also a live DJ that was playing that night as well which was great and playing a lot of 90’s hip-hop and R'n'B which is always my sort of thing. We talked to a few people when we were out and loads of people said about going somewhere called nest as someone called mike skinner was playing, who’s apparently from the band - the streets. I really wasn’t interested in this, to be honest, I need a couple hours to mentally prepare myself for a nightclub otherwise my anxiety really flares up. But I didn’t want to be selfish and Nathan - my ‘boyfriend' - really wanted to go so after a lot of persuasions we went to this nightclub. The club actually ended up being really good but I was still anxious and not my normal clubbing self that just let's go and is a complete idiot, I also didn’t want to seem like an idiot in front of Nathan though. The whole evening was amazing till we went to leave and all the booze seemed to hit Nath in one go. He lost his ticket for the cloakroom meaning that he couldn't get his coat meaning he then got shitty with the cloakroom attendant and I was very ready to go at this point and did not want to stay another nearly 2 hours so he could get his coat. It was then one thing after the other and in then took 45 minutes to walk what should’ve been 10 minutes when I eventually managed to drag him back to the hotel meaning we eventually got back at 3.45 am. On top of this, I also had to virtually carry him back he was so pissed. He then started to tell me how much he loved me when we got back which in my grumpy state of mind I couldn't talk to him and didn't even want him to touch me.

Saturday morning - my actual birthday- I woke up at around 9:30 am surprisingly actually feeling quite fresh considering the couple hours of sleep after 13 hours of drinking - I also might have still been drunk I’m not quite sure. I jumped in the shower and ended up being in there for half an hour, the shower at this hotel was amaaazinggggg! I mean it was better than any shower I’ve ever had before so spent 5 minutes washing and then spent 25 minutes lying on the floor with the water just running over me which was incredibly therapeutic. I was still annoyed at Nathan for the state he was the night before at this point and just carried on getting myself ready for the day once he woke up his hangover was in full swing which I was feeling quite happy he felt so shit. But the thing that shocked me was as soon as he woke up properly and smiled at me how he does I couldn't even pretend to be angry any more. I told him about a week ago that I thought I kinda loved him but when I realised I couldn't be mad at him anymore, that was the moment that I looked at him and realized I really did love him which was probably one of the best birthday presents I could've received. The rest of the day just got better and better for me and eventually got better for Nathan once the hangover subsided a little more. We left bath at 12 ish and went round to mums where I had the most fantastic cake waiting for me. My mother bless her heart had made my favorite cake - Chocolate coca cola cake and had shaped it and decorated it like a lipstick. Yes, it wasn't like a professional cake maker could do but it was fab. I had some amazing present’s as well. From my mum, i got a new journal which I'm going to use as a scrapbook or a photo album. I got the book by Fearne cotton called calm which will be really interesting to read and a river island voucher and a little bit of cash. From my brother, i got a hip flask with little pink flamingos on and a lovely silver bracelet. I also got a river island gift voucher from my aunt, uncle, and cousins and from my wonderful stepfather a new set of zoeva brushes in rose gold which are stunning! After seeing my mum, Nathan and I went to my dad’s pub so he could collect his post and also I was hoping in my mind he might have something for me but no. Another year without a present, card or even just a text and I was heartbroken that my own father cant even gets me a card or at least spends 5 seconds to send a text but I wasn't going to let that ruin my day. We then went back to mine and just flopped for a little before I had to go and get my friends from uni who was coming down for the night. Heidi got the train in at 4:30 pm and Maddie was running slightly late as per so we went to the pub while we waited for her when Maddie arrived me, Maddie, Heidi, and Nathan all went back to mine to get ourselves sorted for the evening to begin. Nath had a nap as he was still suffering from the night before and I and the girls had a fab catch up and talked about random shit for ages before doing anything. They also both bought me presents! Which I really wasn't expecting in the slightest! They both bought me bottles of pink fizz which I love! Heidi also got me some bath salts a bath bomb and some treats for the dogs - which is adorable! Maddie got me a box of Maltesers and a photo frame with a picture of the three of us in which just melted my heart. I have two amazing friends and I'm so lucky to have them! Hana also came down to get ready with us which worried me massively just the fact of two completely different friendship groups meeting makes me so anxious! But they all got on so well and it made my life! Once we were eventually ready we all headed to the pub. It was such a chilled lovely night with a good energy all night long we all got incredibly drunk and a bit silly. I introduced the girls to cheeky vimtos and a load of Pewsey people and we just had such a fab night. We then went home and drank more and just behaved like idiots. Both Heidi and Maddie were staying at mine and also Nathan stayed as well. I was absolutely hammered but a good level of hammered so I wasn't feeling like I wanted to throw up which is always a good thing! We all disappeared off to bed and I think the girls probably were asleep straight away whereas I and Nathan stayed up till about 5:30 chatting and fucking and oh boy I got some great birthday sex! Sunday - The hangover begins… All of us were up and awake about 9:30 for some bizarre reason ! and me Maddie and Heidi all went into my brother's room for cuddles with him, again for some bizarre reason. The rest of the morning we just didn't do anything I had a horrific hangover and so did Maddie whereas Nath and Heidi seemed fine. Heidi left at 11 but Maddie stayed so we spent the morning eating bacon sandwiches, drinking coke, having cuddles and reminiscing about stuff which was lovely. When Maddie left me and Nath went back to the pub as he wanted a roast dinner and I wanted a hair of the dog in an attempt to help my hangover slightly. It didn't. If anything it made it worse so I had to go back home as I just needed cuddles and my bed. I think Nathan left around 6 ish but I'm not sure as I fell asleep so I spent the evening on my own and spent it eating Chinese takeaway, I had a bath and also binge-watched the entire first season of the end of the fucking world on Netflix, which is fantastic! Other than my dad being, well, my dad I've had the most fantastic birthday weekend and couldn't think of a better way to have spent it. I am not, however, looking forward to the next stage of my hangover which is the depressed stage as I think ill be recovering for about a week!

xoxo

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phoenix1966sbottom · 7 years

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Royalty

When Sam/Jared is around royalty (but not necessarily royalty himself). As always, heed the warnings where the story is hosted. And if you enjoyed it, consider leaving a comment for the author, since it is the only payment they ever receive.

The Golden Cage by Phoenix1966 (me) on Ao3. Jared/Jensen. J2 AU. Jared Padalecki was on the adventure of a lifetime before settling into the drudgery of life as a clerk in his father’s company. But as he traverses the Arabian Peninsula, his caravan is attacked and he ends up the property of Sheikh Ankour, forced to bend to the man’s every whim. (warning: contains non-graphic mpreg. Must be logged in to read.)

Hostage by fufaraw Ao3. Jared/Jensen. J2 AU. Jared has always gotten his regular omega checkups, and he takes his inhibitors like clockwork. He’s devoted to his friends and his family, but he’s passionate about archeology and dedicated to his career. He’s got neither time nor interest for a romantic relationship, much less a mate, and he definitely doesn’t want kids. He’s working as TA for Dr. Omundson, head of Knox University’s archeology department, while he finishes his Master’s degree. Jared jumped at the chance to join the dig, but omegas in Rirajistan are rigidly traditional, so Jared agrees to wear Omundson’s collar while in-country. The collar is just the visible sign that Jared’s under the Doc’s protection and responsibility. (warning: mpreg)

The Prince and I by bluetoast on Ao3. Jared/Jensen. J2 AU. Jared's having an awful year. He's been fired, evicted and he caught his boyfriend cheating on him. With not much to stand on, no family save for friends, Jared goes with his friends to the Mediterranean country of Biryal for a month-long vacation. While there, he meets Jensen Ross, who is unlike anyone Jared has ever met. What should have just been a summer romance is the start of something neither of the two men expected. For starters, Jensen is keeping one very large secret from Jared. Namely that he's the crown prince. (warning: mpreg).

What’s a fire and why does it burn? by deirdre_c on Ao3. Jared/Jensen. J2 AU. A retelling of "The Little Mermaid." A little bit Hans Christian Andersen, a little bit Disney, a whole lot of melodrama.

My Light by zubeneschamali on LiveJournal. Jared/Jensen. J2 AU. King Jensen rescues his kidnapped husband-to-be Jared and reaffirms how much he means to him.

Pretty Things series by keep_waking_up on Ao3. Jared/Jensen. J2 AU. King Jensen has a reputation for liking pretty things.

Royal Secrets by Sanshal on Ao3. Jared/Jensen. J2 AU. Jared (18-21) is a commoner who works hard to support his sickly mother. He is surprised to see the prince’s entourage travelling through his village. The prince notices that Jared looks exactly like him, telling Jared how fun it would be if they could switch places, just for the day.

Slave for Love by annie46 on LIveJournal. Jared/Jensen. J2 AU. Jared is a reporter who will do anything for a story. When his plane crashes during an important job he finds himself in the Harem of a notorious sheik – Jensen. (Waning: there is a Top!Jared moment in chapter 3!)

Worth Having series by Greenbird on Ao3. Jared/Jensen. J2 AU. Jared’s family has never hidden that they hate him for being an omega. They think it makes him weak and his existence dishonors their family. When they discover that the king’s son is looking for a mate they jump at the chance to rid themselves of Jared and increase their social standing. They believe that something good should come from the blight on their lives. (warning: mpreg)

Convincing the Consort by Sanshal on Ao3. Jared/Jensen. J2 AU. Breaking up with his boyfriend might have been the hardest thing Crown Prince Jensen Ackles had had to do in the line of duty… Except; it turned out that convincing said boyfriend that he wanted to make-up and marry him might just be even more difficult. (warning: mpreg)

Baiatul Pierdut by minchout on Ao3. Jared/Jensen. J2 AU. When the warrior king from the North decides to take Jared as his husband, Jared’s world is upended. However, he quickly realizes that being captured by a handsome king is really the least of his problems.

Imperative by ancastar on LiveJournal. Jared/Jensen. J2 AU. Jensen is lost in the woods, and Jared finds him.

Darkness Deep In You by aythia on Ao3. Jared/Jensen. J2 AU. Just because Jared offered himself up doesn't mean he’ll go down without a fight. The problem is that Jensen likes it when they fight because it makes it that much more delicious when they break. (heed all the warnings on this one,m folks!)

Unmake the Bed by deirdre_c on Ao3. Jared/Jensen. J2 AU. Jared has worked as part of the housekeeping staff at an elite Caribbean resort on Paradise Cay every summer all through college, crushing from afar on its most notorious celebrity guest: Jensen Ackles, the Playboy Prince of Espian. This year, he’s been assigned to attend to Jensen’s rooms, where he catches Jensen’s eye, and possibly his heart.

The Fairy Tale !verse by morrezela on Ao3. Jared/Jensen. J2 AU. Jared is a workman’s apprentice in the royal palace. He should be happy for the opportunity, but he really just wishes that he was back home. (no penetrative sex)

Love at First Sight by cleflink on Ao3. Jared/Jensen. J2 AU. Once upon a time, a stable boy loved a prince who'd never seen him. Who also happened to be his best friend. (no penetrative sex)

Vow of Protection by fiercelynormal on Ao3. Jared/Jensen. J2 AU. With his father slain by a ruthless enemy, Prince Jensen of Glenhaven must fight to take back his family's kingdom and to win the heart of his best friend, Jared. (no penetrative sex).

The Taking by morrezela on AO3. Jared/Jensen. J2 AU. Jared was on vacation on the mysterious and beautiful Parnath. He had known about the ‘takings’ that could happen; he just never thought that he would be that one tourist that would have it happen to him.

Estrangement by morrezela on Ao3. Jared/Jensen. J2 AU. Senior year of high school, Ross Blanco’s estranged father died. His death caused rifts that hadn’t the time to be fixed before Ross disappeared from his teenage home to go live with his grandmother. Now that his ten year reunion is approaching, the people Ross left behind might be in for a bit of a surprise. (no penetrative sex)

Silver City, Golden Heart by whispered_story on Ao3. Jared/Jensen. J2 AU. Jensen is just your normal easy-going elf prince, that is until Jared, the adorably charming stable boy, is captured by an evil necromancer. Aided by fairies, a mage, and a brownie, Jensen must ward off werewolves, a troll, a siren, and one very cranky wyvern to get his beloved Jared back.

If Only A Heart Could Be As White As Snow by zubeneschamali on LiveJournal. Jared/Jensen. J2 AU. What if Snow White had been a young man? It would not only have been his beauty that was a threat, but his future role as king. What if his best friend was a huntsman's son, and both of their worlds were shattered by the betrayal of a jealous stepfather… (no penetrative sex)

Keep on Yearning by Teot on A03 via the Wayback Machine. Jared/Jensen. J2 Non-AU-ish. Every member of the lore knows that shifters only mate with other shifters. When Jensen meets Jared, someone disconcertingly human, he reacts as if his body were on fire. But Jensen refuses to believe that Jared is his true mate. He’s already in a committed relationship with Danneel and Jared is engaged to his girlfriend Sandy. Factor in Jensen’s responsibilities as Prince and the rebellion he’d have on his hands if he chose a human for a mate, and any relationship with Jared should be dead on arrival. But the wolf in him doesn’t care about politics or existing relationships; it wants Jared, human or not. Further complicating everything is that Jared seems to be the target of humans, wolves and even the reclusive cougar clan. Could Jared be more than he seems? (warning: Jared/Sandy background)

Wincest

But Gently Pulls the Strings by eugara on Ao3. Sam/Dean. Wincest AU. When the Queen of Winchester finds herself unable to produce an heir for the kingdom, her ensuing plot results in two boys being born in secret and raised as companions—the elder, a prince, and the younger, a simple commoner. Unaware of their shared parentage, Dean Winchester and Sam Campbell grow up to fall deeply in love, keeping their affair hidden from the gossiping mouths of the court. But when it comes time for Dean to choose a spouse, the lovers are forced to contend with not only the weight of their scandalous past, but also Lucifer, the sinister archduke vying for Sam’s hand in marriage…and Dean’s rightful place on the throne.

Beauty and his Beast by virtualpersonal on AO3. Sam/Dean. Unrelated Wincest AU. Prince Dean crosses galaxies and ruthlessly strikes a bargain enabling him pluck Sam away from family and home . Sam only hopes he will survive the cruel attentions of this heartless half-man half-monster who has secret agendas and expectations that Sam cannot fathom. (Sam does use a dildo on Dean in one scene)

The Sheikh’s Reluctant Bride by restless-jedi on LiveJournal. Sam/Dean. Wincest AU. Sam, a young lawyer trying to get by, unexpectedly finds himself traveling overseas when a forgotten uncle dies. Dean, his adoptive cousin, is dashing, but distant, with a mysterious past.

#fanfic rec #royalty #bottom!jared #bottom!sam #a/b/o dynamics #king #prince #sheikh #mpreg #wincest au #j2 au

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gaiatheorist · 5 years

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“Just a domestic.”

TW: DV.

It’s probably 30 years since the time I phoned the police, with a police officer in the house, to remove my step-father, who was attacking my mother. I didn’t understand why my uncle wouldn’t step in then, looking back, he was on holiday, visiting family, he wasn’t ‘on duty’, and he’d made his own judgement not to intervene. One of many instances of asking for help, and there not being any that led to this closed-off, insular state I place myself in, for my own protection. My brother and I had spent years periodically chasing my stepfather out of the house when he became violent, locking the door, leaving the key on the inside, and listening to our mother agreeing that she wouldn’t let him back in this time. She always did, though, we’d come home from school however-many days later, and find him on our sofa.

We weren’t old or aware enough to do the same with our father, the routine there was different. He’d beat her, and she’d either do nothing at all, or wake us in the middle of the night, coats-on-over-pyjamas, and take us to her friend’s house for a few days, before returning.

Boris Johnson and Mark Field in the news are making me feel uneasy. The attitudes of some comments, that Field’s action was justifiable, that neighbours are snooping-and-snitching on Johnson show that some perspectives haven’t moved much in 3 decades. What’s making me even more uneasy is the knowledge that those two cases are far from isolated, that there will be untold numbers of untold stories, behind closed doors. It’s the inaction that’s making me uneasy, the way that nobody intervened as Field grabbed Janet Barker, and how long neighbours allowed the ‘domestic disturbance’ to continue at Carrie Symonds’ flat before contacting the police. Barker doesn’t intend to press charges, and Symonds is reportedly claiming that neighbours are interfering in a private dispute.

We’re going backwards. The back-pedalling on Field’s action is infuriating “He’s not trained in restraint, he acted on instinct!”, not a very nice instinct, grabbing a person by the neck. The ensuing hoo-haa about “What if it had been a MALE protester?” is a nonsense, grabbing a human by the throat is a dick-move, I know, because I’ve done it twice. It’s a show of power, and it’s dangerous if done in anger, misjudging the pressure applied could be fatal. Luckily for the two men I’ve pinned against walls my their throats, my anger is the cold-calculating type, not the hot-headed. The first was an ex-boyfriend, who’d decided to swing his dick, by trying to have his group of friends intimidate myself and the ex in a pub, after I broke up with him. The ex, to his credit, calmly sat in amongst the former boyfriend’s ‘crew’,and asked the biggest, most volatile one “Are we going to have a problem, lads?”. Even then, I wasn’t going to buy into the ‘Knight in shining armour protecting me’ bullshit, so, when the ex-boyfriend came back from the toilet, to find my new boyfriend sitting in amongst his gang, I made a stand for myself. I pinned him to the wall by his throat, and told him to back off, and leave us be. I didn’t hold him there for log, and I was careful where I put my thumbs, but the dick-move power-play was enough. The second time was even more calculated, some years later, a random young man in a pub had wilfully damaged some of the ex’s band gear, and then squawked that the band were ganging up on him. They weren’t, they were just trying to get his details to sort out payment for the damage, but he was trying to run off. I pinned him to the wall, by his throat, we were about the same size and build, and I knew I could hold him there without physically hurting him, the humiliation of being ‘restrained’ by a girl was enough.

I’ve split up bar-fights, and intervened in countless situations that looked like they were about to turn ugly. It’s what I do, I’m not violent myself, and I loathe the thought of people injuring each other. I step in, and sometimes that’s enough, the ‘unexpected’ of a woman standing between brawling men. (I don’t think I’ve ever split two females, that shit CAN get unpleasant.) I am ‘trained in restraint’, to a degree now, but it’s always the very last resort to put hands on, there are multiple levels of de-escalation strategies that can be tried first.

“She might have been armed!” Barker’s response, that the only thing she was armed with was scientific evidence was PERFECT. There’s a side-snark, that The Presidents Club showed us that entitled males just ‘do’ grab at females at black tie dinner events. She wasn’t armed, she had her mobile phone in one hand, and a handbag in the other. Even if there WAS a weapon in the bag, she didn’t have a spare hand to access it, women’s clothes are stupid.

The internet had a day or so of “What if it had been a LION?” and such, and I’m getting myself conflicted. Part of me thinks it wouldn’t have mattered whether it was a male protester or a female one, it was still an act of violence, but then there’s the footage of Esther McVey being approached by an angry man, and nobody intervening. Women are being shown that they are less-than.

The Johnson incident was even more worrying. There’s no indication that Symonds came to physical harm, but this man looks like he’s going to be the UK’s next Prime Minister. The neighbours have recorded and reported that there were raised voices, that she was telling him to leave the flat, and he was refusing. A sofa-surfing Prime Minister, screaming and swearing at the girlfriend he left his wife for. Is that what anyone wants as PM? Yes, the neighbour contacting the press might have been viewed as intrusive if it had been a ‘normal’ couple arguing. It wasn’t a normal couple. The police initially stating they had no record of the incident, and then back-pedalling when provided with incident number, and details of units in attendance wasn’t an administrative error.

How much shouting and banging does there have to be before it’s not ‘just a domestic’? Does it need to hit the headlines for another reason? This back-sliding is worrying, you don’t have to have had the exposure to DV that I had to recognise that it’s not acceptable. The attempts at justification and normalisation are concerning, and risk years of forward progress being undone. I know it’s not ‘just’ male-on-female violence or abuse that’s the issue, that there is female-on-male, and abuse within same-sex relationships. None of it is OK. The other cases rarely hit the headlines, possibly because there are fewer of them, and possibly because of the shame/stigma perspective. The old-style argument of ‘just a domestic’ is harmful, and the back-pedalling on an act of violence, an assault occasioning actual bodily harm is disturbing.

The ‘in the privacy of their own home’ arguments will be trotted out on Johnson. Symonds is minimising the altercation, and sectors of the UK press are digging dirt on those who disclosed. Deeply disturbing, that, while not outwardly defending Johnson, some media are seeking to discredit the ‘concerned neighbours’. This is not a ‘nanny state’ issue. I saw the aftermaths of my mother being beaten, I heard the butcher’s-slab noises of my father and stepfather punching her, and, at a certain point, I stopped believing that she’d ‘walked into a cupboard door’ when she took to wearing eye make-up in the daytime. I was raised in environments where it was considered acceptable to ‘give her a crack’ if dinner wasn’t ready, or right, or if the day had a ‘d’ in it. I am very deeply damaged as a result. I was too young, and too small to ‘do anything’ about my father, I was terrified of him, because I was also a ‘her’, and endured so many ‘cracks’ that my flinch-reflex is almost entirely absent. (Useful in some situations, thanks, Dad, you arsehole.)

Desensitised to violence, unflinching, not-caring about my own physical well-being, I chose a different route with my step-father. I scared him more than he scared me, even before I exceeded his height of 5′ 7 and 1/2″. He sometimes attacked my brother, but never me. (He always used a weapon when he attacked my brother, too, absolute coward, beating a teenage boy with half a snooker cue, or the yard-brush.) It wasn’t the fact that I could take ‘a pasting’ from my mother without tears, or a sound, it was the knowledge that I would phone the police, however much he hissed, or screamed into my face that they wouldn’t come out, because it was ‘just a domestic.’ Back then, that was the attitude. I still made the phone-calls, and he’d have a night in the cells to sober up, before going to his mother for a couple of days, until he wore my mother down again.

The ‘just a domestic’ attitude still exists. A peripheral acquaintance of the ex moved onto this street for a while, with his girlfriend. They were both alcoholics, and there was domestic violence. The first time she showed up at my door, bloodied, as my son was in his bedroom, she insisted she didn’t want me to call the police. The ex compounded it, by accepting the ‘just a domestic’ line. His mate’s ‘right to a private life’ took precedent over my right not to be called to give first aid to a screeching woman banging on my door for protection, and my son’s right not to be exposed to that. The second time she appeared, with an obvious head injury, and possible concussion or worse, I over-ruled both of them, and called an ambulance, stating that there had been DV, drink, and I had a child in the house. It was sweet of the police to offer me a liaison-worker, in case the incident had traumatised me.

My next-door neighbours have sporadic instances of ‘rowing’. That, in itself wouldn’t be an issue, but, when a ‘domestic’ becomes a ‘disturbance’, it is an issue. I don’t want to be the only person on the street who doesn’t just ‘let them get on with it’, I always assess whether their children are at home, whether there’s a risk to ‘persons’ or ‘property’. The incident where he smashed her car windscreen with a wheelbarrow wasn’t as humorous as I made it out to be, I was going through a million tangential possibilities of which one of them would be easier to subdue, if I needed to provide refuge to one or the other. (Him, 5′ 9″ of ginger-female would antagonise her, but distract-disarm him.)

It’s never ‘just’ a domestic. Adults are assumed to have capacity to consent, unless medically categorised otherwise, that assumption of capacity is flawed, in light of my mother ‘walking into cupboards’, and society in-general ‘letting them work it out’. I’m big enough, and strong enough, to do what I feel is ‘right’. ‘Right’ and ‘Just’ aren’t interchangeable.

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adellupchurch59-blog · 7 years

Text

My Personal Tale From Incest.

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