#it took me 3 years to finish core classes because i kept failing and having to retake some due to procrastination that i feel is controllab

[time-teller]

vent

[jyoon3]

Day 3

Fell asleep before I could finish this post…



I failed again...

I told myself I wouldn't cry today but every time I'm in my car or by myself, the tears just start falling. Am I going to keep feeling like this...to keep crying every day? I have no energy and I have no desire to move forward or to keep going. I've been on autopilot, just running through the motions. 

Today, I woke up and I couldn't get myself to fall back asleep. I kept tossing and turning before finally deciding to just get up out of bed. I'm not sure what made me get up and begin to work out but that was my first instinct. To just start my day with a workout. My body is still hurting from training at Quantum on Monday but I decided to go through with it anyway. It wasn't much and it was just body weight and core work.

As I was driving to work, I was left with my thoughts and feelings. Drove to work on autopilot, not really registering what turns I was making and where. I made it to work by 7 am. I entered the building, wiping my face and trying to gather myself. Ms. Airey saw me...she said I appeared distraught. She knows how I am feeling and what I've been going through. I made sure someone knew, to keep me accountable. (She also has the task of making sure I finish a book a month this year.)  I rushed back to my classroom to make sure I could get myself together and to plan a lesson for today since Crump is out. Since she's out with COVID for the rest of the week, I'm on my own. For all six classes-- 3 of hers and 3 of mine for each day plus whatever classes I have to cover during my planning period. Today, I have Mr. Ruby's 6th grade ELA class to cover. I am not looking forward to it. 

It's the first period as I am writing this and all I can think about is him. I want to text him and see how he's doing. If he's been sleeping...are you at least eating....are you still working out? Are you still watching football and basketball? Have you sunken yourself into your games?  I've lost 7 lbs in the last two days...eating has been a struggle. I've lost my appetite and all desire to consume food. Will there be a day that I get back to living life normally? Where I don't think of you or wonder what you're doing or how you're progressing? Where in life will you be? I'm reminded of my final goodbye to you...the feeling I had, where I would never see you again. The way my heart broke into pieces as I got into my car and drove away. To see you standing on your doorstep made me want to just turn back around. 

I look at the keychain he gave to me...every chance I get. I may make it into a necklace. 

Second period wasn't so bad today. The kids were talkative and obnoxious as usual. I made Ty'Quan cry from calling him out during our brain break: Silent Ball. He got angry and he said some things to me that were garbled under his breath but it made the kids all riled up. I told him to step outside and he began to cry. I didn't feel bad at all....does that make me mean? I guess next time I can be more kind about it instead of putting him on the spot. Overall, the sixth graders weren't so bad--I gave them a bunch of notes and they were scrambling to write them all down. It was nice and quiet because they were frantically writing. Once second period ended, it was lunch...and I was alone in my room again.

Why is it that every time I am alone, I am thinking of him? I cried again. I silently wept in my room until I finally got myself together and was able to move across the room to heat up my lunch. I didn't eat. My food just got cold as I sat there...I had no desire to eat. No desire to do anything. I finally forced myself to get up and go get my kids from lunch at 12:00...a few minutes early. 

Third period was chaotic as expected from all of the crazies I have in there. Damon was great with assisting the new student get acclimated to the classroom. It took the whole class to make Savion, Jy'Aire, Uriah, and Kaden to focus. It was until the very end that they stayed in their seats. It wasn't until I realized that Ms. Matthews gave the kids fries...after I said no. She stated explicitly to the kids "I'll bribe you with fries...." I said no....and yet she gave it to them anyway. Beyond annoyed with the kids but also her. I'm over it. I was also frustrated with the fact that I had to rush to clean my room and she just sat there like I didn't have somewhere to be.  I anticipate this week and the next few weeks ahead to be rough.

—

After covering Ruby’s class, I rushed to go to practice. It was a long day. Tim threw in some new plays the other day and I just had the hardest time concentrating and keeping up with the kids as they were running through them.

BASKETBALL GAMES

Today, our kids played against New Town HS. Before the game, I stopped and said hi to Eric after not seeing him for so long. As I was watching him during warm ups, I began to cry…he was dunking with ease and looked like he improved so much since I last saw him. Words could not describe how proud I was of him and all I wanted to do was text him to tell him “Gucci can dunk!” (Gucci was what he called him.)

Watching Eric play against MSJ was a lot harder than I thought it would be.

During Halftime, I talked with Maria—she came out to take pictures of the kids. I told her some of what happened and surprisingly I didn’t cry. Maybe it was because we were in public and I was surrounded by people I know.

MSJ ended up blowing out New Town 95-30 something. It was a quiet game for me. I didn’t say much.

But after getting into my car, it hit me hard. I cried as I drove home.

I miss him.

[boldlyvoid]

ain't it fun? | Part five

Summary: reader just needs an NA meeting before they have a meltdown, they end up with the best friend they could ever make.

Warnings: pregnancy, chronic illness, spencer's career chance - he's a high school teacher now, they have a 1-year-old, smut at the end but not graphic.

word count: 2.8k

a/n: I imagine this is in season 10, so they've been together at least 7 years-ish now, I just jumped well into the future because I wanted to! also, Cordelia's nickname is Edie and pronounced Ee-dee !!

P1 P2 P3 P4

“No.”

Spencer sighs, “are you going to like any of my suggestions?”

“When you give me a baby name that isn’t from some weird old male book character, then yes, I’ll take them into consideration,” she replies, hand on her stomach as she lays back against the pillows.

She was huge, 9 months pregnant and so, so close to the finish line. She was swollen and in pain and exhausted. Going off every single medication and recreational drugs to make a life was a commitment and a half, she was doing well but she was so ready to be done. To do a few more months of breastfeeding and then go back on her medications.

Spencer was terrific. He was googling and asking Penelope to research things, he had called doctors he knows and friends and did everything in his power to find a way to ease her pain even before they got pregnant. He’s taken the last 3 months off of work and he doesn’t know when he’ll go back. He has just been so, so incredible the whole time.

Naming a child was hard. You had to not only think about all the nicknames and what their initials spell, but you also had to think about how they’ll like it; if it’ll fit their personality and spirit. And most of all, is it going to get them bullied? There are some terrible kid names. Like Richard… how do you name a newborn Richard?

“I want something meaningful with a nice nickname and works with our names and her siblings,” she whispered towards him. “They need to all work together.”

“What are some of your favourites?” He asks, moving in closer and finding a way to cuddle in with her and her pregnancy pillow who has all but replaced him lately.

“I like earthy names, like Lennox, Juniper, Aspen, Elowen,” her voice is really soft, she bites her lip at the end as she thinks them over again. “And old things like Cordelia and Winnifred.”

“Which one sounds the best with Reid?”

“I like Cordelia Reid the most, and then we can call her Edie and I was thinking you can pick her middle name?” She’s been thinking about it for a while, but too afraid to know his opinions.

“Cordelia means core in Latin, which makes sense cause she already has my heart,” Spencer teased, he has made it very clear that their little girl is going to be spoiled, loved and a daddy's girl.

He took all his fears of being a bad dad and threw them out the window. He knew that just being there was all he wanted from his dad, and so that’s what he was going to do. He left the BAU for the time being, he was doing the odd lecture at the academy and answering calls for cases. They couldn’t just stop using his brain, there were some things too pressing to not ask the walking computer, but other than that, he was done.

He was looking into other jobs for when he finally decides to go back, he was unsure how long of a paternity leave he wanted. He was really content with just staying home all the time now, but he did miss going out and being useful during the days. The job he was most interested in, however, was a high school teacher.

A prep school in DC is looking into adding an Anthropology, Psychology and Sociology course to their curriculum, and they wanted Spencer. They thought he would be perfect for the seniors, he is fun and young and attentive, he can control a room and keep them entertained, and he’s probably the best teacher a kid could get.

It was going to make him a good dad too.

“I think Jade is a nice middle name,” he adds after thinking it over for a few minutes.

“Cordelia Jade Reid,” she says the full name for the first time and it just feels right, like they already know her.

—

She was very calm for a newborn baby.

She liked to just look around and blink, she licked her lips a lot and she was constantly breaking out of her swaddle. She was always happy to have cuddles with her dad and she pooped every night at exactly at 3 am, without fail. She didn’t cry a lot, but when she did it was still wonderful to hear.

They were so in love with her, she was absolutely perfect for them. She fit right into their sleeping schedule and their life, she ate like a pro, she slept most of the night and she was growing way too fast for their liking.

One day they’re crying over the fact they made a life in a tiny little hospital room, and the next thing they know she’s about to turn 1.

She’s sitting in bed with Y/N, she’s sitting in her lap with two handfuls of hair and a story to tell. She’s been babbling so much lately, she hears them talking all the time and she wants to join so badly. They indulge her, asking her to continue her thoughts and gasping at her gossip.

“No way, and what did you do next?!” She asked the little one sat in her lap.

Edie babbled on once more, smacking her tongue on the roof of her mouth as she pushed air past her vocal cords, humming and making the funniest sounds. She went on and on, she was so enthusiastic, like her father, as she waved her arms around to make her point.

“That is so fascinating, you are so cool, little Edie,” Y/N hyped her up, smiling at her as she leaned in close and pressed their noses together.

Cordelia laughed and it finally made Spencer giggle too, he had been watching from the doorway as his ‘wife’ and daughter talked in bed. They were best friends already, always talking and snuggling, learning or reading together. She was always happy when she was with one of them, she was needy and snuggly and very co-dependent but they didn’t mind, they preferred all the attention from her.

“Look who’s home,” Y/N whispered and Cordelia shot a glance towards the door, she smiled and screamed as she saw him.

“Hi Edie!” He waves at her with a smile, he takes his bag off and places it by the dresser followed by his blazer.

He gets into the bed and she instinctively reaches for a hug. He wraps her up and she snuggles right into his neck, with a fistful of his shirt, she just holds him there. She didn’t understand why he wasn’t home all day anymore, she missed him for lunch and at nap time but she loved the new routine of a snuggle when she woke up and he got home.

Spencer leans back against the pillows beside Y/N, turning his head to capture a kiss from her lips. They always just spend a quick second kissing when he gets home, even if it’s just a peck or a full-on passionate make-out, he always kisses her when he comes home. He smiles at the end of the kiss, pulling her into a hug too.

“I love Fridays,” he whispers, “Edie do you know what Fridays mean?”

She pulls away and sits up, she loves to listen to him. “Friday is the last day of the school week, which means I get to spend 2 whole days with my favourite people now.”

Edie smiled, almost like she understood what he meant, and then she was talking again, it was completely incomprehensible but they imagined she was telling him about her day.

“You forgot the part where we went to the park,” Y/N added.

Cordelia looked at her with wide eyes, “dada,” was the only word she said before babbling on again and they both stopped.

“Did she just?” Spencer was shocked and frozen still after asking.

Y/N sat up and looked right into Cordelia’s eyes, “who is that?” She pointed at Spencer.

“Dada!” She said it again and they were suddenly all squealing, even Cordelia was suddenly excited as she kept screaming dada over and over again.

“Can you say, mom? Or mama? Mummy?” Spencer tried his hardest to find an easy way for her to say it.

“Mumm,” she pushed her lips together to hum her M sound and Spencer was floored, he bounced her up and down a small amount as they cheered.

“Smartest girl in the world!” Spencer cheered her on before pulling her into another hug.

Y/N was crying softly, little tiny dreams that she didn’t even know she had were coming true every single day with them. She knew she wanted to be a mom when she was growing up, all those dreams died when her illness got worse and they all warned her that having kids would put her at risk of being moneyless and that working wasn’t an option to even support them. Let alone the threat of them taking them away just because of her autism or depression possibly being considered ‘too bad’ to care for them.

Spencer took all those fears and he kicked them out. Every day she got to experience the most precious gifts the world had to offer, her daughter was perfect and her husband was incredible. Together they were a perfect little family that ran on trust, love, and communication. Always talking, always hugging, always there for each other.

—

They crawl into bed much later than they expected to. Cordelia didn’t want to go to bed, she was trying her hardest to keep staying awake to spend time with them but eventually, sleep won. They finally placed her in her crib with her white noise and her complete darkness and closed her door for the next few hours of peace.

They both let out a deep sigh before rolling to face one another. “How was your day?” He asks, like always.

“Good,” she smiles, “I think having a kid and getting on her schedule was the best thing I’ve ever done actually, cause I’m sleeping on time, I’m eating when she does and I’m outside a lot more. She’s given me this purpose and it’s rewarding on my body.”

Spencer moves in so he can kiss her nose, “I love hearing that.”

“How was your class today?” She asks back, loving his little stories about all the 17 and 18-year-olds that were fascinated by him. As well as the kids who thought it was cool to try and pick on him before getting the shit verbally kicked out of them in front of the whole class.

It was interesting seeing him in a form of authority, he never really took charge at the BAU, she’s never seen him yell at his friends and he’s never really yelled at her either. He’s been incredibly calm, so to see him verbally tear someone apart by acknowledging their biggest flaws to make sense of why they feel the need to bully, it was pretty intense.

“They were a lot better today, they enjoyed the lesson and the kids that were giving me trouble skipped, I guess he really didn’t appreciate me calling him out that bad on Tuesday,” Spencer smirked, rolling his eyes like he cared.

“I still can’t believe that he thought it was okay to call you names in front of other students, where is the respect these days?”

“Well,” he’s about to do what he always does. He can never be truly mad at someone because he knows why everyone does what they do and that they can’t help it. “In his file, it says his parents are newly divorced, we get a list of all the kids information on the attendance like allergies and things, but also small info like life changes in case they act out.”

“Doesn’t mean he can call you the f slur,” she whispers, “all because you wore a purple shirt?”

“If I met his father I’d probably get an answer for that,” he adds, “if he’s afraid to show his emotions around his son, it’s probably why his son thinks colours are gay.”

It makes her laugh, “you look hot in purple too so I don’t see the problem?”

“Do I?” He teases, getting in even closer and pressing their bodies together.

She rolls her eyes before wrapping her arms around him and leaning forward for a quick kiss, “I think you look sexy all the time.”

He kisses her as a thank you, “I think the same about you.”

“Even when I haven’t showered in 2 days because she cries if she can’t see me and she cries if she gets wet?” Y/N laughed, annoyed but in love with their little monster at the same time.

“Always,” he reminds her. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she kisses him again after.

There are probably a million more things to share from the day, but they spend their time kissing instead. It’s been too long since they’ve just rolled around in the sheets making out like they did in the beginning. Before they ever had sex, before they had kids and a house and a love as strong as they do now.

A part of them missed the early days when everything was new and exciting, but she also loved the fact that they knew each other so well that they didn’t have to communicate anymore. They ran like 1 unit, always completing the other person's thoughts, needs and wants. They were so unbelievably happy.

She wants him badly and he wants her just as much, and he’s about to take her when she pulls back. “Nope, as much as I love her I can’t get pregnant again for at least another year.”

It makes him laugh as he pulls away and rolls over to look through his nightstand for a condom, “it wouldn’t be that bad?”

“You carry it then, seahorse it up,” she teased. “I like being back on my medicine, I need some time to be okay before I go through all that again.”

Once he’s all situated in the latex and back between her legs, he hovers over her, so close that their lips are touching ever so slightly. “I am fine if it’s just the three of us forever.”

“I’m not,” she smiles, “there will be 4 of us one day, just not today.”

With that, she’s pulling him into another kiss as he pushing inside. It’s a feeling she’s accustomed to but will never be used to, it’s a stretch that shouldn’t be as intoxicating as it is. She holds him closer as she plays with his tongue in her mouth.

He was so good at everything he did, especially the sex. He knew every single part of her body now and exactly how to push all her buttons the right way. She could live in the moment of his pumping in and out of her while his thumb circled her clit and his other hand groaned her breasts. Eventually, he kissed down her throat and she was a mess of breathy moans and low gasps.

Writing in the sheets, her legs wrap around him as she tried to pull him in even closer. It was impossible to get closer but he was still too far away, she wanted to absorb him and live in him forever. He was her safe place and she never wanted to be anywhere else.

As her orgasm bubbled, so did his. The both of them gasping and panting, she whined as she breached the edge and gripped his back, “Spence!”

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he whispered before fucking into her harder and faster, pushing her through it as he reached his own.

His movements on her clit never stopped and suddenly one felt like two and she wasn’t sure when the rush was going to stop and she didn’t care when it did. It was powerful, soothing and euphoric. A high she could live in for a while and return to it without problem as long as she had him.

He came with a small moan, trying to keep quiet as he muffled it into her neck, stilling his hips on his last thrust and dropping onto her more. Her hands were all over his back as she pressed kisses to his forehead, coming down but not wanting the love to stop there.

The love was never going to stop there for them. Their love was never-ending, and somehow as she held him there in her arms and felt his breath on his neck, she turned to see the baby monitor with their peaceful child sound asleep down the hall, she loved him even more now somehow.

Loving Spencer Reid was like falling down a bottomless pit. She never knew when she was going to reach the end, but she was content with falling.

smut taglist: @g0lden-cth @doctorspenceryeet @samuel-de-champagne-problems @reiding-recs @shemarmooresfedora @spencers-dria@reidsfish @manuosorioh @mochionly @jswessie187 @k-k0129 @calm-and-doctor @blanchardsbk

[dreamescapeswriting]

Late Nights ~ JJK [M] [Request]

➳➳➳Word count: 2,206

➳➳➳Genre: SMUT with some fluff

➳➳➳Pairing: Professor!Jungkook x Student!reader

➳➳➳A/N: I realised after I finished writing you said romantic so I hope this is okay if not please message me and I will rewrite you something

➳➳➳: WARNINGS: All consensual and legal professor/student, pet names (dirty and cute)

Dating professors was against the college campus rules but it wasn't stopping you and your English Litertreture Professor Mr Jeon Jungkook. Looking back on it now you can't remember how it all even started, you just remember being yelled at for incompleted homework one minute and the next you were bent over his desk while he held your hair back fucking you roughly. Since then you'd been together for a year, not just sex, you were dating. He lived with you in your off-campus apartment and things seemed to be going really well,

"For those who were paying attention!" He yelled dropping a heavy stack of folders onto your desk in front of you. You were daydreaming in the middle of class again and Jungkook was starting to lose his temper, he couldn't show that he was having favourites in his class which resulted in him coming across harsher than usual to you than anybody else.

"If you're caught daydreaming again Miss Y/l/n I will give you a longer essay, understood?" You nodded and flicked through the folder he'd placed in front of you, it was a giant purple folder where you kept your assignments. Everyone had their own and every single assignment was slotted into it for him to grade.

"A D?" You whispered to your friend, you glanced over at her paper and she had an A+ yet she did less work than you, you shut the folder and Jungkook noticed the pout on your lips.

"Problem?" All eyes were on you now and you looked up at him,

"Yeah, I don't think I deserved this grade..." He looked down at the paper and nodded while tapping his fingers on it.

"No, I think you deserved it, I think I was being rather generous actually but I'd be happy to regrade it if you want to start it again." You stared at him as the bell rang,

"You should stay behind and talk to me." You knew what he meant by that and you weren't about to let him get that kind of satisfaction from you, not when he'd just embarrassed you in front of a class full of 20 people so you slammed the folder shut and walked out with it clutched against your chest. You tried not to cry in front of anyone but it was hard, he was always o mean to you in class and you hated every second of it.

Jungkoook hasn't gotten back until 11 that night and once he was in the house he walked around before going to bed. You'd laid there for hours waiting until you knew he was out cold before you got up to go and work. You were now sitting in the kitchen with your laptop and a tub of ice cream writing your assignment for him. The spoonful of ice cream was hanging out of your mouth while you typed the sentence to the newest assignment he'd given out that day when he walked into the kitchen. He noticed you were sitting on the barstool in one of his work shirts, one leg hanging down while the other was tucked up against your chest for your chin to lean against, you looked adorable even with the ice cream dripping down your chin which was sending mix signals through his body. One half of him was imagining you on your knees in front of him while the other was getting mad at you for being up so late.

"It's 3 am, how long have you been awake and why are you even still awake?" You threw the spoon back into the carton of ice cream you weren't going to talk to him, you just continued to type while he walked over and looked at the screen in front of you.

"The feud is demonstrated in the prologue, it is only circumstantial that Romeo is born into the Montague family and is a complete waste of space and just wanted to get his dick wet because he ''loved'' one girl and then another within a couple of seconds." He was reading off your laptop screen, you paused your typing and stared at the screen. Jungkook was laughing at what you'd written,

"If you hand that in I'll fail you." He chuckled but you scoffed at him,

"You'll just fail me anyway." You got up and put the now empty carton of ice cream into the bin and placed the spoon into the dishwasher,

"What are you talking about?" You ignored his question and went back to typing up the assignment deleting everything you'd written about Romeo and then starting the real work you had to do.

"You've done enough, it's 3 in the morning and you have an early class." But you ignored him trying to get it done but he shut the laptop screen down.

"Bed," You groaned at him and tried to open the laptop again,

"You see," He sighed, "This is exactly why I wouldn't let you get your own place, you'd work yourself to death." When you ignored him again he had enough and picked you up carrying you over his shoulder.

"You're going to bed." He carried you through to the bedroom and laid you down on the bed,

"Do you know what happens when you don't do as your told Jagi? I've told you a million times before but you still think you know what's best?" You squirmed around,

"Eh, eh eh," He said tutting at how you were behaving,

"You're not going to move, Mr Jeon is very upset with you right now." He whispered into your ear, kissing up and down your neck.

"I think you should make it up to me, don't you?" You stayed silent but he watched as you stared at him, you knew not to disobey him when he was in a mood.

"You're not moving from this bed until A) You've learned to listen to me," He kissed you on the lips,

" B)  You get good enough sleep," He sighed at you and you looked up at him from the bed, he had your arms pinned above your head.

"You're supposed to take a break so you can rest your smart little mind of yours." You cocked your head to the side and pouted,

"I'm not sure my professor will like that, he's mean to me." You mumbled but he growled into your ear and ground his hard-on against your thinly clothed core. You bit back the whimper,

"You're still a bad girl for staying up late," You wriggled from the bed and dropped onto your knees in front of him pulling down the shorts he was wearing and then his boxers. You took him into your hand and began to pump him in your hand slowly,

"Don't tease, you've been naughty enough." You licked the tip of his cock and he growled at you,

"Fuck who knew such a sweet girl could behave so badly." You took him all the way into your mouth and held onto his thighs as you did so, bobbing your head and staring up at him. He was moaning loudly and he thrust his hips into your face, rolling his head back and groaning out your name. Your eyes rolled back a little whenever he hit the back of your throat.

"You like this...when I face fuck you...huh?" You moaned around his cock as you ground yourself down against your foot to give yourself some kind of friction,

" go on, admit it...you're a dirty little cock slut aren't you?" He was moaning out and hissing with every thrust he thrust into your mouth,

"Tell me you like this," He pulled out of your mouth and smiled as you giggled at him,

"I love it, I'm your cock slut." You giggled only making him groan out,

"That's it," He stood you up from your knees and bent you over the bed.

"I'm going to fuck you in that tight little cunt," He whispered pulling your hair into a tight ponytail so your chest was arched off the bed, you whimpered as he rubbed his tip along your folds.

"So wet and I haven't even touched you yet, I bet I'll just-" He was cut off by the moan he was giving out as he slid right into you.

"So fucking tight every time," You moaned out loudly gripping onto the sheets in front of you and he chuckled softly,

"F-Faster K-Kookie." You whimpered with a whisper looking over your shoulder at him, he pulled out of you only to slam back in roughly pinning you down to the bed with his hips,

"Why are you being so quiet, princess? Let the neighbours know who's fucking you this well." You cried out as he continued his fast-paced thrusts not giving you time to adjust to him but hitting your G-spot every time.

"Fuck! Kookie right there!" You screamed out into the bedding as he brought you closer and closer to the edge, your stomach tightening with every hit.

"You feel so good princess," He whispered as he bent down to pound into you,

"Wrapped so fucking tightly around my cock," He groaned out and his hands fell from your hair to grip onto your hips so he could steady himself,

"Squeezing everything out of me, just like that first time." You clenched around him as he mentioned your first time together,

"You came in wearing that short skirt and crop top without underwear." He grunted remembering how good you looked sitting in front of his desk crossing and uncrossing your legs so he could see how much you wanted him.

"Such a cock hungry whore aren't you?" You whimpered at the nicknames he was giving you, he knew exactly how to get you where you needed to be.

"Clench around me just like that baby." He chuckled as you continued to clench him, your eyes rolling back as you felt yourself getting closer.

He pulled out from you and turned you around to face him so you were in the missionary position,

"I want you to look me in the eyes when you cum baby girl, huh? You wanna look up at me while you cum?" He slipped back into you making your head roll back but he put his hand on the base of your neck and forced you to look up at him,

"I asked you a question." He growled holding himself in place his tip almost where you needed it but not quite there,

"Yes Mr Jeon, fuck I wanna look at you while I cum around you." You moaned out and he thrust into you once again hitting that spot and getting you close once more.

"You're so close baby aren't you?" You'd lost the ability to talk from the bliss you were experiencing, you felt as though your whole body was floating.

"You don't get to cum until I do, that's how it works pumpkin." He chuckled as he saw your eyes widen, he knew you weren't great at holding back but you were getting there.

"Just like that, fuck I can feel you clenching again." You begged for him to let you cum and he chuckled at you,

"fuck I'm gonna fill you up so much princess...fuck you've earned every last drop haven't you?" You nodded frantically and he smirked down at you.

"Fill me up,"

"Jesus baby...okay," He grunted thrusting in and out of you at the routinely fast pace,

"You're gonna cum first, you're gonna milk every single drop out of me aren't you?" He began sucking along your neck and you moaned out his name your hands making their way into his hair as you tugged roughly, you were on the edge and you knew the moment he told you to you were going to lose it.

"Cum. Cum right now," You let out a scream of his name as you felt it building up pleasure rushed through you making your hips buck and legs shake as you clenched around him,

"Look me in the eyes baby girl, that's it. Good girl." You continued riding out your high as he stared down at you smirking as he felt you cumming around him,

"Shit baby just like that, cum all around me." He let out a small whimper before he began groaning and thrusting into you, spilling hot white liquid into you.

"Fuck," He grunted as he continued to thrust into you despite having finished, you could feel him leaking down your thighs but you didn't care, your head was clear from the orgasm you'd had and you were a giggling mess,

"You're my filthy little what?" He questioned pulling out of you and laying down on the bed next to you,

"Cum slut." You finished making him chuckle tiredly, he watched as you rolled over to lay against his chest and he smiled at you.

"I'm sorry I was so harsh to you in class." You hummed at him and he went onto apologise some more only stopping once he saw you were asleep on his chest,

"Goodnight baby. I love you." He whispered, kissing your head and reaching for a blanket for you both.

tagline: 

@yoongisdumplingcheeks @snowy-meowl @lynnthevirgo @kpopfanfictionhoes @lyoongx @callingmyangel @fan-ati--c @rjsmochii @mitzwinchester @btsiguess-kpop​

[side-effect-of-the-meds]

Hey! There's this hc that's been on my mind for a while now but it's a bit dark so I've kinda been scared to ask people about it because IDK how it'd go down.... Okay, it's AFTG, and: What if after Aaron's trial with the whole Thanksgiving thingy they propose Aaron should be on mood altering drugs? What would happen? What would people do?? Also I know there are some fanpeople that don't like how Andrew's medication was represented in the books so I completely understand if you'd rather not reply

I’m sorry this took so long and I’m sorry for my recent inactivity. I’m still not ready to come back from my surprise hiatus but here’s this. It’s largely unedited so please forgive my bullshit. Thanks so much for the ask, love <3

“Aaron Minyard was oft-referred to as "the normal one" of the two, though that was usually followed by a debate over whether or not he could be sane when he shared genes with Andrew.”

Anyone with half a brain knows that Aaron doesn’t need the drugs. Hell, anyone with half a brain would have known better than to put a minor on something so strong but Andrew was on them for like 4 yrs + Exy is a thing so obviously no one in this universe has a single functioning brain cell. Another thing to be considered is that Aaron is a rehabilitated drug addict. He’s been sober (or as close to sober as he’s going to get) since he was 16. In the real world, I seriously doubt they’d put him on anti-psychotics, especially considering his past. But this is The Foxhole Court and I’m invoking suspension of disbelief. 

Screams reverberated through Aaron’s head. There weren’t many words Aaron could discern amid the broken sobs and dry heaving. The overwhelming stench of vomit hit his nostrils. Pain shot through his left arm. It was likely dislocated from ramming it into the door at an odd angle. Staggering to his feet, Aaron saw himself in the mirror. Dark circles rimmed his bloodshot eyes. A cruel smile slowly curled the lips of his reflection. Andrew. Swinging a punch at him with his good hand, the mirror shattered. Shards of glass embedded themselves into his fist. Blood ran in rivers down his arms. 

His surroundings distorted, exchanging the soft glow of yellow bulbs for the harsh glow of fluorescents. The blood was gone along with the mirror shards. In their place was a motley of scars. None of them seemed too severe. The acrid smell of smoke clung to the air and mixed with the alcohol and vomit, making Aaron’s stomach roil. The sound of someone retching caught Aaron’s attention. Whirling around, Aaron felt his heart stutter. Matt lay twitching on the floor in a pool of his own spew.

“That’s what you looked like,” Andrew said from beside Aaron. “Pathetic.” The word echoed through Aaron’s head. 

“Aaron?” Nicky said, laying a hand on his shoulder. Aaron jerked away from him as though he’d been burned. Nicky’s face crumpled. Aaron’s gaze darted around the room.Taking stock of his surroundings helped ground him. Overstuffed chairs lined one of the walls. Three sofas boxed off the corner they were sat in. Orange fox prints decorated the white walls, a name, number, and photograph at the center of each. Aaron was back at the Foxhole Court. 

“I told you not to touch him.” Andrew’s voice froze the blood in Aaron’s veins. Stalking forward from the corner he’d been standing in, he moved to stand in front of Aaron. Cold brown eyes identical to Aaron’s own now held his gaze. Aaron wanted to look away but, as always, there was something about his brother’s eyes that never failed to command his attention. 

“How’s he going to play if he’s medicated?” Kevin asked. Aaron felt his heart sink. After spending two years with him, Aaron should have known better than to expect Kevin to care about anything other than Exy but he couldn’t help it. Just as he’d begun to think that the last few months had meant something, Kevin squashed the tiny bud of hope that had blossomed in Aaron’s heart.  

“How are you going to play if I break your other arm?” Andrew snarled. Aaron watched the color drain from Kevin’s face. A part of him wanted to smirk in Kevin’s face. It served the asshole right. All Kevin ever thought about was Exy. Exy and himself. Half of the things the foxes had been through could have been avoided had it not been for Kevin. They wouldn’t have suffered the graffiti attacks nor would they have been constantly dogged by the media. They sure as shit wouldn’t have had Neil and the mafia to contend with had Kevin not been such a selfish asshole, insisting on dragging that good-for-nothing junkie out of the middle of bumfuck Arizona. 

A larger part of Aaron wanted to cradle Kevin in his arms and protect him from Andrew’s wrath. Had Kevin not run, Aaron would never have had the chance to feel the press of Kevin’s vodka drenched lips on his. He definitely wouldn’t have had the chance to hear the soft keening moans that fell from Kevin’s lips when Aaron fucked into him. Worst of all, there would be no soft smiles or lazy kisses before Kevin drifted off to sleep.  

“Andrew,” Neil’s voice was uncharacteristically gentle. Well, not really. Neil’s voice was always gentle when he spoke to Andrew. Gentle and tender and full of love. Aaron couldn’t help but notice the way his brother’s brow softened and his shoulders drooped. Fuck you, Neil Josten. 

The door down the hall slammed shut. The sound of Coach Wymack’s footsteps echoed in the silence. Taking a moment to glance around the assemblage, Wymack read the room and decided it was best not to say anything. Instead, he held out a plastic bag. Aaron’s hand shook as he accepted it. A paper bag resided within the first. Extracting it, Aaron read the label. He’d seen the label a thousand times before but, up until today, it had always borne his brother’s name. 

Pills rattled ominously inside. Sweat slicked Aaron’s palms. Upending the second bag, the sight of the orange bottle jarred Aaron to his core. Andrew took the bottle from Aaron’s lap and squatted in front of him. 

“Two pills in the morning after breakfast,” he said. 

“And two again at 4,” Aaron finished. Andrew pried Aaron’s hand open before unscrewing the cap. Tipping two pills into Aaron’s palm, Andrew lay a hand on the back of his neck. Aaron knew his brother struggled to express his emotions but this was one gesture Aaron had learnt to recognize. It was a gesture of comfort meant to offer support. Staring into his brother’s eyes, Aaron forced himself to bring the pills to his lips. He swallowed them dry, painfully aware of every inch of their passage down his throat. 

Anyone watching knew that Aaron’s descent into madness was swift. Aaron himself didn’t know that, though. To him, time seemed to slow. Staring down at his hands, Aaron flexed his fingers. Were those his fingers? Maybe. Maybe not. Aaron opened his mouth and felt the skin around it stretch. Laughter bubbled out of him at the odd sensation. 

“Aaron?” Nicky asked. Aaron turned his gaze to his cousin and a smile split his face. Once again, the odd sensation of his skin drawing taut left him in a fit of giggles.

“It hurts,” Aaron said. 

“What hurts?” Kevin demanded. 

“Looking at your face,” Aaron replied. Had the words passed anyone else’s lips, Kevin’s anger might have flared to life. Instead, any remaining signs of life seemed to drain from him. Now it really did hurt.

Nicky had always told Aaron that if you looked at something over and over again, you would eventually get it. Perhaps it was because seeing the reward would motivate a person to work towards their goal, but no matter how much Aaron looked at Kevin nor how hard he worked, Aaron knew Kevin would never truly be his. Why he kept tormenting himself by staring at him, Aaron didn’t know. Maybe he was just as self-destructive as Andrew. 

Sadness welled up in Aaron’s chest. A bone deep yearning had settled into him long ago but he suddenly felt the full intensity of- 

“Stickball!” Aaron cried as Neil wheeled the racquet cart out. Rocketing out of his seat, Aaron caught his brother’s arm and yanked it hard. “Andy, come play stickball with me!” 

“Play what?” Kevin squawked.

“Who?” Andrew choked at the same time. 

“Stickball, Andy,” Neil said. A smile curled the edges of his lips. Kevin opened his mouth to say something but Aaron didn’t stick around to hear. Instead, he followed after Neil chanting ‘Stick! Ball! Stick! Ball!’, dragging Andrew along behind him. 

So that gives you a general idea of Aaron’s madness.

Unlike Andrew, Aaron doesn’t really fight his meds. Where Andrew was terrified of not being able to properly watch out for his family, Aaron finds himself freed from all his anxieties. As such, he’s quite content with drifting through his life. I’ve always hc’d the twins as ADHD but are undiagnosed so it’s just a more intense version of how he normally is.

In the last two years, Aaron’s managed to make quite a few friends so they do their best to support him. Since he can’t focus very well and is no longer burdened by his anxieties, I feel like he also kinda relaxes around them??? Like he’s not as awkward. Very easy, breezy, joking around all the time. They really enjoy how much he’s opened up but they care a lot about him and are scared because they don’t know how to help him with class. What ends up happening is Katelyn is an absolute sweetheart. She convinces all of their friends to sit at the front of the room to record the lectures and upload them to a drive along with any extra notes that’ll help Aaron.

All the Foxes have to go to tutoring but Aaron’s tutor gave up the second he started his meds. After getting special permission from Wymack, they cut that time out and changed up the practice schedules a bit so Aaron could get out early and head back to Fox Tower. Once he’s made it through withdrawal, Katelyn will sit him down and help him work through his assignments. She’s a godsend. 

Aaron is usually off his meds on weekends. He usually goes out to Columbia with the Monsters. He still dances with Nicky and has his fair share of fun. They go to the mall pretty often bc there’s a carousel with spinning tea cups. The twins have spent an entire afternoon riding the spinning tea cups, competing to see who hurls first. Aaron almost always wins. Andrew will take him out late Saturday nights and speed down closed sections of highways or do donuts in parking lots because they're both dumbasses with death wishes. 

One weekend a month, Aaron remains at Fox Tower with Katelyn for spa day where they wax poetic about their respective crushes. Kate’s got a bit of a thing for a boy on the lacrosse team. Aaron screams bc he hates the guy. One time, at a party, the dude was talking to Kevin, shit talking both Kayleigh and Exy, completely unaware of exactly who he was talking to. Kevin ended up with a blackeye but the lacrosse kid couldn’t play for nearly two months. 

Speaking of Kevin, he’s only thing that ever seems to hold any of Aaron’s attention. He’s just so… pretty. If Exy is Neil’s shiny object, then Kevin is Aaron’s. Since Aaron makes even less of an effort to pay attention than Andrew did, there's times when he straight up can’t play. It infuriates Kevin to the point where Aaron gets pulled off the court. At first he doesn’t mind because it means that he can sit back and watch Kevin without any fear of getting caught. However, ever since he got put on his meds, Kevin hasn’t touched him. Not even in a non-sexual way. Before, there were casual touches: a hand on the small of Aaron’s back, shoulders pressed together as they squished into a booth, ankles hooked beneath the table. Now? There’s nothing. Kevin leaves a conspicuous space between himself and Aaron and it’s the only thing Aaron can feel anymore. 

So he starts paying attention on the court. Whenever they have a scrimmage, Aaron makes sure that he’s marking Kevin. Everytime Kevin crashes into him, Aaron’s consciousness slams back into his body. The heat of Kevin’s skin on his, their limbs tangled together, their ragged breaths intermingling, their helmets the only thing keeping their mouths from colliding together. Those little encounters are the only times when Aaron finally feels like himself. Those little encounters only last a few seconds and leave Aaron craving more, more, more. 

Aaron noticed that medicated Andrew was always brushing up against Neil but he’d never really thought much of it. Now he understood. Andrew had craved Neil just as Aaron craved Kevin. 

Speaking of Neil, he and Aaron get along well? I feel like Aaron is just as much of a smart mouth as Neil so the two of them just go around roasting the shit out of everyone. The drugs don’t change Aaron’s opinion of Neil but he begins to understand why Andrew broke their deal. Realizing that Neil didn’t steal his brother from him, Aaron starts to see the appeal in him. He’s stupid and funny and actually kind of pretty. Not as pretty as Kevin but pretty nonetheless. On weekends in Columbia, Aaron begins to notice all the things Neil does for his brother. Neil wakes up early in the morning to make breakfast and spends hours in the kitchen baking. He always picks up an extra pint of ice cream at the store and takes photos of stray cats to send Andrew. One time, Aaron couldn’t sleep and went to the kitchen for some water. His heart almost stopped when he heard Andrew’s rumbling laughter. Sneaking a peek around the corner, his heart really did stutter. Neil was standing on Andrew’s feet as he waltzed around the kitchen to the soft strains of music flowing from the radio. After aaron’s heart restarted, he hurried away because OH MY GOD ANDREW WAS LAUGHING AND DANCING AND HOLDING NEIL SO TENDERLY AND OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD

Okay so maybe Neil did sic the mafia on them but he also makes Andrew happy so that evens it out right? It’s v slow but Aaron is very slowly learning to accept Neil.

Slipping back to his room, Aaron placed a hand to his chest, feeling his heart racing a mile a minute. Off his meds, Aaron found it hard to stem the surge of jealousy threatening to overwhelm him. He was glad Andrew had found someone who loved him the way he deserved to be but didn’t Aaron deserve love too? 

A soft knock sounded behind him. Aaron nearly leapt out of his skin at the sound. Oh, fuck. What it was Andrew? What if he’d seen him? With shaking hands, Aaron opened the door. For the second time that night, Aaron’s heart stopped. 

Vodka stained lips crashed against his. Aaron’s mouth opened on impact and he felt the warm slide of Kevin’s tongue on his. A moan tore from Kevin, reverberating down Aaron’s thought. It was a shot right to his core. Suddenly, Aaron’s clothes felt too tight, his body too warm. Grabbing the collar of Kevin’s shirt, Aaron hauled him into the room. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Aaron panted as he tore himself away from Kevin.

“Missed you,” Kevin slurred as he leaned back in. Aaron shoved him away, sending Kevin crashing into the wall. The look of anguish that washed over Kevin’s features threatened to tear Aaron’s heart out of his chest. 

“You haven’t come near me in months,” Aaron hissed. “Why now?” Kevin opened his mouth but nothing came out. He tried two more times before dropping his gaze. 

“Because I got scared.” Wrapping his arms around himself, Kevin retreated into his shoulders. “No one’s ever made me feel like this before. All day, all night, you’re all I ever think about.”

“You don’t think about me on the court,” Aaron sneered.

“And you don’t watch me from the sidelines.” Aaron felt the blood rush to his face. It had been years since Aaron had prayed but now he begged God to bend the shadows of his room to hide the burning of his ears. “Exy was all I’ve ever had. Back then, I played to stay alive but now… now I play because I know you can’t take your eyes off me when I do.” Kevin reached out slowly, giving Aaron time to move away. Relief flooded his face when Aaron didn’t flinch. As Kevin’s hand cupped his face, Aaron leaned into the touch. Pulling their bodies flush against one another, Kevin bent down enough to rest his forehead against Aaron’s. “I don’t want Exy to be the only thing I love anymore.”

“Then pick something,” Aaron whispered. He could feel his heart slamming against his ribcage as though it was trying to escape. He knew what was coming but nothing prepared him for actually hearing it.  

“ I pick you,” Kevin replied. Their lips collided once more and Aaron let Kevin steer them to the bed. Collapsing onto it in a tangle of limbs, Aaron felt like himself for the first time in months.  

[lifesbecomings]

The email

Hi Drew— I just wanted to  clarify something and share some perspective. First off, I want to say that I understand and respect Denison’s admissions process. I reached out a few days ago to everyone just curious about the process and wanted to talk about options to continue my education, IF even possible, through Denison! With the positive feedback from everyone and your first email, and then mention, even as a slight possibility, of spring enrollment...one certainly can understand my excitement and push for more discussion and my initiative to get applied/enrolled. With that said I am still curious about steps in general. And maybe I applied as the wrong type of student.  I know there are openings still this spring, and especially in the EDUC classes (like EDUC 390), and thought "wow, maybe this is all aligning because it's meant to be."  If it is or isn't meant to be, I'm at peace with whatever the decision is or remains. But Denison will always be my first choice. I did leave in 2017 as a medical leave student, and technically I wasn't pursuing a degree through CCS, just taking classes, many students take summer classes or semesters (like if on academic suspension), and then come back and return to campus. I know usually students typically return 1-2 years, and I understand there are deadlines and I know their importance. In no way shape or form am I trying to surpass these. When I first reached out, I said I'd be happy to discuss ANY options in a return.  Others, throughout the thread, were mentioning a spring return and spring availability and how fantastic this could be. Both Karen Graves and Baker were on board in the Educ. department, where I am majoring, presumably for a spring enrollment.  Maybe it is the fact I only have art credits as transfers. Was it that they were hoping for more core class transfers? Either way, to be perfectly transparent, whatever the outcome is, I will be taking spring classes. As well as summer classes. I want to get my degree. My first choice is Denison. If there is anyway to make this a possibility still. You already know, It would be my pleasure to stay in touch, and I will happily move to Ohio and take classes back on campus in the fall. Denison holds a special place in my heart. I hope my time on campus impacted those I came into contact with, as much as they impacted me. The Briefing: Within the last 2 weeks. Literally, two weeks, a series of events occurred that made me see the potential I could have. It started with a ski lesson, we had philosophy lessons up the chairlift, and the technical skiing lessons going down the hill. It was eye opening. I realized I need to work on my patience, but It also made me realize that I don't have to do something I do not enjoy. Moreover, it made me recognize I need to stop running from what satisfies me the most, people, education, learning, and teaching. I shut myself off in 2017 to the idea of "traditional schooling". I thought, "It's not for me". " I'm not good at it".  It stuck.  That is, until January 6th 2021, when I had this ski lesson. The ski lesson in combination with my parents friend, a teacher from Brother Rice High School,  got me thinking. I was thinking and analyzing myself. My change in perspective was shocking. I needed to accept my talents and embrace them, instead of shutting them out and rejecting them. It is so funny how we sabotage ourselves.  This is the start of my story. About how I found my drive and fulfillment. Below are three personal stories I would like to share. 1.  Monkey Bars. 

There is a story my mother always would tell me growing up about my perseverance and determination. When I was very young, 4 years old, there was a set of monkey bars on the school playground. After school one day I told my mom I wanted to go across the monkey bars. The only problem...I did not know how to do them. But, I had watched other kids that day at recess. So I was determined to figure it out. We were there for 2-3 hours. I was bound and determined to do those monkey bars. I knew that was what I wanted. I had numerous failed attempts, failure after failure, my mother began to beg me to leave with her because my hands were all beaten up, blistered, and bloodied, I still kept going. I made it all the way across those monkey bars that day, and every day after. There is another story, too, a similar story about me riding a two wheeler. Same determination, different goal. Both accomplished. 

2. My Miracle.

A senior in college, to the modern western world, is still considered "young". If you're in school, attending high school or even attending university, to have a child anywhere, at any time in that mix, It is looked down upon, plain and simple.  I chose to not tell any of my peers, while I was at Denison, my fall semester, that senior year, in 2017. I kept this knowing to myself. I told my parents, and told the father/ fathers parents. Guess what was encouraged? An abortion. Whether verbally spoken (which it was) or unspoken, I knew this is what was wanted from me, wanted for me. I mean, it was, after all, the easiest thing to do. I could still finish my degree and the family could always come later in my life. So, I did just that. I went in for that appointment, at 5 weeks. 

Statistically speaking it is 99% effective. Did you know, 1:4 women will have had an abortion in their lifetime. It's neither here nor there, just an incredible statistic. I actually came back to Denison to finish out my degree after. Putting the past behind me. I enjoyed a fantastic fall break that year in Philadelphia with friends, because through Denison my Junior year, I did a "study abroad," in Philadelphia (the best experience ever. Cannot speak enough about that program! So grateful Denison is a part of the Study in Philly!) 

Anyway, after coming back from break I wasn't myself that week at school. I came home, went to a doctor's appointment. Pregnant. I was 11 weeks pregnant. 1-2 weeks away from being in my second trimester. I knew. In that instant, I was keeping him. No one else understood, at the time, my decision. I was blamed on one side, entirely, for this outcome, the father still lives in denial. This is important information in my story, as it describes where I have been, who I am and who I've become. The father isn't, and has never been involved. This is fine. It's been uncomplicated. I'm actually very lucky. Besides, I know that my son and I deserve someone 100% interested in me AND my son, not an either or situation. So once making my decision, to continue with the pregnancy, I took one day. One day to be broken hearted, to feel like it was me against the world. Later, to my surprise, I found I had a support network bigger than I could ever have imagined.

I am blessed. I am loved. "We" are so loved. But it took me that one day to realize, the easiest thing is not always the right thing. I knew honestly from the day I first found out, I wanted this baby. And my god, has it not only blessed me, but this child of mine blesses and brings joy to anyone and everyone he meets. As a biased mother would say, he truly is something special. My choosing to bring this new life into the world, is an amazing and miraculous testimony to my dedication and character. Being a mother (parent) is one of the toughest jobs in the world. 

3. My Bakery.

First, back story: I tried to take some classes at College for Creative studies in 2018. Knowing I was more than "just a mom". I've done a lot of "soul" searching and self love in my time away. I didn't reach back to Denison at this time because I was convinced traditionally schooling just must not be for me. The root of it, I later would find, was that I was somehow undeserving of it. (super messed up mental ideal). Disclaimer: I, like many, struggled with self worth. Therapy is necessary and beautiful.  Anyway, continuing---I had a hobby of sketching.  Homes and houses always intrigued me, so I picked up some classes at CCS, interior design classes. This is where I realized a hobby does not make for a career. More importantly, I remembered the promise I had made to myself, that I didn't want anyone else raising my baby boy.  I was spending 60hrs + a week on projects and classroom time, leaving him home with my parents and babysitters, a little bit at first, then, more and more. So, I pulled the plug. 

When I give of myself I want to give 100%. If I was giving my school work 100% there was none left for my son. I had to pick between the two, and clearly, without a doubt, my baby boy was the sure pick. Schooling this time round failed because It was in person, he was not in school yet, and it was not practical or logistical. I stopped in OCT of 2019. Between October and December of 2019 I went stir crazy. I was 24/7 with my son, living at my parents home still, and my mental health was on the decline. I felt trapped. I needed a way out. And thus "A Degree Above Bakery" was born. I have made over 5,000 dollars in profits from this business. I have a standing order, weekly, with Westborn Market. However, this flow, and work is at my grace.  I can shut it down, permanently, or temporarily. I can drive it forward more, or scale it back, starting tomorrow.  I was determined to find a way out and give myself some "me" time, as well as doing something I enjoyed that gave me flexible hours to work with my son present. I originally started in my own home. Operating under the cottage food law. That is, until I started to rent space in Plymouth MI from Westborn Market in April 2020.  I bake Sundays currently. 

I created and established then registered my name. I created and bought a web domain.  I have my own labels and packaging I created. Every aspect of my business I have built and created. The brand, the marketing, getting into a grocery store. My point here, being, when I think of something, I do everything in my power to try to reach my goal, whatever the road block. When I get an idea, I see it through. To the best of my ability. __________ My overarching theme is determination. You will have nothing without it. I will be respectful and understanding of any final decisions, acceptance, reinstatement, or lack thereof. If there is still a slimmer of possibility to qualify for spring semester at Denison or be considered again... It would be an honor and mean more to me than any words could begin to describe. I had to take one last shot with you all,  before seeking another institution.  Rules and regulations will be forever. I understand this, but If there is anything I can do to help enhance my application/reinstatement/case/enrollment/scenario please don't hesitate to ask. I would be honored to commit to in person class on the hill in the fall, after taking summer classes, and taking the spring classes online at Denison, I also will be able to pay, in full, for the spring tuition as well as on campus next fall/winter. I also paid in full while being on campus every year from 2013-2016. Please also hear me when I say, yes, obviously I would do whatever and help to see a successful spring enrollment, but I would be happy to transfer credits from this spring (elsewhere), and summer, to complete classes on campus in the fall.  I will stay open minded to all possibilities, as I know Denison does! 

With much respect and appreciation, and excitement,

Sarah McNaughton

[echodrops]

The Promises I Made (2019 Edition)

For the past thirteen years, I’ve spent every New Year’s Eve compiling a list of fifty promises I intend to keep or fulfill over the next twelve months. The results have been truly amazing, and I have kept some promises I never thought I could. 2019 was… a nightmare that I can barely believe I survived, but I still kept some promises that I honestly did not expect I ever could.

This year, for New Year’s, there will be a new set of promises for to me keep, but here are the old ones, for review!

The Promises I Made (2019 Edition)

1) Be more proactive about tracking and following up with struggling students to decrease the number of students who drop from my class when they realize they cannot pass. Status: Somewhat broken? I tried really hard to be proactive with my students; however, there were some massive issues outside the classroom this year that made it extremely difficult to keep the focus on the students. When administration drags your attention away from the class, there is not a lot you can do…

2) Find a place to put in volunteer hours because uhhhh like this is actually important to my work evaluation and I definitely need something to write in that section… Yikes, this spring is my last chance to do this!! @_@ Status: Kept. I volunteered with the Utah Shakespeare Festival and it was super fun!

3) Install the fire escape window in the Utah house, no matter how much it might cost, because I can’t get a totally unrelated tenant in that basement without said window… Status: Somewhat kept. Okay. This one is a LONG story, but to be fair to me, I worked my ASS off to try and make this happen; just every single thing in the world prevented me from completing this promise, up to and including the city telling me I needed a permit AFTER I had already dug a massive hole in the ground for the window…

4) Buy sod to add grass to the front portion of the lawn so that it no longer looks like garbage. Status: Broken, but I did buy grass seed and put that out there. Unfortunately only some of it sprouted, but there is indeed SOME grass now growing there…

5) Fix the bricks near the windowsills on the Utah house to prevent long-term damage. Status: Broken. After dealing with the stupid window disaster, I had no time for this at all.

6) Get a watering system for my roses at the Utah house because I think my bro is probably killing them and that’s just not cool. Status: Broken, see above.

7) Work on the patio at the Utah house before it just flat out falls down. Status: Somewhat broken. Again, I tried to make progress on this—I called a patio guy to come out and assess how much it would cost to fix the patio—but the price I was quoted was so high that there was nothing I could do at the time.

8) Paint the stairwell so that there’s no chance of anything like lead paint or asbestos being exposed. Status: Broken. The leftover wallpaper glue continues to confound me…

9) Trim the backyard bushes so the neighbors don’t hate us anymore… Status: Broken. We trimmed a few bushes and at least got to the trees out front, but definitely a majority were left uncared for.

10) Move into a new house in Texas where I can get real internet, please for the love of god… Status: Kept. I moved into a very nice house with no scorpions!

11) Save money for my upcoming trip to Japan! 2020 baby! Status: Uhhh, broken. I’m not sure how I thought I’d be able to move into a new house AND save money for an international trip at the same time…

12) Get my wisdom tooth removed because it’s still there and still killing me, yikessss. Status: Broken. AUGH. I’m an idiot.

13) Make an appointment with an eye doctor for like the first time in years. Good job, Yehn, good job. Status: Kept. I got my glasses fixed and even got a new pair of glasses too!

14) Get my prescriptions refilled because I’m dwindling on asthma medicine and like… I could die from this… I should never have been left to care for myself; I’m not mature enough for this responsibility… Status: Kept, surprisingly. But I still need a new doctor because the last one I was going to wouldn’t give me any refills…

15) FINISH THE GIVEAWAY PRIZES I PROMISED LAST YEAR because holy shit I am incompetent and the worst and everyone has permission to hate me for starting things and never finishing them, fuck. Status: Broken. So broken. I am the worst.

16) Go dolphin watching in the Gulf for real this time. Seriously, it’s $10 Yehn, you can do this. Status: Kept, amazingly. It wasn’t as impressed as hoped; however, there was a lovely sunset.

17) Return to the Channel Islands to take better pictures. D; Status: Broken. T_T

18) Level all my classes to 70 in FFXIV before next expansion, please. Status: Somewhat broken. I didn’t have everything to 70 before the expansion, but I kind of feel like I should get credit for this one, because HEY, look at me now:

19) Organize and properly label all the photos on my computer so that I’m no longer desperately combing through folder and folder in blank confusion, looking for a single picture in a sea of thousands… Status: Kept. It took me like eight hours of work, but I actually did this.

20) Update Home and a Half more than once? PLEASE??? The guilt I feel over this currently is crushing. Status: Broken. And the guilt grows…

21) Complete the online American Literature class I am designing on time and with no corrections needed. Status: Kept. I’m counting this as kept even though TECHNICALLY there was one thing I forgot to finish and it came back and bit me in the ass; however, I was approved with no corrections needed.

22) Earn 100% completion for Kingdom Hearts III. So excited! Status: Broken. Um… This just didn’t happen.

23) Update my calendar with important dates—holidays, birthdays, etc.—and be productive about sending cards and well-wishes. Status: Somewhat kept. I wasn’t any better about sending cards really, but I did at least save all the birthdays in my phone so I remember them.

24) Get the garbage disposal in the Texas house fixed ASAP so I don’t have to wash the dishes by hand anymore because I absolutely hate that particular chore. Status: Kept. Then I moved, so it didn’t even matter.

25) Finish all the books my coworkers and friends bought for me recently so I can thank them for their recommendations! Status: Broken. So broken.

26) Actually move into my new place instead of leaving it completely undecorated and lifeless. Status: Remarkably, kept. Nothing has plastic on it, unlike at my old house where the nightstand didn’t get unwrapped even after two years of living there lol.

27) Try hard to get Creative Writing into a different area of the general ed. core so that more people will enroll in it. Status: Kept. I’m counting this because I did my darn best, but we are still waiting on the state to tell us whether or not the class will be accepted.

28) Get caught up on my Ebird reports, even the old, old, old ones I never put in because I was slacking. Status: Kept, actually. Whoo.

29) Throw away/return/sort all the stacks of old mail in the house (OMGGGG they’ve made me look like paper hoarder and I’m nootttt). Status: Broken. There’s just… a lot of papers to go through…

30) Clean up the garage before moving so that I don’t have to fight spiders to move when the time comes. Status: Broken, in that I did not clean up the garage in advance and did, in fact, have to fight spiders when it came time to move.

31) Find a way to boost grading productivity so that each class takes only two days to grade, maximum. Status: Somewhat kept. I was definitely better this year than last year; however, I really think the “two days per class” thing was too optimistic, so for the future semester, I allotted myself three days per class and I think it will work better.

32) Go to a totally new restaurant and try their food. Status: Kept. We went to a Mexican restaurant and I had trompo tacos (al pastor) which is probably not anything special to anyone else but it was my first time so lol.

33) Cancel old credit cards to make sure my credit is good before trying to buy a house (although I just checked my credit score and I’m in the great range already, so this is mostly for posterity’s sake). Status: Broken. But it didn’t affect my loan, so I guess it was okay. And it ended up being good I didn’t cancel my Best Buy card because I was able to get good financing on the new appliances I needed for my house.

34) Get official contracts from my tenants so I can use my rental income in my next loan calculation. Status: Broken, but I ended up not using that as part of the loan calculation anyway >_> so…

35) Talk to an HR rep about my retirement savings so that I can consolidate all my retirement accounts into one. (Man, look at all these ADULTING promises.) Status: Broken. Look at me failing all these adulting promises.

36) Really finish decorating my office so it looks super cute and all my students want to visit me. Status: Broken, but I think it sucks that I have to write this because it was really not my fault I couldn’t finish decorating my office. Our offices were all moved and disrupted by building remodels so I spent the entire year basically working out of a couple cardboard boxes.

37) Not sign up for ANY more new responsibilities at work in the spring semester. This is the biggest challenge. D; Status: Kept, by technicality. I was able to avoid signing up for anything new in SPRING… But fall… was a whole other story. XD

38) Migrate all the rest of my books to the new Texas house instead of leaving them in Utah… SOMEHOW. Status: Kept. I’m going to count this as kept. The only books left at the Utah house are my manga—I managed to bring literally every other book, which is very impressive considering I had only my small Camaro with its tiny truck space.

39) Use my twitter account more often to make it worth following. I will try!! Status: Kept… sorta? I mean, since I didn’t use the account AT ALL before, making even one Twitter post kind of counts as using it more, right? >_>

40) Keep my hair cut nicely so I look less like a mess (than I really am). Status: Somewhat broken. Although I think I got my hair cut more often this year than before, I don’t think I looked any less like a mess. XD

41) Successfully find a bridesmaid dress for my friend’s wedding that matches the rest of the wedding party. Status: Actually kept! It was incredible. The wedding I was in was even featured in a magazine because of how pretty it was!

42) Make sure my skin is in good condition for the wedding so I don’t look like a disturbing ghost… Status: Kept? I mean, in the end, looking like a ghost ended up being the whole point since it was a Halloween themed wedding so I kind of won either way.

43) Complete my BNHA manga collection. Since my bro bought me a bunch of the volumes for Christmas, I might as well. Status: Broken… I bought like… one volume. XD

44) See a groove-billed ani. (It’s another type of bird.) Status: Broken. Very illusive bird. T_T

45) Respond to messages, asks, and comments more quickly. I promise I’m not ignoring people… D; Status: Um, broken. I left many people on read this year, sorry.

46) Lose ten pounds so that I feel more fit and comfy. Status: Broken. I didn’t exercise at all this year, uff.

47) Pay down credit card debt by at least 1/3. Yikesssss, I really need to do this quick. Status: Broken. It’s hard to pay down a credit card when you pour all your money into buying a new house…

48) I will finally fucking finish that chapter 73 analysis of Noragami… I swear to god… Status: Broken. Uh yeah. This didn’t happen. V_V

49) Reach 1700 followers on Tumblr. You should follow me—I’m only marginally a waste of time and space! Status: Kept. Over 2500 followers now!

50) I will keep these promises. LOLLLLL. Status: Somewhat kept/somewhat broken. One year I really will keep them all…

 Totals Kept promises: 18 Broken promises: 24 Somewhat kept/broken promises: 8

Well, there are more kept promises than last year at least… It was another really hard year, what with moving in the middle of the year, over-working, dealing with so much drama with the reaccreditation on our campus, and just EVERYTHING all at once this last year… I keep thinking things are going to calm down and then they never do. Please 2020… just let me rest…

My new set of promises will be up on the 1st!

[parismiki]

“How is Paris?”

Hello readers! Welcome to my blog. I’ve been meaning to write a blog for some time now, really since my days in Chicago, but I never felt this urge until now. Currently I feel like I am being tested to my limits and I have so many thoughts about so many different things. Writing has always been an outlet of mine (have kept journals since I learned how to hold a pen basically) and so here it is - a window of insight into my thoughts about a variety of different things. 

I don’t really have a theme for this blog, but I know it will touch on issues that are important to me: race, activism, Japanese American and Asian American identity, feminism, mental health, radical politics, etc. Given that I’m currently also in France with the generous help of a Fulbright scholarship (a lot will be discussed soon about this), my posts may be more focused on my current experience in France and how I have been navigating this foreign country. 

So, to start, many people have been asking me how Paris has been. There is some sort of illusory expectation that people have of my time here in Paris - that I’m happily eating baguettes every day (I am not -- I eat only rice and noodles), that I’m picnicking by the Seine, and I’m going to all these cool art galleries and museums on the daily. 

This could be farther from the truth. 

I am struggling. 

This is not the same experience that I had studying abroad through UChicago three years ago, where I took classes in English taught by UChicago professors at the UChicago Center in Paris with UChicago classmates. I had a huge safety net while I was here, which enabled me to go out and explore the city and meet new locals while still feeling rooted to a community of American students. I didn’t need to get a visa because I was here for less than 90 days, the housing situation was largely taken care of by the study abroad coordinator, and I was used to the UChicago pedagogy. The huge difference here is that I am going to grad school in Paris, working towards a professional degree, which entails a large degree of responsibility, self-reliance and resilience. 

However, this past month has been incredibly difficult for me. The workload is intense, unlike anything I saw in my quarters with the heaviest workloads at UChicago. I am taking eight classes that meet once a week. For one of my core classes, I must read four books for the midterm, which is less than a month away. Work is always on the back of my mind and I fear that I may miss an assignment.  There is rarely any time to be resting or relaxing, because I tell myself, well you could be using this time to study. 

As someone prone to anxiety, the workload and the added stress of being in a new country has taken quite a toll on me. There have been days where it has been hard to get out of bed and days where I feel like I’m just dragging throughout the day. Sometimes I wonder, “is this program worth it? Should I drop out?” but am quickly reminded that if I do, I lose my Fulbright scholarship. Additionally, Sciences Po is not the friendliest when it comes to their students’ mental health - their psychological services are minimal, and they fail you if you miss more than 2 classes (yes, attendance is taken in even the biggest of lecture classes.) I could go on and on about Sciences Po as an institution, but I can save that for another post. I have had to resume sessions with my therapist in Chicago because the French national healthcare system does not cover therapy services! 

Despite all this, I’ve managed to find small pockets of joy during my time here and have really forced myself to practice self-care. One could say that my most recent FB status asking for self-practice tips was a cry for help - surely I couldn’t be the only one who has gone through this. So here’s what has been working for me so far - and you don’t have to be in grad school either to abide by them!

1. Rely on your family and friend networks back home

Thank god for technology - I remember my dad telling me that when he was in college he had to wait in line in his dorm to use the landline to call his parents. I can’t even imagine how my mother kept in touch with her family back in Japan when she immigrated to the US (will write another post on my newfound appreciation for my mom as I transition to life here.) 

That being said, I text regularly with my friends and keep them updated about what’s going on in my life. Some others are also living abroad and it’s nice to know that we have each other’s backs -- one of my dear friends is doing her JET program in rural Kumamoto. She is 7 hours ahead of me, and always texts me a nice meme or a cute gif that I have the honor of waking up to. Last night I felt especially horrible and called one of my friends (who is going to start her master’s in philosophy at Oxford and we’ll be reunited soon!) who helped me calm down. As people starting new lives in new countries we often forget that we have a support system back home, but don’t forget - they helped to get you where you are. 

2. Read books that nurture your soul

I have always loved to read in order to learn new perspectives, but reading now serves a different purpose: it touches and nurtures my soul. When I first got here, I devoured Ruth Ozeki’s novel A Tale for the Time Being - it was a charming and quirky story that whisked me away to British Columbia/Tokyo. I didn’t know how much I needed it at the time. Currently I’m reading a sociology book called Redefining Japaneseness: Japanese Americans and the Ancestral Homeland, which is so comforting and keeps me super rooted to my own identity. 

I was pretty strategic when packing books and spent a good hour deciding which books to bring with me. I knew that I would be reading a lot of dry public policy and urban theory (I even discussed with my roommate, also an American woman of color, which books we would both bring should we want to borrow from each other’s shelves.) So I brought with me Matthew Desmond’s Evicted (which, luckily enough for me, I ended up having to write a paper on), Viet Thanh Nguyen’s The Sympathizer, which won the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction; Keeanga Yamahtta-Taylor’s From #BlackLivesMatter to Black Liberation, and Louise Erdrich’s The Round House (Erdrich is a Native American fiction writer who writes heavily on Native American issues.) I’ve found that conversations surrounding racial justice are quite lacking in French academic discourse, so these books help to fill that gap in my life. In addition, I brought with me some Japanese language books, including ”コンビニ人間” and “君たちはどう生きるか” to practice my Japanese, because I don’t have access to Japanese TV anymore. 

3. Keep yourself intellectually accountable

One of the best pieces of advice I received from the director of the Humanity in Action fellowship I did this past summer was to keep yourself accountable by writing down your own thoughts and critiques of grad school readings in the margins when taking notes. I’ve found that a lot of the readings we are assigned take on a very neoliberal approach to cities and urbanism, and I am incredibly cynical. Sometimes, I just downright disagree. And instead of feeling exasperated by the content, I write down my critiques and will try to bring them up in class, sometimes daring to bring them up with the professor during lectures. This is how I try to stay engaged. 

4. Travel! 

Paris is pretty accessible to many other European countries by plane and train. In fact, just last weekend I was in Madrid visiting a few friends. I was not feeling my best and and even now I still feel awful for my low energy and that I was not as cheery as I hoped to be - but being around people you already know is comforting. In fact, I had a chance to reconnect with a friend from college who is a current Fulbright ETA in Madrid, who told me that he was feeling the same way as me during the same time last year. Knowing that other people have gone through the same motions while transitioning to life abroad makes you feel less alone. 

All in all, to those of you reading, I’m sorry if I have disappointed you with this blog post. However, I do think I need to be honest about my experience here and share with other folks who may be thinking about studying abroad. If anything, I am giving myself all the time I need to breathe, go through the motions, and eventually settle in. This will be a long process, but I am trying to be patient with myself. 

I cannot end this post without acknowledging the people who have been there for me. I’d like to extend a thank you to Keilyn, Sarah, Elisabeth, Gino, Crystal, Brenna, Shirley, Joe, and Amanda. And to my new friends at Sciences Po, I am looking forward to getting to know you and let’s finish this semester strong :) 

Okay and now some photos!

                   This is me in front of the Museo del Prado in Madrid

                    Hard to see but I was really feelin’ my outfit this one day

                                                   Really cute doggo 

              Colorful olives sold at the Marché Saint-Denis, a banlieue of Paris

[exercisingendomorph]

Fat CrossFitter Tries: the Y

Oh hello. You might remember me. I used to exercise. Then I didn’t. Now I sort of do?

My twins are mostly sleeping through the night, which I have just jinxed by saying that (RIP, REM!), so I have a tiny bit more energy than I did. Occasionally, I’ll slog through my 4-year sleep deficit and get my heart rate up. It’s fun/masochistic, tomato/tomahto. 

Anyway, after I went on my CrossFit hiatus, I tried a bunch of other exercisey things. There was ballet barre, spinning, pure barre, interval training, yoga, Jazzercise, and finally CrossFit (at a different gym).

Nothing felt quite right, so I took a breather. For a year. 

Occasionally I’d do that 3-2-1 interval with my ride-or-die, and even though I have the core strength of an amoeba, I always liked the way I felt after. Much to my dismay, high-intensity exercise is the only antidepressant I've found that has no side effects. 

No side effects other than gettin ripped, of course. 

Hahaha, jk, even at my CrossFit peak, I’ve never been anything but a BBW.

There’s a YMCA a mile and a half from my house. It has childcare and group fitness classes and a pool, and they were running a no-joining-fee promotion, so I figured what the hell. 

...It’s been mixed bag.

The first class I went to was called Total Body Strength. The class time was listed online as 5:30 to 6:00. I thought, huh, must be intense since it’s only half an hour. I told my dad to meet me out front at 6:15, dropped my kids in the childcare area, and headed to the fitness room.

Copying the other folks in there, I grabbed a mat and some dumbbells. The class started and it was a million reps of everything, and I realized 20 minutes in that I was still breathing entirely though my nose. So... not intense. And my Total Body did not feel Strong.

One of my friends says that CrossFit gave her exercise dysmorphia--nothing feels like it qualifies as exercise unless she’s laid out--drenched, quivering, and gasping--at the end, and to a certain extent that’s true for me too. I’ve tried to give myself credit for dog walks and yoga and whatnot, but as I said above, it’s the HIIT stuff and heavy lifting that keeps the demons at bay. 

There was no move to wrap up the class at 6:00, and I figured out at that point that the website was probably wrong. I kept going until ten after and then picked up my mat and tried to be discreet as I headed for the door.

I must have failed in my stealth because the guy I walked past said, "Excuse YOU," and gave me an epic stankface.

"I'm sorry!" I said, chagrinned, and turned to put my mat away, which is when I realized that maybe it wasn’t my exit he was objecting to. I turned back and said, "Oh no, did I hit you with my mat?"

To which he did not reply.

Cool cool cool. This all went great.

The next class I tried was a kickboxing class. In fact, I went thrice, but ultimately it was just aight for me. I mean I could probably get into once a month, but not as a regular routine. It was as high-intensity as you wanted to make it, but it didn’t feel worky enough.

Next, I did an Insanity class, and that was real good. I sweated; I panted; I felt good at the end. There was a lot of jumping, and my structural supports were inadequate.

But I’d do it again for sure. Of course, it's only offered on Wednesday mornings, so maybe only after I become a kept woman. (Inquire within about Sugar Parent application process.)

Next, I did a bootcamp class. The coach handed out the workout on little slips of paper.

I was like, how long do we have to complete this? Two weeks? Can do!

Nobody actually finished the 8 rounds. And CrossFit it ain’t--most folks did squat-thrusts instead of actual burpees; their “squats” were quarter-depth at best; and some folks had like full, standing still, catch-up-on-your-week convos in between sets.

Anyhow, he gave us 35 or 40 minutes, and I got through a whopping three and three-quarters rounds. And that's counting each leg as one mountain climber.

But as I walked out, the coach flagged me down and said, “Your squat form was perfect. They were so low. And I thought, ‘No way she can keep that up,’ but the last round was as good as the first!”

Well, shucks.

So anyhow, I think I'll stick with this for the moment. Maybe at some point I’ll get back into lifting, or go back to a CrossFit box, but right now, I’m gonna try to work up to three classes a week and see if that neutralizes my asshole brain.

What are you guys up to? Still lifting? Gettin swoll? Running 5ks? Prancercizing?

______________________

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[bountyofbeads]

Women Are Fleeing Death at Home. The U.S. Wants to Keep Them Out. https://www.nytimes.com/2019/08/18/world/americas/guatemala-violence-women-asylum.html

Her Ex-Boyfriend Killed Her Mother. Will the U.S. Offer a Refuge?

Violence against women is driving an exodus of migrants from Central America, but the Trump administration is determined to deny them asylum.

By Azam Ahmed, Photographs by Meridith Kohut and Daniel Berehulak | Published August 18, 2019 3:12 PM ET | New York Times | Posted August 18, 2019 4:15 PM ET |

JALAPA, Guatemala — They climbed the terraced hillside in single file, their machetes tapping the stones along the darkened footpath.

Gehovany Ramirez, 17, led his brother and another accomplice to his ex-girlfriend’s home. He struck the wooden door with his machete, sending splinters into the air.

His girlfriend, Lubia Sasvin Pérez, had left him a month earlier, fleeing his violent temper for her parents’ home here in southeast Guatemala. Five months pregnant, her belly hanging from her tiny 16-year-old frame, she feared losing the child to his rage.

Lubia and her mother slipped outside and begged him to leave, she said. They could smell the sour tang of alcohol on his breath. Unmoved, he raised the blade and struck her mother in the head, killing her.

Hearing a stifled scream, her father rushed outside. Lubia recalled watching in horror as the other men set upon him, splitting his face and leaving her parents splayed on the concrete floor.

For prosecutors, judges and even defense lawyers in Guatemala, the case exemplifies the national scourge of domestic violence, motivated by a deep-seated sense of ownership over women and their place in relationships.

But instead of facing the harsher penalties meant to stop such crimes in Guatemala, Gehovany received only four years in prison, a short sentence even by the country’s lenient standard for minors. More than three years later, now 21, he will be released next spring, perhaps sooner.

And far from being kept from the family he tore apart, under Guatemalan law Gehovany has the right to visit his son upon release, according to legal officials in Guatemala.

The prospect of his return shook the family so thoroughly that Lubia’s father, who survived the attack, sold their home and used the money to pay a smuggler to reach the United States. Now living outside of San Francisco, he is pinning his hopes on winning asylum to safeguard his family. They all are.

But that seems more distant than ever. Two extraordinary legal decisions by the Trump administration have struck at the core of asylum claims rooted in domestic violence or threats against families like Lubia’s — not only casting doubt on their case, but almost certainly on thousands of others as well, immigration lawyers say.

“How can this be justice?” Lubia said before the family fled, sitting under the portico where her mother was killed. “All I did was leave him for beating me and he took my mother from us.”

“What kind of system protects him, and not me?” she said, gathering her son in her lap.

Their case offers a glimpse into the staggering number of Central Americans fleeing violence and dysfunction — and the dogged fight the Trump administration is waging to keep them out.

Across Latin America, a murder epidemic is underway. Most years, more than 100,000 people are killed, largely young men on the periphery of broken societies, where gangs and cartels sometimes take the place of the state.

The turmoil has forced millions to flee the region and seek refuge in the United States, where they confront a system strained by record demand and a bitter fight over whether to accept them.

But violence against women, and domestic violence in particular, is a powerful and often overlooked factor in the migration crisis. Latin America and the Caribbean are home to 14 of the 25 deadliest nations in the world for women, according to available data collected by the Small Arms Survey, which tracks violence globally.

And Central America, the region where most of those seeking asylum in the United States are fleeing, is at the heart of the crisis.

Here in Guatemala, the homicide rate for women is more than three times the global average. In El Salvador, it is nearly six times. In Honduras, it is one of the highest in the world — almost 12 times the global average.

In the most violent pockets of Central America, the United Nations says, the danger is like living in a war zone.

“Despite the risk associated with migration, it is still lower than the risk of being killed at home,” said Angela Me, the chief of research and trend analysis at the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime.

The issue is so central to migration that former Attorney General Jeff Sessions, eager to advance the Trump administration’s priority of closing the southern border to migrants, issued a decision last year to try to halt victims of domestic violence, among other crimes, from seeking asylum.

To win asylum in the United States, applicants must show specific grounds for their persecution back home, like their race, religion, political affiliation or membership in a particular social group. Lawyers have sometimes pushed successfully for women to qualify as a social group because of the overwhelming violence they face, citing a 2014 case in which a Guatemalan woman fleeing domestic violence was found to be eligible to apply for asylum in the United States.

But Mr. Sessions overruled that precedent, questioning whether women — in particular, women fleeing domestic violence — can be members of a social group. The decision challenged what had become common practice in asylum courts.

Then, last month, the new attorney general, William P. Barr, went further. Breaking with decades of precedent, he issued a decision making it harder for families, like Lubia’s, to qualify as social groups also.

Violence against women in the region is so prevalent that 18 countries have passed laws to protect them, creating a class of homicide known as femicide, which adds tougher penalties and greater law enforcement attention to the issue.

And yet, despite that broad effort, the new laws have failed to reduce the killings of girls and women in the region, the United Nations says.

That reflects how deep the gender gap runs. For the new laws to make a difference, experts say, they must go far beyond punishment to change education, political discourse, social norms and basic family dynamics.

Though gangs and cartels in the region play a role in the violence, most women are killed by lovers, family members, husbands or partners — men angered by women acting independently, enraged by jealousy or, like Gehovany, driven by a deeply ingrained sense of control over women’s lives.

“Men end up thinking they can dispose of women as they wish,” said Adriana Quiñones, the United Nations Women’s country representative in Guatemala.

A vast majority of female homicides in the region are never solved. In Guatemala, only about 6 percent result in convictions, researchers say. And in the rare occasions when they do, as in Lubia’s case, they are not always prosecuted vigorously.

Even defense attorneys believe Gehovany should have been charged with femicide, which would have put him in prison a couple of years longer. The fact that he was not, some Guatemalan officials acknowledge, underscores the many ways in which the nation’s legal system, even when set up to protect women, continues to fail them.

In the courtroom, Lubia’s father, Romeo de Jesus Sasvin Dominguez, spoke up just once.

It didn’t make sense, he told the judge, shaking his head. A long white scar ran over the bridge of his nose, a relic of the attack. How could the laws of Guatemala favor the man who killed his wife, who hurt his daughter?

“We had a life together,” he told the judge, nearly in tears. “And he came and took that away from us just because my daughter didn’t want to be in an abusive relationship.”

“I just don’t understand,” he said.

‘It’s Like Our Like Daily Bread’

Lubia’s son crawled with purpose, clutching a toy truck he had just relieved of its back wheel.

The family watched in grateful distraction. Years after the murder, they still lived like prisoners, trapped between mourning and fear. A rust-colored stain blotted the floor where Lubia’s mother died. The dimpled doorjamb, hacked by the machete, had not been repaired. Lubia’s three younger sisters refused even to set foot in the bedroom where they hid during the attack.

Santiago Ramirez, Gehovany’s brother, never went to prison, spared because of a mental illness. Neighbors often saw him walking the village streets.

Soon, Gehovany would be, too. The family worried the men would come back, to finish what they started.

“There’s not much we can do,” said Mr. Sasvin Dominguez, sending Lubia’s son on his way with the toy truck. “We don’t have the law in our hands.”

He had no money to move and owned nothing but the house, which the family clung to but could hardly bear. His two sons lived in the United States and had families of their own to support. He hadn’t seen them in years.

“I’m raising my daughters on my own now, four of them,” he said.

He woke each morning at 3 a.m., hiking into the mountains to work as a farm hand. The girls, whose high cheekbones and raven-colored hair resembled their mother’s, no longer went to school. With the loss of her income from selling knickknacks on the street, they couldn’t afford to pay for it.

His youngest daughter especially loved classes: the routine, the books, the chance to escape her circumscribed world. But even she had resigned herself to voluntary confinement. The stares and whispers of classmates — and the teasing of especially cruel ones — had grown unbearable. In town, some residents openly blamed Lubia for what happened. Even her own aunts did.

“There’s no justice here,” said Lubia, who added that she wanted to share her story with the public for that very reason. Her father did, too.

In her area, Jalapa, a region of rippled hills, rutted roads and a cowboy culture, men go around on horseback with holstered pistols, their faces shaded by wide-brimmed hats. Though relatively peaceful for Guatemala, with a lower homicide rate than most areas, it is very dangerous for women.

Insulated from Guatemala’s larger cities, Jalapa is a concentrated version of the gender inequality that fuels the femicide crisis, experts say.

“It’s stark,” said Mynor Carrera, who served as dean of the Jalapa campus of the nation’s largest university for 25 years. “The woman is treated often like a child in the home. And violence against them is accepted.”

Domestic abuse is the most common crime here. Of the several dozen complaints the Jalapa authorities receive each week, about half involve violence against women.

“It’s like our daily bread,” said Dora Elizabeth Monson, the prosecutor for women’s issues in Jalapa. “Women receive it morning, afternoon and night.”

At the courthouse, Judge Eduardo Alfonso Campos Paz maintains a docket filled with such cases. The most striking part, he said, is that most men struggle to understand what they’ve done wrong.

The problem is not easily erased by legislation or enforcement, he said, because of a mind-set ingrained in boys early on and reinforced throughout their lives.

“When I was born, my mom or sister brought me food and drink,” the judge said. “My sister cleaned up after me and washed my clothes. If I wanted water, she would get up from wherever she was and get it for me.”

“We are molded to be served, and when that isn’t accomplished, the violence begins,” he said.

Across Guatemala, complaints of domestic violence have skyrocketed as more women come forward to report abuse. Every week, it seems, a new, gruesome case emerges in newspapers, of a woman tortured, mutilated or dehumanized. It is an echo of the systematic rape and torture women endured during the nation’s 36-year civil war, which left an indelible mark on Guatemalan society.

But today, the countries with the highest rates of femicide in the region, like Guatemala, also suffer the highest homicide rates overall — often leaving the killing of women overlooked or dismissed as private domestic matters, with few national implications.

The result is more disparity. While murders in Guatemala have dropped remarkably over the last decade, there is a notable difference by gender: Homicides of men have fallen by 57 percent, while killings of women have declined more slowly, by about 39 percent, according to government data.

“The policy is to investigate violence that has more political interest,” said Jorge Granados, the head of the science and technology department at Guatemala’s National Institute of Forensic Sciences. “The public policy is simply not focused on the murder of women.”

The femicide law required every region in the nation to install a specialized court focused on violence against women. But more than a decade later, only 13 of 22 are in operation.

“The abuse usually happens in the home, in a private context,” said Evelyn Espinoza, the coordinator of the Observatory on Violence at Diálogos, a Guatemalan research group. “And the state doesn’t involve itself in the home.”

In Lubia’s case, she fell in love with Gehovany in the fast, unstoppable way that teenagers do. By the time they moved in together, she was already pregnant.

But Gehovany’s drinking, abuse and stultifying expectations quickly became clear. He wanted her home at all times, even when he was out, she said. He told her not to visit her family.

She knew Gehovany would consider her leaving a betrayal, especially being pregnant with his child. She knew society might, too. But she had to go, for the baby’s sake, and was relieved to be free of him.

Until the night of Nov. 1, 2015, at around 9 p.m., when he came to reclaim her.

The New York Times tried to reach Gehovany, who fled after the killing and later turned himself in. But because he was a minor at the time of the murder, officials said, they could not arrange an interview or comment on the case.

His oldest brother, Robert Ramirez, argued that Gehovany had acted in self-defense and killed Lubia’s mother accidentally.

Still, Mr. Ramirez defended his brother’s decision to confront Lubia’s family that night, citing a widely held view of a woman’s place in Jalapa.

“He was right to go back and try to claim her,” he said. “She shouldn’t have left him.”

He looked toward his own house, etched into a clay hillside, a thread of smoke from a small fire curling through the doorway.

“I’d never allow my wife to leave me,” he said.

The Smugglers’ Road North

Mr. Sasvin Dominguez woke suddenly, startled by an idea.

He rushed to town in the dark, insects thrumming, a dense fog filling the mountains. In a single day, it was all arranged. He would sell his home and use the proceeds to flee to the United States.

The $6,500 was enough to buy passage for him and his youngest daughter, then 12. Traveling with a young child was cheaper, and often meant better treatment by American officials. At least, that’s what the smuggler said.

He hoped to reach his sons in California. With luck, he could find work, support the girls back home — and get asylum for the entire family.

The Dominguez Family’s Journey

A week later, in October of last year, he left with his daughter. A guide crossed them into Mexico. Soon, they reached the side of a highway, where a container truck sat idling. Inside, men, women and children were packed tight, with hardly enough space to move.

A dense heat filled the space, the sun baking the metal box as bodies brushed against one another. They spent nearly three days in the container before the first stop, he said.

The days went by in a blur, a log of images snatched from the fog of exhaustion. An open hangar, grumbling with trucks. Rolling desert, dotted by cactus. Sunlight glaring off the metal siding of a safe house.

They rode in at least five container trucks, as best they can remember. Hunger chased them. Some days, they got half an apple. On others, they got rice and beans. Sometimes they got nothing.

One night, they saw a man beaten unconscious for talking after the smugglers told him to be quiet.

“I remember that moment,” said his daughter, whose name is being withheld because she is still a minor. Her hands twisted at the memory. “I felt terrified,” she said.

Days later, starved for food, water and fresh air, she passed out in a container crammed with more than 200 migrants, her father holding her, fanning her with whatever documents he had.

In early November, they arrived in the Mexican border town of Reynosa, and were spirited into a safe house. After weeks on the road, they were getting close.

That day, the smugglers called one of Mr. Sasvin Dominguez’s sons, demanding an extra $400 to ferry the two across the river to Texas. If not, they would be tossed out of the safe house, left to the seething violence of Reynosa.

Mr. Sasvin Dominguez’s son sent the money. Last-minute extortions have come to be expected. A day later, they boarded a raft and entered the United States.

They wandered the dense brush before they stumbled upon a border patrol truck and turned themselves in.

Mr. Sasvin Dominguez said he and his daughter spent four days in Texas, in a facility with no windows. The fluorescent glare of the overhead lights continued day and night, troubling their sleep. It was cold. The migrants called it the icebox.

When they were released in November, Mr. Sasvin Dominguez was fitted with an ankle bracelet and instructed to check in with the immigration authorities in San Francisco, where he could begin the long process of applying for asylum.

His son bought them bus tickets and met them at the station. It was the first time they had seen each other in seven years.

California

On a sunny day in June, Mr. Sasvin Dominguez shuffled to a park, his daughter riding in front, hunched over the bars of a pink bicycle meant for a girl half her age. Behind him, his son and grandson tottered along, hand in hand.

They traversed a quintessential American landscape — bungalows perched on tidy green yards, wide sidewalks shaded by soaring live oaks.

He and his daughter live in the family’s modest one-bedroom apartment, now bursting at the seams. The trappings of suburban life fill the backyard: toolboxes, wheelbarrows, recycling bins.

But Mr. Sasvin Dominguez remains suspended in the sadness and fear he left behind in Guatemala. His other daughters are still trapped, and there is no money to move them.

Besides, he says, the journey north, even if they could afford it, is far too dangerous for three young women and a toddler to take on their own. His only hope, he says, is asylum.

That could take years, he is told, if it happens at all. A heavy backlog of cases is gumming up the courts. He does not even have a date yet for his first hearing.

In the meantime, he lives in self-imposed austerity, scared to embrace his new life, as if doing so might belittle the danger his daughters still face.

In the park, families cooked out and blasted reggaeton. His daughter play-fought with her nephew, who never tired, no matter how many handfuls of grass she stuffed down his shirt, or how many times he retreated in tears.

She has found a better rhythm in their new life. In June, she finished sixth grade at the local school, which she loves. Her older brother keeps the graduation certificate on the small dining table.

She has dyed the tips of her hair purple, a style she’s grown fond of. Her face often falls back into the wide smile of the past, when her mother enrolled her in local beauty contests.

But she grows stormy and unpredictable at times, refusing to speak. She misses her mother. Her sisters, too.

Stuck in Guatemala, Lubia and her two other sisters moved into a small apartment, where they share a single bed. A portrait of their mother hangs on the wall.

They all work now, making tortillas in town. But they go straight home after, to avoid being spotted. Not long ago, Lubia ran into Gehovany’s mother.

Life for the sisters is measured in micro-improvements, pockets of air in the stifling fear. They are scarcely more than children themselves, raising children alone. Lubia’s 18-year-old sister now has an infant of her own.

They sometimes visit their mother’s grave, a green concrete box surrounded by paddle-shaped cactus.

“We are left here with nothing,” Lubia said.

She still bears the stigma of what happened. Neighbors, men and women alike, continue to blame her for her mother’s death. It doesn’t surprise her anymore. Now 20, she says she understands that women almost always bear the blame for problems at home.

She worries about the world her son will grow up in, what she can teach him and what he will ultimately come to believe. One day, she will tell him about his father, she says, but not now, or anytime soon.

By then, she hopes to be in the United States, free of the poverty, violence and suffocating confines for women in Guatemala.

“Here in Guatemala,” she said, “justice only exists in the law. Not in reality.”

Meridith Kohut in Jalapa, Guatemala and Paulina Villegas in Mexico City contributed reporting.

Azam Ahmed is the bureau chief for Mexico, Central America and the Caribbean. He was previously the Afghanistan bureau chief, and has also covered the world of high finance and white-collar crime for the Business desk.

[sunny-night-starry-morn]

get to know me

All my life I've been so dependent on my ambitions and dreams, although sometimes days are rougher than nights, and I spend most of my time thinking about them instead of doing things I should be doing. I remember I had so many things that I want to achieve but I ended up being the average girl living an average life with nothing to be proud of. But at one point in my life, I realised that I fell deep in love with something that might or might not be the best thing--I fell in love with English as a language, a mindset, and a new identity.

I remember I could be found deep in thoughts reading a pocket dictionary when I was still in elementary school. I grew up listening to many western songs, thanks to my parents, and spent my life learning the language all alone by myself. My mom was quick figuring this new habit and she started registering me to a good English course in town. I developed well ever since. In junior high school, I exercised my English competence by joining some competitions, but I failed most of the time. It didn't stop me, though, so I worked hard to strengthen this ability. I won many competitions when I started senior high school, and I was proud representing myself and also my school in those events. Those were my best memories because I figured that I was no longer the average girl with nothing to be proud of. It took a long time for me to have a self-confidence because my anxiety ruled me quite often back then, even now. I often found myself crying because I failed that particular competition, or hating myself because I couldn't take thing seriously when it came to study English as a language. I was so focused that I was lost in the sea of confusion, whether this ability was a curse or a magic that would change my life drastically. I didn't realise that English can become something that is more than just a language--that I could explore its depth without leaving its surface. Then I found the courage to start all over again right before I finished my second grade in senior high school, and in that very moment I decided to pursue English Language and Literature to make myself aware of the competence I had within me.

I always have faith in a sudden realisation. The first realisation that I could remember was that my ability in understanding English in its four aspects--listening, reading, speaking and writing--is not something I acquired by only studying. I figured that I was mentally gifted, if I could say so myself, because I know being a bilingual is not an easy thing at all. All thanks to my parents because they gave me a great exposure to western songs, but the rest of them, I believe it was not only because I studied them day and night. It took me almost three years to figure it out, and I could respect myself ever since that realisation went into me. When I was accepted in the university, I worked my best to polish this ability. But then I figured that studying the language only was not enough. I started to think like an English man, and God I knew it was so hard, but I kept on doing so. I started to practice speaking as often as I possibly could with my peers and my sister. I read many books, academic and nonacademic books to get new perspectives. I wrote things like journals, summaries, even poems and stories in English to habituate myself with daily conversations of an English native man. I tried my best to get into an English man's thought, and even though I realised that it would take a long, long time to get this mindset shifted, I still believe that I can do it if I want to.

Every day I do my best to make the best of anything by again, practicing my English ability. Every time I do my makeup, strangely as it seems, I will talk to the mirror and explain all the steps in English like I am such a beauty guru having a YouTube channel with over 3 million subscribers. If I cannot sleep at night, I will pull out my pouch and try to describe all of my lipstick collection one by one. Often, I record myself and listen to it before I delete it right away, only to make sure that I do not make mistakes in pronouncing the words. I speak to my peers in English if we meet each other in person, or in class, and we also often text each other in English as well. My sister is also a big helper. She often takes me with her shopping to one of our favorite markets and we find ourselves mentioning things in English, even though there are many people around, close enough to hear our conversation. I find it funny to speak in different language when you are a true Indonesian man, but I believe that to love something deeply, you need to understand more and more to get into them, of course without leaving the core that you have with you for a really long time.

As I polish my English proficiency, I figure that all of these efforts actually mean something--I recreate my identity. I can see how I change from time to time--my social media accounts are the true witnesses. There are many colors that can represent each identity that I have shaped and I can say, I am proud I could live with all those colors. It has always been a great experience living in one particular color, but moving to another and make an even greater color is also a good thing for me. In the future I hope that I can create more colors to paint my life so that it doesn't go bland and plain in the canvas. There are so many things that I still want to enjoy in life, and I do not want it to go to waste in a snap.

I believe we were born with something in our hands and along the journey we are supposed to make a great deal from it. I am quite proud to say that I was born with the ability to understand English not as a language only, but also as a means to a new mindset and identity. But as day and night go on time to time, I want to strengthen this competence because I cannot stop only in the middle of the journey to admire what I already have. I want to get deep into it until I can finally say "enough is enough", but today is not the time. I want to go with the bus wherever it goes so that I can experience all the ups and downs, the steady and the jump, as well as the light and the dark. I hope that I can pursue my dreams in the way that I always want to go. It doesn't have to be fully planned or prepared, because I believe I am a person with a strong wit to adapt in a new environment quickly. As long as I enjoy the process, I think I can be fully satisfied with the result after a long, long run.