#starting to get arthritis (am sad) but she lets me know when she's tired

[herd-reject-arts]

Doog did a swim :3

[shewhorises-tjyj]

Felinette day 2 call out

Felix’s POV

His mother had forced him to go live with his cousin, ugh, so here he was, the entrance of his cousin’s house. Uncle was standing at the top of the stairs……again, seriously why does he always stand there. it’s like he just has a statue of himself at the top of the stairs that can talk.

“Felix, I trust you had a great flight I’m sure you would like to sleep of the jetlag but before that we have to set some ground rules.”

“first of all, I have enrolled you to Adrien’s school and I have made special arrangements for you to be in his class.”

Ugh, of course how could he ever forget, no running we have a reputation to uphold, photoshoots, fencing, Chinese- wait what?

“other than that, the other rules are the same: no running around we have a reputation to uphold……………”

ARE YOU KIDDING ME???! I have to go to his school and his class and look at his face? AND I’m miles ahead of all of them in everything!”

Obviously, he would never shout out loud like that so he stuck to his thoughts instead.

Tuning back into reality, Gabriel was done repeating the rules he had remembered by heart and dismissed him.

-The next day-

Adrien was already ready  and pointing at the door, “hey Fe, ready to go?” with a noise of confirmation they left the house.

-------------------------cue long drive to school with a hyperactive cousin-----------------------------

 “Good morning students” shouted (well not really shouted but he was standing next to her okay?) The teacher with red hair to which Felix winced at. “Today we have a new student joining us! And I’m sure you’ve all heard by now Lila’s home from her trip to Achu and she is back in school with us again.” he noticed something or rather someone who wasn’t here before, an Italian looking girl with chestnut hair that was tied up into what looked like three sausages and huge bangs at the front, with an olive skin tone and emerald green eyes that looked at him then at Adrien and had a look of confusion on her face. BUT! She then proceeded to IGNORE HIM. HIM! HE WAS A FREAKING INTERNATIONAL MODEL AND ACTOR AND THAT CAGNA IGNORED HIM! But whatever from the way she looked at his cousin she was probably a gold digging harpy. And his suspicions were correct when she greeted everyone.

“hi everyone,” she said in a fake sounding voice.

“Hi Lila!” the class sounded back. Lila? That’s her name?

“Oh~ a seat in the front row! You all remembered my hearing issues! You’re such sweethearts all of you~” “Mwuah!”

He inwardly cringed

“You have a hearing problem, Lila?”

‘hmm?’

“yes, I suffer from tinnitus. A constant ringing in my left ear. I’ve had it ever since the sound of an airplane engine burst my ear drums on the runway when I was saving Jagged Stone’s lost kitten.”

He had to admit her voice sounded genuine like it actually happened and he might have never found out she was lying if one, he was not an actor and could see the difference between genuine and fake faces and two, if her lies weren’t a load of bull. LIKE, COME ON! Which airline would let an UNDERAGE GIRL WHO’S UNAUTHORISED, ON THE RUNWAY? That airline would have closed down long ago if they couldn’t keep people from running on to the runway for reasons unknown.

The worst part is, yes there’s a worse part, his classmates seemed to believe the story she just pulled out of her ass. Well at least there was one student who doubted her.

“isn’t Jagged Stone’s pet a crocodile?”

“Now it is, yes. He had a kitten until he found out he was allergic to it.”

Deciding that everyone here was way too dumb and he didn’t want to lose any brain cells so he decided stop whatever quarrel was definitely going to go on.

Faking a cough, everyone seemed like they just remembered he was there. Even the teacher. If he were living in a comic or a cartoon there probably would’ve been one of those red crosses on his head.

“Right. Class, this is our new classmate, Felix Graham De Vanily.”

Hi’s, welcomes and clapping were heard around the room.

‘Could I just not have come?’

“Now Felix you and Marinette can sit in the back together. Also, as class president, Marinette can you show Felix around the school?”

“sigh, yes miss Bustier.”

When both of them sat down she started to introduce herself, “Hi, I’m Marinette. We can start the tour at lunch today and if you have any questions about the curriculum just ask me or anyone in the class.”

She said with a sad and tired smile.

…It looked… sincere…

Going with a simple nod they both turned their attention to the front.

After the tour he stayed back at the locker room near one of the corners. It was easy to blend into the shadows now that the people in Paris didn’t know him. despite being an international model (and sometimes actor) his face wasn’t well known as Adrien in France.

To that, he was thankful for.

Sticking to the shadows to read his book not five minutes in the girl- Marinette was it? Came back, and into the bathroom next to the locker room along with the sausage haired girl right on her heel.

“Marinette? Are you crying?”

“No, I’m not.”

“I can sense that you don’t like me but I don’t understand why, we barely know each other.

Don’t tell me it’s because of this new seating arrangement in class. It is! Of course, you were jealous because I’m sitting next to Adrien because you would have given anything to sit there yourself. You know what? It’s really not worth fighting a for a boy, you and I could be friends and who knows? I might even be able to help you with Adrien.”

Oh? Crush on my cousin? But it seemed like she was just cast into the back without her input despite all the others getting to sit at the place they wanted to.

“ugh. You and I will only be friends the day you stopped lying, Lila.”

So she knows she’s lying?

“I can’t prove it but I know for a fact you don’t have tinnitus, that your wrist is just fine, but you don’t know prince Ali cause’ you’ve never even set foot in Achu, and despite what you got Alya to write on her Ladyblog Ladybug has never saved your life.”

The first one definitely correct and so is the second one possibly, the third one might be a bt of a stretch and the fourth one, who the heck is Ladybug?

“I only tell people what they want to hear.”

“it’s called lying!”

“There’s nothing you can do about it anyway. People can’t resist when they hear what they like to hear. If you don’t want to be my friend, fine. But soon you won’t have any friends left at all and trust me, I’ll make sure you never get close to Adrien in class or anywhere. You’ve been a little less dumb than the others so I’ll give you one last chance: you are either with me or against me. You don’t have to answear right away I’ll give you the end of class today.”

Ok, first of all, were people supposed to hear that cause’ they were loud and secondly, what the heck school was he enrolled in??

The sausage haired girl walked smugly out of the bathroom.

“Hey Lila.”

“Adrien! We’ll have to figure out when you’re gonna help me catch up on all the schoolwork I missed. I also heard you play piano, my uncle’s a great pianist ‘Stroke Burrow Check’ she wanted to teach me when I was little but I had to stop playing because of arthritis. But when my wrist gets better, I’d love for you to give me some lessons.”

Didn’t sausage hair say uncle? why’d it change to ‘she’?

“Lila, I’m perfectly fine being friends with you and I’ll gladly help you catch up on your schoolwork but…please don’t lie to me like you did last time with Ladybug.”

Ah, his cousin knew she was lying. Wonder why he won’t step up for his classmate… unless it he never changed…

“Ladybugs the liar!”

“I’m not judging you, Lila but instead of making friends, you’re gonna turn everyone against you. You can tell me if there’s something bothering you. I can help. But you need to bee honest with me.”

“Are you trying to be some superhero lecturing me just like Ladybug did. Well, thanks but no thanks. Ugh.”

And with that the door slammed shut.

“I’m still here if you need catching up with your schoolwork.”

…is that a black glowing butterfly?...

…and did someone run out of the bathroom wearing a ladybug onesie?

“Hey!”

Snapping his head to the front he saw sausage girl pushing Adrien back a little.

“Adrien, I wanted to apologize for what just happened I’ve thought about it and you’re right I want us to be friends so I’ll never tell another lie again will you make peace with me?”

Then, she kissed Adrien on the cheek and… morphed into him?! what hellish nightmare place did his mother send him to?!

*insert falling to the floor sound* “Whoops! I lied.” *SLAM* huh. Sucks to be him it must be uncomfortable in there

“If this is an enchanted sleep what could possibly wake him up? Oh no, not an enchanted kiss. Please. Mmm nobody will ever know.”

Raspy low voice…can’t be a student

“Plagg? What happened? And what are you doing?”

“o-oh me? Nothing! I-I uh- Your friend Lila put you to sleep with an evil kiss. You should be more careful picking your friends!”

…it’s coming from the locker Adrien was in… should I go see what’s happening?... Nah not my problem

“Lila must have been re-akumatized! Quick! Plagg! Claws out!”

…The locker just glowed green...and someone in a cat costume just ran out… what the hell does Adrien do in his spare time? I have so many questions… you know what? I’ve seen weirder.

“Of course Ladybug saved my life. She never misses an opportunity to rescue her best friend.”

“Did your tinnitus give you vertigo when you went up the Eiffel Tower?”

“Oh no! Ladybug knows me so well that she brought me an ear plug to stick in my right ear!”

Again with someone named Ladybug…

“Grr.”

Hmm?

“Right ear? did she say right ear? This morning she said the ringing was in her left ear!

She’s not wrong… sausage hair did say the tinnitus was in her left ear this morning…

I’ve got her this time.”

Nice, things are finally getting interesting (oh Felix, if only you knew)

“Are you going to tell everyone?”

“Of course I am. Lila is-

“-A liar. Yes, I know. But do you really think exposing her will make things better?”

Did he just ruin the most interesting part of his day? Bitch. Try again.

“And who’s to say not exposing her will make things better?”

“But if you humiliate her, she’ll just be hurt more making a bad guy suffer has never turned them into a good guy-

“And has letting a so called bad guy do whatever they wanted ever make them a good guy?”

(“Ladybug and I are like two peas in a pod.”)

“Take for example, Bourgeois. Heard she’s the resident school bully. Has she ever changed?”

“She’s better-

“Wasn’t talking to you, Adrien. Has she treated anyone in your class out of the supposed kindness in her heart?”

“Well no but-

“There is no but. It just proves that even if you let the ‘bad guy’ do whatever they want they won’t become a ‘good guy’ also if you keep letting Bourgeois do whatever she wants your going to lose all your friends. I may not have friends but even I know that much. Think about it, how many times has Adrien stood up for you or any of your classmates when Bourgeois were bullying you and your classmates vs the times Adrien has stood up for Bourgeois for bullying you.”

“I-he uh, he stood up for the whole school when Chloe pulled the fire alarm and- uh”

“That’s just one time. Face it, Adrien stands up for bullies far more times than when he stood up for his friends.”

“That’s not true! I apologised-

“You apologised but did you stand up or defend your friends?”

Okay, so half of it might be about my grudge on him but it was true! Surprisingly, Adrien didn’t approach him for the rest of the day.

-The next day-

His seatmate, Marinette, sat down next to him, “Thank you. I never noticed I had always put Adrien up on a pedestal like he could not do any wrong. I never noticed that Adrien had some very questionable flaws.”

“Mm.”

And then she smiled at him.

His heart skipped a beat, the smile was sweet and sincere… and he found that she was rather likable.

@felinettenovember

[whump-tr0pes]

Honor Bound 2 - 43

This is a series. Start here, continued from here. 

This is a sequel to Honor Bound. 

AO3

Cw: past parental abuse and abandonment

Isaac lounged on his bed, drifting. He wasn’t tired enough to take a nap, but he didn’t feel like doing anything else. He stared at the ceiling, his eyes moving slowly over the swirl of the drywall. Finding patterns. Daydreaming.

He’d never been so well-rested that he wouldn’t just pass out as soon as he got horizontal. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt safe enough to sleep late. To nap. The team had planning to do if they were to leave the north in two days, but they still had time. Vera and Gray were discussing strategy in the living room with the sort of heavy sadness that came with the knowledge that Gray wouldn’t be coming with them. It was a conversation that Isaac knew he should be a part of, but he couldn’t force himself to get out of bed and join them. He just wanted to rest. In a few days, their lives would be nothing but adrenaline and sleep deprivation and blood again. For this moment, he just wanted peace. For this moment, he just wanted to rest. His eyes fluttered closed.

“Hey, you have a minute?”

Isaac jumped slightly, despite the gentle tone in Gray’s voice. He groaned and rolled onto his side, putting his feet flat on the floor. “Yeah. Sorry. Do you need to talk strategy, or…?”

“No. I wanted to get outside, and I wanted to talk to you. Walk with me?”

Isaac nodded as he reached for his jacket. “Yeah. Sure thing.”

As he passed through the living room to grab his shoes, Vera smiled at him. He smiled back, his heart clenching, unsettled by the sadness behind her eyes. He swallowed and walked out the door behind Gray into the afternoon air.

“Gray?” he said, his voice breaking. “What’s, um… what’s up?”

Gray smiled sadly. “We have a lot to talk about. I wanted to talk to you before I let the others know.”

Isaac felt a prickle of sweat under his shirt. “Gray… what is it?”

Gray sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m being unnecessarily cryptic. I just…” They cleared their throat. “It’s very hard for me to think about it myself.” They looked up at the sky, and Isaac saw tears glittering in their eyes. “Ah. You know I can’t go south with you.”

Isaac’s breath rushed out of him. “I… I know. Because of…” He glanced at Gray’s chest, where there was an almost-healed wound from Gavin’s bullet.

“Not just because of that. Isaac…” They exhaled sharply in something that resembled a bitter laugh. “I’m fifty-three years old. I’ve been in this fight for… oh. Almost twenty years.” They laughed gently. “I’ve been trying to outrun time all those years. Trying to outrun injuries and sickness. Death. Gavin very nearly killed me last year. If I was a few years older, he might have.”

“No way,” Isaac said brokenly, holding back tears. “Finn woulda patched you up. You would’ve been just fine.”

Gray smiled. “I’m sure they would appreciate hearing that. And it’s not that I don’t have faith in them. Honestly, quite a few of us would be dead if it wasn’t for them. But the fact is…” They ran their hand through their short hair. “I’m slowing down. I can hardly keep up with the rest of you most of the time. I’m pretty sure I have arthritis in my knees. And… I have a feeling breathing is going to be harder for the rest of my life. The doctors had to take a piece of my lung. That’ll never grow back. My place isn’t on the front lines anymore.”

“But you lead us,” Isaac said, his voice small. “You make the decisions. You know the most about strategy. You know the syndicates inside and out. Gray, you… your decisions have kept us safe for as long as I’ve known you, and before.”

Gray bit their lip and walked in silence for a while. After several minutes they said, “I’ve questioned so many decisions I’ve made.”

“We all do.” Isaac swallowed the lump rising in his throat. His chest felt tight, and his eyes burned. “Gray, p-please…”

Gray stopped and looked at Isaac square on. “Isaac… I’m sorry. It’s not just that I’m a liability to the team if I can’t keep up physically. I put myself in danger. I put you at risk. My body couldn’t keep doing this forever, Isaac.”

A shuddering sob rolled over Isaac’s shoulders. The tears spilled over. “Gray, no… fuck… G-Gray, please, I…” Isaac tried to swallow around the tearing feeling in his throat. “Gray, please don’t… leave…” He covered his mouth with his hands.

“Oh,” Gray whispered. They pulled Isaac into their arms.

Isaac unraveled in Gray’s embrace, great, heaving sobs crashing through him. He clutched at Gray, digging his fingers into their back, latching onto their shirt. Gray swayed with him slowly as Isaac wept into their shoulder.

“It’s okay,” Gray murmured. “You’re alright, Isaac.”

“But I’m gonna miss you so much,” Isaac sobbed.

“I know. I’m still gonna be around. I’ll be up north, and you can still visit between missions.”

“But it won’t be the same. You… you won’t be…”

Gray smoothed their fingers through Isaac’s hair and laughed softly. “Now Isaac, don’t say I won’t be part of the family or my feelings will be hurt.”

“No,” Isaac wailed. “No you, you will be, you always will, you’ll be in the family but you won’t be, be here… Gray, please, I’ve lost so many people, please, I can’t lose you too…”

“You’re not losing me, Isaac,” Gray soothed. “I’m not leaving you. Okay?” Gray took Isaac’s chin in their hand. They looked earnestly into Isaac’s eyes. “I’m not leaving you.”

“Gray, no, please no, don’t do this.”

“Isaac,” Gray murmured, pitching their voice low. “Listen to me. Breathe in.”

Isaac obeyed, unquestioning. Trusting. He took in a deep breath, his gaze fixed on Gray’s face.

“Good. Let it out.”

Isaac let the breath go, trembling as it went.

“Okay. Now listen to me. I am not leaving you.”

Isaac bit his lip and nodded. “I’m s-sorry, I—”

“I know you have a lot of, ah, baggage around being abandoned, Isaac. Especially for… for people telling you that you’re less than they demanded.”

“But if I hadn’t… If I had killed Gavin, if I’d kept you safe, you wouldn’t’ve been shot. You’d still be healthy. I c-can’t stop, stop fucking blaming myself…”

“…and it feels like I’m leaving you for failing me.” Gray ducked into Isaac’s eyeline. “Right?”

Isaac sniffed and nodded.

Gray’s hands rested on Isaac’s shoulders. “Let’s get a few things straight here. First, I am not leaving you. I’m retiring from the team because of my health, and so that you all can have somewhere safe to rest when you come north. With someone who knows you, and understands. Okay?” Isaac nodded. “Okay. Second, you did not fail me. If anything, I’ve failed you. I failed to protect Sam, and I failed to prevent Gavin from taking you. The plan I helped make and was responsible for executing nearly got all of us killed. We only escaped because of you and Vera. And all this time, I…” They smoothed Isaac’s hair again. “I had no idea you were still hurting this much.”

Isaac stared at the ground. “I didn’t want anyone to know.”

Gray sighed. “Yes, I know. It was my responsibility to teach you that you can lean on people. I should have seen how deep your wounds go, and helped you with them.”

“That’s not your job,” Isaac mumbled.

Gray laughed. “No, but it is my calling. I used to be a counselor, remember?”

Isaac smiled slightly. “Yeah. I remember. But the rest… that wasn’t your responsibility. I made the decision to go to Gavin. And I’m the one who left Sam vulnerable. You’re the one who brought us to Tori, who had that connection that started this entire operation. You’re the one who’s been finding the rescues we’ve saved this year. And more than that. You’ve gotten us through the past seven years, when Ellis first found you. You’ve done… so much, Gray. No one could ever replace you.”

Gray’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. “That’s interesting. Because I was hoping you’d be the one to replace me.”

Isaac’s mouth dropped open.

Gray’s smile grew wider. “What? What makes you less qualified than anyone else?”

“Um… because I’m a fucking mess, Gray!” Isaac scrubbed his face on his t-shirt.

Gray snorted. “We all are. Including me.”

“No, you’re… you’re fine! But… Gavin still puts me on edge, I have flashbacks all the time, I can’t go a fucking week without crying over something that happened fifteen years ago—”

“All of which you are healing from. And something tells me you’ll be able to take care of Gavin, too.”

“I can’t control Gavin. I have no fucking clue how we’re going to handle him once we go south.”

Gray tilted their head. “He trusts you now.”

Isaac scoffed. “He trusts me?”

“Yes.”

Isaac backed down a little.

Gray smiled ruefully. “You threw yourself in front of a loaded gun for him yesterday. You saved his life. Before this, he respected you. Now… now, he’ll follow you.”

“No way.” Isaac shook his head. “No way. There’s no way I ask him to fight with us against his mother.”

“I think you’d be surprised what he would be willing to do for someone who cares about whether he lives or dies. Makes him feel safe. Protects him. You do all of that for him, Isaac.”

“That doesn’t mean he’d fight his family for me. Family issues run deep. There’s probably an entire iceberg of issues there that we don’t know about.”

Gray nodded. “All of which, I think, will just push him closer to your side.”

“It’s not something I’m willing to bet the family on,” Isaac said darkly.

“That’s fair.” Gray tilted their head. “Unfortunately for us, we’re stuck with him. Fortunately, he’s proven very cooperative.”

Isaac couldn’t bring himself to make a snide remark about that. I think he really does want to be a part of this family.

Isaac raised his gaze to Gray’s. “Why not Vera?”

Gray laughed. “I talked to her about it. She didn’t want it.”

“Neither do I!” Isaac cried.

Gray pressed their lips together. “I don’t suppose I could ask you to share it?”

“Yes.” Isaac nodded. “Yes. Please. I don’t… I don’t want this. I don’t want the… the responsibility…”

“You take responsibility for them every day,” Gray said, laughing gently, shaking their head.

“This is… is different.”

“Hm.” Gray squeezed Isaac’s shoulder. “Even so, I think you both could lead very well together. You already work so well as a team. Always have.”

“Always will,” Isaac said with a smile.

Gray nodded. Smiled. “I’m glad to know they’ll be taken care of. This family is everything to me. I can’t think of a better two people to take care of them.”

Isaac blushed and looked at the ground. The praise made him feel shivery and warm inside, in a way almost nothing else did. “I’ll keep them safe.”

Gray clicked their tongue. “No one can promise that. But I know you’ll do your best, and your best has always, always been enough, Isaac.”

Isaac’s eyes welled with tears again. Gray turned to keep walking. Isaac walked silently beside them for a long time, before they turned back to walk to the house.

Continued here

@untilthepainstarts, @womping-grounds, @free-2bmee, @quirkykayleetam, @walkingchemicalfire, @inpainandsuffering, @redwingedwhump, @burtlederp, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @insomniacscoprio, @cursedscribbles, @whumpywhumper, @stxck-fxck, @omega-em-z-02, @whumps-the-word, @slaintetowhump, @finder-of-rings, @cinnamonflavoredhugs, @thatsthewhump, @im-just-here-for-the-whump, @orchidscript

[jacquiesims]

Viper Canyon - Chapter Five

‘...She felt frantic and rushed, like there were a great deal of things she wished she had said to him and now there was no time for any of it.’

January 1852

Winnie entered the general store that morning, a gust of brisk air blowing in behind her as she closed the door with a solid click, smiling at the owner.

“Why, if it isn’t Miss Hawkins! How good to see you. I trust you and your family are doing well?” 

Mr. Monroe’s cheeks shone forth like two polished red beets above his snowy white beard as he shuffled forward from the back of the store, meeting Winnie in front of the till. 

“Good morning, Mr. Monroe. We’re doing very well, thank you for asking. And yourself?”

“As well as I can be with this arthritis bothering my old bones,” he replied, still smiling. “But that’s enough of that. Are you here for the job that I spoke about with your mother?” 

“As a matter of fact, I am. I came here to let you know I’d be happy to work at the store and I was very flattered you thought of me for the position.” 

He let out a great laugh from the bottom of his belly, reminding Winnie of Father Winter. She couldn’t help but smile in Mr. Monroe’s presence. He was the very personification of cheerfulness walking around on two stout legs.

“That’s wonderful to hear. Though I did want to ask you about something I heard – Viper Canyon may be small but gossip exists in every community, no matter the size – when I was in church just yesterday I heard something about you, and I wanted to know if it was true.”

Winnie was puzzled. What sort of gossip could exist about her ordinary life? Beatrice was the source of all the excitement in the family. Perhaps the rumor was about her younger sister and Mr. Monroe had gotten confused. 

“Of course. You can ask me anything, Mr. Monroe.” She tried to keep her face as warm as possible, lest her confusion confirm any false suspicions. 

“Is it true that you’re to marry Peter Langford, Joseph’s new wife’s boy?” 

She felt her heart start to beat a mile a minute. How had Mr. Monroe heard so soon? Her family had planned on keeping the engagement a secret until Peter’s eighteenth birthday in August. It was more than a few months before they’d planned on letting the news reach the townsfolk. Who had found out?

“Well…it doesn’t feel right to lie to you. Yes. Peter and I are engaged, but we won’t be married until after he’s turned eighteen and built a homestead.” 

Mr. Monroe nodded with a small sigh. “So, the rumors were true then. I congratulate you on your engagement, but unfortunately I have to rescind my offer for you to work in my store.” 

Winnie covered her mouth in shock as her jaw slacked open. “What? Why? Have I done something wrong?” She immediately began to recall the image of Mamma counting small coins on the table in the dim light of a single candle, caught when she thought her children had already gone to bed. 

“You’ve done nothing wrong, I assure you. But this position is for long-term employment, dear. I simply cannot have a married woman working behind the counter – you should be at home with your family, getting ready for your wedding, and after that you should be taking care of your husband. Not to mention that after the marriage you could be with child at a moment’s notice, and where does that leave me? High and dry with no salesgirl.” Mr. Monroe looked uncharacteristically sad. He gave Winnie a pitying look. “It would have been wonderful to have you working in the store with my son and myself. It breaks my heart to take away my offer, truly.” 

“Is there nothing I can do to change your mind?” Winnie cried, her voice cracking. “This job means to much to me and my family….” 

“No. I’m sorry, dear, but I won’t budge. It won’t do to have a bride-to-be as my salesgirl. If your sister were a bit older I’d be happy to extend the offer to her, but since not, I’m posting an advert in the newspaper today to fill the position.” 

Winnie was devastated. How could she return home and let Mamma know she had failed the family? She had longed to find a way to make herself useful in Viper Canyon, and her one opportunity to do so had been snatched from her over a marriage she still had mixed feelings about. 

In fear of shedding a tear in front of Mr. Monroe, Winnie turned to leave, only to crash straight into something solid and warm.

“Oh!” Winnie cried, rubbing her sore nose. “I’m so sorry – Elijah?” 

The formidable wall of flesh that she had crashed into was nothing other than the chest of a one Elijah McLain. He blinked at Winnie several times before clearing his throat. 

“Excuse me. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” 

She didn’t know what to say. The only other person besides herself, her family, and the family of her fiancé to know about the engagement was Elijah himself – the pieces clicked together in her mind as she stared into his green eyes. 

“If you’ll excuse me, I must take my leave. Good day, Elijah.”

As Winnie stormed down the dusty dirt road home, her mind was hot and boiling with uncharacteristic anger. Rationally, she knew that no matter what, Mr. Monroe would’ve had to let her go from the position. But there was no room for rational thought in her mind – in the heat of her frustration and embarrassment, all the blame was piled on Elijah’s head. 

There was no other explanation for how Mr. Monroe had heard about the engagement. Both families had been sworn to secrecy and Elijah was the only soul outside of either party to hear the news when Peter had slipped up in front of him the other night.

By the time Winnie had returned home, her head had been slightly cooled by the walk and the time spent in the warm sunshine. She knew it was wrong and sinful of her to hate Elijah for gossiping, but no matter how much she tried to suppress her frustration, it came boiling back up like hot water bubbling beneath a pot lid. 

With a great sigh, she entered the warmth of her family’s home, where Mamma was putting away the washing powder. 

“Why, you’re home early. I thought Mr. Monroe would’ve wanted you to start today.”

“Well…the truth is, Mamma…” Winnie wanted to dance around the subject as long as possible, but she knew deep down it wouldn’t do her any good. “Mr. Monroe changed his mind because he heard I’m to marry Peter. He said I should be at home preparing for the wedding.” 

Mamma froze for a moment. “He did? Oh, Watcher…that would be my fault, then.” 

Winnie’s head snapped up from the ground. “Your fault? But how?” 

“I was discussing the details of the wedding with Verity in church yesterday. We weren’t sure how we were dividing up the duties of preparing, and neither of us were very careful about making sure there were no prying ears around…we eventually noticed Mr. Monroe listening in on our conversation, but it was too late. We had hoped his hearing had gone enough in his old age that he wouldn’t have been able to make out our conversation, but alas, apparently it hasn’t.” She sighed, shaking her head. “Well, you’ll have to forgive me. We can find some other way to make do, I’m sure. We always have.”

“It’s all right, Mamma. We can think of other ways to get by…but my, that’s such a relief.” 

Mamma gave her daughter a curious look. “A relief how?” 

Even though Winnie wanted desperately to lie in the moment, she found that it was nearly impossible to fib to her mother. 

“I was thinking that Mr. Monroe had heard from Elijah about the wedding. I was in a terrible mood coming home from the store about it.” 

Without another word, Mamma simply smiled to herself, busying her hands with tidying the kitchen once more.

After a long day of tending to the livestock, the garden, and the rest of the chores, Winnie’s arms and legs were dreadfully sore. She had just finished washing her face in the basin upstairs, relieved to have the sweat and grime off her skin. Before she could collapse into the armchair with a good book, however, Mamma called to her as she came down the stairs.

“Winnie, be a dear and help Papa with the horse, won’t you? He’s in the barn.” 

Knowing that she would smell like horses until her next bath, Winnie sighed, taking her aching and tired limbs out the door with her to the barn.

She entered the open barn doors to find unexpected company – for the second time that day, she was surprised to see Elijah before her. 

“Oh! I didn’t mean to interrupt. I didn’t know Elijah was visiting.” 

The trail guide gave Winnie a stone-faced glance as he finished handing something off to Papa. Winnie’s father looked guilty as he tucked the item into his trouser pocket. 

“He was just stopping by about a little bit of business, that’s all.”

“All right, then…” she muttered, wondering what sort of ‘business’ Elijah would have with her father. “I’ll tend to the horses, Papa.” 

“I guess I should be on my way,” Elijah said. 

Papa gave Elijah a straight-lipped smile. “Thank you. I’ll be over in two days’ time, just like you asked.” 

Winnie looked at the two men with curiosity glimmering in her eyes. What reason did Papa have to visit Elijah’s home? Right away, her mind began to race with ideas about a clandestine agreement between them. But what had Elijah handed off to Papa as she arrived at the barn? They seemed to be anxious to keep the arrangement under wraps.

“I suppose this is farewell, then,” Elijah said to Winnie suddenly. 

She turned to face him. “Farewell? Are you going on a trip?”

“Er…in a manner of speaking. I’ve got to leave to head back east tomorrow if I’m going to make it to Independence on time to escort my next train.” 

“East…you’re going back east?” Instantly, she felt frantic and rushed, like there were a great deal of things she wished she had said to him and now there was no time for any of it.

He took a deep breath. “I’ve been hired as a trail guide again. Eventually, I know folks won’t have much need for men like me, but until then…I’ve got to make my living somehow.”

“So, you won’t be back until the fall?” 

Elijah nodded solemnly. “I’ll be back by October or November, if the conditions on the trail are fair. If not, December at the latest – but hopefully it won’t come to that.” 

“Watcher forbid you get stuck in any ill weather,” Papa said quietly. “I’ve got to run this into the safe inside. Thank you again, Elijah.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

Winnie watched as her father left the barn and entered their humble house. 

Now that they were alone together, Winnie was at a loss for words. There was a terrible hurricane of mixed emotions whirling around in her brain, making her feel whiplashed. She wasn’t sure exactly how to feel now that Elijah was leaving – her frustration over losing her job, her lingering worry over the argument with Bea, the anxiety about their finances, her forthcoming wedding woes, and on top of it all now Elijah was leaving and may not return to Viper Canyon safely, if at all? It felt as though there was a great elephant on her chest. She took a strained breath, trying to calm her senses. 

“I’ve asked your father to watch after my livestock and my home while I’m gone,” he explained. “I was handing him payment when you walked in.” 

There was a small raindrop of relief on her conscience. “That’s very kind of you.” 

“I’ve asked Joseph to do it for the past few years, but…I hope it’s not rude for me to say that I knew your family needed the money more.” 

“It’s not,” Winnie replied quietly. “Not rude at all.”

They stood in the barn for a few moments, neither sure of what to say. Elijah was the first to speak.

“You’ll…you’ll be married by the time I come back, won’t you?” 

The question took Winnie off guard. There was a sudden pain in her heart. “Well, it all depends…perhaps I shall be. Though I would like it if you could be at the wedding.” 

She remembered their awkward waltz at Joseph and Verity’s ceremony – Elijah was little more than a stranger to her then, and now she regarded him as a close family friend. There was a heavy guilt in her mind as she recalled her foolish anger earlier that day. She should’ve known better than to assume Elijah would ever put her or her family in such a position. 

“I hope I make it back on time.”

“I do, too.” 

She tried her best to smile, but it was unexpectedly difficult under the circumstances. Her family had been lucky when they crossed the trail. Although they encountered some hardships, they managed to all make it the almost two thousand miles to Viper Canyon safely and in one piece. Most weren’t so lucky. What if Elijah was hurt, or taken ill, or even worse – killed? The same bubble of sorrow in her throat that she had felt when Mr. Monroe took away his job offer agonizingly returned. 

“I’m going to miss you, Elijah.” 

He looked surprised, if not a little embarrassed. 

“I…hope you make it back safely. I’ll pray to The Watcher that you do.”

“Thank you.” 

Again, there was more pained silence. Elijah, too, was feeling that same sense of urgency to tell Winnie something – anything – that he couldn’t put his finger on. 

“I’ll see you, then. In the fall.” 

Winnie met his eyes. “I look forward to it.”

END OF PART ONE

Previous Chapter | Viper Canyon Index | Chapter Six

(I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. If anyone is looking to raise money for a charity, I recommend getting people to pledge one dollar for every time I make Elijah pose with his hand on the back of his neck. 

There will be a time skip after this chapter, so be prepared for things to be very different when Chapter Six comes! As always, let me know what you thought and thanks for taking the time to give this a read :) 

[carlisle980]

99% of the time I don’t mind being so alone

I’m never bored (there isn’t time!) and seldom lonely as long as I keep my eyes straight ahead and don’t look around at what Everyone Else is doing. Then my gaze shifts, just for a second, and suddenly all I can see are people interacting with one another. Long reblogs where everyone adds their 2 cents, but “everyone” consists of people who hang out together as often as they can, and I missed that boat. Because I’m a Richobel shipper, because I only manage tiny bits of Chelsie once in a blue moon. Because by the time I got here the lines were basically already drawn. Everybody had their friends already.

And then there’s Instagram. Another world of cliques, of insiders and outsiders, of which I’ll always be the latter. I’ve been trying to be nice to people over there, but they already drew their lines ages ago and you (or I, more accurately) can’t break in for anything. The Internet tells me I’ll always be on the outside looking in.

My kids need me. It’s not a welcome feeling. It’s like I get to spend all of my time and energy and worry on them and in return I hear all the complaints about what I don’t let them do. What “everybody else” has and they don’t. The fact that I make them make beds and put their dishes in the dishwasher and put away their laundry (that I wash, dry & fold). Every day! Oh, and I want them to walk up and down the stairs. The message I hear from their words and attitudes and expectations is that I don’t measure up. Mom, you ain’t cuttin’ it.

My husband is awesome. Being married to him has been almost entirely “better” with very little “worse.” But there’s so little of life that’s for us now. He goes to work all day and is tired (and so am I) when the kids are finally asleep for the night. When he’s home we can’t discuss all that we need to because there are always kids around. Not to mention there’s no chance of getting one sentence out without getting interrupted (and yes, we tell them not to). Every so often we get a couple of hours to have dinner somewhere that’s not our house, but that’s all it amounts to. Just ... dinner. Food. And talking, usually about the kids. I can look into the future and hope that we’ll be like (my) Richard and Isobel in retirement, but I’m not entirely convinced that our generation is going to be able to retire. He loves me. I love him. But “we” are lost among the details of getting three small people from one day to the next. I feel like we are kickass logistics partners. There’s not much else.

And I’ve been thinking about losing my grandfather today. Like, that’s one less person who loved me in the world now. There aren’t many. It feels terrible. He was always there. Always proud of me. It always mattered when I was going to be there. I miss him.

My best friend is my 86-year-old grandmother, and I’m here, and she’s there. I always matter to her. She wants to hear from me. It makes her day when I call. We think of each other every time we drink a cup of coffee (which, for both of us, is many times a day). Her arthritis (back and hips) is terrible at the moment and it makes me sad that she hurts and I’m not there to do the running around. Take out the garbage, fill the bird feeders, start the washer and dryer, vacuum and sweep for her because there’s just no way to do it with a broken back without it hurting.

I didn’t think the Christmas Lonesome was going to strike this year. I don’t know how I figured I’d escape it. I guess I thought since we were just in Maine for Thanksgiving, that would be enough to fend it off this time. But every year since Mom left Dad it’s been there, reminding me that Everyone Else is together this time of year. There are parties and gift exchanges and everybody’s part of some group or another. But not me. This year’s no different after all. There’s the added sting of one less person who loved me being here to pack an extra punch in the gut.

[heyhowdyhellohi]

Delirious

Tony Stark x Reader

Summary: emotional conversations at dawn

It was 3 am. More specifically, it was 3am the day after your last final. The day had been a blur of coffee and quick snacks, sore hands from early onset arthritis and two on the spot essays with insane time limits, and make up and more coffee and sweaty dancing until here you were, sitting on the steps of some frat house porch in the cold night, finally realizing that it was over and you’d be home with your family soon. Hell week felt like a bad joke you’d missed the chance to tell, and now it’s time to talk about something else. You sat on the steps and waited for your roommate to tire out so you could drive back to your flat.

“Excuse me. Would you mind sharing a step?” a handsome guy asked, having just stepped out of the frat house himself.

“Yes, I do mind.” you held your head in your hands. Damn. Time just keeps dragging you along, and when you finally get a moment to just think, some douchey frat rat comes out to bother you.

“That’s fine, I’ll just sit on the next one.” He took a seat leaning against the wall of the house, facing you from two steps down. He wouldn’t take his eyes off of you as he smirked.

“Fine, but you have to put up with my existential babbling.”

“Oh, are you one of those depressed drunks?” You thought maybe he was judging you, but the smirk on his face suggested he was playing a game.

“No, I’m a sleep deprived philosophy major who moonlights as a designated driver.”

“Ah, so no fun for old Camus?”

“Referencing a French existentialist author? I’m impressed.”

“What? You had me pegged as a meat-head frat boy?”

“Nah, meat-head implies sportiness. You’re too delicate.”

“Truth is me and my buddy Bruce fixed their router a few weeks ago. They made us ‘honorary beta cappa betas’. But you can just call me Tony.”

“Y/N.”

“So, I’ve got a life question we could ponder. It’s the perfect time for it too, isn’t it? 3am, a little tired, a little wasted, watching the universe turn over our heads.”

“You seem more than a little wasted.”

“What’s left after we’ve gone? I mean, do we leave anything behind? Does it matter?”

“Ah, legacy obsessed. Well, we certainly don’t leave our egos behind, that fades with us.” He made a point to look deeply offended. but he broke the facade with a smile. You continued seriously this time, “Well, personally I believe there’s order in the chaos. Everything you do has a chain reaction. So, for me I guess we leave behind our impact on others people’s lives. It’s neither good nor bad, because an impact that’s immediately positive could end up negative in the long term.”

“We’re all just footprints among footprints that will be stepped on some day, but maybe they’re leading up to something. Wouldn’t that be great?” You weren’t sure his words meant anything to him, he seemed pretty out of it, draped against the wall with his eyes closed and his beer in his lap. “Here’s an idea! Write me a letter!” His eyes popped open and he leaned towards you.

“What?”

“Yeah, yeah! Like this: Dear... uh... Dear Y/N, It’s good to see that you’ve continued your studies. I myself have dropped out and become increasingly successful as a professional billionaire. I have a mansion and three buildings in New York City with my name on them.” He stopped when you started laughing. He smiled along like he wanted to join in, but hadn’t heard the joke. “Your turn. You do it. Dear Tony:...”

“My Dearest Tony: I’m doing very well in College. They’re going to let me graduate early on account of I’m smarter than everyone here. The only condition is that I become a full-time professor of philosophy. I think I’ll take them up on the offer. On the other hand, I’m curious to hear more about how one becomes a professional billionaire. If you could explain it to me, maybe I could join you in your endeavor.” 

This time you both laughed. It was ridiculous, but you were tired and he was drunk and it was nearing dawn. The birds were waking up, another year had flashed by and you were scared that daylight was in sight. So, instead of wallowing in how it felt like an end, and like you’d missed out on something, you kept making up letters. Tony wrote to you about his growing business, although it was still unclear how he had amassed his fortune. He spoke of his imaginary wife Pepper, his parrot Jarvis and his dog Friday. And he wrote in a part for Bruce, his friend, and how he worked under Tony and they squabbled but they were best friends.

You ‘wrote’ him about your becoming a professor, accepting a Nobel peace price, and feeling lonely at times because men were so intimidated by your mind. Then, of course, the story got a twist when Tony, in his letter, thanked you for the wedding invitation. Then, you invented a man named Jude who was brilliant and difficult at times but mostly wonderful. You spoke of a house in the country with plenty of room for your two kids to play around in.

Things got sad when Tony invented a son named Peter. He said he was so proud of him and how kind and brilliant he was. He talked about how scared he was that something would happen to him and how worried he was that he was a bad father. He’d even teared up. So, you responded saying that you were sure he was an amazing father and that they were both lucky to have each other, and you cried too, because it was late and early and you hadn’t spoken to your parents in a month and you hadn’t slept in a week, and you were a sympathetic crier. So, for a few minutes the both of you sat on the front porch of a frat house, party music thumping in the background, crying over being bad imaginary parents.

You wrote your dream lives to each other. You laughed and you cried, but nothing compared to the silence after this letter:

“Dear Uncle Tony, Y/N has passed away. We’re grieving, but we are comforted by the knowledge that she lived a full life. She left you a box in her will. It’s filled with old letters spanning back 50-no no no, no way, sorry- 60 years. They’re from you. She cherished them very deeply. Thank you for being a friend to my mother and for always being family to us. With love, John.”

“The letters stopped, I guess.” Tony murmured after a long time. You were both cuddled up on one step now, his arm around your shoulders, yours around his waist. Now, both of you were sober as rocks, looking out at the downtrodden grass at the bottom of the steps.

“I don’t know. It just sort of happened.”

“S’okay. You were 80 something years old. It happens.”

“Yeah.”

“Uncle Tony, huh?” He poked you a bit under the ribs. You laughed and rested against him, trying not to fall asleep.

“That’s what I leave behind: a box of letters and family. Take care of them for me.”

“Hey, calm down there. It’s just a game. It’s just a stupid game.”

“What time is it?”

“4.”

“4am and a lifetime away.”

“It’s just a stupid game, Y/N. Don’t worry yourself about it.”

[thedancemostofall]

notes on eating

Ruby Tandoh on Sugar

The idea of a monolithic, wondrous, dreadful sugar would hardly have made sense to medieval cooks. Sweetness was not a category, but a seasoning

In many cultures, this sugar-salt symphony is still foundational. “The food I grew up eating every night — that is to say, Persian home cooking — is all about balancing the plate with sweet and sour, salty and rich, crisp and soft,” says Nosrat. “Fresh and dried fruits — pomegranates, sour cherries, dates, raisins — all regularly found their way onto our dinner plates. So I have always been drawn to a little sweetness in my food.”

How has sweetness — something we are evolutionarily programmed to like, for survival — come to stand in for sex and escapism and hedonism? Humans are metaphor machines, and our mouths are liminal places where food and words mingle, where hot dogs, tagliatelle, and Nigerian puff puff meet “my name is,” memory, and “I.” True synesthesia — the blurring between one sense and another — is relatively rare, but its logic pervades our language, so that trumpets might sound hot, or sadness taste sour. One study found that honeycomb toffee tastes less sweet when eaten whilst listening to a “bitter” soundtrack than when eaten whilst listening to a “sweet” soundtrack. And our senses don’t just crisscross randomly — “How come silence is sweet but sweetness isn’t silent?” one paper asked.

https://www.eater.com/2018/8/6/17631452/ruby-tandoh-sugar-history-kara-walker-will-cotton

Taffy Brodesser-Aknery on Losing it in the Anti-Dieting Age

About two years ago, I decided to yield to what every statistic I knew was telling me and stop trying to lose weight at all. I decided to stop dieting, but when I did, I realized I couldn’t. I didn’t know what or how to eat. I couldn’t fathom planning my food without thinking first about its ability to help or hinder a weight-loss effort. I went to a nutritional therapist to help figure this out (dieting, I have found, is its own chronic condition), and I paid her every week so I could tell her that there still had to be a way for me to lose weight. When she reminded me that I was there because I had realized on my own that there was no way to achieve this goal, I reminded this wonderful, patient person that she couldn’t possibly understand my desperation because she was skinny. I had arthritis in my knees, I said. Morality and society aside, they hurt. I have a sister with arthritis in her knees, too, but she’s skinny and her knees don’t hurt.

I went to an intuitive-eating class — intuitive eating is where you learn to feed yourself based only on internal signals and not external ones like mealtimes or diet plans. Meaning it’s just eating what you want when you’re hungry and stopping when you’re full. There were six of us in there, educated, desperate fat women, doing mindful-eating exercises and discussing their pitfalls and challenges. We were given food. We would smell the food, put the food on our lips, think about the food, taste the food, roll the food around in our mouths, swallow the food. Are you still hungry? Are you sure? The first week it was a raisin. It progressed to cheese and crackers, then to cake, then to Easter candy. We sat there silently, as if we were aliens who had just arrived on Earth and were learning what this thing called food was and why and how you would eat it. Each time we did the eating exercise, I would cry. ‘‘What is going on for you?’’ the leader would ask. But it was the same answer every time: I am 41, I would say. I am 41 and accomplished and a beloved wife and a good mother and a hard worker and a contributor to society and I am learning how to eat a goddamned raisin. How did this all go so wrong for me?

https://www.nytimes.com/2017/08/02/magazine/weight-watchers-oprah-losing-it-in-the-anti-dieting-age.amp.html

Oprah- how did i let this happen again?

"How Did I Let This Happen Again?"   Photo: Matthew RolstonFour years ago, when Oprah managed to get down to a trim and fit 160 pounds, she thought she'd hit on a foolproof formula for permanent weight loss. Then life—in the form of a thyroid problem and a killer schedule—intervened. Last year she was back up to the 200-pound mark and knew something had to change. After a desperately needed time-out to reflect and recharge, here's what she's learned, what she's doing differently, and what's next.You know how bad you feel when you have a special event, a reunion, a wedding, a bar mitzvah, and you wanted to lose that extra 10 to 40 pounds, and you didn't do it? So the day comes and now you've got to try to find something to wear that makes you feel halfway decent, and you have to figure out how to hold in your stomach all night and walk backward out of the room so no one sees that your butt keeps moving even when you stop. Multiply that feeling by a million—make that more than 2.4 million for every Oreader—and you'll know how I've felt over the past year every time I had to shoot a cover for O. If you're a regular subscriber, you'll notice you've not seen a head-to-toe shot all year. Why? Because I didn't want to be seen. " In 1992 I reached my heaviest, 237 pounds. I was 38. Then, four years ago, I made it a goal to lose weight, and I appeared on the January 2005 cover (left) at a toned 160 pounds. I thought I was finished with the weight battle. I was done. I'd conquered it. I was so sure, I was even cocky. I had the nerve to say to friends who were struggling, "All you have to do is work out harder and eat less! Get your 10,000 steps in! None of that starchy stuff!" Bam! Karma is a bear of a thing. So here I stand, 40 pounds heavier than I was in 2006. (Yes, you're adding correctly; that means the dreaded 2-0-0.) I'm mad at myself. I'm embarrassed. I can't believe that after all these years, all the things I know how to do, I'm still talking about my weight. I look at my thinner self and think, "How did I let this happen again?" It happened slowly. In February 2007, at 53, I started to have some health issues. At first I was unable to sleep for days. My legs started swelling. My weight started creeping up, first 5 pounds, then 10 pounds. I was lethargic and irritable. My internal clock seemed totally out of whack. I began having rushing heart palpitations every time I worked out. Okay, I've never loved daily exercise, but this was different. I actually developed a fear of working out. I was scared that I would pass out. Or worse. I felt as if I didn't know my own body anymore. After many trips to various doctors, I received a diagnosis. I had hyperthyroidism (an overactive thyroid that can speed up metabolism and cause weight loss—but of course didn't make me lose a single pound) and then gradually started moving into hypothyroidism (a sluggish metabolism that can cause fatigue and weight gain). My doctor prescribed medication and warned me that I must "learn to embrace hunger" or I would immediately gain weight. Believe me, no part of me was prepared to embrace hunger. It seemed as if the struggle I'd had with weight my entire adult life was now officially over. I felt completely defeated. I thought, "I give up. I give up. Fat wins." All these years I'd had only myself to blame for lack of willpower. Now I had an official, documented excuse. The thyroid diagnosis felt like some kind of prison sentence. I was so frustrated that I started eating whatever I wanted—and that's never good. My drug of choice is food. I use food for the same reasons an addict uses drugs: to comfort, to soothe, to ease stress. I switched doctors and still gained weight. At one point I was on three medications: one for heart palpitations, another for high blood pressure, another to moderate my thyroid. Who knew this tiny butterfly gland at the base of the throat had so much power? When it's off, your whole body feels the effects. [For more information about thyroid disorders, see The Truth About the Thyroid.] I followed my doctor's orders to the letter (except for the part about working out). I took the prescribed medication religiously at the same time each day. Being medicated, though necessary, made me feel as if I were viewing life through a veil. I felt like an invalid. Everything was duller. I felt like the volume on life got turned down. I realized this to some extent, but I wasn't fully aware of the effect of the medication until I had a conversation with my friend Bob Greene. He'd given up lecturing me about working out and eating well, but we were walking together one day and he said, "I think something's wrong. You're listless. Your movements are slower, even when you're just doing normal stuff. Twice I've told you something and you don't remember it. There's no sparkle in your eyes. I think you're in some sort of depression." Me—depressed? I hadn't thought I was, but definitely something was off. I felt like the life force was being sucked out of me. I always had an excuse for being tired. It took extra effort to do everything. I didn't want to go anywhere, and I didn't want to be seen any more than I had to. I could oversee a show and a magazine that tell people how to live their best lives, but I definitely wasn't setting an example. I was talking the talk, but I wasn't walking the walk. And that was very disappointing to me. Immediately after that conversation with Bob, I called my doctor. "All this medicine is making my life feel like a flat line," I said. So my doctor slowly weaned me off it, except for one aspirin a day. (By the way, never suddenly stop taking prescribed medication, especially heart and blood pressure medication, without checking with your physician.) That choice was the beginning of my road back to health—and back to myself. Regaining my footing hasn't been easy. What is true for every one of you is also true for me: Life's responsibilities don't lessen just because you aren't feeling your best. In my case, the show literally must go on. Many days I didn't feel like going to work, but sick days aren't an option when more than 300 audience members have bought plane tickets and arranged babysitters so they could come to a taping. I think I hit bottom when I wanted to stay home even from a show as fun as the one we did with Tina Turner and Cher in Las Vegas. I was supposed to stand between them onstage, and I felt like a fat cow. I wanted to disappear. "God help me now," I thought. "How can I hide myself?" Later, as I was interviewing both of them about their ages (at the time, Tina was 68 and loved being older; Cher was 61 and didn't), I asked myself, "Who's the real older woman here? I am." They both had more energy than I did. They didn't just sparkle; they glittered. At the close of our 2007–2008 season and the beginning of my summer hiatus, I still had other commitments. I make at least four trips each year to check on my girls in South Africa. No matter what continent they're on, a group of 150 schoolgirls is a lot to manage. By the time I left South Africa, I knew I needed some time to do absolutely nothing. In July I was able to take a break. I went to sleep and woke up whenever I pleased. I sipped soy milk, downed vitamins, snacked on flaxseed, and allowed my body to restore itself. Some days I exercised by walking with my dogs in the hills of Maui; gradually I started working out on the treadmill, at first with a heart monitor to make sure there were no palpitations (it was a black box smaller than a BlackBerry, which I wore on my belt). By the end of the summer, I felt I could do a full hour of cardio without dropping dead. Next I tackled the food addiction, which is ongoing. As far as my daily food choices go, I'm not on any particular program. I've gone back to the commonsense basics we all know: eating less sugar and fewer refined carbs and more fresh, whole foods like fish, spinach, and fruit. But in order not to abuse food, I have to stay fully conscious and aware of every bite, of taking time and chewing slowly. I have to focus on being fully alive, awake, present, and engaged, connected in every area of my life. Right now. What I've learned this year is that my weight issue isn't about eating less or working out harder, or even about a malfunctioning thyroid. It's about my life being out of balance, with too much work and not enough play, not enough time to calm down. I let the well run dry. Here's another thing this past year has been trying to teach me: I don't have a weight problem—I have a self-care problem that manifests through weight. As my friend Marianne Williamson shared with me, "Your overweight self doesn't stand before you craving food. She's craving love." Falling off the wagon isn't a weight issue; it's a love issue. When I stop and ask myself, "What am I really hungry for?" the answer is always "I'm hungry for balance, I'm hungry to do something other than work." If you look at your overscheduled routine and realize, like I did, that you're just going and going and that your work and obligations have become a substitute for life, then you have no one else to blame. Only you can take the reins back. That's what I'm doing. These days I've put myself back on my own priority list; I try to do at least one hour of exercise five or six days a week. As I work out, eat healthfully, and reorder my life so there's time to replenish my energy, I continue to do the spiritual and emotional work to conquer this battle once and for all. My goal isn't to be thin. My goal is for my body to be the weight it can hold—to be strong and healthy and fit, to be itself. My goal is to learn to embrace this body and to be grateful every day for what it has given me. In 2009, dare I, dare all of us give ourselves all the love and care we need to be healthy, to be well, and to be whole? I know for sure that for each moment of this brand new year, I'm gonna try.

https://www.oprah.com/spirit/oprahs-battle-with-weight-gain-o-january-2009-cover/all

The unhealthy truth behind “wellness” and “clean eating”

I spoke about this purity fetish to Nigella Lawson, whose guilt-free approach to eating helped to reconfigure my attitude to food when I was at my most vulnerable. "I despair of the term 'clean eating,'" she said, "though I actually like the food that comes under that banner. ['Clean eating'] necessarily implies that any other form of eating—and consequently the eater of it—is dirty or impure and thus bad, and it's not simply a way of shaming and persecuting others, but leads to that self-shaming and self-persecution that is forcibly detrimental to true healthy eating."

Our diets become a moral issue when this is the food culture we foster, and gluten is just the start of it. "I wish people would recognize [this] before saying, 'Hey, try this cool elimination diet—you've got nothing to lose,'" lamented Alan Levinovitz when I asked him about this modern cult of elimination dieting. "Nothing to lose? No, there's a lot to lose."

https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/jm5nvp/ruby-tandoh-eat-clean-wellness

Why we fell for clean eating

https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2017/aug/11/why-we-fell-for-clean-eating

[hasafraker]

Ride to Work

I think last month was ride your bicycle to work day, week, month or something. I totally missed the boat mostly because I just didn’t have a way to carry all my stuff with me. Rather than kill myself trying for the sake of doing it on the designated day, I have finally gotten what I need to just do it every day. I got a rack and some bags last weekend for my Jamis Coda Elite.

Got a few other things as well, a lock to make sure it stays where I left it. I’ve seen others drop their horse shoe style lock in the rails of the rack, and would you look at that mine fits there perfectly too!

So this last Monday I worked from home, yes its a thing! When I worked for the place that shall not be named, my boss there was very adamant that nobody was allowed to work from home (except him) because he didn’t trust that you would be working. Yeah ok... I got nothing, my new job/boss is like “you will work from home 4 days a week, 1 week a month and if you need to work from home on a particular day for whatever reason just let me know we’ll figure it out.” WOW such forward thinking I don’t know how to act. 

Anyhow so Monday I worked from home, my laptop weighs a TON! It might as well be a legit boat anchor when it comes to carrying this beast on my bicycle. The bags I got (which I will review later for fun) are quite spacious and swallowed the laptop, power supply, headset, change of clothes, towel, lunch box and misc other stuff that I pack to work w/out any problems. 

Now mind you, I’ve been trying to get out and ride 3x a week at the minimum to make sure I am in shape enough to survive the 5 mile ride to work. You laugh, “hah a mere 5miles?! you smell of elder berries!” No really, this is a rough 5 miles. I’ve never lived in a place that was more hill ridden in my life! From the house I ride up hill about a mile to the first main road that runs towards work. Then the next 3.5 miles are flatter but slightly downhill, it’s a decent roll and I can get cranking on it pretty good. The last .5 miles... I should nickname it the murder hill because the grade is ridiculous.

Wednesday mornings ride started out great, yay, riding to work, this will be glorious! I head out, first hill, no big deal, heart pounding, breathing heavy, legs warming up wow the bike feels really heavy lol. As I crest the top of the first big hill and get ready to turn right at the light my legs are really burning. I will say one thing for traffic here in MD is that bicyclists are tolerated really well? Maybe it’s just really pro-bicycle? I’ve only had 1 motorist honk at me and in retrospect she may have been honking at another driver for not letting her get out from behind me. 

Anyhow, so the next stretch I really get going there are a few upward sections that slow me down some but it’s mostly flattish so this is where I make my time, even the roads are in decent shape so I’m not dodging potholes or anything. 

Then I reach the decent before a good downhill section and I attack it with as much energy as I can because I want to carry some speed through to see how far I can get up the hill before I have to start down shifting to keep the wheels moving. I’m in top gear about 1/3rd of the way down because I was already moving pretty fast, now I’m going probably 30+ mph and the FRICKIN LIGHT CHANGES!! GAH! So I downshift because I don’t want the cross traffic to road pizza me and stop at the light panting. Green light and now I’m at the bottom on the hill before the murder hill and I have to climb this section first to get to the real hill... real hill, like this hill is just an illusion that’s kicking my ass? If only that were so. 

So I get up the hill, and again catch another red light and grab a drink while I wait for the light to change. Now this downhill section at the bottom of the murder hill is just long enough for me to get nearly into top gear with some serious effort on my part, but with traffic coming and going on both sides of the road I feel a little like Mad Max now because I’m trying again not to die on my way to work and the motorists only have so much humor when it comes to cyclists so I do try not to surprise them by popping out in front of them without any notice. I manage to slip in behind the last mini van to go by and find a gap in the oncoming cars so I’m able to slip all the way over to the left side of the road because there is a second lane on that side for traffic turning into any of the multiple driveways over there vs a 2′ shoulder on the right side of the road.

So now as I attack the murder hill and shift down into 1st as fast as I can and just try to keep the cranks spinning so the wheels don’t stop I can feel my heart rate climb, my lungs are burning almost as much as my legs and I push myself and push myself and I can feel my breakfast threatening to make another appearance and I tell myself not to think about it and just keep the pedals going and I realize at this point that if I don’t stop I will likely either pass out and fall over or puke, or both, and if I’m really unlucky maybe even a heart attack is lurking in there for me! Ok so I unclip first because I’ve had a number of “OMG I can’t get out of my clips and I’m going to fall now” recently and I don’t want to crash with my new bags and my laptop and all my stuff so yeah at least I had enough brain power left to remember to unclip first. 

I get off the bike and walk it the remaining 200′ to the first driveway that is linked to the work parking lots. I grab another drink, catch my breath a little, hop back on the bike and will my legs back to work again pushing the pedals and off we go, I find a little service road that takes me to another road that seems like it goes off into nowhere so I jump the curb and ride along a volleyball court and come to another drive that comes to the first manned guard access gate. WHEW I’m gonna make it! I get there, badge in and ask for directions to the building where the Gym is located because employees can use the showers there if they need to. Boy do I need to at this point because I’m dripping sweat.

I roll down to that building, another guard nearby directs me to the nearest bike rack, I get locked up, grab my bag with my change of clothes and he then tells me how to find the showers, what a guy! I got showered and dressed and back to the bike. Load back up and now I have like 2 blocks to slow ride cause I’m beat to get to my building and stow my bike and head up to my floor so I can get to work. 

So that was my first day riding to work! The ride home was seemingly easier but I don’t think it really is, the murder hill is fun going back the other way but if you don’t mind the potholes (there are a couple I have discovered) your water bottles will eject from their bottle cage (cage my ass) like little rockets that you may never find again especially if the cars behind you think it’s a game and try to run them over for you... :(  but... the murder hill I can really fly down and carry enough speed to reach the top of the next hill which makes that section easier. Once you head past that and through the next downhill section the long stretch to the last mile to the house is mostly uphill some is not as bad as others but still by the time I got home I was a sweaty mess.

I didn’t let my first day stop me oh no, my second day I got up, got ready and looked outside and it was POURING lmao just my luck, well... we have just 1 car right now, my motorcycle is in the shop getting new brake lines and the bicycle is all I have so I suited up and off I went and soaked to the bone I got, my gear was still fairly wet by the time I went home that day. The benefit to riding in the rain and having showers at work is, I don’t wear a rain cover, who cares I’m not made of sugar right? The rain and wind keep you much cooler so that helps, other wise I’m just soggy which for a long ride would be miserable but 5 miles is totally no big deal.

Then yesterday it was still raining on my way to work but not as hard so that was actually very pleasant I dare say I enjoyed it. However yesterday, I made it up the murder hill without having to get off my bike! Woohoo!! Then last night my wife got done with her job early and offered to come get me at work and just put my bike in the back and I declined, I like riding, I told her it would be fine. It was 86 degrees yesterday when I left work so I was cooking and sweating but again, I enjoy the ride, I like pushing myself it makes me feel alive and I’m hoping in the long run will improve my fitness level and help me bring my weigh back down.

So there you go... I’m riding my bicycle to work now every day, though I do reserve the right to ride my motorcycle on days when it’s pouring because trying to dry my stuff out before the ride home is a bit of a pita lol otherwise, go out there and get it!

If you ever wanted to ride to work and you have the time, that is the big investment here, if you live within 10miles of your job it’s very doable, even 15 if you’re very fit, 20 becomes more trouble because now we’re talking 1hr to 1hr 20 minutes. I needed a rack and panniers because a backpack will put my arms to sleep and I can’t ride like that. I remember what it was like in HS and now I have carpal tunnel and bad arthritis in my thumbs and yeah no not gonna do it. 

I encourage anybody who has the desire, who has a bicycle worthy of the commute, to give it a shot, even if it’s just once, just to say you did, and if you can do it on the bike to work day/week/month well if the area you live in does that sort of thing there could be a free meal and swag in it for you. Here the LBS’s and some local food and sporting goods places are really big on it and get together and have rides and food and it was a little crazy I was sad I missed it.

I will probably start doing bits on my ride to work shenanigans, like how to fix a flat tire or more likely how NOT to fix a flat tire on the side of the road on your way to work and not take too much time so you’re not late hehe. Anyhow my peoples, have a great week, get outside, be happy and healthy!

[myvelouri]

I'm feeling so bad so went to my job to get this awesome nightmare before Christmas figurine set I saved at work when I closed last night. They didn't let me buy it after closing! Such assholes!

So, yeah I ran into my coworker, that one that's younger but she looks alternative as fuck. She's got tattoos, she has thick rimmed glasses, she wears black pants, she looks like she listens to rock lol, but she doesn't really. She's got matte black nails too. I'm clearly too old for her though because she said her parents are strict and would freak out if we hung out or something, I try to hang out with her cause she's actually really fuckin chill. It makes me sad a bit that we can't hang out.

But yeah ffs everytime I go to my job she ends up being there, it's a coincidence, I swear, but I joke around with her you know. And I usually take her shifts if I need any. Other co-workers see me and they think I'm trying to get with her. Look, just cause I'm talking to her doesn't mean I'm trying to fuck her! I actually didn't, but I'm somewhat starting to like her. She just got a fuckin septum piercing! I was like did you always have that and I just didn't notice?! And she's like no this is new. And she had her hair a lil curly but the top pinned back, man she looked cute as fuck, I didn't say anything. But I told her she looks different lmao. I don't know. I told her I paint my nails matte black too, but ppl freak out so I don't anymore.. she said fuck them just do it. Our other annoying coworker came and he was trying to get her to do his work! She wasn't having it. And legit I told him he does the same thing to me. I've even told her he does that! We both get tired of him lol.

I don't know. I'm the one who usually messages her first. Actually the only times she messages me is work related. It sucks. I can tell. So I mean, it might just be that she doesn't want to be close since I'm older or something. I guess. Hm

Oh well.

I still don't feel that much better. I'm so scared of this virus I have. I can't have sex let alone masturbate, for who knows how long. Do you know how devastating that is? And I have to be very careful as my dad is on medicine that totally suppresses his immune system since he has an autoimmune disease, rhumatoid arthritis. Poor Dad. And so yeah, I CAN NOT pass this virus on to him, it would never go away. And I feel like filth. The stress of having to be constantly aware of this... It's taking a toll too. How am I supposed to do this for potentially up to 2 years?... Or forever?... No.. it goes away. I wish I knew how I got it.

My coworker, I would rather call her my friend but I don't know, same gal, she actually got her tattoos the same place I got my ears pierced lmao. She uh, she was interested in hearing about my tattoo ideas so it seems she does like talking to me, you know? She said she wants to have everything done while she can cause in her field of work she can't have these piercings and such. I said by then it'll probably be more acceptable. She's going to be a doctor I believe. Smart ass. I'm trying to be a rock star, but also optometrist. I'd love that.

I wanted to talk to her more but every other co-worker gets all googly eyed. Also I don't want to get her in trouble. So I left.

Idk I'll text her sometime... I'm better at talking to her in person though. Whenever we text she seems to end it abruptly after a bit. Hmmmm idk.

I'm so weird now.

I'm weird as fuck now aren't I?

What the hell man

[raisingawarenesserasingstigmas]

Chrissy Teigen Opens Up for the First Time About Her Postpartum Depression

This post originally appeared here.

by: Chrissy Teigen

When Glamour first told me I was going to be on the cover, I was freaking thrilled. Seriously. As a longtime reader, I couldn’t believe it. I’d always assumed that wearing swimsuits (or half a swimsuit) or having the occasional nip slip (or bit slip) wouldn’t make me the go-to choice for a women’s magazine I not only love but respect.

Yet here I am! Next they asked me to write an essay. I was super into it, but then cringed every time I opened my laptop. Topics? I quickly realized I have truly talked about everything possible. I guess that’s the dilemma one faces when they…well…can’t shut up. I’ve been a chronic oversharer since birth. So I decided I’d talk about something no one really knows about me, mainly because I just learned about it myself. What is it? I’ll get there.

Let me start here: To a lot of you, I think, I seem like the happiest person on the planet. I have an incredible husband—John and I have been together for over 10 years. He has seen my successes and failures; I’ve seen his. He has seen me at my worst, but I will say I don’t think I have ever seen him at his. He’s exactly as compassionate, patient, loving, and understanding as he seems. And I hate it. OK, I don’t hate it. But it can certainly drive you nuts sometimes when you’re as cynical as I am. If I weren’t me, I would politely excuse myself to make the most epic eye roll of all time if a woman talked to me about her significant other the way I just did to you.

When John and I got together, I found my love for cooking. On one of our earliest dates, I took him to Daniel (four dollar signs on Yelp, ahhh!). I drank a $40 margarita, ate salmon rillettes (fancy salmon spread), and prayed my card wouldn’t be declined. I couldn’t afford to take him out to more dinners like that, so I started cooking more and more at home for us. I started with my own version of that salmon spread, then roasted whole branzino, osso buco, chipotle BBQ chicken. When my first cookbook came out, I finally felt proud of my work. I feel that same pride in Lip Sync Battle, where I get to work with LL Cool J and watch Channing Tatum and Jenna Dewan go head-to-head as Beyoncé and motherf-cking Paula Abdul. My job, essentially, is to have the best time humanly possible.

And a year ago, in April, John and I started our family together. We had our daughter, Luna, who is perfect. She is somehow exactly me, exactly John, and exactly herself. I adore her.

I had everything I needed to be happy. And yet, for much of the last year, I felt unhappy. What basically everyone around me—but me—knew up until December was this: I have postpartum depression. How can I feel this way when everything is so great? I’ve had a hard time coming to terms with that, and I hesitated to even talk about this, as everything becomes such a “thing.” During pregnancy, what I thought were casual comments about IVF turned into headlines about me choosing the sex of my daughter. And I can already envision what will be said about me after this admission. But it’s such a major part of my life and so, so many other women’s lives. It would feel wrong to write anything else. So here goes.

I had such a wonderful, energetic pregnancy. Luna sat inside me like a little cross-legged Buddha facing toward my back for nine months. I never saw her face in a sonogram, just her butt or the back of her feet. Every time we kinnnnd of saw a nose, she would quickly dodge, and I was left guessing again. John, my mom, and my sister were all in the delivery room. John was DJ-ing. Luna, fittingly, popped out to the song “Superfly.” The first lyric is “Darkest of night. With the moon shining bright.” I immediately put her on my chest. And she had a face! I was so happy. And exhausted.

After I had Luna, our home was under construction, so we lived in a rental home, then a hotel, and I blamed whatever stress or detachment or sadness I was feeling at that time on the fact that there were so many odd circumstances. I remember thinking: “Maybe I’ll feel better when we have a home.”

I went back to work on Lip Sync Battle in August, when Luna was four months. The show treated me incredibly well—they put a nursery in my dressing room and blew up photos of Luna and John and my family for my wall. When Luna was on set, they lowered the noise levels. They turned down the air so she wouldn’t be cold. Only the most gentle knocking on the door. Pump breaks. I mean, there was no better place to get to go back to work to.

But I was different than before. Getting out of bed to get to set on time was painful. My lower back throbbed; my ­shoulders—even my wrists—hurt. I didn’t have an appetite. I would go two days without a bite of food, and you know how big of a deal food is for me. One thing that really got me was just how short I was with people.

I would be in my dressing room, sitting in a robe, getting hair and makeup done, and a crew member would knock on the door and ask: “Chrissy, do you know the lyrics to this song?” And I would lose it. Or “Chrissy, do you like these cat ears, or these panda hands?” And I’d be like: “Whatever you want. I don’t care.” They would leave. My eyes would well up and I would burst into tears. My makeup artist would pat them dry and give me a few minutes.

I couldn’t figure out why I was so unhappy. I blamed it on being tired and possibly growing out of the role: “Maybe I’m just not a goofy person anymore. Maybe I’m just supposed to be a mom.”

When I wasn’t in the studio, I never left the house. I mean, never. Not even a tiptoe outside. I’d ask people who came inside why they were wet. Was it raining? How would I know—I had every shade closed. Most days were spent on the exact same spot on the couch and rarely would I muster up the energy to make it upstairs for bed. John would sleep on the couch with me, sometimes four nights in a row. I started keeping robes and comfy clothes in the pantry so I wouldn’t have to go upstairs when John went to work. There was a lot of spontaneous crying.

Anytime I was seen out, it was because I had already had work or a work event that day. Meaning I wouldn’t have to muster up the energy to take a shower, because it was already done. It became the same story every day: Unless I had work, John knew there was not a chance in hell we were going on a date, going to the store, going anywhere. I didn’t have the energy.

Before, when I entered a room I had a presence: head high, shoulders back, big smile. Suddenly I had become this person whose shoulders would cower underneath her chin. I would keep my hands on my belly and try to make myself as small as possible.

During that time my bones hurt to the core. I had to go to the hospital; the back pain was so overwhelming. I felt like I was in an episode of Grey’s Anatomy: These kids were around me, asking questions. Maybe it was a kidney infection? No one could figure it out. I saw rheumatoid doctors for the wrist pain; we thought it might be rheumatoid arthritis. I felt nauseated all the time, so I saw a GI doctor. I wondered: Am I making this all up? Is this pain even real anymore?

By December I had started my second cookbook. With the first, I was in the kitchen the whole time. I stirred every pot, tasted everything. Had genuine excitement for Every. Single. Recipe. This one came at the height of my losing my appetite, and the idea of having to test and taste recipes actually made me vomit. I was still on the couch a lot.

Before the holidays I went to my GP for a physical. John sat next to me. I looked at my doctor, and my eyes welled up because I was so tired of being in pain. Of sleeping on the couch. Of waking up throughout the night. Of throwing up. Of taking things out on the wrong people. Of not enjoying life. Of not seeing my friends. Of not having the energy to take my baby for a stroll. My doctor pulled out a book and started listing symptoms. And I was like, “Yep, yep, yep.” I got my diagnosis: postpartum depression and anxiety. (The anxiety explains some of my physical symptoms.)

I remember being so exhausted but happy to know that we could finally get on the path of getting better. John had that same excitement. I started taking an antidepressant, which helped. And I started sharing the news with friends and family—I felt like everyone deserved an explanation, and I didn’t know how else to say it other than the only way I know: just saying it. It got easier and easier to say it aloud every time. (I still don’t really like to say, “I have postpartum depression,” because the word depressionscares a lot of people. I often just call it “postpartum.” Maybe I should say it, though. Maybe it will lessen the stigma a bit.)

I wanted to write an open letter to friends and employers to explain why I had been so unhappy. The mental pain of knowing I let so many people down at once was worse than the physical pain. To have people that you respect, who are the best in the business, witness you at your worst is tough. Even though this was something I shouldn’t have to apologize for, I did want to apologize. Because on a set, people depend on you. A lot of people are coming together and all you have to do, Christine, is put on a unicorn head and shoot a money gun. Editors are wondering what the f-ck happened to the girl they gave a book deal to. This shit was flying through my head and I felt horrible.

I actually did write my executive producer on Lip Sync Battle, Casey Patterson. She is one of the most amazing women in this universe and I never doubted she would understand. She told me she had noticed and was always here for me. I had to postpone my second cookbook, but my editor, Francis Lam, and publisher couldn’t have been more understanding. To go from discussing layouts and recipes and shoot days to a complete “off” switch was, I’m sure, not a great thing to hear. But, again, I cannot overstate how lucky I am to work with these people.

Before this, I had never, ever—in my whole entire life—had one person say to me: “I have postpartum depression.” Growing up in the nineties, I associated postpartum depression with Susan Smith [a woman now serving life in prison for killing her two sons; her lawyer argued that she suffered from a long history of depression], with people who didn’t like their babies or felt like they had to harm their children. I didn’t have anything remotely close to those feelings. I looked at Luna every day, amazed by her. So I didn’t think I had it.

I also just didn’t think it could happen to me. I have a great life. I have all the help I could need: John, my mother (who lives with us), a nanny. But postpartum does not discriminate. I couldn’t control it. And that’s part of the reason it took me so long to speak up: I felt selfish, icky, and weird saying aloud that I’m struggling. Sometimes I still do.

I know I might sound like a whiny, entitled girl. Plenty of people around the world in my situation have no help, no family, no access to medical care. I can’t imagine not being able to go to the doctors that I need. It’s hurtful to me to know that we have a president who wants to rip health care away from women. I look around every day and I don’t know how people do it. I’ve never had more respect for mothers, especially mothers with postpartum depression.

I’m speaking up now because I want people to know it can happen to anybody and I don’t want people who have it to feel embarrassed or to feel alone. I also don’t want to pretend like I know everything about postpartum depression, because it can be different for everybody. But one thing I do know is that—for me—just merely being open about it helps. This has become my open letter.

As I’m writing this, in February, I am a much different human than I was even just in December. I’m over a month into taking my antidepressant, and I just got the name of a therapist who I am planning to start seeing. Let’s be honest though—I probably needed therapy way before Luna!

Like anyone, with PPD or without, I have really good days and bad days. I will say, though, right now, all of the really bad days—the days that used to be all my days—are gone.

There are weeks when I still don’t leave the house for days; then I’m randomly at the Super Bowl or Grammys. (This is cringeworthily unrelatable, and I am very aware of that—it’s giving me anxiety.) Physically, I still don’t have energy for a lot of things, but a lot of new moms deal with this. Just crawling around with Luna can be hard. My back pain has gotten better, but my hands and wrists still hurt. And it can still be tough for me to stomach food some days. But I’m dealing.

I’m grateful for the people around me. John has been incredible over the last nine months, bringing me my medicine and watching horrible reality TV with me. He is not the goofiest guy, but he has gone out of his way to indulge my sense of humor. When I was having a good day, he would go to Medieval Times with me and put on the crazy period hat! He sees how much my eyes light up when he does that stuff, and he knows that’s what I need. I know he must look over at times and think: My God, get it together. But he has never made me feel that way. He wants me to be happy, silly, and energetic again, but he’s not making me feel bad when I’m not in that place. I love John and Luna more than I can imagine loving anything, and John and I still hope to give Luna a few siblings. Postpartum hasn’t changed that.

More than anything, I always want to have enough energy for Luna—to run up the stairs with her, to have tea parties with her. As she gets older, she’s becoming more and more fun. Her eyes are getting so wide, and I want to be there for those wide eyes. And I will be.

Phew! I’ve hated hiding this from you. XX, Chrissy

Postpartum depression is a common medical condition and, as Chrissy notes, symptoms can vary. Click here for information on diagnosis and treatment. To read more stories from women who have struggled with postpartum depression, click here.

Photograph by: Miguel Reveriego

[i-am-very-very-tired]

Chrissy Teigen, 31, is many things: a Sports Illustrated cover girl, a New York Times best-selling cookbook author, a host of the Emmy-nominated TV series Lip Sync Battle and the soon-to-be designer of a fashion line with Revolve. But she’s best known for what her husband, John Legend, calls her: “smart mouth.” She opines on everything from politics to stretch marks, 140 characters a time on Twitter. And her commentary is often so “you took the words out of my mouth!” that all you have to do is hit RT and add the word “PREACH.” What women love about Teigen is that she is, as she admits, “an open book.” She will show off a perfect seared duck breast—and tell you she accidentally sliced off her fingertip on a mandoline. Ask her about the wildest place she’s had sex? She’ll answer. (An airplane.) She approaches any topic with that same raw, real candor. But there’s one thing she hasn’t shared yet: After giving birth to her daughter, Luna, last April, Teigen developed postpartum depression, a condition affecting one in nine women, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. In this exclusive essay for Glamour, she talks about her experience, why she kept it private, and how she’s doing now. And she is as raw and real as ever. Over to you, Chrissy. When Glamour first told me I was going to be on the cover, I was freaking thrilled. Seriously. As a longtime reader, I couldn’t believe it. I’d always assumed that wearing swimsuits (or half a swimsuit) or having the occasional nip slip (or bit slip) wouldn’t make me the go-to choice for a women’s magazine I not only love but respect. Yet here I am! Next they asked me to write an essay. I was super into it, but then cringed every time I opened my laptop. Topics? I quickly realized I have truly talked about everything possible. I guess that’s the dilemma one faces when they…well…can’t shut up. I’ve been a chronic oversharer since birth. So I decided I’d talk about something no one really knows about me, mainly because I just learned about it myself. What is it? I’ll get there. Let me start here: To a lot of you, I think, I seem like the happiest person on the planet. I have an incredible husband—John and I have been together for over 10 years. He has seen my successes and failures; I’ve seen his. He has seen me at my worst, but I will say I don’t think I have ever seen him at his. He’s exactly as compassionate, patient, loving, and understanding as he seems. And I hate it. OK, I don’t hate it. But it can certainly drive you nuts sometimes when you’re as cynical as I am. If I weren’t me, I would politely excuse myself to make the most epic eye roll of all time if a woman talked to me about her significant other the way I just did to you. When John and I got together, I found my love for cooking. On one of our earliest dates, I took him to Daniel (four dollar signs on Yelp, ahhh!). I drank a $40 margarita, ate salmon rillettes (fancy salmon spread), and prayed my card wouldn’t be declined. I couldn’t afford to take him out to more dinners like that, so I started cooking more and more at home for us. I started with my own version of that salmon spread, then roasted whole branzino, osso buco, chipotle BBQ chicken. When my first cookbook came out, I finally felt proud of my work. I feel that same pride in Lip Sync Battle, where I get to work with LL Cool J and watch Channing Tatum and Jenna Dewan go head-to-head as Beyoncé and motherf-cking Paula Abdul. My job, essentially, is to have the best time humanly possible. And a year ago, in April, John and I started our family together. We had our daughter, Luna, who is perfect. She is somehow exactly me, exactly John, and exactly herself. I adore her. I had everything I needed to be happy. And yet, for much of the last year, I felt unhappy. What basically everyone around me—but me—knew up until December was this: I have postpartum depression. How can I feel this way when everything is so great? I’ve had a hard time coming to terms with that, and I hesitated to even talk about this, as everything becomes such a “thing.” During pregnancy, what I thought were casual comments about IVF turned into headlines about me choosing the sex of my daughter. And I can already envision what will be said about me after this admission. But it’s such a major part of my life and so, so many other women’s lives. It would feel wrong to write anything else. So here goes. I had such a wonderful, energetic pregnancy. Luna sat inside me like a little cross-legged Buddha facing toward my back for nine months. I never saw her face in a sonogram, just her butt or the back of her feet. Every time we kinnnnd of saw a nose, she would quickly dodge, and I was left guessing again. John, my mom, and my sister were all in the delivery room. John was DJ-ing. Luna, fittingly, popped out to the song “Superfly.” The first lyric is “Darkest of night. With the moon shining bright.” I immediately put her on my chest. And she had a face! I was so happy. And exhausted. After I had Luna, our home was under construction, so we lived in a rental home, then a hotel, and I blamed whatever stress or detachment or sadness I was feeling at that time on the fact that there were so many odd circumstances. I remember thinking: “Maybe I’ll feel better when we have a home.” I went back to work on Lip Sync Battle in August, when Luna was four months. The show treated me incredibly well—they put a nursery in my dressing room and blew up photos of Luna and John and my family for my wall. When Luna was on set, they lowered the noise levels. They turned down the air so she wouldn’t be cold. Only the most gentle knocking on the door. Pump breaks. I mean, there was no better place to get to go back to work to. But I was different than before. Getting out of bed to get to set on time was painful. My lower back throbbed; my ­shoulders—even my wrists—hurt. I didn’t have an appetite. I would go two days without a bite of food, and you know how big of a deal food is for me. One thing that really got me was just how short I was with people. I would be in my dressing room, sitting in a robe, getting hair and makeup done, and a crew member would knock on the door and ask: “Chrissy, do you know the lyrics to this song?” And I would lose it. Or “Chrissy, do you like these cat ears, or these panda hands?” And I’d be like: “Whatever you want. I don’t care.” They would leave. My eyes would well up and I would burst into tears. My makeup artist would pat them dry and give me a few minutes. I couldn’t figure out why I was so unhappy. I blamed it on being tired and possibly growing out of the role: “Maybe I’m just not a goofy person anymore. Maybe I’m just supposed to be a mom.” When I wasn’t in the studio, I never left the house. I mean, never. Not even a tiptoe outside. I’d ask people who came inside why they were wet. Was it raining? How would I know—I had every shade closed. Most days were spent on the exact same spot on the couch and rarely would I muster up the energy to make it upstairs for bed. John would sleep on the couch with me, sometimes four nights in a row. I started keeping robes and comfy clothes in the pantry so I wouldn’t have to go upstairs when John went to work. There was a lot of spontaneous crying. Anytime I was seen out, it was because I had already had work or a work event that day. Meaning I wouldn’t have to muster up the energy to take a shower, because it was already done. It became the same story every day: Unless I had work, John knew there was not a chance in hell we were going on a date, going to the store, going anywhere. I didn’t have the energy. Before, when I entered a room I had a presence: head high, shoulders back, big smile. Suddenly I had become this person whose shoulders would cower underneath her chin. I would keep my hands on my belly and try to make myself as small as possible. During that time my bones hurt to the core. I had to go to the hospital; the back pain was so overwhelming. I felt like I was in an episode of Grey’s Anatomy: These kids were around me, asking questions. Maybe it was a kidney infection? No one could figure it out. I saw rheumatoid doctors for the wrist pain; we thought it might be rheumatoid arthritis. I felt nauseated all the time, so I saw a GI doctor. I wondered: Am I making this all up? Is this pain even real anymore? By December I had started my second cookbook. With the first, I was in the kitchen the whole time. I stirred every pot, tasted everything. Had genuine excitement for Every. Single. Recipe. This one came at the height of my losing my appetite, and the idea of having to test and taste recipes actually made me vomit. I was still on the couch a lot. Before the holidays I went to my GP for a physical. John sat next to me. I looked at my doctor, and my eyes welled up because I was so tired of being in pain. Of sleeping on the couch. Of waking up throughout the night. Of throwing up. Of taking things out on the wrong people. Of not enjoying life. Of not seeing my friends. Of not having the energy to take my baby for a stroll. My doctor pulled out a book and started listing symptoms. And I was like, “Yep, yep, yep.” I got my diagnosis: postpartum depression and anxiety. (The anxiety explains some of my physical symptoms.) I remember being so exhausted but happy to know that we could finally get on the path of getting better. John had that same excitement. I started taking an antidepressant, which helped. And I started sharing the news with friends and family—I felt like everyone deserved an explanation, and I didn’t know how else to say it other than the only way I know: just saying it. It got easier and easier to say it aloud every time. (I still don’t really like to say, “I have postpartum depression,” because the word depression scares a lot of people. I often just call it “postpartum.” Maybe I should say it, though. Maybe it will lessen the stigma a bit.) I wanted to write an open letter to friends and employers to explain why I had been so unhappy. The mental pain of knowing I let so many people down at once was worse than the physical pain. To have people that you respect, who are the best in the business, witness you at your worst is tough. Even though this was something I shouldn’t have to apologize for, I did want to apologize. Because on a set, people depend on you. A lot of people are coming together and all you have to do, Christine, is put on a unicorn head and shoot a money gun. Editors are wondering what the f-ck happened to the girl they gave a book deal to. This shit was flying through my head and I felt horrible. I actually did write my executive producer on Lip Sync Battle, Casey Patterson. She is one of the most amazing women in this universe and I never doubted she would understand. She told me she had noticed and was always here for me. I had to postpone my second cookbook, but my editor, Francis Lam, and publisher couldn’t have been more understanding. To go from discussing layouts and recipes and shoot days to a complete “off” switch was, I’m sure, not a great thing to hear. But, again, I cannot overstate how lucky I am to work with these people. Before this, I had never, ever—in my whole entire life—had one person say to me: “I have postpartum depression.” Growing up in the nineties, I associated postpartum depression with Susan Smith [a woman now serving life in prison for killing her two sons; her lawyer argued that she suffered from a long history of depression], with people who didn’t like their babies or felt like they had to harm their children. I didn’t have anything remotely close to those feelings. I looked at Luna every day, amazed by her. So I didn’t think I had it. I also just didn’t think it could happen to me. I have a great life. I have all the help I could need: John, my mother (who lives with us), a nanny. But postpartum does not discriminate. I couldn’t control it. And that’s part of the reason it took me so long to speak up: I felt selfish, icky, and weird saying aloud that I’m struggling. Sometimes I still do. I know I might sound like a whiny, entitled girl. Plenty of people around the world in my situation have no help, no family, no access to medical care. I can’t imagine not being able to go to the doctors that I need. It’s hurtful to me to know that we have a president who wants to rip health care away from women. I look around every day and I don’t know how people do it. I’ve never had more respect for mothers, especially mothers with postpartum depression. I’m speaking up now because I want people to know it can happen to anybody and I don’t want people who have it to feel embarrassed or to feel alone. I also don’t want to pretend like I know everything about postpartum depression, because it can be different for everybody. But one thing I do know is that—for me—just merely being open about it helps. This has become my open letter. As I’m writing this, in February, I am a much different human than I was even just in December. I’m over a month into taking my antidepressant, and I just got the name of a therapist who I am planning to start seeing. Let’s be honest though—I probably needed therapy way before Luna! Like anyone, with PPD or without, I have really good days and bad days. I will say, though, right now, all of the really bad days—the days that used to be all my days—are gone. There are weeks when I still don’t leave the house for days; then I’m randomly at the Super Bowl or Grammys. (This is cringeworthily unrelatable, and I am very aware of that—it’s giving me anxiety.) Physically, I still don’t have energy for a lot of things, but a lot of new moms deal with this. Just crawling around with Luna can be hard. My back pain has gotten better, but my hands and wrists still hurt. And it can still be tough for me to stomach food some days. But I’m dealing. I’m grateful for the people around me. John has been incredible over the last nine months, bringing me my medicine and watching horrible reality TV with me. He is not the goofiest guy, but he has gone out of his way to indulge my sense of humor. When I was having a good day, he would go to Medieval Times with me and put on the crazy period hat! He sees how much my eyes light up when he does that stuff, and he knows that’s what I need. I know he must look over at times and think: My God, get it together. But he has never made me feel that way. He wants me to be happy, silly, and energetic again, but he’s not making me feel bad when I’m not in that place. I love John and Luna more than I can imagine loving anything, and John and I still hope to give Luna a few siblings. Postpartum hasn’t changed that. More than anything, I always want to have enough energy for Luna—to run up the stairs with her, to have tea parties with her. As she gets older, she’s becoming more and more fun. Her eyes are getting so wide, and I want to be there for those wide eyes. And I will be. Phew! I’ve hated hiding this from you. XX, Chrissy Postpartum depression is a common medical condition and, as Chrissy notes, symptoms can vary. Click here for information on diagnosis and treatment. To read more stories from women who have struggled with postpartum depression, click here.

[pargafarn]

Miko ch.2

Miko waited patiently for Mrs. Nagasawa to turn around. As she wasn't sure if Mrs. Nagasawa had heard her, Miko tilted her head and walked around the bed to look her into the face. She saw her eyes under some frills of hair lost in thoughts. With Miko appearing in her field vision, it made her shrugged violently all of a sudden seeing someone in front of herself. Miko bowed down to her eye level. " I am very sorry! " Miko strained and apologize directly.   Mrs. Nagasawa sat up straight into a comfortable position and fold the blanket.  She was already dressed up, wearing a green top and blue jeans and made a comforting gesture everything was fine and Miko relaxed again " It's wasn't my intention to scare you. " Mrs. Nagasawas stroked her bangs out of the face and reviled her eyes to Miko. They had the same color as her auburn hair and her facial features were soft defined. She gave the impression of someone, who could be easily overlooked. But there was something else on this matured woman, that made Miko couldn't grasp and let her stare at more rather than looking. And as she noticed the changing expression on Mrs. Nagasawa's face, Miko looked hastily away for a moment to read something on the Anamnesis arch she clung too, to not feel awkward or may cause a wrong first impression " It was my fault, I was lost in thought after a phone call and now I am not sure what to do. " Hearing this Miko was worried something has happened and wanted to ask, but Mrs. Nagasawa took the word before Miko had a chance. " I guess you have a reason for paying me a visit? " Mrs. Nagasawa's voice was fondly and her calm smile was the smile of a woman who accepts life the way it goes. Miko knew this kind of smile very well. It reminds her of her mother's smile, she used to have before she died, whenever something occurred in her life, like arthritis and couldn't do anything else than accept it. Even so, it was painful and her mother stopped working from it. She never let herself go and showing this strength, Miko devoted to it and would become as strong as her mother was one day. Deep underneath, however, the smile of her mother was a mask to cover pain, she never wanted to show and now she saw the same kind of smile again. On the other hand, whenever she thought of her mother lately, it made her feel good and gave her the strength when she was struggling. Her grandma told her, it was simply anxiety of young people, so it was nothing she had to worry about and Miko straightens her back showing Mrs. Nagasawa could trust her. " If something happened, please let the hospital staff know. ? " Said Miko worried. " It has nothing to do with the hospital... " Reiko Nagasawa dug her fingers into the fabric of the blanket. "  I just got a call from my daughter. " The blink moment of hesitating told Miko it was obvious a lie. She didn't know much of the woman except what she read and her body language speaks for itself about the rest. But the smile and she miserably try to change the subject, was an indication something more was behind it. " If it has nothing to do with the hospital, why were you so Absent-minded. " Could it be an after effect of the skull trauma? Thought Miko. The facial expression of sadness on Mrs. Nagasawa's face suddenly occurs and let Miko shouts at herself silent.  She made a mistake. She shouldn't force herself into other people's life. It was her job to be there if patients need aid and if there want to talk about something that could stand in connection with the accident,  brought them into the hospital, the beginning there should make, not the staff. " As mention before.  My name is Miko Benjiro. " She started over again, from the beginning. "  I am the nurse allocated to you. So if you have any kind question or I can help you with something. Please let me know? I am here all day and over the course of the time you are a resident of the hospital, you can let me know anything. If you want to talk, I will be there Mrs.  " " You can call me Reiko, " Interrupted Mrs. Nagasama her. " You are a very kind young woman and I am glad you care so much for me. But you don't have to. You probably have a lot of other patients who, need more aid than I do. " Miko shacked her head and pulled a chair next to the bed and sat done and crossed her legs. " My duty goes beyond just that. It's our duty as nurses, to make the patients feel better as soon as possible, so their can leave the hospital. You can say it's a care for body and soul and since you don't have any medical Care needs, besides monitoring whether the trauma could have after effects. I would like to devote the same amount of time as to every other patient, I am taking care of. Even it's just talking. Like we do right now. " " You probably right. " It made Miko chuckled as Reiko cross folded her hands on the blanket and showed no sight of nervous anymore. Glad to be able to correct her mistake, Miko shifted the weight of her body and pattern her hair bun. " Then I would like to talk with you a bit. " Requested Reiko. " About what would you like to talk? " Asked Miko and looked Reiko in the face as she brushed through her cropped auburn hair on the left side of her face as it was all flat from lying on the side not long ago. " Mh... " Reiko thought for a moment and Miko pattern her build up bun at the back of her head more to see if it has moved. But it wasn't, it was all still in place.   " Tell me about you and how did you become a nurse? " Reiko asked then. Miko stopped touching her hair. " I studied medicine at the Osaka City University Faculty of Medicine because of my mother. " She explained. " Was it her wish? " Asked Reiko curious more into, as Miko brought her mother up. " No, it was mine. " Added Miko. " What brought you to the decision of studying medicine? " " It's fascinating for me to know, how to help people.  " Explained Miko composed. " That's a noble goal. " Said Reiko honestly impressed. " Unfortunately my mother died when I was studying and it throws me off for a long time and I stopped going to the university. " " I am sorry to hear this dear. I shouldn't have asked. " Reiko reached out for one of Mikos' hands and touched it with a kind gesture to comfort her. " It's fine. Please don't feel young? for it, that was several years ago. It's been a long time and I am fine with my job as a nurse. Really! " Miko raised her voice at the last word a bit to show she really mean it. " Ok. I understand. But allow me one questions? " " Yes? " " Why did she have a heart attack? " Asked Reiko carefully. " It happened at a routine examination. Because of her medical condition of having a chronic disease of her wrists and fingers, she had to consult her doctor now and then for therapy and medicine.  Her overall health condition was not the best, to begin with. So it was foresighted kinda, to suffer one someday and it would be the best for her to stop working and keeping activities less tiring to spare her weak heart. What caused the heart attack, in the end, I don't really know. But since her heart was so weak, it may refuse to working at some point and first aid attempts, couldn't change this.  It was a shock, to begin with. But now I am no longer sad, thankfully, I am no longer sad. I carry a part of her within me. " " And that is? " Reiko listens considerate but interrupted at this point. " I am her child. " Miko crooked her head and smiled. " My mother will be always with me, I share the same blood with her. No matter what happen. " " You stronger than you look. I wouldn't be so sure, I had the same amount strength you carry if this happened to me. " Said Reiko honest. Miko looked questioned at her. " You don't look to me weak at all? " Some people look tougher than there pregnant are. I see myself as one of them. If something so tragic happened to me, I wouldn't know if I could stand up again. " " But you are a matured woman? "Tried Miko. " Age doesn't matter, it's a number. Like the code for your bank account or your password for your e-mail account. It's more important how old your heart and mind is."  Added Reiko and Miko nod. She didn't know who to reply else. " You see, even with my thirty-six, I am may be older than you. But fears will keep haunting you and occurs your whole life, It's us to learn to not let them get us so easy. " " So it's basic experience that ages us and not the biology? " Reiko smiled glad Miko seems to understood. " Yes. No matter how old you are and think you are matured. It can always strike. It can happen to your ten, twenty or in the thirty age self and beyond. Sometimes, even when you think you strong, small crumbs can cause a collapse of your stable emotions and throw you off. Experience help us to get fast back on the feeds again and keep walking with open eyes in the world.  " What Reiko Nagasawa just told, made Miko think for a while and a moment of silent settled down over the patient room like the blanket under Reiko's hands, as it was thin as air and silent every noise in the room. " That's very interesting. Could you easily teach philosophy instead working in a grocery store? " Reiko looked passed Miko out of the window and the curtains blowing like waves on the ocean. " Maybe I would. No. " She looked back at Miko. " It was over twenty years ago. I made a decision, that directed my life. Regretting every decision in my life, I would only fall into depression. " " What was the decision? " Now it was Miko's turn to asked questions. " Back when I was a teenager and almost graduated school. I made a stupid decision. Looking back, however,  I don't regret the decision, letting carelessness and curiosity taught me better as a kid and turned into pregnancy. Else I wouldn't have a wonderful daughter today. After graduation, I didn't found work. No one wanted to hire me as I was still pregnant, so I started to work temporary substitute untile I gave birth to her. I was seventeen years old and already a mother. I spend three years working like this, untile the owner of the store, I still work today asked me if I wanted to be employed as a saleswoman. I was overwhelmed and accepted. " " You are pristine and bear witness of true strength. It's remarkable. " " You think so? " Reiko narrowed her eyebrows unsure about it.   Miko nod. " Definitely " " Then we both may, can learn from each other. " Smiled Reiko and both shared a laugh.

Doctor Yamato stood in the hallways and rubbed his eyes. Steaming hot coffee stood in the window sill of the breakroom and slide with his index finger his glasses back on the bridge of his nose. " I wonder how Miko is doing? I didn't give her this patient for no reason... " He inhaled and then grasped his coffee. " Doctor Yamato. Are you here? " He inhaled and turned his head. It was Akito entering the room. " Yes? " He said and coughed and massaged his throat. " What's the matter, I am on break. " and turned around completely to her. " I didn't know you were on break. " " Now you do. " Yamato took a sip of his coffee to oil his throat. " So, how can I help? " Doctor Yamato watched her as she came around the table and stopped next to him. " I wanted to talk about Miko with you. " " I know you two have a difficult relationship. " He said, directly. " However if you two have problems, it's something between the two of you and does not involves me. I may be the senior doctor of the hospital. But as long it does not affect your work. I will keep myself out of it. You doing fine work here Akito and you one of our best nurses, so you should know better than everyone else, how hard it can be for a newly employed nurse, to become part of the team.  " Yamato took the other sip of his coffee. " I am not talking here just about myself. " Akito said pleading That was even new to him. " Then, who else? " " It's not just me, some of the nurses are finding that you treat her, different. Privileged. That's why I came to you and wanted to talk about this with you Doctor Yamato. He lends her a hand now and then, maybe it has become too much in the past weeks? That it has become obvious already? " " I do not prefer anyone here. " He crosses fold his arms and narrowed his eyebrows. " I care about my assistants just as much as the patients. When I see someone doing good work, I want this employee to feel part of the whole. What we do here is an emotional and physically demanding job. Miko is new and so you were when you started to work two years ago as a nurse as well. Give her some time and not force her. We all different entities. You do not talk about her again when she is not present. And so she will not talk about you when you are not present. Do you understand me? " Akito nod and bit her lips. " But Doctor. " " Didn't I made myself clear about this?  " Yamato raised his eyebrows. " You did and you said yourself, you care about every employee. But what you doing right now is defending her. " " Yes, i do. " He interrupted her. " Your work is exemplary, but you're doing meddling in matters that do not concern you. How would you feel, when someone always tries to correct you, when you do know how the work is needed to be done? " "  So you should listen to us as well. More we don't. " " I understand. " Yamato cut her off. He knows, what Akito was telling him, was right. Right now he just didn't want to deal with it, he doesn't need problems at work too. The divorce with his wife was more than enough. " Answer my question for yourself. This conversation is over. If we talk about this ever again, it will have consequents. "

                                                  The is new content for 2017 A story, I started to mind about in 2016, but never found the right words to start. Hope you like it. If you like to read more please comment. It's highly approchiated if you fav it. Thank you very much in advance. Characters & Story© me PargaFarn Facebook Twitter Trumblr Patreon