#recounting this was intense emotional labor

[hiddencitydweller]

Keep Going

Pairing: Leo x GN!Reader

Slight Hurt/Comfort, but mostly some emotional fluff!

Summary: After an especially trying mission, you try to comfort Leo in an unexpected way: singing.

Warnings: Self-deprecating comments

Word Count: 2.9k

A/N: Hi again! Thank you all so much for all the love on my first fic! I truly didn’t think it would receive any traction, but you guys blew me away! I’ve actually been working on this fic for quite some time now. I just couldn’t seem to get the emotions the way I want them. I’m pretty sure I’ve rewritten different parts of it at least a dozen times now, but I think it’s time to just let it go. This is a topic that’s quite special and personal to me, and I can only hope it resonates with someone else.

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For a bunch of ninjas, your turtle friends sure were loud.

You could hear the boys’ playful banter and recounting of the night’s events echo through the sewer tunnels from your place on the Lair’s main couch. At this point, you were pretty used to waiting for your friends as they headed into the night on a mission or just patrol. Sure, some nights you would join them, putting your kickboxing and archery skills to good use. But for the most part, you decided to leave the crime fighting to the turtles in favor of some peace and quiet back at the Lair. Tonight was one of those nights. 

As you heard the laughter and footsteps thump closer, you sat up on the couch and simply listened. The first few times the boys had gone out and left you behind, you could not calm the anxiety racing through your body. What if their communicators broke and they couldn’t contact you? What if something happened and you weren’t there to help? That anxiety only amplified when you started your relationship with Leo. What if he needed you and you weren’t there? At the end of the night, when they inevitably made their way home, as they always, always, did, you nearly pounced on them, checking them over for any injuries and constantly asking if everyone was all right.

Now, after a little over a year of the same routine, you were much more practiced. It was as if you had gone through your own training, learning all the little signs that could signify the difference between an emergency and a victory. You again listened closely to the voices getting steadily louder, a soft smile playing across your lips. There were no sounds of labored breathing, no panicked voices or hurried footsteps. Just the boys taunting and teasing each other as they finally made their way into the Lair’s main living room. 

Still, old habits die hard. From your spot on the couch, you looked over each turtle intensely, trying to scope out any injuries or strain, but thankfully found none. Your eyes landed on Leo last, who was lightheartedly shoving Donnie for some comment he had made about a portal from the night’s escapade. Leo laughed and made some jab right back at his brother, but his shoulders seemed more tense than usual. You followed the movement, a tinge of concern niggling it’s way to the back of your mind. As if feeling your eyes on him, Leo turned to face you, a smile alighting his features. 

“Don’t worry, the wait is over! Your heroes have arrived!” Leo said with a flourish, making a grand gesture towards himself and his brothers, who laughed and rolled their eyes before giving you their own greetings.

You laughed at the display and the brothers’ lighthearted annoyance before piling on. “There’s my knight is shining plastron!” 

“Oh baby you know I’m more of a prince,” Leo said, confidence oozing from his voice. “You just can’t hide this face under a helmet. Gotta give the people what they want!” He struck a pose, finger and thumb framing his apparently princely face as he smirked down at you. His brothers groaned in protest before choosing to ignore you both in favor of heading down the hall to the kitchen, following the smell of the pizza you had brought with you about an hour ago.

Even with the blithe reply, that tinge of concern in the back of your mind alighted again. You could tell something was off. The smirk may be trademark Leo, but the light didn’t quite reach his eyes. You cocked your head slightly, your own smile just barley slipping as you once again raked your eyes over his frame, looking for any potential injuries you could’ve missed the first time. But you still came up empty handed.

Leo noticed your gaze travel over him. “Like what you see?” he purred, hand going to his hip as he raised an eyebrow.

Your eyes shot up to meet his. Of course he could turn your routine concern into an innuendo. You felt warmth reaching your cheeks, but you refused to acknowledge it, deciding instead to beat him at his own game. “Hmmm, I haven’t decided yet. Do a little turn, I need to see all the angles.”

He laughed and did as you requested, gracefully making a small circle as he held his hands up, presenting himself. You leaned back on your hands as your feigned appraising him. However, you couldn’t help but take the chance to quickly run your eyes over his shell, noting no cracks or blemishes. The back of his head and his muscled legs yielded the same result. Not a physical injury then. “Well?” He was facing you now, an expectant look gracing his features. “Do I meet your expectations?”

You sighed dramatically, flipping a hand dismissively at him, “I suppose you will do.” 

His laugh rang out again as he sauntered over to your place on the couch, lightly flicking your nose in response. “Oh how gracious of you mi amor.”

“What can I say? I know what I like,” you replied playfully, leaning forward to place a quick kiss against his lips. A softer smile spread across his lips as he followed your retreating form, lightly nuzzling your nose with his before stepping back. 

You blinked at the sudden retreat, very much expecting another kiss at the very least. Instead, he took off his gear and laid it haphazardly on a random beanbag chair. You could almost see the playful energy dwindle out of him as he flopped next to you on the couch, head lolling onto your shoulder as a huff of air escaped him. 

The slight concern turned into a full-on warning bell in your mind. Snuggling after a mission was nothing new, Leo’s main love language was touch after all, but it usually didn’t happen as soon as he walked through the door. Normally he would be too wired to sit still, practically bounce around the room as he regaled you with his heroics of the evening (always exaggerated just enough to make him out to be the true hero of the mission of course) and scarfed down enough pizza or take out to make any normal human sick. 

You decided you’d had enough beating around the bush. “All right Champion, what’s eating at ya?”

“Who says anything’s ‘eating at me’? Can’t I just cuddle up with my partner after a long mission?”

“Come on Leo, I know you better than that,” you replied softly, nudging him gently with the shoulder he was resting on.

He sighed, “Sometimes I think you see me a little too well.” 

“You said it yourself, you just can’t hide such a beautiful face.” 

He snorted at the remark and then fell silent. You reached over and grabbed his nearest hand, intertwining your fingers. The two of you stayed like that for a few minutes, you waiting patiently and rubbing soothing circles on the back of his hand as he sorted his thoughts. It was always this way with Leo. For someone who seemed to hide behind words, he always chose them carefully, especially with you.

“Tonight was just...hard.” He finally said softly.

“Hard how?”

Another sigh escaped him as he kept his eyes trained on where your hand held his. “Things didn’t go the way they were supposed to. The plan was to take out some Foot faces before they did something stupid, simple as that. But by the time we smashed into that warehouse, we were surrounded. It was an ambush, a trap. And I didn’t see it coming.” He took a second to huff out a frustrated breath, and you waited, not wanting to interrupt. 

“It wasn’t like it was anything we couldn’t handle, I mean the Foot clan hasn’t exactly upped their recruitment policies. But I was so caught off guard. I’m the leader, I’m supposed to know what’s going on and how to handle it, but I didn’t. I led my team, my brothers, into a literal trap. And it could’ve been so much worse. Hell, it almost ways. I was so preoccupied with trying to make sense of everything that I couldn’t even make a portal properly!” He flung the hand not holding yours up in frustration. “If it wasn’t for Donnie’s tech, I would’ve been knocked out cold. What kind of leader does that?! What kind of leader can’t figure out a situation or manage to hold his own?” He leaned his head into your shoulder more, dragged down by his own guilt.

Your heart tightened at the confession. Ever since being named leader, and especially after the Kraang incident, Leo had been impossibly tough on himself. You’d lost track of the number of times he had chosen extra training over coming to bed. How many strategy textbooks and medical journals he had read and reread between training and patrol and family time. He put in so much of himself to be the best leader, the best brother, he could be. And yet, in moments like these, he couldn’t seem to see that. 

As much as you wanted to bring all of this up, you knew from experience that it wouldn’t assuage the guilt tightening his expression. So instead, you said, “A leader’s job isn’t to know everything. There are times where you’re simply going to be surprised, whether it be for better or worse. I bet even Raph couldn’t avoid that when he was leader.” You received a small huff at that. “What’s important is what happens after.”

“Yeah, and I froze. I messed up.”

“What happened,” you pressed on, “is your team worked together to solve the situation. No one expects you to know everything that’s going to happen or to fight it all on your own. You may have frozen, but your team was right there to have your back, just like you would have theirs if the roles were reversed. It’s not all on you.”

He mulled over your response before sighing. “I just thought after everything we went through, everything I went through, I would have this figured out by now.”

“I don’t think there really is a way to figure it all out. You just need to trust your brothers as much as they trust you. Leader or not, you’re not alone.” Leo hummed in reply, seemingly deep in thought at your words. 

You pulled your eyes away from their focus on your joined hands and glanced at him sideways. You could tell the night and conversation were taking their toll from the way his forehead was creased and his drooped, exhaustion clearly pulling on his features.

After a minute, you carefully leaned away from him and gently nudged his head off your shoulder, causing him to look at you, an eyebrow raised. Rather than respond to the question in his eyes, you shifted so that you laid on your back across your half of the cushions, your shoulders and upper body supported by the arm of the couch. You looked at where Leo still sat upright, now caught between your legs, and smiled as you opened your arms invitingly. 

“Come on, don’t leave me hanging!” you said playfully, yet softly, mindful of everything running through his head. Still, he could use some lightness right now.

He returned the smile and gladly made to lay on top of you, his plastron fitting snuggly against your stomach and his head nestled on your chest. He wrapped his arms around your torso and sunk in, nuzzling his face further into you. Still smiling, you placed one hand on his shell as the other came up to rub against the back of his head. 

Leo sighed contently at the motion, somehow pulling you even closer. Looking down, you felt your heart both melt and tighten at his response. He carried so much responsibility on his shoulders: his brothers, his father, you, hell even the fate of the world on occasion. It was such a heavy burden to lift, even with the mutated muscles and shell on his back. You wanted nothing more than to take that weight, to give him a reprieve if only for a little bit. To show him just how important he was, leader or no. Lost in these thoughts, you closed your eyes and lightly dragged your nails across his skin and shell, receiving a pleasant shiver in return.

Then you started singing.

The lilting melody began softly, as if hesitant to break the comfortable silence the two of you had created. The notes gradually floated from you in an almost whispered caress. You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged on your lips as they formed around the familiar lyrics you’d sung so many times before. Only a few bars in, you felt Leo stir from his position on top of you. You abruptly halted your song, eyes flying open as you tensed.

It hadn’t been a conscious decision really. You often sang to yourself when you wanted comfort, always feeling calm and centered when the music surrounded you. It seemed only natural to want to bring that same comfort now, to wrap the two of you softly in your voice. 

But maybe that was selfish of you to think. Your mind flashed to other times you had found yourself singing around others, their smiles and compliments masking the annoyance you could see in their eyes. Maybe Leo didn’t want to hear you right now. Maybe he thought you were showing off when all he really wanted was comfort.

You cringed softly as you looked down at him, apology already on your tongue. But his face made you pause once more. He looked up at you, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. While the exhaustion remained, there was a twinkle of wonder and affection in his gaze that had you blowing out a light breath of air.

“Keep going,” Leo whispered into the small space between you. You stared back at him unmoving, the moment feeling delicate and indescribably precious. He waited, eyes never leaving yours.

So you began again.

As before, you started softly, the melody gracefully whispering into the silence around you. Then your voice began to grow, the song taking full form.

The melody floated off your tongue and hung suspended in the air like ribbon. You softly dragged and pulled the notes as you wove them together, blending them seamlessly. The tapestry of your song surrounded you both and softly wrapped you in its warmth. All the while, you found yourself unable to look away from Leo’s wonder-filled eyes. 

As you came to your favorite lyric, you reached up and gently grazed the tips of your fingers down and across his cheek, trying to imbue the words and motion with every ounce of love you felt for him. He leaned into your caress as his eyes went glassy. The true vulnerability and intimacy of the moment threatened to take your breath away, but you pushed on, determined to give him this gift, this piece of you however small. 

Because that's what it was, you realized. Singing had always been a part of you that you cherished, even if no one else seemed to. And here he was, the love of your life, soaking up every emotion-filled word and comforting note as if they were the last he would ever hear.

Words couldn't begin to describe the emotions swirling through your chest.

Without even meaning to, you had found your own way of showing just how much he meant to you, how much you admired and cherished him, regardless of any mission. Your heart soared at the thought as your eyes watered. Yes, you would gladly give him this piece of you over and over and over again. Every lyric, every note, every breath could be his if it brought an ounce of comfort. If it showed even a fraction of the love that filled your heart. He could have it all.

With a newfound purpose, you brought the song back down to a whisper, something meant only for the two of you. You shifted your hand so it was cupping his cheek. He once again leaned into your touch, a soft smile wobbling across his lips as a tear slowly made its trek down his cheek before your thumb brushed it away. You returned the smile knowing he understood. He knew exactly what you were trying to say, even if the exact words never left your tongue.

Too soon the song ended, leaving the two of you suspended in its afterglow. For a long moment, neither of you spoke, simply breathing in the comfortable silence. If it were up to you, that's exactly how you would stay, basking in the comfort and love that surrounded you both.

However, Leo could only stay silent for so long. “You’re incredible,” he finally whispered. Even having not moved for the entirety of you song, he seemed breathless. “After all this time, you still continue to amaze me.”

“I was just thinking the same thing,” you replied equally soft, thumb still rubbing soothingly across his cheek. His smile broadened slightly at the remark, but there was no quick retort. 

Instead, voice still low, he asked, “Would you sing another?”

And that’s how you stayed for the rest of the night, Leo pressed against you, his own churrs vibrating from his chest in tandem with your swirling notes, and you, singing softly until you were both lulled into a peaceful sleep. 

[antiquatedsimmer]

A reminder that posts in my stories sometimes include: Sexual Themes, Race/Gender/Cultural stuff, Death, Pregnancy, Violence, Injury, Illness, Disabilities, Religion, social/political class, Smoking and Alcohol/Drug use. these are listed in my navigation pinned post. If ur comfortable with these themes the story continues below (owo)/ good day!

The flickering oil lamps cast eerie shadows against the grimy walls of the seedy bed and board. The air was thick with stale smoke and the stench of whiskey. Eddy cautiously stepped inside, his eyes scanning the dimly lit bar area below. The room was filled with patrons, their attention absorbed in their own vices, oblivious to the chaos that unfolded upstairs.

Suddenly, a loud thud echoed from above, followed by the sound of scuffling and a pained cry. Eddy's heart raced as he recognized Helena's voice.

Without a moment's hesitation, he sprinted up the creaking staircase, fueled by a mix of adrenaline and fury.

As he reached the top, he witnessed a horrifying sight. Helena, bloodied and bruised, was pinned against the floor by a menacing figure.

The attacker's fists rained down on her, their impact echoing through the narrow hallway. Eddy's blood boiled with rage as he saw the man draw his revolver, a glimmer of malevolence in his eyes.

Summoning all his strength, Eddy lunged forward, his body colliding with the assailant. Helena used what strength she had to distance herself from the attacker and the two men grappled with each other, their movements a blur of desperation and determination. Each blow and counterstrike reverberated through the cramped space, accompanied by grunts and gasps.

Their struggle intensified, the attacker relentlessly attempting to regain control of the gun. Helena, battered but not defeated, mustered the strength to rise from the floor, her voice hoarse and strained as she recounted the events that unfolded.

Amidst the chaos, Eddy managed to overpower his adversary, through gritted teeth Eddy shouted "You thought you could hurt her and get away with it? Not on my watch, you son of a Bitch!" Through guttural sounds of pain, the attacker yelled back at Eddy " The BITCH bit me! "

As Eddy continued to pummel the assailant Helena felt her heart skip a beat when she heard Eddy's protective words.

Eddy's eyes blazed with fury as he towered over the battered assailant. The room fell silent, punctuated only by labored breaths and the heavy scent of blood.

The assailant's broken and bloody teeth marred his sneering face, but his spiteful words cut through the air.

"She's nothin' but a worthless whore!"

Eddy's hand clenched into a tight fist, the supple leather of his glove creaking in protest.

Through the rasping gasps of his labored breaths, Eddy's voice morphed into a deep, solemn resonance, starkly contrasting the gentle and playful demeanor Helena had once known.

"Consider this your only warning," he declared, his words laced with a chilling intensity. "If our paths cross again and you dare cast your gaze upon this woman, I'll ensure your life meets a swift and final end.".

The deafening silence enveloped the dimly lit hallway as Eddy's piercing gaze shifted towards Helena, a silent command burning in his eyes. "Go, get dressed," he uttered with a mix of firmness and concern. "I'll ensure he won't dare make another move."

As Helena nodded silently, a whirlwind of emotions swirled within her—a haunting blend of sadness, anxiety, and a flicker of hope that Eddy wouldn't hold this against her. Slowly, she maneuvered around her attacker, her movements hampered by the pain coursing through her body until she reached the sanctuary of the bedroom. Despite her injuries, she resolutely donned her dress

Meanwhile, Eddy exerted his raw strength, dragging the bloodied assailant across the balcony and away from the hallway. No words were exchanged between them, only a palpable tension lingering in the air. Muffled voices resonated from the bar below, faint echoes of distant laughter, while the chorus of crickets provided a haunting soundtrack to the unfolding scene, a haunting symphony underscoring the clash of fates.

As time trickled by, Helena emerged from the depths of the building, her fragile form bathed in the ethereal glow of the lantern's light. The radiance pierced through her weary eyes, eliciting a wince that accentuated the torment etched upon her delicate features. With each step she took, a sharp pang resonated through her head, a cruel reminder of the violence she had endured.

The thunderous cadence of Eddy's cowboy boots echoed against the weathered wooden balcony, each step carrying the weight of their shared anguish. Helena's head remained bowed, a veil of shame shrouding her fragile frame as she fought valiantly to contain the flood of emotions threatening to engulf her. With every ounce of her depleted strength, she clung to the tattered remnants of her composure, refusing to crumble beneath the weight of her shattered world.

Eddy's voice resonated with unwavering determination, commanding attention without a trace of anger. "Time to get you patched up."

In solemn silence, their footsteps echoed down the weathered wooden staircase, They emerged onto the worn stone and dirt roads of Finchwick, embarking on the arduous journey towards the distant Bramblewoods. The midnight air enveloped them, its icy touch seeping through their weary bones. Along the dimly lit streets, flickering lanterns cast eerie shadows, while fireflies scattered amidst the foliage, their ethereal glow lending an otherworldly aura to the surroundings. Above, a celestial tapestry adorned the night sky, a radiant galaxy where stars shimmered and danced, bearing witness to the somber path that lay ahead.

[aerikaye]

sky — my birth experience

hello, everyone! i'll be sharing my journey of becoming a mum and welcoming my little bundle of joy, sky, into this world. let's take a trip down memory lane as i recount the beautiful birth experience and the roller coaster of emotions that followed.

the early signs of labor

it all began at 5:30 am last tuesday when i felt what i thought were typical third-trimester contractions. as the contractions continued and intensified every 20 minutes, i had a strong hunch that labor had begun. it was both exciting and nerve-wracking, knowing that the moment we've been waiting for was finally here. i remember trying to time the contractions and feeling a mix of excitement and anxiety as the realization hit me that my baby's arrival was imminent.

the rush to the clinic

by 1 pm, the contractions were getting more intense and closer together. it was time to head to the clinic. i was filled with a whirlwind of emotions - anticipation, nervousness, and overwhelming love for the little life growing inside me. upon arrival, the medical team quickly assessed me, and to my surprise, i was already 8 cm dilated! admitted immediately, my heart swelled with anticipation and a mix of emotions. the reality that i was about to meet my baby for the first time sank in, and i couldn't wait to hold him in my arms.

the intense labor and sky's arrival

for the next 3 hours, i experienced labor pains like i had never felt before. it was undoubtedly one of the most challenging and painful experiences of my life. the contractions came in waves, and in between each one, i gathered my strength and resolve, thinking of the beautiful little life that was about to grace this world. with every push, i knew i was getting closer to meeting my precious little one. and finally, at 3:32 pm, the world welcomed sky, and i wept tears of joy as his first cry filled the room. how can a cry sound that magical? in that moment, my heart felt full beyond measure.

the first week and its challenge

the first week of motherhood was both rewarding and challenging. recovering from childbirth was tough, and i'm forever grateful to my partner and mommy for being my pillars of support during this time. my body was healing, and i had to take it slow, which wasn't easy for someone as active as i used to be. but their constant care gave me the strength to focus on taking care of myself and baby sky. each day brought new challenges and learning experiences, but seeing sky's bright eyes and feeling his tiny fingers wrapped around mine made it all worth it.

breastfeeding

as a first-time mom, i embarked on the journey of exclusive breastfeeding. kid you not, it was SO painful. no one really prepared me for how intense it could be. but i knew it was crucial for sky's health and bonding. every latch was a mix of pain and joy, as i felt the responsibility of nourishing my little one with my own body. each feeding session was an emotional roller coaster, but knowing that i was providing him with the best possible nutrition kept me going. every day presented a new set of challenges, from sore nipples to latching issues, but seeing my little one thriving made it all worthwhile.

embracing motherhood

i realized how self-doubt and postpartum depression could creep in at any moment. the responsibility of caring for this tiny human was both awe-inspiring and daunting. at times, i would find myself crying in the middle of the night, questioning if i was doing everything right for sky. was i meeting all his needs? was he happy and comfortable? the weight of these thoughts would occasionally feel overwhelming. but thanks to micoh, my partner, who has been a constant source of strength and support, i know i'm not alone in this journey. he's been there to reassure me, share the parenting responsibilities, and remind me that i'm doing a great job as a mom.

despite the challenges, every day brings a sense of contentment and fulfillment. watching sky grow and thrive fills my heart with immense joy. the sleepless nights and moments of self-doubt pale in comparison to the happiness he brings into my life. i can't help but express my gratitude to the lord for blessing me with this incredible gift of motherhood. every milestone, every giggle, and even every tear have become cherished memories that i'll hold close to my heart forever. welcome, sky, to a world filled with love and warmth.

[miniminisb]

ˢᵒ ʷʰᵃᵗ’ˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵘˡᵗ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ

okay bUCKLE UP FUCKERS IT’S TIME FOR THE DUMBEST MISTAKE OF MY LIFE. I preface this by saying, I am a dumbass. I am a complete, irrevocable, plain dumbass. Do not do this at home. Do not pass go. Do not collect 200 dollars. Heed my warnings. also technically not a cult but basically a cult you’ll see just sit tight.

It was a nice sunny day in September 2017. The seasons were beginning to turn. I had just gotten out of my Intro to Logic class. I felt good. I thought to myself, “Man. Such a nice day. I think I’ll do my homework outside today. Enjoy the weather before it goes to shit.”

So there I was, barbecue sauce on my titties doing some, i dunno, categorical reasoning? Just, sitting beneath a tree, enjoying the day, when two girls walk up to me. They say they’re trying to start a club on campus, and they wonder if I have some time to talk real quick. I have some time before my next class. I’m pretty much done with this homework. I say sure.

Mistake number one.

They sit down and ask if I have ever read the Bible. My stomach immediately sinks. I don’t necessarily have things against organized religion, but… American Christians make me nervous. They really do. Growing up, you get a lot of people at your door and you get a lot of crazies telling you you’re gonna go to hell. They can pick pick the weak out of a crowd and target them for their schemes.

I am the weak.

So I chuckle nervously. I’m in danger! I say no, not really. Kinda. I grew up in a small town and would go to church with friends sometimes hahahahahahaha. They seem alright, kinda. They pull out their own Bible and start flipping through it for certain passages, giving the schpiel of “oh God loves you, Jesus died for our sins, yada yada” and I’m like, yeah, cool. Whatever.

Then it gets weird. They start talking about the end of the world, Armageddon, the apocalypse, whatever ya wanna call it. They say this time was prophecized in the Bible, snatching on weird passages to claim that North Korea is gonna drop nukes. They say that this will happen where the four corners of the earth meet, and are adamant to say that it’s referring to our area (I go to college at the Four Corners Region in the US of A).

They say how, because it’s gonna happen, it’s more important than ever to save your soul, get baptized, whatever. They ask if I have been baptized. And I say haha no, not yet, like I said I’m not really Christian, hahahah-

Mistake number two.

The girl in charge of the situation nods in a sort of understanding manner. They continue their schpiel, really starting to hit home that saving your soul and accepting the big J is important. They also said jesus was married to the city of jerusalem? For some reason??? Idk man if you’re christian can you explain this to me?

Same girl then goes, out of nowhere, “would you ever consider getting baptized?”

Listen guys. I know I put off big chaotic energy, give no fucks, can’t mess with me persona on here. But in the words of Kim Namjoon, who the hell am i? I am, without a doubt, a spineless bitch who doesn’t know how to stand up for herself when faced with the smallest amount of conflict and no outward reason to refuse people. Y’all, as I write this, I am shaking and my heart is pounding because yes, you can probably see where this is going. And yes, I am that dumb.

I chuckle nervously, fiddle with my hands, and go “haha maybe if my friend would want me to idk” just like, full on passive avoidance shrink-into-yourself of someone who desperately wants this shit to end but really can’t find an out.

And the girl looks me dead in the eyes. “Well, that’s good. But you would have to do it for yourself. Would you ever get baptized for yourself.”

“I mean, maybe? I guess? Hahah I dunno, yeah, maybe.”

MISTAKE NUMBER THREE.

The two bitches perk up. “We can do it now!” bitch what. I have like, maybe 20 minutes until class at this point. I’m shaking. I’m like, man, I just wanted to do my logic homework. And now, I get into fight or flight mode. I can’t miss class. I feel scared. These girls think north korea cares about fucking new mexico and arizona enough to nuke a place which, objectively, has little to no people living there. Like, what, you’re gonna bomb aliens? Whatever.

I really start to say. No. can’t do it. I have class. I really have class, it’s soon, can’t do it. No. And they keep pushing. “It’ll only take five minutes. It’ll be fine. You’ll be okay. Only five minutes.”

Now, what should I have done? I should have picked up my stuff and said “thank you, but no. I need to leave.” I should have said “you women are making me uncomfortable. I said no. Leave me alone. You are crazy.” I should have raised my middle finger to them which, conveniently, has a pentacle ring on it.

Instead, I caved and said fine.

M͏̤̤I̩S̖̙͝T̯̕A̧̗͙K̩͕̺̕E҉̞͙̞̮ ̤̙͕͔N̷̗͙̙ͅU͚͇̯̦͙M̩͙͖B̵̬̝̤̪E̪̺̟͙ͅṞ̼ ̩͉͍͎͎̼͘F̩̦͔̩O̘̭UṞ͉̯͍

The other girl who has remained relatively quiet, jumps up. “Great! I’ll call our minister, he’ll pull up the van!”

The what.

I don’t say anything. I should have. Listen, I don’t know how I was supposed to get baptized in the middle of the day on a Wednesday but fuck, I did not expect to get taken off campus. We have a fucking non denominational chuch on campus. So, who would’ve thunk? Not me!

“The what?”

The girls jump up and seem super excited. I am shaking as I pick up my bag and follow them to the parking lot. Meanwhile I’m screaming silently to myself what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck. You know, like a normal person. So at least I wasn’t completely insane.

“We’re just taking you to our church, don’t worry.” And for some reason, that does put me at ease a lil. Cuz, like, I may be a stinking heathen who’s gone to church so many times that she can count it on one hand, but I do have the belief that nice pretty churches are save havens. So, I do feel a little okay.

I still get into a fucking car tho so there’s that I guess.

The dude pulls up. He is… idk he looked like one of those creepy religious fucks from like a horror movie. Dead behind the eyes. We all pack into the car. I’m trying not to cry, honestly. I’m really trying to keep this light cuz it is pretty funny when you step back but keep in mind I was terrified and I don’t know how to say no.

It is only after we pull away that I have the dawning thought. I’m basically getting kidnapped. They could take me fucking anywhere and no one would know and I wouldn’t be able to do anything to stop it. Three against one.

As we’re leaving my fucking campus I check the clock. I have, like. Five minutes until my next class. I am a dumbass.

The girl shows me like… an apocalypse video??? for some reason??? Like wow thanks bitch but you already told me the world was gonna end but aight.

I’m hardcore like, astral projecting at this point. Full on dissociation. I do not exist on this plane anymore.

We pull into a fucking starbucks parking lot next to some town homes.

“We’re here!” Where’s the church? Where’s the steeple? Bitch I just see modern condos what the HELL is happening. We get out of the car and go up to one of these fucking apartments basically. Fucking Youth Pastor John unlocks the place and.

Guys.

The church was just a fucking townhome. I’m like. Just. Guys the area where the congregation met was a fucking living room with like maybe six chairs and a podium. On the bright side, lovely open floor plan.

They guide me upstairs.

To the bathroom.

They hand me like… a fucking robe and say I can undress and put that on. They give me a moment but even then i’m like FUCK that. Undressing in a strange house? That’s where I draw the line! Nope, no disrobing for me, thanks! I still put on the robe because apparently it’s like, ritually significant?

Got into my new swanky clothes and they come back in. They start filling up a shitty plastic bucket with water in the tub. At this point, i’m just like:

They tell me to kneel in the tub and raise my hands in prayer. I follow orders, trying to ignore the fact that I am in a strange place that is very much not a church, that I am currently wearing weird periwinkle robes, knowing that people are in class right now just. Learning about fucking Mesopetamia or some shit i forget what the class was about.

The Hannah Montana from Hell Squad prays over me as they pour cupfuls of bucket water over my head. My underclothes are now drenched. My hair is wet. My knees hurt because I’m kneeling in a fucking bathtub.

“Congrats! Your soul is saved!” I have to get to class!

They give me a moment to take off the fucking robes and I collect my things. I step out and i’m like “great I’m late for class, take me back!”

“Oh, but you still need to have passover.”

Passover is a Jewish Holiday practiced in mid to late spring. It’s September. Y’all are christian. But I literally cannot leave, so I follow them into the kitchen where they put a veil on me. The other two girls put on veils as well. I’ve fully surpassed crying and reached silent resignation to my fate as the guy prays over some fucking communion wafers and some grape juice. I take the lil bits of food, luckily too since i fucking missed lunch because of them but at least I have some grape juice to fill me up.

“Now, we know that this is not the correct time for passover, but we needed to do it to save your soul. Now, practice Passover every year from now on to make sure you show your dedication to God and make sure your soul is saved.”

They do take me back to campus. I am in soaking short shorts and a red flannel. It is, to say the least, very moist and uncomfortable as I start to stick to the faux leather seats of this mini van.

I’m like “cool great thanks for having me!” as they pull up to my building, and as I try to get out, the quieter girl (who, genuinely, seemed to be fond of me) asked if she could have my number.

HEY YOU KNOW HOW THIS STORY STARTED? WITH ME LACKING THE ABILITY TO SAY NO TO PEOPLE? YOU REMEMBER THAT? HUH!?

But this time, ohhoho, I have a plan. I’ll give her a fake number! That’ll teach her! So I punch in a few random numbers really hastily because I am still in this fucking van and I am twenty five minutes late for a fifty five minute class.

“Cool can we test it real quick to make sure we have the right number?”

And, like a dog with my tail between my legs, I very quietly go “yeah uhm i think i put in the wrong number hang one second” and fixed it to my actual number. Like a goddamn moron.

I sprint out of the van. Walk into my class soaking wet with my head down at my professor is in the middle of a lecture. I find my seat in the back of the classroom on the other side, so everyone has seen me. My friend leans up to me as I sit down, and asks me where I have been. I tell her that I got lost during a hike and fell into a creek.

Now, what is the moral of this story, children? If anyone asks you if you want to get baptized on a Wednesday in the middle of September, simply say

[jyngerpeach]

Midnight Snack (ch. 1/2)

I'm back for a second swing at some smut and I'm only kinda sorry. In which Father Paul is feral.

Father Paul x Reader

Explicit (nsfw! 18+)

words: 2412

He may have devoted his life to God, but you know you recognize the need written so plainly across his face.

What you don't know is that moments before, Father Paul drank of the blood-laced wine in his flask. But he has had to ration; he needed to save enough for his flock today. And although the taste was invigorating, he is far from sated.

Chapter 1

"You're right, you know," Erin says with a toothy grin. "It is great to have you here."

She hands you a cup of tea and joins you in admiring the clear April day.

It felt good to hear her say that. You had made weekend trips from the mainland when you could, helping here and there when she was saddled with the painful burden of sorting through Peggy's house, which Erin had finally reclaimed enough to call her own. But now your job enabled you to work remotely, so despite her objections that she could manage on her own, she caved to your insistence that you stay to support her through her pregnancy.

With much of the emotional labor behind you, you were free to fall into the easy rhythms of life on the island. You woke with the sun to see the fishing families off to the docks, raised a friendly hand to the hunky sheriff sipping his coffee as you biked past the general store. You even helped organize a used book sale at the school.

Everything felt like a natural fit. Everything except church.

Like Erin and the other residents of Crockett Island, you were raised Catholic, but you had long since given up religion in adulthood. The few times you had visited Erin since her return home, you had always been content to let her go to Sunday mass while you stayed behind to enjoy the mornings. For you, church was the sanctity of listening to the crashing sea waves from the solitude of her front porch.

But Crockett was a different place since the last time you were here. There was a new, young priest; one who had supposedly brought with him promises of revival to this fledgling community. He was working miracles, Erin said, recounting the spectacle of Leeza Scarborough rising to her feet, and you were curious enough to let her convince you to tag along. What was the harm, really?

What Erin somehow neglected to mention was that the priest was a goddamn smokeshow. He introduced himself after mass and the moment you were on the receiving end of his spirited gaze, those twinkling brown eyes framed by deep smile lines, you were bewitched.

Before you knew it, you had shown up for several Sunday evenings. Services were at night now--something about accommodating Father Paul's health. Strange, because to you he seemed the picture of vitality up on that altar, the lilt of his voice dipping and swelling with passion to deliver the homily. You had even started taking Communion again, so swayed were you by the stirring way in which he described the virtues of the flesh and the body.

Of Christ, you scold yourself.

But whatever holy absolution you were meant to receive clearly wasn't working. Because when you nestle into bed one night after mass, the impure thoughts that had begun leeching into the corners of your brain many weeks ago were no longer something you could ignore.

As your eyelids flutter shut, you picture in your mind how his frame towered over you at the altar for Communion, recalling the challenge you felt in holding his stare. A stare full of security and affection, but shaded by an intensity you didn't think wasn't imagined.

The hands that presented you with the wafer, their long, supple fingers working miracles of their own.

The depth of the voice that murmured "Body of Christ" giving you other commands to fulfill.

It had been a while--rather a long time--since anyone stirred this kind of desire within you, but soon you were panting like you had just run a mile, thoroughly spent atop a tangle of dampened bedsheets.

------

Damn.

When you awaken the next morning, you know immediately that you're in trouble. Now that you had allowed your mind to go there, you'd never have another innocuous thought about the man. A man whose beauty was positively wasted on God.

Still, you make a noble effort. You sit at your makeshift workspace at Erin's kitchen table, mindlessly opening and closing documents, refreshing your inbox, getting up to make cup after cup of tea until you're shivering from the overdose of caffeine. Suddenly the entire afternoon had passed and you hadn't done a lick of anything resembling work.

So you welcome the distraction when Erin comes home from school and you stand around her kitchen counter, snacking on a makeshift dinner of grapes and crackers as she tells you about the outrageous lesson plan Bev Keane has been trying to get away with.

But at dusk she leaves to take a walk with Riley, and as soon as you're alone again, the familiar itch of guilt and shame returns to threaten you with another sleepless night.

You daftly wonder if confession can, ah, relieve you of your sins. You can be obtuse. Vague. It'll be fine. Before you can overthink it, you hop on your borrowed bicycle and ride to St. Patrick's, pushing away the doubt that sinks in with every pedal.

------

When you arrive, night has fallen and the church is illuminated by the gleam of candles lining the windows. A few tentative steps into the nave and you spot him, doubled over a pew in the middle of the church, head bent in prayer. He's wearing his full vestments--the violet robe catching your eye among the walls of browns and beige--and immediately you realize you had completely forgotten about daily mass.

You halt in your tracks, hoping you could reverse course and leave undetected. But as if sensing your presence, he turns and instantly rises from his knees to greet you in the aisle.

"Ah, Y/N." Father Paul smiled, but the warmth that was usually there doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Will you be joining us today? I'm flattered that my sermon would bring you back for more."

"Oh, not--not exactly, Father. I actually came to see if you were holding confession, but--" You glance at your watch: almost twenty to eight. "I--I forgot--I can come back--"

His brows knit together and his mouth forms a hard line. He seems tense, working his fingers along his thumb in agitation, as if rubbing some invisible coin. "No," his voice quavering slightly as he closes some distance between you. "I would love for you to stay."

You mean to protest, but the unformed words die on your lips when you notice his gaze slide first to your mouth, then to your throat. He may have devoted his life to God, but you know you recognize the need written so plainly across his face.

What you don't know is that moments before, Father Paul drank of the blood-laced wine in his flask. But he has had to ration; he needed to save enough for his flock today. And although the taste was invigorating, he is far from sated. Your smell hits his nostrils like a stimulant, your elevated heartbeat fills his ears and it is at once the most inviting and damning sound he's ever heard. Like a sailor seduced by a siren's song, he wants so badly to let himself be pulled under, into the deep. But he can't--not here. Not now.

Instead, he reaches his rosary-adorned hand toward your face, his breathing labored.

"Father Paul?" You squeeze the question out as a whisper as you look up into his face. His eyes are dark pools cast with a reflective glow, almost like a cat, from the dancing candlelight of the dim church. Under the potency of his gaze, a cold rush of adrenaline washes through your veins. But the memory of why you have come has turned your lower body to lead. You couldn't move even if you wanted to, his proximity reigniting your arousal and sending a searing flush creeping up your neck.

Paul's hand makes contact with your cheek and at the same moment he backs you into the nearest pew, leaning over you onto the bench.

He'll stop himself from feeding his hunger, but the strength that it requires is simply too much to keep the dam of control from breaking entirely. If he gives in to other bodily temptations, maybe it would curb this wicked state of agony into something bearable. Maybe if he succumbs to this carnal desire to fuck you, it would be enough to get him through until the Angel returns to him. Or at the very least through mass.

He crashes his lips into yours with a desperate fervor, and the momentary shock overwhelms your rational brain. Your fantasy had been immersive, but really, was this real? You register the smell of myrrh entwined with something sharp and metallic. The taste of wine lingers on his tongue.

Why was he drinking wine, you wonder, when mass hadn't happened yet?

You can't even chase the thought because he groans deeply against your mouth, sending lightning straight down your spine. One hand fists the brocade accents of his chasuble, while the other flails against the book rack next to you, searching for something to grasp. You drag your pinky along the edge of a Bible, lightly fingering the corner of the onionskin.

He drags hot, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, dancing around the pulse point of your neck. Between breaths you whisper, "O God, it is You who knows my folly, and my wrongs are not hidden from You."

A verse pulled from somewhere in the recesses of your memory. 

The words of the scripture yank him back to the moment, as he searches the fog of his hunger for a response.

“If we confess our sins--" he begins in a low monotone, "He is faithful and just to forgive us--"

You try to lift the cumbersome purple fabric draped over you, fruitlessly searching for the sins that were surely hidden underneath.

"--forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.”

It's almost comical, the struggle. Like fighting a losing battle with a fitted bedsheet. Father Paul lifts his hips, one arm propping himself against the bench next to you to create space between your bodies. But the narrow seat was not made for these transgressions, and with his weight no longer pinning you down, you begin to tip sideways toward the floor.

Your fist tightens around his robes enough to slow your fall, and you pull him down with you. It's clumsy, and you want to laugh. But Paul seems to instantly recognize how it's made things easier; with a grunt, he rolls you onto your front and positions himself with his knees on either side, now in a much better position to find the belt buckle securing his black dress slacks.

It all happened so fast, your head is spinning from the sheer lunacy of your current position: Squeezed between the bench and the back of the seat, facedown among the dust and grit of sand that made its way here on the boots of pious fishermen. Flowy skirt bunched around your waist, underwear yanked down to your knees. Hand planted on the floor next to your prostrate body, hips tipped upward, skin sticking to the wood from the humid evening air.

"Good," he rasps, admiring his work. "Can you stay still? Be a good little lamb for me?"

You hear the zip of his pants and a shiver runs through you in anticipation. You can't see what's happening, so you jump when he bumps against your entrance. Taking himself firmly in hand, he glides his cock slowly forward along your slick folds, once, twice, eliciting a simultaneous groan from both of you.

It feels lewd how wet you are. You've never in your life wanted anything this bad. "God, please," you beg, desire strangling your voice.

You lean into the pressure as the head of his cock begins to part your lips, when suddenly there's a noise from the direction of the sacristy. The determined footsteps of Bev Keane, no doubt, puttering around to prepare for the service.

In a flash Father Paul ducks down, laying his body on top of you so he is no longer visible above the pews. You can't help the frustrated whine that escapes your throat, and he hushes you gently.

"Shh, shh shhh," he purrs, hand coming to rest over your own, rosary beads pressing uncomfortably into delicate bone.

Your pulse is thrumming a mile a minute--both in your chest and between your legs. He's panting against your neck, and the weight of him exhausts all the remaining air from your lungs. The ache of needing to be filled by him is nearly unbearable.

Seconds stretch by, and you feel the energy shift. Father Paul's breathing shallows until you hear it coming in small sniffs. He inhales deeply, grazing his nose along the sensitive area behind your ear, now clammy with sweat. There's that pitch of anxiety again, and you think it might be more than just the fear of getting caught.

But suddenly you're aware there's silence, and from his position the priest seems confident that Bev has left. Probably gone to look for him in the rectory. That should give you some time, but there's an unspoken understanding that if you resume, you must remain quiet.

He adjusts himself to start again from this new angle, his weight pushing you down into the floor and you're ready, so ready to take it, Father, but for--

Fuck.

Bev is back already, throwing open the doors of the church in anticipation of the small crowd that's expected--several more than just Annie and Leeza these days--for the daily evening service.

You drop your forehead to the floor in defeat and your body wilts with the knowledge that this definitely as far as you're going to get.

You wait until you're sure the coast is clear to sit up and begin the seemingly impossible task of making yourself decent without detection. You pull your twisted underwear shamefully back up your dripping thighs and adjust the waistband of your skirt as best you can. When you've straightened Paul's collar for him he stands up, raising a finger to his lips, and glances pointedly toward the vestibule, your best hope for leaving undetected.

As you slip out through the back, Bev's reedy voice carries through the sanctuary, "Oh, Father, there you are!"

You curse that hateful woman under your breath. You'll be seeing her in hell, that's for sure.

[givlianas]

     hey THOTS , it’s lola ! as promised , here’s giuliana , aka gi , aka gbaby , aka honor roll horse girl — we stan ! i have the shortest attention span in the world , so please hit me up on discord to plot at 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖑 𝖈𝖑𝖔𝖜𝖓 𝖌𝖎𝖗𝖑 𝖘𝖍𝖎𝖙#3103 ! you can also react to this with a ♡ and i’ll hit you up !

ʻ   /   let  me  introduce  you  to  a  prized  member  of  our   equestrian team & honors society   ,   giuliana ‘ g ’ clemonte .  this   cisfemale  scorpio   has  been  a  student  at  our  institution for   eleven years  and  is  currently  a  twenty-one year  old   junior .   through  the  halls ,   she  has   always  reminded  me  of   natasha liu bordizzo  ,   but  there  is  always  more  than  meets  the  eye ,   like  the  fact  that  she’s been selling the stock her father put aside for her to a business rival .  coral  cape  has  made  their  future  just  as  bright  as  their  smile ,   i  assure  you .  ʼ     (  muse three ,  lola ,  twenty-one ,  est ,  she / her   )

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒

full name : giuliana mae clemonte. nicknames : gi , giu , lia , liana , gigi , jujubee , gbaby. age : twenty-one. date of birth : november 14 , 1998. place of birth : rome , italy. sun sign : scorpio. gender : cisgender female. pronouns : she / her / hers. passports : american , italian , chinese. languages : english , italian , chinese. education : st . stephen’s school in rome ( until age ten ) and cape coral international school. major : sociology ( currently pre-law ). clubs : equestrian team , honor society.

𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘

     giuliana’s a daugher of china and italy , with roots tracing back to BLUE BLOOD on either side. her mother’s side traces back through generations of businesspeople and entrepreneurs , who built china’s economy. her father’s side traces back through generations of engineers and architects , who built many of the major cities of italy. her golden pedigree came with a certain amount of EXPECTATIONS , which her tiger parents were clear about with her from a young age. she was born in rome , and instantly sent off to the st . stephen’s boarding school when it came time for her to begin her schooling.

     meanwhile , business began booming in the united states for both sides of the clemonte clan , who made the move over to portland , leaving behind their daughter to finish her studies. at age ten , giuliana finally reunited with her parents and was THRUST into a wildly different school system. the change was enough to make the girl’s head spin , all while instilling in her adaptability and a love for OBSERVING others’ facial expressions , mannerisms and their general attitude around others. it’s something she’s kept to this day. 

     though wealth has played a large part in her upbringing and the environment she’s grown up in , giuliana’s grown quite DISILLUSIONED of it. she’s seen the damage her parents and their businesses have left in their wake ( the collapse of the new residence building being one of them ! ) and doesn’t quite understand how they’re able to just throw money at the problem and walk away. as her secret suggests , she’s slowly but surely inching away from what her family has built , and hopes her career will be enough to sustain her once she spits out the silver spoon that was put in her mouth when she was born.

𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐃𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐇

𝐢. 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

TRACK 01 ▶ PANG by CAROLINE POLACHEK.

there's a look in your eyes when you're hungry for me it's a beautiful knife cutting right where the fear should be     

     this one’s a direct reference to giuliana and axel’s relationship. though their modus operandi is being ON AND OFF , a relationship peppered by petty fights , tears and short-lived breaks , no part of giuliana is truly ready to let axel go. their mental connection , their shared interests , their morals and values , their sex life — it’s all too good for her to let go of. this particular song really gives a sense of how fiercely she feels for him , how deeply he’s engrained in her being.

TRACK 02 ▶ ORDINARY SUPERSTAR by RINA SAWAYAMA.

because i'm just an ordinary superstar so far but always hanging where you are

     this one pertains to giuliana’s relationship with status , money and the lineage she was born into. though her last name opens doors , gets her a certain level of eduction and leads to a fair few people turning their heads or craning their necks , it’s something she still very much WRESTLES with. she’s obviously thankful for the immense privilege her wealth and background offer her on a regular basis ( hello ?! who wouldn’t ? ), but the scrutiny and the fabricated kindness and friendships that come from it are things she could very well do without.

TRACK 03 ▶ NAVY BLUE by CHARLOTTE LAWRENCE.

we got delusions of a grand oblivion we're only happy when we're higher than the sun

     this one ties more into the stereotypical aspects of being tied to wealth. the partying , the smoking , the drinking , the drugs — the small things that make the lives of the children at cape coral a little smoother. giuliana’s not particularly attracted to drugs , loud music , velvet ropes and faded neon signs , but has been known to partake occasionally , when everything becomes a little too intense to deal with and her brain needs a short BREAK from overthinking and overanalyzing.

𝐢𝐢. 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐬 

     like the true OBSERVER  she is , giuliana’s always been a social chameleon. her personality ebbs and flows based on the company she keeps , her eyes always careful to pick up on others’ emotions and body language. it’s how she’s been able to read past what her parents have told her over the years. in an environment where labels are quickly affixed , it’s what has kept her ahead of the curve and has allowed for her classmates , friends and anyone else in her orbit to be kept guessing.

     this , in turn , has led to one label sticking ( on and off , truth be told ): the MANIC PIXIE DREAM GIRL. after all , who wouldn’t want to be , hang around or date the mysteriously quiet girl with the golden pedigree and platinum family tree ? the one who always seems to have the most eccentric fun fact to recount during classroom ice-breakers , the one whose holiday destinations rival all others’ , the one no one can seem to ever get an accurate read on. part of her loves to have fun with the attention and whispers that come with this label , but another ( truthfully , larger ) part is conflicted with what this means for her and what that makes her come across as.

     ultimately though , if there’s anything anyone should know about giuliana clemonte , it’s that she’s a SEEKER and is driven by a need to know and understand the world and people around her. her actions , though not always meant to generate good , are always guided by her moral compass. she comes from a blue blood family and was given a silver spoon at a young age , but very much does not fit in the cookie cutter rich kid stereotype. she’s quick to point out the wasteful ways in which her family and those around her spend , and tries to keep her life as normal as she can ( though things like art , expensive wine , quality italian leather goods and lush fabrics are all things she’s thankful her lifestyle allows her to have ). 

𝐢𝐢𝐢. 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫

SOME FUN FACTS !

though her name doesn’t make it all that obvious , giuliana is of CHINESE-ITALIAN descent ( the former on her mother’s side and the latter on her father’s side )

she’s a very fast reader , and absorbs an impressive amount of the information she reads — if you’ve watched suits , she’s like michael ross : everything she understands , she remembers forever

her luxury vices are italian leather shoes , earrings , art and good food ( cars ? private jets ? clothes ? expensive hair and makeup artists ? useless spends in her eyes )

she collects all of the letters she’s ever received and will spend evenings spreading them out on her bedroom floor and re-reading them quietly ( chocolate readily available or glass of wine in hand ) when she needs to re-center herself

she’s gotten many , many nicknames over the years ( gi , giu , lia , liana , gigi , jujubee , to cite a few ) but true friends know to call her gi

     you can find a ( work in progress , because i’m a perfectionist about these ) pinterest board for giuliana HERE !

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

     give me STRONG FEMALE FRIENDSHIPS that are basically platonic soulmate relationships , with comfort and trust so strong that nothing could ever break them apart ( carla and lu , but without the murder and arguments ? ) 

     give me a SQUAD with late night wine drinking , nights spent out on beaches skinny dipping and laughing until it hurts , large group hugs when things aren’t so good , promises to always have each others’ backs and inside jokes that no one else will ever understand. 

     give me an UNLIKELY FRIENDSHIP with a boy she was convinced she hated , but now realizes she’s so similar too ( they’re both shitty , and it’s fine ! ) and will insult to cope. 

     give me ONE NIGHT STANDS and HOOKUPS she uses to attempt to get over axel , with heated kisses in stairwells and hallways and labored breaths in semi-public places.

     give me ANGRY SCHOLARSHIP KIDS who can’t stand her connection to the collapse of a building and with whom she’ll clash , all while knowing that they’re right and that her family should pay the price of their actions.

     give me someone gi SMOKES WITH on the roof of her home , to get away from it all. she has her head on their shoulder and smoke dancing out of her mouth , counting down the minutes until she feels light enough to start pouring her soul out.

     give me CHILDHOOD FRIENDSHIPS with people who first saw baby gi , fresh out of italy , with a strong accent and doe-eyed confusion over schedules , classroom locations and the like. they’ve stuck by each other for years , and maybe knowing each other that well has been good or maybe it’s dangerous that they know so much.

   give me ANYTHING YOU WANT ! i honestly love in-depth , thought-out plots and would love , love , love to brainstorm and think through things with all of you !

[strungupphantom]

Joker skulks down in the lower floors of Mementos, looking around for something that might give him the clue to get to his own palace. Really he shouldn’t have to look so hard to find something built from his own desires, but maybe he didn’t desire anything to be easy. At least he finds Jose waving an eager hand as he watches shadows run in terror at the power Joker wields.

“Hey Mister!~*”

How he makes star noises with his mouth is just another mystery that Strings cannot bother entertaining anymore. But he sits down regardless and starts asking a couple of questions. Well. Before he shushes you.

“Bup bup bup! Did you bring any flowers??”

With the roll of his eyes, Joker pulls out a few hundred he’s collected on the way. Jose cheerfully sips on the new cocktail, gleefully recounting that it’s the concept of Human Envy. Well then.

“ So Jose... You’ve been in my palace. The Thieves Den right?”

“ Yeah? What about it?”

“... How do you get there? I know you broke through the wall but... how?”

After a long and careful sip, the egghead mulls over his answer.

“I just... felt a strong feeling and followed it. There was this emotion that the flowers around there tasted like, which was really potent and helped me learn a lot.”

“... Would you help me go there?”

Another long, arduous, labor intensive, and meticulous sip... The egg boy(?) nods.

“Sure! Climb in, it’s just that way!”

Standing up to awkwardly get his teenage limbs into the buggy, Strings looks into the darkness behind the star balloons and wonders why he too never tried to go that way.

[mandysimo13]

First post of 2020

The last couple years have been a doozy, fam

From lost and shitty jobs to sick family members to bad dates to losing friends to political strife, it’s all been just overwhelming and a seemingly endless line of shit. 

So first thing, I’ll recount the positives (of my life) of this year: 

I was able to finally go abroad again and visit three countries I’ve been dying to visit: England, Scotland, and Ireland. And I was able to do it with a good friend and see a lot of amazing thing in 20 days. 

I started visiting with a group of other tour guides and history nerds for drinks once a month and it’s become much less isolating for me. 

I had an amazing spring tour season with my student groups and was given many good reviews that secured me with offers for this coming 2020 season. 

I joined a new company that specializes in “over 50″ and unique school tours and they have given me opportunities for this coming 2020 student season. Through them I was also able to do my first seniors tour to places I had never been to but was able to absolutely kill it and get lots of good reviews. 

All my friends had something good happen to them this year that gave me happiness because I was able to share it with them. 

My mom’s lupus, amongst other diseases, seems to have hit a plateau and she’s actually been able to manage her symptoms the best in years and lately has been able to have higher energy and less pain. She’s lost weight and is happy and I’ve not seen her this healthy or happy in years. 

But now the shit part, the negatives: 

My dad, who was diagnosed with heart disease and diabetes in 2018, has not been taking care of himself at all and now he needs to have surgery on the major arteries in his leg to clear a 90% plaque blockage in one leg and a 60% blockage in the other. My dad still smokes, refuses to quit, and still has a horrible diet and refuses to change that so this surgery may be all for naught. 

My grandparents are not doing that well, particularly my grandma whose memory is going and she’s becoming increasingly paranoid, mean, and mistrustful. She’s always been a martyr and kind of a bitch but she hasn’t left the house in over a year and has nothing to do all day but think of hurtful comments to say to me. And the kicker is, I want to help her with things. But she won’t let me so it’s a continuous cycle of hurt and worry and disappointment. 

While I have a partner (he’s in an ethical poly relationship and already married) he cannot provide me with the things I want -marriage, children, a home with a partner, etc.- and as such I am functionally single. He is very encouraging with me finding someone else and is happy to be here for me in the meantime. But it also means I have no backup during family stuff, I don’t bring him around to events as a date, and I end up feeling like second fiddle to his wife despite his best attempts to tell me I’m not. 

My finances have been less than ideal for the last few years because of all kinds of crap circumstances and I’ve been trying to claw my way out of my family’s house so I can live on my own again. 

Several friends of mine have had major losses in their life (one her wife, one her mother, one her husband) and being an emotional anchor has been difficult. But also coupled with the fact that so many good things have happened (one friend sold her house and is moving to a bigger and better one, a couple got new pets, some got promotions and degrees and advancements in their careers or school endeavors, one is trying for kids) I feel a little left behind. Like I’m not good for anything aside from highlighting the fact that others are doing well because I’m not where I want to be. (A feeling I’m working on snuffing out) 

Politics in the world, but most troubling for me is the US since that’s where I live, have been exhaustingly bad. I’ve had to take several news breaks just to keep a semblance of sanity and then get upset when I catch up because it’s just one shitstorm after another. Rollbacks on environmental protections, removal of social welfare protections and benefits, more hate crimes, equality for women/minorities/children/immigrants/queer folks are all on the chopping block. It’s depressing. 

I haven’t felt as creative as I have in the past. I’ve written less, drawn even less than that, crocheted very little. I’m mentally and physically exhausted all the time between labor intensive jobs (one is physically exhausting and one is both mentally and physically exhausting). It’s made me feel like crap because I have ideas. I have WIPs. I have aspirations for creativity. And none of the energy or drive to do it. I also have not found the energy to do research and further my historical knowledge for tours. 

It’s hard not to feel like I’m a failure. It’s hard not to feel like it’s all too much and I should give up and accept life for the shitshow it is and not improve. But I’m trying. I’m trying to look at my friends’ successes and go “I’ll get there”. I’m trying to look at the positives in the news and be excited because maybe not all hope is lost. I’m trying to set boundaries with my family while also being there for them. I’m trying to date and meet new people to build up more friendships and connections. I’m trying to take care of my mental health so I can get my drive back. 

In the coming year I am making plans. I am taking steps. 

I have made an appointment with my doctor to get on some anxiety medication so that when I start to spiral I can pull myself out of it. I am also going to ask for therapist recommendations. 

I have already secured a future roommate, we have discussed expectations and boundaries and wants. We’ll be looking for places come late spring/early summer. 

My projected income for 2020 means that I will actually be able to move out. 

I will continue doing research for companies and tours so that I can keep my income secure and my travel aspirations in sight. 

I have a date tonight (with someone other than my partner, partner is very excited for me and wants to hear how it went afterwards), I have been keeping an eye out for other prospective people to date and have it in mind to ask someone else out. 

I have looked into the sustainability of taking swing dancing lessons (a thing I’ve always wanted to do) and have decided it’s worth it. I plan to start taking lessons soon. This will give me exercise, a weekly engagement to get out of the house, and open me up to a whole new social network. 

I’m trying. I’m working on myself and my goals. I’m tired of feeling like I’m going nowhere. I’m not saying “new year, new me!” but I am saying that I’m working on making the me that’s already here better. It’s gonna be hard, I’m going to feel like I’m sliding back when I may not be. But I’m going to try and focus on the positives, the payoffs, and ask for help when I need it. 

tldr; 2016-2019 sucked. Hoping to make 2020 suck less. I’m trying. 

[yamaguccikun]

Omega Endeavor AU

Written because I was reading a bunch of Endeavor redeems himself fics and decided to try my hand at writing him in a similar but still different to canon way, like he's still kind of an ass because I believe that's just his way and he definitely still wants to be the best but he's... Not as bad?? Hopefully I did well with this. If you need any further explanation about anything then feel free to message me or leave an ask at your discretion~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Todoroki Enji presented as omega just a bit after the beginning stages of puberty. With his father off on a business trip to seal some deal with whatever company he was in negotiations with at the moment his cautious mother was quick to buy him the safest scent blockers proven to work on the market. For a few years he never felt any reason to be ashamed of his status but dutifully kept quiet about it at his mother's insistence, never joining in with his peers while they bragged about whatever mundane skills they learned that week. He had no interest in stereotypical omegan hobbies and was far from an ideal omegan body type with his quickly increasing height and broadening shoulders. Of course he was very aware that the entire notion of petite curvaceous omegas was a completely artificial concept pushed forward heavily by the adult reading and film industry as a way to validate and profit from the emotional fragility of top and low ranking alphas alike. But really it wasn't like his speaking out would do much to change things. At least not yet. So he would clench his teeth and bare it until he could graduate from UA and get hired into a good agency.

His father eventually found out because of course he did, Enji never expected the man to remain oblivious forever. That didn't stop him from being angry at himself for just how exactly he was found out. It was the day of his graduation from UA and he was ecstatic, vibrating and in the verge of spontaneous combustion the entire day. So excited in fact, that he had been sloppy in his morning routine, blockers hastily applied without a single as thought to whether they would shift or fall off throughout the day and his father didn't hesitate to notice it during an overjoyed hug, the sweet scent of omega.

Things truly went to hell after that, his father was an influential and close minded enough person that he made it impossible for Enji to be hired to any and all hero agencies. The only explanation he received came in the form of a reproaching comment that the man was done humoring Enji and it was time that he fulfill his duty to marry a good alpha and bear healthy pups.

Rei really was not at fault for anything, had in fact tried with some success to stop the whole thing but was ultimately too soft spoken and not opinionated enough to deal with a man like his father, so by the time he was married to her three year later he was already well on his way to hating himself, his body, and everyone who wanted but couldn't stop this from happening. He was full of only anger on his wedding night when he was force fed some black market drugs that pulled him into an artificial heat and his now wife fed ones that would incite rut. He could never bring himself to truly hate her even as he went through almost two days of painful labor to pups he didn't want. As he stared down blankly at four squirming balls of newly born flesh he felt one of the worst feelings that had ever formed within him, something he had only read shaky descriptions of in well hidden blogs or difficult to find omegan autobiographies. His omega was rejecting the pups, feeding off of his disgust for the entire situation and forming none of the bonds that made omegas so notoriously overprotective.

Only some months after was when that his wife left. She said she could handle, could understand, his aversion to showing her any form of affection given their circumstances but that every day she was forced to watch as he stared at her pups with dead eyes and refused them even as they begged and whined to be cared for was too much. He was far from surprised really. Their bond was quickly dissolved and their divorce finalized almost in the same week. It was just his luck that his father's years of raging about and drowning himself in hard liquor and cigars caught up to him just a month before the birth of the pups.

Enji knew he should have been more saddened than he was, and some deep, desperate part inside of him cried out to him to go and prove to the female alpha that he was good enough, but a larger part of him was relieved. He'd finally be free to do what he had always wanted to do. Become a top ranked hero.

Of course his father's handy work was still at play but he wasn't above pulling his own strings with the help of his family name until he had dug up enough dirt that he could force an agency to hire him. It wasn't long until Endeavor was a well known name and as years past so did his popularity grow until he saw himself become the No. 2 Hero in Japan.

It was only a short time after he had adjusted to his place that he was introduced to that particular alpha. The one that didn't incessantly try to offer him a drink him after every joint mission. Who complimented his hard work, not his sugary scent. Who seemed to understand that he didn't become a hero because or in spite of his secondary gender but because he wanted to be a hero and that said gender had never even come to mind as he worked himself tirelessly reach that goal. The infuriatingly endearing alpha who softened him with his megawatt smiles without even meaning to, winning him over with his honesty where others tried to buy his affections with scathing insults pathetically disguised as compliments and shiny nicknacks he had no need for and made of point of burning as swiftly as he received them.

Oh but he was far from the first omega hero, because for as backwards as society can be about secondary genders no one could deny the tendency for powerful quirks to be bestowed to omegas. That's not to say that alphas or betas had weak quirks but the odds were that if a child had signs of an exceptionally powerful quirk that they would probably present as omega. This fact alone made it possible for omegas to become heroes as powerful quirks were always in demand. So no, he wasn't the first omega to become a hero but he was the first to break past the top 10 in rankings.

It was two years before the strange alpha hesitantly, almost nervously, asked him to accompany him on a date. Enji blinked once before smiling one of his own close lipped things that equated to one of the blonde alpha's most blinding. And so they went on that date followed by plenty more. However as much as Enji cared for and was smitten over his.. significant other (Enji refused to use such an infantile a term as boyfriend and they'd still not crossed the line to lovers just yet) he noticed that Toshinori had slowly become something not himself after the first encounter, nothing too completely off from the usual but just a bit more dull, more distant in his smile than he had grown used to from the larger man. When Enji's irritation finally came to a peak he snapped at his partner, saying in not so kind words that he needed to stop acting and he he truly didn't want to be with him then he'd have to speak up about it.

Luckily for him Toshinori had long since grown used to his abrasive, sometimes bordering on abusive, attitude and brushed it off with a small exhale of empty amusement and a promise that he'd explain everything that weekend. So as the very weekend rolled around Enji was told the story of a villain and his brother and a mentor who was like a mother. He was told the truth of his partner's gender, that for some reason he had only presented as alpha when he first gone into his All Might form and his no less muscled but still smaller normal state was very firmly a late presenting beta. Enji took the news with as much grace as he could and as things settled back down for the couple they went on plenty of outings, now in both of Yagi's forms.

They decided together, but it was brought up first by Enji, that pups weren't an option. He had suffered through it once before and the thought of going through it again made the contents of his stomach roll around in ways that were far from pleasant. Toshinori agreed readily enough however when he remembered that their positions and 1st and 2nd heroes would only place that much bigger a spotlight and target on any children they would potentially have. In return Toshinori had suggested that they not bond as alpha and omega as there was no way of knowing what would happen when he shifted back and forth from his All Might persona. They did however have a quiet wedding hidden away from the press in one of the many Todoroki estates.

More time past as it usually does and the couple lost themselves in each other and in their lives as heroes. One day Toshinori came home to recount the story of bumping into a most peculiar boy who had gushed and cried over meeting his idol, had desperately wondered if he could become a hero when he had no quirk only to be crushed as Toshi displayed his usual lack of brain to mouth filter and promptly said no. Of course Enji took it upon himself to give the No. 1 hero a scolding of epic proportions that burned both metaphorically and literally.

The very next day one Midoriya Inko was certain that her son was about to keel over any second as what they had planned to be a quiet weekend of video watching and comfort food eating was crashed by a nervously shuffling All Might who was closely followed by an intensely unamused Endeavor. The starstruck glimmer in Izuku's eyes only increased as he was informed over tea that due to All Might having the tact of a bull thundering through a china shop with a beached whale tied to it's back that the hero was planning to make it up to him by taking it upon himself to train the boy to become a hero in his own right. And Endeavor for all his lack of anything even remotely close to child rearing skills would possibly maybe help on occasion but would mostly just give suggestions here and there.

The boy flourished under their tutelage and it was only two years later that Enji noticed that glimmer in Toshinori's eyes. The one that formed just before he did something so completely moronic that his omega husband skipped through several stages of heart failure and went straight to catatonic with worry. A look that hadn't form since the year before when he went off on a fight that had almost cost him half his body had Endeavor not shown up with backup just in time to prevent disaster because there was no way in any universe that Enji could let himself sit around while his husband got himself killed. He really shouldn't have been surprised when he came home from patrol the next week to see a flustered Toshinori who promptly explained how he reacts did try his hardest but he was just so proud of Izuku that he broke down and told him the truth of his quirk and wanted to make the boy his successor. The man enjoyed helping others now just as much as he always had but he'd held the position of Top Hero since before Enji was even in the business hand he'd had enough of his time in the spotlight. Was even wondering if he could go into teaching the next generation of heroes.

Four years later Midoriya Izuku stood at the gates of UA by recommendation of both top heroes Endeavor and All Might.

But before that happened another significant event occered. It was during his time watching Toshi interact with Izuku, as he had seen the boy grow from easily startled to confident in his own skin he began to wonder about another person in his life who was perhaps too soft hearted for their own good. Where was she now? Was she happy? Did she meet someone new? Enji was never cold-hearted enough to completely separate himself from her life without a backwards glance. He knew she had kept his family name though for her safety she was on records as a distant cousin he had never met. And he had, for a time, exchanged messages with her over email and even sent money to provide for the children. But that was before he had been thoroughly entrenched in the life of a well known pro hero. It had been some years since they had spoken at all, though he did still send the occasional care package. Now he wondered what would happen if he tried to regain contact with her.

But Enji had not chosen the name Endeavor for no reason so shortly after his musing session he did just that. He contacted Rei and went about reconnecting, it was definitely strained but he had been able to finally admit his faults in his relationship with her and she was a sympathetic woman so it quickly warmed up into a pleasant friendship. They weren't the first person the other would think to contact in an emergency but they were better now than when they were supposedly husband and wife and that was good enough for them. When he finally did meet the pu.. no, they were no longer pups but mature teens and young adults of varying ages. (A common phenomena that occurred when omegas gave birth to more than two pups at a time was that they each tended to age at different rates, no exact reason was ever found but it was not surprising at all to see that though all four of Rei's children had been born on the same day that little Touya looked to be almost out of high school while Shoto still had plenty of baby fat to shed off) The second time he met them he brought along Toshinori as All Might to introduce to Rei and the kids and the fifth time Izuku was brought along seeing as he was apparently in dire need of friends his age. Enji was self aware enough to know that he really would never really be a good father to them, a fact that was only cemented with the complete lack of recognition or memory of him beyond their shared name, but he could become a really good, maybe even great, uncle.

Todoroki Enji lived his life, suffered through it for a short bit of it but thoroughly enjoyed the aftermath. The family he built up for himself was far from ordinary but he failed to see any alternative as better than what he had. And if Toshinori ended up unofficially adopting a student or two throughout his years as a UA teacher and if they were subjected to Enji's rough edged style of fussy worrying and support then no one was saying a word. Because what kind of idiot messes with an omegas pups? Especially when said omega is the current No.1 Hero in Japan?

[bearofohu]

The Story of Tonight  - Professor Layton LMDA Fanfiction

Rating: K+ (Mentions of birth, newborn babies, panic attacks.)

Summary: Luke and his wife Marina have been anxiously waiting for the arrival of their son for months. After a difficult night of his wife in labor, Luke is faced with his newborn son, a child of his own. Luke is overtaken by panic as he accepts his failure as a father before their life together even begins. Hershel sheds some light on what it means to become a true father to a child.

Author’s Notes: I’ve written so many edgy fanfictions, here’s a wholesome one for once! This is a one-shot and pretty vague without context so make sure you read the summary! If you read my text post before I posted this, you’ll know why I wrote this. My Evil!Luke AU fanfiction is coming out soon for all you guys who love my overbearing angst. The story is actually a lot longer than it was supposed to be. My emotions are a wreck. Also, see if you can catch the shameless Hamilton references.

NOTE: This takes place during the timeline of LMDA, however in an alternate scenario in which the relic stone mystery is never pursued and everyone lives happily ever after as a big ‘ol puzzle family. Hino and his bad writing have no power here.

Luke’s delicate heart seized and ached as the little pink and red bundle in his arms gave a meek whimper of the tiniest discontent as the nurse accelerated the heart machine, so the steady and healthy heartbeat of Marina would be more audible for her inspection. Marina’s pale violet eyes slowly opened and in spite of her exhaustion, she beamed sympathetically and passionately at her sensitive husband as he slowly succumbed to the tears, mirroring the anxious sorrows of his confused newborn son.

“Luke, lovebug,” she said dotingly, sitting up a little straighter in the bed. “It’s alright. Our little boy is okay.”

Luke lowered his head, and his shoulders heaved, overcome with a foreign anxiety, a kind of sympathy pain he had never felt before. The crying of his son was almost unbearable. It made him feel like he was failing as a new father. Already failing.

He remembered Kamilia as her body seized and convulsed with unmedicated labor. He remembered her piercing cries as he clutched her hand and worked on the baby girl that was slowly entering the world.

Luke averted his eyes from his son from just a moment to look up at the six-year-old Katrielle as she sat beside Alfendi on the couch in their room. She was watching him, her eyes shining with passion; she looked rather mystified by this whole ordeal. Young Alfendi was hunched beside her, leaning a little bit over his father’s lap, absolutely dead to the emotional scene around him in exchange for getting consumed by an intense, loud game of Pokemon Red on the Gameboy.

And Hershel sat at the very end of the hospital couch, his eyes trained on Luke, his apprentice. He looked incredibly somber, but the shining sympathy and the threatening mistiness of his eyes allowed the private notion of understanding to pass through the two of them. Hershel knew. How could he not?

Luke knew he would be lying to himself if he said he never ever thought about how life would be different if she had been his daughter.

Kamilia had told him he would make an excellent father as he held Katrielle at her shoulder. How could he make her proud, how could he be all she thought he was if his son was already sobbing in his arms mere hours after birth?

There was a heavy silence in the air as Luke silently sobbed, in spite of the fact the baby boy’s whimpers had long since ceased as their nurse awkwardly excused herself on regards that Marina was in full health. The nurse seemed to be getting pretty sick of being their nurse all day and into three o’clock in the morning, or more specifically, maybe she was getting sick of Luke’s overbearing worry.

“Luke, darling,” Flora said a little flatly, a bemused smile on her face as she rubbed Marina’s back, as the labored woman slowly began to flutter back into sleep, “you do know that newborns cry no matter what, right? You’re not doing anything wrong.” She smiled a little broader at her childhood friend. “Goodness, do you ever stop being a worrywart?”

Luke’s moistened lips parted as the tears that never stopped coming dripped down past them onto his chin, “I-I, I just-- I don’t know w-what to do. Does he w-want me? Did I m-make him cry?”

Kat spoke up a bit meekly, though the emotion in the voice was loud and clear, “Of course he wants you, Uncle Luke!” She said confidently. “He loves you, I know he does!” She turned to her father and nudged him in the shoulder rigorously. The sorrow emitting from her surrogate uncle was obviously making her upset. “Right, papa? You tell him!”

Hershel was completely silent for a few more heartbeats, watching Luke’s shoulders tremble and heave as he lowered his head to rest it lightly on the small and fragile body of his son, who was now peacefully asleep, taking the small and whispering breaths newborns usually take. Then, Luke’s mentor put his hands firmly on his knees and stood up with a bit of aging effort, and came over to his apprentice’s side very slowly. He stood with his shoulder pressed against Luke’s, and then raised a hand to put it down on his apprentice’s shoulder, the grip firm and confident, the aura of Hershel Layton’s assurance and support falling over him once again, like it had when he was a boy, a gesture that soothed his panic and told him to think a bit clearer.

“My boy,” Hershel spoke very softly, and gently, his eyes hard into Luke’s own, forcing them to make eye contact. “You are having a panic attack, and you look very pale. Come to sit with me.”

Katrielle made a huff of displeasure, obviously, this was not the assurance she was expecting. However, Luke was beginning to feel the lightness of his head, his physical health succumbing to the mental strain of his panic. He nodded very slowly, tears falling from his chin.

Flora abruptly stood up from Marina’a sleeping side and was briskly there in an instant, almost eager to get a chance to hold her surrogate nephew a second time. “You sit, Luke.” She said firmly. “I’ve got your little dork.”

Luke couldn’t stop a weak but genuine smile from entering his features. Taking one more hard, affectionate look at his son, he passed him over into the arms of Flora as gently and gingerly as possible. He found himself beginning to lean against his mentor’s shoulder as the faintness of his head got worse and worse. Sensing this, Hershel began to slowly lead him towards another small couch near the back exit of the room, supporting nearly all of his weight until he slowly settled the younger man down into a sitting position, and then sat beside him.

Everyone watched the pair as Hershel put a comforting hand on Luke’s knee after a long silence. Luke was slowly feigning nausea by putting his eyes in his hands and breathing deeply.

“Luke.” Hershel said slowly and clearly, rubbing the knee of his apprentice just a little bit, “Do you remember when you helped deliver?” He prompted quietly. Luke quickly picked up on the vagueness of the question, as to not make Katrielle uncomfortable by making it obvious they were recounting her difficult birth. She simply watched them, oblivious, but intent.

“Y-yes.” Luke rasped, shaking vigorously only one more time before his trembling began to die down.

“She cried, did she not? As you held her, did she cry?” Hershel pressed, refusing to break eye contact despite Luke’s face being held in his own hands.

“She cried,” Luke breathed, slowly removing his humiliated, tearful face from his hands.

“Luke.” Hershel said very softly, almost too quiet for everyone else to hear as he touched Luke’s chin and lifted it up with his two fingers to where they were looking each other straight on, “when babies come into the world, it is entirely foreign to them. They weep to convey things they do not understand. They do not cry because they are not happy with who is holding them. Your little son is only three hours old. My boy, look at him.”

Luke followed his mentor’s gaze. Flora stared back at him as she sat at Marina’s side, his newborn son sleeping softly in her arms.

“Your boy fell asleep in your arms, even though he cried at first. It was because he was confused. He does not understand the world around him. But your presence soothed him into sleep.”

“That’s a pretty stupid baby,” Alfendi muttered under his breath from where he sat next to his sister, obviously simply upset because his Gameboy had just lost battery. His words were not made from spite or hatred for his uncle’s newborn… his Gameboy was just dead, and he was hungry, and he didn’t want to go to school tomorrow. Katrielle elbowed him in the ribs from where she was sitting, causing him to yelp.

Luke was oblivious to exchange happening to Hershel’s two children, as was Hershel. They were simply staring deeply at each other, two souls afflicted with similar losses, one had watched the other grow up, and now he sat with the honor of watching the boy he practically raised receive his own son.

Hershel’s eyes fell downcast for just a moment as if he was deep in thought before he turned back to look Luke straight in the eye.

“I remember when Claire and I held you, in a room just like this. When you were only a few hours old. Your mother was exhausted. Your father was overwhelmed with emotions I had never seen from him.”

A stricken silence fell on the room.

“I will never forget how you cried and cried, Luke. Nonstop. You were just like your baby that is with us now. I handed you back to Claire over and over again because I was terrified I was hurting you.”

Luke began to give quiet, strained sobs as he lowered his head and pressed it against his mentor and dear friend’s chest.

“Listen to me. Do not accept failure before your journey even starts.” Hershel said firmly.

“Your son will love you and Marina as much as I did. He will dote upon you both.”

“I know he will.”

[thirsty-cable-posts]

I want to read a cable x reader where Cable is super down about leaving his family in the past and he’s only got the reader to lean on. He opens up to them and it leads to angsty sexy time.

First of all, I just wanna say that I’m really grateful for the prompts that have been submitted so far. I wasn’t sure how well this blog would do in the shadow of its big brother @thirsty-venom-posts, but y’all have demonstrated that the Cable Thirst Club is STRONG. Now, on with the show.

—-

It’s 3am and you’re sitting at the kitchen table with a scotch and Perrier. You’re sticky. There’s blood on your dress, in your hair, under your fingernails. The dress is likely ruined. That’s fine. You’ll buy a new one. Nothing really matters right now. You’re exhausted beyond care. You may even crawl into bed without taking a shower. But for now, you have the kitchen to yourself in this big, quiet house. And an empty, quiet kitchen is a rare thing at the X-Mansion.

—-

Your date went poorly that night, as they often do, so you jumped at the chance to ditch your would-be suitor to drive about 20 minutes outside of the city to a small cattle farm owned by an elderly gentleman and his wife. You walked into the barn, still in your dress and heels, and a camel pea coat that you never intended to wear in a barn. It was cold. It’s always cold during calving season. You could see your breath, and you could see the breath of the laboring black cow laying on her side in a bed of straw.

Small scale cattle farming is an ailing industry and the cost of a farm call on a Saturday is in the triple digits. Your reputation as a cheaper alternative to a veterinarian means that occasionally you get a phone call from someone who got your name from so-and-so, and they need someone to come out and look at a sheep who got mauled by a dog or a calf that isn’t nursing or a goat that got his horns stuck in a fence. This was one of those nights.

Later on, the regret over your decisions to pull the calf instead of attempting a C-section would tug at you in a painful way. Contrary to popular belief, ranching and cattle farming is not an occupation devoid of sympathy and devotion to the animals. But hind sight is 20/20 and you’d decided to grab a set of chains and pull the calf. The process was slow and labor intensive. The resulting hemorrhage coated you in blood. You tried desperately to stop the bleeding, and the pained look on the cow’s face made you want to crawl under a rock when she finally died. But the little calf lived. It was kismet that another cow had lost her baby that night. You skinned the dead calf, which is a grotesque process in itself. Then you tied the skin to the living, breathing newborn calf with some hay rope. The mama, still distraught and baying mournfully, recognized the scent of her dead baby and allowed the orphaned calf to nurse.

—-

You’re well on your way to a fine, numbing buzz as you stare straight ahead, replaying the events of the evening over and over behind your eyes. Cable’s Voice startles you out of your daze.

“Well look who the cat dragged in.”

You do not particularly like Cable, and you are not in the mood to explain yourself to him. A wellspring of compassion and sympathy, Cable is not. You do not trust yourself not to let a few tears leak out in the recounting of the night’s adventure in animal husbandry. You do not trust Cable not to dismiss your feelings of shame and guilt over the decision that led to that poor pregnant cow’s bloody end.

You sigh. “Listen, I’ve had a rough night. If I woke you up when I came in, you have my sincere apologies. I’m going to bed soon.”

You’re trying to head off any unpleasant interactions with Cable, who is notoriously curt and has been nothing but short with you since moving in to the mansion.

Cable walks into the kitchen and grabs a glass from the cabinet. He pours himself three fingers of scotch, neat and tidy, and passes a disapproving look over your Perrier. “You drink like a toddler.”

That’s quite enough. You run a hand through your hair and close your eyes. The tears feel hotter than hot.

“Can you just not? Can you just not for, like, 5 minutes?”

You feel a large hand on your back, rubbing gently between your shoulder blades.

“Hey doll. Hey.”

You lay your head in your hands and sob. Cable places his hand on the back of your head and makes circles in your hair with his thumb.

“Grab a shower and get some sleep, kid. You need it.”

—-

You’re not sad. You’re just tired. You’re tired and you don’t have any great need for company at the moment. The laundry room is a perfectly decent place to be alone. You’d slept until noon and then decided to try and salvage your bloody dress. The rhythm of the washing machine is soothing and listening to it with your back to the wall and your head between your knees makes it sound like you’re near the ocean.

“Ah, this is the second time I’ve been able to sneak up on you in 24 hours. You’re off your game, princess.”

Cable offers you his human hand, lifting you up to your feet.

“Go change out of your jammies, sleeping beauty. We’re going out for pizza and beer. My treat.”

—-

The pizza and beer was just small talk and swapping stories. It wasn’t until the ice cream that things got heavy. Cable opened up to you in a way that was startling at first. It truth, the loss of his family made your failure to save a cow seem like an emotional pinprick by comparison. Hearing Cable’s voice crack ever so slightly, watching him squint and cough in the retelling of it, the experience made you regret your shortness with him the previous night.

Cable is less of a bully to you now, and more of a tragic hero. Imagining him with a wife, with a daughter - you’d never pictured him as a lover, a father, as someone capable of affection. The idea of Cable The Devoted Husband and Nurturing Father would make you chuckle were it not so profoundly sad that he lost the two loves of his life.

Now, sitting together on the couch in the den shotgunning American Dad on Netflix, he still strikes an imposing figure, but you don’t dislike him. And when he puts an arm over you, your stomach clenches out of a strange sense of excitement.

—-

Okay, so there absolutely will be a Part II and it will absolutely be NSFW. It’s a start, right?

I hope this is (at least in part) a decent interpretation of the prompt. And again, there will be a smutty Part II, so fear not, gentle readers!

[glenngaylord]

MY MOMENTS OUT OF TIME IN FILM 2018

Instead of a Top 10 List, every year I like to honor a long-discontinued but influential annual column from Film Comment magazine. I couldn’t wait for my father to come home from work with the “Moments Out Of Time” issue.  The writers would cite their favorite scenes, images, or lines of dialogue, even from films they may not have liked, because let’s face it, even bad films may have a great moment or two.  This was a great year in film, although I admit some of my favorite moments were films or series made for television.  Whether it’s Alex Borstein wielding her trusty plunger around the Catskills in THE MARVELOUS MRS. MAISEL or Amy Adams waking up from a drunken stupor in the unforgettable SHARP OBJECTS, these shows had more indelible scenes than all of the Marvel and DC superhero movies combined.  

Still, I found myself lucky enough to see the staggeringly beautiful ROMA twice in a theater, because seeing it on Netflix doesn’t do it justice.  If that’s your only option, however, see it and see it with its glorious empathy oozing out of every frame.  EIGHTH GRADE took me by surprise with its unassuming, off-the-cuff filmmaking style.  Beneath that I found an aching, contemporary story of a young girl dying to connect with somebody, anybody…her cracked phone an apt metaphor for a world in which our societal sickness lies buried in an addiction to our screens.  PADDINGTON 2, even more so than its wonderful predecessor, gave us the immigrant experience from an accident-prone, marmalade-loving cuddly bear who just wants to unite everyone.  BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY, despite its Powerpoint presentation of a story, oozed with so much emotion, the joy of creating, the beauty of people seeing you, and the sheer nostalgia of it all, I found myself crying throughout.  A STAR IS BORN, while imperfect,  had moments of such gorgeousness, especially the undeniable chemistry of its leads, it’s my prediction to win the Best Picture Oscar.  VICE, another Oscar front runner, had fantastic performances and was nonstop fun, but, for me, didn’t quite lick the enigma of Dick Cheney and demonstrated some juvenile instincts of its writer/director.  

I saw a ton of films, but even I can’t see them all.  I missed SHOPLIFTERS, BAD TIMES AT THE EL ROYALE, BEAUTIFUL BOY, and BURNING, among many others…but will catch up with them soon.  So having said that, here, in no particular order, are my Moments Out Of Time In Film for 2018:

Gabe invites Kayla over for a “first friend hangout” dinner of chicken nuggets and beautifully lived-in, awkward, nerdy charm, telling this lovely, insecure young girl, “You are awesome” - melting all of our hearts with that sweet, simple declaration. It’s one of the most beautiful scenes I’ve ever seen and a moment our Kayla richly deserved.- EIGHTH GRADE

A young, pregnant Mexican housekeeper tracks down the father of her child, finding him at some type of military training camp.  When she delivers the news to him, he screams at her to stay away from him and runs off to join his buddies.  We never see her reaction, instead experiencing the moment from a somewhat removed distance.  A lesser filmmaker would have cut to her startled, hurt face, but Alfonso Cuarón knew that we’d feel her isolation and devastation more strongly if we didn’t focus on her.  Only a master filmmaker would make such an indelible decision, along with a thousand other great ones. - ROMA

A Peruvian bear takes his Aunt on a fantastical, eye-exploding, stunning tour of London via a pop-up book come to life.  One of the most astounding animated sequences of all time. - PADDINGTON 2

A band looks out at the masses of people clapping along in sync to one of their songs, and in that moment, the connection feels palpable.  Everyone there, everyone who watched knew this was the moment when legends became immortal. - BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY

Nicole Kidman completely transforms herself yet again as a hardened cop with a life full of traumas etched onto her tortured face.  Just watching her lurch towards a crime scene, ambling like Jack Skellington convinced me that to watch Kidman at her peak is to witness greatness. - DESTROYER

A woman in labor and with a horrifying nail injury to her foot, crawls into a bathtub to give birth to a child.  Unable to make a sound lest she capture the attention of a murderous alien slithering through her house, she agonizingly holds it all in until a competing noise allows her to let out a pained, visceral scream. - A QUIET PLACE

A young cater-waiter gets invited onstage to sing her song with a headlining rock star.  Surprised by her power, surprised by the surge and size of the crowd, her guileless reaction and blazing talent cut through, quickly proving the movie’s title. - A STAR IS BORN

Regina Hall sits on a rooftop with two of her female employees from a HOOTERS-like establishment.  They’re all in a transition period in their lives, unsure what the future brings.  They’ve all gone through an intense day and let it all out with extended screams, an unforgettable, undeniable female rage. This small, simple, subtle film is also one of the year’s best.  - SUPPORT THE GIRLS

More groundbreaking than I had ever thought, Fred Rogers soaks his feet in a little tub and invites his black, gay co-star to do the same, breaking taboos on a children’s show way ahead of its time. - WON’T YOU BE MY NEIGHBOR?

Charlize Theron shows us the real pain of motherhood, never once feeling like a glammed-up version of the harsh realities, and yet saves its most shocking sucker punch for its final moments, delivering a reveal as unexpected as the one I didn’t see coming in SHARP OBJECTS. - TULLY

Queen Anne (Olivia Colman), referring to Emma Stone’s Abigail, tells Lady Sarah( Rachel Weisz), “I like it when she puts her tongue inside me”…which is followed by Stone giving Weisz the year’s best side-eye. - THE FAVOURITE

In a film filled with shocking moments - the odd clucking sounds, the decapitated bird head, the unexpected death of a major character, the eerie, incongruous reflection of a teen’s face in a school window, the most jolting moment comes when Toni Collette stands over her offspring’s bed and says, “I never wanted to be your mother”.  Stunned, she seemingly scoops those words back down her throat in an attempt to make them go away.  For this moment alone, and she gives a tour de force performance here, Collette enters the pantheon of actors who made themselves immortal. - HEREDITARY

Modern day cowboys sit around a perfectly shot nighttime campfire as our hero questions his place as a man in this world.  Masculinity has rarely been shot through with such tenderness as in every moment of this quiet stunner. - THE RIDER

“Gucci!” - EIGHTH GRADE

A young daughter ever so patiently and lovingly tells her PTSD-afflicted father that their views on how to live their lives may not converge, reminding us that histrionics don’t necessarily make for great conflict.  You can find it even when people act like adults and show decency towards each other. - LEAVE NO TRACE

My heart broke when a young Lebanese boy tried every way possible to keep his sister from being sold off as a child bride.  The kinetic filmmaking of this sequence mined every second for peak emotions. - CAPERNAUM

A blisteringly romantic tale of star-crossed lovers in Post War Poland wins the swoon award every time Joanna Kulig (a dead ringer for Jennifer Lawrence) sings the refrain, “Oy yoy yoy” - COLD WAR

Jack Black, playing a hard-partying character whose accident leads to the lifelong paralysis of his new friend (Joaquin Phoenix), meets up with him many years later.  In a short but painful scene, we see the wreckage of a life and the profound sorrow written across Black’s face.  I never thought I’d type the words, “Jack Black’s acting made me sob”, but there you have it.  If Beatrice Straight can win an Oscar for a single scene, then Jack Black can too.  Of course, I’m not even getting into how great Jonah Hill was in this film, but I’d be here all day. - DON’T WORRY, HE WON’T GET FAR ON FOOT

The matriarch of a family takes their housekeeper to a baby store to buy a crib when the chaos of the Corpus Christi Massacre erupts in the streets below, turning a simple shot into something epic, grand and inconceivable. - ROMA

Let’s face it.  It had some of the best and bitchiest one liners of the year:  “I pity your wife if you think six minutes is forever” , “Roger, there's only room in this band for one hysterical queen”, "Tell him thanks for the birthday cake. And tell him you're an epic shag”, and the beautiful, un-ironic exchange, “FREDDIE: Let’s go and punch a hole in the roof of Wembley Stadium.  BRIAN: Actually, Wembley Stadium doesn’t have a roof.  FREDDIE: Then we’ll punch a hole in the sky,” - BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY

Kristen Stewart recounts how Joan Jett gave her some advice on how to capture her essence when she played her in THE RUNAWAYS.  Jett told her to “pussy that wood” in reference to how to attack her guitar.  Advice only a take-no-prisoners, blazingly alive woman could give to another in this energizing look at a true legend. - BAD REPUTATION

All of the tired superhero tropes we’ve become used to in live action appear fresh and thrilling when animated.  Who knew I’d thrill to a whole slew of Peter Parkers swinging through New York on their webs?  Who knew Lily Tomlin would appear in this and absolutely kill as Aunt May?  Who knew Kathryn Hahn would even appear in a Marvel movie and skillfully weaponize a nerdy persona? - SPIDER-MAN: INTO THE SPIDER-VERSE

Sure, we all loved that moment when Lady Gaga sang “Shallow”, but let’s not forget another star was born when Henry Cavill got up off that tiled bathroom floor, doffed his suit jacket and reloaded his fists to jump back into one of the best fight sequences in film history. - MISSION IMPOSSIBLE: FALLOUT

Connecting the dots of the past with our present day mess of a country, Spike Lee ends his film on an unsubtle yet vital montage of pure rage. - BLACKKKLANSMAN

In a wonderful reversal to the original, the murderous Michael Myers looks out a backyard window to see Laurie Strode (a fierce Jamie Lee Curtis) standing amongst the hanging sheets. Who’s the monster now?!! - HALLOWEEN

A montage detailing the many prison escapes of our protagonist, an aging, lifelong bank robber (Robert Redford still displaying his undeniable charisma at 82), provides a wonderfully conflicted view of a man who must commit crimes in order to feel alive. - THE OLD MAN AND THE GUN

A bitter, outrageously dead-inside mother jogs on a treadmill, moving cynically forward in life despite having a missing child she barely noticed anyhow and a crumbling Russian society around her. - LOVELESS

“Did you just look at me?  Did you?  Look at me. LOOK AT ME!  HOW DARE YOU!  CLOSE YOUR EYES!” - THE FAVOURITE

Despite endlessly terrible scenes of tourists dancing and eating gelato, Clint Eastwood finds a magic power in having the real life heroes on that train play themselves as they thwart a terrorist attack. Although a failed experiment of a film, those 10 minutes felt real and raw and undeniable because of its stunt casting and astute directorial choices. - THE 15:17 TO PARIS

Smack dab in the middle of the movie, it ends.  Roll credits.  Oh wait.  Things didn’t go so swimmingly?  Let’s continue.  A hugely entertaining fake-out gives self-reflexive cinema a good name. - VICE

After a traumatic incident at a beach (a stunningly shot, hugely suspenseful scene with incredible sound design), a housekeeper looks out the window of a car with a sense of peace as the reflections from the window gorgeously whisk past her lovely face. - ROMA

In the male dominated world of gun-toting action films, it was refreshing to see a group of women, led by a soulful performance by Natalie Portman, lock and load and enter the Shimmer. - ANNIHILATION

A Russian Engineer named Andreyev (Paddy Considine) panics when ordered by Stalin to record a symphony which already occurred.  He quickly assembles a ragtag group of people to recreate the concert, telling this terrified assembly living under a murderous regime, “Don’t worry, nobody is going to get killed. I promise you. This is just a musical emergency.” Not a great film, but Armando Iannucci and company know their way around a scabrous line or two. - THE DEATH OF STALIN

Most people will cite the great single take outside a limo as its driven from a poor side of town to a wealthy side.  Don’t get me wrong, it’s a fantastic piece of cinema, but my mind gravitated towards another moment.  A grieving widow lets her dog run loose in another widow’s apartment.  The puppy stops at a closet door and reacts to what’s behind it.  We know what it is, and she knows what it is even before we’re given visual confirmation.  A fantastic storytelling moment. - WIDOWS

Evan Peters, sitting in a car at a gas station, is joined by the actual person he’s portraying, melding narrative with documentary in such an original way. - AMERICAN ANIMALS

Although chock full of special effects in a genre I tend to find forgettable, Michael B. Jordan commanded attention in a simple, quiet scene inside a museum, finding danger and intelligence in every line. He was the REAL special effect of this film. - BLACK PANTHER

Scotty Bowers may be a creepy hoarder, but when you’re 95 and have no f*cks left to give, you’re gonna spill some tea about Hollywood Stars and we will soak it all up in this one-of-a-kind documentary - SCOTTY AND THE SECRET HISTORY OF HOLLYWOOD

The slowest moving conveyor belt of all time provides one of the most well-timed, hilarious payoffs of the year.  We need an award for Best Supporting Prop! - GAME NIGHT

Leslie Mann tries to quietly sneak out of her daughter’s Prom night hotel room but electrocutes herself behind the TV console in a delicious bit of physical comedy. - BLOCKERS

A mother desperate to track down her troubled young son gives drugs to an addict in return for more information, showing just how far she’s willing to go. - BEN IS BACK

A closeted up-and-coming movie star confesses to his “golly gee” midwestern wife that he’s not happy and can’t pretend anymore. We get a naked glimpse behind both of their veneers. It’s a stunning, hugely empathetic moment for characters we’ve respectively and heretofore dismissed as a sociopath and a rube. - THE HAPPYS

Alex Borstein’s lesbian character Susie Myerson from THE MARVELOUS MRS. MAISEL has met her feature film match with Melissa McCarthy’s equally nihilistic performance as Lee Israel.  To see her jousting with Richard E. Grant in any random moment in this wonderful film is to experience acting heaven. I loved how their final moments together could have easily turned to mush, but by staying true to their salty characters, they ended things in a deliciously dark manner. - CAN YOU EVER FORGIVE ME?

A comedy duo enacts a favorite routine onstage at the risk of one of their’s health.  It’s scary, but the love and respect they have for each other shines through. - STAN & OLLIE

I’m sorry to say it gave me the “Made For TV” vibes, but it still found power when Nicole Kidman’s character busts her son out of an Ex-Gay Center, calling out its owner for his utter lack of qualifications. There’s nothing quite like a stifled, repressed woman finding her voice. - BOY ERASED

“I’m just like you” - says a privileged suburban teen as he bounds out of his McMansion and into a fancy SUV.  While I generally enjoyed the film, this tone deaf opening line had me futilely looking around for my big house and fancy car.  Sometimes a moment out of time is a wrongheaded one. - LOVE, SIMON

In a documentary full of insane twists and turns, the big moment for me came when we were treated to a clip from DESPERATELY SEEKING SUSAN. Madonna breezes past our smiling, tight jean-sporting identical triplets, the new “It Boys of New York”, the flush of newly-found fame written all over their faces long before their tragic fall. - THREE IDENTICAL STRANGERS

Say what you will about the endless 80s references, I want to live inside the swirling sequence which serves as an homage to THE SHINING. - READY PLAYER ONE

A Japanese woman dons a strange blonde wig and practices English and high fives with another ESL student, over-exaggerating her rounded open mouth as she speaks. - OH LUCY!

Constance Yu playing mah jongg slyly shows her deep wells of strength and strategic genius, nicely setting up a character who will surprise and charm us in equal measures. - CRAZY RICH ASIANS

Yes, it’s a pretty terrible movie, but there’s no denying the thrill of a certain pop legend’s long-awaited entrance by helicopter.  It caused my friend Dennis to say out loud, “F*ck yeah, it’s Cher!” - MAMMA MIA!: HERE WE GO AGAIN

In an otherwise forgettable film, Jodie Foster’s memorable gait as the “Hotel” Nurse made me happily forget Kevin Spacey’s from THE USUAL SUSPECTS, and for that, I thank her! - HOTEL ARTEMIS

A young boy named Stevie tries to impress a bunch of older skateboarders with a stunt which sends him through a hole in a roof and crashing to the ground with a sickening thud. - MID90S

Renee: I thought you might want a sneak peek of what’s to come.
      Ethan: I don’t know if you know what sneak peek means. You’re completely naked. - I FEEL PRETTY

Despite the gimmick of the movie seen entirely through laptop and smartphone footage, there’s electricity in the moment John Cho’s father character discovers his missing daughter has had a secret life. - SEARCHING

A dancer tries out a solo for a very strange company, unaware that each leap, spin or kick sends a trapped woman a floor below her into bone-crunching contortions.  It’s a scene you can almost feel. There’s something rotten in East Berlin! - SUSPIRIA

Sure, Emma Stone worked out a great side-eye in THE FAVOURITE, but has there ever been an actor who seems born to them more than Emily Blunt?  Still, my biggest emotional connection to this film came when Ben Wishaw sang “A Conversation”.  A beautiful, sweet lament. - MARY POPPINS RETURNS

The site of Michelle Pfeiffer dressed as an elderly woman, cane in hand, hobbling through the streets of New York in a desperate attempt to cash her late mother’s government checks, the score a cacophony of horns and percussion, gave me DRESSED TO KILL shivers. - WHERE IS KYRA?

Think of it as SHARP OBJECT’s UK Cousin, as we watch Moll (a searing Jessie Buckley) tap into female rage in all its messy, bloody glory in this feature length primal scream. - BEAST

Packed with punch and urgency, the opening sequence made you believe you were actually experiencing a WWII aerial combat.  Oh, and then it became a fun zombie gore-fest. - OVERLORD

A group of kids escape a gay conversion camp and pile into the back of a pickup truck.  Did they make the right decision?  Where do they go from here?  A wordless homage to the final scene in THE GRADUATE packed a punch. - THE MISEDUCATION OF CAMERON POST

Blake Lively wearing clothes.  That is all. - A SIMPLE FAVOR

A meeting with the family of a man who got their daughter pregnant goes terribly wrong, resulting in a slew of insults and threats.  It’s a fully alive, oddly comical yet tragic sequence in a film which otherwise left me cold.  - IF BEALE STREET COULD TALK

Typically known for her impeccable image (before the reality show circus, of course), this pop icon lets down her guard and hilariously tears into Janet Jackson and Paula Abdul.  Had she been allowed to be more herself, her life might not have been as tragic. - WHITNEY

Glenn Close delivers the year’s best slow boil as the wife of a Nobel Prize winner who has secretly been his unheralded ghost writer all these years.  Until things grow shouty and overwritten in the third act, Close holds a master class in barely suppressed rage. - THE WIFE

Bjorn Borg and John McEnroe, intense tennis rivals, meet up at the airport after their fateful match, the looks between them offering up a touching blend of competitiveness and respect and which will lead to their unexpected, lifelong friendship. - BORG VS. McENROE

In a moment of much-needed image rehabilitation, Anne Hathaway, as the GOOP-like actress perfectly named Daphne Kluger, wins her way back into our hearts just by the way she reacts to a priceless necklace being wrapped around her neck.  Every shiver and glance in the mirror makes you love her in all her campy glory. - OCEAN’S 8

A woman gets pushed off a cliff and finds herself impaled on a tree branch, yet not only does it not stop her, she’s just getting started in this literal bloodbath of a feminist fantasy. - REVENGE

A man meets tragedy and finds himself in a wheelchair only to gain powers he never had before after undergoing an experimental procedure.  In a fight scene involving an antagonist and a kitchen knife, Logan Marshall-Green surprises himself with each display of brute force coming out of him, making for one of the most brutal yet winningly entertaining melees I’ve seen on screen all year…and don’t forget that kitchen knife.  It’s just the right button on this bit of ultraviolet slapstick. - UPGRADE

A young husband meets with a conflicted priest, and in a searing monologue, tells the man of the cloth that the world is such a hellscape, he’d rather his pregnant wife abort their baby than bring it up in such a terrible environment.  It’s the first jolt of many in this nihilistic yet strangely hopeful film. - FIRST REFORMED

Presidential candidate Gary Hart (Hugh Jackman) confronts some press members who have staked out his home with the hope of catching him with a woman other than his wife.  He indignantly rails against them, claiming he had a right to privacy.  Oh, how times have changed. - THE FRONT RUNNER

Katja (Diane Kruger), a woman at the end of her rope, who has lost her family and confidence in the justice system, takes matters into her own hands in the literally explosive, inevitable, and crushing final scene. - IN THE FADE

Who knew that Hal Ashby had such a sincerely lovely relationship with his mentor, Norman Jewison?  It’s nice to know that sometimes successful people in the film business actually help out their younger charges. - HAL

I’m not sure I ever really wanted to know what it really felt like to sit in a fiery tin can on the way to the moon and back, but now I do.  It’s very well done, but I think I may need to puke.  - FIRST MAN

A young man with AIDS (Cory Michael Smith) sits with his mother (Virginia Madsen) in a car, unable to truly be honest with her.  The pain of it all comes across so clearly on their faces.  - 1985

An oversized candy cane weaponized to fight zombies at Christmas time in Scotland.  Oh, and it’s also a musical.  Just go! - ANNA AND THE APOCALYPSE

I saw it twice to make sure I truly hated it, and yep, I still did…but the opening sequence in the school, the terrorist attack on the beach, and Natalie Portman banging on the table to protest a diner manager’s request for a picture will stick with me.  Hopefully I will forget the other 100 minutes of this painfully unfocused, unfocused, pretentious mess. - VOX LUX

[shirlleycoyle]

The ‘Alita: Battle Angel’ Army Is Rampaging Through Twitter

Just like the title character, there's nothing the Alita Battle Angel fandom can't beat in a fight. Not even Little Women.

Over the past few months, there's been a casual poll that's gone viral in film Twitter. It's a bracket match up intended to determine the "best movie of all time" that has been deliberately designed to create meltdowns. I've already gone catatonic with rage at some of these match ups (I will never stop being upset that Akira Kurosawa's magnum opus, Ran, lost to fucking Raiders of the Lost Ark).

Of all the films in the Greatest Movie of All Time Bracket—there are hundreds, as losers get a second chance in the "Bombs" bracket before they're eliminated—one movie has slowly but surely mowed down it's competition, like an amnesiac cyborg on a quest for revenge: Alita Battle Angel.

Like K-Pop stans, the Alita Army is mobilized and ready to defend their object of fandom at any given time. There are Alita themed Twitter accounts light up like the Batsignal when there's an opportunity to celebrate the film. When you mention Alita Battle Angel on Twitter, the Army will appear, ready for a rhetorical fight on why their favorite movie is good, actually.

If you haven't seen Alita and don't know what it's about, well, strap in. This movie is not only carrying the weight of being an actually good film adaptation of a beloved manga, but being a passion project that took over a decade for James Cameron, the movie's producer and original director, to get off the ground. The film ended up being directed by Robert Rodriguez, the wildly creative director that just can't seem to get audiences to sign on with his outsized imagination. On top of that, when it actually came out in theaters, it was an underdog, destined for cult classic status but not the blockbuster success one would hope that a big, splashy action movie would receive. Sure it dominated its President's Day opening weekend, but that was one of the weakest opening weekend's for the holiday in years.

All that, and we haven't even gotten to the movie's quality. Dear reader: it slaps. It is the rare kind of action movie spectacle that only comes from a mind that lives and breathes fight scenes and science fiction. The title character Alita, played charmingly by Rosa Salazar and her uncanny CGI-enhanced eyes, has both the sweetness of a teenage ingenue and the ferocity of a battle hardened warrior. The film dances along a knife's edge where it balances CW style melodrama, high octane cyborg murder and an entire sports movie arc without dropping a single beat. I have never seen anything like it, and I'm not sure I ever will again. If that's enough to convince you to stop reading this article right now and watch Alita, then how about this: Christoph Waltz plays a kindly scientist who is also a bounty hunter that murders evil cyborgs with a giant rocket hammer.

Its passionate fans are desperate for a sequel, not least because the movie ended on a mind blowing cliffhanger. In lieu of any news, they're doing what any other fandom would do: looking for avenues with which to assert their dominance. Using the hashtag #AlitaArmy, they signal each other whenever the movie needs their support. The latest target has been the Greatest Movie of All Time Bracket, and they've carried the movie from win to win.

For the most part, people following this poll have found the Alita Army's efforts charming. That changed yesterday when it came up against another adaptation of an acclaimed coming of age story about complicated female characters: Greta Gerwig's Little Women.

Gerwig, too, is an underdog as a woman in a male dominated field, and she, too, makes movies that are more cult classics than blockbusters. But Gerwig is more critically acclaimed than Rodriguez has ever been. Though she likes her share of melodrama, she doesn't make pulp, and her movies have been nominated for Oscars. Her fandom, while not as intense as Alita's, is also quite defensive of her and seeks to laud her success whenever they can. The idea of Little Women losing to a schlocky action film was too much for some of the Gerwig Gang to bear. And let's be clear; despite pulling ahead for a handful of hours, Little Women is absolutely losing to Alita Battle Angel.

Little Women stans, take a breath for a second. Louisa May Alcott has written some of the most significant literary works of all time, and Little Women has long been heralded as a classic of American literature. Gerwig's adaptation, similarly, has already overtaken the 90s movie starring Winona Ryder as the adaptation to watch, and I'm sure will warm the hearts of white women with beaded journals for decades to come. Yet, Little Women stans have positioned themselves as the underdog in this battle. If you think about it for longer than a second, it doesn't make sense.

Little Women was nominated for six Oscars and won one of them. Alita was nominated for precisely zero. Fans of Greta Gerwig know that she will return with another movie project soon enough. Alita fans are reduced to begging for a sequel on Twitter  (Although he has expressed desire to direct a sequel to Alita, the film's status is still up in the air). To reduce Rodriguez's movie as just a sexist action flick, as some Little Women fans are, is not just an indicator of one's ignorance, but an insult to a great director. Rodriguez's Alita is not just about cyborg fights, though there are a lot of those. Alita treats its female lead with a level of respect that I almost never see in mainstream cinema. Everything about the movie, from its teen romance subplots to its rendering of Alita's emotional vulnerability, is absolutely sincere.

Today, the Alita Army got "Alita Sequel" trending on Twitter. In the hashtag, there isn't any hate for the fandoms that have maligned Alita Battle Angel. There's just a pure, heartfelt love for Alita. Fans recount how the movie touched them emotionally, the love they have for the world and its characters, and how all they want is a chance to visit that world again. I say, let Alita slice their way through the Greatest Movie of All Time Bracket. So many of the movies it's been up against have had their due. Let Alita Battle Angel, a movie decades in the making, a true labor of love, finally reign supreme.

The ‘Alita: Battle Angel’ Army Is Rampaging Through Twitter syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/

[gizedcom]

The Not So Hidden Israeli Politics of ‘The Last of Us Part II’

The real horror in zombie fiction is usually not the legions of undead, but the frailties and cruelties that they expose in the living. The differences between stories in the genre come from the specific fears and frustrations that they render into their metaphors. The Last of Us Part II fits perfectly within these genre conventions, but what’s different here is its sources of inspiration.

The Last of Us Part II focuses on what has been broadly defined by some of its creators as a “cycle of violence.” While some zombie fiction shows human depravity in response to fear or scarcity in the immediate aftermath of an outbreak, The Last of Us Part II takes place in a more stabilized post apocalypse, decades after societal collapse, where individuals and communities choose to hurt each other as opposed to taking heinous actions out of desperation.

More specifically, the cycle of violence in The Last of Us Part II appears to be largely modeled after the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. I suspect that some players, if they consciously clock the parallels at all, will think The Last of Us Part II is taking a balanced and fair perspective on that conflict, humanizing and exposing flaws in both sides of its in-game analogues. But as someone who grew up in Israel, I recognized a familiar, firmly Israeli way of seeing and explaining the conflict which tries to appear evenhanded and even enlightened, but in practice marginalizes Palestinian experience in a manner that perpetuates a horrific status quo.

The game’s co-director and co-writer Neil Druckmann, an Israeli who was born and raised in the West Bank before his family moved to the U.S., told the Washington Post that the game’s themes of revenge can be traced back to the 2000 killing of two Israeli soldiers by a mob in Ramallah. Some of the gruesome details of the incident were captured on video, which Druckmann viewed. In his interview, he recounted the anger and desire for vengeance he felt when he saw the video—and how he later reconsidered and regretted those impulses, saying they made him feel “gross and guilty.” But it gave him the kernel of a story.

“I landed on this emotional idea of, can we, over the course of the game, make you feel this intense hate that is universal in the same way that unconditional love is universal?” Druckmann told the Post. “This hate that people feel has the same kind of universality. You hate someone so much that you want them to suffer in the way they’ve made someone you love suffer.”

Druckmann drew parallels between The Last of Us and the Israeli-Palestinian conflict again on the official The Last of Us podcast. When discussing the first time Joel kills another man to protect his daughter and the extraordinary measures people will take to protect the ones they love, Druckmann said he follows “a lot of Israeli politics,” and compared the incident to Israel’s release of hundreds of Palestinians prisoners in exchange for the captured Israeli soldier Gilad Shalit in 2011. He said that his father thought that the exchange was overall bad for Israel, but that his father would release every prisoner in every prison to free his own son.

“That’s what this story is about, do the ends justify the means, and it’s so much about perspective. If it was to save a strange kid maybe Joel would have made a very different decision, but when it was his tribe, his daughter, there was no question about what he was going to do,” Druckmann said.

Naughty Dog and PlayStation have presented Druckmann as The Last of Us Part II‘s creative lead and public face. Game development is a highly collaborative practice that demands the backbreaking labor of literally hundreds of programmers, testers, writers, and artists, all of whom make creative contributions and without whom a game of this size and scope would not exist. So while it’s impossible to pin a big budget video game’s themes and inspirations to one person, parallels between The Last of Us Part II and the Israeli-Palestinian conflict manifest in the final product, not just in what Druckmann has said in interviews.

Besides the familiar zombie fiction aesthetics of an overgrown and decomposing metropolis, The Last of Us Part II‘s main setting of Seattle is visually and functionally defined by a series of checkpoints, security walls, and barriers. There are many ways to build and depict structures that separate and keep people out. Just Google “U.S.-Mexico border wall” to see the variety of structures on the southern border of the United States alone. The Last of Us Part II‘s Seattle doesn’t look like any of these. Instead, it looks almost exactly like the tall, precast concrete barriers and watch towers Israel started building through the West Bank in 2000.

The history and power dynamics of The Last of Us Part II‘s Seattle map to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict as well, if viewed from an Israeli perspective.

The main faction in Seattle is the Washington Liberation Front (WLF), known as the Wolves. The broad strokes are that after the outbreak, FEDRA, an emergency militaristic government agency, took over the city. With food shortages, constant fear of infection, and FEDRA’s increasingly brutal measures of keeping order, an insurgency rose: the Wolves. They were outmatched, but prevailed with a series of hit-and-run attacks, assassinations of FEDRA officers, and other guerilla tactics. Eventually, FEDRA abandoned the city and ceded control to the Wolves, who in turn implemented an equally harsh (or harsher) regime.

In one in-game note, a FEDRA commander in Seattle writes to Central Command to explain that he has lost the city the Wolves, which he describes as terrorists. Here, there are parallels to early Zionist organisations that fought British rule in the region. These organizations were also described as terrorists, and leaders of those organizations later became leaders in Israel, much like how Isaac, the leader of the Wolves, came to control Seattle. Other in-game notes, scenes of urban ambushes, and the bodies of executed FEDRA officers laboriously walk the player through the cliche “one man’s terrorist is another man’s freedom fighter.”

Once Isaac and the Wolves seized control of Seattle by violent means, however, the same means were used against them by another group—one that uncomfortably matches Israeli caricatures of Palestinians.

Most of the Wolves regime’s restrictions are directed at a post-apocalyptic religious sect called the Seraphites (the Wolves call them “Scars” after the ritualistic scarring of their faces). These Scars vexed FEDRA as well when it was in control. The dynamic in the city when the game begins is one of conflict, escalation, and a broken truce. The Wolves, like FEDRA, leverage more resources and raw power, while the Scars rely on surprise strikes against Wolf patrols, and a zealous willingness to die for the cause.

To run through just a few key ways in which the Scars uncomfortably reflect some Israeli stereotypes about Palestinians:

The same note from the Seattle FEDRA commander that bitterly says the Wolves are in charge explains that it’s now their responsibility to not only feed and shelter the people of Seattle, but deal with the “religious fanatics,” referring to the Scars.

Later in the game, Ellie finds a location called “Martyr Gate,” where the Scars’ spiritual leader apparently died, indicating a religious significance of a specific and disputed location, and emphasizing the notion of martyrdom as central to their culture.

The Scars are able to get around Wolf patrols and various barriers around the city via an elaborate, secret system of bridges between skyscrapers. These function as a kind of flipped version of the underground tunnels Palestinians use to bypass Israeli blockades and other means of limiting free movement in order to get supplies and carry out attacks on Israel.

The Last of Us Part II goes to great pains to impress that it sees no innocent players in this conflict. It’s not just that Isaac and the Wolves seized control of the city by vicious (but necessary) means—the society they’ve built, prosperous and protected by the walls of Seattle’s CenturyLink Field, is buttressed by fascisim and cruelty to an outgroup. The Wolves’ bountiful crops exist to feed an army that ventures far beyond its territory to punish the Scars. Its kennels of adorable dogs are just disposable weapons. Isaac leads from a forward operating base that sits atop torture chambers. After a truce fails, the only way he can imagine peace is through the total annihilation of his enemies.

It is not a peaceful or just society, or even a sustainable one in the long run, despite its perseverance and resourcefulness. It is one that is doomed to collapse because of an inability, or unwillingness, to resolve a perfectly resolvable conflict.

This conflict comes to a head when Isaac decides to push deep into the Scars’ land to finish them once and for all. We don’t get to see how the battle ends or who comes out on top, but we see Isaac die in the fighting, and get the sense that the battle is so brutal and bloody, whatever survives is not worth keeping.

Rather than step back, cooperate, and seek truth and reconciliation, the Wolves and Scars keep seeking revenge for past grievances in a cycle of violence that eventually ends them both in literal fires sparked by hate. The game’s message seems to be: “An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind,” another cliche that The Last of Us Part II indulges in by taking away Tommy’s eye at the end of the game for seeking revenge for his brother Joel.

A “cycle of violence” is a tempting way to interpret this conflict, or any conflict, because it signals careful nuance while quietly squashing more difficult conversations. By suggesting that since both Wolves and Scars are equally implicated and equally in pain, we are free to stop thinking about the problem. All parties include both good and bad actors. We’re all human. Both sides.

This common, centrist position on violent conflict, while better than absolute dehumanization, is not coincidentally a world view that allows conflicts to drag on forever. Suggesting moral equivalence and a symmetry in ability between sides also invites us to throw up our hands and give up on better solutions because of implied and unexamined perceptions about “human nature.” Indeed, the game is unrelentingly cynical, and this cynicism animates most of the 30-odd hour experience. Whereas Abby and Ellie find interpersonal resolution at the end, the game seems content to leave the question of community-scale cycles of violence as a regrettable fact of human existence. Even if the Wolves and Scars meet their mutual end, the game leaves us with the knowledge that a resistance group from the first game, the Fireflies, and other groups, are regrouping and gaining strength. The cycle continues.

Despite the lengths it goes to, The Last of Us Part II can’t help but reveal that its perspective is firmly rooted in one side and not the other.

Seattle is so clearly inspired by Israel and Palestine without naming either, but it does notably spend time presenting Jewish identity. One of the first things Ellie and Dina do when they arrive in Seattle is explore a former synagogue. It’s a short scene, maybe 20 minutes out of a 30-plus hour game, and it serves as a kind of a Jewish experience amusement park ride, bombarding the player with references and history as Dina and Ellie walk around a bimah, find a Torah, and so on. Almost the entirety of this section is spent explaining Jewish identity as that of survivors in the face of other groups that want to destroy them. In the span of those 20 minutes, there are three separate references to the Holocaust.

Survival in the face of persecution is a pillar of Jewish identity for good reason, and has been since before the Holocaust. It’s also one that is relevant to the characters in the game, all of whom are survivors of a zombie apocalypse. But this is only one aspect of Jewish identity. The Last of Us Part II doesn’t spend any time exploring, for example, Talmudic traditions which define so much of Jewish notions of justice and scholarship. Instead, in a non-optional section of the game, it spends a significant amount of time telling the player that Jews are always persecuted and fighting for survival. This is not wrong, but it is serving a specific purpose in the ham-fisted allegory about Israel and Palestine that is The Last of Us Part II, much like the Holocaust is cynically leveraged by some to justify Israel’s actions.

This sermon is notably delivered by Dina, who is Jewish and serves as the game’s moral compass. Dina is pregnant, dreams of a life of peace, and tries to turn Ellie back from her murderous quest. When Ellie chooses to pursue it anyway, the heaviest price she pays is that Dina leaves her.

*

The more moral characters in The Last of Us Part II all want to escape cycles of violence rather than reckon with them. Lev and Yara want to escape their cult. Owen and Mel want to get on a boat and sail away from Seattle. Dina wants to walk away from the mess and live on a farm secluded from the rest of society. Even our main characters, Ellie and Abby, after far too much suffering, essentially end their emotional journey when they decide to walk away from revenge.

It’s certainly true that individual lives get wrapped up in larger conflicts in horrible ways. Cycles of violence exist in practice as escalations and retributions. A defining feature of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict is the macabre bargaining over which violence is worse. Images of exploded public buses are presented next to collapsed buildings and children being pulled from the rubble. Armed factions swear to deliver retaliation over specific incidents, and do.

But “cycles of violence” are a poor way to understand a conflict in a meaningful way, especially if one is interested in finding a solution. The United States, for example, hasn’t been at war in Afghanistan for almost 20 years because it’s trapped in a “cycle of violence” with the Taliban. It is deliberately choosing to engage with a problem in a way that perpetuates a conflict. Just as the fantasy of escaping violence by simply walking away from it is one that only those with the means to do so can entertain, the myth of the “cycle of violence” is one that benefits the side that can survive the status quo.

In The Last of Us Part II‘s Seattle, Scars and Wolves hurt each other terribly, and the same can be said about Israel and Palestine. The difference is that when flashes of violence abate and the smoke clears, one side continues to live freely and prosper, while the other goes back to a life of occupation and humiliation. One side continues to expand while the other continues to lose the land it needs to live. Imagining this process as some kind of symmetric cycle benefits one side more than the other, and allows it to continue.

As a result, The Last of Us Part II never quite justifies its fatalism. As Rob Zacny wrote in his review and again in his closer examination of The Last of Us Part II‘s ending, at the end of the day Ellie’s journey of revenge seems especially cruel, even idiotic, because we are never given a good reason for why she keeps recommitting to it. Acts of cruelty along the way, like Ellie’s torturing another character to get information, are presented as inevitable. This seems to be The Last of Us Part II‘s thesis: humans experience a kind of “intense hate that is universal,” as Druckmann told The Post, which keep us trapped in these cycles.

But is intense hate really a universal feeling? It’s certainly not one that I share. I, too, have seen the video of the 2000 mob killing of the Israeli soldiers in Ramallah, and it’s horrific. Yet, my immediate response wasn’t “Oh, man, if I could just push a button and kill all these people that committed this horrible act, I would make them feel the same pain that they inflicted on these people,” as Druckmann said.

This is not a universal feeling as much as it’s a learned way of seeing the world. There are many other ways to react to that video: compassion for the victims, compassion for the killers, questioning why these soldiers had to drive into the West Bank in the first place, questioning what would drive a mob to this kind of violence. Revenge and hate is just one option.

The Last of Us Part II is an incredible journey that provides not only one of the most mesmerizing spectacles that we’ve seen from big budget video games, but one that manages to ask difficult questions along the way. It’s clearly coming from an emotionally authentic and self-examining place. The trouble with it, and the reason that Ellie’s journey ultimately feels nonsensical, is that it begins from a place that accepts “intense hate that is universal” as a fact of life, rather than examining where and why this behavior is learned.

Critically, by not asking these questions, and by masking its point of view as being evenhanded, it perpetuates the very cycles of violence it’s supposedly so troubled by.

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[listentotheland]

I’ve had a desire to experience a water birth for years, but with complications in my first two pregnancies, I decided to hold off. However, after having no major complications the start of my 3rd pregnancy, we decided it was the perfect time. We did a lot of research on birth centers and homebirth (since my hospital and former OBGYN did not allow for water birth delivery) We ultimately decided homebirth was the best option for our family. My sweet friend Keli, who is now with Jesus, had worked as a birth assistant for a midwife in our area. I remembered how highly Keli spoke of Kristin and her team, and how much she absolutely loved getting to assist at the births she attended. Mitchell and I prayed the night before our interview with Kristin that we would sense an overwhelming peace... and we did! It was a beautiful thing to know that God’s hand was in it from the beginning! Now fast forward... I was five days overdue. In pregnancy, five days overdue might as well be five weeks. Everyday I felt like a ticking time bomb. So much of the pregnancy had been different. I had preparation contractions daily, throughout the day, from 37 weeks on. Around 3:30 pm on Friday, March 13, I started feeling contractions that came just a couple of minutes apart. I called my midwife who said she would make her way to our home. In many ways I was still in denial that we were finally having this baby since I had so many labor pains over the previous weeks that I had mistaken for the real deal. Once Kristen arrived, she began to set everything up while I labored around the house. My sweet mom in love came over to feed the kids and helped make sure all of our supplies for the delivery were ready to go. Some of my favorite moments in laboring were feeling my husbands embrace when I would be breathing through a contraction, or when my sweet son would come over to hug me or or say “You ok, Mama?” (which was a welcomed distraction!) Cason felt so big as he started helping fill the birth tub for mommy. I’ll never forget being in the kitchen between contractions and us hearing an “UH OH!!” from the bedroom. (The hose had come out from the tub!) I was checked around 6 pm and to my delight, I was 80% effaced and 7 cm dilated! Our baby was coming! After I was fully dilated, I decided I was ready to finish laboring in the birth tub. My amazing husband got in with me to help continue to be my support through the contractions which were much more intense and closer together. In each rest period between contractions I was able to lay against my husband, listening to music that played around us. My birth team sat patiently and the room was so quiet and peaceful. Raelynn’s entrance was sudden and beautiful. Everything was happening so fast, but yet felt like I was viewing it in slow motion. At 8:36, our baby girl was born into the water into the hands of her Daddy. THAT will make a mama weap! She was perfect. Beautiful. And her precious cry was music to my ears. She was home. There are not enough “Thank You’s” for the incredible team at Lifesong Midwifery. From my first appointment, I felt like family. Kristin, thank you for your patience with me and all my many questions. And for reminding me of my strength as a woman and child of God! Amy, you said that you felt like through my labor/delivery that God was reminding you of the Scripture, “Be still and know I am God.” As I recount this experience I truly believe God gave me a special peace. To be able to experience such a beautiful moment with you all was truly an answer to prayer. THANK YOU. Christina, you have documented and been a part of every big life moment for Mitchell and I since we were engaged. You have the ability to capture moments that, when viewing them, take us back to the very time they were taken...All the emotions and excitement. Thank you for always going above and beyond to give us beautiful keepsakes to look back on! (And praise God you made it just in time!!) To my UNBELIEVABLE husband, I love you so much. Thank you for being the most amazing support and strength for me. I could not have done it without your words, your touch or your affirmation through it all. You are an incredible Daddy to our children and I love doing this crazy thing called life with you!

[nofomoartworld]

Hyperallergic: Field Report on an Artist and Her Pigs

The insemination shed (all photos by the author for Hyperallergic)

SAINT-JEAN PIED-DE-PORT, France — The shed is enormous: concrete, peak-roofed, strung with cobwebs across the ceiling like animistic spirits floating above our heads. From a wall of windows across the length of the building, an almost tangible luminescence glimmers across the backs of the pigs pacing in their pens or digging their pink, fleshy snouts into their troughs.

This is where the sows go to get pregnant. They’re here in this barn for a single day, where black-gloved farm workers take care of that bit of business, initiating a cycle that will end with the slaughter of their offspring.

The backs of the pigs are marked in pearlescent strokes of green, blue, or pink oil crayon. The colors are records of inoculations and other health matters, but the luster of bristle and pigment seems to turn the animals into snorting, squealing works of art.

This farm in the foothills of the Pyrenees, located in the Basque ethnic region overlapping the French-Spanish border, is where the artist Elaine Tin Nyo is now engaged in the final, most intensive stage of This Little Piggy, her major project documenting life and death in the food chain.

Arriving a year ago in Saint-Jean Pied-de-Port with initial support from a Creative Capital grant, Tin Nyo set out to create a detailed record of the life of one pig from the birthing pen to the abattoir. It’s the journey of a moralist — not one who adjudicates an ethical path for others, but who explicates the thorny intersections of history, economy, tradition, and survival. As she has written in a statement about her practice: “My food projects are always made with an awareness of the dark reality lurking behind each meal.”

The darkness of that reality may seem remote while traveling through the region’s sunny, rolling countryside dotted with stone farm buildings and traditional white stucco residences trimmed in “Basque Rouge” — a kind of bloody maroon — and yet memories can still burn with the events of the violent separatist movement, led by the Iparretarrak (or “the Northerners”), that started in the 1970s and continued until the turn of the century.

Most of this recent violence took place across the Spanish border, but not far from Saint-Jean Pied-de-Port is the Roncevaux Pass in the Pyrenees, where Basque guerrillas slaughtered the troops led by Roland, Charlemagne’s general (and nephew), in 778, as recounted in the 11th-century epic poem The Song of Roland. 

The Basques have retained their language (the local signage is bilingual) as well as a measure of political independence within the French State, and they take their traditions very seriously, one of them being ham. Tin Nyo describes the Jambon de Bayonne (named for the Basque port city on the Bay of Biscay) as the “emblematic ham of France,” which, as historical ironies seem to go, is produced by a people who inhabited the region long before it was ever claimed by France.

The artist and her pigs

I first encountered Tin Nyo’s work when I was a press observer at a Creative Capital retreat in 2013, where she presented the outline of her project. Since then I’ve kept tabs on her progress, and during a recent trip to Europe I took a couple of days to visit the scene of the action.

The first stop was the insemination shed, followed by a visit to the nursery, where sows suckle their new piglets — which are born walking and with a full set of teeth — in well-heated pens. This is where, on the advice of the pig farmer, Tin Nyo “adopted” not one but four pigs (from which at least one would be chosen for Ibaiama, the premium brand of ham), whose lives she would memorialize in photographs and video. No intervention on the part of the artist was made, other than a separate set of ear tags.

The farmer with whom Tin Nyo is collaborating has been converting what was once an industrial pig farm into an organic, artisanal enterprise by significantly reducing the amount of livestock it houses. For that reason, when the pigs have reached a certain level of maturity, they are sent to leased land on one of several family farms within 40 kilometers. In these circumstances, they are allowed to root and wallow to their hearts’ content on a wide expanse of grass and mud, retreating into a cool, roomy outbuilding to eat their slurry of water and grain.

It was here that we found the four pigs whose lives are being recorded in This Little Piggy. Before making her visit, Tin Nyo suited up in wrist-to-ankle coveralls and knee-high rubber boots. The pigs are habitually covered in mud — they enjoy the feel of it on their skin — and consequently any encounter is bound to be an earthy one. After setting up her camera, she hopped the fence surrounding the pigs’ domain, stood amid the grass and mud, and waited.

It was lunchtime, which can really be anytime, but be that as it may, the pigs were clustered in the feeding shed. But after a few minutes, one after another took notice of the artist standing on their land and came out to greet her.

This is where there seemed to be an intuitive, almost transcendent interaction between the artist and her charges. Speaking softly to the pigs, Tin Nyo bent down and stroked their heads and backs, at times rhythmically patting them up and down their spines, a kind of swine-massage that calmed them into virtual silence.

Piglets in the nursery

Tin Nyo knows that these are not pets; she is constantly aware of their fate, which I assume can feel at times like an awful form of prescience — a burden even — that pits affection against observation. Her physical contact with the pigs is evidence that her involvement is far from clinical, but it never spills over into sentimentality or an anthropomorphic reading of the animals’ relationship with her. Watching her in the field, I sensed the precariousness of her emotional tightrope: at one end is her decision to name the pigs rather than allowing them to remain as anonymous heads of livestock, and at the other end is their slaughter, which she will witness but not record.

The moralism that Tin Nyo explores can only be described as fatalistic. The Basques developed their methods for raising, slaughtering, and curing pigs for the sake of sheer survival. In the summer and fall they would hunt small game; in the winter they would eat ham preserved in salt from an ancient spring. Their skills as pig farmers and shepherds contributed not only to their livelihoods, but to their political independence and unique culture as well. Today those survival skills, as so often happens, have evolved into an art (and one that produces a specialty item served in high-end restaurants throughout France).

Tin Nyo, rather than forcing judgment, is forcing an engagement with the wages of survival against the desire for pleasure, and our unwillingness to tease them apart — just as we incorporate our iPhones into every corner of our lives while the conditions under which their materials are mined and manufactured remain background noise at best.

Next month the pigs will be slaughtered and this phase of the project will come to an end. Tin Nyo is a native of Myanmar, where her family endured political persecution and permanent exile after the coup d’état that brought a military junta to power. She remains clear-eyed about her own history, as she does about the fate of the pigs. It’s a vision in which nothing is attempted, labored over, or loved without anticipating its sudden end.

The post Field Report on an Artist and Her Pigs appeared first on Hyperallergic.

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