#I’m nowhere near done I just want to know how I should make Jeremy cry first

[zombiecowboy65]

So like out of curiosity would u guys want a jerejean paramedic partners au this close to tgr or is the consensus like canon verse only and then later on we get to aus

[clairenchanted]

so you want to be a hero !

tw: abuse, injury 

o1. you are born glowing. all twelve sets of your ribs, pristine and perfect, are outlined in the white light of your powers from the moment you first start crying. you will never remember the way your mother holds you against her chest and your light suffuses pink against the blanket you’re wrapped in; you will never remember the way she calls you her starlight and kisses your forehead. you will never remember the way your father watches the scene unreadably for two minutes before he turns on his heel and walks away, murmuring about a call he needs to make. you will never remember that there is no call. you will never remember the way he says light under his breath like a it’s a curse that you were born glowing and not destroying the hospital room with some exponentially stronger superpower. you will never remember the first time you disappoint him. 

o2. daddy always smiles; you are three and looking up at him with his blue eyes, wide, flinching against the flash of a camera. sitting in his elbow, you look for safety in the crook of his neck against the sudden brightness; what you find is his rumbling laugh and a gentle hand on your back. 

c’mon, sierra! don’t be shy -- everyone’s happy to see you. say hi! 

your eyes hurt and your head swims -- there are too many people, a tangle of limbs and voices, asking questions you can’t hear and can’t answer. eventually, when you don’t look away from the crowd, he moves his other hand to sign things: photos, posters, souvenirs. and he smiles the whole time. mommy’s dark hair tumbles over your shoulders as you try to sit still and face forward. 

that’s daddy’s little girl! 

the next time someone takes a picture, you even manage to smile. 

o3. mom used to do your hair for you every day -- you remember that. she sits with you now and it’s only because she does that you realize it’s been some time since anyone but Rosemary has done it. the maid is somewhere else in the Blake estate tonight; you are on your mom’s lap and she has her hands in your hair. the braid in your hair keeps spilling strands that tickle your cheek; you laugh, and her hands still. 

sorry honey, she says. i guess your hair’s gotten a little thicker. 

you are five, so you don’t know what that means. but you also know that your mother is here so what is there to be sorry about? you smile, you know how to smile, and you reach back and clumsily pat her arm. 

it’s okay mom. 

mom can’t manage a full braid tonight, but she brushes out your hair until it’s straight and shiny. you don’t know what it means when her hands shake. 

o4. when Gabriel Blake saves his six year old daughter and his wife from a villain at a meet and greet, it makes every paper later that day and trends on twitter for a week. he comes out with various statements after the attack: how quickly the villain was taken care of, how he will always place the safety of those around him -- his fans, his family -- before everything else. he’ll be taking a break from public appearances to make sure to spend quality time with his beloved daughter and wife, but he thanks his supporters from the bottom of his heart and promises he’ll return to them soon enough. 

o5. when you’re eight, Grim’s mom tells him to take his glove off when you spar. you both pause and look at her, not sure sure you understand. but she just watches you and you watch Grim and Grim watches his hand as he painstakingly takes his glove off finger by finger. you almost ask yourself where his dad is, but that’s silly -- Reaper’s never at practice. 

the first time is clumsy. Grim’s mom corrects you both too much; there’s not as much disappointment in her voice as dad’s, but it’s more bitter and you wonder if it’s a power of its own. if her disappointment is going to curdle in your blood when you’re not looking. after that, you both do better. 

o6. you and Grim are nine and at the mall when the clothes in hot topic suddenly, and without any warning, come to life. it’s the slip of black fabric like a shadow over Grim’s wrist and then he is pulled away from you and you both start to scream then stop yourselves. this is what you’ve been training for since you could walk; if you fail now, facing your first villain on your own, then you have failed everything and everyone and every moment and purpose of your life. 

when you plunge your hands into the fabric, your light does so little. your powers have always been weak -- you’ve barely managed to make it physical, making little cuts in the fabric that do nothing to thin the onslaught. so you rely on the gifts dad has given you: extensive training, hours of building muscle and reflex, and the tenacity not to give up. you fight your way in, fabric wrapping around your throat and face until you can’t breathe, but you find Grim’s hand. he destroys the fabric with the other, rotting it by touch alone, and you pull yourselves bodily from the animated clothing. 

Reaper was with you that day; he apprehends the villain, and the two of you escape with only a few bruises to pay for your first victory as heroes. 

o7. somehow, your private school uniform has gold thread through its seams. in navy, white, and gold, you pass each day in much the same way. Grim is sarcastic and funny, Jeremy is sunny and approachable, and you, Sierra, you are quiet. you fail at being funny a lot, and charming sometimes, so you discover quickly that the best thing you can do is be neither. you keep your head down, do your work, and speak only to teachers, or to Grim or Jeremy. 

your grades are impeccable. once, when you’re studying at lunch, one of the kids asks why you try -- shouldn’t you just be good at this stuff already? you had never stopped to consider what it would be like to know this without studying, without work, and why it should matter. that’s when the laughter starts, the strain of isn’t that Echo’s kid? isn’t he number one? maybe she’s just weird. maybe she’s just weak. 

Grim’s leaning across you, bodily, to throw a napkin at Jeremy distracts you enough that the voices fade. 

it’s cute that you think you can sit with us, Grim tells the kid who stands beside your table. his face turns confused then offended -- then white as Grim’s hand, free of its glove, makes clacking sounds on the plastic of the tabletop: skeletal and deadly, eating through the material like it would through flesh. but you’re nowhere near top three. 

what? 

didn’t you know? that’s who you’re looking at right now. so try to be a little smarter next time you open your mouth. 

the kid trembles. Grim waits until he turns on his heel and runs before tugging his glove back on -- holding it high, one bony finger at a time. Jeremy cracks a joke. you remember how to breathe. when you get home, your father clucks sympathetically at the boy that was just so rude to you today -- he got the call immediately. the kid won’t bother you again. and you won’t give anyone else a reason to, will you? 

no, you won’t. 

no, you won’t. 

no, i won’t. i’m sorry. 

you stop opening your books at lunch. 

o8. dad is the number one hero in the world. he has responsibility on his shoulder that you can hardly dream of understanding, no matter how hard you’re working now. he was always going to break eventually -- but it’s not him. it’s not his fault; it’s not his inevitability. it’s yours. when you’re twelve and he changes. 

you are used to pain, because you have to be. that’s how you prepare -- dad always keeps bone regrow and med kits on hand when you’re too slow and break something in training. he shows you how weak your hits are, shows you how to make them stronger. shows you the kind of mercy a villain will: none at all. because i need to make sure you can keep yourself alive, Sierra. i want what’s best for you, because you want to be the best. 

of course. 

you’re used to that: the odd arm, the odd rib. healed over many times, you don’t even notice the burn anymore. today you’re distracted, probably. you must be. that’s why you’re too slow. he’s been quiet the whole time, but he’s allowed to be quiet; he’s number one, he’s helping you, and he’s your father. you are the one learning -- the mistakes are yours. 

what did you do wrong? he asks. 

you don’t think. you’re too quick. you were too fast. 

excuse me? 

the training room is half the size of a city block, and all of it is silent in the wake. seconds pass as you watch his face, absent of a smile, hardened in something sharper than disappointment, and try to let your reeling thoughts make sense again. try to remember how to breathe. 

flesh on flesh shatters the quiet, and you’re already down before the pain blooms across your jaw. he waits for you, gaze narrowed and appraising. get up. 

he’s on you again before you’re standing and you have no chance with your center of gravity compromised. you hit the mat and the wind knocks from your lungs. your face aches -- but that’s fine. it’s only pain, Sierra. if you let pain distract you, how will you ever be a hero? how will you ever survive when something really tries to kill you?

up, then down. up, then down. your face, your leg, your arm, your ribs, up then down until something cracks in your side and all you see is white and when you stumble to your feet, shaking and desperate, your knees buckle. hands are immediately on your arms and you flinch because -- because you shouldn’t, you shouldn’t flinch because it’s your father and his touch is steady and gentle and doesn’t hurt. this is training; he’d never hurt you. 

woah now, kiddo. you can’t open your eyes, you can’t see. is he smiling again? please, please be smiling again -- you did a number on yourself this time. you know how to roll better than that. 

i do, i do know, i’m sorry -- 

what are you apologizing for? it’s all sun over the thinnest sheen of ice. kind and earnest over the chill. 

i don’t -- i don’t know -- 

what are you apologizing for, Sierra? 

i -- i know how to fall better. i let myself get hurt. 

oh, come on honey. yes, you know better, but there’s no need to apologize for an accident. 

he helps you to the bench on the side of the room and holds your ribs together as you swallow bone regrow. the injury burns as it seals into place, and for hours after. it burns for days. eventually, you ignore it because surely it will fade some day. the same with your right shoulder next time, your wrist, your right leg, your nose. the burning lasts for a while, but you are Sierra Blake and you know to take pain and put it somewhere you won’t feel it. 

it has never once crossed your mind that anything could have healed the wrong way. your father taught you, and he’s the best. besides, if you forget to block the ache when you breathe in, you can just use it as a reminder. 

o9. one day, you’ll know how to ask the question because you won’t have a choice. it will come to you, sobbing, aching in ribs that never healed right, desperately grabbing onto the front of Grim’s shirt, unable to do anything but crash to your knees as you scream why couldn’t he love me? and it’ll hurt more because you know Grim is hurting too, and he doesn’t have the answers, and it’s not his responsibility -- you shouldn’t be stronger than this, strong enough to not need anyone. but knowing that will make you cry harder, cry until you can’t breathe, confused and hating yourself and pleading to know if you’ve ruined yourself and Grim and the love you had for each other. pleading to know what you could have done to lose your father’s love, because it’s always easier if it’s your fault. because you don’t know how to fix things that aren’t your fault. 

you will cry until your voice breaks and you can’t -- or won’t -- speak for a week.

now, you pose for the photographer, holding up the certification of number one as your finish your freshman year at Beaufort, your father right behind you with his hand on your right shoulder. you don’t need to remind yourself to ignore the pain of old injury in it anymore. all you need to do is smile for the cameras. 

1o. it’s always been you. it will always be you. your successes are only given by the grace of your father’s training. your failures fail him. when you secure your place as number one during your first year at Beaufort Academy, you know that you did not earn it. 

but you have to try anyway, because you are Sierra Blake. 

[queenzufufu]

Youngsters (9/?)

Summary: For the kids at The Rooster teeth care home, life hasn’t always been easy. They’ve come from broken homes, broken families. They’ve escaped with broken bones and broken spirits. But at least now they have a second chance to be happy with a real family.

Well…that’s easier said than done when your family includes a hyperactive midget, an over eager wrestling fanatic and a boy who just can’t go a day without punching something…or someone.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 AO3

"It’s accurate and besides, Geoff’s called me far worse.” - Gavin

In his dreams Gavin sees the countryside roll by his window out in the bushy outskirts of the current town they were staying in, one they’d moved to in the dead of night only a few days ago, his parents driving all through the night to get them there. His parents often liked to do that and Gavin never quite understood why, why they’d up and leave just like that with no warning and no apparent reason. It wasn’t like they ever moved anywhere remotely interesting either - not that it made any difference to Gavin, he wasn’t allowed to have opinions.

The car turned off the beaten road onto an even more run down track, one that looked like it hadn’t been used for years. At the end of the track, there was a building, half covered with overhanging branches and overgrown shrubs, fallen into disrepair, and it was here that his parents stopped.

He waited until his mother opened up his door, a small woman, blonde hair falling messily around her shoulders. She took him by the hand and lead him out of the car towards the building, where his dad was already leaning against the porch pillar waiting for them.

“Hey. Are you feeling ready?” he asked as they approached, and Gavin nodded his head. He never was ready. But it made no difference.

“Yes, Father,” he replied. “What am I going to do?”

“Well,” his father looked around in anticipation, pushing his glasses up his nose and rubbing his arms from the brisk chill in the air. “We are going to be starting a new series of experiments focusing on isolation. Do you know what isolation means?” he added, looking at Gavin expectantly.

The six-year-old bit his lip. “Umm, it means being on your own,” he replied, grimly staring forward.

“Such a clever boy,” his mother murmured, glancing across to his father with a wicked grin. “We thought we’d try placing you in isolation in various locations. We don’t want you to do anything, you’ve got food and water with you, but they’ll be no outside distractions and no leaving these premises. And we’ll be watching you the whole time, making observations.”

“Okay,” Gavin replied with a sort of nervous smile. “No leaving the premises,” he repeated, because he knew they wanted him to.

At the time he’d almost been relieved. Out of all the horrific things they’d made him do and put him under, being left alone didn’t sound that bad at all, maybe even a bit of a welcomed break.

It was eerie out there though, no denying that - far too quiet, with a damp, sort of haunted feel to the entire place. Gavin’s footsteps creaked on the wooden steps leading up to the front and only door, and he tried not to think of what might be in the derelict shack.

The moment the door opened Gavin knew he didn’t want to go in there, let alone stay in there for as long as his parents deemed appropriate. It was dark, filled with a dank gloom broken only by the faint beams of sunlight filtering through the wooden boards of the walls, dust motes suspended within.

His parents ushered him in, dropping bags that clanged with the sound of tinned food. From what little light there was Gavin could just about make out a wooden table and chairs a couch and a small cupboard. There was a door leading to another room which Gavin assumed - and hoped - was the bathroom.

“There you are,” his father said, standing in the lightened doorway, casting an even more imposing figure than his wiry frame should allow. “We’ll leave you to get settled in.”

As his parents moved out of the door Gavin wanted to scream and shout. Never before had the urge been stronger to beg for them not to go. He didn’t want to stay in this creepy old building where there was no light and even less furniture. And suddenly he was darting forward, clutching hold of his mother’s hand. “No! Please don’t go!”

His mother looked surprised, and then uncertain, turning to his father for help.

His father was having none of it. There was anger in the green eyes, frustration, and outrage - but Gavin couldn’t help but send pleading gazes up at him all the same. Maybe just maybe, they’d let him off for once. He was always so well behaved, maybe just this one time –

“Get in your house.” His father ripped his hand off his mother’s and pushed him back, slamming the door shut.

Gavin stood there, wide-eyed and helpless. "No..." A moment later there was a scratching on the door and loud thuds, as the man finished up the job and barricaded him in. Then his footsteps echoed away and Gavin heard the car startup. Then he heard the car drive off.

Then he was alone.

He still hadn’t moved from the spot his father had pushed him too. It was pitch black now that the door was shut, he couldn’t even see his own hand if he held it up to his face.

Gavin whimpered, crouching down into a tight ball, hugging his arms around his knees. He didn’t want to be alone. Even being with his parents was better than this. He didn’t move at all that first night, only hugging himself tighter when he heard scary sounds coming from the wilderness around him, and he cried himself to sleep.

Waking up felt like bursting free from a prison cell; the dark, calm space that was his room seemed so inviting, relieving after that darker, damp and terrifying shack he had been kept locked in for three days. Gavin pushed himself up in bed so he was sitting on his pillow, leaning against the backboard, brushing sweaty strands of hair from his forehead.

Grabbing his small torch and one of Jeremy’s books provided a welcome distraction. He thought back to that terrifying night - how it was the first time he’d really seen his father that angry, the first time Gavin had ever attempted to disobey their wishes, how his mother had hesitated, just for a split second when he grabbed her arm.

Over the last year or so, Gavin had spent a lot of time scrutinizing in his mind just what might have made his parents' such horrible people. It made life easier when he could theorize reasons behind their insanity and cruelty, that they hadn’t been doing it simply for the fun of it.

He ran his hands comfortingly over the shiny, bright pictures of the book. There was no terror in those pages, only joy, meant for a child with no worries, to be read by a parent with nothing but love in their heart for their son or daughter. Gavin had to admit, the books had helped a lot, more than he ever expected - weird as that sounded. Guess if sometimes took the idea of a five-year-old to make progress.

When a cry rang out a few minutes later he jumped, looking across the see Michael thrashing about in bed. The other boy was whimpering as Gavin slipped out of his covers and padded over, reaching out a tentative arm.

“Michael? It’s alright, Michael.”

Michael’s eyelids flickered, his forehead coated in sweat, just like Gavin’s had been earlier. “No… go away. I don’t wanna… No…” he trailed off, twitching some more, then all of a sudden bolted upright. “No!” The word started off as a shout but quickly dissolved into a murmur as Michael became aware of his surroundings.

He turned his head to Gavin, breathing heavily.

“Michael? It’s alright, you’re safe.” Gavin almost felt uncomfortable about his own words, remembering how’d they’d been used on him a hundred times before, and that just because someone tells you your safe, doesn’t mean your body knows it.

Michael stared ahead, expression openly distressed. “I know,” he said after a while, looking back to Gavin. “I know. Just a bad dream, okay?”

“Didn’t think you got bad dreams anymore,” Gavin mused. “Not ones like that, anyway.” Not ones with memories, he thought, but didn’t quite say it aloud. “Michael, it’s alright if you wanna talk about it. Or not. I don’t mind. You’ve always been there for me though, Michael…” he trailed off, but the silence hung between them and he was forced to finish a little awkwardly: “I want to make you feel better.”

He wasn’t good at this. Hell, he’d hardly had the practice. It was he who was always needing others to comfort him, not the other way around. And he was nowhere near as good as Michael was, he could tell.

“Maybe I’m catching nightmares off you,” Michael considered, not seeing how much Gavin’s face dropped, even though the younger boy knew he was only kidding. He hoped. “It’s been so long… I don’t even remember his face that well but, like, I don’t know, he was all blurred in my dream. Still terrified the shit of me, though.”

A warm hand rested on Gavin’s back suddenly, and he met Michael’s brown-eyed gaze.

“You okay?” Michael asked, brows furrowed.

Gavin nodded, tongue darting across his lips nervously. “Yeah - yeah, I’m fine.” Why was Michael even asking him that? He was the one who’d just woken up from a nightmare after all. Well… Gavin had earlier but that wasn’t the point! Why am I so useless? Even when my best friend’s hurting. Useless.

Michael didn’t look like he quite believed him. His hand lingered on Gavin’s back as he tilted his head, gesturing for Gavin to sit down.

Gavin crawled onto the bed opposite him, leaning back against the wall, overlapping his legs with Michael’s. There was still a slight sheen to Michael’s face, a kind of ghostly look, and his curls framing his face were darker where they were damp. Michael was quiet, staring at Gavin, at his hands, around the room - the rhythmic ticking of the clock by his bed filling the room with noise, sounding a lot louder than normal.

“My dad weren’t a bad guy,” Michael spoke up - and green eyes were on him instantly, Gavin’s head snapping up. Michael avoided looking at him, eyes focused ahead.

“He hurt you,” Gavin added hesitantly, and Michael smiled sadly, shaking his head.

“Yeah, but not often. S’just those are the ones that stick in your mind and give you nightmares like this. But no,” he sighed. “He weren’t a bad guy.”

Gavin stared at him. “How?” he asked, unable to keep the utter bewilderment out of his voice.

“How?” Michael echoed. “He was just a guy who got fucked by society, time and time again. I mean, both his parents died young, he got kicked out of school, he worked loads of jobs and got fired from loads of jobs. He kept me and my brothers alive while my mom was out drinking all the time. He took his jail time like a man and paid the ultimate price.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I dunno, sure, he was a piece of shit at times and he could be fucking scary and mean, but I always think of it like this: He coulda’ fucked off and left us to fend for ourselves a long time ago, but he didn’t, he stuck around. He cared. Somewhere in his fucked up heart, he cared.”

Michael eventually met Gavin’s gaze, wistful. “I can’t like him for what he done, but I can’t hate him either. Already got enough anger in me, ain’t got room for hate. No point hating a dead man, anyway.”

Gavin opened and shut his mouth, unsure. “But he hurt you?” He hadn’t meant for it to come out as a question but he was so confused. Michael was always telling him how Gavin’s own parents were pieces of shit and how much he hated them, yet he didn’t feel the same about his own?

“Gavin…”

“No. I don’t get it. He hurt you. He hurt you when you were young and small and didn’t know any better.”

“Jesus, Gav. Yeah, you want me to say it? He threw me and my brothers around a couple of times,” Michael snapped instantly. There was something in his voice - something determined, desperate, and suddenly Gavin realized what it was. Something he’d always known but had forgotten about - because his own relationship with his parents had been so fucked up and because he was still haunted by it to this day.

“You loved him,” he said quietly, face softening. “You still love him.”

It could be easy to miss. Michael got angry a lot due to what had happened to him. It would make Gavin worry about him a lot. And James. Others like Lawrence were just angry and that was how they were, but those boys? Michael and James could get angry even when they didn’t want to. And there was no one but their parents to blame. He used to think Michael got angry because of what his mom and dad had done to him, but recently he was beginning to think it was the fact that'd he'd been separated from them, that was what made him angry. Because somewhere - deep down - Gavin had always known Michael loved his dad.

Michael’s eyes were downcast, face relaxed in thought.

He’s just as confused as I am, Gavin realized. He understands that he has every reason to hate his dad, yet he just… can’t.

The realization gave him some kind of reassurance - even if he didn’t agree with Michael’s feelings himself. Who was he to say anything? They were Michael’s feelings and Michael’s alone. Gavin shouldn’t have any say in them.

“He was my dad.”

Gavin looked to Michael again, who was still so deep in thought.

“He was my dad and he worked every day of his life to try and give me a better life than he had. Maybe he hit me sometimes, maybe he got drunk and scared the life out of me, maybe he left us alone…” He slowly peered up at Gavin. “But let’s say maybe he’d been pushed around so much he sometimes lost control and we were the only he could take it out on, let’s say maybe he drank to try and forget about things for a few hours, let’s say maybe he only left us alone because he was working three jobs at once while my mom was out getting high.”

He smirked, or rather one corner of his mouth tilted upwards, but there was no humor in it. “Or maybe I’m just making up excuses because believing he was just an asshole is far worse. Either way, guess I’m crazy, right?”

“Yeah,” Gavin replied, smiling. “But that makes two of us.”

Michael watched him carefully.

“Think about it,” Gavin continued. “You still love your dad for reasons you’re not sure are true or right and I’m a lab rat boy who still has nightmares about the experiments his parents made him do. But even I still try and think of reasons for them doing it.”

Michael’s eyes widened. “Lab rat…”  he began but Gavin waved him off.

“It’s alright. I’m not an idiot, I know that’s what you guys call me sometimes.”

“No,” Michael cut in, grabbing Gavin’s wrist urgently. “That’s not what we call you, we just… we say it sometimes to describe how your parents treated you.”

Gavin shrugged. “It’s alright. I don’t mind. It’s accurate and besides, Geoff’s called me far worse.”

Michael blinked. “Right.” He sounded exhausted, and Gavin knew if there was one thing he was better than Michael at, it was surviving with a lot less sleep.

“Are you okay?” he asked, unable to remember if he’d already asked the question but uncaring if he had.

Michael let out a small breath of laughter. He glanced at Gavin out of the corner of his eye, like he was seeing the younger boy in a new light for the first time. Gavin stared resolutely back, and after a moment Michael gave a jerking nod.

“I’ll be fine. Don’t get many like that but they always suck. I’m usually alright when I go back to sleep though.” He shook his head, suddenly sad again. “I don’t get how you do it,” he said. “I don’t get how you have such horrible nightmares and are still so… Gavin-like.”

“I don’t get it either,” Gavin huffed. “But it’s just something I got to live with until hopefully, one day, I don’t have to anymore.” He reached out to press Michael’s arm, and felt the other relax under his touch. He wasn’t quite sure why he continued to hold on after that - but he was glad he did, and Michael made no effort to pull away.

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway had them both whipping around, jointly clambering out of the bed and going to the window, kneeling on the window seat and peeling back the curtain. It was a police car, and it was Lawrence who stepped out, or rather was escorted out by a female officer.

They saw Burnie already moving to greet them, dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie, but they knew he hadn’t gone to bed that night. He never would with one of them missing.

“Let’s see if he gets told off for once,” Michael muttered. “Dunno why they let that jerk get away with so much.”

Gavin nodded his head, with a tired sigh. It had gotten to the point where it felt like a day didn’t go past without some sort of drama involving the newest boy. Today had been no different. Lawrence and Ryan had accompanied Burnie into town, only Ryan and Burnie had returned.

Ryan had been even more quiet than usual that evening, isolating himself to his room straight after dinner. Gavin had gone up and knocked on his door, but either Ryan was ignoring any visitors or he had his headphones on and couldn’t hear a thing.

Burnie had been stressed as well. Gus and Trevor had kind of taken the reigns when he got back, allowing the head carer to hole himself up in his office. That’s where he’d been when Gavin and Michael were sent to bed and that was where they knew he’d stayed until this moment now.

Gavin just wanted things to go back to how they were. Before, he hadn’t had to keep an extra eye on his stuff to make sure it wasn’t stolen or broken, he hadn’t had to worry about any of the others screaming or shouting at him for no seeable reason.

“What’s happening?” Michael asked, squinting through the glass. His eyesight never was quite as good as Gavin’s. The subject of glasses had been brought up a few times in the past but Michael had immediately shut it down, claiming he “didn’t want to look like no nerd”. Unfortunately for Michael, he soon might not have much choice in the matter.

Gavin peered down, rubbing the window with his pajama sleeve as it fogged up from his breath. “Nothing. They’re just talking. Can’t see Lawrence.”

“He’s not run off again already, has he?” Michael asked immediately. “That would be a record.”

Gavin looked closer. “No. I think he might be closer to the house cause they’re looking that way sometimes, I can’t see from this angle, though.” He turned to Michael. “Don’t look like anything’s gonna kick off. You wanna go back to sleep?”

“Yeah, might as well. What is it? Three?” He glanced at the clock. “Lucky we’ve not got school tomorrow.” He turned to Gavin, reaching out to grip his shoulder firmly - and fixed the younger boy with a stern look. “You’re not a lab rat, Gavvy. That might’ve been how your good-for-nothing parents treated you but you are not a lab rat.”

There was an undercurrent of concern in Michael’s voice, and it wasn’t just about him worrying about Gavin being offended. Gavin smiled inwardly as he realised Michael was worried he might actually believe that was all he was. C’mon, I don’t really think I’m that useless.

“It’s alright,” Gavin assured him. “And it’s alright that you love your dad still. I might not get it myself but I get why you would feel that way. I think it means you’re a very nice person, Michael.”

“Ugh, nice… I don’t ever want people thinking I’m nice,” Michael muttered, and Gavin turned to him with a fond sort of smile.

Michael rolled his eyes. “C’mon then,” he got up from the window seat, pulling Gavin with him. “Bedtime again.”

“Yes, Burnie,” Gavin said, hopping straight into his. “See you in the morning. Wake me up if you have bad dreams or you can read one of Jeremy’s books if you want. Y’know that Hungry Caterpillar one might be my favorite, even though there’s only, like, twenty words in it. Oh and turn your alarm off, I don’t want that thing waking me up early.”

“Sure,” Michael replied, rolling his eyes. “Wouldn't want to interrupt your freaking beauty sleep.”

“Hey, people don’t say I’m the cutest for nothing,” Gavin replied, shutting his eyes. After a moment he frowned, eyes still shut. “Actually, what am I thinking? Jeremy gonna be in here at eight whether we like it or not.”

He heard Michael groan and shift under his covers as he mumbled sleepily: “If he is, I’ll chuck him out the window. No regrets.”

––––

“Thank you so much,” Burnie thanked the two officers as they exited the car. He’d spoken to the woman on the phone earlier - seemed that a lot of their time was spent picking up runaway foster kids. And with so few patrol officers active during the night, it was time that they probably wanted to spend doing something else. She’d seemed very understanding though, and smiled at Burnie as she opened the back door and brought a very disheveled looking boy out.

Lawrence’s hood was down now, hair a mess and his eyes red and tired. He purposefully avoided looking Burnie in the eye as he was released from the officer’s grip and wandered over to stand by the door, like a dog waiting to be let in.

Burnie meanwhile, shook the two officers hands, both of whom were young, too young to be police, Burnie thought, but that was most likely just his own age talking. “Can I ask where you picked him up?” he asked, glancing back as Lawrence kicked at the gravel in the driveway.

“Near St Peter’s park,” the male officer answered, an area a mile or so away from where Lawrence had initially run off. He said it with an almost hesitant sort of unease that had Burnie concerned. The officer lowered his voice, leaning into Burnie. “You should know, he was drinking alcohol when we found him.”

Oh. That didn’t surprise him nearly as much as it should have.

“Yeah… yeah,” he sighed, running a hand across his face, from both tiredness and guilt at admitting his knowledge to these officers of the law. “We are aware of it. Either he has a stash somewhere or some idiot’s supplying him. It’s a real problem, I know, but –”

He cut off - unsure if he should say that really was the least of their worries when it came to the eleven-year-old.

The woman - and by the look on her face, the slightly more street-hardened of the two - smiled in understanding, nodding past him. “Bit of a handful, is he?”

Burnie looked back again. Lawrence was still waiting by the door, as quiet as he’d ever seen him. He nodded. “At the best of times,” he said, sharing a small laugh with the officer. “He say anything in the car?” he asked just before they left.

“No, been quiet - haven’t you young man?” she raised her voice slightly to call out to Lawrence, gaze hardening as he turned to look at her. “You're luckily you’ve got such a nice home to come back to, I’ve picked up plenty of kids who aren’t half as lucky as you.”

Lawrence was already turning his head away again before she’d finished her sentence, the picture of perfect disinterest, and she raised her eyebrows, shaking her head sympathically at Burnie, before tapping the car. "Right, we better be off, Luke." Burnie said his final goodbyes and thanked the cops profusely once more, waiting for them to drive off before he walked up to his charge and opened the door.

“Tired?” he asked quietly. No reply. Lawrence was looking everywhere but at Burnie, as he had been ever since he’d got out the car. “C’mon, to your room,” Burnie said, heading directly for the stairs and gesturing for Lawrence to follow him, which the boy did instantly. He seemed tired, in a sort of daze.

They walked in silence to Lawrence’s room at the far end of the second floor. Only once they got there did Lawrence overtake Burnie, slipping past him to open the door, trudging inside. “You want anything to eat or drink?” Burnie asked from the doorway as Lawrence kicked off his sneakers, rubbing at his eyes.

Lawrence looked to him, blinking heavily. He sniffed and shook his head.

Burnie regarded him, watchful eye on the boy’s movements and facial expressions, all of which were very uncharacteristic right now.

“Why’d you run, Lawrence?” Burnie leaned against the door, trying desperately to understand what was going on in the boy’s mind. “Lawrence, I asked you a question,” he prompted when Lawrence continued to act like he was invisible, as he picked up some clothes from the floor and chucked them onto a chair.

“Ryan attacked me,” Lawrence answered, quiet and terse.

Now it was Burnie’s turn to give him the silent treatment, because that wasn’t true, and Burnie knew they both knew it.

Lawrence froze in his actions as the silence lingered on and it became clear Burnie wasn't moving. His shoulders sagged, and he spun on the spot, defiant. “Cause I felt like it?” he drawled out, sarcasm dripping from every word. He was vying for Burnie to get mad, for anything, but Burnie wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

“Why’d you bring back the wrong food though? Did you just want to annoy, Ryan? Because I can assure you, young man, there's more entertaining ways of achieving that.”

Lawrence stared at him for a moment longer and then let out a noise of contempt, shaking his head, green eyes clouding over. “I got food, didn’t I? Who cares what it is?” He paused, mouth opening and closing on the verge of more to say, but ultimately shutting down. “I just… I –” His fists clenched. “I already told Ryan, I lost the stupid list!”

Burnie winced inwardly at the raised voice. The last thing he wanted was to wake up the whole house.

“And you didn’t think to just find him and tell him?” he asked, calmly.

“Nope,” Lawrence declared. “You know why, Burnie?”

“Why?”

“Cause I don’t give a shit what you or anyone else here thinks. Never have, never will. So suck on that.” He finished his taunt off with a big grin, but Burnie, watching silently, could see just how tense Lawrence was - could read it in the depths of his eyes and how carefully uncaring his expression was.

No, the young boy wasn’t as unfazed as he was pretending to be. What he couldn’t understand was the meaning behind the act. He could understand him acting out and doing stuff to annoy Ryan, a way of having some control when he felt he had so little; but Lawrence had picked up the right items in general, and none of them had been dumb or clearly picked up to incite frustration out of Ryan or Burnie.

“Alright…alright,” he murmured. “It’s late and neither of us wants to be having this conversation right now.” He started to pull the door but stopped at the last second, needing to get something off his chest. “Y’know it’s a shame, Lawrence,” Burnie gave him a long, speculative look; Lawrence stared back at him, as petulant as ever. Burnie sighed and continued: “Because up until that moment I’d really been enjoying my day with you.”

He left the boy then, planning to let Trevor know everything was relatively okay - who he knew had just as much trouble sleeping as Burnie did when it came to the kids- and then head to his room and try and get as much sleep as possible before thinking of yet more new ways tomorrow to try and combat the poor and concerning behaviour.

Not so simple.

He’d barely taken three steps down the hallway before a loud crash echoed throughout the darkened house, and had him darting the tiny distance back.

Reopening the door, Burnie was not surprised to see the small boy stood next to what was once an upright bookshelf. Luckily, the bookshelf had been empty so there was no mess but the hinges holding it up had been forced out of the plaster, the screws bent out of shape. Lawrence was breathing heavily, his fist hanging by his side, angry red welts and cuts on the skin. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together.

Burnie hoped the hand wasn’t broken. A trip to the ER was the last thing he wanted right now, especially after the conversation and day in general they’d both just had.

Lawrence’s jaw was clenched, staring up at Burnie defiantly. “Lawrence,” Burnie sighed, stepping forward. He wanted to look after the boy - it was his instinct to protect his kids, to help them if they were hurt.

But Lawrence was having none of it. He backed up into the corner, both fists clenching further, drawing more blood from the injured one - whole body shaking something fierce.

“Fuck. Off.” He spat, expression filled with hatred and anger.

Burnie stopped in his tracks, mouth tightening. He thought back to what the boy’s social worker had said and what had been in his file. That he was impossible to handle without resorting to force. Burnie was starting to understand how that might have been necessary for less experienced carers. Lawrence was still breathing heavily, quivering on the verge of a full-blown argument. He was ready for one, Burnie could see. Maybe even wanted one.

Pick your battles. Nothing Burnie could have said or done now was going to change anything. He looked sadly at Lawrence, gripping the door handle again. “I’ll have Trevor see to that,” he said. And without another word or look back, Burnie shut the door behind him.

He knew at that moment, it was the right decision to make. Didn’t make him feel any less shitty, though.

Part 8 - TBC

[yootaesowlwrites]

Give Me Strength Chapter 12;

Staring at her cabinet filled with liquor she tried to remember the last forty-eight hours of her life but it was a complete blank, her cabinet had been filled since she lasted opened it but she couldn't remember if Santino had stopped by, which bothered Alex because the only times she can't remember is when she used heavy drugs and drank too much and she couldn't remember doing either of them, but what bothered her the most was the fact that she didn't want to drink anything.

Her morning routine usually included coffee with a shot glass whiskey or vodka inside of it but not this morning, something was stopping her from touching the bottles and she had no idea why, letting out a light sigh she closes the cabinet and leaves the kitchen.

"Wait, Damon kidnapped her?" Elena asks, she was completely shocked by Damon's actions. "I might not like her but she didn't deserve that, she doesn't deserve such a death like that." Elena states, Stefan nods his head. "All that happened just because she spoke to Elijah?" Elena asks, Stefan once again nods his head. "Wow..."

"Why do you dislike her, Elena?" Stefan asks, he wanted to know and he wanted clarity on the situation, Elena thinks for a minute.

"I told you, she gave Jeremy drugs after our parents died." Elena states. "She almost ruined his life."

"And why do you think she's on drugs? Always Getting High?" Stefan asks, he didn't wait for her to answer him. "Nobody was there for her when her parents were murdered, She wasn't made to feel comfortable in your home," Stefan says. "Jeremy must have seen that it helped her and decided to try it himself." Elena lets out a sigh. "She lost her parents at a much younger age than you and Jeremy."

"I uh..." Elena sighs. "Oh gosh, how could I forget, I was there the night it happened," Elena says. "She was such a wreck," Elena states, but then started to wonder how Stefan knew about the incident. "Wait, how do you know about that? It happened before you and Damon came back."

"I entered her mind," Stefan admits, Elena frowns and crosses her arms over her chest.

"You entered her mind? Stefan, that's an invasion of privacy." Elena says.

"I know it is, but the story of Alex has been twisted so much and I wanted to know the truth," Stefan says. "I know I shouldn't have done that, but I wanted to know what actually happened." Elena lets out another sigh.

"What did you see?" Elena asks, she was curious what Stefan could have seen in Alex's mind.

"The moment she sneaked out of your house when she met that Jayden bloke, the first time she had received drugs," Stefan says. "I've heard when a person is broken their world becomes black and white, her mind was faded, she wants some colour in her life and it doesn't seem like anyone wants to give her a chance."

"She could have come to me, I would have helped her." Elena states. "Why didn't she? Why did she decide to sneak out?"

"Do you remember that feeling you had when you lost your parents?" Stefan asks, Elena nods her head. "That was how she felt, but she only difference, you had Jeremy, she didn't have any other family," Stefan says. "She needed somebody to understand that pain but there was nobody there, and that is why she and Jayden became friends."

"Why with him?" Elena asks, Why him of all people?

"He lost his mother not that long before they had met, they bonded with each other because they understood each other's pain," Stefan says. "Jeremy went searching for her because he didn't want to bother you with his grief." Elena slowly nods her head. "He thought it helped her, but if you've been pretending your entire life that you're all right, you can fool anyone."

"I can't... I didn't, gosh, I should've been there for her, but I was just too caught up with popularity." Elena mumbles. "Jeremy hates her." Elena states. "I need to call him."

Alex leans against her car with her head against the door and her hand on the door handle debating if she should go and buy a coffee or if she should stay home, her decision was made for her when she heard one voice she thought she would never hear near her home again.

"Alex! Alex, wait up," Jeremy calls out, Alex quickly climbs into her car and locks the doors, she puts the key into the ignition and starts the engine, she looks in her mirror and reverses out of her driveway, Jeremy stops by her lawn and watches as she speeds away from her own house, she looks in her mirror and saw Jeremy's figure getting smaller and smaller.

Alex parks her car outside the Mystic Grill and climbs out and locks the doors, she walks steps into the grill and looks around and saw Matt working the bar, she lets out a sigh but walks towards the bar anyway, the guy hated her with passion for giving his sister drugs, worst of all, he blamed her for Vicki's death's even though she hadn't seen Vicki before her death.

"Hi, Matt," Alex says with enthusiasm, Matt looks at her and frowns.

"You can't get alcohol here," Matt states, Alex, frowns but quickly shakes his statement.

"No thank you, you might just poison me," Alex says. "I want some fries." Matt leaves the bar and goes to the kitchen to go place her order and she sits down at the bar, Santino walks into the Grill and spots Alex, a smirk tug at his lips as he makes his way towards her.

"Well, Hello there stranger, where have you been?" Santino asks taking a seat beside Alex. "I stopped by your place yesterday morning and you were nowhere to be found." Alex thinks for a moment, trying to remember where she was the previous morning. "I uh refilled your cabinet."

"Thank you," Alex utters, it bothered her that she couldn't remember where she was. "I uh don't remember, I must have blacked out or something." Alex leans against the bar, still trying to remember what had happened.

"Must have been one hell of a one-woman party," Santino says, Alex slowly nods her head.

"It uh must have been if I can't remember anything," Alex says, trying to play it off.

"Do you want me to buy you a drink?" Santino asks, she wanted to puke just thinking about liquor.

"I uh, no thank you," Alex says. "I still need to be sober when I go to buy some groceries." Alex quickly says. "I don't need to be pulled over by a cop for reckless driving and then be sent to rehab or something." Alex jokingly says causing Santino to chuckle.

"We would not want that," Santino says, Matt returns to the bar with a scowl on his face.

"Your fries will be out in a few minutes," Matt says, Alex nods her head.

"One bourbon." Santino orders, Matt takes out a glass and pours the liquor into the glass before pushing it in Santino's direction, watching hi making sure he wouldn't give it to Alex instead.

"Trust issues much?" Alex mumbles, deciding to mess with him. "You seem pissed, Matt, what's wrong?" Alex asks, with sincerity in her voice.

"Nothing." Matt snaps at her, Alex lifts her hands up.

"All right, I don't want to fight with you," Alex says, she lowers her hands and turns her attention back to Santino, Jeremy walks into the Grill and looks around before spotting Alex at the bar, he makes his way towards her with one thought in his head, to apologize.

"Hey, Jer," Matt says spotting Jeremy.

"What's up m Matt?" Jeremy says, he then looks at Alex and smiles softly at her. "Hi, Alex." Alex almost glares at him when she did turn to look at him.

"Jeremy." Alex acknowledges him, she didn't have anything to say to him.

"Can we talk?" Jeremy asks, he knew it wasn't going to be easy to talk to her but he was hoping to at least get a few words in before she told him to piss off.

"No, Jere, are you doing drugs again?" Matt quickly intervenes. "That isn't the answer." He says worrying about his friend, Jeremy looks at Matt as Alex rolls her eyes and looks away from Jeremy.

"Oh, no, Don't worry Matt, I'm not doing that again," Jeremy says. "I just need to talk to her." He looks back at Alex. "It's kind of important." Letting out a long sigh she stood up from the chair.

"Fine." Alex agrees. "I'll be right back for my fries, keep them safe," Alex says.

"Certo, Tesoro," Santino says, Alex leads Jeremy to a quiet corner in the grill so they could talk privately.

"Okay, what do you want? You made it perfectly clear that you never wanted to talk to me again about maybe a year ago." Alex states.

"I uh wanted to apologize to you, I forgot that you uh lost your parents as well, not just Elena and myself," Jeremy says. "And we should have been there for you when you lost yours, and we weren't." Alex could almost feel the anger bubble up inside of her. "I'm sorry."

"You're not." Alex states. "You're not sorry, so stop lying to yourself." Jeremy was about to protest but Alex wasn't finished. "You hate me just like everyone else in this stupid small town, and if I'm going to be honest right now, We both know that you wouldn't have come and talked to me if you didn't suddenly remember my parent's death." Alex crosses her arms. "So, please, keep hating me, just know this, there is nobody that hates me more than I hate my fucking self." Alex begins walking back to the bar before spinning around. "Thank you for wasting my time!" Alex arrives back at the bar as Matt placed her fries in front of Santino.

"Why do you look so upset? What did the bloke want?" Santino asks.

"Oh, nothing, he just suddenly remembered my parents were killed!" Alex says loudly, Matt suddenly remembers that night when it was shown on the news about their tragic deaths. "If he didn't remember he wouldn't have wasted his time nor my time." Alex picks up her fries and walks away from the bar looking for a table, Santino stood up from the barstool.

"I'm going to need another one, Mate," Santino says, pointing to his empty bourbon glass, Santino walks towards the table Alex had sat down and sat down across from her.

"I'm really glad that only a handful of people like me, and I'm even more thankful you're one of them," Alex states, picking up a fry.

"Careful, you might just make me cry, love," Santino says, Alex chuckles and pushes the fry in her mouth, she looks past Santino and saw Elijah with Jenna entering the grill, they walk towards a table that was being occupied by Alaric, Damon and some girl. "What are you staring at?" Santino asks while looking over his shoulder.

"Nothing," Alex says, Santino looks back at her. "Nothing."

"If you insist," Santino says, Jenna spots Alex and excuses herself before making her way towards Alex, Elijah follows behind her while Alaric glared daggers at Elijah.

"Alex! How are you?" Jenna asks, Alex smiles up at Jenna.

"I'm okay, and you?" Alex asks.

"I'm good, hey, you remember, Elijah, right?" Jenna asks, Alex nods her head and glances at Elijah.

"I remember him." Alex states.

"Great, then I'm going to invite you to a dinner party tonight at the Salvatore boardinghouse, You're welcome to join us," Jenna says, it almost felt like an itch in Alex's brain as something tried to remind her what had happened the last time she was there.

"I uh don't feel like dressing," Alex says, trying to come up with an excuse.

"You don't have to dress up," Jenna says, Alex could feel Elijah watching her.

"I'll uh think about it," Alex says, she could feel a headache coming on as her brain continued to try to warn her.

"If you do come, it's at six," Jenna says, Alex nods her head and gives Jenna a smile.

"I'll think about it."

[1] - [2] - [3] - [4] - [5] - [6] - [7] - [8] - [9] - [10] - [11] - [12 you’re here] - [13] - [14] - [15] - [16] - [17] - [18] - [19] - [20] - [21] - [22] - [23] - [24] - [25]

[attrny-a]

6 days

Before Tuesday, last week, I don’t remember what I’ve been doing anymore.

I messaged my friend in law school who took a break from it since last semester. I told her I missed her company. We ended up chatting for like 20 minutes or so, catching up a little and making me feel a little better. She told me about this two circles where you write down the things that are important to you and the things you have no control of. She said I need to write these things down to somehow let them off my chest. It’s not a new advice that I hear, I mean, I hear it all the time. Write down the things that bother you, all that stuff. But this time, I’m really doing this. Although, I may have actually done this a couple of times because I keep a journal with me and I have a secret note app in my phone whenever I want to write something but I won’t be able to because my journal is not with me. You know, for easier access. Anyway, so this. Well, I’m not gonna do the two-circle-therapy thing just yet. I’m just gonna walk you through, first, with what happened to me the last six days.

September 1, 2020, Tuesday. I woke up early because I have an appointment with our college registrar. I went to Landbank, first, to pay for my initial payment for this semester. After that, I went to university to give a copy of my deposit slip to the cashier and to meet with our registrar. The school guard reprimanded me from visiting the university without certification from the barangay and for being 21 years old. I get it, anyway. I should never really be going out these times but what could I do? Now, upon talking with our registrar, she went back to me and told me that our registrar will just take care of my business in the university so I left already. I proceeded to a bookstore and bought yellow pad papers for my digested cases. Then, I walked my way through drugstores and supermarket to buy essentials. I finally arrived at PLDT Albay at around 9AM and waited in line for 3 whole hours (while reviewing my Negotiable Instruments Law, Sec 1) just so I can follow up our application for internet service. On my way home that almost 1PM, Mama called telling me that they were going to SD. Realizing that I have studied enough for my class that day and I won’t be having a class the next day, I decided to join them. Note that I had not taken my lunch yet. When I arrived at home, I immediately packed my other stuff and remembered to carry my application in DepEd. My family dropped me by and waited for me in the DepEd office. As soon as I went inside the “guard’s entrance office,” I passed my application and boy, they had so many questions. Just to keep the long story short, I had to reprint my application letter because I got the wrong regional director. Damn you, internet. So I told my parents that they can go. We actually had an argument because I was so hungry and so tired and they don’t seem to care about it, Papa, especially. He certainly wanted me to pass the application to DepEd so that I can have a job already. I mean, it’s what I want, as well, but I could not help but feel inferior and less important. I walked a long just so I can find a printing shop while crying and telling myself that I am not anymore doing this for them. I am doing this for myself because if I depend on them as my very reason to pushing myself, I would not go anywhere but just be stuck there, hurting myself. After I passed the application, I rode a jeepney to SD. My phone’s battery was already low so I messaged my Tita and sister to send me Kuya Juan when I arrived to SF at about 30 minutes. When the jeep parked to get some passengers, I walked out of the jeep to buy a load for my class later that night. I was walking so fast back and forth. When I arrived at SF, there was no one to pick me up so I ended up walking that 10-minute road to my grandmother’s house. I was so sad and exhausted that day that I had no energy in my class. The only good thing was that I was not called. Well, that was not actually very good because, the heck, I studied so hard for that provision and memorized some parts of it so I’d be ready. I knew that I was so ready for a recitation that day, but no. The universe wants me to be called on the parts where I have little to no idea at all. Thank you very much.

September 2, 2020, Wednesday. This day, I actually had a good start. I woke up early in the morning due to Freddie Mercury. I went outside and had a good sun bathe with my baby cousin, Baby Arungga. We stayed outside until 7AM. When we went inside, we had a nap together with my other baby cousin, Ayumi, who is not-so-baby-anymore. I woke up at 8AM and ate my breakfast which my siblings were kind enough to reserved some for me. I took a bath in the morning and ate my lunch. I tried reading my codal in the afternoon but I ended up sleeping in the sala. In the evening, I stayed up late reading my reviewer in Property for the next day’s class. 

September 3, 2020, Thursday. We went back home. I immediately prepared myself for my class that day. I studied the whole morning and afternoon. I was called in Property and boy, guess what?? I was so embarassed because I did not remember the five kinds of physical injuries which was taught to us by the same professor last semester. Articles 262 to 266 of the Revised Penal Code: Mutilation, Serious Physical Injuries, Administering Injurious Substances, Less Serious Physical Injuries and Slight Physical Injuries. Why didn’t I remember that? Then I remember Aristotle saying, “in learning comes remembering.” How can I pass the bar if I can’t even remember last semester’s lessons? After class, I went back home, because I’m having my classes at my grandmother’s house near us, and I went upstairs to see the moonlight. But I figured that Papa might go upstairs and ask me why I was there so I opened the room and ended up watching the t.v. I cried a bit in the comfort room and did some affirmation to myself. I was so frustrated that night.

September 4, 2020, Friday. I had no class this day but I did study and study and study. Oh right, have I mentioned that I studied today? And then after that, I studied. I studied until 1AM. I was so frustrated and disappointed to myself because I was not able to cover everything. Oh and, this is so weird. When I was about to sleep, maybe I was half asleep here already, I could not move my hand and later realizing that I could not move my whole body, not even open my eyes and mouth. I remember I was trying to call Mama three times but no word was coming out of me. It was like that a few minutes and then I slowly opened my eyes and moved my body. I felt a bit afraid but I was so sleepy, I decided not to think about it anymore. I wrapped myself with my blanket and lied with Micmic just to make me feel I’m not alone.

September 5, 2020, Saturday. You don’t want me to be talking about what happened to me on a Saturday. No. Just no. Okay, I had classes from 8AM until 4PM. You can just imagine how dreading it is to be present in those times and to wait for every class to end. Unlike my other classmaters who had until 6PM, I was a bit lucky but hey, what’s the difference? That two hours was spent on recovering my poor eyes from seeing two same things at the same time. Unfortunately, that was not enough. Until 12MN, my eyes were so tired they could barely see. 

September 6, 2020, Sunday. Now, I’m stoked. It’s already 1:01PM and I’m still writing this text just so I can remember this years from now. I don’t feel fine. I feel drained. Awhile ago, 9AM to 12NN, we had a class in Constitutional Law I. I was not able to submit my quiz because I was not aware that it was due 9:50, I assumed it was at 10:00. Even if we were 9 students who failed to submit, it’s still something. Plus, the two times I was called to answer the questions, boy, I was wrong. Completely wrong. It’s so embarassing. Especially the second one because I volunteered myself in that question! So that’s a deduction of 10 points. How can you deduct 10 points from 0? Negative! I’m out. I have to eat. Jeremy Zucker’s right, I might lose my mind. But he also said that it’s alright not to be fine. So I’ll be trying. For now, let me suck and let me sleep!

This is your atty., feeling a lot lately but have nowhere or no one to share my misery with so here went nothing. Do not worry. I’ll get by. Bye now.

[aion-rsa]

Wynonna Earp Season 4, Episode 6 Review: Holy War Part Two

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This Wynonna Earp review contains spoilers.

Wynonna Earp Season 4, Episode 6

You can love a narrative choice that a show makes without loving what it means for a specific character. If I knew Wynonna Earp in real life, I, like Doc Holliday, would be seriously afraid for her following her choice to shoot Sheriff Holt in the back, after he agreed to try to work towards ending the long-running feud between the Earps and the Clantons. But, as a fan and reviewer of this show, I love this choice that the Wynonna Earp writing team made. It implies a kind of ambition in this series’ Season 4 storytelling that is all-too-rare in genre TV, and I hope this show finds the narrative time to devote to it. Let’s talk about this bittersweet, amazing, accidental midseason finale…

Doc’s storyline last season was one of the weakest part of an otherwise pretty great Season 3. It wasn’t always clear what his motivations were and the TV show never really justified the decision to turn him vamp. While I’m still worry that turning Doc into a creature of the night was one twist too many for a character who already has a history of delicious knots to untie, his arc in Season 4 has been a good one, especially in the last few episodes as he begins to seriously question if his loyalty to Wyatt Earp, most often proven through killing at Wyatt’s side and in his stead, was worth the pain that it has caused himself and others. Actually, he’s not really wondering at this point. He’s coming to the realization that it was not, just as Wynonna is coming to the assumption that shooting first and asking questions later is the only way to ensure the safety of her family.

These are two characters who obviously love one another, but who can never quite get the timing right. To see them head in different directions again, ones that will presumably keep them from being together in any honest, healthy way for the near future, is both heartbreaking and excellent storytelling. This division works because it is led by their characterization, not by an arbitrary plot mechanic. Do I believe that having the Clantons back in town, a family whom Doc chose to kill for Wyatt all those years ago, adding fire to a war that would continue on for more than a century-long war, has Doc rethinking his past choices? Absolutely. Do I also believe that Wynonna, in the wake of finding out that the Clanton family tried to buy her baby, and after years of fighting to keep her family safe, would shoot Sheriff Holt in the back rather than trust that anything would change, after a lifetime of learning the lesson that bloodshed and betrayal is the norm? Of course.

I understand both of their choices, even as a grieve for Wynonna as she takes a step down a path that will surely lead to more pain, for herself and for others (because the two are always inextricably intertwined, even if our culture of toxic individualism would have us believe otherwise). As we see in the final scene, it already has. Wynonna is crying for the rift in her relationship with Doc, sure. She’s crying because Waverly is so happy, and that’s all she wants for her baby sister. She’s crying because she’s tired, because how could she not be? But you better believe that she is also crying for herself. Because she just shot a (human) man in the back, as he was walking away from her. Because she just chose fear over hope. And that’s a very lonely place to be.

This agonizing middle for Wynonna hits extra hard because it is juxtaposed with a #happymiddle for Waverly and Nicole. After months of being separated and weeks (how much time has passed since the time jump?) of Nicole being terrified that Waverly would reject her after finding out what she had done, these two finally got the timing right in a way that Doc and Wynonna are nowhere close to doing. Waverly kills Margo “Mam” Clanton and it will no doubt stay with her in some traumatizing ways, but it was a very different situation. To save Nicole, a good person and the love of Waverly’s life, Waverly has to kill Margo, a woman who more or less murdered her own, teenage son, has no qualms with letting Nicole die, and has made it her life’s purpose to make the Earps and anyone who loves them suffer. To say that killing someone would ever be an easy choice for Waverly Earp would be oversimplifying the situation, but I don’t think for a minute that Waverly regrets her decision. Not in the way Wynonna seems to.

Earlier in this episode, Wynonna tells Rosita that sometimes the hero has to kill, and, in the context of supernatural TV, I don’t think she’s wrong. Too many shows that have violence as part of their narrative formula, from superhero television to other kinds of high-stakes genre storytelling, pretend that death isn’t often a natural consequence of violence. They pretend that a character presented as a hero, someone like Oliver Queen or Bruce Wayne, could have the kind of god-like control that would allow them to enact violence against those who “deserve it,” but always be able to stop short of death, and that this distinction absolves them of all accountability. This is often done as a way to draw a simplistic line between the “good guys” and the “bad guys,” so that stories that use violence don’t have to dive into a more earnest exploration of the hero’s violent methods and the harm they cause to both themself and others in their doling out of “justice.”

Violence is such an accepted, uninterrogated part of so much of American culture, we often accept its unexamined inclusion in so much of our mainstream storytelling as our status quo. (And, while I know this is a different situation, seeing a character shoot another character in the back as they are walking away has a particularly loaded meaning in American culture right now.) I’m eager to see Wynonna Earp walk a different, more difficult yet more rewarding path when it returns, and to dive into a more complex exploration of what it means for a character like Wynonna, ostensibly our hero, to kill someone outside of the justification of self defense. What a bold storytelling choice. What a way to head into our midseason hiatus.

Additional thoughts.

Peacemaker’s back, baby! (Now I feel conflicted about this, though. I missed Peacemaker and I want Wynonna to have a sense of purpose, but I don’t want her to think that killing is all that she’s good for, you know? Maybe Peacemaker could transfigure into something else besides a weapon and reveal Wynonna’s new purpose as a… something.)

Real talk? I don’t think what Nicole did was so bad, especially as she didn’t ever seem actually willing to hand Doc over to the Clantons.

Last episode, Nicole’s situation was all Ron Weasley in Chamber of Secrets. This week, it’s all Olivia in Fringe.

The Ghost!Nicole/frog shenanigans first part of this episode was fun, but didn’t totally work tonally for me. The episode started out by taking Waverly’s distress over Nicole’s (temporary) death seriously, and then tried to transition into a “goofy shenanigans” vibe. It stressed me out that Jeremy and co. didn’t seem to go through the plan in a little more detail before they, you know, drowned Nicole, and felt out of character for this crew. (Nedley was perfect, though. Never change, Randy.)

That being said, Nicole was a straight-up ethereal ghost. And I loved getting to see Waverly be the hero in this episode, though I hope we see some processing of the fact that she killed Margo in coming episodes.

At first, I was worried that Wynonna Earp was going down the “mean girls” path with Rosita. (I never should have doubted you, show.) While the episode plays with the idea that society wants to pit Rosita and Wynonna against each other in a petty “catfight,” the story eventually subverts that trope, having these two complex women band together to take on Mother Medea, a very scary demon nun. I don’t believe that these two would be friends after what Rosita did, but I also don’t think that Rosita is without complexity or that Wynonna’s soft spot for “scorned women” wouldn’t work in Rosita’s favor in this case. I’m glad the show landed somewhere in the complicated middle, as if so often the case in real life and so rarely the case in mainstream storytelling (written by men).

I hope we get to check back in with Rosita and the nuns in future episodes. As much as their current situation is better than their previous deals, I wouldn’t exactly call it a happy ending to be stuck in this nunnery for all time.

I’m not sure if this show knows what to do with Jeremy as a character. He really did ghost Nicole, and I hope the show delves into that a bit more.

“2 Becomes 1” is a highly underrated Spice Girls song. Yes, I am listening to it right now. Yes, I still know all the words. Yes, I am always here for this show’s subtle agenda to celebrate pop music that is loved by teen girls and therefore derided by “mainstream” culture. Yes, Nedley is the best and canonically loves Pretty Little Liars and Spice Girls. Yes, that demonstrates how at home he feels in his various identities. Yes, this kind of representation is important too.

As painful as it is to see Wynonna make her choice, it is so heartwarming to see Doc choose himself and the healthy path in a way we haven’t seen him do before. Especially because it puts him in a better position to support Wynonna moving forward, should she ask for his help. It has been Doc’s instinct to put his relationship with the Earps before his own sense of morality, and that hasn’t helped anyone really.

It seems redundant at this point to talk about how talented this cast is, but special kudos to Melanie Scrofano and Tim Rozon in that final scene, having to balance the sorrow they were feeling for themselves and one another and the joy they were feeling at seeing Nicole and Waverly so happy and at being part of this family.

See you all on the other side of the hiatus, Earpers. It’s sunnier there.

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