#covington-shenanigans gets personal
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shout-out to that time like five years ago when I did a minor vandalism in honor of my then-recently-deceased fat femme wife
#fuck calories#diets don't work#calories tw#fat positivity#idk if this made any difference to anyone aside from me#but it was indeed deeply personally satisfying so I count it as a win#covington-shenanigans gets personal
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RENZIE NAIPAUL
Age: 36
Pronouns: he/him
FC: Raymond Ablack
Neighborhood: Sterling Lake, lives in a houseboat on Lake Shoal
Occupation: Film-maker, owns Lake Shoal
Personality:
+ Outwardly calm, curious, congenial +
- Entitled, directionless, easily stressed -
tl;dr: Renzie grew up in Covington, then lived in LA for 15 years. He was the wayward son of rich parents (land/property developers), but recently got full responsibility of his family wealth - including the audacious ownership of Lake Shoal. He persists on being 'one of the people', but exists in a liminal untouchable space between classes. Very few people know exactly how wealthy he is, but he can inadvertently advertise it in random ways.
PLOT IDEAS & FULL BIO UNDER THE CUT
Plot Ideas and WCs!
Glory days - old friends/rivals from Covington! High school buddies, frenemies, exes, crushes, bullied, etc. Yes, Renzie was the popular jock and prom king.
Property wars - people in Covington (or anywhere along the eastern seaboard) who's parents might've had housing/property beefs with Renzie's parents. Got screwed over in your skyrocketing rent or evictions? Probably the Naipauls.
Public park - now that Ren owns the lake, he has conflicting feelings about owning it. People innocently visiting the lake for fishing/picnics/canoeing/hiking/snogging at Makeout Point etc, can be potential for shenanigans (mostly Ren's)
It's the Biz - any fellow filmmakers, actors, writers etc from the film industry, Renzie will eventually want to start making documentaries again and/or work together on some project (your character's?) Renzie is not above petty crime to get a good script. He wants at least one award, dammit.
You're the Biz - since Ren wants to make more documentaries, it could be about your character! Maybe? If something interesting about them catches his eye. Potential for drama/conflict/trouble
Anonymous donor - Renzie loves Covington, his best memories are growing up here. With his substantial inheritance, he's experimenting now with 'the rich life', but...not too obvious about it.
Let's Partay! - Renzie loves a good hoedown, discotheques, dancing, clubbing, bar-hopping. And drunk!Ren means he's now willing to make it rain on any party buddies. For better or for worse.
Grief group - Ren's still recovering from his parent's untimely death, any fellow grievers around, they could bond over loss and all that sad stuff.
Biography:
...they bought a lake.
Renzie Naipaul knew his parents could be aggressively enterprising - even extravagant in their lives and careers, but. Buying a whole damn lake in Covington, really? That took 'ballsy' to a whole new strata of audacity. But in the wake of their untimely deaths, all Renzie could do was accept his immense inheritance, drowning himself in the watery grief of Lake Shoal. He'd never gotten along with his parents, with their rags-to-riches immigrant work ethic, buying into the ludicrous 'American dream'. And Casper and Sugar Naipaul never understood their strange son's disinterest in capitalistic ventures and conquering the corporate world. They were always too busy for him; so most of Renzie's youth was in Covington, raised by his eccentric Auntie. It was a good life, even if Renzie adamantly denied the empire he'd been born into. He liked being normal, fitting in with people from all walks of life. He was a happy child, his creativity encouraged by Auntie Dolly.
Adulthood took him to Los Angeles, pursuing dreams of becoming a hotshot Producer. With an impressive imdb resume, he would return to Covington and single-handedly fuel the budding film industry in his beloved Southern city. But despite his education and love of film, it soon became clear he was missing one essential ingredient: money. He needed craploads of money to woo network executives and starlets alike. And theoretically, Renzie could've just called his parents, convinced them to load his bank account - but he couldn't, wouldn't, didn't. Renzie stuck to stubborn (if superficial) dreams being a self-made man. Success on his own terms.
None of this came to pass. Instead Renzie settled into years of mediocrity, turning to documentary film-making. Pet projects for friends, ham-fisted lax-activism shorts, overly-artistic exposés, that sort of thing. His work made it into fringe film festivals, and got him some paltry credentials on imdb, but not much else. All he could hear were his parents: you could be so much more, Ren.
The day he got the call about the plane crash, everything changed. The money he'd adamantly refuted suddenly became a non-issue. Nothing was too expensive or extravagant for mom and dad's recuperation. Renzie ensured his parents got the best possible care, world-class doctors, modern facilities - all of it. But only a few weeks after the accident, his parents nevertheless succumbed to their injuries. From there it was a dull drone of arduous meetings with lawyers, corporate stakeholders, family crawling out of the woodwork, all contesting the Naipaul will. But the bottom line held: the majority of the Naipaul estate - including swaths of property and investments across the entire Eastern seaboard - went to their only son.
Including, apparently, a damn lake.
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HELLO!! please tell me about " Willie and Bobby trans buddies" and the Descendants AU from your WIP list!!
- @michelangelinden
Hi Linden!! So Willie and Bobby trans buddies takes place in my transfemme Bobby au. It’s after Julie joins the band and brings Carrie, Flynn, and Willie into Sunset Curve’s social circle. (Carrie was already kinda there bc she’s Bobby’s cousin). Anyways Bobby and Willie end up alone in the studio together and this happens:
“How did you and Carrie meet?” Bobby asks.
“I auditioned for Dirty Candy.”
“Oh, so recently then?” Bobby asks, though that still doesn’t quite add up. The last Dirty Candy performance she saw was a couple months ago, but Willie interacts with the girls like he’s known them for a lot longer.
“Nah,” Willie shrugs, not looking up from his sketchbook. “I was in it for a coupla years back when it first formed.”
Bobby frowns, confused. “I don’t remember ever seeing a boy in the group.”
“Well, I dropped out a while ago.”
“But the only person who ever dropped out was—” A girl who looked exactly like Willie. “Oh.”
Willie finally looks up, giving her a nervous grin. “There ya go. I knew you’d piece it together eventually.”
And then they bond and Bobby helps Willie come out to Alex.
And then the descendants au!! It’s centers on Willie, who is the child of Caleb Covington (basically the original version of Peter Pan who kidnapped lost boys and killed them when they got too old). Willie sneaks into Auradon with the VKs who were actually chosen (Reggie, son of Gaston, Flynn, child of Gothel, Luke, son of Ursula, and Bobby, son of Drizella). He’s supposed to bring the barrier down but instead he discovers his gender, his pixie heritage, and falls in love with Reggie. There’s also enemies to lovers Bolex with some love potion shenanigans, Julie/Nick that turns into enemies to lovers Julie/Nick/Luke, and enemies to best friends Julie & Flynn
Here’s a snippet!
Reggie wanders into the room uninvited, looking around at the decor. “I just wanted to check in on you. We didn’t really get a chance to talk much earlier.”
“Oh,” Willie blinks. “Aren’t you—”
“Is this yours?” Reggie asks, examining Willie’s fairy house. He quickly turns back to Willie with a bashful grin. “Sorry, I got excited. What were you saying?”
“Aren’t you…” Willie hesitates. “I don’t know, scared of me?”
Reggie frowns, tilting his head. “What do you mean? Why would I be scared of you?”
Willie shrugs and sinks down onto his bed. “Everyone else on the Isle is.”
“I think they’re scared of your dad,” Reggie says. He sits down next to Willie, so close that their thighs brush. A rush of heat rises to Willie’s face at the contact. “They’re scared of my dad too, but that doesn't mean I’m scary. So it probably means you’re not scary either.”
Willie gives him a small smile. “Thanks, Reggie.”
“No problem!” Reggie turns his attention back to the fairy house. “Is this yours?”
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“This is a parable of America. It illustrates the double standard that excuses white kids from their shenanigans while black four-year-olds get guns in their faces for walking out of dollar stores with dolls. This is why people excuse the actions of Covington Catholic MAGAts but understand why cops detain 12-year-olds playing in the park at gunpoint. It’s why media outlets referred to mass murderer Adam Lanza as “bright and troubled” and called Laquan McDonald “wild” and “dangerous.”
It’s why accused murderer Kenneth Gleason was called a “clean-cut American kid;” Parkland shooter Nickolas Cruz was called a “broken child” and Mark Anthony Conditt was called a “troubled person motivated by frustrations. Meanwhile, police point guns at three-year-old black toddlers, handcuff innocent, black 10-year-olds and drag black high school girls down the hall.
But poor Kyle.”
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@jammeke and I might be having a little nervous breakdown about The Babymakers: Fertile Ground, a wholly fake and not at all going to happen romantic comedy starring Chris Pine and Lucy Griffiths as two wildly attractive people thrown together following some shenanigans at a Toronto fertility clinic.
“Ms. Covington—“ began the lawyer, looking efficient and, in fact, preoccupied (though he was trying his best to hide it).
Perhaps that was how all high-end lawyers looked, she thought. As though they were at present desperately needed elsewhere. “Please, call me Ada. It makes me feel like less of a criminal.”
“Oh, certainly. Certainly! There is no question about your part in this, Ms.—Ada. Your actions have been perfectly legal and above-board. Our client, the Clinic, in no way would wish you to think—“
She interrupted. “You must excuse me, you said we needed to meet, so I have driven into the city to learn whatever it is that could not be dealt with over the telephone. If you could cut to the chase, we are at shearing the alpacas today, and it’s really something of an event at the farm--?”
“We needed to meet to discuss a new, unexpected development,” he said. “Your parking, of course, will be validated. And we would be delighted to provide you with lunch.” There was a pause, during which she did not thank him. “Someone, we believe at the clinic, has leaked Donor #879’s confidential profile.”
“What, his medical records? His test results?”
“His everything,” said the legal clerk that generally occupied the same room as the lawyer, but like a servant on some British costume drama, never spoke, save in hushed tones to the lawyer, and that very seldom.
“Why, that’s horrible, that’s…invasion of privacy. Certainly that must be illegal!” The clerk slid her the document. “What is—why, should I even be looking at this?” She looked at it.
“It’s a matter of public record, now,” the lawyer, as always, sounded eminently reasonable. “And yes, it was an illegal action that will be prosecuted once the source of the leak is discovered.”
She continued to look at it, though not deliberately. “Why, it’s everything but his picture!”
“And that will join it soon enough once TMZ hunts him down.”
Ada’s was distracted, reading through the profile. “Good heavens,” she said under her breath, finding the test scores, the volunteer history, the CV hard to believe. “What, does he also drive a Bugati?”
The legal clerk answered, her tones half-hushed, “actually, he drives a Volkswagen he converted to run off used cooking oil…” The lawyer gives the clerk a stern look.
“Crew, of course!” said Ada, coming to the Athletic section of the profile. “Of course he rowed at university. Di-Did you read this?” she asked the lawyer, “this reads like—like—“
“Every ovulating woman’s fantasy football team rolled into the body of one man?” The legal clerk finishes it for her, earning another hard look from the lawyer.
The lawyer cleared his throat. “He is the top requested donor among the clinic’s clientele seven years and running.”
“I can’t even read the title listed here for his last book.”
“It’s in Dutch,” the law clerk interjected helpfully, her voice half a whisper.
“Dutch?”
“Presumably, the explanation for that is a long story, it’s something about eighteenth century agrarian practices as depicted in the literature of the time--?” the lawyer replied, trying to brush off the detour the meeting had taken. “Nevertheless, we have called you here—“
“To show me,” Ada consulted the paper, finding the name, “Conrad Bierkut’s dossier?”
“No, not at all Ms.—Ada. But to warn you that if #879’s confidential profile has been leaked, it is to be expected that yours will no doubt shortly follow.”
Color rose up on her cheeks. “But what of Garrett—what of my parents?”
A bar, around happy hour. Nearby a university, but an establishment that caters more to faculty than students.
“Well if it isn’t old #879,” says a forty-ish man seated at a table, glass in front of him.
Conrad rolls his eyes, “buy a fella a drink before you call him names like that.”
He takes a seat at the table with his friend Mick.
Mick consults a screen on his phone. “You do look more than a little impressive on paper, Dr. Bierkut,” he says, snarkily. “I’ll give that to you. Do you reckon getting ‘outed’ like this is gonna make women more or less likely to date you? Knowing they could get your ‘high quality’ stuff for free?”
Conrad rolls his eyes. “You always were a sweet talker, Mick.” He takes a drink on the beer that has arrived. He doesn’t look too worn out, but he is a little less talkative than usual.
“I’m not usually glad mom’s gone on,” he says, “But in this case, probably for the best.” He raised his glass to the air in front of him.
“You don’t think she’d handle the news too well?”
He gives Mick the side-eye. “She always wanted grandchildren. It was all she could talk about from the day Julie and I got married—well past the day Julie served me with papers. That, and with what her priest would have to say about it? No. Susan Bierkut would not have handled this news at all well.”
“Internet’s having a field day with it.”
“Always glad to help out.” Conrad toasted with his pilsner.
“You shouldn’t feel too lonely, Connie. Looks like they’ve leaked Female #B34’s as well.” He flashed his screen at Conrad before turning it back to further peruse it.
“I wonder whose documents they paid more for?” Conrad asked the air in front of him, without sounding truly interested.
“They haven’t got a photo to go with it yet, but here she is in black and white—“ Mick told him. “You’ve never met her, not even with all this legal wrangling?”
“The lawyers were trying to preserve our privacy.”
“So much for that. Suppose you two can meet, now. But don’t take her out for steak.”
“Howzat?”
“Vegan, going on fifteen years. Eats nothing but organic. Little high count on the cholesterol, even so.”
“Great. Great news, Mick. Good to know.”
“Says here she’s currently pursuing locating her birth parents in order to provide more accuracy in her family medical history.”
“So she’s adopted.”
“Looks like. Owns and operates her own business. Phi Beta Kappa. Plays bass viol at competition level. Archery team captain at uni.”
“Vio—what?”
“Larger-sized stringed instrument.” Mick shrugs. “Just tryin’ to acquaint you with your baby mama.”
“She is not my baby mama,” it’s starting to get to Conrad now. He’s paying less attention to his drink.
“Well, she’s that baby’s mama. And you’re it’s Poppa. So that has to make her your something.”
Conrad has moved to try and sift through the stack of books, manuscripts, and student papers he brought into the bar along with his satchel. It is a frustrating task, as the pile is constantly trying to get away from him and flutter thud to the floor. ”It makes her another person named in this outlandish legal—whatever. It puts a target on her back, same as mine.”
“Yeah, nevermind,” Mick commiserates. “She’s probably some dried-up, flax-seed loving, ‘no don’t eat that, no don’t wear that, no don’t buy that thing you want from that corporation, what’s the internet’ buzz kill who took the money that clinic paid her to raise six thousand vegetarian cats.”
Trying to right the pile on the table before him one final time, Conrad dissented, “Uh, I don’t have anything against flax seed—“
“Or not,” Mick looked more closely at his screen. “They’ve just posted her photo.” He flashes it to Conrad, who grabs it away from him, with intent to power it down.
“Cut it ou—“ his eyes inadvertently go to the on-screen image. “Aw, man,” he shakes his head, as too late he has seen the image.
Mick whistles. “That’s gotta be one pretty little baby.”
*There may also be a scene in the script at a point following this where Conrad and Ada get stuck in an elevator on their way to see the lawyers (separately) and they spend the whole time trying to pretend they don’t know who the other is.
#jammeke#things i have written that are not technically fanfiction#the babymakers#chris pine#lucy griffiths#and introducting#karl urban#as Garrett#the almost-fiance
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When taxes get tangled up in spousal abuse
Relationships, even in the best of circumstances, are hard. When one partner is abusive, then things get untenable.
October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month. During this month, the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence (NCADV) and similar groups are highlighting the victims and survivors, their children and families, their friends and family and their communities that are impacted by domestic violence.
More importantly, these organizations are providing assistance and counseling to those in abusive relationships and looking for ways to leave them.
Financial as well as physical abuse: While most of us immediately think of physical harm when we hear of domestic violence, that's just one form of abuse. It also can be financial.
The spouse or partner who makes the most money uses that resource to further trap the victim. An abuser often limits the victim's access to money, doling out just enough so that the abused partner can barely make do in daily life.
The lack of financial resources is a major reason why domestic abuse survivors stay with a violent partner or return to the dangerous relationship.
Shared marital tax responsibilities: Financial abuse also can extend to tax filings.
That's why the Internal Revenue Service takes abuse into account when considering innocent and injured spouse claims.
When a married couple files a joint return, they face joint and several liability for any due taxes. This tax law means that the IRS can come after either spouse for payment of a tax bill.
So the husband who simply signed the 1040 is just as responsible for what is owed Uncle Sam as the wife, who was the one who filled out all the forms all on her own.
That means even the spouse who might be in more dire financial circumstances than the one who fudged completed the 1040 must come up with a way to foot the bill if the truly offending spouse defaults and IRS demands the payment.
Think about that before you sign your next joint 1040. Also be sure to look it over closely before you affix your signature.
If you do find yourself in a tax mess because of a spouse's filing shenanigans, you might qualify for innocent or injured spouse relief.
These are two difference options, with some specific requirements and guidelines.
Innocent tax spouse circumstances: Generally, an innocent spouse is one who filed a joint return, but was unaware that his or her husband or wife deliberately under-reported their shared tax liability. This status is requested by filing Form 8857, Request for Innocent Spouse Relief, separately from the tax return in question.
Here, you let the IRS know how and why you believe only your spouse or former spouse should be held liable for the tax bill in question. If granted, the innocent spouse can be relieved of responsibility for paying tax, interest and penalties if a spouse or ex-spouse improperly reported items or omitted items on the joint tax return. Generally, the tax, interest, and penalties that qualify for relief can only be collected from your spouse or ex.
Note that you cannot electronically file an innocent spouse request. You must snail mail Form 8857 to:
Internal Revenue Service
P.O. Box 120053
Covington, KY 41012
Or, if using a private delivery service, send it to:
Internal Revenue Service
7940 Kentucky Drive, Stop 840F
Florence, KY 41042
You also may fax (yep, the IRS still uses this method) the form and attachments to the IRS at (855) 233-8558.
The IRS has a special online page with more on innocent spouse tax relief.
Injured tax spouse circumstances: You might, on the other hand, be an injured spouse if you file a joint tax return and all or part of your portion of a tax over payment is not refunded.
Instead, most or all of the tax money you expected to get back goes to cover your spouse's legally enforceable past-due federal or state tax bills, delinquent child or spousal support payments or other federal nontax debt, such as a student loan.
As an injured spouse, you might be able to get back your portion of the refund instead of having it go to pay for your deadbeat partner's legally required payments.
In this case, you need to file Form 8379, Injured Spouse Allocation, to get back your share of the joint refund.
File Form 8379, which can be done electronically, as soon as you learn that all or part of your share of tax overpayment was, or is expected to offset your spouse's legally enforceable past-due obligations.
You must file Form 8379 for each year that the injured spouse circumstances apply. You can file it with your joint tax return or amended joint tax return (Form 1040X), or you can file it afterwards by itself.
You also must file the form within three years from the due date of the original return (including extensions) or within two years from the date that you paid the tax that was later offset, whichever is later.
The bottom line is that an innocent spouse is married to someone who, on the couple's joint tax return, deliberately lied to the IRS to lower their tax bill. The innocent spouse had no idea this tax cheating was happening and Uncle Sam agrees that the in-the-dark partner shouldn't be held fully accountable for such spousal tax actions.
An injured spouse, on the other hand, is a wife or husband whom the IRS determines is not legally obligated to cover via tax overpayments the debts of his or her spouse.
IRS efforts against spousal abuse: While filing for innocent or injured spouse relief works for many partners, for some it creates domestic abuse dangers.
In these cases, the IRS has taken steps to help protect potential abuse victims.
When a taxpayer files Form 8857, Request for Innocent Spouse Relief, the agency wants the worried filer to check the box in Part II of the form (line 10). It asks, "Is there any information you are afraid to provide on this form, but are willing to discuss?"
Checking this box will tell the IRS that the relief seeking filer has been an abuse victim and fears that innocent spouse consideration could produce retaliation.
The 8857 form also asks in Part V for additional information on the abusive situation that might have played a part in the tax situation.
Click form excerpt above to download PDF of the full Form 8857. You also can read more about spousal abuse tax situations in the form's instructions.
The form's instructions also cite a 2013 IRS revenue procedure that discusses how the IRS agency will take into account abuse and financial control by the innocent spouse's husband or wife in determining whether equitable relief is warranted. It also broadens the availability of refunds in cases involving deficiencies.
There's also a special IRS web page with more on the rights of taxpayers who are victims of domestic abuse.
Abusive spouse must be notified: One continuing concern by spouses seeking tax relief is that under current law, the IRS must notify the spouse (or ex) with whom the 1040 in question was filed when there's a request for relief by the other partner.
"There are no exceptions, even for victims of spousal abuse or domestic violence. We will inform your spouse or former spouse that you filed Form 8857 and will allow him or her to participate in the process. If you are requesting relief from joint and several liability on a joint return, the IRS must also inform him or her of its preliminary and final determinations regarding your requested relief."
However, the agency says it will keep your personal identifying information confidential.
"To protect your privacy, the IRS will not disclose your personal information (such as your current name, address, phone number(s), or information about your employer, your income, or your assets)."
But any other information you provide the IRS to help it decide on an innocent spouse request could be disclosed to the spouse or ex-spouse. In this case, the IRS says you should redact or black out personal information in the material you submit.
The IRS also tells filers of Form 8857 on the document itself (emphasis is by the IRS) that, "If you have concerns about your safety, please consider contacting the 24-Hour (Confidential) National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1-800-799-SAFE (7233), or 1-800-787-3224 (TTY), or 1-855-812-1001 (Video Phone Only for Deaf Callers) before you file this form."
Get marital and financial help: I hope your marriage is a happy and solid one and the you never have to file for relief as an innocent or injured spouse.
I'm not a marriage counselor, but I have been wed to the hubby for many decades and I quickly learned that talking about issues, money and tax included, is something that's better done before, not after, any financial moves or tax filings are made.
I hope even more that you never suffer financial or physical abuse in any relationship. But if you do, please, please, please get help as soon as you can.
You also might find these marriage related posts of interest:
Wedding and other tax tips for June
6 tax tips for divorcing (or divorced) couples
6 signs married couples should consider separate tax returns
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Summer Memory
After a day full of shenanigans in the sun, Alana and Aaron were soaking up the time they had with their daughter Binx before she was starting kindergarten in the fall. The days of spending her entire day at home was dwindling, so her parents were taking advantage of the time they had together. Aaron often spent his time at the office, so it was rare for the entire family to be together, but Alana pushed him often to be more present. After all, Binx had two parents, not just one and Alana wanted her daughter to know that. Finally arriving home from the fair, Binx was put to bed but her parents were still up.
“You can’t just control her entire future for her, Aaron. She’s four years old. She’s growing to be her own person. She’s fun, and loving. Aaron, I know you love your job, but don’t you love your family too?” Alana questioned as she stood across from her husband, arms crossed above her chest and her eyebrows furrowed in frustration for the one she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. Aaron Covington stood by the fire place with his hand resting on the mantle, not looking at his wife. Though Binx was only four, she knew that look. It was his thinking look. It was common for him to pause and allow silence to settle into the room, creating tension.
“Of course I know she’s her own person, Alana. But it doesn’t mean that my family can’t be a part of my job. I created an empire for us. Can’t you see that? Binx deserves to be taken care of, and having her be a valuable member of the organization will provide her that!” He argued, now looking at his wife. The two had been married for nearly 12 years. Meeting right after high school graduation, Aaron swept Alana Banks off her feet the summer before starting her new life at Columbia. She was a barista at the time, and he was a regular. They told everyone how it was love at first sight, and from the moment that Binx could understand human emotions, she knew how much love they truly had for one another. She grew up, seeing smiles on the both of their faces whenever they were together. Though, when she went to bed, it was a different story.
“I love you. I have from the moment you made me yours, but Aaron I can’t allow you to do that. I’m tired of having the same fight. There’s nothing to debate here. If she wants to be a part of the business, than that’s a different story, but you cannot force her or teach her these things. Binx deserves more than that.” Alana spoke sternly. She was advocating for her daughter to grow up noble and strong, someone who would spread love to others the way she had. Aaron on the other hand wanted Binx to be groomed to take over Covington Cooperations. He wanted to expose her to the mafia early, but Alana wanted her daughter to have nothing to do with it.
Four year old Binx stood by the door frame to the entrance of their living room, listening to her parents argue. She always heard them from her room, but on this particular night, she decided to see what the commotion was all around. She watched her parents fuss back and forth, their voices getting louder with each explanation. Binx was scared, seeing as though she had never seen her parents like this before. In a blink of an eye, things seemed to escalate in an unforeseeable way. In a matter of seconds, Binx stood frozen after the loud sound of a bang going off, following the sound of a thud. Watching her mother’s limp body fall to the ground caused tears to form in her small eyes. Before her father could hear her weep, Binx quickly but quietly rushed back to her room, crawling right back into bed as if nothing happened. What began as a day filled with adventures, laughter, and love, ended in a tragic murder and the loss of a person Binx loved so dearly.
Now at the age 23, Binx had ever only told one person of what she had witnessed that summer night, and it wasn’t her father. The less she talked about, the less it seemed real. It allowed Binx to play into the fantasy that her mother left, just like her father told her so. It made it less painful, in her eyes. Summers weren’t the same for Binx after that, but it wasn’t something she’d ever admit out loud.
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so I'm on this app, Marco Polo, where you stay in touch with people by means of sending video messages. (there are probably other features, but I'm a free user, so I remain blissfully ignorant of them.) mostly I use it to annoy my sister. ("BITCH WHAT IF I GOT A PHALLOPLASTY AND HAD A BABY SHOWER FOR MY DICK. WE COULD HAVE ZUCCHINI FRITTERS. DICK-SHAPED PASTA. BANANAS FOSTER. DO U SEE MY VISION")
anyway, during the Hell Year of 2020, I saw my childhood best friend (let's call her Lee) was on this app. and like.
when I say "my childhood best friend", I mean the Weird Girl next door, who saw the Weird Girl that I was. I mean the girl I played with from age five until just shy of eleven, when my family moved away. I mean the girl I played with every day, for hours and hours, making up all kinds of elaborate scenarios involving our menagerie of stuffed animals. there were multiple overlapping, soap opera-style plotlines that lasted for years. there was drama. heartbreak. glory. she was the first friend I remember having. she was the first girl I ever loved, in my five-year-old way.
well, I hadn't seen Lee in at least 20 years and I was like, "holy shit! Lee!!!" so I sent her a "hey, nice to see you here, how you been" message.
again, this was late 2020.
now, I had been on T for a scant three months when I sent the first message, so I was a mere baby child, relative to the gruff manly man I am now. no beard, my voice had only started to wobble, still had tits... you get it. keep this in mind, it'll be important later.
I never heard back from her, but we're both Old, so I was like "eh, she probably forgot she installed the app" and forgot about it. we'd exchanged text messages at some point during the Hell Year, but like many people my age she doesn't really text, and I'm not calling anyone if I don't have to, so our communication had been sporadic, at best.
well. today I got a notification that she sent me a reply on Marco Polo.
I figured, well, she's replying to me 3.5 years late, but better late than never. I have ADHD and no friendship degradation mechanic, so I'm excited! yay! friend! :D
and then I remember. "...oh shit. she doesn't know I'm trans."
so. the thing is. I'm from Mississippi, which is. very very fucking conservative. I know Lee grew up Southern Baptist. I also know she's still living in the same town where we grew up and where she eventually graduated from high school and college. last I checked she was still attending the same Southern Baptist church where she grew up and her remaining living parent is still living in Lee's childhood home.
so this is either going to be Fine or it's going to be a disaster. lol.
in thinking it through, I figure either she's seen my updated profile pic, where I have the beard etc., or she hasn't. so either she's going to acknowledge this change or she isn't. okay. these are the possibilities. so I watch the message.
...the secret third option is... she seems to not realize when I sent the message? "sorry, I missed this when I was at work!" girl. what? I mean, you probably did miss it while you were at work... three and a half years ago. possibly she meant to reply to someone else and got me instead?
whatever. who knows. doesn't matter.
because I have the opportunity to do the funniest fucking thing in the world now
#covington-shenanigans gets personal#story time#marco polo#trans stuff#childhood friends#trans man#transmasc#trans men
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let the cishets wonder
@nerdykeppie this shirt rules, thank u
#selfies are revolutionary#my face#gpoy#me#about the blogger#covington-shenanigans gets personal#happy pride everyone#trans men#transmasc#trans joy is real#dyke shit
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about the URL
(this was originally a reblog of someone else's post, am redoing it for my own purposes)
how I chose my URL:
from "coup de grace" (https://archiveofourown.org/works/14815754/chapters/34283300), also by @darkbloomiana
why my title generally reads "janice covington's hat":
from "all the colors of the world" (https://archiveofourown.org/works/14753382/chapters/34112880) by @darkbloomia
thanks for the inspiration, vivvy :D
(also I used to be ravenclaw-burning, in case you follow me but are confused about who I am)
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well shit I made it to 50 years old
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