#that scene with them outside her home followed by her with her mom immediately afterward - yeah i loved it

[pineforphantompain]

This show could actually be mostly enjoyable (still aside from that one character - it wasn’t bad enough to just be racially insensitive, Dal Sik just has to be uncomfortably creepy and gross as well huh?) if they just didn’t go for a romance with the leads?? Like even if she still has a crush on him at first (just less obsessive), but they develop a completely platonic (maybe almost familial) relationship? We could have convenience store shenanigans, silly misunderstandings, the sisters becoming a part of the family, while the two leads have separate, less concerning and more age-appropriate romances.

[bangtanpromptsfics]

pyxis.

dialogue prompt #9: “Cheer up it's Christmas Eve, sweetheart”

pairing: jimin x reader

genre: christmas au, brother's best friend au, fluff, childhood friends to lovers

word count: 3,412 (oh no)

warnings: reader is a lil sad but nothing angsty tho

summary: christmas was always an eager wait. less for the tree decorations, family dinner and the fuss of toddlers. more for your childhood best friend who you kissed under a mistletoe years back.

a/n: ahhh!!! I'm not completely satisfied with how this turned out to be. the inspiration was from a few christmas themed fics I read here and the movie ‘It's Christmas, Eve’. anyway this was my attempt though it's nowhere near christmas time. one of my personal goals is to celebrate a christmas like the west, the snow, the fuss and the commotion ;-;. Also I lost sense of time and space and this turned out to be 3k ;-;

masterlist

“Cheer up it's christmas eve, sweetheart”, your mother chimes as she pours brown batter into little cupcake moulds.

You simply smile at her, the festive mood not really getting to you because of exhaustion. Uni was tough, and enjoying this Christmas when you know you have tons of essays due in a few days was hammering inside your brain every now and then.

“Is that chocolate?”, you ask, leaning your tired body on the counter where she is at work.

“And orange”, she smiles, turning around to preheat the oven.

“Where's Jin”. Though you hated the routinely flicks against your forehead, the absence of your big brother felt weird.

“He went with Jimin to get the Christmas tree”.

The mention of Jimin brings a smile to your face. His soft features and captivating grin filling your head. If there was one of the few things you enjoyed coming back to your hometown for holidays, it's chocolate cupcakes your mom bakes and Jimin.

His family are friends with yours after all. You, Jin and Jimin attended the same school until college and other priorities in life drift you apart. Though the bond must have rusted a bit, you can't deny the fact that you still have that crush which started somewhere in middle school, on a chritmas eve like this when he kissed your cheeks shyly under the mistletoe. Your friends and family, and even Jimin himself must have seen it nothing more than platonic, but you still find yourself relieving the moment in your head however crazy it may sound.

Standing up straight, you decide to fix your bed hair and complete the skincare routine before the said duo drops.

“Mrs. Y/L/n...”, Jimin softly kicks the back door. He is carrying one end of a huge fir, and your brother on the other end, grunting from the freezing snow outside.

“Oh dear place it right there”, you mother is quick to her feet helping the boys and doing her usual commentary on how well the tree looked.

Jimin looks more handsome than ever, especially with his nose and cheeks dusted in scarlet from the cold. He looks really huggable in his fluffy sweaters and red beanie. Jin is busy commanding around so you choose to sit back, a very typical sibling energy and the size of decoration boxes and the tree itself not really appetizing to your will to find any strength.

“Hey Y/n!”, Jimin stares back at your eyes in a split moment which has your lashes fluttering suddenly. You probably look like you are carrying a disease and right now you become very hyper aware of that.

“You alright? You look tired”, he comments. You feel his eyes carefully studying the black under your eyes and worrying his mind because that's what he is like. He cares about everyone and everything, has a heart so soft it hurts to even think about it.

“Jet lag...”, you say, “I'll be fine”. You shoot a little thumbs up on his way to reassure.

“Why didn't Jin get the tree earlier? It's Christmas in a few hours”, you dodge the focus around you and walk near in an attempt to closely examine the tree for no reason other than feeling Jimin’s eyes a little too long on you.

Your brother gets visibly annoyed seeing you start a very unnecessary talk. So he is completely obliged to shoot back with, “Because you were in charge of Christmas decorations this year but your lazy ass flew down here only yesterday”.

“You know I was busy with Uni!”

“Whatever”, he shrugs, getting back to the box of tree decorations. You feel a little bad seeing yourself not being helpful during a festive season. It felt like you were procrastinating on your responsibilities as always.

“Um...is there any way I can help?”, you ask softly, earning a mischievous grin from Jin and your mom fills in the answer.

“We need more baubles. Also I missed out gifts for Aerum and June, so maybe you can get them”. Now this was already tiring and you were not lying earlier either, the jet lag was still choking you alive. You wonder if the huge pile of stars and glitters beside your foot aren't enough but then maybe it's true because this is the largest fir you ever saw for Christmas in your house. And speaking of the five year old notorious duo, your cousins-- Aerum and June, you have no other option than to step out into the butt numbing cold and get something for the sake of not getting your brains eaten.

While you stand there doing these calculations, Jimin puts a two and two and immediately suggests to tag along with you.

“That'd be great! Thanks sweetie”, your mom chimes, her fine lines of face gathering around her eyes while she does so and you catch her throwing a wink to your side and you pretend you never saw that.

“Thank you Jimin”, you smile in all honesty while he reciprocates the same.

“No problem. I'll get my car. Will you be ready in an hour? I think you just woke up”

“Uh...yeah”, you fake a laugh, “Yes I'll be ready in an hour”

Jimin still lives here in your hometown, attends a community college nearby and his house is just a few steps away from your own. You remember how you had the same analogy in your mind as well. You like living here. You like Jimin’s company. The lake Park and the annual ice skating competition in December and the bookstores and coffee shops at the outskirts of the town. And you can't seem to clearly remember when and where that feeling started to become foreign. Maybe it was a teenage quirk to explore the world that you are now a three hour flight away from all of this. It wasn't a deep regret, but seeing Jimin, it almost felt like it. It felt like you betrayed him. Because he seemed to be keeping his word to this day.

This year, it's a few degrees lower than what it usually is and you find yourself chattering your teeth together as you walk to Jimin’s house.

His footsteps rush to get the door as soon as you ring the doorbell and he greets with the same wide grin as if he hasn't just saw you an hour ago.

“Let's go?”, he asks immediately, getting house keys from his coat pocket and locking the front door before stepping out making you confused.

“There's no one home? Where are your parents?”

“Oh well didn't Mrs. Y/L/n tell you?”, he studies your features and gets his response so he continues “They went to New York this year for Christmas. It's some elder people thing I think...so I'll be spending Christmas this year with your family”

“Really!?”, you chime, and then immediately notice a very childish jump you did with tiny fists and all, feeling a little embarrassed at yourself, “Ah... uh I mean that's great”.

“Yeah”, he giggles, sounding like a twelve year old who is still waiting for his growth spurt, “Get in the car it's freezing in here”.

Since it's been six odd months you've spoken to Jimin, you figured it would would be strange and awkward to be with him, but his demeanor states otherwise. He could effortlessly begin conversations and build momentum with you and by the time you are at a thrift store, he is aware of the little gist of student life and the dramatically exaggerated history research paper still due.

“What are you getting for the twins?”, he asks, seeing you checking out the kids toys section with absolutely no idea and that's exactly what you reply to him.

“How about this puzzle?”, he brings a big jigsaw to your glance and you figure it's a great thing to have their little brains engaged and give yourself time to breathe.

“It's perfect!”, you add, immediately placing it your cart with a few decors you picked up from earlier aisles.

Jimin places an extra pack of Christmas candies in the cart, and you send him a questionable look knowing it's his way of bribing the kids coming this evening. He puts too much effort into people's happiness, something you wish you were capable of as well.

The shopping went smooth. It was therapeutic to get hot chocolate with extra marshmallows afterwards like he insisted followed by that very cliche movie scene where one of them develops a creme moustache and the other notices and dabs it off.

You want this moment to linger a little longer, but your whole family arrives in less than two hours and the decorations were due. If Jin doesn't have you in the next thirty minutes he might as well eat all the cupcakes your mom is baking as revenge.

“I had a great time”, Jimin states as he stops the car in front of your house, stealing the words from your mouth and warmth hugs your cheeks immediately.

“Me too. It's been long since we spent time with each other”

You hear a lone sigh with white fogs coming out of his plump lips while he does so, as if he were suddenly sad when you mentioned that.

“Are you okay?”

His grips tightens around the steering, “I've missed you”, he says, eyes meeting slowly. And as if he was suddenly pulled back to earth he conjures another sentence to not sound so vulnerable.

“I uh... It's just--”

“I've missed you too”

Even with the gear box painstakingly blocking the way, you throw your upper half towards his body anyways and you find him hugging you back. His hugs still feel the same from years back; safe and warm and filled with love.

If it wasn't for the constant reminder that your brother is probably plotting a murder against you, you would've stayed much longer in his embrace. Maybe the hug was a big straightforward for a bond still gradually blooming, but it didn't feel weird at all and when you pull back he is smiling down at you.

“I thought you two lovebirds flew off”, a very annoyed Jin states from above you. He is balancing himself on a chair to attach the mistletoe to the ceiling.

“Sorry hyung”, Jimin says. And somehow now you are getting super aware of the way your family is low key shipping you both. Not that it's an irritating thing of course though you seem to act like it. But you have no idea what's going on with Jimin, what if he said he missed you as your childhood friend? It's a lot difficult to segregate his priority of giving affection. He seems to be giving justice in terms of care for every living being he knows.

“The circus is on its way so I hope you both hurry with putting up everything together”, the voice above states, now lowering himself to ground after putting up the twig.

Three of you giggle at the mention of your family as a circus. Well in a way it definitely was. You have a bunch if uncles who crack awful jokes, a trait Jin himself as picked up from a tender age of ten. Then their wives and kids who share certainly the same braincells in comprehending things. You bet they'll ask you again about your major and your dating history once they walk in through that door amidst clearly stating everytime that you are a history major and yes still very single.

In the hallway there is a half decorated tree. A thread of fairly lights wrapped around the green and very few baubles hanging here and there.

“I'll put up the star and join you”, Jimin says, digging out a golden star from the carton. Though now he doesn't know why it was a good idea for him to announce that when both of you were almost the same height. He is just a few centimeters taller than you and the top of the fir is still very much way above your heads.

So with a chuckle you both figure Jin has to do it.

“This is your final year right?”, Jimin asks stepping closer to you. He seemed nervous about something. Or was it anxious?

“Yeah...you?”

“Yeah...”, his sweet tone was drawn almost like a whisper and you sense you should ask him further about what's wrong. But before you had to deal with a starter he continues,

“Are you planning to work in Chicago as well?”

“Sweetheart help me clean up the kitchen please”, your hear your mom's voice overpowering through the house. Which is good. Because you don't know what you are supposed to answer. It was as if he was almost hopeful that you'll choose your hometown all over again. But you aren't sure. So you take the opportunity to step away from the situation excusing yourself.

And while you are clearing the blobs of batter stuck on the counter, your mind is a haywire. What are you going to do? Though you know your whole family wants you to stay, it's still a foggy place to be in. Four years apart in another city as a college student has not provided much, except caffeine addiction and sleepless nights. Things were not even as fun as everyone told you.

A few steps away Jimin silently prays that you stay, because he had truly missed you. Even though you have outgrown from the eighteen year old shell as he had known, he finds himself actively choosing to be with you. Even when other things in life occupies his mind, there's an element of it which goes back to you.

“They are here!”. You groan silently, while your parents are throwing their hands in air, giggles and chatter fills in as your uncles and aunts and the taunting toddlers welcome themselves in.

“Y/n! You have grown so much!”, the older aunt comments, and you supply a manufactured smile to tag along. Other comments follow by soon, about how tired you are, gasps about not having a partner and future plans, all of which are not completely answerable at the moment but you manage to get through them all and finally excusing yourself back to the garage convincing there are more decor supplies in there.

Families are nice. They make festivals brighter and lives less lonely. But yours was just hard sometimes. Not that you completely loathed the people now fueling themselves off the cup cakes your mom bakes, you were just merely lost, still yet to come up with an answer to what your stance is after graduation.

“Hey...”. Jimin has joined you now which you notice feeling a warmth against your shoulder when he sits, with an extra scraf knowing the garage is still comparatively chilly than the house, “you okay?”.

“Yeah...I was just...thinking”

“Is this about earlier? I'm sorry if I made you anxious”, he quickly adds.

“No!...I mean yeah but, it's high time I find a ground with this. What are your plans?”

“I was thinking about teaching at Jefferson High”, he shifts rather uncomfortably. He is talking of the school in your town, your school, where you have lots of memories with Jimin, “You know...like we said during Junior year in high school?”

“I'm sorry Jimin”, you feel the guilt inside you growing, “I never kept my promises”.

“Hey...that's okay! Everyone changes. I just want you to be happy. I...I hope you are happy Y/n”, he reassures, taking your hand from your side and squeezing it between his soft palms.

“I don't know about that either...”

As much as you hated showcasing vulnerability to another person, you know Jimin is an exception. You had cried to him about everything during school days and he had never invalidated a single thing, even when you were visibly dramatic over a downpour during a family picnic when you were five.

Jimin is frozen on his seat as if he can't find the words. He was never good with words so instead he hugs you, a little longer than the last time till he is sure you have calmed down. Grateful for not ending up crying, you smile up at him and remind yourselves to get back inside to avoid suspicion, especially from the kids who take humiliating people as an important milestone to achieve.

When you enter back inside and get immediately surrounded by a million questions and chores thrown at you, you find your answer. Maybe your heart belongs back to everything your younger self had blabbered about. Not to mention, this fairly good reunion with your crush feels nice, though, he might still see it as platonic. Maybe he makes things less daunting.

By the way Jimin was owning everyone's heart in the house, it felt like he was family. Well in a way he is. But to put more clarity, he bought things together and his actions bought so much peace and love within everyone. Even the notorious twins listen carefully to him and help the uncles and aunts in the kitchen.

He is again by your side, two cupcakes rests on his palms and you take it with a silent ‘thanks’.

Seeing no signs of him beginning a talk now, you think of coming up with something. Maybe a memoir from today? Or about how absolutely handsome he looks right now? Wait.

“They are under the kissing twig!”, Aerum screams like the house caught in fire, her sibling joining by the side to provoke the habit even more.

“It's called a mistletoe Aerum”, your aunt corrects before pasting a smug across her lips.

Nothing changed. They are the same people. Hyping you and Jimin to kiss just like when you were thirteen. If the factor of time is removed, this is the exact night. Both of you cemented to the flooring as if you forgot to exist.

Both of your necks snap together to the mistletoe Jin had attached to the ceiling earlier. And when you lower your gaze back, face gawks at each other eye to eye. It's the same. He has that blush, the shyness from years ago. It's going to be platonic. Yet again. And this moment will only ever be romantic and flowery in your head.

June was the first to squeak, and Aerum shuts her eyes the moment Jimin is leaning his mouth towards your lips. It was difficult to relax under the stares of many, but when he ghosts his mouth over your again and leans in for a second kiss, you are fixated on him. Hands holding each other, the plump of his lips so soft it felt like you were biting into a fluff of cloud.

Maybe he'll have an explanation to your family for this. Not like anyone in the audience was disappointed. Your mother was almost in tears? And Jin looked hardly surprised with any of this. As if it was all swell according to his plans.

“You both are so cute”, one of the aunts awes and your mother is quick by her side, completely agreeing to it.

“Jimin...”, you return your gaze to the equally flustered man who just kissed you and he sounded almost breathless,

“I'm sorry if this was wrong it ju--”

“I like you”, you immediately snap in and his face is a void for an instant. Fully processing the words, his eyes disappear when he grins, “I like you too...a lot”.

“Are you two dating?”, the twins haven't dropped the case yet, running to your feet to help their curious brains.

“Yes...”, Jimin responds, looking up at you for a reassurance, which you quickly supply with a nod, “Yes we are dating”.

When the kids are satisfied they go away snickering to themselves.

“I decided to stay”, you say.

“Really!?”, his disbelief was comical, yet wholesome considering how much he wished for this, “I'm...I'm so happy!”.

Giggling at him, this time you lean forward and peck the corner of his lips.

“You lovebirds better get a room”, Jin announces and thankfully not loud enough to catch everyone else's attention.

Usually Jin expects a punch to his arms from his sister, but he sees how grateful you are for his mistletoe decor. He leaves the couple, satisfied that there won't be any more ranting about how much Jimin likes you.

Thank you so much for reading!! ♡♡

Original Content of ©bangtanpromptsfics

[peralta-guaranteed]

Jake and Amy single parents AU.

Pretty please! :))

oh! Oh, I strangely love this one!

- Amy is a police-widow with little Mac (no, Teddy was not the father, it was a non-canon detective), while Jake is at the better end of a really messy divorce from Sofia, who very quickly handed over all alimony of Maya to him to focus on her career.

-Amy tries her best to juggle the newly single parent life with her full-time position running a bookshop, while Jake is not too happy about having to bring Maya in to the precinct all the time, but it can’t be helped (and Scully makes a surprisingly good babysitter). The squad’s had his back through the entire break-up, and they all love his little girl to bits, so at least she won’t be missing the family aspect in her life - and will always have an amazing female role model in her Auntie Rosa, who’s already planning to teach her Spanish just so she can trashtalk her dad with her without Jake knowing

- Mac + Maya meet at daycare and absolutely hit it off, despite the age difference of two years. Mac has apparently seen another curly headed toddler and immediately decided to brother the sh*t out of her. He takes her along to all his games and helps her pick colours for her pictures and shares his apple slices with her in exchange for a bit of sandwich (which is much nicer anyway).

- the daycare workers absolutely adore the little duo, and can’t help remarking how much they look like siblings anyway. So of course Jake has to meet the mom of the adorable little boy who always bring his daughter over to him for pickup by holding her hand.

- he’s a bit afraid of having to deal with the usual “Aw they’re little boyfriend and girlfriend” comments he’s expecting, but obviously Amy is having none of that. Instead, she tells him how glad she is that Mac has found a little friend to protect. “He’s always trying to protect everyone so much, ever since his dad... well...”

- (Jake knew, distantly, that she was the widow of one of his colleagues from another precinct, but apart from the usual condolences they’d all sent it had never really registered in his mind that there was a wife and a child left behind.)

- “Oh well Maya is so happy too. She’s a bit shy and scared at the moment, so having a big friend help her get out of her shell is great. Your little boy is a sweetheart, too.”

- Amy smiles at him, and he’s pretty sure his heart should not be doing what it’s doing, so he beats it down and tries his best to ignore it. Which is hard, because she smiles at him a lot in the coming months when they meet up for playdates, Mac over excited to show Maya all his favourite spots at the park or the coolest fish at the aquarium.

- Jake moans during one of their meet-ups about a case that has been dragging on forever and is going to need an allnighter to finally be solved, and his partner Boyle is really trying his best alone, but he’s the primary on it and- it feels great to talk about it with someone who understands, outside of his squad, even if Amy sometimes nods with the saddest look on her face when he mentions parts of his job. But she offers him last minute babysitting if he ever needs it, considering her job finishes promptly at 5pm each day, and he can’t help but take her offer when another case hits that needs him on a stake out at 10pm.

- so Maya gets a lovely sleepover with Mac, and Amy gets the biggest box of her favourite pralines as a thank you, because Jake has never, not once, given Maya to a babysitter to go to his job without feeling remorse and guilt, not even his own mom, but he had to deal with none of that when Maya gladly ran up the stairs to Amy’s place where Mac was already shouting her name.

- needless to say that Amy and Jake become the great friends they always are over time. He brings coffee and muffins to their park playdates, and she brings over frozen meals from Mac’s abuela for kid movie marathons at Jake’s place. They know each other’s schedules to help out with the kids, Jake has convinced everyone in his friend group and workplace to only buy books at her store from now on, and Amy is already planning the christmas gift she needs to pack for Maya and her daddy.

- it would be a nice, supportive friendship of equals, and a good help in their single parent life, if it wasn’t for the fact that Jake realised about three playdates in that he was falling for Amy faster than a shooting star. It took her a little longer, but realisation hit when she was packing Mac’s lunchbox, her own lunchbox, and Maya’s lunchbox too after a sleepover, and subconsciously already wanted to bag up a fourth set of sandwiches with some gummy bears and a soda thrown in for good measure.

- Rosa tells him to ‘grow a pair and ask her out, she sounds perfect for both you and Maya’ when Jake confides in her. And that is rare praise coming from Diaz, because no one is good enough for Maya in her eyes, sometimes not even Jake himself. But he can’t take advantage of Amy’s friendship like that, not when it risks losing both her and Mac for Maya... and there is always the underlying fear that Maya will bond with a new woman in her life and be left behind yet again if they don’t work out, just like with her mom, whose biggest contribution to her life since the divorce has been the alimony payments each month.

- Kylie, meanwhile, warns Amy not to risk too much when she confides in her. She sadly remembers the many days she had to spend at her friend-coworker’s side after the funeral, cleaning out half of a closet and half of a shared home, basically. She’d been hoping that Amy would find love again, maybe in a few years time, but when she heard the news about her ‘great new friend’ being a detective himself, her heart dropped because she knew what that might be heading towards, and Amy very much shares her fears. She’d vowed to an absolute ‘no cops’ rule for her planned restart of dating in two years, perfectly scheduled with Mac’s start of school.

- as it is, both of them dance around their emotions in a perfectly synchronised waltz while still getting closer and closer as friends and parents, to the point that the daycare workers don’t even bat an eye anymore when Amy brings both Mac and Maya in, or when Jake picks both of them up into his arms with an excited ‘ready for ice cream and games?!’ before they meet up with Amy for a Coney Island afternoon.

- until one day, when the daycare offers a ‘star gazing sleep over’ event after the story of the stars and night sky was the theme of the week, and it falls right on the day Amy and Jake were planning to take the kids to a movie. “We could still go.” Jake mumbles while Maya runs into the daycare center, not shy at all anymore, and Mac follows her. “You want to go see Paddington’s Big Adventure... without the kids?” Amy jokes, but he looks so serious. “No, of course not, but I mean - we - uh - we both got the evening off now, don’t we? I told my captain I won’t be in no matter what. Seems like a waste of time just going home. We could see that period drama you talked about, that will definitely get an Oscar?”

- Amy hesitates only for a second, but they do go. They watch the drama that Jake has to admit is pretty damn good for a movie where nothing explodes or is set on fire, and that praise does not only come from the fact that Amy grabbed his hand with a gasp during a particularly emotional scene, and then kind of forgot to let go afterwards.

- but then the movie ends and Jake still doesn’t want to go home. Neither does Amy, apparently, because she offers up an ‘amazing 24h diner’ around the corner for some late night snacks, during which they laugh and flick chocolate chips at each other and end up blushing like mad when the waitress comments on what a ‘cute couple’ they are.

- he walks her to her front door, and they both kinda don’t know what to do as they say goodbye, because this kind of date night should usually end on a kiss, but it wasn’t really a date, was it, they would’ve taken the kids along if it hadn’t been for the day care event, and-

- “Ames, I’m - this is terrifying, but I think I’ll hate myself even more for not ever saying anything - and, and, I kind of, maybe, I think you might also-” She takes his hand again, a lot softer than she did in the cinema. “I think this is the kind of talk that needs a coffee and a good couch.”

- That’s how they end up at her place that Jake already knows so well from bringing Maya over, from the perfectly styled bookcases down to the absolute mess of a playroom that is Mac’s kingdom. They both grip their coffee cups tightly as they talk it all out, about what they’re afraid of, what they would risk if they gave ‘them’ a try.

- “I wouldn’t ever want to put Mac through losing another cop-dad even if it wasn’t from work, and I won’t let Maya lose another mom.” “Me neither. And I promised Mac I’d never forget his papa, but... I can clearly see him love his new daddy, too. He already looks up to you so much. He wants a flannel shirt for christmas.” “Maya introduced you as Mama Amy to one of my aunties. Which was quite a thing to explain.” Amy laughs, and then smiles at him, and his heart does that thing again, like it has been doing for months now, but this time he doesn’t beat it down. This time he lets it lead him to lean in for the most careful kiss, a kiss that Amy gladly returns, just as carefully.

- they agree to take things slow, be mindful, not drop it on the kids immediately or rush into things from the pressure of friends or family.

- and then three months later Amy finds the perfect apartment for the four of them, and Jake aks Gina and Rosa for ring preferences and proposal tips, and ‘slow and mindful’ has flown out the window the second Maya brought home a picture she did with Mac at daycare showing their little ‘family’ before Amy or Jake had even talked to them about their possible dating.

- Maya grows up with her Mama teaching her Spanish along with Auntie Rosa, and an abuela and abuelo who love to spoil her with Cuban sweets just as much as her big brother. Mac gets to ride along in his Daddy’s police car sometimes, and hears stories about his brave Papa from his colleagues. His auntie Gina is so proud of him for taking care of his little sister the way she took care of her little brother too. And Jake gets to see Amy smile all the time now, and knows it’s him and their kids that is making her smile so much.

[darthkruge]

Can we have some dad ani x mom reader where leia goes to her first date with han and Anakin is so overprotective till the reader talks some sense in him?

Anakin Skywalker x Reader ~ Family

Summary: Anakin goes into Dad Mode when Leia is going on her first date with Han and the Reader helps him realize he’s being a tad overprotective. 

Warnings: Slight language, Anakin being overprotective, Reader being amused by Anakin’s antics, the usual (by that I mean fluff)

Words: 1.4k

A/N: Omg of course! I love Dadakin and so yes I think yes <3. I know you asked for mom!reader but I tried to keep it gender neutral, I hope that’s okay! Also I really thought I’d mess this up horribly but I’m kind of… happy with it?? Shocking, I know. Also I’m sad because mans deserved a family smh. I didn’t know what to title this for the life of me but it’s okay.

gif credit (x) (he looks so freaking pretty i cannot cope)

“Nope, not happening!” Anakin said, pacing around your Coruscant apartment.

“Dad, please!”

“No!” 

Leia groaned, looking to you for help. “Please tell him he’s being ridiculous!”

You nodded towards your daughter knowingly. “Anakin, come on, she’s old enough, it’s fine!”

“Y/N, no! Have you seen the guy? He looks like he’d… I don’t know… leave his fingernail clippings in the bathroom or something! Or not tip after going out to dinner because he had to keep his singles ready for the strip club!”

You snorted at your husband's comments, watching him walk a hole into your floor as your daughter helplessly ran her fingers through her hair.

“You can’t just make the decisions for me! You’re supposed to trust me! I like him, I have good judgment. This isn’t fair and you know it!” Leia’s anger was palpable as she spoke, her words sharp. 

Anakin’s eyes softened. “Look, Leia, I know you like him. But I know guys like him, he’s bad news. You’re not going.”

Leia looked like she was about to scream so you decided this was a good time to intervene. “Ani, come talk to me in the kitchen please?” You said, basically dragging him by the arm. 

“Y/N, come on. Are you seriously considering letting her go out with him?”

“Yeah! I am! Anakin, we can’t protect the kids forever! Listen, I’ve seen him interact with her, he’s different. He’s kinder, sweeter. I don’t know, I just think we should let her do this.”

“But he’s a notorious asshole!”

You conceded. “I’ve heard. But still! Look, Leia’s a good kid, she’s logical, and she can definitely hold her own if he’s shitty. And don’t you think we should try not to judge until we meet him ourselves? Besides, on the off-chance this date is a mistake, isn’t it better she finds out now when she still has us to help her feel better afterwards? I don’t want our daughter to be so sheltered that she’s unprepared later in life.”

Anakin nodded, running his hands up and down your arms. “I know, my love. You’re right. It’s just hard for me to see her growing up, I don’t want her to get hurt. I’m her father, I’m supposed to protect her and I just- if this Han Solo idiot messes with her it’ll be my fault.” 

You cupped your husband’s cheeks in your hands. “Listen to me, Ani. You can’t protect everyone, especially not from their own decisions. You have to let her do this.”

Anakin, dramatic as always, groaned and threw his head back before finally meeting your gaze again and nodding. He put his hand on the small of your back, guiding you back to the living room where your daughter was anxiously waiting. Her head perked up as the two of you walked in.

“You can go, sweetheart.” You said, gently.

“Really?! Thank you!!” Leia ran up to you and hugged you. You squeezed her back. Even though you were less protective about dating than your husband didn’t mean that you liked the idea of her going out with some guy that had a rocky reputation, at best. 

Leia broke away from you and walked up to her father. “Thank you, Dad.”

Anakin hugged his daughter close. He would do anything for his family and loved all of you more than life. You smiled at the scene in front of you. Watching your husband interact with your children was one of your greatest joys. 

Hearing someone knock at the door, you all broke apart.

“Okay! Bye!” Leia said, moving to leave.

“Wait, wait, wait! We need to at least see this young man before your date!” Anakin said, moving to open the door.

As he saw Han leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed in a very cocky manner, it took every ounce of power he had to not slam the door in Han’s face. You smirked at your husband’s expression and moved to let Han inside. 

“Han!” Leia said as Han ran up to meet her.

“Hey, princess,” He said, picking her up and spinning her around. 

You looked up at your husband’s face, seeing his jaw ticking slightly. You laughed and gestured for him to lean down. “Okay but you have to admit, that was cute” You whispered in his ear.

Anakin let out a small huff but you could tell he agreed. He just put his arm around you and cleared his throat. “Home by 11, okay?”

“Home by midnight?” Leia asked hopefully.

“Fine, okay. Midnight, but not a minute later!” Anakin said. You chuckled. He was a sucker for her; he couldn’t say no and you all knew it. 

Han nodded at you and Anakin and Leia waved as they stepped outside, and then they were off. Anakin immediately bolted over to the balcony, craning his head.

“Anakin what the hell are you doing?”

“Shh! I’m trying to see which way they’re going so I know which route to take.”

“Which route to take?”

“Yeah! When I go follow them.” He said, as if it was the most normal thing ever.

“Anakin!”

“What?”

“You can’t go follow them!”

“Like hell I can’t!”

“Anakin Skywalker if you ruin this date for our daughter I will divorce you faster than you can say ‘lightsaber’” 

“But Y/N-” 

You cut him off, laughing slightly as he pouted at you. “No! Love, come on inside, let’s have dinner and watch something on the holoprojector while we wait for her to get back, okay?”

Anakin sighed, nodding in agreement. You shook your head, smiling as you took his arm and walked back inside. Instead of moving to the kitchen, Ani plopped both of you on the couch, taking a moment to just think about how lucky he was.

“Thank you for caring about our family, Ani” You said softly, breaking the silence.

“Always, angel. You really think it’ll go well?”

You thought for a moment. “Maybe. And if not, that’s not something we can control. Now can we please go eat before you come up with another crazy idea, like dressing Ahsoka up in a disguise to go and pretend to be their waitress?”

“Now that you mention it, that’s actually-”

You shut him up with a kiss. Anakin gently bit your bottom lip, asking for access which you happily granted. He shifted you so you were sitting atop his lap, your thighs straddling his hips. His tongue slowly entered your mouth and you moaned softly at the feeling. You were completely entranced by him and loved every moment of it. 

“How did I get so damn lucky?” he asked as you broke away. 

“I’m not sure. But I am pretty special, aren’t I?” You smirk.

He looked at you with adoration. “Yeah, you are.”

The two of you spend the night eating food and end up curled back on the couch, enjoying each other’s company and the cool breeze. Finally, the doorbell rings and your heads perk up.

You were surprised to see Han still with Leia, not expecting him to walk her to the door. The two of them were smiling at each other and you couldn’t help but smile back. From the corner of your eye, you saw Anakin’s lips were curling up, too. At the end of the day, all you wanted as parents was for your children to be happy. 

“Goodnight, princess.” Han said.

“Goodnight, scoundrel!” Leia shot back at him, turning away to walk inside. 

You waved goodbye to Han before slowly shutting the door and looking at your daughter. 

“So you’re dating scoundrels now?” You said, eyebrows quirked.

Leia rolled her eyes. “Proudly.” 

You laughed. She definitely picked up the sarcasm from her parents. 

“Did you have fun?” Anakin asked.

“What, no third-degree?”

“What, would you like an interrogation?”

“Nope! Thanks!” Leia said quickly. “It was… it was good. I have a feeling about him. It was exciting, you know?”

You smiled, thinking back to one of your first dates with Anakin. He took you out on his speeder and you swore you were going to die. Even so, it was the most alive you’d felt in a long time and you knew that if someone could give you that feeling, they were a person you needed to get to know more. “Yeah, I know, sweetheart. I’m glad you had such a good time! Now, get ready for bed, okay? It’s already pretty late.”

“Okay, okay,” Leia said, still pretty giddy from the evening. As she disappeared to her room, you turned back to your husband.  

“That went pretty well, don’t you think?” Your tone was light, teasing. 

Anakin nodded. “Alright, yeah, don’t go gloating about it too much.”

You laughed. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

-----

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@anakinswhore @kennedywxlsh @coldlilheart @adamgetawaydriver @chokemeanakin @gayidioot @starwars-whore @katelynnwrites @haydens-moles @serpntines @anakinlove @rowley-with-ackerman @dexthtoyounglings @babykinskywalker @cluelessgurl @april-showers-and-flowers @astxrias @beiroviski @captainshazamerica @alyssa-skywalker 

[sepublic]

Productively Handling an Issue

          A while back, I got an ask where an Anon felt like Luz deserved some degree of punishment for the book report incident, even if the Reality Camp WAS a bit much. I’ve also noticed some discussion of the potential danger of what Luz did. And thinking about it… Here are my thoughts, and how this connects to the show’s recurring themes as a whole;

           I do agree that what Luz did WAS a mistake… But to me, it seemed like a fairly innocent and innocuous mistake. Definitely the worst thing she had done up until that point, but otherwise… Not something that needed too much punishment? Maybe even none at all… At the very least, the Reality Camp was going overboard.

           It’s worth noting that those snakes are definitely Luz’s pets. Camila alludes to Luz having ‘reptilian’ friends… Not to mention, she and Principal Hal don’t bat an eye at Luz bringing the snake to the meeting and holding it in her bare hand! The implication is obviously that the snakes are Luz’s pets, and considering the kind of person Camila is… I doubt she’d let Luz have dangerous snakes as pets- At the very least, no more dangerous than a dog or a cat would be. Like I said; Her and Hal are completely fine with Luz bringing her snake to the meeting, in her bare hand; They don’t expect it to hurt them or Luz, and obviously this expectation is transmitted to Luz. To Luz, if her mother lets her have the pet snakes, then clearly they’re not dangerous; And if they’re safe for Luz, then surely they’re safe for other kids as well!

           Luz probably disregarded the snakes biting other students’ hair as them just ‘playing’… Which DOES point to the snakes being mostly harmless. Let’s be real here, a cockroach crawling onto a person wouldn’t actually hurt them, but it’d definitely freak them out and make them act as if they were bitten… I speak from experience, and as someone who thinks roaches are low-key interesting creatures no less!

           But of course, that’s still rather negligent on Luz’s part to disregard how other kids may feel. At the same time though –especially when one considers how she’s coded as ADHD- I’m willing to give her some slack because it really DID seem like a genuine, honest mistake… That Luz figured that if her mom and Hal were fine with Luz handling these snakes, what’s so different about other kids handling them? Definitely a mistake, but I think one that Luz merely needed to be informed of, rather than punished for.

           Then there’s the fireworks… ALSO dangerous and wrong, but- Luz isn’t exactly a criminal (at least not yet she wasn’t). Last I checked, you can’t buy fireworks without being an adult –or at least older than Luz was- so this points to the fireworks being something that was already at home, and thereby accessible to her. Not trying to shift the blame towards Camila, mind you… I do agree that Luz did a genuine mistake, and Camila is a single, working-class nurse and likely away from home a lot, just so she can keep her kid fed. I can’t entirely blame Camila for not remembering to tell Luz that even if the fireworks are accessible in their home, they’re not to be toyed around with.

           We don’t exactly know what Luz’s plans were, but I assume she planned to set them off outside. I don’t think she was hell-bent on setting the fireworks off, no matter what; She seems willing to stop when Hal and Camila indicate they’re a bad idea, so it’s likely that Luz just did not realize that they canbe that dangerous. I wouldn’t so much say that Luz was actively, apathetically disregarding the safety of others, as she was simply caught up in the idea of doing something that could dazzle and impress her classmates.

           Again, that isn’t to say that Luz DIDN’T mess up… She made mistakes, let’s be real here! But the thing is… She really didn’t seem to know better, and when Camila and Hal DO tell Luz to stop; She readily agrees! Obviously they brought up the Reality Camp as a punishment beforehand, but based on what we see of Luz’s personality afterwards –even if one takes character development into account- I doubt she needed to be threatened in order to agree with changing her behavior.

          In fact, I’m not sure if Luz even needed to be punished; At the very least, her ‘punishment’ would be something that focuses on rectifying the situation with those students her pets harassed. She’s not like Lilith, who willingly took chances with Luz’s life and risked it during her final duel with Eda, even if she probably thought Luz wouldn’t actually die! By contrast, Luz didn’t intentionally overlook the safety of her classmates, because she never realized/considered there was any danger to begin with… Impulsive, but understandable given her ADHD-coding, and certainly not dumb nor apathetic!

           I think something very important to remember is that Luz does promise to change her behavior, to not make the same mistakes again! She really was willing to respond to criticism; Which makes it all the more painful when the snake, beyond Luz’s control, attacks Hal. That scene was honestly very uncomfortable to me; Luz didn’t even get the chance to change her behavior, to fix things, before she got punished! Luz immediately being sent to the Reality Camp for something that happened as a result of a prior mistake she was already planning to fix (instead of a new one she made after her promise), a mistake she didn’t even get a moment to rectify…

           It just comes across as cruel, mean-spirited, and outright petty! Spiteful, even… Like come on, Luz made it clear she was going to change and fix things, or at least try! And Principal Hal LET Luz bring the snake into his office, and hold it in her bare hand right in front of him! Luz is just following the guidance of the adults, looking to them to tell her what’s right or wrong… If Hal let Luz bring the snake in and it attacked him, then he’s partly to blame for poorly mishandling the incident! He IS a principal, after all, he should know about de-escalating situations and ensuring the safety of everyone else at hand here, when kids can’t tell what’s dangerous or not. It’s definitely Luz’s fault for bringing the snakes to school, but it’s not her fault for bringing the snake into the office when Hal let her!

           Coupled with how Luz was willing to change her behavior, didn’t even get the chance to, and how that snake was part of a mistake that happened BEFORE she made her promise… It all just comes across as more like a vindictive punishment to a kid, than an actual attempt to help them. And, I should preface that I’m no child psychologist; But even so…

           I feel like Hal and Camila’s handling of the situation established a precedent for other problems we see in this show. Namely… Luz DID have a problem. She had a problem with genuine loneliness and not knowing how to make friends, not distinguishing reality from fiction at times, and thus disregarding others as an occasional result! Luz was clearly suffering from some issues and she needed help, that’s kind of a major point!

           But the thing is… I feel like Hal and Camila (mostly Hal) didn’t address the problem in an effective manner? Which makes sense, given this show’s critique of the American school system… Luz definitely had issues of loneliness and delusion that caused prior incidents. But clearly, punishing her for those past incidents didn’t keep them from stopping… Which brings up the idea of addressing the symptoms of an underlying problem, and not the root-cause that’s causing them to begin with! Punishing Luz the first few times for her other incidents was like a band-aid, it made her stop doing those things temporarily… But she was still a kid who wasn’t taught how to differentiate fiction from reality, and so Luz was still prone to keep causing problems as a result.

           I’ll give Camila some slack, she’s a single mother and a nurse, she’s no doubt incredibly busy. But I think this concept of recognizing that there’s an issue, but then either not actually addressing the root cause behind it, or worse, handling the issue in a manner that’s less than productive and just makes the person feel worse… This seems like a precedent established by our opening scene, which we then see with OTHER characters and conflicts later in the show!

           We have Lilith, who recognizes that she cursed Eda! However, Lilith opts to wallow in self-pity and beat herself up for it, destructively tearing down her own self-esteem, instead of constructively fixing the actual problem by sharing the curse with her sister, or at least being honest about what happened! You have Luz and Willow helping Amity learn to be kinder and happier…. While leaving the implicit awareness that until the Blight Parents are addressed, Amity won’t truly heal.

          Principal Bump saw Viney, Jerbo, and Barcus getting into trouble; But instead of addressing the issue of their unmet educational needs, he instead completely banned them from practicing magic in the Detention Track! And this is speculation, but it seems that Emira and Edric WERE concerned with how cold Amity was to other people, and seemed under the impression that their cruel pranks would somehow ‘lighten her up’- When instead they just made Amity feel even more miserable, and less willing to open up and reach out.

          It’s a recurring trend- A destructive response to an issue, instead of something constructive and meant to fix the problem itself… It’s a ‘solution’ fixated on simply punishing and hurting someone as retribution for their mistakes, while the actual problem and its effects keep going on in the background. It’s ignoring a systemic cause behind these recurring incidents; Just as ignoring the Coven System and not dismantling it would be a fatal error, because even if people like Lilith and Boscha learn not to be so terrible… The Coven System will continue to enable and encourage other witches after them to do horrible things. And while individual accountability IS a thing, the show’s messages seem to point towards tackling systematic issues (either on a personal or societal level), before then having time to focus on the individual problems that came from them.

          Camila was right; Luz DID have issues with differentiating fantasy from reality, of being lonely and unsure of how to handle social interactions, etc.! Just as Lilith recognized she made a mistake, Bump saw that the Detention Kids had caused trouble, Emira and Edric noticed Amity was becoming cold and cruel… But instead of constructively fixing the issue and addressing the root cause behind it, they instead focused on patching up the individual problems that spawned from this core issue, or even simply hurting and punishing the person ‘responsible’ for them.

           Amity messed up when she was cruel to Willow, that much is clear. But piling on more cruelty towards Amity as retribution wouldn’t have helped- It wouldn’t have fixed her issues. It wouldn’t have given her the self-confidence to actually change her behavior. It would’ve just made Amity feel worse and more terrible, more self-loathing, and believe she was a terrible person who could never do things right- So why bother trying to make a difference?

           The approach of Hal, to me, seems about as effective as slapping a band-aid over an injury… You’re addressing the symptoms, but what of the actual problem that’s causing them to spawn? And that’s even assuming he DID address the symptoms… His handling of the situation, overtly punishing Luz by sending her to the Reality Camp –again for a mistake that was literally and figuratively out of her hand- did not make things better, it likely would’ve just made things worse… Or at the very least, Luz would stop misbehaving, but at the cost of major emotional damage and self-loathing.

           It’s a theme this show has been building up to; Learning to address problems in a productive, constructive manner, not focusing on punishing the culprit, but instead diverting energy into actually making things better! Making the ‘culprit’ feel worse isn’t going to fix things. And similarly, while individual accountability and incidents ARE a thing… If you really want to make a change, one must address the systemic, root-cause of the issue!

          Just as Luz’s issues stemmed from loneliness and delusion, or how people like Lilith and Boscha were encouraged by the overarching Coven System… You can help Lilith be a better person. You can get Luz to not turn her eyelids inside out. But the core of the issue will still remain, and it’s going to cause other problems in the future; Such as Luz bringing the snakes and fireworks, or further generations of witches being indoctrinated into the Coven System’s elitism and abuse.

             I might give Hal, too, some slack since he’s a principal and really busy… But then again his entire job is to look after kids and help them do well. But just as Lilith never bothered to consider why Eda still refused to join the Emperor’s Coven, even under the incentive of having her curse cured… I think Hal should’ve considered that something else was afoot that was causing Luz to repeatedly cause these sorts of incidents at school. If punishing her with detention in the past didn’t keep other issues from happening- Then what makes Hal think that punishing Luz again, with Reality Camp, will make things any different? When you have a hammer, everything looks like a nail. Instead of telling someone to stop doing something, maybe ask WHY they’re doing that? It calls back to when Luz posed this question to Principal Bump, who initially dismissed this as him ‘not caring for the ins and outs of rascality’- Although of course in HIS case it’s understandable because he DID know and empathize, he was just afraid of the Emperor’s Coven for a good reason.

           However, just as Lilith should’ve realized that the same old promise of curing Eda’s curse and hiding the truth wasn’t going to fix things, that maybe it was time she tried a different approach… I think Hal should’ve also recognized that repeated detentions weren’t stopping Luz’s misbehavior, at least not in the long-term. He should’ve tried a different approach, and he DID… But it was a worse one. The Reality Camp would’ve just screwed over Luz and likely traumatized her, getting her to stop causing trouble but at the cost of her identity and self-esteem; Or making her SO self-loathing and desperate for loneliness, that she does worse things for attention!

           And again… I have to wonder if Hal isn’t entirely to blame, if he himself is also dealing with the underlying issue that is the American school system, which he probably grew up in. And that all ties back to a major lesson of The Owl House; That just as the Coven System needs to be addressed, so does our education system! Maybe it’s not the kids/witches who are intentionally screwing themselves over and messing themselves up, maybe it’s actually the system…!

           TL;DR Luz definitely had issues. But not only do I think we’re exaggerating her maliciousness/carelessness in this situation, but also we need to consider what was actually causing these repeated incidents… And similarly, Camila and Hal definitely recognized that there WAS a problem, potentially responsible for all of the incidents- But they didn’t handle it any better than Luz did, and would’ve just made things worse. And honestly, with how messed-up the system is back home, those two aren’t entirely to blame for their faulty approach, either…

[flying-elliska]

Skam France Season 6 Review

It’s that time, I guess. My feelings are, like many, mixed. I think I enjoyed the season more than most people here, but the ending was a massive let down. Overall it boils down to this : Skam France is great at moments and very bad at structure. A lot of my issues with the season is what is not in it. I saw so much potential that never quite materialized, and it left me frustrated. At the same time, Lola is a really cool character, her arc is really interesting, her relationship with her sister is one of the best things they’ve ever done, and the actors killed it. Loved La Mif, discovering other sides of Eliott, the urbex backgrounds, and Maya. A lot of fascinating character moments. This is definitely my second favorite season after s3 - at times I even thought it would equal it. Sadly, though, Skam France will remain a bit of a one hit wonder for me. Because they are so good at bringing up problems in a nuanced layering way - be it addiction, grief, eating disorders, internalized ableism, racist microagressions - but when it comes to resolving what they brought up, they default towards a ‘let’s all be nice to each other, hug or kiss, love saves the day yay !’ story. Which is, when you claim to deal with real world issues, simplistic, immature, and at times quite offensive. It works for s3, which is at its core a tale of self-discovery, self-acceptance and romance. But niceness doesn’t solve racism, and family problems aren’t solved with a hug, and addiction recovery doesn’t hinge on having someone to kiss, and the series came dangerously close to implying that at times. 

All in all, this is a show that often manages to be both brilliant and terrible at the same time. At least it’s not dull. 

Positives/Negatives/Meh breakdown :

Positives :

- Sisterly love : My favorite thing without a doubt is the relationship between Lola and Daphné. Flavie and Lula killed it. Almost all the clips that made me cry were the ones with the both of them in it. At the beginning their rivalry is so relatable to me : the responsible sibling who takes on too much burdens and is too controlling and parentified vs. the problem sibling who acts out to express the issues the rest of the family are repressing - i have been in both of those spots. you can see how they slowly realize that the gap between them didn’t need to be there, that it wasn’t their fault, that it was the result of their parent’s bullshit and even shittier circumstances. seeing them make little gestures to recognize each other’s pain, to nurture each other, to give each other support, but also to tell each other some unpleasant truths, was so incredibly powerful. Relationships between sisters can be just so...complex, and loving, and petty, and jealous, and supportive, and feral, and annoying, and understanding, and ugh, they made me feel all of that and more. I have a sister, and I have a relationship like that with her, and this season gave me some very important perspectives. Really, relationships between women aren’t explored enough, and this season really did this one thing excellently and if only for that, it deserves to be watched. That moment where Lola talks to Daphné about her self destructive tendencies...so important. I am so happy that Daphné was the one finding Lola in her tower of solitude, and the moment where she says ‘you pay too much attention to what other people think, Lola’ was the emotional turning point of the season for me, because it was Daphné recognizing Lola really cared behind her mask of coldness, but also that she was hurt by that and that she needed to love herself regardless of the love her parents didn’t give her ; and also that she heard Lola saying it to her and that it inspired her too, so there is this amazing reciprocity. It was so powerful, I’m still reeling from it. And it was a beautiful full circle from the beginning of the season. 

- Family of outsiders : the urbex gang was such a wonderful new group this season. It was bound to be tricky getting us to like this new generation, and I think they did a pretty good job. Even tho I wish we got to know them a bit more, they were all intriguing and interesting on their own, and the vibes of Lamif as a whole were just so fun and lovely. Loved the neuroatypical vibes I got from Sekou and Jo. Love that they introduced a trans guy character. Loved Maya as group mom. And seeing them warm up to Lola was really sweet. The social media of them hanging out was more or less the only good social media we got this season lmao. The urbex thing was a great symbol for Lola finding a home with the outcasts, a bit on the fringe of society, and the start of acceptance, of bringing her in from the cold. Maya and Lola’s relationship fit in that really nicely, especially the bits about them talking about their shared experiences of grief, and my favorite scenes with them is showing Lola that her scars can be beautiful and that her rough experiences are part of who she is. The way she didn’t take Lola’s bullshit was great, and even tho I think their relationship was rushed, overall they really fit well together. Love Maya’s character as a concept in general, this funky purple haired lesbian environmentalist with amazing sense of style, and I really hope we see her again in upcoming seasons. And finally, I also really liked Eliott and Lola’s friendship (except for the ending) - the fact that they understand this darkness that they share, but that Eliott has succeded in climbing over it, and so he can give Lola support, understanding, guidance. I loved that we got to hear a bit more of his perspective on mental illness, the good and the bad times, that we saw his passion for movies become more real. I loved the fact that they bonded over creative things and photography, too, and that she found a safe space in the video store. And even tho it wasn’t resolved properly, the scene where he comes to get her and punches Aymeric really made me cry. Also, BASILE. Best bro in law ever. Their scenes together were so homey and warm and sweet. They will have such a good relationship in time. Overall, I really like how central friendship was in this season, shown as so powerful and important. They could have done more with it but I love a lot of what we got. I am just a sucker for found family, man.

- Lola herself : I know she was a controversial character right from the start. She’s been called manipulative, selfish, out of control, toxic. And honestly at times...maybe she was a bit. I still love her. She is just so interesting to me. The lack of compassion towards her in the fandom was seriously depressing at times, and often felt like a symptom of something I’ve seen in a lot of different fandoms, ie the capacity to only tolerate moral ambiguity when it’s attached to attractive white male characters - and to only tolerate mental illness symptoms when they can be romanticized. In the end, she’s a struggling teen from a deeply dysfunctional family who’s had a very rough life, of course she’s not going to be well adjusted. All in all, I think she’s so brave, and she is a fighter. I adored her feral energies in the trailer. I also really liked her blunt honesty at times, even if it was sometimes hurtful and excessive. I think because I have the opposite tendency to be afraid to speak my mind, I really dig a character who isn’t afraid to speak the ugly truth. Even though, again, ‘the truth’ isn’t always cut and clear, and what Lola is often doing instead is listening to ‘depression voice’ who tells her to believe the worst in people. I find that fascinating, because in my experience, yes, depression comes with this terrible lucidity that makes you see through a lot of bullshit but at the same time, is distorting your perspective because of fear and shame, and kicking that, and disentangling your perception from that fatalism, is very complicated. I loved how genuine she was, how mature too sometimes through the pain, more mature than she should have been. It was rough watching her relapse, but I think the portrayal of addiction was pretty very well done overall, not romanticized and explained in a very coherent way. I wish the show had given her a bit more of a clearer view of her inner thoughts towards the end and let her apologize a bit more. And a clearer realisation that her parent’s lack of well expressed love didn’t doom her. But...yeah Following her really made me question my own - more hidden - self destructive impulses, linked to family shit, that pushes me to sabotage and isolate myself. Like Eliott said to her - it’s really a lifelong struggle. I think overall her arc was pretty satisfying, learning to step away from the edge, letting people in, seeing that she isn’t alone, accepting she deserves better and that her failures don’t doom her. That it is about getting up and trying again. Love her using her mother’s camera and wanting to get a phoenix tattoo, a perfect symbol for her. Also Flavie was amazing, she’s got a bright future ahead.

Negatives :

- No follow up to the assault storyline : The thing that I am, without any single doubt, most mad about, is the fact they didn’t bring up the sexual assault again. Along with Charles’ rape apologism, this creates a very dubious pattern of trivializing the issue ‘as long as it’s not real rape’. The fact that the morning after immediately turns to Elu drama is what sort of started my disconnect from the season, and the fact that they don’t bring it up afterwards even once made me angry. I think Lola, before going back to the hospital, should have told someone about the abuse she endured there, and should have told someone about Aymeric, even if only to acknowledge she wants to be done with that part of her life. Aymeric is like...Lola’s biggest villain, in a sense, he is a horrible predator but he also somehow represents her worst impulses, that part of herself that tells her she doesn’t deserve better, and I think that as a character, he was interesting, and he should have been adressed/exorcised better. If Lola was a real person, of course, she would probably have to deal with this in therapy, down the line, later, but as a story, never adressing this again left it unfinished. And this is really the kind of event you NEED catharsis and resolution for. Otherwise, it’s irresponsible.

- A generally overstuffed and disjointed structure : My biggest problems with this season are about what isn’t and what isn’t it. I liked most of the clips, I don’t have an issue with them going dark, strangely enough, but the way they were put together was just...messy. Like many people have said, too much stuff not properly adressed. Palm of most annoyingly useless subplot, the whole Tiff thing. Yes, it was cool comparing her clique to Lamifex and Lola realizing she wants nothing to do with those shallow fake bitches. Sekou hacking her account to replace it with pigeons, amazing. After that though, it should have been DONE, and in general, it should have taken a lot less time and attention. Comparing Tiff’s social media addiction to Lola’s issues felt like some trivializing bullshit. The whole thing was just so annoying. It would have been good if it had led to some discussion of social inequality but like...not this shit. Char, equally useless (although, cool actress, cool style). Another MASSIVE problem is the lack of follow through on big clips. A great thing about SKAM, usually, is that it shows you the aftermath of big moments - characters lying in bed, cuddling, talk to their friends, crying in the shower, etc. It allows the viewer to breathe and really get into the character’s perspective, to be comforted and process drama, and for the emotions to resonate better, to have space to develop richly. Here...we had Lola brush off her assault, we saw nothing after Daphné got her back from the tower thinking she could have killed herself, we learned that they had money problems and the father didn’t go to work and then that was never adressed again and the light was turned back on by magic (????), we saw Eliott go on a major bender and didn’t really see how he got better, etc. Big lack of introspective clips in the latter part of the season took me out of Lola’s head. It was all stressful and breathless, all intensity and no pause like one grating high pitch note instead of music, it felt oppressive, with poor contrast, and very badly paced. It made everything blur together and feel less relevant. The problem with that is it really takes you out of the story ; it’s hard to care when you know whatever is happening might not have a resolution, and it doesn’t put you in the shoes of the character. This was compounded by how mediocre the social media was, when it is usually used to bridge in the gaps. And then to finish : the structure was so uneven, especially in the second part of the season. Towards the middle we had some very short episodes with very underwhelming endings, and Vendredis that felt like non events, and there wasn’t a lot happening - and then, bam, ep 9, drama overload, almost like misery p*rn, and then a super rushed resolution in ep 10. Like they cared more about twists and giving the opposite of what was expected instead of solid coherent narrative and rhythm. The romantic back and forth felt repetitive as hell too. All in all, it made for a very unsatisfying live watching experience, pretty sure anyone who didn’t watch live would like it a lot more. 

- The last two episodes : Really, I could have overlooked all the problems with the season if they had given us a good ending, but...they really really didn’t. And contrasted with last season, where my problems were focused on the middle, for me the ending is really the worst part of this season. I didn’t dislike the controversial club clips, I liked having the insight into Eliott’s insecurities, but they should never have brought those up if they weren’t going to let him adress them properly. Having everything go to shit in Lola’s life at once felt like overkill - they really should have solved those problems earlier, and then dealt with a few ones properly, showed us Lola freaking out on her own, and taken out the bullshit at the high school. Thierry slapping her was also too much, he could just have said these clumsy things. She could have distanced herself from Maya instead of pushing her away again. Also, they really should have had this happen in episode 8 again, and given us a proper resolution. While the tower sequence was incredibly powerful, I pretty much liked nothing after that. It was so annoying that Eliott brushed off Lola’s apology because while he wasn’t wrong that he decided to get drunk himself, she still needed to apologize and actually state that she wanted to get better so she didn’t hurt her friends, so as a resolution it was very mediocre. Thierry recognizing they should have given Lola the choice to go the hospital was a step but really not enough. And the moments with Maya were cute sure but mostly cheesy and unearned. Same for the ending clip. Mostly it’s such an unsatisfying farewell to the old generation, and it really feels like they wanted us to force to move on - didn’t want to properly recognize the end of an era, gave us almost nothing about their BAC or their future plans, etc etc. Also, letting Charles talk and having Arthur and Alexia kiss again ? SO BAD. UGH. I will be forever disappointed they didn’t give us a Multi POV or at least sth better on social media. And not having Eliott’s POV or at least a real Elu conversation (pretty much all season...) so frustrating I will never not be bitter about that. So yeah. The season started so powerfully but went out with a whimper instead of a bang. That whole ‘romantic love solves everything!!!’ shtick...very undercooked tbh. 

Meh : 

- Mayla’s development : I wanted to stan them SO BAD. Like, wlw in skam (that doesn’t turn into a panphobic mess?) YES, all the way yes. Maya and Lola had great chemistry, great dynamic. I loved their first few clips, the kind of confrontational flirting, the boldness, it was like...damn girls ! we love a non useless lesbian ! But...somewhere along the way, their relationship really suffered from the wacky plot structure. They should have shown us more bonding before we got to the angsting (esp during first urbex night). Also, their first kiss was sweet but I hated the ‘you’re my addiction’ line and that kind of put a damper on it. I liked the scenes where they open up about difficult things, the love Maya showed to Lola’s scars, the dandelion symbolism was lovely, but it wasn’t balanced enough with other stuff, and I felt Maya was way too stoic at times. And I really, really didn’t like the ending, honestly. They kept a good balance all season showing Lola wasn’t relying entirely on romantic love, that her family and friends were also important - but saying ‘i’m okay as long as you’re here’ at the end...honestly that sounds unhealthy and codependent as fuck. I really wish they’d done a more subtle, taking it slow ending for them.

- The financial issues : Again a storyline with much potential that wasn’t dealt with properly. It’s really good that we got a main that wasn’t from an economically priviledged background. Especially it felt very relevant to Daphné’s storyline, with the shame she felt at her friends seeing her place, the pressure to make it work, tying into her ED, etc etc. But cutting off the power, the father not working going nowhere...it’s like the plotline meandered and then vanished into thin air. Instead of that, they could have given us a scene of Daphné freaking out over the bills like in OG w Vilde, keeping the focus on her for that plot because she’s the most affected ; and then in the end of the season the father taking them over from her and telling her he’s found another job and that those things shouldn’t be her responsibility. That would have been relevant, instead of just...a loose end.

- Family issues : The Lecomte family dynamic seemed fascinating to me at the start. The mom being this shadowy complicated figure. The inability of the father to deal with anything. Daphné being parentified, Lola becoming the symptom child. They could have done a lot with this, but in the end, it felt like it was brushed aside too easily by saying the mom sent letters so she wasn’t too bad and Thierry is making breakfast so he’s trying. Not enough. I wanted them to let Lola acknowledge she deserved better and that their parent’s crap wasn’t on her. That her mom should have looked for help and the other two shouldn’t have pretended everything was okay. In general, there is way too much pressure to overlook toxic parent behavior and I wish they’d been clearer about this. 

- Mental health portrayal : Some parts of it were really good. Showing Daphné’s ED, letting Eliott talk about his episodes and relapses, showing some of the dark sides of depression and addiction. They just needed to show more of the recovery, because that is often the representation that they lacked the most. I don’t blame them for showing the bad sides of the mental healhcare system (which is terribly outdated and dysfunctional in France, I’m speaking from experience) but they should have shown the good too. Like do they find recovery boring or something ? Because as a person w MI, that’s actually what I’m dying to see, and they’ve been a real letdown in that department. I also think they should have acknowledged that the Lecomte family has mental issues as a whole, that the mother should have gotten help, and the father probably needs it too (still think they should have gone to therapy as a group lol).

- Elu and Eliott’s development : Honestly, not a big fan of how they wrote Lucas in s5&s6, in a lot of clips he was the angry guy with a temper, I miss s4 Lucas who was so compassionate and showed real growth and emotional intelligence. Here it just felt like they were fitting his character to plot needs, and it’s so sad for a character who had such an amazing story development. Now, I loved the glimpses of domestic Elu we got, how Axel and Maxence really showed the intimacy that had grown between them, they really felt married with all the nonverbal conversations and touches, that was sweet. But it’s so annoying that they hinted at Lucas’s insecurities and Eliott’s lack of communications and just brushed it away with ‘oh they love each other they will be okay’ sure bitch but then show us how ? that’s the interesting stuff ? it really feels sometimes like the writer(s) didn’t like how strongly the fans focused on the romance when they wanted to be talking about MATURE dark stuff not that frilly fluffy romance shit *eyeroll* male writers who think they’re above that stuff is so annoying as is the conflating of dark and mature - anyway. Again I liked seeing Eliott in his element this season, he is really thriving, with his movie and the video store, and that made me very happy. I don’t think it’s unrealistic he didn’t make a lot of friends in uni - French university can be so isolating, there isn’t a campus or a vibrant social life like in the US, it’s a very common experience to feel lost and isolated for newbies and it was also my case - but ? Sofiane ? Idriss ??? They could have found a better excuse to implicate Lamifex in the movie making tbh, like Jo egging him on about her passion for directing or whatever, and Sofiane could have been there chilling with them it would have been so cool. I just wish Eliott would have had more of an arc like Daphné did. It wouldn’t have taken much, and since he is my favorite character, I will never not be disappointed at all the wasted potential. 

Yeah so in the end i think this was a very good story they didn’t entirely give themselves the right storytelling tools to tell. Like there is something in the way they prioritize certain moments over others that...I just find very frustrating and weird. So...flawed, but still very interesting overall.

[keanuvibe]

Noses In Roses (John Wick x Reader) Pt. 4.5

A/N: well hi! I was sad so I did some writing y'all!!!! wowwww abby actually wrote something!!!! it's a miracle!!!!

Words: 2.8k (this is longer than I meant for it to be)

Warnings: none, good ole family fluff!

June 27th, 4:03PM

The afternoon summer sun poured into the kitchen, illuminating the space in a golden haze. Classic rock played over the small portable speaker John had gotten you last Christmas as your hands dug into some fresh bread dough; kneading it gently. Patterned footsteps and cheerful giggles of two little bodies could be heard from the backyard, signalling that your kids were having fun.

It’s been three and a half years since Heather was born. Since then, a few things have changed. First, you and John are married now. He proposed shortly after Heather turned seven months old, and you were joined in holy matrimony at the courthouse the following Monday. Of course, you couldn’t find a sitter for the occasion so James sat quietly playing his Gameboy while Heather slept in her car seat. Although once the kids were put to bed, you and John did celebrate that night.

Second, you adopted James. Over the course of your relationship, John had always made little comments about how much James loves you and sees you as a mother. And after Heather was born, the boy actually started to call you ‘mom’. It took a few years for everything to fall in place, but, on your birthday last year, John and James surprised you with the adoption certificate, proving that you are now the legal parent to your eldest. You were a blubbery, lovey, emotional mess for a couple days afterwards.

And the third thing to mention, you’re pregnant again; a couple days away from seven months. After careful consideration regarding both yours and John’s ages, the two of you decided to have one more baby. You wanted a sibling closer in age to Heather, that way she’d have someone to grow up with. Yes, James will always be there, but he’s six years older than her. What nine-year-old wants their three-year-old baby sister hanging around?

“Mommy!” Heather’s small voice hollered from the backyard; breaking your thought train. Hurriedly wiping the dough from your hands, you made your way to the sliding door.

“Yes?” You answered, stepping outside. The afternoon heat hit you immediately, but you pushed it aside. Resting a hand on your belly and furrowing your brows, you scanned the yard not immediately seeing your children.

“Where are you two?” You then yelled.

“Mom, you’ll never believe what we found!” James spoke, rounding the corner from the side of the house. He held a mischievous grin; a grin you’ve seen plenty of times. Whatever he’s about to show you probably isn’t going to end well.

“If it’s another gross bug, James, I swear-” You started, but the boy cut you off.

“It’s not! I promise! You’ll like this surprise, mom.” James grabbed your hand as he spoke, pulling you towards the side of the house he’d appeared from.

“Mhm, just like how Dad and I liked our ‘pond’?” You spoke sarcastically. When Heather was in her ‘terrible twos’ phase, the two of them got into the most trouble; Heather being the instigator, and James gas lighting her. One afternoon, they had filled the tub in yours and John’s bathroom with dirt, twigs, rocks, and even a handful of worms, before proceeding to fill the tub until it overflowed and ruined the tile and rugs. Of course, you had fallen asleep on the couch from pure parental exhaustion and didn't discover the scene until John came home an hour later.

“That was almost two years ago mom, you’re going to have to let it go.” James spoke with faux sincerity, finally rounding the corner. You narrowed your eyes at him, ready to retaliate, however a very obvious bark caught your attention.

“Ta-Da!” Heather cheesed, grinning from ear to ear. Laying next to your daughter in the grass was a dog; A chocolate labradoodle to be exact.

“Oh my god- How- Whose- What?” You were stuttering over your words, too shocked to form a complete sentence. The dog perked it’s head up at your voice, tail wagging as the tongue hung out from its mouth.

“We found it!” James reassured, letting go of your hand and walking over to where they sat. Kneeling in the grass, your son began to pet the dog. It seemed to like the kids, not putting up a fuss wherever they touched it.

“Is this why you’ve been so quiet?” You pursed your lips, placing a hand over your temple and rubbing to ease the oncoming headache. The two of them chorused cheerful answers, even prompting the dog to let out a soft bark.

“Do you think dad will let us keep it?” James then asked, sadness clearly lacing his tone. You stepped closer to the dog, trying to form some sort of answer; but couldn’t think of one. The kids have been begging for a pet, ever since Heather was old enough to speak. You and John have been avoiding it, knowing you’d rather have your third baby then introduce a dog. But, I guess the universe had other plans for your little family.

“We’ll just have to see when he gets home.” You responded finally, kneeling next to the pet with a huff. You quickly looked over the animal, checking for a collar or any type of tags. It looked skinny as well, like it is malnourished and has been wandering for a bit; picking up a spare meal here and there.

“We found it in the field!” Heather cheerfully explained, pointing towards the open field behind your fenced yard. When John purchased this home, he also purchased the land behind him so no further development could be made. Living in New Jersey, it always baffled you how he’d managed to pull that off.

“Poor thing.” You spoke, a frown growing across your face. The animal gently lift its head from laying to look up at you. His tongue drooped from its mouth as it panted, the heat and fluffy hair not helping the fact.

“Is it a boy or a girl, mommy?” Heather then asked, lovingly grabbing its face and petting. You gently lifted the dog's leg to check before answering your daughter.

“It’s a… Boy.”

“Can we name him Rex? Like a T-Rex?” James mused, eagerly bouncing where he sat. You chuckled at his enthusiasm, however Heather was quick to join the decision making.

“No! I want Mr. Fluffy!”

“How about we choose names later, once Dad gets home.” You interjected yourself before a full fight was to break out. The two kids seemed in agreement, nodding quietly, letting the scuffle fade away.

“Let’s make sure he gets some food and water in his tummy.” You smiled towards your kids and the dog. The two of them nodded eagerly, probably also wanting a snack themselves. Using the side of the house for balance, you stood back up, resting a hand on your bump once again. James and Heather also stood, prompting the dog to jump up as well.

“Mommy, will the dog meet our new baby?” Heather's soft voice spoke. Her small fingers wrapped themselves around your own as the four of you made your way back into the house. Ever since you got pregnant, Heather has been fascinated. Her favorite thing is to feel the baby move and kick, and some days, she's even fallen asleep cuddling up to your belly.

“I'm sure he will, baby.” You smiled down at your daughter, ruffling her messy hair. She gave you a cheesy smile in return, showing her crooked baby-teeth.

Once inside, the dog seemed slightly intimidated by the new environment, however the comforting presence of the kids seemed to be helping. Firstly, you put your unfinished bread dough back into the fridge and turned off the radio before grabbing a spare bowl and filling it with water. James was quick to help, searching the pantry and fridge before pulling out the sandwich meat.

Setting down the bowl, you gently coaxed the dog over. He sniffed around the bowl before eagerly lapping up the water; spilling it all over onto the floor. Heather's giggle-fueled reaction only added to the silly situation. James gently set down a plate containing a few slices of the sandwich meat next to the water bowl. The dog sniffed the plate as well before realizing it was food and swiftly munched down the meat in a few bites.

The three of you hung around by the dog for a few moments before the sound of the garage door opening signaled that John is home. The familiar engine hum of his vintage vehicle echoed loudly before it was promptly cut off, and a few moments later the door to the garage swung open.

“I’m home!” The man called out, hanging his keys.

“Daddy!” Heather yelped, jumping off of a seat at the table and rushing over to her father. John bent down onto one knee, eagerly catching the little girl into his arms.

John, despite your wishes, still works as an assassin. When Heather turned one and things became more manageable, he insisted on going back. Money was the main reasoning, claiming the family will need more income with a new baby. You didn't agree, but went along with it anyways. John is going to do as he pleases anyways; you learned that early on.

“We found a dog!” James gushed, petting the animals head softly. Setting Heather back down, John's dark eyes met those of the dog, laying on the floor next to the food and water. The dog's tail began wagging at the interaction, and he popped his head up.

“How?” John asked, dropping the overnight bag on his shoulder and stepping over to the pet. You, James and Heather all looked at each other, hopeful for a positive reaction. Your husband gently knelt down, admiring the dog; his large hands then gently began to pet the animal.

“Behind the fence in the field, he was stuck.” James answered, “I had to jump it. I got a hole in my shorts because of it.” He added, standing up and showing off the small hole. Both you and John made eye contact at his statement, parental alarms blaring over the fact your son could jump the fence; nevermind the hole in his clothes. James is growing like a weed anyways, you buy him new jeans at least twice a month.

“Does he have a name?” John then asked, giving the dog a few more pets before standing back up.

“No, we were waiting for your input.” You smiled while answering your husband, waddling over to the table and taking a seat. Heather and James still sat around the dog, showering it with affection. John nodded, grabbing the bag he dropped and moving it out of the doorway.

“I want to name him Rex, and Heather wants to name him Mr. Fluffy. Mom didn't give an option, so, it's up to you, dad.” James explained, looking up towards his father. John nodded silently, joining you over by the kitchen table.

“Dog.” The man answered, looking towards his children. They sat quietly before looking between each other, almost having a silent conversation. The dog even let out a sigh, as though he too hated the name.

“That’s stupid.” James finally deadpanned, looking back towards John. You had to stifle a laugh, covering your mouth with your hand. James, as you've come to learn, is basically a copy and paste of his father. He's strong-willed, confident and extremely dry-humored. Sometimes it's humorous, and other times it can be very frustrating.

“Well, maybe Mom should take part in the decision.” John then spoke, his hand moving to rest on your shoulder. You scoffed and leaned away from his touch, annoyed that your neutral ground has been destroyed. The mischievous smile that crossed your husband's face said all that it needed.

“Well, if you must have my input, I've always liked the name Winston.” You then spoke, looking between your family. James and Heather looked at each other again, having another silent conversation. The dog’s head shot up at the mention, eagerly panting.

“We like it.” Heather finally chimed in, a wide smile covering her cheeks. “Mr. Winston Wick.”

“Can we get toys for him?” James added, enthusiastically standing up, which also promoted Heather and Winston to get up as well. The pair jumped into an excited babble, Winston panting cheerfully below them.

“I think there's an old tennis ball in the backyard, if you want to go play right now?” You cut the two of them off, gesturing to the sliding glass door. Nodding, they quickly took off with the dog close behind. With a sigh, you looked up to your husband who was still hovering over your shoulder.

“I can't believe you let them keep the dog.” The humor that laced your tone caused your husband to let out a soft chuckle.

“I know we wanted to wait,” John began, pulling out the chair next to yours and sitting, “But the look on their hopeful faces? How could I say no?”

“A dog will be nice, though. Sometimes I get lonely when you leave.” You spoke, adjusting so you were comfortable and could face him better. Resting a hand on your bump, you let out a soft sigh.

“I know, I’m sorry.” John's response wasn't what you really wanted to hear. You wished he’d retire and stay home to help with raising the family. And with the third baby on the way, while you are very excited, you're also scared. The same fear you held while pregnant with Heather and after discovering his line of work; what if you lose John?

“James seems to have really bonded with the dog. God knows how long they've been hiding it from us.” You changed the subject, turning to face your husband better. Scanning the side of his face, you could see a small cut donning his cheek bone. Must've gotten that from his most recent job.

“It’ll be good for him, teach him some responsibility.” John chimed. His large hand gently placed itself on your bump, thumb rubbing circles. The baby kicked at the feeling; always getting extra jumpy and excited when John touches you. This pregnancy, you wanted to keep the gender a surprise. Honestly, you weren't hoping for a girl or boy; just as long as the baby is healthy. Being an ‘older’ mom, the risk of complications are higher. So far, however, it's been easy. In fact, this pregnancy has been easier than Heather was.

“He's quite responsible already. He basically helped me raise Heather on the days you were gone.” You answered, placing your smaller hand atop John’s. “He’s such a brilliant boy. I can't believe he’s going into the fifth grade this fall.”

“If you keep reminiscing, you're going to cry Darling.” John’s voice gently spoke. You couldn't help but chuckle and sniffle down some tears that threatened to escape.

“Sorry,” You humored, standing up from the table and grabbing a tissue. “But, he’s basically become the man of the house, though. He helps with chores, and even learned how to mow the grass so I wouldn't have to.”

“We can hire a Maid and Gardener.” John deadpanned, standing up from the table and stepping over to you.

“With your career, I don't trust a lot of people. Aurelio is the only one allowed past the driveway.” You didn't mean for your words to come out harsh, but they did. John knows how you feel about his job, especially now that your kids are the perfect ‘kidnap and hold for ransom’ age. You don't even want to be reminded of when Helen kidnapped James.

The man didn't respond, instead his face told all that it needed. He was upset, understandably, but he knows and understands why you lashed out. It's not easy trying to keep your family a secret from your job and vice versa. Especially when your job is highly dangerous and deals with world class criminals.

“I’m sorry, you just got home. Let's not argue.” You sighed, stepping up to your husband. Grabbing his hand, you pulled yourselves as close as your bump would allow. John complied, placing his hands on your sides to hold you tighter.

“No, you're rightfully upset.” The man's voice was soft, almost a whisper. He gently kissed the top of your head before your lips met. Running your hands up his suited chest, a quiet sigh of relief escaped your lips as the kiss broke. The two of you rested your foreheads together, a silent gesture of romance. Your relationship is strong; the love you hold for John trumps your hate of his profession. All that matters is when he comes home and leaves the harsh reality of work behind, he’s greeted with a happy home and family.

“I love you, Mr. Wick.” You spoke gently, running your fingers through his long hair. A small smile overtook his face as he answered.

“I love you too, Mrs. Wick.”

[rosethornewrites]

Fic: The Rebellion of Adrien Agreste, ch. 14

Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth, Juleka Couffaine/Rose Lavillant, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Luka Couffaine, Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug & Kagami Tsurugi, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Luka Couffaine, Lila Rossi/karma, Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth/aneurism, Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug/Kagami Tsurugi, Plagg & Tikki

Characters: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth, Lila Rossi, Jagged Stone, Plagg, Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Luka Couffaine, Penny Rolling, Anarka Couffaine, Rose Lavillant, Juleka Couffaine, Kagami Tsurugi, Alya Césaire, Chloé Bourgeois, Wayhem, Nadja Chamack, Nathalie Sancoeur, Sabine Cheng, Tom Dupain, Tikki, Fang, Principal Damocles, Caline Bustier, Ms. Mendeleiev, original minor character, Alec Cataldi, Lila Rossi’s Mother, Sabrina Raincomprix, Roger Raincomprix, Mylène Haprèle, Le Gorille | Adrien Agreste’s Bodyguard, Nino Lahiffe, Nooroo

Tags: Lila Rossi salt, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Teenage Rebellion, Swearing, Bad Parent Gabriel Agreste, Crack Treated Seriously, Lila Rossi’s Lies Are Exposed, Cuddling & Snuggling, Luka Couffaine Needs a Hug, Paparazzi, Parentification, Marinette Dupain-Cheng Needs a Hug, Gabriel Agreste Needs an Aneurism, Uncle Jagged Stone, we’re all queer here, the spirit of punk is sometimes just being allowed to be yourself, Kagami Finds Her Groove, punk rock fashion, Savage Kagami, Marinette protection squad, Good Parent Sabine Cheng, Good Parent Tom Dupain, Protective Kagami Tsurugi, Protective Luka Couffaine, Bisexual Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Pansexual Luka Couffaine, Sharing a Bed, Pet Names, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, Instagram, Bullying, Social Media, Anxiety, Makeover, Hugs, will cure your acne, Face Punching, Bad Ass Juleka Couffaine, Rumors, Protective Juleka Couffaine, Protective Adrien Agreste, Lawyers, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Holding Hands, accountability, mental health, Jagged Stone’s well-paid pet shark, How to Make the Evening News, Sexy eyeliner for days, one fish two fish Lila is a screwed fish, How to have fun and piss Gabriel off, Fuckery, sweet litigious karma, Alya sugar, lawyer shark doo doo doo doo doo doo, Schadenfreude, Bad Ass Alya Césaire, Gaslighting, abuse denormalization, Jagged likes his lawyers like he likes his pets: toothy af, Blood in the Water, Everything you didn’t know you wanted and some things you did, Gabriel Agreste is shark bait, Denial, Consequences, Principal Damocles salt, caline bustier salt, the impotence of Gabriel Agreste, snarky Nooroo, lies and the lying liars who tell them, Lila’s brain is a narcissistic hellscape, Lila’s mind is built like an Escher piece, Alec Cataldi salt, Adrien Sugar, wholesome salt, Fu Salt, Kwami Shenanigans, Nooroo is a little shit

Summary: Jagged's Shark! Doo doo doo doo doo doo!

Notes: Jagged’s shark! Doo doo doo doo doo doo! (@norakwami​ fault, there.) For real, though. Look up the lawyer’s first and last name for extra lulz. I research too much. And also I love puns. Also researched diplomatic immunity—Lila’s mom could refuse to waive it only for her bosses to override her and waive it anyway. And for serious crimes that’s sometimes the case. I wanted some Alya sugar here; yeah, she and multiple other people believed Lila and dismissed Marinette's concerns. The adults are the ones who deserve salt, though. Not a 14-year-old.

AO3 link

Chapters 1-2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13

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They were still waiting for M. Damocles to finish contacting Mme. Rossi, Marinette having fallen asleep against Sabine and Adrien tempted to follow suit, when a commotion caught their attention. Marinette blinked awake at the shouting.

Curious, Adrien got up to peer around the corner. What he saw left him gaping.

Mme. Bustier’s class had spilled out of the classroom, and were watching as Lila and her mother yelled at each other in rapid-fire Italian, both red-faced. It was almost shocking how they met the stereotype of the hot-blooded Italian in their fervor.

Adrien watched, captivated, only vaguely aware when he was joined by the others, and when the lawyer knocked on the principal’s door and let him know about the “spectacle,” as she called it.

Marinette cried out, her face pale, pointing at a butterfly hovering near the scene. Alya took out her phone to record it, her face a mix of horror and excitement, as though she wasn’t sure she wanted an Akuma just now. Mylène started crying. Juleka moved protectively in front of Rose. Other classroom doors were opening as teachers and students alike came to investigate the commotion.

The Akuma hovered, seemingly uncertain as to which of the Rossis it wanted to go after. Unfortunately, Lila saw it, her expression brightening as she dashed toward it.

“I’ll show you all!”

Adrien gasped as the girl touched her pendant to the Akuma and a familiar butterfly-shaped mask appeared over her face. She would come after him and Marinette, and probably Luka and Kagami. And Jagged and Penny and the lawyer and Tom and Sabine… They were all defenseless. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to get away quick enough to protect them.

As he stood there, frozen, Alya dropped her phone, rushed forward, and clocked Lila in the face. Once she was on the ground, she ripped the necklace from her neck. Mme. Mendeleiev rushed forward with a large beaker from her chemistry lab as Alya broke the pendant, capturing it and covering the opening with a book.

Marinette rushing past him unfroze Adrien, and he ran after her as she hugged a pale, panting Alya.

“Alya, that was amazing,” she breathed. “You saved everyone.”

“Mari— Oh, god, Mari. She wanted to be Akumatized. She was going to go after you and hurt you, and I just couldn’t—” Alya was sobbing in her arms, babbling. “I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you. I’ve been a terrible friend! You tried to tell me, and p-protect me and instead I believed someone I barely knew instead of you. I c-couldn’t let her hurt you!”

As Marinette reassured her, Mme. Mendeleiev told a pallid and shaking M. Damocles that she would put the Akuma somewhere Lila couldn’t reach it for Ladybug and Chat Noir to deal with later.

Lila was keening softly on the ground, her nose obviously broken with this punch, and Adrien couldn’t help but feel a bit of schadenfreude at the sight. Her mother seemed frozen in shock, not even moving forward to comfort her daughter.

“Alya got the Akuma on video,” he murmured, thinking aloud. “So there’s video of Lila going after it to be voluntarily Akumatized.”

Nino picked up Alya’s phone, checking to see that nothing was broken. He pressed the screen to stop the recording. “Yeah, dude. She totally did. Sabrina, you might wanna call your dad. This is big.”

Sabrina immediately pulled out her phone and retreated into the classroom; Chloé blocked the door to make sure Lila didn’t try to stop her, though it seemed unnecessary—the girl gave no indication she’d heard.

M. Damocles stepped forward toward Mme. Rossi. “We will need to have a conversation about your daughter, but perhaps that will need to wait until after her arrest.”

Mme. Rossi turned white, eyes wide. “A-arrest?!”

“Your daughter just knowingly and willingly attempted to aid and abet a terrorist, Mme. Rossi,” the lawyer said, not unkindly. “She will face far more than just the lawsuits by M. Stone, M. Dupain, and Mme. Cheng.”

She stared at the lawyer as though uncomprehending.

“Of course, you could claim diplomatic immunity for your daughter, but it is likely she will at least be expelled from France, though France may choose to refer this matter to the Court of Justice of the European Union, as anti-terrorism laws extend beyond our borders.”

“Who are you?” Mme. Rossi finally demanded.

The lawyer smiled her best shark smile. “I am the head of M. Stone’s legal team, Maître Eulalie Reschignier.”

Adrien tried not to smile when he realized her name was almost a pun.

“My daughter has diplomatic immunity from all lawsuits, as I’m sure you are aware.”

The shark smile became a bit toothy. “We’re aware of that, but also aware that she can be expelled from France at the discretion of the French government.”

Whatever response Lila’s mother intended to give was interrupted by the arrival of Lieutenant Raincomprix and a retinue of other officers.

Nino stepped forward and played the video for the officers. Afterward, Roger approached the still-crying Alya to explain they’d have to take in her phone as evidence until the file could be processed. She just nodded, accepting the temporary loss; she hadn’t let go of Marinette yet.

Then he turned to Mme. Rossi. “We’ll have her injuries checked at the station, but it appears your daughter was attempting to voluntarily become an Akuma. While Akuma victims are never prosecuted, this is a very different issue.”

Mme. Rossi balked. “My daughter has diplomatic immunity!”

“We’re aware,” Officer Raincomprix said with a nod. “Since she has diplomatic immunity, she’ll be moved to a facility outside of Paris pending her likely expulsion back to Italy. Since she attempted to aid and abet a terrorist, your home country will decide whether to waive her diplomatic immunity, but regardless she is too dangerous to keep in Paris.”

That silenced Mme. Rossi, as she realized the limits of the Vienna Convention on Diplomatic Relations.

Several officers helped Lila off the ground and led her down the stairs toward the school entrance, followed closely by Mme. Rossi.

Adrien breathed a sigh of relief at their exit. He doubted they’d ever have to deal with Lila again—at least not in person. And he was willing to bet Italy would take a long hard look at her. Meeting Marinette’s eyes, he could see she was having similar balming thoughts; it’d take them all a while to heal from this—especially if the tears still streaming down Alya’s cheeks and the guilt in her eyes were any indication—but they’d move past this somehow, and hopefully their relationships would all be strengthened.

M. Damocles cleared his throat. “Are we finished here?”

Jagged’s smile was almost malicious. “I don’t think so. Eulalie?”

Maître Reschignier turned to the principal. “It seems Mlle. Rossi’s removal from class will no longer be necessary. Instead, we seek anti-bullying and anti-harassment training for all school personnel in addition to the investigation into the treatment of Mlle. Dupain-Cheng.”

Adrien couldn’t help but notice the elated smile that graced Mme. Mendeleiev’s face briefly, taking years off her appearance, before disappearing under her usual scowl. She, at least, was clearly not opposed to any of that. Mme. Bustier, however, looked displeased—and given that she’d rolled over multiple times to enable both Chloé and Lila, he wasn’t surprised.

The lawyer smiled, this time sincerely, at Adrien and Marinette. “I believe M. Agreste and Mlle. Dupain-Cheng would be best served returning to their class while M. Stone, Mme. Rolling, M. Dupain, and Mme. Cheng iron out the specifics with you in your office, M. Damocles.”

“Ah… Of course, Maître Reschignier.” The principal pulled out a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped his brow. “That seems best.”

Mme. Bustier gestured to enter the classroom. As Adrien moved past the lawyer, she murmured, “I do hope your father will present more of a challenge, M. Agreste.”

He couldn’t hold in his laughter—oh, Adrien hoped she wrecked Gabriel Agreste.

And that he had a front-row seat when she did. And maybe some popcorn.

[movienotesbyzawmer]

October 22: Friday the 13th - The Final Chapter

(previous notes: Friday the 13th Part 3)

I'm on movie number four in this eight movie project, and for the first time I'll be seeing one of these movies that I haven't ever seen before! When I do my watch-a-movie-and-take-notes projects, I generally do them for movies I've already seen before so that it's not too frustrating to simultaneously watch & type. But I'll make an exception for these Friday the 13th movies in light of the fact that they suck.

I remember this being out at my local theater in 1984, when I was 13, and even thinking it might be fun to see it, but I never got around to it.

It really must have been bittersweet for audiences at the time, knowing that this would be the final chapter. Each time they had a positive moment of enjoyment with this movie, they had to remember, "oh, I'm really going to miss this. It shall all be gone. Once the lights come back on, the days of new Friday the 13th movies will never return."

unless

Okay, watching this now for the first time ever.

Again beginning with a rehash. This time however, it's a montage of moments from the first two movies. Wait, now here's some of the third movie. But it's all framed by one of the monologues from the second movie. Much shorter and less of a cheap move than the last two movies did.

The title has a new title-plus-mask image… and then THE FINAL CHAPTER arrives to blow that image up with fire and splody-sounds!

The credits promise the likes of Corey Feldman and Crispin Glover, so that's exciting.

Okay, now it looks like we're at the ranch where the third one took place. They're hauling bodies out of the barn & other buildings. It looks like Jason's body is one of the bodies because hockey mask!

Actually, I think that first shot was a long-ish crane shot. Cinematically ambitious I guess.

We don't know yet what happened to the girl at the end of the last one. It's weird because this scene is at night, but the last movie ended with daytime paramedic activity at the ranch. I'm confused. Please help me. Please tell me that it will all be okay.

One of the covered up bodies has stirred! Jason is probably up to his not-be-dead-after-all tricks!

This scene is about a pair of frisky hospital workers in the "cold room" where there is at least one body, plus a television where the girl "just wants to watch the news". But 80s-style aerobics is what's really on the TV. And she kisses him after all and gets quite flirty, but then takes it all back because he is so insensitive or something. They show the aerobics a lot. It's all pelvic and prurient. Then Jason kills the guy with a bone saw and then goes and finds the girl and kills her with something else because diversity.

Then an abrupt cut to daytime joggers in the woods somewhere!

Now we are learning about the family of the joggers. They live in the country where there is a legend of a psycho, so I guess we're in the Crystal Lake area. The youngest child is Corey Feldman and his personality is "likes video games and wears a monster mask while playing them".

Now we are learning about the kids that rented a house across the street. Crispin Glover and another dude are in a car, talking about a girl and they clearly don't know how to have this kind of conversation, and the writers don't know how to pretend like they do so the other guy does a gag about how an invisible computer told him that CG is bad at sex. It is an unappealing intro to these characters. We even know there are a bunch of other people in the car, way too many honestly, but we don't get to know them. Just the two people who talk like broken robots about a woman.

Just to keep the mood where it ought to be, a hitchhiker they drove past gets impaled by Jason!

CF, a tweenager I should point out, is peeping-tom-ing at the canoodling couple in the rented house, and it is interesting to speculate as to whose idea it was for him to act the way he does when he watches them. He bounces excitedly and slams his head repeatedly into a pillow. Whose idea.

Now there's a skinny dipping scene. They definitely have arrived to the point in the series where they feel it's important to show pretty girls without any clothes.

For some reason, CF and the adult older sister drove to where the skinny dipping was happening, but they bolted when they realized that's what it was. There is ch ch ch ch ch ha ha ha ha ha on them as they have car trouble in the woods as they head home, plus also as two of the swimmers are hanging out. But they both turn out to be fakeouts! No one is dying at all! At least we'll always have the hitchhiker. They can't take that away from us.

The fakeout with the CF subplot is that it was just some handsome man that comes along to help. He says he is this deep in the woods because he is hunting for bear. CF totally calls him out! There's no way he's hunting for bear! No one is just like "it is bear hunting season and I am enjoying some leisurely bear hunting time". CF is no fool.

They decide to take Bear Hunter in as a guest for perhaps the afternoon. Because of the bubble of this movie, CF shows the Bear Hunter his monster toys and Bear Hunter shares in his enthusiasm.

0:37:13 - Now we are choking down this awkward scene where the young people are hanging out in their house trying to deliver dialogue that is not consistent with normal human psychology. The gist is that the men want to be sexual with the women but there are subtle social obstacles.

!!! Crispin Glover really is interesting! His screen presence absolutely towers above the rest of the cast, when he reacts unfavorably to being teased. But seriously all these interactions are so painful.

For our next murder project, we have an inflatable boat made of thin, vulnerable rubber for a person to get stabbed through. It requires assuming that Jason's magic powers allow him to just hide under water, waiting for a naked lady to lie down in the boat at night. This project was completed on time and under budget.

Seriously, the most terrifying scenes in this movie are the ones where the sexually frustrated young adults are hanging out and attempting to use words.

Another death just happened because the boyfriend of the recently-killed naked lady went to check on her, found her dead, then was Jason'd with some implements that I couldn't really understand. Something with a handle shoved into him somehow. It is filmed weirdly and then we just move on to Bear Hunter, camping nearby.

This is a disturbing turn… we're back on the uninteresting young adults, and one of them announces that he has found something very interesting! We see that it is old movie reels. They start watching them. It's old, old film of naked people. They laugh and laugh and laugh. Maybe this is art?

Pretty cool visual with this next death, we just see the shadow of Jason coming at her and killing her with a something. Looks cool as a shadow thing, plus it isn't "those stupid characters talking" which is a HUGE bonus.

We're back to CF's family; Mom saw something that startled her but we don't know what, and CF and Big Sister are… driving home in the car? Where were they, why did they drive somewhere, I forget. Maybe they had to run into town to pick up a packet of it-doesn't-matter-we-just-needed-Mom-to-be-alone.

Just like that, Older Sister went looking for Mom, but ends up taking shelter from the rain in Bear Hunter's tent. Bear Hunter, in a very predictable fakeout, slashes a hole in the tent because what is she doing in there anyway.

But we cut back to the young adults and CG gets a very ugly death! He's all "hey where's the corkscrew" and Jason makes his hand be corkscrewed and makes his face be stabbed!

Then he kills one of the other young adults just right afterward by being outside her second floor bedroom window and pulling her out the window SO HARD. Seriously it must be a hard job coming up with different ways to kill them, give them a break.

Back to Bear Hunter; he's fessing up to his true motive which is to hunt Jason. His story is hard to believe, and Big Sister is taking it in very diplomatically.

The one guy in the group of the young adults who is the biggest asshole is also the one most amused by the old films. We see them a lot, these old films they are watching. It is the silent era's version of soft core porn - women dancing naked. Anyway, the asshole's death happens when he gets the idea to be close to the projector screen, enabling Jason to stab him through it and making it look kind of cool and be a scene that ends with the projector-still-running cadence.

New death - guy is taking a post-coital shower and Jason comes in and shoves his arm through the sliding glass shower door thing and very effectively crushes the guy's head against the wall. Then the girlfriend comes in and discovers him; she runs down to the front door, but she can't open it, she just can't open it, it just won't open, and it ends with somehow Jason axe-killing her through the door from outside. They don't show it very well and no one probably ever clearly explained to anyone how it was supposed to work.

1:09:20 - This is followed immediately by a scene that is also poorly choreographed - Bear Hunter returns with Big Sister but it's a fakeout because for some reason they break the glass of the side door to get in, even though CF is right there. They are all frightened as if they know about deaths happening, even though they don't know about the deaths. It's just that the power has been spotty; that’s why things are urgent, as far as they know.

They decide to investigate the house where the young adults are staying. They are gingerly surveying the living room, and they walk right by where the projector screen murder happened, but they see no evidence of that crime.

1:11:55 - Bear Hunter tells the big sister "you stay right here with Corey". I'm pretty sure that just happened. I think he was referring to CF, whose character is not named Corey and who also is not with them.

In a shocking piece of non-linear storytelling, a dog jumps out a window in slow motion. Art. ART.

Jason kills Bear Hunter right in front of Big Sister, and even though his mission in life has been to hunt Jason, Bear Hunter doesn't even fight him off, he just begs Big Sister to run as Jason pounds on him. Big sister does run, but each of the house's exits has a dead person surprise that's too scary for her to go past so she's stuck inside with Jason!

But CF has heard her screaming and comes across the street to be with her. Oh but wait, I think they are actually now back at their house. I missed how that happened. That chase ends with a moment where she has reason to think she might have killed him by hitting him pretty hard with a cathode ray television set with an approximately 15" screen. But no, he changes back from almost-dead to regular-Jason and chases them around some more.

1:21:45 - They must have felt like their secret weapon for this movie was slo-mo thrown-through-a-window situations because Big Sister ends a portion of being chased by Jason by throwing herself through a window and landing painfully on the ground outside. Jason's all "you won this round Big Sister, but I'll be back. This is not The Final Chapter of this story!"

Everyone seems to have wound up back at the young adults' house, and CF has come up with an ingenious idea - he shaves his head to confuse Jason! Then he and Big Sister stab Jason a lot and it's all very gory and climactic.

The way the movie ends is that Jason's body twitches a little on the ground after they mostly kill him, and CF freaks out and stabs Jason many many, many more times! Cut to later on when Big Sister is in a hospital bed being told it will all be okay by some Caucasian men in white coats. They suggest that CF was pretty crazy for a minute there but that will pass. CF comes to give her a hug… but he looks scary! You guys, look, he looks scary! The big finish is that CF has a sinister look on his face. Cut to credits.

We never saw what happened to the Mom. Or the main girl from Part 3. Also it seems like there were some other young adults that just stopped being in the movie. How dare they.

Okay so I am halfway through this ridiculous project. I have watched four of the eight Friday the 13th movies. I watched them all by myself at my home during the COVID-19 pandemic. These challenging times I tell you.

(next: Friday the 13th - A New Beginning)

[wherepoetswentodie]

BOM 10 Day Challenge Day 3!

Write a scene betwen your favourite Non-McPricely ship: Arnaba, also known as my emotional support heteros. 

(This is probably the worst thing that I ever written but I’ve never claimed to be good at writing ok)

Truthfully, Arnold forgot he had a girlfriend sometimes.

Not in a bad way or in a he didn’t care about her sort of way, but in a ‘I can’t believe someone like her likes me and my brain short circuits sometimes’ sort of way. When he had told Kevin this and asked if it was weird, he had told him that it was a bit weird, but mainly cute.

“Do you forget you have a boyfriend sometimes?” Arnold had asked anxiously.

“Um...no,” Kevin had said, “I don’t forget,”

Turned out that Arnold was the only one who sometimes forgot he was in a relationship; James and Chris had both told him that they had never forgotten they were in a relationship, and Zelder was always aware of his girlfriend back home (this certainly didn’t make Arnold feel better. Zelder and his girlfriend were in different countries and he could still remember her).

When Arnold had told Nabulungi this, he had immediately regretted it and assumed that she was going to break up with him there and then, but she had simply laughed, called him sweet and kissed his cheek.

“Why did you tell her, dude?” Kevin had asked that night when Arnold told him what he’d said, “You really shouldn’t tell your girlfriend that you forget about her sometimes!”

“She said it was sweet!” Arnold exclaimed, “Tell Connor the same thing and see what he says!”

The next morning, a very irate Connor McKinley stomped through the hut, followed by an equally irate Kevin Price who stopped only to glare at Arnold and snap, “He didn’t think it was sweet! He told me to fuck off!”

Still, Nabulungi thought he was sweet and didn’t want to break up with him, and that was all he really cared about (he also cared massively about his best friends wellbeing and hurried off to find Connor and explain that he and Kevin didn’t need to fight because what Kevin had said was technically his fault. So really, he cared about two things; Kevin and Nabulungi. And he supposed Connor, because nowadays, Kevin and Connor were practically one in the same).

And Nabulungi must have thought that he was very sweet because three days after he had almost accidentally broken Kevin and Connor up, she had asked him out on a date. He had nodded, stammered his, “uh...yeah..that sounds - sounds great!” and promptly ran all the way back to the hut, bursting into his and Kevin’s bedroom and bringing a makeout session to a screeching halt.

“Arnold!” Kevin yelled from where he was still laying underneath a bright red Connor, “How many times do I have to tell you? Knock! We’re not having a repeat of last month!”

At the mention of the incident from the previous month, Connor went even more red and quickly sat up, pulling Kevin with him.

“Can we stop talking about the incident?” Connor asked, fanning his face a little, “it makes me want to drown myself,”

Kevin rolled his eyes and turned back to Arnold, “Do you need something?”

“I have a problem,” Arnold said, “Nabulungi asked me out on a date and I said yes!”

Connor frowned at him, “So your problem is that your girlfriend asked you on a date and you said yes? Am I missing something here?”

“We’ve never been on a date before! We just started dating!” Arnold exclaimed, wringing his hands together, “What do I do? What do I say? What do I wear?”

“Considering you only own one outfit, I don’t think you have to worry about what to wear, bud,” Kevin said gently, “And you don’t really have to worry about her liking your or not because she already does. You’ll be fine,”

Arnold groaned and flopped face first onto his bed, “What if she stops liking me afterwards?”

“She won’t,” Connor said confidently, “Where are you going?”

“I don’t know,”

“Oh,” Connor said, “When are you meeting her?”

Arnold looked up at him and frowned, “Am I meant to know these things? It’s not like it’s a massive village! I didn’t ask! I just - I just said I’d see her tonight!”

Connor tutted and shook his head, “Straight people.”

~~~~

That evening, Arnold stood in the bathroom and desperately tried to get his hair to stop being such a mess. But the Ugandan heat coupled with the fact that he had never bothered how to properly style curly hair meant that his hair had long since lost its curls and was more fizzy than anything. Sometimes he felt he looked like a cat had coughed a massive fur ball onto his head.

“Arn, bud, you in there?”

“Yeah,” Arnold said, opening the door for Kevin.

“Why do you look so...sad?” Kevin asked, shutting the door behind him and leaning back against it, “Are you not excited about your date?”

Arnold pouted at him through the mirror, “My hair looks bad,”

Kevin’s eyes flickered up to it, “It looks fine,”

“It doesn’t!”

Kevin sighed, “Just put some water on it. That’s what I do when my hairs a mess,”

“You literally just have to brush your hand through your hair in the morning and it looks perfect! You don’t get an opinion!” Arnold snapped.

“Woahh, buddy, calm down,” Kevin said soothingly, “Naba already likes you, remember? She’s already your girlfriend. You’ll be fine. You’ll have fun,”

“But my hair,” Arnold whined.

“Is fine!” Kevin exclaimed, “I promise you, pal. I wouldn’t let you leave the hut if you looked a mess. I’m not that mean,”

Just then, Connor shouted up the stairs that Nabulungi was waiting for him outside. Arnold turned to Kevin, eyes wide in fear.

“I’m going to mess this up and then I’m going to be single for the rest of my life and then I’m going to die alone,”

Kevin sighed and put his arm around his shoulders, leading him out of the bathroom and down the stairs, “None of that is going to happen, Arn. You’re overthinking. Just go and spend a nice night with your girlfriend. I’ll see you later,”

It was with some trepidation that Arnold waved a rather miserable goodbye to Kevin and wandered out of the hut. He spotted Nabulungi standing at the bottom of their little path, waving at him with her usual massive grin. 

“These are for you!” she said brighty, holding out a bouquet of flowers.

“Oh, uh, I think - I think I’m the one who’s meant to get you flowers,” he said, stumbling over his words as his cheeks flushed a little.

Nabulungi shook her head, “No, no. Baba always tells me of how my mother used to bring him flowers. So now I’m doing the same for you!”

“Oh,” Arnold said intelligently, “Oh. T-Thank-you,”

She grinned again and took his hand, pulling him along with her.

“You look beautiful, by the way,” he said, remembering that he was meant to say that to her. (Not that he was just saying that because he had to, because he really did think that she looked beautiful. Not there was ever a time when he didn’t think that. She was just a generally beautiful person.)

“Thank-you,” she said, “So do you!”

Arnold forced a laugh and tried not to think about his hair or how his palms were probably sweaty or how there was a bug crawling a long one of the flowers and really he wanted nothing more than to throw the flowers so he wouldn’t be anywhere near the bug. In an attempt to distract himself from the bug, he turned back to Nabulungi.

“So, what are we - where are we going?” he asked.

“I hope you don’t mind that I’ve planned something,” she said, “I want to go stargazing,” she tugs on his hand again, pointing over to a field just behind her hut, “I can show you all the constellations!”

She showed him to a little spot that she had set up with a blanket and a plate of fruit. He hesitantly followed her over to it, lying down besides her and trying not to think about the fact that a snake could easily crawl out of nowhere and get to them.

“Isn’t the night sky beautiful?” Nabulungi asked wistfully, taking his hand into hers again.

For a moment, Arnold considered saying, ‘Not nearly as beautiful as you,’ but quickly stopped himself. Kevin kept on telling him to stop constantly trying to live his life like he was in a movie and felt like that sort of nonsense was something that an annoying protagonist in a romcom would say.

Instead, he cast his eyes to the sky and nodded, because even he could appreciate something like the Ugandan night sky. Somehow, he had managed to never really pay it that much attention until now, and was almost angry at himself for spending so much time indoors at night.

“Yeah.” Arnold said, “Beautiful,”

Nabulungi held her arm up above her and began to talk him through all the stars, planets and constellations. She told him about how her mother had taught her all about the stars and the planets when she was a child, and how just one look up at the night sky made her feel closer to her.

“Just before she died, she told me that when she went, she wouldn’t be far because she would only be on the other side of the moon,” Nabulungi said, “So when I am sad or I miss her, I just have to look at the moon and know that she’s there. Still watching over me,” she turned to him and smiled, “And that means she’s watching over you, too,”

Arnold wasn’t entirely sure why the concept of his girlfriend's dead mom watching over him was so terrifying, but it was. At once, his brain jumped to all sorts of scenarios where Mrs Hatimbi might haunt him for forgetting that Nabulungi was actually his girlfriend.

“Do you have anyone hiding behind the moon?” Nabulungi asked.

Arnold shook his head, “No. I mean, my Grandad is dead but I was like...5. I don’t really remember him. We don’t have a big family,”

Nabulungi turned her head to look at him, “I thought Mormons had big families? Like Kevin said,”

“A lot of Mormons have big families. Kevin does. And I think - I think Connor has like...45 cousins or something but I don’t,” Arnold told her, “My family wishes they were more like the Prices,”

Nabulungi frowned, “Why? Kevin says they aren’t really that nice,”

Arnold shrugged, “The Prices are a well respected family. We aren’t. Not really. If it were up to my dad, I’d be more like Kevin than me,”

Nabulungi made a little dissatisfied noise through her nose and scooted closer to him, resting her head against his shoulder.

“I don’t want you to be more like Kevin. I want you to be like you,”

Arnold smiled a little and turned back to the sky, eyes flickering over to the moon, “The sky doesn’t look like this at home. We don’t see that many stars,”

“What's it like? Sal Tlay Ka Siti?”

Arnold thought back to his hometown. Admittedly, it hadn’t been a place that he thought about much since Arnoldism had taken over much of his brain capacity. He leaned his head against Nabulungi’s, thinking about it for a moment.

“I don’t know,” Arnold admitted, “it’s...religious. There’s lots of Mormons,”

Nabulungi giggled, “Yes, and there are a lot of Mormons here, too,”

“Yeah, but not...not ones like us. Ones that - ones that aren't as nice,” Arnold said, “and it gets really, really cold in the winter. It snows a lot,”

“I’ve never seen snow. What is it like?”

“Cold,” Arnold said, “You’d hate it,”

“I would not hate it if you were there, Arnold,” 

Arnold grinned and looked back up at the sky. He didn’t think he’d hate going back so much if Nabulungi was with him.

[akaashirabu]

serenity • akaashi keiji (Pt. 4)

The Tokyo sky was in a beautiful color of orange and the quiet girl can't help but admire it. She likes sunsets and now she just badly want to go home and draw but here she was stuck with her dumbass brother.

"Hey F/N, when I told you this morning that you should make new friends, I didn't mean make new boy friends!" her brother nags.

F/N looked at him weirdly. "Stop saying it like that, you're making it sound weird and they're not my friends."

"Well, to you they're not but by the way that one dude talks to you earlier, he certainly thinks you are friends." —— "I know how boys think so I suggest you not get closer to them." He continues to nag.

F/N rolls her eyes at his brother; acting like an overprotective brother at a time like this is unnecessary.

"Say Nii-san, you do realize we can just lie to mom about taking me around the city and go home already right?" she says, totally tired of putting up with his idiot of a brother.

"Hey don't change the subject! And no, we can't go home yet. I need to go to the game store and buy something."

F/N can't help but scowl. Of course that was his motive after all.

They arrived at the Game Store and she watched her idiot brother tremble in excitement.

"Hurry up and get it, I really want to go home now, nii-san." she groaned

"Okay okay, wait for me here." he says and rushed to get inside.

F/N was left standing outside the store, observing her surroundings. Tokyo sure is on a whole different level than Miyagi, so many people are passing by and she sighs thinking that she will probably never get use to this new scene. It's so...chaotic.

She looked back at the store to check if her brother is done when someone bumped into her, making her slightly lose her balance.

"Ah...gomen." the person says quietly and bowed his head.

F/N didn't had a chance to reply since the person's attention was already back on his PSP and was already walking away.

She didn't even saw his face, only his weird blonde hair with black roots. F/N just shrugged, at least he apologized.

The following day F/N walked up to class quietly, no one was paying attention to her arrival and she really liked it.

However, it was immediately cut off by a certain bubbly girl calling for her.

"Ohayo, F/N-chan!" she greeted.

She sighs. Too loud early in the morning.

Taking a sit next to her bubbly seatmate, F/N just gave her a nod to acknowledge her greeting. She's not really in the mood for a conversation with her to be honest.

Miichan though, seems to not get it and continues to talk to her. Something about  a theater play and how she really wanted to watch. F/N wasn't getting anything out of it though.

While Miichan continues to talk, F/N felt someone was staring at her and she was right; she took a peak at her side and locked eyes with a dude who had a long face and looks mature for a first year student. As soon as the dude realized he has been caught staring, he looked away with a flustered face.

F/N went back to looking at her notebook and pen, ignoring what just happened.

"Hey F/N-chan, are you still listening to me?" Miichan asked.

She nodded even though she hasn't been listening at all.

"Oh anyway have you decided on what club are you joining?"

"Don't think I'll be joining one." she answers.

"but you need to have one, it's actually on the school rules you know, that you have to join a club." Miichan stated.

The timid girl rested her chin on her hand, thinking of how it's a pity she need to join one. She was honestly looking forward to casually going to the library and draw everyday after school.

"I'm actually in the Acting Club, maybe you can join us!" Miichan excitedly says.

"No. Thanks." F/N immediately turned her down. Acting Club is definitely a drag. She didn't want to converse with people let alone act with them on plays or whatever.

Miichan pouted. "So what do you have in mind? Cooking? Photography?"

F/N shaked her head no.

"How about sports?"

Do I even look like someone who plays a sport?

F/N sighed. "Arts, is there an Art club?"

"Oh yeah you're good at drawing, I forgot." Miichan chuckled. "Yes, I think we have one."

F/N didn't say anything afterwards. Oh that reminds her, she had to ask her something.

"Uhh Miyazaki-san, did you perhaps told someone where I came from before transferring here?" she asks.

"Hey I told you to just call me Miichan." she pouted.

"uhh...I'm still not used to it."

Miichan grinned. "Aww it's okay. And to answer your question, nope I haven't told anyone, why?"

"Oh...it's nothing." she mumbles.

Miichan was about to pester her on why she asked but thankfully Arizugawa-sensei arrived and F/N was spared.

The lesson has already started but she was still deep in thought. If Miichan didn't told anybody about her coming from Shiratorizawa, how did owl boy and messy black hair from the volleyball team heard about it then?

F/N decided to just shrug the thought. She won't meet those two again anyway and she doesn't have the slightest intention of watching their practice or match even though owl boy invited her.

Oh how F/N regrets that thought now, because just as soon as lunch came when she was about to buy food, she heard a loud voice echoing in the hallways.

"Hey Hey hey!! If it isn't F/N-chan." she sees the owl boy from yesterday and just right beside him was messy black hair with an expressionless face.

"Bokuto-san, please lower your voice." he says to owl boy with a sigh.

F/N can't help but sigh too as she saw the stares everyone was giving her and the few murmurs about the new freshman girl being friends with the volleyball team's captain and vice captain in just her second day at Fukurodani. This is too embarassing.

...an absolute pain in the ass. Being acquainted with popular people definitely has the number 1 spot in her "must avoid at all costs" list.

F/N intended to just ignore them but it was too late since Bokuto and Akaashi already catched up beside her. The Owl captain, smiling widely at her.

She sighed again, feeling defeated. "Hai, do you need something uhhh...senpai?" She mumbles. F/N figured that since he's the captain of the team, he's definitely a year higher, definitely her senpai despite being this childish.

"Are you going to watch us practice later?" Bokuto asked with enthusiasm.

"I ahh...I don——" she was about to say but he started to speak again.

"You should definitely see us play and you'll see how awesome I am, even more awesome than the Shiratorizawa team's ace." he confidently says.

F/N fidgeted on her fingers, feeling the awkwardness of so much attention that was on them right now.

Thankfully, Akaashi noticed F/N being uncomfortable so he devised a plan to distract Bokuto-san.

"Bokuto-san, if we don't hurry the Yakisoba pan will run out." he says, still expressionless.

Bokuto-san turned into panic mode. "Oh right, Yakisoba pan! F/N-chan, I gotta go, I'll see you later at practice okay?" he says, ready to run his way to the cafeteria.

F/N heaved a sigh of relief. Thank goodness energetic senpai is gone.

"L/N-san..." her heart almost fell when she heard someone talk infront of her.

It was Akaashi. Just when she thought he had left with his captain who ran to the cafeteria but uhh he's still here.

"Let me apologize for Bokuto-san...he's like that but he's a nice person." he says.

She nodded. "It's okay...I was just a little bit...uhhh culture shocked."

Akaashi slightly smiled.

Ah so stoic faced messy black hair can smile. F/N thought.

"If you're not busy, you're still welcome to watch us today." He says.

F/N was about to make some excuse and decline but was cut off with a

"AKAAASHIII" that was Bokuto-san yelling.

Akaashi sighs. "Well then, see you later L/N-san." He says with a bow of his head, walking his way to where Bokuto went.

F/N just gave a slight nod, a sigh escaping  from her lips afterwards as she realizes that now, those two are definitely expecting her to watch them practice.

What a drag.

—

part [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]...

also posted in my wattpad account @akaashirabu.

[candyshua]

Linger {Lee Hangyul x Kim Yohan x Reader} Chapter 2

Navigating high school was expected to be difficult, but it was even more challenging without Mom there to guide you…

After the death of your mother, you move into your aunt’s tiny apartment amid the streets of Seoul. With your father working hard in the military, there was no way he could take care of you. Never in your seventeen years of living would you have expected to meet someone quite like the two boys you met. Their names were Kim Yohan and Lee Hangyul, and those names would soon become ingrained in your brain forever.

All you had wanted to do was survive…You wanted to get through the last year of high school without much trouble.

Yet, that was a faraway fantasy. No matter how much you wanted your past to go away, it would follow you wherever you went.

Previous

 Next

Warnings: Death, murder, violence, traumatic events, PTSD, bullying.

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Word Count: 2627

Friendship. In its entirety, it was something you craved. You desired to have a platonic bond with someone, but ever since the death of your mother, you were an outcast, a pariah. Yet, at Cheongdam High School, the students didn’t know that. You wanted to keep it that way.

One day, you were having lunch with your friend Song Hyeongjun. Hyeongjun was a funny boy, he was younger than you and had an odd yet charming aura to him. Sometimes, Hangyul and Yohan would join you two for lunch, but they usually took their lunchtime to go to Yohan’s father’s taekwondo studio. The two of them were fantastic fighters, according to Hyeongjun. 

Despite never having seen him fight, you didn’t doubt one bit that Kim Yohan was exceptional at it. You didn’t doubt Kim Yohan at all, in fact, you believed in him. You trusted him. During those past three months of getting to know him, he had snuck his way into your heart. Yet, it was oddly comforting, seeing as you didn’t want him to leave your heart. 

“I’m done, Hyeongjun. I’m gonna go outside for a bit.” You explained while cleaning up your tray filled with half-finished food. You picked up your backpack and went.

You arrived outside and decided to settle on a bench in front of the school. The school itself was huge and was protected by a huge gate. Beyond the gate was the beautiful setting of Seoul, the city you had grown to love just as if it were your home.

The blue sky was bright and inviting, along with the few wispy clouds scattered across the landscape. You felt truly content. 

You took out your backpack and rummaged through it, looking for your phone, wanting to take a picture of this beautiful day. 

Just as you were about to take the wonderful photo, a rather rude group of girls came by and ruined your entire mood.

The leader of the crew, Juda, wasn’t exactly your favorite person. She was known for being in love with Lee Hangyul, which didn’t affect you much. She would always whisper bad things about you, which you didn’t pay much attention to, but you still acknowledged the fact that she was rude to you. 

Juda leaned down and took your phone from your hand, her dyed chestnut brown hair aggressively brushing your face while doing so. You immediately attempted to get it back, but your wrist was grabbed by one of Juda’s friends. You sighed exasperatedly.

“Can I have my phone back, please? While I’m asking nicely?” You threatened, your voice on the brink of breaking from pure frustration.

Nobody seemed to notice Kim Yohan and Lee Hangyul walking towards the scene, ready to help out. Yet, fortunately for them, they didn’t have to do much. The moment Juda tried to punch you, you blocked it immediately. When one of her friends tried to kick you from behind, you jumped up and dodged it just in time. Soon, the group of four girls were all ready to attack, swinging aimlessly and unsuccessfully. Within two minutes, the four girls had their butts on the ground, groaning in defeat. You grabbed your phone, which was on the ground near Juda, luckily unscathed. 

“You should’ve just given me my phone back.” You calmly retorted, a smirk filled with victory etched onto your face. 

Yet, the smirk was completely washed off of your face the moment you turned around. There stood Kim Yohan and Lee Hangyul, and during that moment, you wanted nothing else but to disappear. Expecting them to cower in fear, it was much to your surprise when they started clapping.

“That was...impressive.” Yohan murmured as he wore a sly grin. You then visibly untensed, but you still couldn’t hide your shock.

“Relax, Y/N, we’re not gonna report you or anything.” Hangyul giggled, which made you breathe a sigh of relief.

“Oh.” You managed to muster.

“Oh?” Yohan teased, quirking an eyebrow. Yohan was handsome alright; his big brown eyes, sleek black hair, and pink plump lips were tangible evidence.

“I should go…” You suggested, but you were stopped by Yohan’s grip on your wrist. You didn’t miss the way your heartbeat quickened, and you certainly didn’t miss the spark you felt when he touched you. You turned around, your skin on fire from his touch. You never wanted him to let go.

“Where did you learn to fight like that? I know those girls, and they aren’t bad fighters.” Yohan questioned, his hand still around your wrist. You were so focused on him that you missed Hangyul looking at you with longing in his eyes. He had so desperately wanted to break you two apart, but he knew you had already fallen for Kim Yohan, the best student in the school and his best friend. But he couldn’t do that to him or to you.

“My dad serves in the military, and he made me start taking Taekwondo when I was five. I just stopped recently, since I can’t afford it.” You muttered.

“Well, would you like to start again? Free of charge!”

The look you gave Yohan was incredulous. Your eyebrows were basically sky high, your mouth was basically underground from how far it dropped, and your eyes popped out of your head. It took you a moment to compose yourself.

“Huh?”

“I help volunteer at a Taekwondo studio with Hangyul. We teach kids and practice by ourselves as well. Would you like to join us?” 

You pondered the idea. For a moment, you almost said no, since you felt like you were intruding. However, you didn’t have the stomach nor the heart to turn down Kim Yohan, so you ended up smiling and nodding.

“I’d love to.”

-

And so it began. Your bond with the two boys was strengthened little by little. Each session you taught brought the three of you closer together. 

On one Friday evening, Hangyul noticed your mother’s necklace around your neck during practice. “Why do you wear that necklace while fighting? It could hurt you.” Hangyul questioned, pointing to the object around your neck. You fidgeted with it for a bit.

“It was my mother’s.” 

Hangyul gave you an unreadable look with a mysterious glint in his eyes. You cowered a bit, too ashamed to make eye contact.

You hated yourself whenever you thought of your mother. If only you could go back and save her…

Hangyul noticed your tearful eyes before you did.

“Hey, it’s okay. You don’t need to get into it.” He reassured. You nodded and gave him a weak smile.

“Thank you, Hangyul. I really mean it.”

-

Hangyul laid awake in bed later that night, tossing and turning with you fresh in his mind. He couldn’t rid you of his mind no matter how hard he tried. Hangyul knew you didn’t like him, but it still hurt nonetheless. Unrequited love wasn’t exactly fun.

Deciding that it would be a sleepless night, Hangyul got out of bed and started to go downstairs to get a glass of water. When he heard his parents talking in a grave tone, however, he suddenly stopped. He quietly stood at the top of the stairs and listened to his parents, who were in the kitchen.

“How do we tell him, Sookyung?” Hangyul’s father asked, strain apparent in his voice.

“I don’t know, honey. He keeps looking for her, and I don’t think he’ll ever stop until he meets her or gets answers.”

Hangyul gulped. What was so wrong with meeting his biological mother? What were his parents hiding?

The moment he heard his parents’ footsteps, he quietly tip-toed back to his room and feigned sleep in his bed. 

His mind went back to you, and his heart began to hurt.

-

Woosh! The sound of Yohan’s fist gliding past your face, just barely missing, was heard among the quiet studio. 

The two of you continued to spar, punches and kicks being expertly thrown, until you had Yohan pinned beneath your leg. After he started hitting your leg, letting you know that you won, you shot up and screamed a shrill of joy.

“Finally! I beat you!” You laughed, sticking your tongue out at him afterward. He merely crossed his arms and glared at you playfully. 

“I’m hungry,” Yohan said in an attempt to change the subject.

“Yeah, I guess losing can make you hungry.” You taunted, which led to Yohan chasing you aimlessly around the studio. He finally caught up to you, grabbing your wrist and smirking triumphantly.

The two of you stared at each other for just a bit. His beautiful brown eyes stared into yours, and you never wanted to look away.

He was beautiful.

On the other hand, Yohan’s heart was beating unnaturally fast. Why was it doing that?

You tried to laugh the oddly intimate moment off, smoothly slipping yourself from his grasp around your wrist.

“Let’s go get food!” You cheered. Yohan nodded and smiled. After you ran off to go and get changed, Yohan stared at himself in the taekwondo studio’s mirror.

What was wrong with him? Why were his cheeks flushed?

He couldn’t get your warm, adorable smile out of his head. He also couldn’t ignore the tingling feeling you gave him, or the sparks he felt whenever he touched you.

And then, it hit him like a bullet train.

He was falling for you.

-

The two of you went to a small, local restaurant right by the taekwondo studio. The night was filled with laughter and smiles, the two of you just getting lost in each other’s eyes. 

After a bit of small talk, the two of you got to know each other a bit better. For example, you learned about his favorite color (which was blue), his reason for starting taekwondo (he wanted to learn how to protect his family), and his life at home. 

Soon, it turned into him venting to you. His parents, who were constantly fighting, drove him absolutely insane. You listened attentively and hoped you could give him some advice. You mindlessly chewed on your food as he went on about the stress he was feeling.

“I just don’t feel like I’m doing this whole ‘life’ thing right.” He confessed, avoiding eye-contact with you, as if he were ashamed.

You pondered his thought for a moment.

“There is no right way to live life,” You began, “and there is no wrong way. That’s the thing about living, you have days where things feel right and days where things feel wrong. There isn’t a rulebook to this, nor is there a proper way to be human. You just have to be you, and not some ‘picture-perfect’ guy. Only after that will you start feeling better.”

Yohan stared at you innocently. You couldn’t help but internally smile at his adorable side. 

“Wow, you’re really good at giving advice. And, you’re right.” He murmured. You chuckled slightly, your heart swelling with warmth. 

After your lovely night together, you finally went home to your apartment. By then, it was December. It had been a few months since you got your father’s last letter, but you were still shocked to see it on the coffee table nonetheless.

You sighed and mentally prepared yourself. You toyed with the necklace around your neck; it was a nervous habit you had picked up ever since you got it. 

You opened up the letter and let out a sigh of relief once you saw how short it was. 

But then, your heart stopped. A photograph fell out of the envelope. The photo encased a picture of your mother, your father, and you.

You were happy. And, more importantly, you were together. 

Without even realizing it, tears started to cascade down your face. Your heart began to hurt, more than it ever did before. You clutched your chest, and suddenly you realized you were crying.

You missed your mother more than anything else; if you could just go back to that night…

Everything would be different, if only you were a bit quicker. 

Your mind went back to the night your mother died. It was a tranquil evening, and you big your mother good night before going upstairs to your room. 

Little did you know that those would be the last words your mother would ever hear from you.

You quickly texted your father a good night message and then fell asleep without any trouble. Before you could’ve even realized it, you were in a nice, peaceful sleep.

You awoke to the sound of a plate breaking. You shot up from your bed, your chest heaving and your breaths heavy and uneven. Your eyes darted around your room, which was a quaint and comfy place. 

Soon, you heard a noise you would never forget--the sound of your mother screaming for help. 

You wanted to go and run to her, but you knew that you could hurt yourself. You then heard footsteps creak against the wooden floors of your kitchen--the steps much too heavy to be your mother’s.

There was an intruder.

You then got a pair of scissors from a container on your desk and quietly tip-toed downstairs. Your fear was about to swallow you whole, until you remembered who you were trying to save.

Alas, you were too late. Your mother laid on the floor in a pool of her own deep red blood. It was a sight that would be permanently engraved in your brain, your mother’s body clinging onto what little life there was left for her.

Anger devoured you. The man, who looked shocked to see another human being, quickly reacted. Yet, your years of training in taekwondo had managed to save your life. You kicked him in the groin and he hunched over, dropping the bloody knife he held. You threw the scissors aside; you had found a better weapon.

You grabbed his knife and plunged it into his stomach. You cried out at the disturbing noise.

He fell to the ground, he had lost consciousness very quickly. You rushed over to your counter and grabbed the phone, dialing the emergency service number as quickly as humanly possible.

After hanging up the phone, you stared at your mother with traumatized eyes. Soon, the reality of the situation started to sink in with a merciless twinge.

You had killed a man, and your mother was going to die. 

You rushed over to where your mother laid, tears falling down your eyes like an ocean tide. 

“Mom, I’m so sorry...I should’ve been here quicker.” You sobbed, holding her hands. Yet, she didn’t have the strength to respond. Her breaths soon thinned out and halted.

Your mother was dead.

-

You finally read your father’s letter.

Y/N,

I thought you should have this photo. I’m sorry it has been so long, I’ve been so busy with the army. I hope you can smile at this picture just like I did.

-Your father.

You remembered the times when you would talk to your father daily on the phone. Now, the two of you would send each other a letter every so often. It seemed as if your life ended that night, too.

Or, you thought it did. But, after many months of being without your mother, you had realized something:

The living must live.

So, you smiled at the photo of the three of you, fulfilling your father’s wish. 

Your mind then roamed back to the cute boy you had so desperately fallen for. You giggled slightly at the thought of your mother when she figured out you had a crush. She would have loved it!

Although your heart felt a bit empty, you smiled. I have to live on, you thought, I have to.

[naagi]

My Family’s Slave

By Alex Tizon

--

The ashes filled a black plastic box about the size of a toaster. It weighed three and a half pounds. I put it in a canvas tote bag and packed it in my suitcase this past July for the transpacific flight to Manila. From there I would travel by car to a rural village. When I arrived, I would hand over all that was left of the woman who had spent 56 years as a slave in my family’s household.

Her name was Eudocia Tomas Pulido. We called her Lola. She was 4 foot 11, with mocha-brown skin and almond eyes that I can still see looking into mine—my first memory. She was 18 years old when my grandfather gave her to my mother as a gift, and when my family moved to the United States, we brought her with us. No other word but slave encompassed the life she lived. Her days began before everyone else woke and ended after we went to bed. She prepared three meals a day, cleaned the house, waited on my parents, and took care of my four siblings and me. My parents never paid her, and they scolded her constantly. She wasn’t kept in leg irons, but she might as well have been. So many nights, on my way to the bathroom, I’d spot her sleeping in a corner, slumped against a mound of laundry, her fingers clutching a garment she was in the middle of folding.

To our American neighbors, we were model immigrants, a poster family. They told us so. My father had a law degree, my mother was on her way to becoming a doctor, and my siblings and I got good grades and always said “please” and “thank you.” We never talked about Lola. Our secret went to the core of who we were and, at least for us kids, who we wanted to be.

After my mother died of leukemia, in 1999, Lola came to live with me in a small town north of Seattle. I had a family, a career, a house in the suburbs—the American dream. And then I had a slave.

At baggage claim in Manila, I unzipped my suitcase to make sure Lola’s ashes were still there. Outside, I inhaled the familiar smell: a thick blend of exhaust and waste, of ocean and sweet fruit and sweat.Early the next morning I found a driver, an affable middle-aged man who went by the nickname “Doods,” and we hit the road in his truck, weaving through traffic. The scene always stunned me. The sheer number of cars and motorcycles and jeepneys. The people weaving between them and moving on the sidewalks in great brown rivers. The street vendors in bare feet trotting alongside cars, hawking cigarettes and cough drops and sacks of boiled peanuts. The child beggars pressing their faces against the windows.

Doods and I were headed to the place where Lola’s story began, up north in the central plains: Tarlac province. Rice country. The home of a cigar-chomping army lieutenant named Tomas Asuncion, my grandfather. The family stories paint Lieutenant Tom as a formidable man given to eccentricity and dark moods, who had lots of land but little money and kept mistresses in separate houses on his property. His wife died giving birth to their only child, my mother. She was raised by a series of utusans, or “people who take commands.”

Slavery has a long history on the islands. Before the Spanish came, islanders enslaved other islanders, usually war captives, criminals, or debtors. Slaves came in different varieties, from warriors who could earn their freedom through valor to household servants who were regarded as property and could be bought and sold or traded. High-status slaves could own low-status slaves, and the low could own the lowliest. Some chose to enter servitude simply to survive: In exchange for their labor, they might be given food, shelter, and protection.

When the Spanish arrived, in the 1500s, they enslaved islanders and later brought African and Indian slaves. The Spanish Crown eventually began phasing out slavery at home and in its colonies, but parts of the Philippines were so far-flung that authorities couldn’t keep a close eye. Traditions persisted under different guises, even after the U.S. took control of the islands in 1898. Today even the poor can have utusans or katulongs (“helpers”) or kasambahays (“domestics”), as long as there are people even poorer. The pool is deep.

Lieutenant Tom had as many as three families of utusans living on his property. In the spring of 1943, with the islands under Japanese occupation, he brought home a girl from a village down the road. She was a cousin from a marginal side of the family, rice farmers. The lieutenant was shrewd—he saw that this girl was penniless, unschooled, and likely to be malleable. Her parents wanted her to marry a pig farmer twice her age, and she was desperately unhappy but had nowhere to go. Tom approached her with an offer: She could have food and shelter if she would commit to taking care of his daughter, who had just turned 12.

Lola agreed, not grasping that the deal was for life.

“She is my gift to you,” Lieutenant Tom told my mother.

“I don’t want her,” my mother said, knowing she had no choice.

Lieutenant Tom went off to fight the Japanese, leaving Mom behind with Lola in his creaky house in the provinces. Lola fed, groomed, and dressed my mother. When they walked to the market, Lola held an umbrella to shield her from the sun. At night, when Lola’s other tasks were done—feeding the dogs, sweeping the floors, folding the laundry that she had washed by hand in the Camiling River—she sat at the edge of my mother’s bed and fanned her to sleep.

One day during the war Lieutenant Tom came home and caught my mother in a lie—something to do with a boy she wasn’t supposed to talk to. Tom, furious, ordered her to “stand at the table.” Mom cowered with Lola in a corner. Then, in a quivering voice, she told her father that Lola would take her punishment. Lola looked at Mom pleadingly, then without a word walked to the dining table and held on to the edge. Tom raised the belt and delivered 12 lashes, punctuating each one with a word. You. Do. Not. Lie. To. Me. You. Do. Not. Lie. To. Me. Lola made no sound.

My mother, in recounting this story late in her life, delighted in the outrageousness of it, her tone seeming to say, Can you believe I did that? When I brought it up with Lola, she asked to hear Mom’s version. She listened intently, eyes lowered, and afterward she looked at me with sadness and said simply, “Yes. It was like that.”

Seven years later, in 1950, Mom married my father and moved to Manila, bringing Lola along. Lieutenant Tom had long been haunted by demons, and in 1951 he silenced them with a .32‑caliber slug to his temple. Mom almost never talked about it. She had his temperament—moody, imperial, secretly fragile—and she took his lessons to heart, among them the proper way to be a provincial matrona: You must embrace your role as the giver of commands. You must keep those beneath you in their place at all times, for their own good and the good of the household. They might cry and complain, but their souls will thank you. They will love you for helping them be what God intended.

My brother Arthur was born in 1951. I came next, followed by three more siblings in rapid succession. My parents expected Lola to be as devoted to us kids as she was to them. While she looked after us, my parents went to school and earned advanced degrees, joining the ranks of so many others with fancy diplomas but no jobs. Then the big break: Dad was offered a job in Foreign Affairs as a commercial analyst. The salary would be meager, but the position was in America—a place he and Mom had grown up dreaming of, where everything they hoped for could come true.

Dad was allowed to bring his family and one domestic. Figuring they would both have to work, my parents needed Lola to care for the kids and the house. My mother informed Lola, and to her great irritation, Lola didn’t immediately acquiesce. Years later Lola told me she was terrified. “It was too far,” she said. “Maybe your Mom and Dad won’t let me go home.”

In the end what convinced Lola was my father’s promise that things would be different in America. He told her that as soon as he and Mom got on their feet, they’d give her an “allowance.” Lola could send money to her parents, to all her relations in the village. Her parents lived in a hut with a dirt floor. Lola could build them a concrete house, could change their lives forever. Imagine.

We landed in Los Angeles on May 12, 1964, all our belongings in cardboard boxes tied with rope. Lola had been with my mother for 21 years by then. In many ways she was more of a parent to me than either my mother or my father. Hers was the first face I saw in the morning and the last one I saw at night. As a baby, I uttered Lola’s name (which I first pronounced “Oh-ah”) long before I learned to say “Mom” or “Dad.” As a toddler, I refused to go to sleep unless Lola was holding me, or at least nearby.

I was 4 years old when we arrived in the U.S.—too young to question Lola’s place in our family. But as my siblings and I grew up on this other shore, we came to see the world differently. The leap across the ocean brought about a leap in consciousness that Mom and Dad couldn’t, or wouldn’t, make.

Lola never got that allowance. She asked my parents about it in a roundabout way a couple of years into our life in America. Her mother had fallen ill (with what I would later learn was dysentery), and her family couldn’t afford the medicine she needed. “Pwede ba?” she said to my parents. Is it possible? Mom let out a sigh. “How could you even ask?,” Dad responded in Tagalog. “You see how hard up we are. Don’t you have any shame?”

My parents had borrowed money for the move to the U.S., and then borrowed more in order to stay. My father was transferred from the consulate general in L.A. to the Philippine consulate in Seattle. He was paid $5,600 a year. He took a second job cleaning trailers, and a third as a debt collector. Mom got work as a technician in a couple of medical labs. We barely saw them, and when we did they were often exhausted and snappish.

Mom would come home and upbraid Lola for not cleaning the house well enough or for forgetting to bring in the mail. “Didn’t I tell you I want the letters here when I come home?” she would say in Tagalog, her voice venomous. “It’s not hard naman! An idiot could remember.” Then my father would arrive and take his turn. When Dad raised his voice, everyone in the house shrank. Sometimes my parents would team up until Lola broke down crying, almost as though that was their goal.

It confused me: My parents were good to my siblings and me, and we loved them. But they’d be affectionate to us kids one moment and vile to Lola the next. I was 11 or 12 when I began to see Lola’s situation clearly. By then Arthur, eight years my senior, had been seething for a long time. He was the one who introduced the word slave into my understanding of what Lola was. Before he said it I’d thought of her as just an unfortunate member of the household. I hated when my parents yelled at her, but it hadn’t occurred to me that they—and the whole arrangement—could be immoral.

“Do you know anybody treated the way she’s treated?,” Arthur said. “Who lives the way she lives?” He summed up Lola’s reality: Wasn’t paid. Toiled every day. Was tongue-lashed for sitting too long or falling asleep too early. Was struck for talking back. Wore hand-me-downs. Ate scraps and leftovers by herself in the kitchen. Rarely left the house. Had no friends or hobbies outside the family. Had no private quarters. (Her designated place to sleep in each house we lived in was always whatever was left—a couch or storage area or corner in my sisters’ bedroom. She often slept among piles of laundry.)

We couldn’t identify a parallel anywhere except in slave characters on TV and in the movies. I remember watching a Western called The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance. John Wayne plays Tom Doniphon, a gunslinging rancher who barks orders at his servant, Pompey, whom he calls his “boy.” Pick him up, Pompey. Pompey, go find the doctor. Get on back to work, Pompey! Docile and obedient, Pompey calls his master “Mistah Tom.” They have a complex relationship. Tom forbids Pompey from attending school but opens the way for Pompey to drink in a whites-only saloon. Near the end, Pompey saves his master from a fire. It’s clear Pompey both fears and loves Tom, and he mourns when Tom dies. All of this is peripheral to the main story of Tom’s showdown with bad guy Liberty Valance, but I couldn’t take my eyes off Pompey. I remember thinking: Lola is Pompey, Pompey is Lola.

One night when Dad found out that my sister Ling, who was then 9, had missed dinner, he barked at Lola for being lazy. “I tried to feed her,” Lola said, as Dad stood over her and glared. Her feeble defense only made him angrier, and he punched her just below the shoulder. Lola ran out of the room and I could hear her wailing, an animal cry.

“Ling said she wasn’t hungry,” I said.

My parents turned to look at me. They seemed startled. I felt the twitching in my face that usually preceded tears, but I wouldn’t cry this time. In Mom’s eyes was a shadow of something I hadn’t seen before. Jealousy?

“Are you defending your Lola?,” Dad said. “Is that what you’re doing?”

“Ling said she wasn’t hungry,” I said again, almost in a whisper.

I was 13. It was my first attempt to stick up for the woman who spent her days watching over me. The woman who used to hum Tagalog melodies as she rocked me to sleep, and when I got older would dress and feed me and walk me to school in the mornings and pick me up in the afternoons. Once, when I was sick for a long time and too weak to eat, she chewed my food for me and put the small pieces in my mouth to swallow. One summer when I had plaster casts on both legs (I had problem joints), she bathed me with a washcloth, brought medicine in the middle of the night, and helped me through months of rehabilitation. I was cranky through it all. She didn’t complain or lose patience, ever.

To now hear her wailing made me crazy.

In the old country, my parents felt no need to hide their treatment of Lola. In America, they treated her worse but took pains to conceal it. When guests came over, my parents would either ignore her or, if questioned, lie and quickly change the subject. For five years in North Seattle, we lived across the street from the Misslers, a rambunctious family of eight who introduced us to things like mustard, salmon fishing, and mowing the lawn. Football on TV. Yelling during football. Lola would come out to serve food and drinks during games, and my parents would smile and thank her before she quickly disappeared. “Who’s that little lady you keep in the kitchen?,” Big Jim, the Missler patriarch, once asked. A relative from back home, Dad said. Very shy.

Billy Missler, my best friend, didn’t buy it. He spent enough time at our house, whole weekends sometimes, to catch glimpses of my family’s secret. He once overheard my mother yelling in the kitchen, and when he barged in to investigate found Mom red-faced and glaring at Lola, who was quaking in a corner. I came in a few seconds later. The look on Billy’s face was a mix of embarrassment and perplexity. What was that? I waved it off and told him to forget it.

I think Billy felt sorry for Lola. He’d rave about her cooking, and make her laugh like I’d never seen. During sleepovers, she’d make his favorite Filipino dish, beef tapa over white rice. Cooking was Lola’s only eloquence. I could tell by what she served whether she was merely feeding us or saying she loved us.

When I once referred to Lola as a distant aunt, Billy reminded me that when we’d first met I’d said she was my grandmother.

“Well, she’s kind of both,” I said mysteriously.

“Why is she always working?”

“She likes to work,” I said.

“Your dad and mom—why do they yell at her?”

“Her hearing isn’t so good …”

Admitting the truth would have meant exposing us all. We spent our first decade in the country learning the ways of the new land and trying to fit in. Having a slave did not fit. Having a slave gave me grave doubts about what kind of people we were, what kind of place we came from. Whether we deserved to be accepted. I was ashamed of it all, including my complicity. Didn’t I eat the food she cooked, and wear the clothes she washed and ironed and hung in the closet? But losing her would have been devastating.

There was another reason for secrecy: Lola’s travel papers had expired in 1969, five years after we arrived in the U.S. She’d come on a special passport linked to my father’s job. After a series of fallings-out with his superiors, Dad quit the consulate and declared his intent to stay in the United States. He arranged for permanent-resident status for his family, but Lola wasn’t eligible. He was supposed to send her back.

Lola’s mother, Fermina, died in 1973; her father, Hilario, in 1979. Both times she wanted desperately to go home. Both times my parents said “Sorry.” No money, no time. The kids needed her. My parents also feared for themselves, they admitted to me later. If the authorities had found out about Lola, as they surely would have if she’d tried to leave, my parents could have gotten into trouble, possibly even been deported. They couldn’t risk it. Lola’s legal status became what Filipinos call tago nang tago, or TNT—“on the run.” She stayed TNT for almost 20 years.

After each of her parents died, Lola was sullen and silent for months. She barely responded when my parents badgered her. But the badgering never let up. Lola kept her head down and did her work.

My father’s resignation started a turbulent period. Money got tighter, and my parents turned on each other. They uprooted the family again and again—Seattle to Honolulu back to Seattle to the southeast Bronx and finally to the truck-stop town of Umatilla, Oregon, population 750. During all this moving around, Mom often worked 24-hour shifts, first as a medical intern and then as a resident, and Dad would disappear for days, working odd jobs but also (we’d later learn) womanizing and who knows what else. Once, he came home and told us that he’d lost our new station wagon playing blackjack.

For days in a row Lola would be the only adult in the house. She got to know the details of our lives in a way that my parents never had the mental space for. We brought friends home, and she’d listen to us talk about school and girls and boys and whatever else was on our minds. Just from conversations she overheard, she could list the first name of every girl I had a crush on from sixth grade through high school.

When I was 15, Dad left the family for good. I didn’t want to believe it at the time, but the fact was that he deserted us kids and abandoned Mom after 25 years of marriage. She wouldn’t become a licensed physician for another year, and her specialty—internal medicine—wasn’t especially lucrative. Dad didn’t pay child support, so money was always a struggle.

My mom kept herself together enough to go to work, but at night she’d crumble in self-pity and despair. Her main source of comfort during this time: Lola. As Mom snapped at her over small things, Lola attended to her even more—cooking Mom’s favorite meals, cleaning her bedroom with extra care. I’d find the two of them late at night at the kitchen counter, griping and telling stories about Dad, sometimes laughing wickedly, other times working themselves into a fury over his transgressions. They barely noticed us kids flitting in and out.

One night I heard Mom weeping and ran into the living room to find her slumped in Lola’s arms. Lola was talking softly to her, the way she used to with my siblings and me when we were young. I lingered, then went back to my room, scared for my mom and awed by Lola.

Doods was humming. I’d dozed for what felt like a minute and awoke to his happy melody. “Two hours more,” he said. I checked the plastic box in the tote bag by my side—still there—and looked up to see open road. The MacArthur Highway. I glanced at the time. “Hey, you said ‘two hours’ two hours ago,” I said. Doods just hummed.

His not knowing anything about the purpose of my journey was a relief. I had enough interior dialogue going on. I was no better than my parents. I could have done more to free Lola. To make her life better. Why didn’t I? I could have turned in my parents, I suppose. It would have blown up my family in an instant. Instead, my siblings and I kept everything to ourselves, and rather than blowing up in an instant, my family broke apart slowly.

Doods and I passed through beautiful country. Not travel-brochure beautiful but real and alive and, compared with the city, elegantly spare. Mountains ran parallel to the highway on each side, the Zambales Mountains to the west, the Sierra Madre Range to the east. From ridge to ridge, west to east, I could see every shade of green all the way to almost black.

Doods pointed to a shadowy outline in the distance. Mount Pinatubo. I’d come here in 1991 to report on the aftermath of its eruption, the second-largest of the 20th century. Volcanic mudflows called lahars continued for more than a decade, burying ancient villages, filling in rivers and valleys, and wiping out entire ecosystems. The lahars reached deep into the foothills of Tarlac province, where Lola’s parents had spent their entire lives, and where she and my mother had once lived together. So much of our family record had been lost in wars and floods, and now parts were buried under 20 feet of mud.

Life here is routinely visited by cataclysm. Killer typhoons that strike several times a year. Bandit insurgencies that never end. Somnolent mountains that one day decide to wake up. The Philippines isn’t like China or Brazil, whose mass might absorb the trauma. This is a nation of scattered rocks in the sea. When disaster hits, the place goes under for a while. Then it resurfaces and life proceeds, and you can behold a scene like the one Doods and I were driving through, and the simple fact that it’s still there makes it beautiful.

A couple of years after my parents split, my mother remarried and demanded Lola’s fealty to her new husband, a Croatian immigrant named Ivan, whom she had met through a friend. Ivan had never finished high school. He’d been married four times and was an inveterate gambler who enjoyed being supported by my mother and attended to by Lola.

Ivan brought out a side of Lola I’d never seen. His marriage to my mother was volatile from the start, and money—especially his use of her money—was the main issue. Once, during an argument in which Mom was crying and Ivan was yelling, Lola walked over and stood between them. She turned to Ivan and firmly said his name. He looked at Lola, blinked, and sat down.

My sister Inday and I were floored. Ivan was about 250 pounds, and his baritone could shake the walls. Lola put him in his place with a single word. I saw this happen a few other times, but for the most part Lola served Ivan unquestioningly, just as Mom wanted her to. I had a hard time watching Lola vassalize herself to another person, especially someone like Ivan. But what set the stage for my blowup with Mom was something more mundane.

She used to get angry whenever Lola felt ill. She didn’t want to deal with the disruption and the expense, and would accuse Lola of faking or failing to take care of herself. Mom chose the second tack when, in the late 1970s, Lola’s teeth started falling out. She’d been saying for months that her mouth hurt.

“That’s what happens when you don’t brush properly,” Mom told her.

I said that Lola needed to see a dentist. She was in her 50s and had never been to one. I was attending college an hour away, and I brought it up again and again on my frequent trips home. A year went by, then two. Lola took aspirin every day for the pain, and her teeth looked like a crumbling Stonehenge. One night, after watching her chew bread on the side of her mouth that still had a few good molars, I lost it.

Mom and I argued into the night, each of us sobbing at different points. She said she was tired of working her fingers to the bone supporting everybody, and sick of her children always taking Lola’s side, and why didn’t we just take our goddamn Lola, she’d never wanted her in the first place, and she wished to God she hadn’t given birth to an arrogant, sanctimonious phony like me.

I let her words sink in. Then I came back at her, saying she would know all about being a phony, her whole life was a masquerade, and if she stopped feeling sorry for herself for one minute she’d see that Lola could barely eat because her goddamn teeth were rotting out of her goddamn head, and couldn’t she think of her just this once as a real person instead of a slave kept alive to serve her?

“A slave,” Mom said, weighing the word. “A slave?”

The night ended when she declared that I would never understand her relationship with Lola. Never. Her voice was so guttural and pained that thinking of it even now, so many years later, feels like a punch to the stomach. It’s a terrible thing to hate your own mother, and that night I did. The look in her eyes made clear that she felt the same way about me.

The fight only fed Mom’s fear that Lola had stolen the kids from her, and she made Lola pay for it. Mom drove her harder. Tormented her by saying, “I hope you’re happy now that your kids hate me.” When we helped Lola with housework, Mom would fume. “You’d better go to sleep now, Lola,” she’d say sarcastically. “You’ve been working too hard. Your kids are worried about you.” Later she’d take Lola into a bedroom for a talk, and Lola would walk out with puffy eyes.

Lola finally begged us to stop trying to help her.

Why do you stay? we asked.

“Who will cook?” she said, which I took to mean, Who would do everything? Who would take care of us? Of Mom? Another time she said, “Where will I go?” This struck me as closer to a real answer. Coming to America had been a mad dash, and before we caught a breath a decade had gone by. We turned around, and a second decade was closing out. Lola’s hair had turned gray. She’d heard that relatives back home who hadn’t received the promised support were wondering what had happened to her. She was ashamed to return.

She had no contacts in America, and no facility for getting around. Phones puzzled her. Mechanical things—ATMs, intercoms, vending machines, anything with a keyboard—made her panic. Fast-talking people left her speechless, and her own broken English did the same to them. She couldn’t make an appointment, arrange a trip, fill out a form, or order a meal without help.

I got Lola an ATM card linked to my bank account and taught her how to use it. She succeeded once, but the second time she got flustered, and she never tried again. She kept the card because she considered it a gift from me.

I also tried to teach her to drive. She dismissed the idea with a wave of her hand, but I picked her up and carried her to the car and planted her in the driver’s seat, both of us laughing. I spent 20 minutes going over the controls and gauges. Her eyes went from mirthful to terrified. When I turned on the ignition and the dashboard lit up, she was out of the car and in the house before I could say another word. I tried a couple more times.

I thought driving could change her life. She could go places. And if things ever got unbearable with Mom, she could drive away forever.

Four lanes became two, pavement turned to gravel. Tricycle drivers wove between cars and water buffalo pulling loads of bamboo. An occasional dog or goat sprinted across the road in front of our truck, almost grazing the bumper. Doods never eased up. Whatever didn’t make it across would be stew today instead of tomorrow—the rule of the road in the provinces.

I took out a map and traced the route to the village of Mayantoc, our destination. Out the window, in the distance, tiny figures folded at the waist like so many bent nails. People harvesting rice, the same way they had for thousands of years. We were getting close.

I tapped the cheap plastic box and regretted not buying a real urn, made of porcelain or rosewood. What would Lola’s people think? Not that many were left. Only one sibling remained in the area, Gregoria, 98 years old, and I was told her memory was failing. Relatives said that whenever she heard Lola’s name, she’d burst out crying and then quickly forget why.

I’d been in touch with one of Lola’s nieces. She had the day planned: When I arrived, a low-key memorial, then a prayer, followed by the lowering of the ashes into a plot at the Mayantoc Eternal Bliss Memorial Park. It had been five years since Lola died, but I hadn’t yet said the final goodbye that I knew was about to happen. All day I had been feeling intense grief and resisting the urge to let it out, not wanting to wail in front of Doods. More than the shame I felt for the way my family had treated Lola, more than my anxiety about how her relatives in Mayantoc would treat me, I felt the terrible heaviness of losing her, as if she had died only the day before.

Doods veered northwest on the Romulo Highway, then took a sharp left at Camiling, the town Mom and Lieutenant Tom came from. Two lanes became one, then gravel turned to dirt. The path ran along the Camiling River, clusters of bamboo houses off to the side, green hills ahead. The homestretch.

I gave the eulogy at Mom’s funeral, and everything I said was true. That she was brave and spirited. That she’d drawn some short straws, but had done the best she could. That she was radiant when she was happy. That she adored her children, and gave us a real home—in Salem, Oregon—that through the ’80s and ’90s became the permanent base we’d never had before. That I wished we could thank her one more time. That we all loved her.

I didn’t talk about Lola. Just as I had selectively blocked Lola out of my mind when I was with Mom during her last years. Loving my mother required that kind of mental surgery. It was the only way we could be mother and son—which I wanted, especially after her health started to decline, in the mid‑’90s. Diabetes. Breast cancer. Acute myelogenous leukemia, a fast-growing cancer of the blood and bone marrow. She went from robust to frail seemingly overnight.

After the big fight, I mostly avoided going home, and at age 23 I moved to Seattle. When I did visit I saw a change. Mom was still Mom, but not as relentlessly. She got Lola a fine set of dentures and let her have her own bedroom. She cooperated when my siblings and I set out to change Lola’s TNT status. Ronald Reagan’s landmark immigration bill of 1986 made millions of illegal immigrants eligible for amnesty. It was a long process, but Lola became a citizen in October 1998, four months after my mother was diagnosed with leukemia. Mom lived another year.

During that time, she and Ivan took trips to Lincoln City, on the Oregon coast, and sometimes brought Lola along. Lola loved the ocean. On the other side were the islands she dreamed of returning to. And Lola was never happier than when Mom relaxed around her. An afternoon at the coast or just 15 minutes in the kitchen reminiscing about the old days in the province, and Lola would seem to forget years of torment.

I couldn’t forget so easily. But I did come to see Mom in a different light. Before she died, she gave me her journals, two steamer trunks’ full. Leafing through them as she slept a few feet away, I glimpsed slices of her life that I’d refused to see for years. She’d gone to medical school when not many women did. She’d come to America and fought for respect as both a woman and an immigrant physician. She’d worked for two decades at Fairview Training Center, in Salem, a state institution for the developmentally disabled. The irony: She tended to underdogs most of her professional life. They worshipped her. Female colleagues became close friends. They did silly, girly things together—shoe shopping, throwing dress-up parties at one another’s homes, exchanging gag gifts like penis-shaped soaps and calendars of half-naked men, all while laughing hysterically. Looking through their party pictures reminded me that Mom had a life and an identity apart from the family and Lola. Of course.

Mom wrote in great detail about each of her kids, and how she felt about us on a given day—proud or loving or resentful. And she devoted volumes to her husbands, trying to grasp them as complex characters in her story. We were all persons of consequence. Lola was incidental. When she was mentioned at all, she was a bit character in someone else’s story. “Lola walked my beloved Alex to his new school this morning. I hope he makes new friends quickly so he doesn’t feel so sad about moving again …” There might be two more pages about me, and no other mention of Lola.

The day before Mom died, a Catholic priest came to the house to perform last rites. Lola sat next to my mother’s bed, holding a cup with a straw, poised to raise it to Mom’s mouth. She had become extra attentive to my mother, and extra kind. She could have taken advantage of Mom in her feebleness, even exacted revenge, but she did the opposite.

The priest asked Mom whether there was anything she wanted to forgive or be forgiven for. She scanned the room with heavy-lidded eyes, said nothing. Then, without looking at Lola, she reached over and placed an open hand on her head. She didn’t say a word.

Lola was 75 when she came to stay with me. I was married with two young daughters, living in a cozy house on a wooded lot. From the second story, we could see Puget Sound. We gave Lola a bedroom and license to do whatever she wanted: sleep in, watch soaps, do nothing all day. She could relax—and be free—for the first time in her life. I should have known it wouldn’t be that simple.

I’d forgotten about all the things Lola did that drove me a little crazy. She was always telling me to put on a sweater so I wouldn’t catch a cold (I was in my 40s). She groused incessantly about Dad and Ivan: My father was lazy, Ivan was a leech. I learned to tune her out. Harder to ignore was her fanatical thriftiness. She threw nothing out. And she used to go through the trash to make sure that the rest of us hadn’t thrown out anything useful. She washed and reused paper towels again and again until they disintegrated in her hands. (No one else would go near them.) The kitchen became glutted with grocery bags, yogurt containers, and pickle jars, and parts of our house turned into storage for—there’s no other word for it—garbage.

She cooked breakfast even though none of us ate more than a banana or a granola bar in the morning, usually while we were running out the door. She made our beds and did our laundry. She cleaned the house. I found myself saying to her, nicely at first, “Lola, you don’t have to do that.” “Lola, we’ll do it ourselves.” “Lola, that’s the girls’ job.” Okay, she’d say, but keep right on doing it.

It irritated me to catch her eating meals standing in the kitchen, or see her tense up and start cleaning when I walked into the room. One day, after several months, I sat her down.

“I’m not Dad. You’re not a slave here,” I said, and went through a long list of slavelike things she’d been doing. When I realized she was startled, I took a deep breath and cupped her face, that elfin face now looking at me searchingly. I kissed her forehead. “This is your house now,” I said. “You’re not here to serve us. You can relax, okay?”

“Okay,” she said. And went back to cleaning.

She didn’t know any other way to be. I realized I had to take my own advice and relax. If she wanted to make dinner, let her. Thank her and do the dishes. I had to remind myself constantly: Let her be.

One night I came home to find her sitting on the couch doing a word puzzle, her feet up, the TV on. Next to her, a cup of tea. She glanced at me, smiled sheepishly with those perfect white dentures, and went back to the puzzle. Progress, I thought.

She planted a garden in the backyard—roses and tulips and every kind of orchid—and spent whole afternoons tending it. She took walks around the neighborhood. At about 80, her arthritis got bad and she began walking with a cane. In the kitchen she went from being a fry cook to a kind of artisanal chef who created only when the spirit moved her. She made lavish meals and grinned with pleasure as we devoured them.

Passing the door of Lola’s bedroom, I’d often hear her listening to a cassette of Filipino folk songs. The same tape over and over. I knew she’d been sending almost all her money—my wife and I gave her $200 a week—to relatives back home. One afternoon, I found her sitting on the back deck gazing at a snapshot someone had sent of her village.

“You want to go home, Lola?”

She turned the photograph over and traced her finger across the inscription, then flipped it back and seemed to study a single detail.

“Yes,” she said.

Just after her 83rd birthday, I paid her airfare to go home. I’d follow a month later to bring her back to the U.S.—if she wanted to return. The unspoken purpose of her trip was to see whether the place she had spent so many years longing for could still feel like home.

She found her answer.

“Everything was not the same,” she told me as we walked around Mayantoc. The old farms were gone. Her house was gone. Her parents and most of her siblings were gone. Childhood friends, the ones still alive, were like strangers. It was nice to see them, but … everything was not the same. She’d still like to spend her last years here, she said, but she wasn’t ready yet.

“You’re ready to go back to your garden,” I said.

“Yes. Let’s go home.”

Lola was as devoted to my daughters as she’d been to my siblings and me when we were young. After school, she’d listen to their stories and make them something to eat. And unlike my wife and me (especially me), Lola enjoyed every minute of every school event and performance. She couldn’t get enough of them. She sat up front, kept the programs as mementos.

It was so easy to make Lola happy. We took her on family vacations, but she was as excited to go to the farmer’s market down the hill. She became a wide-eyed kid on a field trip: “Look at those zucchinis!” The first thing she did every morning was open all the blinds in the house, and at each window she’d pause to look outside.

And she taught herself to read. It was remarkable. Over the years, she’d somehow learned to sound out letters. She did those puzzles where you find and circle words within a block of letters. Her room had stacks of word-puzzle booklets, thousands of words circled in pencil. Every day she watched the news and listened for words she recognized. She triangulated them with words in the newspaper, and figured out the meanings. She came to read the paper every day, front to back. Dad used to say she was simple. I wondered what she could have been if, instead of working the rice fields at age 8, she had learned to read and write.

During the 12 years she lived in our house, I asked her questions about herself, trying to piece together her life story, a habit she found curious. To my inquiries she would often respond first with “Why?” Why did I want to know about her childhood? About how she met Lieutenant Tom?

I tried to get my sister Ling to ask Lola about her love life, thinking Lola would be more comfortable with her. Ling cackled, which was her way of saying I was on my own. One day, while Lola and I were putting away groceries, I just blurted it out: “Lola, have you ever been romantic with anyone?” She smiled, and then she told me the story of the only time she’d come close. She was about 15, and there was a handsome boy named Pedro from a nearby farm. For several months they harvested rice together side by side. One time, she dropped her bolo—a cutting implement—and he quickly picked it up and handed it back to her. “I liked him,” she said.

Silence.

“And?”

“Then he moved away,” she said.

“And?”

“That’s all.”

“Lola, have you ever had sex?,” I heard myself saying.

“No,” she said.

She wasn’t accustomed to being asked personal questions. “Katulong lang ako,” she’d say. I’m only a servant. She often gave one- or two-word answers, and teasing out even the simplest story was a game of 20 questions that could last days or weeks.

Some of what I learned: She was mad at Mom for being so cruel all those years, but she nevertheless missed her. Sometimes, when Lola was young, she’d felt so lonely that all she could do was cry. I knew there were years when she’d dreamed of being with a man. I saw it in the way she wrapped herself around one large pillow at night. But what she told me in her old age was that living with Mom’s husbands made her think being alone wasn’t so bad. She didn’t miss those two at all. Maybe her life would have been better if she’d stayed in Mayantoc, gotten married, and had a family like her siblings. But maybe it would have been worse. Two younger sisters, Francisca and Zepriana, got sick and died. A brother, Claudio, was killed. What’s the point of wondering about it now? she asked. Bahala na was her guiding principle. Come what may. What came her way was another kind of family. In that family, she had eight children: Mom, my four siblings and me, and now my two daughters. The eight of us, she said, made her life worth living.

None of us was prepared for her to die so suddenly.

Her heart attack started in the kitchen while she was making dinner and I was running an errand. When I returned she was in the middle of it. A couple of hours later at the hospital, before I could grasp what was happening, she was gone—10:56 p.m. All the kids and grandkids noted, but were unsure how to take, that she died on November 7, the same day as Mom. Twelve years apart.

Lola made it to 86. I can still see her on the gurney. I remember looking at the medics standing above this brown woman no bigger than a child and thinking that they had no idea of the life she had lived. She’d had none of the self-serving ambition that drives most of us, and her willingness to give up everything for the people around her won her our love and utter loyalty. She’s become a hallowed figure in my extended family.

Going through her boxes in the attic took me months. I found recipes she had cut out of magazines in the 1970s for when she would someday learn to read. Photo albums with pictures of my mom. Awards my siblings and I had won from grade school on, most of which we had thrown away and she had “saved.” I almost lost it one night when at the bottom of a box I found a stack of yellowed newspaper articles I’d written and long ago forgotten about. She couldn’t read back then, but she’d kept them anyway.

Doods’s truck pulled up to a small concrete house in the middle of a cluster of homes mostly made of bamboo and plank wood. Surrounding the pod of houses: rice fields, green and seemingly endless. Before I even got out of the truck, people started coming outside.

Doods reclined his seat to take a nap. I hung my tote bag on my shoulder, took a breath, and opened the door.

“This way,” a soft voice said, and I was led up a short walkway to the concrete house. Following close behind was a line of about 20 people, young and old, but mostly old. Once we were all inside, they sat down on chairs and benches arranged along the walls, leaving the middle of the room empty except for me. I remained standing, waiting to meet my host. It was a small room, and dark. People glanced at me expectantly.“

Where is Lola?” A voice from another room. The next moment, a middle-aged woman in a housedress sauntered in with a smile. Ebia, Lola’s niece. This was her house. She gave me a hug and said again, “Where is Lola?”

I slid the tote bag from my shoulder and handed it to her. She looked into my face, still smiling, gently grasped the bag, and walked over to a wooden bench and sat down. She reached inside and pulled out the box and looked at every side. “Where is Lola?” she said softly. People in these parts don’t often get their loved ones cremated. I don’t think she knew what to expect. She set the box on her lap and bent over so her forehead rested on top of it, and at first I thought she was laughing (out of joy) but I quickly realized she was crying. Her shoulders began to heave, and then she was wailing—a deep, mournful, animal howl, like I once heard coming from Lola.

I hadn’t come sooner to deliver Lola’s ashes in part because I wasn’t sure anyone here cared that much about her. I hadn’t expected this kind of grief. Before I could comfort Ebia, a woman walked in from the kitchen and wrapped her arms around her, and then she began wailing. The next thing I knew, the room erupted with sound. The old people—one of them blind, several with no teeth—were all crying and not holding anything back. It lasted about 10 minutes. I was so fascinated that I barely noticed the tears running down my own face. The sobs died down, and then it was quiet again.

Ebia sniffled and said it was time to eat. Everybody started filing into the kitchen, puffy-eyed but suddenly lighter and ready to tell stories. I glanced at the empty tote bag on the bench, and knew it was right to bring Lola back to the place where she’d been born.

----------

Alex Tizon was a Pulitzer Prize–winning journalist and the author of Big Little Man: In Search of My Asian Self. This article originally appeared in the June 2017 issue of The Atlantic and needless to say it was difficult to hold back the tears while reading this incredibly moving piece.

[ill-skillsgard]

Bad Decisions - Axel Cluney

Title: Bad Decisions

Description: It's hard to learn from your mistakes when the mistake is six foot four, covered in tattoos and tracks you down at your own party.

Warning: 18+ Mentions of sex/swearing/drug use/pregnancy & abortion

A/N: This is another short one-shot piece that was lost back in the purge of ‘18. I was going through my notes and saw it, figured you guys might want to give it a read. Especially all my new followers. Hope you enjoy and have a lovely day/night! Kisses forever!

"There are no feelings to be hurt."

After my procedure, I didn't feel different like I thought I might. I didn't feel different about myself or him. I didn't even feel all that bad either. Even after I was pushed out of the sliding hospital doors in a wheelchair, I felt like it was just a necessary part of it all. I had to humour the hospital staff by sitting down in the chair even though I didn't feel lethargic or dizzy. It was all just part of the experience. I had a couple of days off which I took to reflect upon my life choices but the harder I thought about it the more I realized that I really didn't care about getting myself into a less-than-desirable situation. I had it fixed and I was quickly back to my normal self. The only person I told about it was my mom and she had only a moment of reproach before she settled down and told me that I was making the right choice by ridding myself of a life-long problem. Sighing with relief, I thanked her for understanding and she even offered to take me to my appointment and bring me back home afterward to make sure I was comfortable and not alone. "Does he know?" She asked me, eyes trained to the road in front of her. "No." "Oh." "Why? You think I should tell him?" "That depends," She told me. "Are you planning on seeing him again?" "I don't know. Probably not." It had been two months since I hooked up with Axel. We had met at a mutual friend's party and hit it off and after a few too many drinks we went back to his place for a drunken hookup. It could have been the excess of vodka or just the right amount of cocaine but we went at it all night and once he passed out beside me, a sweaty, spent mess, I laid there in his bed with cum dripping out of me. The slick stickiness acted as a reminder that I was good at making bad decisions. The next morning I woke up feeling like I had slept outside in a dumpster and looked it too. I had clumps of eye makeup running down my cheeks and my hair was mussed from when Axel had twisted his hand through it and used the strands like a reign to pull me back into him while he pounded into me, growling abhorrent things like, "I'm going to fuck you until you love me." Axel was in the shower or so I assumed by the sound of running water coming from behind a closed door. I rummaged around for my cell phone so I could use the screen to get a better look at myself. I digressed that if he or anyone were to see me in that state it would be off-putting and not at all pleasant. So I gathered my things and left without saying a word to him. He never reached out to me at all so I suspected that me fleeing the scene came as a welcome surprise to him. I wasn't sure though because I didn't know him at all. All I knew was that he had bad tattoos, hung around with people like me and my friends and had a nasty mouth on him. I didn't know that he had gotten me pregnant until about a month after I fucked him. By the time I begged for and got my appointment, another few weeks passed and the more time I spent thinking about some guy's illegitimate child forming inside of my body the more I panicked. Not without relief, I couldn't really stop thinking about it even as days passed and I went back to normal. When I got my first regular period I stopped fretting about it so much and it started to become more of an unpleasant memory rather than a present reality. No, I didn't expect to see him ever again and I could live with that. However, the universe had this way of dredging up past bad decisions and shoving it in my face like a bully trying to force me to eat dirt. I had a party in my flat for my friend's birthday. There were going to be people coming that I didn't quite know but I had offered up my place as the venue anyway as I often did for my friends. My apartment was smack in the middle of downtown and was a convenient spot for people to flutter off to bars or restaurants for late-night snacks. It was a nice central haven to have casual drinks. Sometimes though, it became a madhouse. I was never in charge of parties nor was I the greatest host so if things ever got out of hand, I looked to the friend whose birthday it was to handle the mess. I couldn't be sure if people were doing drugs off my bathroom sink or fucking in my food pantry.  I also didn't really care as long as my belongings were respected. It was one of those nights and I stood in the middle of my flat sipping my fourth martini. People often came by to say hello or to tell me about their new rescue dog or the screenplay they were working on and I liked that. I was a hub for pleasant small talk and I didn't have to do much but stand there, existing. A friend of mine from college came in through the front door and brought somebody with her. Somebody I quickly recognized as Axel. They were holding hands and my chest contracted and released the chemicals of shock into my bloodstream, causing me to prickle, nerves excited but not in a good way. Axel saw me too and the only reason I could tell was that his eyes were the two most noticeable things in the room. The way they just shot daggers in any direction was alarming. Not only that but he towered over most with his square shoulders and intense Scandinavian facial structure. It was hard not to let the eyes follow him. I remained in my stance, thankful for when a friend came up to me to ask a question. I pushed all of my attention onto her and engaged in extended conversation quickly for an effective distraction from the awkward tension I was feeling. I knew it was impossible that he knew about what had happened but something in my head prodded my over-active imagination, implanting the thought that he did somehow know. As an overthinker, I naturally wondered if I should tell him what happened. He had made it happen. He was the other piece of the puzzle. Or was the whole situation so insignificant that even giving it additional thought was silly? I couldn't be sure. What I did become sure of immediately was that Axel forgot about my friend that he had come in with and found me standing in the kitchen area waiting on another martini not long after he had arrived. "Hi. Remember me?" "Of course." "It's good to see you again," he said. "Really?" "Uh, yeah?" "I'm sorry about that." "Sorry about what?" "Everything?" Axel smirked at me. "It's totally fine. No worries." For some reason all I could remember was him telling me that he was going to fuck me until I loved him. It was a funny thought and I had to wonder if he had used that line with every girl he slept with. I wondered if he had already used it on my friend. "Well, I'm going to go smoke." I attempted to excuse myself. "Yeah, let's do that," he agreed. "Okay. Yeah, all right." He followed me to the balcony. The platform was long enough for a dozen people to stand comfortably side-by-side smoking. We had a problem with people chucking the butts onto the street below even though there was a massive bucket of sand to put them out in. That night I didn't care if people were flicking their cigarette butts over the railing, I needed the sweet release of nicotine to calm my nerves first. My hand was shaking as I lit the end of my cigarette because Axel was mirroring practically everything I did down to how I leaned up against the guard rail. "Sorry for just showing up like this but when I heard you were having a party it made me think about you." "Oh... Is that why you came with Whatsername?" Axel chuckled and finally turned his body away from me, boots scraping the cement as he faced out toward the streets. The street lamps cast a sinister orange glow over his already intimidatingly sharp face. "I didn't want to come uninvited so I came as a plus one." "You could have asked to come." "Well, you didn't leave me your phone number or anything." "I'm on social media," I reminded him as though it was obvious. Smirking, he replied, "I'm not." "Oh. Are you sure you're not offended that I took off? Because it seems like you are and I just want to say that I'm really sorry and I didn't mean to hurt your feelings." "There are no feelings to be hurt. Like I said, I was just thinking about you." Nothing he said or did had given me any indication that he was actually indifferent about the situation. He never left my side even as I smoked three consecutive cigarettes in a row and then went back into the kitchen to replenish the drink that I didn't particularly need more of. When we stood in line and waited for the bathroom to free up he took a deep breath and turned to me with a look of smouldering concern knitting his eyebrows together. "Was it bad for you? Because I'm pretty damn sure I made you come. Like a lot." I scoffed in disbelief, "No! Axel... I didn't... It wasn't you at all. I promise. If you must know the truth it was because... Well... Fuck." "What is it?" "Come with me," I requested. Axel followed me to the door of my bedroom which I knocked on before entering. I didn't want to risk walking in on someone giving someone else head. It was just a force of habit. The coast was clear and I opened the door, allowing him to step through first before I entered and closed the door behind me. "All right, what is it?" He asked. "I left and didn't call because I just thought that's what you might want. Also... There's something else." "What? What is it?" "When you... Y'know... Came inside of me. It did something." I watched his eyes snap back and forth as he looked into mine and tried to decipher the message I had just given him. I watched as he quickly came to realize what I meant and I had never seen someone's blood drain from their face so instantaneously. "You don't mean?-" "Yes, I mean-" "I got you?-" "Yes, you got me-" "Fuck, I thought everybody was on the pill now," he pondered aloud like I wasn't standing right there in front of him. "N-Not me." "Shit. I'm sorry. Are you okay?" Axel opened his arms and welcomed me to walk into them which I did and the smell of his chest brought me back to the night we had hooked up. He smoothed his hand over my hair and sighed before kissing the top of my head comfortingly. "I'm fine. Totally fine." "You should have told me." "It was nothing. I mean, not nothing but... I wasn't upset." "That's good." "Are you upset?" I asked, stepping back from our embrace so I could better register his reactions since his words felt misleading. "No, it's just... So you... Did you get it? Fuck," Axel stammered. "Are you still?" "No, I had a... An abortion. It's done." "Well... Okay. That's fine. I know my place and I know that's a you decision and I don't have an opinion on the matter. But I am sorry. I would have helped you out." "How was I supposed to know you would want to help?" His huge green eyes rolled as he scoffed, "uh, you could have asked me." "Well, I... Didn't know how to get a hold of you." "Come on, you can't tell me that you and all of your hundreds of girlfriends don't have a network of amateur investigative shit. You could have tracked me down somehow if you really wanted to." "See..." I said quietly. "You are upset." "No!" He exclaimed but then dropped his tone, hovering above a whisper. "No... I'm not. I'm just sorry is all." "Don't be. I should have been more careful." "Me too." Axel closed the gap that I had put between us but this time I was the one who opened my arms for him to step into. It felt strange to be hugging someone I didn't know but at the same time, his scent brought back the memory I had of us having drunken, raunchy, coke-fueled sex. The feeling of his torso against mine was foreign yet I remembered so clearly what it felt like to have my arms around his body. I felt like a little girl against his frame. I breathed in his scent deeply and I knew that I was going to make the same bad decision again. He only pulled away so that he could duck down lower to kiss me and soon he had his hands through my hair, tilting my face for a better angle. His lips smothered mine and I could feel him breathing through his nose, inhaling as much of my face as he possibly could while I toyed with getting his belt undone. The next thing I knew after he had pulled off my top and threw up my skirt was laying on my bed, face down, ass up like a cat in heat. Axel stood back for a moment just to admire what he saw before shoving his pants down to his ankles. When he got up on the bed it moaned beneath his weight much like I did as he carefully slid his hard cock into me for the second time, unprotected even though we had just finished telling each other about how we should both be more careful. Axel leaned over me, throbbing and one hundred percent enveloped in my hot wetness and said, "I'm going to fucking put a baby right back inside you, little slut, hold still."

[mst3kproject]

1204: The Day Time Ended

Remember Charles Band and David Allen, who respectively directed and did the stop motion for Laserblast!?  Remember I mentioned they made more movies together?  Here’s one.  I actually had about a third of an Episode that Never Was written up for The Day Time Ended when the trailer came out, and I debated what to do with that. I could have used it on the 23rd, like I posted the review of Reptilicus just before Season 11 debuted, but I decided it was more in the spirit of Season 12 to do the episodes in order one after the other.

A family, consisting of Mom, Dad, daughter Jenny, teenage Uncle Steve, Grandma, and Grandpa, have just moved into their new solar-powered ultra-modern-for-the-70’s house in the middle of the desert.  There’s nothing like living a hundred miles from anywhere, alone under the skies without road noise or partying neighbours… until, of course, you’re besieged by aliens in the middle of the night.  I will bet you cash money there are people who claim this actually happened to them, except they would probably say they just got probed and dropped back into bed, instead of their whole house being transported to another planet.  What are the family going to do?  Is there anything they can do, or will they be killed by the monsters and aliens lurking outside, or even by the space/time warp itself?

There are quite a few honestly cool things in The Day Time Ended.  The tiny aliens that run around the house are cute, although not as charming or communicative as the ones from Laserblast!  The two monsters who fight outside the barn at one point are similarly well-animated and have a bit of personality of their own.  They look like something you might see in the original Star Wars trilogy.  Most of the UFOs are merely lights zipping around in the sky but the one that invades the house is fun, with several moving parts and an overall design that looks, as Jonah and the bots observed, something like a Betamax Roomba.  The final matte painting of the alien city is nothing special but the one that represents a sort of interstellar junkyard is detailed and blends well with the action.

The acting isn’t great, but it’s not terrible – most of these people were in something approximating a real movie once, and they do their best with what they’re given.  The innate hostility of the desert landscapes underscore the isolation and danger the family are in.  Aesthetically, The Day Time Ended works well and a lot of very good decisions were made.

It’s still a terrible movie, though.  I bet you’re wondering what MST3K cut from this film to make it fit the time slot.  I bet you’re thinking there must have been a scene like the one in Lords of the Deep where Chadwick tells McDowell about the aliens, or like the one at the end of Time of the Apes where EUCOM explains everything.  Something in which somebody speaks to Mom, Dad, and Jenny and tells them exactly what the fuck is going on and why they don’t need to be afraid of it.  Well, in the long and by now firm tradition of stuff MST3K didn’t cut… there isn’t.  Never once do we have even the slightest idea of why all this is happening.

Being as The Gauntlet is the first time I’ve watched an entire sequence of the movies in a row before I’d seen the episodes, I’m beginning to notice patterns, and one rather prominent one is how little I miss the stuff that didn’t make the cut.  It never interrupts the flow of the story.  It’s only afterwards that I find myself thinking “hey, wasn’t there a bit in the car where they talk about Eric’s teddy having new microchips or something?”  And there was, but it didn’t matter and it certainly wouldn’t have added anything to the experience if they kept it.  The only time MST3K ever seems to have cut a scene that would have been worth keeping was the bit where Vadinho tells Tony he’s the worst Pumaman ever.

Unfortunately, this leaves The Day Time Ended without anything that might remotely be considered a plot. This story has a beginning, in which strange events plague the ranch, and an end, in which they reach a place of safety, but there’s no middle to speak of.  The weird stuff going on escalates from lights to monsters to finally the entire house drifting through time and space, but it never even comes close to making sense.  Nobody in the family is ever able to come to any conclusions about these events or to really try to take any action, and none of the characters have an opportunity to grow.  We don’t even know if the little aliens caused the warp (perhaps to rescue the family from something even worse) or if they’re merely reacting to it.  I guess it’s supposed to have been triggered by the ‘trinary supernova’ they mentioned on the radio, but by halfway through the movie I’d forgotten all about that.

It’s not entirely true that none of the characters know what’s going on.  None of the characters we follow do.  We stay at the house with Grandma, Grandpa, and Uncle Steve while Mom, Dad, and Jenny are all consumed by the vortex, and later we meet up again with the Mom who tells everybody else that there was nothing to fear.  Within the movie this is just frustrating, because she never actually explains, but it is a little interesting when we’ve watched it, as I did, immediately on the tail of Lords of the Deep.  In that movie, we were following Claire McDowell as she learned the truth about the glitter goo.  In The Day Time Ended, we are in the shoes of her colleagues, dealing with a nightmare and having only her gut feeling to tell them there’s no danger.

This could have been kind of a cool take on the ‘chosen messenger of the aliens’ trope, if only it had been used for that.  Jenny does, a couple of times, talk about the little aliens being her friends and seems quite unworried by the goings-on, but she’s five, and the adults have no reason to actually engage her in conversation about this.  The Mom could have filled this messenger role, but she communicates with the creatures too late to affect the story. She’s merely a sort of deus ex machina by proxy, swooping back in at the end to reassure us that everything’s okay.

Is this movie trying to tell us anything?  Possibly… Laserblast was supposed to be about how you can only push somebody so far before they start pushing back.  That was fairly obvious in the narrative, but I’m not as sure about The Day Time Ended.  I think it might be about how nobody can truly be self-sufficient.  The family in the movie believes they have everything they need to cut themselves off from the rest of humanity, but this only leaves them vulnerable when the universe throws them a curve.

The introduction makes a big deal out of the house’s self-sufficiency.  They have their own water supply, and with solar power they have their own electricity. They are therefore able to live far away from the noise, crowding, and lights of a city with minimal inconvenience to themselves, and they rejoice in this isolation.  Then the vortex, wherever it came from, moves in, and their isolation becomes their worst enemy – they are unable to call for help, and help, in the form of the Dad, is unable to get to them.  It seems like all will be lost until their unseen benefactors bring them all back together and guide them to exactly what they sought to abandon: a city.

Lucky them. The rest of us are stuck here on Earth while the ants enter Phase IV.

The thing that really makes me want to see dependence on society as an intentional motif is the bit where the Dad needs gas for his car and the man at the gas station goes out of his way to make sure he obtains it, despite the considerable obstacles presented by the weather and the power outage. He gets no reward for this help, he does it simply because it’s the right thing to do, and without his assistance the Dad would probably have never seen his family again.  Our fellow human beings are not enemies we need to escape from – they are allies who can save us when we are in need.

And yet I’m still not sure.  The house’s self-sufficiency may just be an explanation for why they can still turn the lights on when they’re trapped in the vortex.  The isolation may just be to avoid having to pay for a bigger cast or more sets.  The issue of where they get their food from is never addressed, and remains as their most obvious connection to the outside world. The family doesn’t really seem to be rejecting society, they just want to live a little closer to nature – the Dad even still has a perfectly normal office job.  When danger surrounds them, they don’t try hard enough to leave or to call for help, or even to think about how this situation would resolve differently in a city.

The total lack of plot and character development, with only the ghost of a possible theme, leaves us with a movie in which it feels like nothing happens even thought a lot of stuff actually does, because none of what happens is meaningful.  The strange events at the ranch have nothing to tie them together into a proper story, and as a result I find I can’t really remember them or what order they happened in.  The only part of the film in which it feels like something was accomplished was the father’s struggle to get home, which started with a goal and a reason for the character to pursue it, and ended in success.  The rest is just a muddle.  It’s a visually impressive muddle at times, but a muddle nonetheless.

In summary, I think Leonard Maltin would have to give this one only two stars.

[doomedandstoned]

Closer To The End (part II)

~By Billy Goate~

Art by Ruso Tsig

Everyone has bouts of sadness, loneliness, heartache. For better or worse, it's a part of the human condition. There was some discussion after my last article about whether depression is something we can choose to walk into or away from -- like a bad attitude -- or whether in some people it may be more deeply ingrained in the psychological makeup, whether by nature or nurture. I thought it would be helpful to give you a window into my own background so you can understand when depression first made itself manifest and the different strategies taken to deal with it over the years.

Banished from this world, and from its toil I can only watch, grieve and pity Stare at stupid likes, wonder at people's smiles

I get more and more stress Nothing anyone can offer, more or less Done grieving, closer to the end

DON'T KNOW WHY

I vaguely recall spells of melancholy in childhood. The return from summer camp to a boring home with mom vacuuming and dad at work had me feeling quite empty and blue. It was a strange, bewildering state of mind to be in. Mom told me to snap out of it or else. There were a few moments that shattered my reality as a child. Realizing, for instance, that mom and dad were having marital problems. Hearing my pastor of a father say a swear word. Often, I would be startled awake in the dead of night to my mom shrieking at my dad, throwing dishes, insisting that he was against her. My dad was a patient man and knew that all was not right in her world. These things jolted me into new layers of reality, each accompanied by periods of moodiness and anxiety.

By the time I was in the 4th grade, I started having trouble in school. I was placed in one of those "talented and gifted" programs, though I never really understood why. I knew I couldn't see what my teachers were writing on the chalkboard. Panicked, I would ask students nearby what the hell the teacher was writing, only to be scolded for distracting the class. One particular teacher was downright mean to me, until she found out that I was having vision problems and needed glasses. Once she realized I was also the son of a preacher man, she tripped all over herself to be kind. Maybe she felt guilty?

Something else odd happened around this time. I came home with division homework one day and just decided not to do it. I don't remember if it was because my parents were too busy to help or I was just too stubborn to ask. There was no rational reason for it. The next day, I was shamed in front of the entire class by an Admiral Ackbar looking mother fucker named Mr. Davis. "Billy Joe, why didn't you do your homework?" he demanded. "Why?" His hand lifted my chin, forcing me to stare up into his beady little eyes peering menacingly behind his spectacles. Mr. Davis' rosy complexion turned beat red when I answered: "I...don't know."

I don't know anything I don't know anything I don't know anything I don't know who I am

I don't know anything I don't know anything I don't know anything I don't know who to be

SATANIC PANIC

My parents were tethered to a particularly pernicious strain of fundamentalist Christianity that got caught up in the "Satanic Panic" of the 1980s. That meant no D&D for me! Urban legends were shared in Sunday school and from the pulpit about young people who had necked because their character "died" in this forbidden game. It was the most sinister proxy for evil that I could envision at that time.

The Satanic Panic put everything else under the microscope: toys, comic books, and popular music were all suspect. A copy of Phil Phillip's 1986 "expose" Turmoil In The Toybox lay on the coffee table, pages well-worn and highlighted. He-Man, G.I. Joe, even Star Wars were viewed as tools of the Devil to recruit a desensitized generation of youth into his heathen horde. I'd wake up from one day to learn about something else I couldn't have, play, watch, or do. Video games would not be far behind.

One day, my mother caught me rocking out to the Scorpions in my room and immediately confiscated my radio, outlawing metal from the house (and basically anything with a rock 'n' roll beat). MTV lasted only long enough for me to be exposed to Metallica's visceral "One" and Guns 'n' Roses' "Welcome To The Jungle." While the classic days of rock's infancy were viewed as a time of innocence (I don't think my folks really got what "Blueberry Hill" by Fats Domino was about), anything stemming from the late '60s counterculture forward was viewed as dangerously corrupting.

Various factions within the church began playing games of connect-the-dots with the songs of Jefferson Airplane, Led Zeppelin, and Black Sabbath, tying them into a subservice plot by Luciferian cults and the shadowy elite (at that time Communists -- a favorite boogeyman of the era) who were trying to undermine undermining of God, family, and country by subverting its youth. All of popular culture was roped in with the conspiracy, too. Though the house was cleansed of its ungodly influence, the worst was still ahead.

Soon, my mother started cutting me off from neighborhood friends and finally pulled me out of public school altogether around middle of 5th grade. She had learned about this radical new response to America's failing education system through friends from another church who had just taken their own children out of school. Emboldened, she began homeschooling us in West Texas in the mid '80s, during a time when it wasn't a clearly legal practice. Every time the doorbell rang my siblings and I would run and hide, thinking the truant officer had come to take us away to foster care. I didn't understand at the time what I do now: my mother was mentally ill. Furthermore, she was in over her head. This became apparent when she tried to take on the role of teacher.

While I am extraordinarily grateful for the year or two of solid education she gave me (particularly in the writing and public speaking departments, two areas she and my father were naturally gifted in and which have been the buttress of my career), it wasn't long until she became frustrated with the Abeka and Bob Jones University curriculum we were using. One day, when I was struggling with algebra, she declared that we wouldn't have to learn it. "After all, who actually uses algebra in daily life?" she wondered. We were now self-directed learners, a radical new idea that was controversial even in the homeschooling movement ("un-schooling," they called it). Of course, I wasn't allowed to just sit around and watch TV. Consequently, I shifted my focus to the things that were more interesting to me: music, art, history. Math and science? Not so much.

STOCKHOLM SYNDROME

For years, I remained blithely unaware of what was happening in the world around me in the world of music. I lived in Arlington during the rise of Pantera, Topeka during one of Guns ‘n’ Roses most controversial shows, and Oregon during the height of the grunge era and the sunsetting of the Grateful Dead -- all of it veiled from notice. My life was devoted to church and, if anything, I tried to convince fellow Christians to separate themselves from the tainted allure of the fool’s gold of popular music, television, and video games. For a while, I was a true believer. Call it Stockholm Syndrome, if you like. Infractions of the moral code -- and the slightest temperament of rebellion -- were met with a freshly cut switch, which would leave stinging welts up and down my calves, tights, arms, and back. Thus my conscience was conditioned.

I remember happening upon the pornographic scene in George Orwell’s 1984 and afterwards feeling that the only right and proper thing to assuage my guilt was to burn the everlasting shit out of this smut. Even then I loved the novel, but I couldn't reconcile my faith with this section of it, so I purged it in the flame of backyard trash barrels. At my most fervent, I also lit the match to a stack of MAD Magazines and comic books. As harmless as they might have seemed to the average Joe blinded to the wiles of the Devil, these were gateways into realms of the flesh. “Walk in the spirit, not the flesh,” I recited to myself as fire brandished the yellowed pages of print, slowly turning them black until they were embers caught up by the wind and scattered into the sky. True story: I once threw away a perfectly good copy of Downward Spiral after one hearing the demonic screams of "Becoming" (not to mention the brash blasphemy of "Heretic").

The me that you know doesn't come around much That part of me isn't here anymore

The me that you know is now made up of wires And even when I'm right with you I'm so far away

This kind of extreme separation from the world really fucked me up socially. For years, I couldn't hold on a conversation with another person my age. What would we talk about? I was clueless about anything happening in the world of sports, music, television, or the culture at large. Even though conversation is no longer a problem for me, I still feel odd about friendships. I have an irrational fear that they're going to be taken away from me at any moment, so I keep everyone at a comfortable arm's length. At times, intimacy feels painfully awkward.

Maybe this is why I'm so notorious for leaving shows immediately following the last song. I’ll give my smiles, shake hands, and say goodbye, but avoid sticking around long enough to really get to know people. I’ve been invited to crash on couches to avoid the long drive home, but I always politely decline. Certainly, I don’t want to come across as rude, I just feel like an outsider to the world -- someone who just doesn’t fit in, doesn't belong. Not now, not ever.

TEENAGE ANGST HAS PAID OFF WELL

As I reached my adolescent years, I began going through prolonged spells of melancholy. The prospect of sharing this with others was extraordinarily embarrassing, so I kept it all bottled up inside. Mostly, I tried walking it out on long excursions through the open field next to our house. I worked through a lot of issues during that time and credit those walks with helping me to keep my sanity. As a matter of fact, I recommend daily constitutionals to everyone as a general principle of good mental health. It would be a mistake not to mention that my belief in an omnipresent God at this time played a medicinal role in helping me to cope with my depression, though my views on religion would one day reverse course.

By 18, symptoms of major depression surfaced like a noxious weed and even God could not get me through it. I prayed, too. God, how I prayed, sometimes hours on end. That year, I fell into a downcast mood that refused to dissipate and remained there for months -- four of them straight. I sought refuge in the music of Tchaikovsky, working my way from the fateful Symphony No. 4 to his Symphony No. 6, the Pathétique. The sounds I was hearing tapped into a new emotional alphabet, impossible to transcribe into any tongue. It was remarkable: somehow the music knew precisely what I was feeling. I finally had a soundtrack to my depression.

One day, a buddy and I joined the military on a whim, though he'd later get disqualified for asthma. I felt the Army would provide a much needed "Be All You Can Be" boost to my confidence and a crash course in normie life. I shipped down range to my duty station, Fort Benning, Georgia, for infantry training. My new home would be with Charlie Company, 2nd Battalion, 58th Infantry Regiment -- the infamous "House of Pain." In the space of 14 weeks, I was exposed to every aspect of humanity imaginable. From the "shark attack" welcome of the drill sergeants on Sand Hill to the rude middle of the night awakenings for physical training, I was in shock most of the time. Slowly, though, I eased into this strange new world and got my bearings.

Almost a full month into this prison world, we were allowed to visit one of the on-base shopping exchanges. I immediately looked for a CD player and began checking out the music section, trying to see if there were names I recognized. "Guns 'n' Roses? Sure they're cool," shrugged my buddy Bradley, a floppy-eared Gomer Pyle looking dude. "But you really need to check out some Soundgarden, dude." I did, picking up their latest, Down On The Upside, and it was like salve to my soul. The music spoke of being trapped ("...and I don't like what you've got me hanging from") and being eternally at odds with the world ("Born without a friend and bound to die alone"). There was even a song about "Boot Camp," the short album closer. The nihilistic despair was strangely comforting.

I must obey the rules I must be tame and cool No staring at the clouds I must stay on the ground In clusters of the mice The smoke is in our eyes Like babies on display Like Angels in a cage I must be pure and true I must contain my views There must be something else There must be something good far away Far away from here And I'll be there for good For good

The song did not resolve happily, and I feared my life wouldn't either. After a serious injury left me permanently wounded, I began to feel my life wasn't being guided by the Hand of God of all, but the random throes of Fate. Maybe they were the same thing. I resigned myself to the misery of a long recovery, during which time I had to learn to walk again. It's a three beer kind of story, maybe I'll share it sometime. Probably not. Returning to civilian life proved to be even more of an adjustment than the military had been, and my shadows of depression lingered with me even as I tried to remain one step ahead of them.

MELANCHOLIA

I have long held a theory that human beings are not built for the world that we have constructed for ourselves. Whether we're talking Seattle traffic or the constant buzz of social media, the frantic pace of our rapidly evolving technocracy has left us a worried, frazzled mess. The studies are conclusive: almost one in five have experienced depression and one in four struggle with anxiety, with PTSD being a household acronym.

A counselor once asked if I enjoyed being depressed. I found it a bit of a repulsive question. I can tell you that there is nothing glamorous about depression. There's no reason to idolize the angst of those sad Kurt Cobain eyes. Everyone has experienced feelings of being bummed out, and for most folks it is a transitory feeling. It comes when one of life's storms arises and leaves when the situation resolves itself. There's a whole section of us, however, for whom the dark clouds never leaves. It just hovers around our heads, like the oppressive, low-hanging specter of an Oregon winter.

Depression isn't always about feeling sad, either. Often it manifests in a general malaise -- you can't bring yourself to care about the things you used to. Other times, it works in tandem with anxiety, seizing your heart at the thought of all the day holds in store, then punishing you with the feeling of dread. We may feel sad, anxious, or fearful and not be able to give a rational explanation for it. In those moments, I cannot imagine a more miserable place to be. With that said, I hasten to add that my description of depression may not align with your own, as it is an intensely personal experience.

Release your head from the world Keep yourself underground No one understands your mind

Humans programmed like robots Making sure you don't belong No one understands your mind

I suspected I had depression in the clinical sense, when I realized that though I wanted to feel better, all I could do was subsist in the misery. Those of you who've been able to talk yourself out of such states will scoff. My mother, who suffers from a host of afflictions that have never been properly diagnosed, was notorious for telling us kids to "snap out of it." I do understand that kind of no-nonsense perspective. Her father and mother were staunchly independent homesteaders of the WWII generation who braved the untamed wilderness of Alaska and the exotic dangers of Australia. The '60s and '70s generation grew up fearful of losing such independence to mental institutions that locked up people, merely because they acted in ways society didn’t understand. The stigma of psychiatric care was every bit as real as the stigma of mental illness. Thus, her approach was quite practical: take Saint John's Wort, get on a good diet of vegetables and fruits, drink plenty of water, get fresh air and exercise. If that doesn’t work, there’s always Jesus.

Despite plenty of prayer and a multitude of home remedies, depression continued plaguing my mind. People frustrated by what they viewed as an easy fix would imply that depressed folk like me just wanted to be depressed, maybe because it got them attention or they were just spoiled rotten. Soon I stopped sharing altogether. As one friend of mine, a real no-nonsense type, told me: “No one cares. You have to get on with your life.” “How do you manage that?” I asked. “What's your secret?” “You just have to shrug it off,” she concluded. I envied the cold, pragmatic stoicism and wished that I could just shrug my shoulders and let everything slide off. At one point, my depression was so acute, I looked into electroconvulsive therapy, memory loss be damned. During my consultation with a specialist, I learned the procedure had advanced since Jack Nicholson’s unfortunate end as a mental patient in One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest. Ultimately, I decided against it.

SEARCH FOR ANSWERS

As with most human situations, our problems stem from a complex mixture of nature and nurture. I posed a question to my psychology professor one day: "Does depression cause us to think depressing thoughts or do depressing thoughts cause us to be in a state of depression?" His answer surprised and relieved me. "Both," he said.

In Psychology 202, we were in the midst of a chapter on depression and other mental disorders. Having recently experienced the loss of my grandmother, I was feeling especially hopeless and decided to ask my prof another burning question at the end of class. "If a person were to see a therapist, does it go on his record?" In my mind, counseling was for the weak and hideously broken. "Not at all," he responded with a smile. "Even psychologists seek help from other psychologists for their depression and anxiety." Then he really blew my mind: "I have a therapist myself. See her once a month. Sort through a lot of life decisions that way." He also assured me that there was no master file of such visits. While a therapist might keep her own notes, it's certainly not something shared with employers and as a rule is kept strictly confidential, as are all medical records.

My first visit to a counselor was nothing like I'd imagined. I wasn't given pills, invited to lay on a couch and look at ink blots, or even asked questions about my parents. Instead, the counselor initiated an open-ended conversation that encouraged me to articulate the tangled mess of thoughts and feelings I'd been bottling up inside. It was the first time I'd ever talked about my experiences in the military or about the emotional upheaval of my childhood. I felt liberated after just a few weeks of these sessions. For a time, I felt very much on top of my problems. Maybe this counseling thing wasn't so bad after all. I even began to recommend it to my friends and stood up for psychologists when mom would bash the profession in one of her trademark rants.

Promises abound You rarely find it to begin Maybe I'm afraid To let you all the way in

I excuse myself I'm used to my little cell I amuse myself In my very own private hell

I noticed a pattern to my depression: it seemed to be triggered by situations in which I felt helplessly incapable of controlling my environment, decisions, and destiny. You know, other people taking advantage of me, a nightmare roommate, an overbearing boss, unrequited love -- that sort of thing. It was like a switch flipped and all of the sudden the feelings flooded in and surrounded me for days, even weeks.

Feelings of loneliness and disquiet were often compounded by negative thinking about the situation. "What's wrong with me that I can't find someone to be with? Am I that unattractive or uninteresting?" The negative self-talk wasn't helping my situation. In some ways, it even turned out to be a self-fulfilling prophecy. I'd walk around with a scowl on my face, prompting friends and family to constantly ask, "What's wrong? Is everything ok?" That's why I realized it may take more muscles to frown than to smile, but that undersmile sure is a lot more comfortable. No wonder people kept themselves at bay.

I actually started practicing my smile in the rearview mirror on the way to school every day, just so I remembered what that felt like. Fake it 'til you make it, the saying goes. Even if I was feeling like a miserable wretch inside, I certainly didn't want to betray those feelings to the world outside. So I got good at being a fake. When people asked, "How's it going?" I'd say, "Fine, just fine, thanks. And you?" (One of my counselors would later call me on that every session: "How are things really?").

When I got married, depression reached peak levels, only now that oppressive, low-hanging cold front wouldn't burn off with the sunshine. The mood never lifted. It was with me 24-7. It wasn't unusual for me to be severely depressed during the normally halcyon days of summer. I knew something had to be done, so I confronted another long-time stigma of mine: medication.

To be continued...

This whole house of cards crumbling slow If I disappear would you even know? The trap is time and no one gets off of this ride alive

So far under Too much pain to tell And now I'm ripped asunder So far under