#although a family friend ended up using Levi first and in small towns it’s a big faux pas to pick the same name right after a friend/family

[decafvillain]

list of baby names in my dads handwriting!

for the purposes of this poll, consider nonbinary under the trans umbrella

[tundrainafrica]

Hey so how does it feel to carry the entire Levihan fandom on your back? I absolutely love all your stories! I always look forward to when you update! I had an idea for a fic but I haven't seen anyone do it. Where past levi wakes ups ( when he only sees hange as a friend) in the future to find that he's happily married to hange or living domestically with her and just contemplates his feelings for her

Title: Unwritten

Summary:

“Hange Zoe. One of the reasons why she creates really quality works is because aside from writing the script, she’s very hands on with everything from the direction, to the design and just the overall production… And she knows how to do it. When I watch her movies, it feels like they're peering into my soul or something.”

“Peering into your soul…” It was a tacky choice of words and Levi could only repeat them with some level of disbelief.

“What makes Hange Zoe's writing special are those in betweens. The unwritten parts... if you know what I mean?" 

Levi is assigned to work with screenwriter Hange Zoe and he is left constantly wondering why the hell she's taking her work so seriously.

Link: AO3

Note: I conceptualized this long fic after looking through a some of the prompts in my inbox and playing with them.. TYSM to everyone who sent those. I won't be dropping all the prompts I used when making this now because it might end up spoiling the fic as a whole but I will be dropping the prompts with every chapter I updated.

This fic doesn't actually follow any prompt strictly, I twisted the prompts around them, tore them apart, put them together so they might seem unrecognizable for some.

Either way, I'm very grateful to readers who are sending me prompts. It keeps me writing and brainstorming even when life gets terribly busy.

So thank you for them :D. I'm trying to get back to posting my writing more regularly again and this fic has been sitting in my folder for a while, I was just a little nervous to post it. Thanks to itShailaAM for looking through it!

If neither of us remember anything… Then it’s like it never happened right?

The voice was nostalgic, heart wrenchingly nostalgic. It had a unique way of twisting at his gut, spidering up his spine then leaving an almost painful pang in his chest.

Despite the overwhelming sensations, Levi found himself still able to take control.

So he reached out.

Then he was chasing after her again.

Chasing… He then wondered. How long had he been chasing? How long had he been awake?

With the first light of morning, whatever message, whatever meaning he could have made up for himself dissipated.

Or maybe it was never there to begin with.

For the first time in years or even decades, Levi was wasting his early morning window before work. He wasn’t doing much of anything but staring up at the white ceiling in some feeble attempt to make sense of it again. He came up empty save for two things: a faint throbbing in his head and a half hearted conclusion that maybe it really was just some fevered dream.

“Good morning!"  Someone was right next to him. Her voice was higher, more mellow. A hairs breadth away from his ear though, it grated.

Levi narrowed his eyes and the blur cleared somewhat. “Petra?” He heard himself speak. He was in an unfamiliar in-between, completely in control of himself, yet strangely disconnected. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Petra put one hand on the back of her head and gave him a sheepish grin. “Sorry about barging in like this…” She didn’t have to apologize. They were childhood friends and with all the family gatherings they had spent together growing up, they were more than comfortable just flitting in and out of each other’s apartments.

Levi didn’t respond. There were more important things to think about like the slow and almost painful process of sitting up. That morning, he was a little more careful than usual.

“Your mom told me to check on you.” Petra continued.

“Typical,” he muttered coldly. He turned towards the window, and took in the view of the blue sky, a few stories above ground. It should calm him if he stared at it long enough. “She always overreacts,” he added. At that point, the crankiness had started to subside and Levi realized he didn’t mind the doting too much. His mother had always been like that anyway. Growing up, a sprained ankle or an animal bite from a family pet had always been enough for Kuchel to insist on a visit to the doctor.

Petra let out a dry chuckle. “I don’t blame her though. Since the accident, she’s been asking about you every...”

Everyday. Levi completed it for her. He wouldn’t be surprised if his mother had asked about him every hour. “She can always ask me directly,” he said out loud before Petra could finish. He didn’t feel too bad about interrupting. Petra had been speaking particularly slowly since a while ago and if he let her speak like that for any longer, they might not get anything done.

As if she had read his mind or at least noticed the impatience, she immediately gathered herself. “You always downplay it,” she said, more clearly this time.

“She always exaggerates it.”

“That accident was pretty bad though.” Petra cocked her head to the side. “I’m sure you understand that, right?”

Levi averted his gaze for a brief second. He couldn’t deny that part. That accident had apparently been bad enough to merit a month long hospital stay, bad enough for Levi to not remember much of it aside from the phantom pains in his chest, And bad enough to take the brunt of the pain and the inconvenience of dealing with the symptomatic disorientation, the fatigue and the begrudging need for some support.

A few seconds of reflection later, Levi concluded maybe there was good reason for that overreaction. “But I can take care of myself.”

Ironically, his body chose that moment to teeter.

“Hey, you okay?” Petra put one warm hand on his shoulder. “You think you can make it to work today?”

The throbbing at the back of his head had dulled to a bearable ache but he could have sworn it had been worse in the hospital. “I don’t have enough leaves,” he said. He focused for a while longer on Petra’s eyes and saw reason.

Maybe I can take a longer break?

His body was probably silently begging for more leaves. On the contrary, another part of him had been yearning for normalcy for a while. Practicality had been the deciding factor. Although Levi had more than enough leaves, did he have more than he would have been comfortable giving up? Maybe not. He wouldn’t take it anyway. He had more than enough strength to push himself out of bed and pad lightly to the bathroom.

Unwillingly or willingly? He was too tired to tell.

“You were in the hospital just a week ago.” Petra was a voice of reason or a voice of temptation.

“I can’t take any more leaves,” Levi repeated again, as if saying it louder somehow made it more convincing. He made his way to his closet, keeping his strides purposeful, partially for himself, partially for her.

Even for a long time friend, Petra had always been shy and conservative. As soon as Levi motioned to pull his shirt up, she rushed out of the room in some characteristic gesture of modesty.

His bedroom door closed with a click and Levi started to slip his clothes off much faster. His head continued to throb. There was a strange ringing in his ears and the room was a little drafty, typical for early spring.

Levi didn’t have the mind space to prepare for that brush with icy wind. Fucking hell. Discomfort then the desperation that followed had him considering calling in sick again.

After using up three week’s worth though, vacation leaves were starting to feel more like a scam than an actual benefit of the job. He ran through the motions of his typical morning routine. Or at least, what had been typical a month ago. Since the accident, he hadn’t worn anything but loose shirts, pajamas and hospital gowns. Back in the hospital, he had been asleep a lot of that time.

He pulled his pants on, then sluggishly pulled his sweater over him, dolefully noting how snug fitting clothing seemed like strangers to his skin.

He didn’t feel like the same person anymore.

It looked like Petra did notice something was different. Over breakfast, she had pushed the plates closer to him. She did the honors of pouring the scrambled eggs onto his plate, then placing a loaf of bread right next to him. “Eat, we have a long day ahead.”

Levi mumbled something that could have been a ‘thanks’ or a ‘yes.’ He didn’t think too far about it either. There were more pressing things to deal with, like internally psyching himself up for his first day back at work and finding routine once again in the recovery process.

For a few minutes after, the two were silent in the small kitchen save for the sound of chewing and the sound of cutlery clacking on the plate.

“Hey Levi,” Petra hesitantly broke the silence. “You really don't remember what happened?” She had asked that question countless times before, back at the hospital, on his first day back at home and every single time she paid a visit.

He chalked it up to worry. In some semblance of a response, Levi downed the bread in his mouth in one painful gulp, then took a sip of tea. “I remember waking up in the hospital.”

“Before that.”

Levi dropped the half eaten bread on the plate and stared straight up at the ceiling for a second. “Leaving work,” he answered. It was too vague of an answer and Petra didn't seem satisfied.

Of course she wouldn’t be satisfied. He always walked the same route home and routine wouldn’t give too much of an answer to the question of how the hell more than a month ago, he had ended up with a severe concussion and a few contusions in the hospital emergency room, a few towns away from his own.

Past was past though. There was no use digging into it. At present, he had medical bills to pay and a career to salvage. No time for a personal investigation. He attempted to digress. “What did I miss?” Levi asked. “At work?” He noted Petra’s very disconcerting expression, a combination of pity and uncertainty. It was starting to get annoying.

Petra furrowed her brows, a little more hesitant to speak that time. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about...”

In protest, Levi put the bread down and stared at Petra, his stone cold expression unwavering. He wouldn’t be eating unless Petra continued. He wasn’t hungry anyway.

A few minutes of silence later and it seemed to work. Petra looked down at the bread then up at him. Whatever was plaguing her mind then had taken some control over her. “A lot has changed since the accident,” she started.

“With work?” Levi asked again. He dropped the bread on the plate, deliberately allowing the clatter, as if the loud jarring sound would be enough to drive away the disbelief. Three weeks or fifteen business days wasn’t supposed to be a long time taking into account the speed of office bureaucracy.

Petra nodded, a wry smile on her face. Her expression, her demeanor gave the uncertainty away before she spoke of it. “You’re probably going to have to talk to Mr. Zackley about it…”

Levi’s mind was racing. Despite the throbbing, Levi had managed to fill in the blanks for himself. Even before Petra expounded on it, Levi had started to accept already, going back to work was probably not going to be such an easy ride.

Being gone for weeks had done a number to his job.

Three weeks to be exact. It was just three weeks, fifteen business days. Despite Petra’s apparent discomfort, her incessant warnings not to ‘expect,’ Levi had expected some semblance of normalcy. When his hopes were dashed, Levi felt like he had been body slammed out of nowhere by an oncoming train.

“I’ve been working on their set for years…Since the pilot episode, ” Levi said slowly. Hell, since even before the pilot episode if you consider the preproduction stage. He didn’t want it to seem at all like it was an argument and he subdued his tone to something lighter, with the intention of reminding himself not to talk back at authority.

“And we’ve transferred you,” General Manager Darius Zackley said matter-of-factly. “Underground City has been garnering a lot of attention lately and we couldn’t afford to be undermanned at such a crucial point of production.”

“But was it necessary to transfer me?”

Mr. Zackley’s expression softened. He didn't have a natural expression that demanded authority but he made up for it with reason. “It’s a primetime show,” he explained. “One of our best, and given the uncertainty regarding your accident…” For some reason, he had hesitated at that word. “We couldn’t take a gamble. We had you immediately replaced after the first week.”

“And?” At face value, the new developments were starting to seem terribly, terribly disappointing. “I can still work there.” Levi was perfectly aware of where the conversation was going. Still, it didn’t hurt to try.

Mr. Zackley was surprisingly patient. “It’s not an issue of you not fitting in. But we want to properly and more efficiently distribute our labor. The production of Underground City is currently…” He cleared his throat. “Oversaturated.”

Oversaturated with budget, resources. Underground City was a crime and mystery drama, one of their more high budget productions. Levi wasn’t too surprised at that piece of information, having worked closely with the producers and the writers since the pilot.

With a boss a few reporting levels above his own though, Levi couldn’t do much but listen quietly. Disappointment and uncertainty loomed over him and he was tiring more quickly.

“We’ve made some arrangements, set you up with a new role.” Mr. Zackley was taking his sweet time, his painfully sweet time.

At the butt end of Mr. Zackley’s whims, Levi was a mess. He racked his brain for all possible outcomes of the ‘arrangements’, a painful process, hampered by the weight of too many possibilities. They were a medium sized network that produced most of their own TV shows on top of news coverage and documentaries, still too many for Levi to have cared enough about to count.

At that moment, he was determined to make up for lost time. Naturally, his mind first flew to the more well known productions, those that had been receiving the best ratings in prime time TV since he had started working there.

Underground City. Military Police.

Working at the set of the crime drama ‘Underground City’ had been a good run for Levi, one he would have liked to continue but Mr. Zackley said so himself, they replaced him. ‘Military Police,’ one of their more popular historical war dramas, also received one of the bigger chunks of their budget. With Zackley’s very sullen expression, it looked like he wasn’t at all there to give Levi a promotion.

He didn’t really mind not working on the ‘Military Police’ set anyway. Everyone there seemed like a lazy prick and that long running drama had always seemed overrated to him. What else would be waiting for him though? “To where?” Levi pressed.

The old man hummed for a second, leaned forward on his seat. “I talked to Erwin about this and we have an opening in one of our daytime shows.”

“Erwin?” Levi repeated. The name was more than just familiar and he allowed himself a brief moment to recall. Erwin Smith. One of the more prominent in-house directors. Just digging deep into his mind, riling up whatever was causing the headache in the first place. He sat still and waited for it to subside again.

Then he wondered if it had been physical or just an emotional reaction to the mess he found himself in. He was barely recovering, he was plunged into a new position and he was confused, utterly confused.

“Consider it a temporary position until something else opens up,” Mr. Zackley added. “Given that you just got back from the hospital, it would be better if you started small.” He shot Levi a placating look. “Either way, this is a good opportunity for you, Ackerman…” It didn’t seem so genuine. “To ease you back into the hustle and bustle of working in TV production.”

Zackley spoke for an eternity longer after that but it had done nothing to make the transfer any better.

Levi had been working with that same hustle and bustle for years and he was confident, a three week break at the height of production wouldn’t have been enough to throw him--- hell, most people off completely.

But he was being treated like some invalid. Zackley’s warm words yet his uninviting demeanor sent some alarm bells ringing inside Levi.Mr. Zackley was overly consoling, overly placating and Levi’s mind was racing.

Levi took a deep breath and dropped his shoulders, willing himself to relax and focus on the present. Whatever the catch was, he’d find out soon anyway.

To ease you back into the hustle and bustle of working in TV production.

What a magnificent fucking lie.

“Start small my ass.” With the stress just piling up and his body barely catching up, Levi was tempted to let it out as anything louder, accompanying it with the very dramatic motion of dropping the paper work on the floor and relishing the loud thud. He imagined scattering the pages on the table, spilling them onto the floor and maybe kicking them out onto some curb.

Then he brushed off that mental image completely.

That would only create an unnecessary mess, maybe even cause a scene in that small cafe. Although his life seemed like it was complete chaos, his fastidious side wouldn’t have allowed him to make it any more worse. Then and there, he deemed it the best option to just take a sip of his tea, allow it to warm him up slowly and create a comfortable distraction, somewhere convenient.

A minute or so later, Levi accepted, tea didn’t do too good of a job. After all, what could tea do, aside from supporting him through the long and painful two days of ‘adjustment’ and the journey to the very frustrating conclusion that the general manager of the studio, Mr. Zackley was too out of touch with the struggles of the average worker.

“Just for long enough to get back to the hustle and bustle of TV production? What a fucking liar,” Levi muttered again. He dropped the tea cup on the saucer with a clank.

“Well, technically you are starting small,” Petra said. “They don’t expect too much quality wise from a soap opera on a day time slot.” She flipped through the pages of scripts and the storyboards that formed an overwhelmingly thick pile of papers on the coffee table.

It wasn’t too thick. Levi stared for a while longer and he decided it was a manageable pile of documents. The soft copies on his laptop were also of a countable number.

The deadline to be completely functional in two days though wasn’t as reasonable.

In search of some semblance of a break, Levi shifted his gaze towards Petra.

Her familiar presence had made the job change bearable. A half hearted response with her attention mostly channelled towards the piles of scripts had still been enough to have Levi more at home in the middle of the coffee shop in the late afternoon. “You didn’t even need to transfer,” Levi said. The indignance and the bitterness of a while ago seemed to be mellowing into something almost sweet.

Petra turned a beet red and she put her hands up in defense. “No no… I wanted to. Besides, this type of set is always in need of more people.”

Levi raised one eyebrow in response. Soap opera sets? Or maybe just daytime soap operas in general. Or maybe just that particular soap opera set. He turned back to the pile of papers on the table then back to his laptop.

The pile of papers on the table was the script for that month alone. The folders in the USB were eight seasons worth of soap opera scripts and episodes. Levi was once again reminded why such a project could have been so undersaturated.

Scratch that, he had never forgotten and he didn’t think he would ever forget anyway.

The script for just that month was much larger than the piles Levi worked with at his previous production. By the second day, he was starting to conclude, working with daytime soap operas was turning out to be a grind, a seemingly thankless grind.

Soap operas ran with the expectation of producing five episodes a week with a shoestring budget. The pressing deadlines and just the amount of content that had to be produced meant vacations and holidays were few and far in between for the average employee. And the unreasonable demands usually meant that quality would naturally suffer.

Since he started assimilating into his job, he also started to wonder. What audience were they even producing soaps for in that day and age?

“Do you think you’ll even enjoy this?” Levi challenged.

“It’s too early to tell,” Petra said.

Levi didn’t want to admit it then, but he was convinced that she would even find a way to enjoy it. The question should have been for him. He was the one who could barely even get past the first page of the script.

Petra flashed him a knowing smile, flipping the pages a little faster. She wasn’t reading them and all attention was on Levi.

Her face could have been asking questions. Or Levi could have been projecting. He repeated the question to himself. What now? More specifically, what was he supposed to do?

Then he answered it. Get used to it? Or maybe just accept it as a job. The grind would eventually get less painful he was sure. But would he ever see the beauty in it?

Levi had never taken the time to watch that particular soap opera but he had seen too many in passing to know what he would be working with.

The stories didn’t make fucking sense. The sets were cheaply made. The lights, the cameras and the resources for special effects were far from what he was given when he was still working with the twenty-one-episodes-a-season, one-season-a-year ‘Underground City.”

According to Erwin, they just didn’t have the budget. Besides, the average viewer didn’t expect much else anyway from a soap opera.

Either way, he was still hired as the cinematographer. This is still your job. Levi took a deep breath then exhaled with a soft huff. First things first, he had to familiarize himself with ten to fifty episodes worth of scripts. That night, he would be watching the blocking, the lighting, the editing, the overall production.

That was the job of the fucking cinematographer anyway. Erwin had warned him though, they were severely undermanned in all facets of production, pre production, production proper and post production. And for shows that aired multiple times a week, that meant, the grind wouldn't end.

So he wouldn’t just be the cinematographer.

At the impending workload that followed his orientation phase, Levi closed his eyes tight. For a second there, his mind flew to other opportunities and just the process of editing his CV and applying elsewhere.

Maybe in a year he would reapply, or maybe even in months.

He wondered if Petra was thinking the same thing. If she were, she didn’t make it obvious. Petra enjoyed the production process just as much as he did and she had been the reason he had found a job there in the first place.

“Welcome back to the working world.” Petra chuckled.

Levi blinked back the surprise in his eyes as he was once again pulled back to reality. Admittedly, he was overwhelmed. The weak throbbing returned and after spending too many hours insisting to Petra that he was ready to go back to work, he didn’t think it right to take a break.

He sipped his tea and deemed that a quick break.

“God I miss our tea times,” Petra said, looking pointedly at Levi's tea caup. She flipped the script over and pulled her teacup towards her.

Levi noted the wistful expression on Petra’s face. “I was only out for a month,”

Petra shook her head. “But for a week or so, we thought you wouldn’t make it.” There was a subtle crack, not too noticeable if Levi hadn’t tensed up and watched her closely.

It was bringing up too many unwelcome emotions at once, and somewhere in the back of his mind, a haze of memories aggravated the throbbing in his head.

Levi turned back to the pile of papers. With the amount of work to do, he would never have the time to ponder what happened anyway. In an attempt at digression, he pulled the script towards him, and started to flip the pages, poring over words yet only taking in half of it.

A very boring half.

Eventually, he gave up. “Let’s go back home. We’re not getting anything done here.” He gathered the pages, and meticulously returned them to each envelope.

He was supposed to be reviewing the scripts to get some idea on how the TV show worked. They had chosen to work in the cafe to escape from the bustle of the sets and attempt some productivity. Yet, they had been in the cafe for a few hours already and he still didn’t remember what the story had been about in the first place.

Soap operas didn’t have logical plots anyway. Levi thought to himself. Maybe just accepting could make his work feel more unbearable. He watched as Petra gathered the pages on her end, stuffed them into her bag.

“Sorry, I thought you would have wanted tea. You always liked this place…” Petra was explaining herself. The not-so-eloquent way at which she did it was a distraction. In fact, everything at that point was either a distraction or even irritating. Levi took a deep breath, closed his eyes and let the throbbing take control for a second.

One step at a time. Levi slung his bag over his shoulder. “The tea was good,” he said, more for her than himself. That was a lie. In fact, the tea tasted underwhelming. Tea usually didn’t disappoint though and Levi was starting to suspect the fault was in him. “Just give me some time to get used to life again,” he added, his tone more apologetic that time.

A few seconds or even minutes of reflection later and Levi had to admit, he felt like he really had changed during that break.

Cinematography is visual storytelling. Or so, that was what he had been taught when he started working with TV shows years ago.

When there was no story he could follow, there was no essence or heart to portray. So, Levi naturally approached it like a cold hard science. The hard copies on folders lay abandoned on the coffee table. His laptop remained unopened.

Levi's attention was trained on the big screen. He had silently been sprawled on the sofa since they arrived back to his apartment hours ago. Bundled up in a sweatshirt, legs propped up on the coffee table, Levi was in that convenient trance between relaxing and analyzing.

He had no idea what the couple on the TV had been arguing about. He had no idea who had fathered the large overly tacky baby bump sticking out of the woman.

The latest episode was playing on repeat and Levi remembered two things happening in the past ten minutes. A pregnant woman entering the crappy set of their mansion, hand on her oversized belly and  man looked back at her then approached her, a look of abject horror on his face. He was shouting something, obscenities maybe?

By that point, Levi’s mind started to wander with too many other passing thoughts.

The horror at finding out the protagonist was pregnant was overly exaggerated. Were baby bumps really supposed to be that big? And why did it take them that many months to figure it out? How many pregnancies did the protagonist go through? How many love interests did she have?

Then the cinematographer and the photographer in him took over.

There were more important things to look into. The camera never moved. Levi was familiar with multi camera setups and he didn’t need to think too hard about it. Most of the scenes were filmed in the house, in the office, all conveniently made sets, the conveniently written scripts were written around the shitty budget.

And the high frame rate, in tandem with the inorganic lighting, the lack of special effects and just the lack of some careful camera movement, made the overall story and the overall view, underwhelming, not at all cinematic.

The soap opera effect.

Some wouldn’t see it. Others would probably notice it but not glaringly enough to complain. Levi had worked in film for years and when he would search for the characteristic motion blur, he would immediately find it. The culmination of a simple camera set up, a few sets, a cheap camera, and with a studio and network always in some hurry to cut the budget, the soap opera effect was very apparent.

And they would be expecting the same cooperation from him in putting together a cheaply made production. On the bright side, that meant that despite having to deal with some shitty soap opera plot that didn’t make any sense, he wouldn’t have to do too much thinking with lighting, blocking and editing. Planning sets and scenes would be a light stroll in the park at best, soul suckingly monotonous at worst.

Levi reached for the remote and started to rewind, his interest suddenly piqued.

“So what do you think happened to the baby?” Petra asked. She dropped a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table.

Levi wasn’t in any mood to eat. More importantly, he in the mood to speculate the cheap excuse for a plot. “Am I supposed to care?” He pulled his legs close to him and leaned further on the armrest of the sofa, giving Petra more than enough space to get herself comfortable.

“Well, you’re working on the set right? Better to at least know the major plot points of what you’re working with.”

“Spoil me,” Levi said.

Petra reached for the popcorn and grabbed a handful. She turned to him, a wry smile on her face. “You really don’t even wanna try to enjoy it?”

“This is a job. ”

Petra dropped her shoulders in defeat. “Well… Hanako gets kidnapped…”

“Hanako?”

“The baby…” Petra answered, looking pointedly at him. “They literally spent an episode discussing the baby’s name.” A laugh was very much evident in her voice.

And there are a hundred episodes to sift through. “I don’t have to know the baby’s name to do my job.”

“The baby will be the main character in the next season. If you have been reading the script--- Or even just following the story...” Petra put her hands out and pointed at the TV, starting to look more exasperated by the minute.

“Okay,” Levi responded firmly, not in any mood to stomach accusations. “Then I’ll learn her name when I start working. Just tell me what I need to know to do my job. ”

Petra sighed. “When we get back on air, there will be a time skip. Then the season post time skip picks up after Hanako’s first day of college. So before that she grew up with her adopted parents who found her abandoned in a box. They went through some tough times financially and in the latest pages of the script she gets a job in a coffee shop.” She turned towards the thick envelope on the table then glanced accusingly at him. “I could have sworn you were reading through that back in the cafe.”

Levi didn’t notice it. He had only half heartedly read the script. Still, he feigned a look of interest.

“Then a lot of the writers quit,” Petra continued. “So a lot of what happened hasn't been written yet.”

Levi flashed Petra a knowing look.

Petra sighed. "Apparently, people were overworked, the job didn't pay much so a lot of the crew, cinematographer, production designers, they all left which was most likely why they put you there.”

Levi only had to look back at his first day and his second day to understand the turnover rate. He had spent a little less than an hour familiarizing himself with systems that seemed to be put into place for show. Soon after that, he was bombarded with unreasonable deadlines, timelines, responsibilities outside his actual job title and a little less than two days to sift through eight seasons worth of scripts.

“And why they easily transferred me. We're really behind now.  Post production for the last few episodes should be completed this week, aired by next week.

"Then we have a hiatus at least," Levi said, repeating it with that same cold professional tone Erwin had used with him on their first day. Except he knew that was a scam too. They would be using that two week hiatus to start filing.

That reminder at least pulled Levi back into reality. He couldn’t flit mindlessly from side to side and clock it up as ‘learning the ropes’ forever. Eventually, they were going to ask him to actually know the ropes. “Erwin said something about me working with production proper and post production,” Levi mindlessly rewinded some of the scenes again. “But they can’t expect me to write the script right?”

Petra shook her head. “No, I don’t think you will,” she said. “I talked to a few of the crew. They said they were hiring a writer. A whole writing crew actually--- And you know, among them, there are rumors about a big name screenwriter.”

Levi raised one eyebrow in disbelief. “Joining the set of a daytime soap opera.”

She put her hands up in defense. “It’s just a rumor.”

“A stupid rumor. What kind of screenwriter in their right mind would want to work here?”

Petra paused for a second, deep in thought. “Fine, it might just be a rumor. Still, ask yourself, why would there be rumors circulating in the first place?"

Levi sighed. “Which screenwriter then?” he asked, mostly in an attempt to humor her. And himself. The fact that a big name screenwriter would work in soap operas, might actually make ‘soap operas’ work.

“Hange Zoe,” Petra said, a wry knowing look on her face. As if it was a name Levi was supposed to know.

“Hange Zoe?” And if he followed the same ups and downs of Petra’s tone, he could pretend it was familiar to his lips. “Hange Zoe,” he said again.

Petra nodded. “The writer of the Titan series? The final movie of `Advancing Titans’ is coming out in the fall.”

Advancing Titans. The name had seemingly come out of nowhere, especially when Levi had already run through a few possible names in his head. Hange Zoe hadn’t been one of them. Although she was a big name in the screenwriting industry for sure, the idea of Hange Zoe working with soap operas seemed almost preposterous.

“Hange Zoe…” Levi said it one more time, in surprise or in some attempt to practice saying it. “You’re seriously talking about that writer?” Levi looked to Petra for confirmation. Hange had only ever written one movie series from a completely different genre, which begged a question.“She has some experience in soap operas?”

Petra unlocked her phone, opened the browser and started typing and scrolling. “No… Just the movies…” she muttered a second later.

“Then why do you think she would suddenly want to work in a cheap ass day time soap opera?”

Petra looked back at him, a dumbfounded look in her face. “But the timing just fits too well. The final movie is about to be released. Apparently, she didn’t renew her contract with her studio. There are even rumors of her leaving the movie industry… And there were speculations and everything.”

“Retirement?” Levi suggested.

“Why retire in your thirties?” Petra said.

“Well, when you’re earning millions per script…” Levi trailed off. Thinking up an argument was too much of a tall order. He continued flipped through channels in silence and he had managed to pick out the movie ‘Advancing Titans’ by just a few seconds worth of a scene.

Speak of the devil.

But it wasn’t strange at all to come across the movies while flipping through channels. After all,  Advancing Titans had become a household name over the past few years.

A person in a green cloak was flying, killing some man eating a zombie. It was a familiar scene, Even Levi, who almost prided himself in never having watched the movies, was familiar enough with the iconic movements, the colors and the insignia on the back.

The wings of freedom. How the hell that was connected to the story, Levi never watched enough to find out. Nor was he interested. Science fiction and fantasy were just never his cup of tea.

If Levi had to guess, soap operas and crime dramas shouldn’t have been big wig screenwriter Hange Zoe’s cup of tea either, especially after dedicating years of her life into a production as complex as a science fiction, dark fantasy cinematic universe..

“Do you really think Hange Zoe can actually work with low budget soap operas?” Levi asked.

Petra shrugged and Levi wondered why he had even asked her in the first place. Of course, she wouldn’t know. Still, she spoke up. “Even if the rumors were wrong and it wasn’t Hange Zoe. The important thing is they get someone to pump out scripts right? And your job anyway is to make sure everything gets filmed.”

“I guess.” Levi kept his eyes trained on the screen. The scene shifted from a forest, to the cobblestoned streets in town. A parade of miserable soldiers entered the town within the walls. The camera focused on a father, who navigated through crowds of people, zooming in one of the shorter soldiers.

Captain, I wanted to talk to you about my daughter… She wrote me a letter… She’s too young to get married.

Something about the expression of the soldier pulled Levi in. For a moment, he was frozen on his seat, completely hypnotized.

Petra’s voice tore into his trance. “That’s one of the scenes I can never forget.”

In some desperate bout of retaliation, Levi switched the channel of the TV. “Let’s watch something else.”

“Why? You okay?” Petra asked.

“I’m fine. I’d rather watch something more productive.” Levi flipped more rapidly through channels. He was tempted to just turn off the TV and call it a night.

“There’s a lot to learn from watching that,” Petra started.

"Like what?" Levi asked, his grip on the remote was still firm.

Petra opened her mouth, then closed it again. She sighed. “It's hard to explain... but remember that scene just a while ago. The father approached the captain about his daughter… She died while fighting the titans and they had to empty the cart so they lost all the bodies..."

Levi kept his eyes glued to the screen, suddenly hyper aware that there might have been a judgemental or impatient look on his face. “Go on,” Levi said, as if that could do anything to placate the discomfort already apparent in her voice.

“I guess the point I wanted to make is…” Petra still seemed far from calm. “Hange Zoe. One of the reasons why she writes really quality works apparently is because aside from writing the script, she’s very hands on with everything from the blocking, to the screenwriting and just the overall production… Which makes the storyline and the movie so gripping. When I watch it, it feels like the movie is peering into my soul or something.”

“Peering into your soul…” It was a tacky choice of words and Levi could only repeat them with some level of disbelief.

“A lot of the novelty of Hange Zoe’s writing… The parts that make it special are those in betweens. The parts she left unwritten... if you know what I mean?"

“That’s cool,” Levi responded, only barely. He switched to their local channel, to the late night reruns of the soap opera. .

“They’re good movies. I don’t think they were overrated," Petra said, a hint of defensiveness in her tone.

"I never said they weren’t good movies."

"You don't seem to want to hear about it at all."

"I'm just not interested. Besides, I'm too busy with work." That was the right moment to feign business. Levi held his phone in front of him, opened up the browser and wrote out a few familiar keywords. The movies of the titan series were all ranging from four to five star ratings. Whether it had been commended for cinematography or writing, he had been too lazy to check the more detailed reviews.

The reviews were most likely raving, sloppily made and potentially biased and Levi didn’t want to hear another synonym for ‘peers into your soul.’

His eyes were drooping, he was exhausted. Petra seemed to be ready to leave as well. But he had some space, he needed some break. And what better way to spend it than to do a little stalking? "Petra, could you send a file of the first movie? I think I might wanna watch it."

"You can stream the older ones on demand," Petra said.

Levi only had to open the menu on his TV to see the option for streaming. Right. Watching movies was starting to feel like a chore though and he was in no mood watching that night.

He didn’t say much else after that and the night ended with greetings exchanged. Petra only lived a few floors below him and it didn’t feel any different from being alone.

Before he knew it, he was half asleep already. He gave up, turned off the TV and allowed himself to doze off. When he came to his senses again, the sun was streaming through the window, and with work starting in an hour or so, he had little to no time to even start the movie.

The set was small. The budget was miniscule. The turnover rate was high.

And for projects that wanted to disguise themselves as official and corporate, it was utter chaos. One week into his job, Levi had to admit, he was reaching too widely, and he was spread out too thin.

There was a semblance of structure within his team. Petra and Eld worked with cinematography, filming and camera management and all he had to do was make sure the blocking looked good, limit the amount of retakes needed. Gunther and Oluo worked in post production and video editing.

But structure was an illusion.

The actors hadn’t arrived yet. Other new roles hadn't been finalized. The script was still unfinished. Yet, they were under the mercy of the vision of higher ups

"We're heavily delayed,’ or so that was what Erwin had explained. ‘Feedback of the higher ups.”

There were deadlines, unreasonable deadlines for the employees, yet a reasonable wait for the average audience. They had less than a month to finish filming and post production for the first few episodes of the new season, less than a week to produce everything for the old season.

When he was in a pseudo-management role, as a cinematographer, it was automatic. When filming, he should be going down to the set. But they weren't filming yet. In fact, there were people in the set not doing anything.

In the chaos, everything didn't seem to add up. So Levi forced one memorandum, one attempt at structure. He would finish the final editing by that night and start the next day with a blank slate. Even if he needed to, he would stay until midnight to make it work.

That new writing team should be coming soon. Levi repeated to himself. Erwin had said so himself, Petra had also mentioned it excitedly over lunch.

All Levi had to do was get the episodes ready for review by the higher ups, then ready for airing then he could start that new season with a healthier approach, maybe find some way to add more structure to his already hectic job.

“Petra, don’t wait for me. I’m working overtime today.”

Petra jumped on her seat.

Levi only realized then, he had come up from right behind her. And Petra had been busy reading through something in her laptop, a quick glance confirmed, it was the unfinished script.

Levi continued. “You don’t have to wait for me.”

Petra looked back at him, a worried look in her face. She opened her mouth to speak.

“Deadlines,” Levi answered.

“You need any help? You know Oluo and Gunther, they can stay too. Or even me.”

“I can finish it myself,” Levi said. He was completely aware either way that it was his job to review everything before anyone else reviewed and before it went on air.

There was an indignant look on Petra's face. But Petra never really imposed. She nagged, doted, argued but she never imposed.

And he managed to pacify her by requesting an espresso and a cup of tea from the tea shop right in front of the studio. Beverages were frowned upon in the video editing room. Levi though was particularly meticulous, he was tired and stressed and he allowed himself some leeway.

Just today. And when they start filming the new season, during the hiatus, Levi would reopen his work with a more organized approach, more suited for his personality. He constantly reassured himself of that as he continued to edit the videos, crosschecking with storyboards and scripts.

Most of the work had been done. Most of the work had been easy to scan through. Still it was hours of sifting through retakes, reviewing and setting them up for reviews and cuts. In the silence, completely alone, He gladly gave the task the required focus, more than enough not to have noticed the sound of the door click behind him.

“This is the coffee you asked for right?” The voice wasn’t Petra’s but still it didn’t seem at all hostile. In fact, the voice seemed friendly.

Friendly enough for Levi to feel obliged to respond.”Thanks.” A new hire maybe? In the one week he had been working there, three people had already quit.

It wasn’t worth a second thought. The important thing was he got his coffee and tea. So he didn’t bother looking up, only looking with his peripherals to see the paper white of the cup just a few inches away. He reached one hand towards the cup and surprisingly, his hand didn’t grasp for paper. It went for something a little softer, something a little cooler but still warm to the touch.

And it moved. A bug? A pest? That had been Levi’s first speculation, being the paranoid clean freak he was. Before his guesses could get anymore creative he looked at the cup and saw the cup was stable on his desk. He had a grip, not on the cup itself but on the other hand which held the cup. The movements were from a hand underneath his..

A wild hand. It slipped out of his grip, and before Levi could pull away, it gripped him in return, squeezing harder on his pointer finger and his middle finger.

For just a second. A painfully awkward second.

A second of realization was all Levi needed to pull away. “May I help you?” he asked. It took a lot more willpower not to curse at that strange invasion of privacy. A second later, reason took over and Levi realized that he was the one who had gripped her first.

He had planned to grip the coffee cup, he justified himself.

“They said… You needed some coffee.” The voice was nonchalant. Yet somehow, nonchalance had managed to make his blood boil. “So I came here to drop it and say hi,” she added, as if that was the most natural response.

‘Say hi’ didn’t usually involve two hands gripping one another, then interlocking. Her hands were still gripping the tip of his fingers and for a second they were frozen.. “Are you always this touchy then?” Levi pressed. Especially with a total stranger. Levi looked up, turned his head towards the voice and confirmed it, she was definitely a familiar face but they were barely even acquaintances.

Brown hair tied up in a ponytail, glasses propped comfortably on her nose and just underneath them, warm brown eyes that had no problem just staring, studying… And in their own way, leaving Levi very very jarred by the mundane gesture called ‘eye contact.’

“I was hoping to talk for a bit,” she said. “If you’re not too busy, we can---”

“I’m busy right now,” Levi said. He pulled the coffee closer to him, suddenly careful when awareness dawned on him abruptly. Suddenly, he was completely aware that the coffee cup was only a few inches away from the computer. “Can this wait?”

Those brown eyes were suddenly wider, a hint of surprise. Then they narrowed at him and Levi felt some pity blanket his already sluggish and aimless movements. Before he knew it, he was very very unproductive.

He had to do something. “My name is Levi by the way.” He was deliberately gentler that time and usually lowering his voice and slowing down did some magic to make him seem kinder than he usually seemed to new people. Or so, that had been what Petra had advised multiple times before.

Levi looked up, forced a subtle smile, a combination between a tightlipped line and crinkles at the edge of his mouth. The most he could manage for a courteous introduction.

Her reaction was unexpected to say the least. He noticed her eyes first, the way they widened. Her jaw dropped. She closed it again, a subtle twitch in her lip.

Did I say something wrong? Levi thought to himself. He looked back at the computer screen. “Levi… Levi Ackerman,” he added. Would that help ease the tension of the room?

Even when Levi started to make a game for himself, playing video edits again and again, he realized he was more focused on pretending to concentrate than in actually polishing the transitions between scenes.

Hange eventually spoke up. “Hello Levi. Nice to meet you.” Her voice was softer in that last sentence.

“Nice to meet you too.” That had been surprisingly difficult to say. He sensed the discomfort in her voice, and maybe he had unknowingly mirrored it.

“My name is Hange Zoe. I’m going to be working as a screenwriter here…”

Oh. Oh. So that’s Hange Zoe. For someone who spearheaded blockbuster hits, who had people talking like crazy over rumors, it turned out she was a very underwhelming presence.

“I’m the cinematographer here,” Levi said. Technically, that was his job title but at that point, he was doing everything. “So I guess we’re going to be working together a lot.”

“We will,” Hange responded. Her presence was underwhelming. So underwhelming that Levi felt no need to even be excited that they had a prodigy screenwriter in their midst. Her voice was soft when she spoke to him. Her eyes were some mix of disappointment, nervousness, uncertainty.

Levi suspected it was her demeanor, her approach towards him that had caused such tension to settle in such a tiny room. “Thank you for coffee,” Levi said. Any nice gesture seemed like a worthwhile attempt to ease it.

A wide smile played at Hange’s lips, still far from what Levi would have considered confident though. “Happy to help.”

That’s the award winning screenwriter? “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“I’m going to be working on a few scripts tonight, have Erwin look at them in a day or so,” she said. Her voice had shifted to something more professional, and her meekness was starting to feel more like a misinterpretation on Levi's end..

“Looking forward to them,” Levi said.

The door slammed behind him, a little louder than the click that followed. The room was dim, it was almost distracting. When Levi turned towards the lights, he considered turning it on, to save himself the discomfort of sore eyes.

He turned his chair, put enough wait into one leg only to notice the sluggishness, the numbness underneath. His legs were jelly. Her hands were trembling and his breaths weren’t coming out in predictable bouts. He turned back to the computer and prepared to review what he had already edited.

The video was playing and Levi was convincing himself that he was productive.

Halfway through the episode, or even a quarter through the episode (Levi wasn’t counting), his mind had wandered. When his surroundings just became a little too overwhelming, Levi let loose just a little bit. He let the heaviness in his chest and the stiffness of his limbs speak for him then.

That voice of a while ago, Hange Zoe’s voice. That voice was nostalgic, heart wrenchingly nostalgic.

[madlori]

A quick primer on Schitt’s Creek

So apparently going by the comments on some of my fics I’ve done the thing where some of you who have been reading my fanfic a lot over the years want to read my newest stories without ever having seen the canon source material! You are all valid and I support you. 

So I thought it might be nice to write a bit of a primer on the show so you at least know what these people look like and who they are.

First of all I recommend just...uh, watching the show! It really is fantastic, and not just because of the amazing queer normalization. It’s funny and surprising and strange and heartwarming.

Caveat. A lot of people struggle with the first season. It is true that some viewers find it a rough start. The Roses all have significant character arcs and to do that you have to start from somewhere, let’s say. Also the tone of the show and its pace changed markedly between seasons two and three, which is when Dan Levy took over as head writer and they got a bunch of new writers. But even if you’re not quite feeling it from the first episode (I did not have this problem but some people do) I promise, you will be rewarded. And it’s fast, the episodes are only 20 minutes, so.

So! WTF even is this show. 

The Premise: The wealthy Rose family lose all their money when their finance guy absconds with it having never paid taxes. They’re left with nothing but the clothes (and wigs) on their backs and the ownership of a small town called Schitt’s Creek that father Johnny once bought for his teenage son as a joke. They relocate there and move into a dilapidated motel, thanks to the good graces of the town’s rednecky mayor, Roland Schitt (Chris Elliott). There they occupy two adjoining rooms, the parents in one and siblings in the other.

The Roses

Johnny (Eugene Levy) - Patriarch Johnny Rose made his money with a chain of video stores. Johnny is the straight man of the family, finding himself constantly shepherding his dramatic spouse and offpsring. 

Moira (Catherine O’Hara) - a former soap opera star, Moira is a creature not of this reality, it sometimes seems. She is an eccentrically outlandish persona who cares deeply for her family but is often befuddled as to how to handle those emotions or express them. 

David (Dan Levy) - firstborn son David is probably the character most viewers connect with first and more strongly, for a variety of reasons. His personal arc(s) are really the show’s emotional backbone. A former gallerist and pansexual aesthete, David is constantly frustrated by the Incorrectness of everything happening to the family.

Alexis (Annie Murphy) - younger sister and socialite, kind of a Coachella girl, who has spent most of her life globetrotting and getting herself mixed up in outlandish scenarios (it’s a running joke on the show for her to drop in “That one time when I was...” stories as offhand remarks). David is very protective of her even though they fight constantly, and often bailed her out of her Situations when their parents were too caught up in their own stuff.

The Honorary Roses

While the central “character” of the show is the Rose family, in my opinion there are six core characters, which includes these two.

Stevie Budd (Emily Hampshire) - Employee of (and later owner of) the motel where the Roses fetch up. She is David’s best friend and the first person in town he connects with. She is snarky and deadpan and sarcastic. She and David have a short-lived romantic/sexual relationship which ends amicably in season two, but their close friendship remains an important part of the show (yet another thing SC does that’s quietly revolutionary - feature exes who decided to be just friends and then actually do that). She later develops a strong surrogate-father relationship with Johnny as he becomes the co-owner of the motel.

Patrick Brewer (Noah Reid) - David’s business partner, and by the end of the show, husband. Although the show has a great deal to offer apart from this, a lot of people watch mostly for the David & Patrick relationship (which is fine, it’s a big part of the show). Note: if you are watching for this, Patrick does not appear in the show until the mid-third season. At first Patrick seems like an oasis of down-to-earth normalcy amidst all these larger-than-life personalities but it doesn’t take long to realize he’s actually an enormous troll who expresses his love for David by gently roasting him constantly.

And the Others - The show is an ensemble, and apart from these six folks, includes a lot of great secondary characters. Veternarian Ted Mullens (Alexis’s on/off boyfriend), Mayor Roland Schitt and his wife Jocelyn (who is one of my favorite characters), town council curmudgeons Ronnie and Bob, cafe waitress Twyla (played by Dan Levy’s sister Sarah), the local all-gender Casanova woodworker Jake, and the Schitts’ adult son Mutt, Alexis’s first hookup in town.

The Arc: This show is about how the Rose family - who have historically been distant and disconnected - had to lose all their money to find themselves as a family, and later, for each of them to find new fulfillment for themselves. They start out chafing and struggling to get out of this new reality, trying to find a way to sell the town, get “back to normal,” but gradually, they fit themselves into the community. Their family reconnection is pretty strong by the end of S2 (the final scene of that season was my first teary moment) and starting in S3, each of them finds a way to rediscover themselves. Johnny invests in the motel and in Stevie. Moira joins the town council and the local women’s a cappella singing group. Alexis goes back to school and starts pursuing a career in public relations. David takes over a vacant general store and turns it into the Rose Apothecary (which you have probably seen on merch everywhere), a venue for local artisans to sell what they make. It is through this venture that he meets Patrick, who first consults and then decides to invest and become David’s partner in the store.

The show is at the same time outlandish, hilarious, touching, abrasive and over the top. The Roses are over-the-top characters - especially Moira, who speaks in an unidentifiable accent and uses words that may or may not exist - and the story seems to exist in a kind of alternate reality (it’s a fandom joke that the timeline of the show makes no sense - it doesn’t - and it is always summer in SC except for one time when it was Christmas). There is also, by design, no homophobia in Schitt’s Creek. The various iterations of queer characters and relationships aren’t just represented, they’re normalized in a way that I didn’t know I was missing until I saw it.

Plus, it’s fun. Like many of Eugene Levy’s previous works (although the show is really Dan’s creation), the show makes use of musical set pieces. Probably the most famous is the iconic mid-season 4 episode “Open Mic” in which Patrick and David host an open mic night at the store and Patrick serenades David with an acoustic cover of Tina Turner’s “The Best” (arranged by actor Noah Reid, who is IRL a talented singer-songwriter, check out his albums, they’re great). It’s one of the most romantic things I’ve ever seen, made more poignant by the really remarkable face journey David goes through as he listens.

Well, have a look.

Another big moment was season 5′s production of “Cabaret,” directed by Moira and Jocelyn and starring Patrick as the Emcee and Stevie as Sally Bowles. The rehearsals and performance were mined for a lot of great moments.

Anyway, that’s the gist. Probably more than you wanted or needed.

[halcyonstorm]

I'm so sorry this prompt took me a long time to start, but once I started, I finished it in three days. I loved writing this prompt so much. I hope you enjoy. Warning: Angst, Major Character Death

The title is: The Most Beautiful Flower (For You) (click to read on ao3)

If heaven was a place on Earth, it would be in Italy. When the gentle waves of the Tyrrhenian sea kissed the Mediterranean coastline, the cool water splashed against the very pregnant gardener’s feet, as well as the powerful Duke, the father-to-be. The bright, hot sun beamed from across the ocean as it submerged beneath the waters. Suddenly, the gardener felt a sharp pain in her stomach, causing her to groan loudly.

“It’s time…” She whispers harshly, beginning to place her hands on her knees.

It is ironic, though, how the scariest human to roam their city was born on such a beautiful night. The child’s father, the Duke of Smeraldo City, shouldn’t have impregnated the beautiful woman who tends to his castle’s garden daily, but he did. His wife, the Duchess, was infertile. This angered the Duke, causing him to have a secret affair with the gardener, a poor yet beautiful woman who he met with daily and eventually fell in love with. The Duke was scared. He didn’t know how or when to deliver a baby. He was smart, but he was smart in politics and economics, not childbirth. She sat down on the white sand behind a large rock, hidden from the rest of the world. He didn’t have time to bring her to a clinic. She opened her legs, ready to push. The Duke was ready. He patted her forehead dry of the sweat that had beaded up. He noticed then that she was extremely cold. This confused him; It was warm outside, almost too warm for the evening. She should be warm. She was starting to breathe heavy, her screams of pain becoming more breathless with each push.

With each push to expel the baby, more and more blood came out of her, staining the white sand dark red and black. It horrified the Duke. He was falling for this woman. He felt worse that he had no idea what to do to help her. When he saw the head, he cried out in joy, almost forgetting about the mother’s condition.

“You’re almost there! You got this,” he encouraged. His mistress looked ghostly pale with more sweat dripping down her face. She doesn’t look good. He noticed her neck pulsating. With three more pushes, the woman couldn’t scream any more; she was too exhausted. She was losing too much blood. The baby came out, crying and whining. The Duke was happy, extremely happy. All he wanted was a child. That happiness was short-lived, though. When the Duke wrapped his child up in his button-up shirt, he noticed his mistress hadn’t spoken a word. In fact, she was still… too still. He narrowed his brows in confusion and face contorted to worry. He placed his newborn down in the cool sand and quickly scrambled to place his ear to her chest. No heartbeat.

That is how Levi was born.

-

His father was scared he’d be caught by the Duchess, so he locked his child away in a tower on the outskirts of Smeraldo City. His father would come to visit him weekly, often having a maid tend to Levi in his place. Levi grew up hidden away in that castle. The castle, although extravagant, was torture for Levi. He hated it. It was a huge, tall tower made of cobblestone and vines. Levi had this aching, empty feeling in his chest when the maid would leave for the night. He described the feeling to her, and she explained to him it was “loneliness”. He never knew the feeling, but it was all that he felt when the sound of his shoes tapping the floor echoed as he walked down the dark, empty corridor at night. The lack of affection caused Levi to grow cold. He began to despise his maid, too. He was just her job, after all. Her extra chore. One more task to complete for the Duke of Smeraldo. When his prestigious father would come to visit, it was mainly to just apologize for avoiding him. It was a constant cycle. “I’m sorry,” he’d say, then proceed to do just that for another six months. Some nights, he would go to Levi’s castle to scream at him. “You are the reason she is dead,” he’d complain to Levi. The truth is, the Duke wanted a child. That child; however, was not Levi. Levi’s raven black hair and piercing grey eyes were too similar to his mother’s, causing the Duke to avoid Levi as much as possible. Levi despised his father. Whenever Levi’s maid/replacement mother came to visit him as a teenager, she always kept her distance. She’d stay on the far side of the room when she tended to his laundry, avert her gaze when he looked at her, and keep their conversations short and brief

“Why must you keep your distance from me?” Levi would ask.

“Because you are ugly,” she would reply. It didn’t hurt Levi’s feelings. He didn’t care about his appearance. He had no one to show. He was truly and utterly alone. Sometimes, the maid would come to his castle with a man. He wasn’t sure about many things. When he saw the man with her, he decided to watch them. He would wait around the corner from the maid’s bedroom, waiting and hearing what they’d do. When he’d leave her quarters, he’d press his lips to hers. Levi realized at that moment, he wanted a maid too. He wanted to feel whatever the fuck they were feeling. He decided to ask her about it.

“Why does that man press his lips to yours?” Levi asked as he stared at the stone ceiling in his bedroom. The maid was hesitant before replying. She realized she never taught him about those feelings.

“Because we are in love,” She replied plainly, sitting on a chair in his room, still keeping herself a safe distance away from the ugly and scary man. “We are close friends. Over time, we fell in love.”

“What is love?” Levi asked.

“Love is… complicated. It’s a feeling of deep affection... and it can be applied to anything or anyone. With a person, it is the feeling you get when you’re excited to see someone and enjoy their presence, but it’s also dangerous. Falling in love means you can get hurt, too. The person you love may decide they want to be with someone else, or they lose that feeling. Or, they may never feel that way about you at all…” She spoke from experience.

“Love is stupid,” Levi determined. “Why do it if you’re going to get hurt?”

“Love isn’t a choice,” she debated. “It can be, like the Duke and Duchess.” Levi perked up, the hairs on his nape erect.

“The Duchess isn’t my mother?” He asked. She hesitantly shook her head no. “Then who is?”

The maid told Levi about his mother, the gardener. She told him how his mother would sing to her belly every morning and evening, read him stories, and share her life stories with him. Levi smiled at this. From what the maid told him, his mother truly loved him, unlike the Duke. Learning about his mother inspired him to pick up gardening. He began by binge-reading the gardening and plant books in the master library. During the weeks, he would wear his black hooded cloak and mask and head into the town’s market. There, he found a stall that sold flower seeds of all kinds from Italy. The first seeds he bought were that of oleander flowers. He remembers from his book that they stood for “caution” and “destiny”. It is destined that he must be cautious around others, and others must be cautious around him. He was horrifying to the everyday civilians, and the shrieks of horror kept him cooped up in his tower for months until he finally got the courage to go into town again.

In those few months, his flowers began to sprout. The flowers were all he thought about day in and day out. They were his only joy. These were the first moments he felt “love”.

When Levi turned 22, his garden was blossoming into something extravagant. There was a dainty, white archway at the beginning of the trail that led to the tower. Inside, there were fields of white lilies -the flower of Italy- blooming in early April. As he walked through his garden, he bent down next to a budding cyclamen flower. It was a small pink flower, surrounded by its family. The family’s flowers were dark pink at the roots, becoming lighter in color towards the end of the petal. They opened up and out, allowing the sun to help them grow. He gently grazed his finger over the petals, feeling its velvety smooth texture.

“At least flowers can’t hate me,” he’d reassure himself. He placed his hands on his knees, standing up. With his bucket of soil and the packets of seeds laying on top, he found an empty patch of grass. He started to dig with his small shovel. Once he reached an area where the soil was moist, he opened the package and sprinkled the seeds inside. The seeds claimed to be for a Juliet rose. One that stood for love and beauty. He knew of love and beauty. He was standing all around it.

For hundreds of yards, the castle’s courtyard was filled with flowers in intricate patterns that were only visible from the top of the tower. Flowers that formed flower shapes, circles, lines, and everything in between. The bees had three hives attached to purple wisteria trees. He loved those trees the most. They were tall, old trees that were by his side ever since he could remember. The trees were almost like his grandparents, watching him take his first steps and speak his first words. Now, they take in his music when he hums a tune as he waters his flowers and console him when he vents about his father. He liked to walk through his garden and visit the wisterias. He would use the tips of his fingers to caress the petals between his fingers. He loved wisterias the most.

He woke up the next morning slumped under a wisteria tree, the purple tree creating a cool shade that enveloped his body from the warm sun. The grass beneath him was flattened by his body. He scrubbed it vigorously to help the grass stand upright again. Then, he stretched his arms above his head, groaning loudly. He stood up, using his watering can to hydrate the flowers as he walked through his garden. When he got to the rose bushes, though, he noticed some flowers were missing. He furrowed his brows, crouching down to examine the damage. One, two, three, four… Four roses were missing. They were intricately plucked from the bush, as if the perpetrator had planned this. Someone stole from my garden. His jaw clenched tightly when he realized this. How dare someone steal from me? He asked himself. He spent years and years tending to his garden and perfecting it, and now someone was trying to take his one and only joy away.

That night, he hid close to the rose bushes. He hid behind a tall vine of bougainvillea flowers. The beautiful pink flowers were bright as the moonlight shone on them. They hung over the tall, stone wall that encompassed his garden and the tower. As he lay in wait, he admired the beautiful leaf-like petals of the flowers. They were soft, rich, and pure. He was proud of his garden. He was reminded why he was waiting again, his blood boiling.

That night, the suspect did not show up. Nor did they show up for the few nights he guarded the garden. This person was sneaky. The person knew Levi was watching them, lurking, waiting to catch them. Levi caught on fast to this cat-and-mouse game. After a week of no luck, he decided to wait in his tower. He peered over his balcony one night and looked down at his garden. The white lilies blew in the cool spring breeze, They were hard to view, considering the moon wasn’t as bright. It was in the waning gibbous phase, darkened on its right side, bright on its left. It hung high in the sky, looking smaller than it did just a week ago. Levi was broken out of his trance when he heard a soft rustle in his garden. Levi glared out the window and off the balcony, peering down below. There, he thought. There they are. It was a girl. The girl had dark hair, wearing what looked like a piece of white cloth that draped over her lanky body. She had crouched down next to the rose bush, starting to tug. Levi decided to go downstairs. He grabbed his dark cloak and mask on the way out.

By the time he had gotten down to the garden, she was walking away, four more flowers in her hand. Levi was enraged. He felt his blood start to boil. Why is this girl stealing from me? Does she think this castle is abandoned? How would the garden be so well managed if it was? How dare she steal from him, stealing from the only thing he truly cared about. She walked slowly through the forest, talking to herself. She would ramble on about her mother and father and money. Levi was puzzled. She was talking as if there were someone standing right next to her. Maybe she knew he was there? No, he thought. She’d freak out. She’d never come back. Levi’s frown turned into a wide grin, a new idea popping in his head. He, unfortunately, thought of his plan too late. They had arrived in town. As Levi followed her to the marketplace, he kept asking himself why she stole from him. It was still booming at 2000 that night. The market was filled with stalls and tents. A lull of chatter hummed through the town as he followed the girl. He saw her stop at one specific stall and go behind it. She spoke to a tall man who looked to be her father. He shared the same brown shaggy hair as her. He gave her a wide smile as she handed him the flowers.

“I was only able to get four,” The girl explained to her father. “These ought to make us a lot of money! Then we can buy shoes!” At that moment, he realized both her and her father were barefoot. Levi felt a pang in his chest.

“Indeed, my love. Thank you,” her father said, kissing her forehead. Levi was taken aback. She wanted to sell his flowers? Is that what love looks like?

“These flowers are beautiful,” She said, recalling the scenery in her mind. “The garden has all different types! It’s breathtaking. I wish I could go during the day… but I don’t want to get caught.”

“Yes, that’s best,” he explained. “Hange, see what other types of flowers are there and see if any are worth selling.”

Levi felt his heart skip a beat when Hange complimented his garden. He was able to get a better look at her face. She looked about his age and had half her hair tied up in a messy knot. She had a hooked nose that fit her face perfectly. Her eyes were gleaming when the glow of the string lights hit them. He couldn’t describe how he thought she looked. It didn’t bother him that his heart was racing in his chest or how his palms were sweating. He didn’t know how to describe her, but he knew he wanted to see her more.

When he went home, he found a small rectangle piece of wood, a thick stick, some nails, and a hammer. He grabbed a bucket of paint and wrote the following on the rectangular piece of wood:

Be mindful of the thorns.

He went back downstairs to the garden to stake it into the ground after hammering it together. He wanted to see the girl again. He didn’t want her to hurt herself, though. He didn’t want to give her any measly excuse not to come back to his garden. She liked it. She complimented his garden.

-

“I think a ‘crush’ is the term you’re searching for,” the maid answered. She looked down in her lap. Levi felt his face go red.

“A what?” He scowled.

“It’s like… when you’re attracted to someone. When you enjoy seeing them and being around them…”

“I thought that was ‘love’ in your book.”

“Having a crush and being in love are different,” she began. “Love is developed over time. Eventually, a crush turns into love if you let it linger.” Levi shook his head fast.

“No, no,” he muttered to himself. “That can’t happen. I can’t love anyone.”

The maid stood up, stepping towards him. This was the closest she’s been to him in a long time. He looked up at her as he sat on the bed.

“Everyone is worthy of and deserves love. Even you.” When she spoke, he truly felt she meant it.

-

Two days later, Levi was in his tower waiting for Hange. Around 1945, she arrived on time. As she walked through the archway, she saw the sign right away. He heard her speak it aloud. She let out a short laugh. Her short laugh was like a loving punch to his gut, taking his breath away. It was so… crush, he determined. She didn’t stop and crouch at the rose bush like he predicted. She waltzed through his garden, careful to avoid stepping on his flowers. He heard her hum a tune as she danced through his garden. She took his breath away time and time again. She was as beautiful as the garden around her. She stopped humming when she noticed the oleander flower patch, right against the tower.

“Caution,” she said softly, careful not to rouse the garden keeper. Too late, though, but she didn’t know that. Levi was shocked at her statement. She knew why he put them there. The flowers rustled in the wind as it picked up. She crouched down to pet the flowers with the back of her index finger.

“These truly are beautiful,” she said to herself. Levi felt a smile creep up on his face. She looked up to the sky. “Why must I be cautious?” she asked herself. “Anyone who can create such beauty mustn’t be someone to be cautious of.” When she spoke, Levi had a thought cross his mind. Maybe I can show her myself. It was a silly thought, and Levi didn’t entertain it too much longer than that moment.

Another week passes by and the moon’s light is slowly diminishing each day. A new moon is coming. How will Hange know which flowers to pick? Levi thought of a solution. He grabbed his handy hammer as well as some string lights and secured them around the archway leading to his garden. On the ground, he stuck little lamps into the ground that radiated a white light. This way, Hange can come even when there’s a new moon. He also created a sign: The orchids are very loved. He loved his orchids so, but they were better off to give to someone who needed them. Orchids were rare to find and plant in Italy, and Levi had spent years and years trying to find the perfect technique to grow his lovely purple orchids. They were his favorites; he loved their long stem with the flowers that hung over the edge. He loved admiring the flowers up close, getting a very detailed view of the veins of the vibrant flower petals.

The moon was just a crescent in the sky when Hange came next. She wandered through the garden, not a care in the world, admiring the blooming flowers. She paused in her waltz when she saw his sign about the orchids. Her eyes shifted from the sign to the orchids. Indeed, they are beautiful, she thought to herself. She crouched down with her small shovel and pot and began to dig them up. This surprised Levi. The last few times, she picked the flowers with her hands. Now, she is preserving the flower’s life by relocating them to her pot.

“These sure are beautiful,” she said softly to herself. With the hustling and bustling of the town across the town, he wasn’t able to hear her. Again, he felt a pang in his chest when he imagined her seeing him for the first time. Her terrified face, her hands trembling in fear. He couldn’t scar her like that. He was too ugly, too brawny, too unworthy of being loved that he couldn’t dare to even consider revealing himself to her.

The next flower he wanted to draw her to were the gardenias. Now that she knew about flowers, he wanted to show her all he had to offer. He enjoyed seeing her in his garden. She talked a lot; he felt as if he were talking to her. She started staying for longer periods of time, which Levi enjoyed. He wondered if she even knew someone tended to the garden. She must, he thought. She sees your signs, right?

The gardenias were in a bushel next to the white lilies. He enjoyed having all the colors coordinated. Red when someone first walks in, met by rose bushes. Towards the castle were the oleanders of all colors, but mainly pink. That is where the bougainvillea’s were too, hanging from the castle window and wall surrounding the garden’s perimeter, as well as having their own bushel below. By his wisteria trees were the violets, orchids, periwinkles, and bluebells. The white flowers were blended with the purple and blue flowers. The white flowers included the lilies and gardenias, as well as jasmines. He loved the look of the small, delicate gardenia flowers climbing the wall surrounding his castle and garden. They had beautiful, rich white petals and a bright yellow center. He didn’t want to show them for his usual reasons, but in order to make a move. Gardenias stood for secret love, as well as a confession of sorts. After seeing her white cloth in the gardenias, he realized his crush was developing into something more. He decided to make another sign and placed it by the entrance: Open at dawn.

Hange seemed to understand his messages perfectly. One early afternoon, Levi was tending to his violets when he heard a familiar rustling. He didn’t have his cloak on or his mask. He was totally and utterly exposed. He quickly gathered his things and hid behind a grand wisteria tree. Please see me. Please don’t see me. She noticed footprints in the damp soil by the tree.

“Your flowers are beautiful,” Hange said aloud. “You have been a great help. I’ve finally gotten my own shoes!” She chuckles and glances at her covered feet. “I am trying to figure out a way to repay you…” You don’t have to repay me. I don’t mind.

“There are stories that a monster lives here,” Hange began, sitting down and leaning her back against the same wisteria tree Levi was hiding behind. “Is that supposed to be you? The person who plants these beautiful flowers?” Her words cause Levi’s cheeks to redden. She looks towards the bluebells. She sits up and kneels to admire them.

“Bluebells…” she murmured. “Gratitude. Everlasting love. I feel gratitude towards your everlasting love for this garden.” She giggled to herself. “Ah, I’m rambling nonsense. I should get going. My father will be worried. I hope you don’t mind if I take some flowers.” Take as many as you need. She walked through the garden. There was a sign next to the white gardenias as she walked towards the exit.

You’re lovely.

-

Levi was proud he was helping Hange and her family. From the sound of it, they were doing better. They were able to afford clothes for their bodies and provide two meals a day. She explained it was only her, her mother, and her father. She explained how her family loved her very much, and Levi believed her. He yearned for a love like that. He yearned to be loved at all. A foolish and childish thought ran through his mind. Could she ever love me? Does she love me? How could she love someone she’s never even seen before? Levi decided he must show himself to her. He must make some sort of confession to her. He planned it in the best way he could. He began searching the markets day in and day out to find the seeds to plant the most beautiful flower for Hange. It would be sure to bring Hange’s family wealth as well as help Hange understand Levi’s feelings.

He dressed in his dark cloak and mask and walked through the forest to the market. The smeraldo flower was one of the hardest to successfully grow in Italy. The smeraldo flower seeds were sold for dirt cheap since they were so difficult to grow. Many people attempted to grow said flower, but never succeeded. Once it blooms, it must be carefully maintained in order for them to prosper. He purchased a bag of seeds and headed home. He found the perfect spot in his garden: surrounding the wisteria tree. The purple of the wisterias and the blue of the smeraldos would perfectly blend together next to the violets, periwinkles, and crocuses. He got excited. Once he got home, he started to read about the Smeraldo flowers.

Must be planted at dusk. Must be watered every two days at dusk. Do not tear away dead leaves and flowers. Must be maintained in damp soil. If drought occurs, water daily. Meaning: I’m unable to tell you the truth.

Levi’s heart ached when he read the final line. Hange, he thought. I am unable to show you my truth. He wanted to, but he couldn’t dare to scare her away from his garden. He planned to make a grand gesture to express his love for her. He adored everything about her. She was his Sun.

That night, he went outside to plant his flowers. The sun was kissing the horizon, hanging low in the pink sky. He grabbed his small handheld shovel and began to dig a small moat around the tree. He palpated the soil with his fingers. It’s damp. It’s dusk. It was all ready. He sprinkled the seeds evenly around the moat of the tree and then scooped the dirt, placing it on top of the seeds. He patted it with his hands.

It took the Smeraldo flowers a long time to grow. Almost a year passed before the flowers were blooming. For every two days since he planted them, he watered them. Hange would stop by, chatting up a storm to the flowers before taking some in her bucket and leaving. As Hange aged one more year, she looked radiant. With the flowers to help her eat and dress, she filled out. She wasn’t as lanky as she was just one year ago. One specific summer day, Hange fell asleep in his garden. Her hair was sprawled over the white lilies, her body lying on the grass. Levi took this time to be brave. He walked over to her in broad daylight. He sat down next to her, admiring her face. She looked so peaceful.

“Hange, I am Levi,” he whispered, being careful to avoid waking her. “This is my garden. I am glad to hear you like it.” He looked into his lap then at the lilies. He plucked a lily from the bunch, tucking it behind her ear. Her dark brunette hair looked like melted chocolate scattered amongst the lilies.

“You are the most beautiful thing in this garden.”

-

Around 1700, Hange woke up. She noticed her pot was filled with beautiful gardenias. Levi filled it for her while she slept. Hange smiled softly.

“I wish to meet you someday, Levi,” she sighed, standing up then grabbing her pot. As the words came out of her mouth, she wasn't sure how she knew his name, but she was glad she did. The sun was beginning to set. She glanced up at the open castle window before turning on her heel to leave the beautiful garden once again. That night, Levi tended to his smeraldo flowers. They were beginning to bloom, a small baby blue head poking out of the green stem. It made him smile. He created this life.

It took about another month for the smeraldo flowers to fully open up and express their beauty. They were the most beautiful flowers Levi had ever seen. These are sure to help Hange the most. They were a light blue and purple with rather strange petals that opened less and less as they reached the center. They looked perfect surrounding the wise wisteria tree. They were so perfectly fitting for Levi and Hange.

He had planted some extra flowers in a hidden part of the garden just for Hange to take. He wanted her to be happy, so happy from his flowers. His flowers were all he ever knew. He wanted to tell Hange his truth, so so bad. He couldn’t. He couldn’t risk hurting her. All he wanted was for her to be at peace.

That day, he wrote another sign for her. He placed it along the path so she couldn’t miss it.

For you, behind the red camellias.

It took her a day to notice it - so yes, she did miss it. She loved the white flowers so much that she didn’t even venture to the red flower patches to find the smeraldos. She loved to dance and sing in the field of flowers that made Levi want to cry. It made his heart ache. She sounded like a siren; Her voice luring him, tempting him, but he had to try his hardest to resist her. As she had begun to leave that day, she noticed the new sign. Levi was in the garden that day, behind the wisteria. As she wandered behind the camellias, he followed her, peering at her behind the concrete archway leading to a hidden part of the garden. The smeraldo flowers were in a small bunch in a bucket, all ready for Hange to take. She gasped loudly when she saw them.

“Oh my God,” she exhaled. Her fingers touched her lips in wonder. Her eyes were wide. She ran to the flowers, kneeling down in front of them. She admired them closely, examining each vein of each petal and how the blue blended into purple. They were breathtaking.

“These are… extraordinary,” she said, caressing one flower with her hand. Tears welled up in her eyes.

“Levi… thank you,” she said his name again. It made Levi’s heart skip a beat. You are extraordinary, Hange.

“When I return tomorrow, I want to meet you,” she said aloud, picking up the pot by its wooden handle. “I know you can hear me. I know you’re nearby. If not, I’ll let the whole world know. I’ll scream it from the top of my lungs so you can hear me. I hear what they say about you in the village. They say you’re scary and that you’re a monster, but I find that hard to believe. You are kind. You are special.” Levi feels tears well up in his eyes, his throat tightening. What is this? He asked himself. “Ah… I am rambling again. Anyways, I will see you tomorrow.” She started heading for the exit. She looked beautiful: she wore a long, white dress with sandals. Please don’t go, he wanted to say. But she left, leaving Levi alone again.

That evening as the sun set, Levi picked bluebells from his garden. He hated to pluck and kill his flowers, but this was for something special. He brought the flowers in a bucket to his bedroom. He sat on his bed with the bucket, using a delicate hand to turn them inside out. His book states, If you are able to turn a bluebell inside-out without tearing it, you will win the one you love. It also states, Wearing a wreath of bluebells will allow you to speak the truth. Levi’s gentle touch manipulated the flowers in such a way to turn every single one inside-out; It took him hours. He was up till the sunrise working to make sure he didn’t rip any flowers. God forbid if anything messed up his chance. Then, he weaved the flower stems together, forming a beautiful vibrant wreath of bluebell flowers. Today, he was going to meet Hange in person.

He slept late that morning into the early afternoon. He jolted out of bed, instinctively looking out his window. Did she show? He didn’t see her. He put on his cloak and mask and went outside. He made sure to put on his wreath.

He waited till nightfall, and she didn’t show. The next day, she didn’t show. The day after that, she didn’t show. The bluebell wreath was beginning to wilt. Levi was starting to worry. He felt this strong urge to go into town. So, he dressed in his usual cloak and mask and followed his instinct. He found her father outside a building talking to a man in a white coat. They looked distraught. Levi frowned. Why is a doctor talking to Hange’s father? Why do they look sad? The doctor started walking with her father down the sidewalk. Levi felt extremely concerned. He walked across the street to the door they came out of. It was unlocked; Levi let himself in.

On the couch, Hange lay. She had a cold pack on her head, covered in blankets. She was sweating but shivering. Levi felt the familiar pang in his chest again. Levi swore Hange didn’t hear him come in, but she did.

“Who’s there?” she called out, coughing harshly. It sounded like she was coughing up her lungs. Levi felt his heart begin to race. He was nervous and scared.

“...Levi,” he replied.

“Show yourself.”

Levi did. He stepped out of the shadows into her field of vision. She gave him a soft smile.

“Come here,” she whispered. Levi did. He kneeled at her bedside.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, his face still completely covered.

“I got robbed,” she said, coughing harshly again. It made her wince in pain, a small “ow” escaping her lips. “They stabbed me.” She exposed her abdomen, blood seeping through the bandages on her upper left abdomen. Levi was too sad for words. His brows furrowed, lip quivered, eyes wide.

“I am going to die.” Levi felt his heart ache in his chest. His throat tightened again. No, no, no. This cannot be happening.

“Please, Levi,” she whimpered. “Let me... see your face.” Levi was like putty in her hands. He melted, seeing those rich beautiful hazel eyes looking at his face but at a black mask, unable to recognize any features. Levi slowly reached for his mask, untying the strap behind his head, letting it fall to the ground. That was the first and final time Levi got to look into Hange’s eyes. Hange gave him a sad smile. She reached her hand up to touch his cheek.

“You... are the most beautiful person... I have ever met,” She said, barely audible. Then, her hand fell from his face, her facial expression drooped. She was gone. Tears fell from Levi’s eyes uncontrollably. He tightly placed his hand on his mouth, sealing any sobs from escaping it. He wanted to admire her more, but he couldn’t. He had to go before they believed he killed her, delivering the final blow. He brought a white lily with him, her favorite, and tucked it behind her ear once more. He closed her eyes, pressed his lips to her forehead, as best as he could remember from his miniscule experience. Before he left her for good, he spoke.

“I will keep planting flowers for you. Over and over again.”

[biggest-stupidhead]

Who We Were Before (Levi x OC)

Summary: Three girls living in a society where ghouls are despised by humans. They must find out who they are in order to be with the people they love. Lust, jealousy, unrequited love. And the need to fight for what they believe in. Will they hate the CCG forever? Or will some people change their beliefs? Can they break the cycle of hatred that has been push upon them? Or are they just what everyone thinks? Monsters.

Word Count: 2.2K 

When the world has labeled you a monster, you can't help but fit into that role No matter how you feel, you will always be an ant they must crush under their boot. How could she be any different? When she looks into the cracked mirror, all she can see is a ghoul. The red in her eyes is persistent as she tries to keep her hunger down. Her stomach growls angrily at her, as she looks across the way to see her neighbor closing his blinds. She thinks how easy it would be to finish him, nobody would know. He's old and has no family, he's alone. Just like her, she wonders if when people look at her they see what they see in him. Ugly, unwilling, all alone. A reject to all society holds dear. She shoves those intrusive thoughts aside and refocuses on the task at hand. She can hunt later, but now she needs to get ready for work.

Yomo usually carries some extra food on him in case of emergencies. But his food comes with a cost, a cost that she'll never hear the end of. Besides, she's not one to beg. If she's lucky Itori will let her off early and she can snag a drunk in a back alleyway. She finishes pulling on her white button down shirt and checks her appearance in the mirror. She has the same sunken eyes, the same messy mane of blonde hair. Her curls are harder to manage nowadays since she has such little strength. She really should start taking better care of herself. How can she love herself when nobody else does.

The walk to the bar is usually a lonely one but for some reason, tonight the streets are bustling and crowded. Her stomach twists painfully as the smell of human flesh wafts into her nostrils. She's so focused on controlling her hunger she doesn't see the small child in front of her. The small girl crashes into her and smiles apologetically up at her. She looks at her small frame and thinks about how easily she could crush her bones. With great self restraint she pushes past her, the child whimpers and calls out to her mother.

She reaches the bar and like always it is mostly empty, except for the usual trio that sat perched upon the barstools. At first she was apprehensive of the older male ghouls, but overtime she's come to respect them greatly. Itori stands to greet her with a wide smile, although she can see Yomo behind her with an irked expression on his face.

"You're late." Yomo quipped, setting down his wine glass harshly.

"Won't happen again." she said, shooting a cold look at Yomo. He huffed and took a sip of his blood wine, averting his gaze. As she settled behind the bar, preparing herself for a long boring shift, Uta held his glass out for a refill. She pulls out a bottle of blood wine and pops the cork, the smell washes over her and her stomach growls loudly. Uta chuckles as he tops him off, Yomo looks at her knowingly.

"When was the last time you ate?" Yomo asks with a hint of concern in his voice. She rolls her eyes and pours herself a glass to tide her over.

"Don't worry about it, I've got it under control." she says not meeting the tall ghoul's eyes. He reaches into the deep pockets of his trench coat to produce a neatly wrapped package. He slides the package across the bar without another word. She snatches the parcel and unwraps it with urgancey. Itori chuckles as the young woman scarfs down the bloody hunk of meat.

"Geez Emi take it easy, not like it's going anywhere!" Itori teases as she swirls her wine in her glass. Uta chuckles at Itori's jab and watches Emi wolf down the food, her eyes dark, irises glowing red. Yomo clicks his tongue and frowns at Emi, who was now wiping the corners of her mouth free of blood.

"Always such a lady." Uta sighs wistfully as he holds out a handkerchief for Emi. She accepts the napkin and wipes the remaining blood off her chin daintily in spite of Uta's remark. She then turns to take stock of the alcohol, even though it's rarely used, only kept in case a human patron comes through. Her pointless task is interrupted by the chime of the familiar bell. She turns to see who has entered, her eyes widening at the sight of three familiar faces. Reiner leads the trio into the small space, all of them wearing matching suits. Emi quirked a brow and smirked as they sat down a few seats away from the older ghouls.

"What brings you to this side of town?" Emi inquired as she poured them some blood wine. Emi hadn't seen the younger ghouls in some time, almost a full year now.

"What, we can't come visit our dear friend?" Reiner smirked as he accepted the glass Emi handed to him.

"Bullshit." Emi smiled at him playfully, leaning across the bar.

"You caught me." Reiner chuckled, holding his hands up in surrender.

"So what do you want?" Emi asked, her eyes roaming over the trio, they'd changed a lot.

"We have a job for you if you're interested." Annie spoke up, swirling the blood around the delicate glass.

"Depends on how dirty the work is." Emi sighed, grabbing her own glass to take a sip.

"Oh it's dirty alright." Reiner said with that same smirk that made her want to sock him in that square jaw of his.

"Not interested." The blonde says, going back over to top off Uta who has a large smile on his face as well.

"We can offer you money." Bertlot says, his eyes glued to the bar.

"What do you take me for, a prostitute?" She asks him, her cheeks turned slightly upward. Annie gives her a small chuckle, not into her games that she usually likes to play with the trio.

"Will you do it or not?" Annie asks again, more demanding than before.

"If i do, this will be the last time." she says, looking at the three.

"Fine. This will be a good send off." Bertolt says, finally meeting her eyes.

The young woman nods, and the muscular boy writes out the address she must go too. Even putting his number on the napkin. He hands it to her, she smiles to him and rips off the part with his digits.

__

Halfway across the dazzling city, an annual ball is commencing. Ghouls from all over have come to take part in the feast that Shuu Tsukiyama has prepared. The event is well known and very prestigious, only the richest members of the ghoul society are present. The patrons fill the balconies eagerly awaiting for the main event to begin. Two girls walk into the ring, their hands intertwined, looking eerily similar. They wore pristine white dresses, framing their delicate features. They almost looked like dolls. Everything matched, perfect carbon copies, even their masks were identical. Mainly featuring perfectly hand crafted masquerade masks that matched their dresses. Dainty lace lined the bottom of the mask, falling onto their noses, leaving the lower half of their faces exposed.

Shuu flicked his wrist to signal for the gates to be opened. The crowd cheered loudly, clapping and stomping and shaking the arena. A large man came stumbling out of the darkness, clearly he was owned by one of the patrons. He laughed at the sight of the two ghouls, knowing that he could take them easily. They looked to Shuu, who gave them an encouraging nod. The two broke apart and ran along the outskirts of the arena. The oafish man turned his head sluggishly as he tried to follow the girl's quick movements. He lashed out at the girl to his right, who easily dodged his slow attack. The other rushed in from behind and leapt up onto his broad back, wrapping her legs around his thick neck. He choked and stumbled backwards, his fat fingers clawing at the girl's creamy thighs.

The girl in front of him unleashed her blue bikaku kagune and swept him off his feet.

"No fair!" the man screamed as he threw the girl off his neck. She slid in a puddle of blood, her white dress now stained in the dark liquid. She snarled and unleashed her red and blue bikaku kagune as she rejoined her twin, the two rushing him from the front. He barely blocked the blue kaguned girl as she lashed out at his large belly. The other girl's punch landed successfully and managed to penetrate his vast stomach. The man choked on his own blood as he fell backwards. The twins stood over him, looking up at their master for his order to finish off the man. Shuu nodded proudly and the two launched into the air, their kagunes flashing in the light as they descended to administer the final blow. The crowd cheered loudly as life drained from the man's eyes, fat tear rolling off his cheeks. They intertwined their fingers once more and bowed as the audience gave them a standing ovation.

The pair retreated into the dark underbelly of the building, leaving the loud arena behind them. With an exhilarated chuckle one of the girls pulled the white wig and draped it over her arm.

"That was awesome!" She giggled as she shook the excess blood from the wig.

"It was sloppy." the other snarled as she ripped the wig off and shook out her dirty blonde hair.

"Don't be so uptight, Shuu told us to have fun with this one." she said, placing the wig on a mannequin's head sloppily.

"When you have fun you get careless, and one of these days you'll have too much and get us killed." she reprimanded, reaching to fix the wig and place her own down.

"Lighten up Addy, nobody likes a party pooper." the girl pouted as she pulled her skirt up to inspect the deep gouges that the man had left in her thigh.

"Nobody likes a corpse either, Alice." Addy lashed out, gripping her sister's wrist for her attention. The other girl pulled away as if she'd been burned.

"If I don't have fun then what's the point?" Alice scoffed, smoothing her skirt down.

"Don't tell me you've forgotten. We're in this mess because of grandma, she needs us." Addy says glaring at her sister, not knowing what solicited this behavior.

"It's always about grandma." Alice sighs as she watches some blood drip onto the floor.

"Yeah because she's sick." Addy snapped, her posture tense as she watched her sister.

"Forget about it, I need to go clean up." Alice mumbled as she marched out of the small dressing room to find some bandages. Addy sighed as she watched her disappear into the darkness before turning to inspect her appearance in the mirror.

Alice ran her fingers absentmindedly over the textured cobblestoned walls as she wandered through the basement. She froze when she noticed a dark silhouette standing outside of the bathroom. The shadow pushed off the wall when he noticed the girl's presence.

"Nice work out there." his smooth voice cut through the thick silence. She dared to take a few steps closer to the mysterious boy, thoroughly intrigued.

"Thanks..." she said carefully as she stepped into the dim light that was barely illuminating the corridor.

"Shame you're wasting your talents here." his teeth flashed as his lips peeled back in an endearing smirk. She chuckled nervously and shifted her weight a bit awkwardly.

"Where do you think they'd be more useful?" Alice asked, playing into the stranger's alluring aura.

"There's a group called Aogri, you can do whatever you want when you want to. I think you'd fit in nicely." he spoke slowly as he closed the space between them. Alice stood tall as she tried to not fall into his deep purple eyes.

"You wouldn't even have to wear those silly costumes.If you're interested meet me at the abandoned mall in the 1st ward." he said softly as he brushed a lock of her blond hair off her cheek. Her breath caught in her throat as she dipped her head to hide her blush. He chuckled and dropped his hand, much to her disappointment.

"Alice I-" Addy froze, a roll of gauze in her hand as she took in the scene before her.

"Who are you?" her voice turned hostile at the sight of the stranger.

"The name's Ayato." he replied, stepping away from Alice, who seemed to be in a daze.

"I don't care what your name is, what are you doing with my sister?" she snarled, stepping between the male and her sister protectively."

"He's just offering us a job." Alice said, snagging Addy by the back of her dress.

"I don't give a damn." Addy snarled, still looking at the boy accusingly. Ayato held his hands up in surrender as he took a few healthy steps backwards.

"You know where to find me if you change your mind." he winked at Alice before disappearing into the shadows. Addy huffed and steered Alice into the bathroom to clean her wounds.

[thewritingstar]

Blue Skies: Gruvia/Gray and Gajeel/ Juvia and Gajeel

I just thought this was really cute. Enjoy!

—————

It was official. Gray and Juvia were dating. It was about time and the whole guild was ecstatic. Everyone was shocked that they were the last to go public but Gray liked to take his sweet time and Juvia was just happy that her beloved had the same feelings, finally.

All the girls were congratulating Juvia almost like she had just gotten engaged and the guys just shrugged and carried on.

The biggest change was the threats. Yes, Gray Fullbuster was receiving threats from anyone if he ever happened to hurt the presious water drop. Juvia just laughed and promised that he was fine no matter what.

Even Meredy and Lyon sent a letter that came with a full ass whopping contract and Gray not only lost his cool but his shirt, which Juvia happily found.

“Juvia doesn’t believe them, so don’t worry.” She kissed him on the cheek and made her way to her apartment. Gray smiled and wondered why it took him so long, oh that right, he’s dumb.

The sun started to set and Gray thought it would be best to head home to get some well deserved sleep, but instead of his house, he ended up at the river side with Gajeel. He knew that this would be the toughest threat to miss. After all they were best friends, some even argued brother and sister.

Gray took a seat next to Gajeel and started his plead of why he should date her.

“Look Gajeel I’m not gonna hurt her, I would never try to anyways.” Gray tried to reassure his woman’s best friend but the iron dragon slayer was just quiet.

“I know” he huffed and hung his head low. “I’m not worried about that, I just wanted to thank you.” Now Gray was confused. Never in a million years would Iron Bolts say that.

“Thank me?”

Gajeel looked at the river and picked up a dusty stone, with a swift flick he slipped it along the top of the water, creating a light ripple.

“You make her happy. I’ve known her for so long and I’m proud of the woman she has become. Do you know what it’s like to watch someone who has been in pain for so long to finally find happiness, for a smile to cross their face even for a second?” Gray just starred. He knew they were close but he didn’t realize how protective of Juvia he actually was.

“I’ve seen her in past relationships ,man she was miserable. Guy after guy would leave her just for her rain, they wouldn’t bother to get to know her. But you. You, Gray, the moment after your first fight she came back to our guild and she had the most radiant smile I’ve ever seen, actually it’s the first time i had seen a smile. And you know what she talked about?” Gray just nodded.

“The blue sky. She told me how magnificent it was and that she had never seen such magic before. The poor girl didn’t know what a normal day was like. Then she said something to me, something that has stuck ever since, the reason why I allowed my self to join Fairy Tail. She told me that someone made the rain stop. So naturally I had to meet them.”

It never occurred to Gray that the reason she loved him so much was because the rain went away because of him. Sure that was part of it but he though it was his killer good looks. Now thinking about it, the new idea gave him a new sense of comfort.

Gajeel continued with a faint smile. “Then we walked through those doors and she saw you, and I knew. Everyday she would spill her heart out to me like I was a damn diary, it was annoying at first but she just got happier and happier and I couldn’t damper her spirits. Gray she’s a broken girl, one who has had more pain than pleasure and is probably more comfortably in the rain. I’ve seen the worst of her and it wasn’t pretty, I’ve expericed blood baths that just happened between herself and I have almost lost her. Even if you did hurt her, she would never hate you, the blue sky is here to stay because of you, I just hope you enjoy it as much as her.”

Another stone hit the water.

“That being said, I will break your face if you do hurt her. But I know you won’t” he patted Gray on the back and stood up.

“I’ll take your word for it” Gray laughed. They stood in silence for what seemed like an eternity and then parted to their homes.

The next morning Juvia woke with a bright smile, something was happily getting used to.

“Another blue sky.” She whispered.

After changing into her casually blue dress, she couldn’t wait to get to the guild to see her beloved, she was taking the girls advice and holding in her burst of affection because after all she had won and didn’t have any love rivals, she also told Lucy she was joking with the rival thing towards the beginning of their relationship.

Before getting to the guild hall, she stopped at a small coffee shop. It was Saturday and that meant it was Juvia and Gajeels morning meet up, something they had been doing for years.

“Good morning Gajeel.” Juvia smiled and grabbed the hot coco he already ordered for her.

He gave her a smile and ruffled her hair and earned himself a slight slap on the arm.

“Hi rain woman. Another blue sky huh? Guess they gonna stay since Ice boy is with you now” She just laughed and playful hit is shoulder again.

“Yes it’s true Juvia is happier now but you were Juvias first blue sky.” Gajeel turned his head towards her.

“What? I thought you never seen a blue sky until popsicle?”

“Although that’s true, Juvias rain lighten rapidly when she became best friends with you. That’s why you coming to Fairy Tail with me was so important, you helped lighten the rain and for that Juvia is thankful.”

“You made me a better man Juvia.” Together they sat enjoying their morning coffee and coco. Two best friends who were each other’s family and always made the sun come out.

“Now Gajeel, I wanna know when your planning on marrying Levy?” And with that their presious moment was replace with a laugh and push of the shoulder that landed Juvia on the floor, but her laughing continued anyways.

Across town Gray smiled up at the vibrant blue sky. He couldn’t remember the last time he had be this happy. He then came to the conclusion that Juvia was his blue sky.

————

Hoped you all enjoyed and look it’s a happy one :)

[stephenjaymorrisblog]

Love In Hell

By Stephen Jay Morris

Monday, February 25, 2019

©Scientific Morality

 It was the Summer of ‘69 and I was all of 15 years old. Life, at that point, had become a major exploration trip.  I’ve laid out the details of that summer in my manuscript entitled, “Hidden in the Rotunda.”  This article focuses on one Monday, that of July 28, 1969.

 I went to my first Love In at Griffith Park, which took place at the popular “Merry-Go-Round” area, in 1969.  During the Summer of Love, back in 1967, there had been a Love In at this exact location.  By that time, the term “Love In” was laughably passé.  About 500 people had shown up, clad in their head shop-slash-thrift shop, chic clothing, posing for the news media.  The gathering was comprised mostly of art fart types who hadn’t had enough time to grow their hair long.  But some of them had long sideburns and the females were sporting Carnaby Street fashions on their svelte, white bodies.  Groovy, baby!  

A couple of years later—1969—the unwashed masses amassed in this hilly, city park.  Not only did the so-called Hippies show up, but there were also Bikers, Chicano gang bangers, homeless people, Krishna devotees, drum circle freaks, Anti War activists, Black Panthers, and New Left activists.  It was an outdoor party and it was freaking me out, man!  Oh, yes—the pigs (cops) showed up in full riot dress.

I don’t recall how I initially found out about this event. Maybe it was through an ad in the L.A. Free Press, or a friend had told me about it.  In any case, I went.  It was summer vacation and what better way to spend it than by going to my very first Love In!?  I asked my friend, Philip, if he wanted to go, but his parents said “No!”  My parents?  I just told my mom I was going to visit my friend and I’d be back in time for dinner. What I didn’t tell her was that I’d be with a few thousand friends!  My dad, well he couldn’t give a rat’s ass about what I did on vacation.  Matter of fact, the longer I stayed out of the house, the happier he was; shit breath didn’t love me at all.  Only my mom cared.

It was mild for a summer day; the temperature topped out at 71 degrees.  One thing I hated about summer in L.A. was the humidity.  It was typically cold in the morning, so you’d end up having to carry your jacket around almost all day.  I remember wearing a work shirt that once belonged to my grandfather. In knew my dad resented me for wearing it, but he never said anything.  Go figure.

I left my house on Martel Avenue.  Looking north to the Hollywood Hills, there was the familiar, brown haze of smog.  In the wintertime and early spring, and sometimes in autumn, the view of the hills was crystal clear.  Once, a few years earlier, I saw snowcaps on those hills, just after a rainstorm.

I walked eastward down Beverly Boulevard toward La Brea.  I was planning to take the public bus to the event, using my student discount card.  I wore my Levi’s jeans, a black Tee shirt, and black deck shoes.  I’d put on boxer shorts as well, although a lot of “hip kids” didn’t wear underwear.  I had my grandfathers work shirt on over my Tee shirt.

Now on weekends, buses kept different schedules than they did on weekdays.  They came just once every hour and stopped running at midnight.  By then, the oil companies had ruined public transportation in Los Angeles.  I waited and waited on the northeast corner of Beverly and La Brea.  Four gas stations flanked the intersection:  Texaco, Chevron, Exxon, and Gulf.  L.A. was indeed a “car town.”

Hitch hiking was the standard “hip” mode of transportation. It was viewed as an expression of collective sharing among your brothers and sisters; just like sharing a jug of wine or a joint.  Taken to the extreme, there was the sharing of your boyfriend or girlfriend in the name of “Free Love.”  As a rule, I didn’t hitch hike much.  Middle-aged perverts who wanted to suck my cock would often pick me up.  On the other hand, I didn’t want to wait another hour for a bus, so I stuck out my thumb and hoped for somebody who was heading for the same destination as I was.

Ten minutes later, a 1949 VW Beetle ambled up the street toward me, a trail of smoke behind it.  At the time, a lot of young people painted their VW bugs with colorful floral designs and symbols, such as the Peace sign.  Well, this little car was a real wreck!  It looked like it had been entered into and ejected from a demolition derby.  One taillight was cracked, a door was taped up, and the paint was peeling with age.  The body was covered in dents.

But, you know what they say:   “Beggars can’t be choosers!”

The door opened and the driver asked, “Griffith Park Love In?”

I said, “Yep!”

He jubilantly replied, “Get in!”

A passenger closed the door behind me.  The driver looked like a college professor from the 80’s. He was a white guy in his 40’s with shaggy, curly hair and an unshaven face; his specs sat halfway down his nose. The radio was on; a vintage A.M. model with one speaker.  It was tuned in to some Top 40s station; a teenybopper song was playing.  I think it was “Baby I Love You.”  When it ended, the DJ announced loudly, “That was Andy Kim! Going up the charts like a shooting star!  Now the news!  Headlines:  Nixon says 25,000 troops will be withdrawn out of Vietnam in a couple of days!”

What I hated about VW Beetles was that noisy, sputtering engine and the smell of gasoline.  I prayed we’d get to our destination soon, before I got asphyxiated! Thank Buddha, somebody lit up a doobie, which effectively covered up the gas odor.  Hey, I would have been happy if somebody had simply burned some incense!

Someone from the back seat addressed the driver, “Hey, Dean! Are you going to that Woodstock Arts and Crafts festival?”

He blissfully replied, “Hell, yeah. I’m going!”

I asked, “What’s Woodstock?”

He laughed and answered, “Only the biggest concert in the history of humanity!  It is going to be bigger than the Monterey Pop Festival two years ago.  I heard the Beatles are showing up!”

Somebody said from the back seat, “I heard the Stones and Dylan are coming, too!”

I asked, “Where is this going to take place?”

“Upstate New York!”

I replied, “Oh.”  I thought to myself, ‘They’ll be lucky to get Joni Mitchell to play at an arts and craft festival.  Whenever I think of an arts and craft festival, I think of the Renaissance Fair. My dad took the family to that fair once and it reminded me of an outdoor mental institution.  No thanks!’

Driving south on Los Feliz Boulevard reminded one of how poor they are.  There were these giant mansions built in the 1930’s, worth millions upon millions of dollars!  Even the Art Deco apartment buildings looked luxurious.

Finally, upon arriving at the Mulholland Memorial Fountain, I knew we’d arrived at the entrance to Griffith Park.  Just a right turn on Crystal Springs Drive and then north to the park.

Today, though, was different.  For the first time since I’d driven there with my parents, there was a traffic jam.  Lines upon lines of vehicles, of all different shapes and kinds, were backed up to Los Feliz.  Those inside were mostly collage-aged kids, smoking grass and banging on tambourines. Crystal Spring Drive was a two-lane road next to the side of a hill, a distance of about a mile and a half to our destination, the Merry-Go-Round.  At a grueling 10 miles an hour, it took us about 25 minutes to get there!  It was 11:35 a.m.

Only three bands were scheduled to play the Love In. They were “Ace of Cups” (stupid name), “Sons of Chaplin,” and the “Jefferson Airplane.”  In December that year, I would see The Airplane perform at Altamont Speedway’s tragically-iconic, free concert in Northern California.

Behind the Merry-Go-Round, there was a small meadow in which hundreds, if not thousands of people, had gathered.  An area had been set aside where the band would play; not an elevated stage or platform, just open, flat ground.  This area was on an incline, so mostly people who located themselves far from it could see the bands.  All of this was set up behind the public bathroom building.

I walked alone among the throngs of smelly Baby Boomers. There were peddlers selling everything—and I mean everything!  I came across one member of the Black Panther Party selling his party’s tabloid, “The Black Panther.”  I’m glad for that; all of the misinformation I’d been told was dispelled later that night.

Cops were strolling among the crowd.  There were some kids walking around butt naked. This was supposed to be for making a political statement.  If you’d asked me, I’d have said it was just good old fashioned expositionism!  If you’d seen their bodies, you’d have hoped they were arrested!  A cop would yell to one nude dude, “Hey!  Cover up or you will get busted for indecent exposure!”  The lawbreaker quickly tied a shirt around his waist. As soon as the fuzz left the area, he got naked again.  It was the same thing with pot, which was still illegal in those days.  Some cops would tell a pot smoker, “Put that stuff away or I will have to run you in!”  Overall, the cops wanted to avoid any rioting.

The Chicano gangs were drunk on wine and barbiturates, or “Reds.”  The Bikers stood by their Harley Davidsons while they got drunk on beer.  The more they drank, the more pugnacious they got.  Fights broke out everywhere.  Ultimately, the event was more like a “hate in” than a Love In. What I could never understand was why Bikers attended every Love In or Antiwar protest if they hated Hippies so much! I suppose it was for the dope and the chicks.

The Hippies were just toking on weed and passing around gallon bottles of Red Mountain wine.  Sharing like this was a sure way of getting Hepatitis C.  I avoided the ritual as much as possible.  The Hippie chicks had this proclivity of dancing by themselves.  They looked like blow up dolls in the wind.  Alas, everybody was compelled to express themselves in those days.  It was a great argument for Fascism.  

Oh, there was music��sort of…kind of.  Two bands were playing your generic twelve-bar blues. Then came the Airplane.  But, every song they attempted to play was stopped in the middle.  Why? Because the sound system sucked shit!

I got bored and left.  As I looked at the crowd for the last time, I thought, ‘This is not going to last.  Most of these kids will get married and have kids financed by their careers.  By the 1980’s, they will become Republicans.’  I wish I’d written that down.  Who is going to believe I ever had those thoughts?  No one.

I took a bus home, had dinner, and went into my room. I read “The Black Panther.”

I’ll say this, it was the most interesting Monday I’d ever had.  

[zamancollective]

Mazel Meh

 By Jane Paknia

Illustration by Sophie Levy

“Abby said your Bat Mitzvah wasn’t fun.”

We were in the cafeteria, waiting for the first bell to ring. I was in seventh grade, and it was the Monday after December 2nd, the morning after the Sunday I was officially made a Jewish woman.

I felt very small.

The day before, my mom had let me put on my own makeup. I chose to blacken my waterline, gloss my lips, coat my eyelashes. I had never worn makeup before then, aside from costume makeup for school plays. I wore a gold dress I had picked myself, matching glittery shoes, pantyhose, and professionally-styled hair. All of that preparation alleviated some of my confusion about the major milestone that was about to take place because physically I wasn’t feeling close to womanly. My voice was high-pitched, my cheeks still had the fullness of youth. But yes, I was about to be a woman, even if the mirror would argue otherwise. Ok.

I had spent a few months preparing specifically for the occasion, but my whole life counted as preparation. The years leading up to it were established as pre-Bat Mitzvah, and my life after it would be post-Bat Mitzvah, until a wedding. My Hebrew reading was developed over years of practicing and davening every Sunday morning, and I had attended synagogue services with my family as many Saturdays as our schedules allowed. My childhood best friend, who had since moved to Norway, declared that she’d fly in to be there. I had grown up understanding the Bat Mitzvah as one of the fundamental events in Jewish life, and consequently in my own. The pieces were all there, and even though I didn’t feel very mature, I was mature enough to accept the responsibility. If not for myself, it was for my parents. My mom is a Ramaz girl from Bayside, Queens, and my dad’s Mizrahi Judaism is a defining characteristic of his identity.

The day came, and the guests started arriving. It was exciting to see everyone, people who I knew cared about my life and were happy to partake in such a meaningful, Jane-oriented event. I was elated, I was grateful. Then came time for the service. My grandparents, already crying, headed through the great wooden doors to the shul. Smiling cousins followed, mixed in with the boys and girls in my grade, along with best friends, my brother, my parents. But once I walked in, I remembered with a jolt that my orthodox synagogue required separate seating. I saw the girls in cute dresses do double takes. I saw the few boys I had invited (one of whom I had a huge, obsessive, middle school crush on) confused that they couldn’t sit with their friends. Suddenly, I felt guilt. Guilt that the kids who came from my school would have to sit on opposite sides here and nowhere else, and guilt that they would have to sit through a service in a language they couldn’t understand, couldn’t even feel satisfaction in reading. The dread subsided when I made eye contact with my parents. I stepped up on the stool I needed to reach the bima and began with an introduction, welcoming the people who had taken the time to join in on my special day. Next was the service.

My grandmother always cried throughout the entire duration of lifetime events, my best friends were amazed to see me accomplishing something I had worked so hard on, and my distant family members were pleased to hear my singing voice that one came to me after the service to commend me, exclaiming “Broadway girl!!”

I sensed that many of my school friends spaced out for the service part, awaiting the party that was to follow. I wished I could warn them that it wouldn’t be the same as the other ones they had been to. Much of my extended family was attending, and my parents were both uncomfortable with the ostentatious, Gatsby-esque festivities that many Bat Mitzvahs had come to be associated with.

My Bat Mitzvah was a time to connect with people I loved if not only a time to claim my maturity as a Jewish woman, and I spent a significant portion of the night fretting over my classmates and how much they were enjoying the party. I was scared that they were judging me, rewarding me social credit based on everything but the part that I had prepared for - and that mattered to 12-year-old me. Did everyone on my invite list care about my growth and hard work? Maybe not. Did I love them the way I loved my best friend and my cousins and my brother? Maybe not. But their opinion felt like the end-all-be-all of my middle school happiness.

Monday came. My fears weren’t groundless anymore, as I learned that people really were judging the quality of my party and denouncing it. It was confirmed that Bat Mitzvahs were part of a larger social structure, of middle school popularity and reputation. And I had failed—one of the figureheads of popularity in my grade had ruled that mine was not fun. Not worth going to. Not important. The competition was unfair. Many parents in my town afforded clubby extravaganzas for their children. The kids at one party a month earlier had done a Harlem Shake video. I wasn’t there. I couldn’t compete with my lame temple and my traditional service and my boring party. On that Monday morning, it stung. I was mad at my parents for not giving me what I needed to achieve the social acceptance I craved at the time. I was ashamed of my orthodox synagogue. I didn’t feel like anything about my Jewish identity mattered, and the bitterness lingered, spiking when I’d hear about or attend Bat Mitzvahs that my classmates praised.

Thankfully, a lot has changed. Looking back from where I am today, I find it hilarious that I cared about the ‘ruling’ of a few kids I used to know. I am significantly prouder of my Jewish identity and confident enough to accept the misguided critique of seventh graders as what it was: the misguided critique of seventh graders.

I don’t remember how I danced at my party, or what music we played, although I do recall requesting Starships by Nicki Minaj. If I didn’t check the huge book of signatures and notes I got to keep after the event, I wouldn’t even be able to recall the distant friends whom I cared so much about impressing at the time. In the end, what I internalized from that day was the support from my family, my close friends, teachers, and pride in myself for accomplishing something that took years of dedication and work. I know I wasn’t physically or emotionally grown, but I was proud to have earned a place amongst the matriarchs in my family whom I loved and respected.

I don’t see myself as totally mature quite yet, but I’m definitely much farther along from where I was at 12 years old. And I can say without hesitation, in the most respectful way possible, that I don’t care at all what Abby thought.

[chenziee]

Do you have any ereri fic recommandation? I read the 6th ward yesterday (and I'm still slowly moving on, it was so sad ;-; but in a weird way it made me accept Sasha's death in the manga more easily, and it's all good), so preferably a long one please. Thank you for being awesome!

Aaahh, thank you ;__;

Hmm, I have a few fic recs but I’m not sure what you have and haven’t read so I’ll just throw in whatever has stuck with me through all these years and I can think of off the top of my head meaning these might be fics that have been recced a million times over already because they are good. If you want more/something else, let me know :)(On that note, I’d like to direct you to @fuckyeahererifanfic who have a large and beautifully categorized database of ereri fic to fit any specific needs

I’m only going to link COMPLETED fics, because I tend to only read those AND I have a particular track record of fics being abandonded after I pick them up and now have trust issues but if you want some in-progress fics, I can rec some too.

The Little Titan Cafe by @pocketsizedtitan (66k words): Modern, coffee shop AU and the cutest thing.

Just another cliche AU in which Eren works as a barista in his mother’s café, specializing in latte art. And then there’s Levi, who’s not exactly your typical patron, because, well, he’s blunt and rude (which Eren supposes isn’t that much different from regular customers) but mostly he just confuses Eren’s poor little homosexual heart. 

Nuthatch (31k words) and the sequel Sparrow (116k words) by @sugarplum-senpai Canonverse. Pining and slow burn at it’s finest. All I’m going to say about it.

After the war has ended, Levi finds himself thrown into coerced retirement. With nothing but time on his hands, he buys an old house, and throws himself into renovation work to fulfill himself an old, almost forgotten dream: opening a tea shop. If only he could forget about expressive, green eyes and a smile like sunshine. Luckily, he’s still got Hanji.

[Prequel to “Sparrow”]

After the war has ended, Eren’s life is finally good. He’s seen the ocean, is back at HQ where he trains the new Scouts, and he has dinner with Levi every single night. So yes. Things are just as well.

[Sequel to Nuthatch | can be read as stand-alone work]

The Old Boat House by @oppa86oppa (102k words): Modern/fantasy AU, Levi is a merman (fitting to read during mermay no?) Has some andgst and some fluff, a bit of everything, really.

One night after Eren and his friends share a bottle of whisky, two bottles of whatever Annie brought and a couple of ghost stories, they walk the path along the gravel road, through the wheat field and past the small forest and stumble upon the old boat house. Inside they find something that’s sleeping on the bottom of the lake, someone clearly not human. One of them comes up with the idea they should catch it, probably fucking Jean, and in their surprise they actually succeed. However, in mere seconds the situation is suddenly turned completely upside down.

Eren doesn’t fall into the water, he doesn’t jump, he’s pulled down.

Art of War by catsonfire(53k words): Modern AU, fluff and comedy

Noisy neighbors, nursling dinosaurs, satanic box cutters, shitty convenience store management, the word ‘fuck’, hereditary (but not really) homosexuality, beer and ramen, pennies, truckstops, strippers, closets, semi-public defacing, rings, house parties, “recreational” drug use, accidental rendezvous, toxic stew (don’t eat the stew), nice abs, housewives–batteries not included, over-educational movie sessions, copious domesticity, kittens named after landlords, a shit joke at participating locations, and many, many happy endings.A modern AU in which Eren moves into the apartment directly above Levi’s.

Do you want me or do you want me dead? by fmaloser (82k words): Modern not-your-typical-high-school AU. A personal favourite of mine and the amount of kudos is a sacrilage. Although yes, it’s dark. There is blood and gore. The relationship they have is not healthy. Lots of angst. Boys are both broken and break other peoples’ bones, but I love them for it. (Read the tags before reading the fic.)

It’s decided that the school douchebag, Levi, needs a tutor to help get his grades back up. It’s also decided that high school senior, Eren, is perfect for the job.At first, the two hate each other. But after their pasts come back to bite them in the ass, they realize that maybe that’s not the case.

An Unlikely Alliance by @monsoondownpour (117k words) Arranged Marriage Between Waring Kingdoms AU. Everything you want from a good fic.

When Scouting Legions main trading partner, Wall Maria, is experiencing economic strain from constant attacks by the neighboring kingdom Titan, the leaders of the two nations come to an agreement: Scouting Legion will provide military protection in exchange for land and financial aid for the still growing nation.Their new alliance will be sealed with the union of King Jaegar’s son Eren to the Scouting legions strongest soldier, Lance Corporal Levi. But how will the cold, impassive soldier warm to his new husband, who is far from the weak, spoiled princess he was expecting?

Witch’s Vein and Bloodstains by @monsoondownpour (38k words) Fantasy AU. Not that long but so beautifully written it’s unreal. The atmosphere and how it’s delivered is honestly something I aspire to.

In a land of sentient forests and unpredictable magic, it is never wise to venture far without a witch.  

The Survey Corps is in dire need of a replacement after a tragic accident took Ilse’s life in a quest gone horribly wrong. Eren might not be what anyone expected, but he has raw talent and curious allure that even Captain Levi can’t deny. When circumstances conspire to pit the squad against the same adversary that took Ilse barely a year ago, will they be able to handle the challenge a second time round?

Fallen Star @monsoondownpour (31k words) Modern AU. Lots of angst. Actually it’s mostly angst because even the ridiculously fluffy parts hurt. (But spoiler: happy ending, yay!)

Detective Levi Ackerman had his life in order; a steady job he enjoyed, a close circle of friends, and a spitfire little sister who was all the family he could ever want or need. His world was a simple one until ballet prodigy Eren Jaeger stumbled into it.Someone like Eren didn’t belong in his world.Now he wasn’t sure how he would live without him.

Lists by Trick_Fantasy (72k words) College AU. Can be highly triggering for anxiety, there is emotional manipulation, and VERY toxic friendships. It’s about learning to get past all of that. Read at own risk. But it’s an amazing fic and will forever be one of my favourites.

The story of Levi (“Why bother trying to make friends when you can learn to control people instead?”) and Eren (“Because you can control people better when they think that they’re your friends. They don’t even know they’re being manipulated.”) coping with social interaction at college in their own different ways.

Augenfresser by @foxicology (75k words) Modern/Fantasy AU. Horror/Thriller. Deals with heavy stuff, the ending is up for interpretation and known to fuck people up. Be warned.

Monsters did not like to hide under beds, as his father had told him. No; he found the monster hiding in his closet.

Love.exe by @cofferi (70k words) Modern AU. Finishing off with more fluff/comedy so I don’t seem like such a psycho. Definitely a fun read.

All Levi wants to do is drink tea, run his goddamn convenience store, and not have to deal with this kid who keeps coming in to leech his wifi bringing down high-end corporations.

Also literally anything by @sciencefictioness is a sure bet. Just saying.

Also going to take the oppotunity to throw in my own AO3 because why the hell not (although it’s mostly oneshots).

I’m very sure I’m missing some amazing fics and authors but this is what I could think off at 1AM and not make it a mile long post. I hope you find something you haven’t read and that you enjoy these gems anon :)

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Also I can’t help but throw this fic in:

Tinsel Town by TheWonderYears (33k words) Modern AU. Psychotic-murder-boyfriends AU. Seriously. It’s very graphic. Blood, gore, torture, all the fun stuff. I love it. My ultimate fave, always and forever.

There’s Definitely Something In The Water.

Aaaand there goes my ‘I’m not a psycho’ claim.

[gainerstories]

Holiday Heft: Thanksgiving

Click here to read prior chapters

I woke up Thanksgiving morning to find myself grinding my morning wood into my pillow on the verge of orgasm. This had become a fairly normal occurrence since I moved back home. I hadn’t gotten laid for almost three months. This was due to various reasons. Admittedly, I had been gaining a good deal of weight living with my family over the Holidays. A few days prior I weighed in at 177 pounds which was an all time high for me. I was living in denial of the weight gain, and kept telling myself that getting fat wasn’t as bad as relapsing. There was no question that food became my substitute for substances. Another contributing factor was that I was living a much more sedentary life. I had picked up writing again, which I stopped doing once I graduated college. Back in my days as a creative writing major, I would produce work while chain smoking and sipping whiskey; nowadays I kept a bag of chocolate chips and a glass of milk next to my computer. In fact, I was blowing through about a bag or two a week. That shit was better than crack. The bright side was that my writing had never been better. I was starting to feel like the person I had been before I started partying.

Needles to say, the changes in my appearance were becoming a bit noticeable. There was no doubt I was achieving dad bod status. My gut was spilling over the waist band of all my pants and I even had the soft curve of love handles developing. My thighs and ass thickened up a bit and a double chin became the bane of my existence. Every time I broke a sweat, which, admittedly wasn’t very often, the roll on my neck became sticky and claustrophobic. It was a constant reminder that my weight was snowballing. I also completely gave up on tanning and body grooming. I figured it was acceptable to be pale in the winter. I rarely shaved my face, maybe once a week if I could be bothered. My cheeks were almost constantly scruffy and unkempt. In addition, I had grown quite a bush above my cock, but who cared if I wasn’t getting laid?

I was becoming increasingly embarrassed of my rapid weight gain and even tried to hide it from my parents. All my tees had become pretty tight and accentuated the fact that I now wobbled when I walked. I began to exclusively wear sweatpants and sweatshirts to hide this fact. Plus, I rarely left the house and when I did it was usually to pick up food, so I didn’t see the point in squeezing into uncomfortable jeans that barely fit. In a further attempt to hide my unbridled gluttony, I would sneak to the trash can in the middle of the night to throw away the wad of fast food bags and candy wrappers that amassed each day. The only thing I couldn’t hide was this pesky double chin.

My cock was positively throbbing as it pressed into my pillow. I had to take care of it before I started my day. The problem was that my stomach was growling and I knew that my nut wouldn’t be satisfactory if I wasn’t at least partially satiated. I knew I had to have a snack somewhere in my room. Coincidentally enough, there was a half eaten king size Twix next to my bed. I shoved the rest in my mouth and went to town. It didn’t take long before my body was convulsing in the throws of orgasm, causing my the layer of fat over my body to wiggle like a jello mold. After I came I threw gulped down some chocolate chips and dozed off for a few minutes. When I awoke, cum was crusted into my body hair. I didn’t bother washing it off and threw on some sweats. I walked into the living room and my mom was already prepping for Thanksgiving dinner.

“Levi, I’m glad you’re up. Can you and Emily fetch a few things from the grocery store for me? Here’s a list.”

I grabbed the list and we headed out. On the drive Emily informed me that multiple guests would be joining us this year. Our parents had a friend coming over and Emily’s two friends were coming: Jeremy and Violeta. She informed me that Jeremy was a cute and single gay. I shrugged off her implications but was secretly filled with excitement at the prospect of getting laid. Hopefully he was a top because I needed some dick.

When we returned home I immediately began trying on outfits. If I wanted to get fucked I needed to look the part. I squeezed into the only pair of pants I thought would fit: black corduroys that barely buttoned. All of my button ups were obscenely tight. Sure, I could get them on, but it looked like I hadn’t gone shopping in twenty pounds— which was the truth. T-shirts were just as unbecoming. It’s not that I was even that fat, but my wardrobe consisted of clothes that were intended to be skin tight forty pounds ago. I went to Emily and asked for her advice. There was no way I could wear any of my clothes and I didn’t have time to go to the store.

“Wow big bro is really going through his second growth spurt huh?” She laughed. “I actually didn’t realize you were getting so puffy underneath those oversized hoodies.”

“I get it, I’m fat, now can you help me figure something out please? People are gonna be arriving in a couple hours and I wanna look decent.”

“Okay okay,” she giggled, “why don’t you just throw one of dad’s old sweaters over that button up?”

“Brilliant. Thank you!”

I ran off to my dads closet to rummage through his sweaters. There was no hiding my little spare tire, but I did find a sweater that cloaked it for the most part. The next two hours I spent nervously fussing over my appearance and refusing to eat. The not eating part was particularly difficult given all the delicious smells wafting about as well as the fact that snacking had become my new stress relief. I shaved my face to discover my double chin was bigger than I thought. Then I shaved my junk to realize that I had gained weight down there as well. I didn’t even know that your pubic area could get fat, but there was no arguing the appearance of a noticeable bit of padding above my cock. My self esteem was dwindling and I began to lose hope I would ever have sex again. I poured a glass of eggnog to calm my nerves.

All of the guests arrived early, so we broke out the spiked cider and had an impromptu mixer while my parents toiled away in the kitchen. I stuck to my eggnog. Jeremy arrived and was unexpectedly attractive. I was intimidated. Back when I was in peak form, I would’ve been all over him. Jeremy was a bit taller than me, maybe six foot? He was slim with broad shoulders and a chiseled jaw that was covered in the perfect amount of dark brown scruff. His hair was a mop of curls. Although he was a bit more pale than what I usually go for, these were desperate times. Plus, despite his slender frame, he appeared well endowed in all arenas. That is, he had both a bubble butt and a healthy bulge between his legs.

We got to chatting and I was pleasantly surprised to find he was quite flirtatious. However, I couldn’t discern whether he was a top or bottom. You see, I was a strict bottom and there was no way that was ever going to change. Regardless of his preference, I figured there was no harm in flirting.

After about 45 minutes of endless chatter, we ended up getting to know each other fairly well. By the time dinner was served, I was delirious with hunger, for food and for Jeremy. I was becoming increasingly forward with him and my advances were well received. Jeremy touched my arm multiple times and even called me “cute” after I made a self deprecating joke about my weight. When he sat down next to me for dinner, I knew I’d be able to seal the deal.

The problem was that I was absolutely starving, but didn’t want to pig out in front of this cutie. My first plate of food was decidedly sparse. I ate slowly while making conversation with Jeremy, but couldn’t deny the ache in my stomach for more food. I paced myself with the rest of the table and held back when everyone went in for seconds.

“Don’t tell me you’re full already?” Said Jeremy.

I was taken a back and fumbled for words, “I uh um, yeah, I’m uh tryna cut back.”

“Aw c’mon it’s Thanksgiving,” Jeremy responded before placing his hand on my thigh and whispering, “Plus, I like a man who can eat.”

His hand gently traced the inside seam of my pants and up to my crotch. I didn’t know what was happening but I knew that it felt good. Without thinking, I piled my plate high with food and poured Jeremy a healthy glass of red wine.

“That’s more like it,” winked the cute twink.

Something clicked inside of me after that. It was as though my brain had acquiesced to the physical pleasures I was experiencing. The sensations of delicious foods in my mouth and the supple hand massaging my cock was all that I cared about. It was a strange sort of ecstasy that left me hungry for more than just food; I wanted Jeremy’s ass on my lips too. Before I knew it dinner was coming to a close, several slices of pie were packed in my belly, and me and Jeremy were going for a walk.

“Fuck, I’m so full I can’t believe I’m actually moving right now,” I complained.

“Well if you want, we could go for a cruise in my car instead?” Suggested Jeremy.

We got into Jeremy’s small SUV and drove to a look out spot nearby. I craved his body immensely and within minutes I was cupping his sharp jawbone to pull him in for a kiss. His kissed me softly and placed one hand on my swollen midsection. As we began to make out our hands slid into each other’s shirts. He immediately grabbed my love handle with a strong grip. Strangely, instead of shrinking from embarrassment I felt even bolder. I lifted him up a bit and slid my hand into his pants to grab a meaty handful of ass. He let out a slight moan and suggested we move to the backseat.

We crawled back and removed our pants. I placed Jeremy on his back, lubed up my hole with spit and mounted his cock. I bounced twice on his girthy member and felt the food inside my distended stomach slosh around. The sensation was very uncomfortable and gave way to a stomach ache. Jeremy responded by flipping me onto my back. My dick pressed into my belly, leaving an indentation in the pool of flab. Jeremy took my cock in his mouth and pushed back my fat, squeezing it with both hands.

“I know what you want, daddy,” he said.

Jeremy sat up and began to slide my cock into his ass. This was exactly what I wanted. I’d never wanted to fuck someone like this before. I wanted to blast this twink’s hole full of my jizz. He began to bounce on my cock as I gripped his bubble butt and he gripped my paunch. Our pace began to quicken and I began to slam his ass onto me. The car windows steamed over as Jeremy moaned uncontrollably.

“Fuck me. Fuck me daddy.”

Every time he said daddy I pushed my cock in as deep as it would go. I was getting so worked up that I began doing all the work. Jeremy clung to my body with his face in my chubby neck while I pounded away at his hole. Our bodies were covered in sweat, and his bony form sunk into my softness. He grinded his huge cock into my belly as I blasted his hole. His body began tensed as I hit his G-spot and I knew an orgasm was imminent.

“Fuck!” He yelled. “Come in me you fat fuck!”

I could feel his cock begin to pump out semen in between our writhing bodies. I couldn’t take it any longer and also began to nut inside him. My orgasm seemed to last forever as my vision went blurry.

Glued together with come and sweat, we laid motionless and caught our breath for several minutes.

“That’s was great,” said Jeremy. “I haven’t been fucked like that in a long time.”

“That’s funny because I’m a bottom. This was only my second time topping.”

“No way. A hot dad like you should be plowing boys left and right.”

“I mean, I know I’ve plumped up a bit but I’ve never really thought of myself as the dad-type.”

“Honey,” Jeremy place a hand on my stomach and gave it a jiggle, “with these curves and this body hair... you’re at peak dadness. You should embrace it. All the boys are chasing dadbods now.”

“Is that so?” I replied.

[freedomschildren23]

Family tales

My father always loved to tell stories aboutancestors of his grandfather and his father before him. These were mostly humorousstories. I can still remember his laughter when he got to the punchline of a story, or what he thought was the funniest part. Being a child with ADD that went undiagnosed or treated in those days, my attention span to sit down and listen to one of the stories was limited but I picked up bits and pieces. I do remember the last story he told me before he passed away. I was glued to my seat absorbing every word.

At the time, his voice was affected by Parkinson’s disease. His voice was low and barely audible. It was an effort for him to talk and for me to hear what he was saying. There is little doubt in my mind that theevents that occurred in the winter of 1865 are true.

There has been a sawmill in my family for several generations in Guysborough County. The nearest town of Sherbrookewas a bustling place during the gold rush.My quadruple great grandfather was Levi Mason who came from a family of devout Protestants.

It had been a hard winter and supplies were dwindling. His young daughter was sickly and needed some medicine. He needed to go to Sherbrooke for supplies. A journey that could be made in 30 minutes today took between 3 to 4 hours back then using an ox and a cart. He set out early one morning.

After completing his chores, including the purchase of sweets for his children, Levi decided to take a walk around to get the news.

As he was passing by a group of men one of them called out him. “Are you here for the hanging?” He wondered what terrible crime must’ve been committed.

"No,” he said. “This is the first I’m hearing of it. Who is being hanged and why?” They pointed towards the jail and said go see for yourself.

Levi made his way over closer to the jail to have a look at this hardened criminal that they were about to hang. A crowd had assembled.

He heard bits and pieces of the story. The crowd were made up of sympathizers and an equal number who condemned the actions of the accused. He squeezed through the crowd to have a closer look. It was just at lunchtime and the jailer was taking the prisoner his last meal. Whatever it was it smelled gruesome.

Members of the crowd closest to the jail we’re jeering and mocking the prisoner who was just a boy of 16 or 17, not much older than his own son, Joe.

He was dark skinned and blended into the shadows of his cell. The guards decided to put on a show and brought him out into the yard where everyone could see him.

Levi was shocked to see the poor fellows back where it been whipped repeatedly. They dragged him out and strapped him to a post where they proceeded to try to force him to eat the slop they had brought him for a last meal.

The guard announced there was to be a postponement of the execution. That needed to question the young man furtheras they believed the man had accomplices. They wanted to find out where the friends of the accused might be located.

“Damn Yanks,” thought Levi. The crowd started to disperse a little realizing they were not going to see a death today. As they left Levi inched closer to the accused. Compassion filled his heart. He walked over to the young man and he said that he was sorry for him and that he would be back to help him.

He reached into his pocket for some of the sweet treats, including a piece of jerky thathe had purchased for his children. He gave them to the criminal when the guards were not looking.

Levi noticed a glimmer of hope in the young man’s eyes.

The guards noticed Levi and issued him a stern warning. They told him to leave immediately as the prisoner was dangerousor else he might be strapped to the pole next to the accused.

The Mason clan did not respond well to threats. Those were fighting words.

Levi gave the guards the impression he was complying. He went back to his ox and made the trek back home.

He arrived back home around three in the afternoon. The chances of making it back to Sherbrooke before night fall were slim. He gathered up some tools from the mill that he would need to break into the jail as he planned to set the young man free. He asked his wife to gather up some things the young man would need to survive in the wilds of Nova Scotia in the winter. She quickly put together a bag which included fresh bread, a jug of water and a few other odds and ends. And one more thing: a couple of bottles of his brother’s homemade moonshine!

He had a quick bite to eat and headed back to Sherbrooke. His wife was concerned but she knew that Levi always did the right thing. He had kindness enough for his family, friends and complete strangers.

“Why don’t you take your brother John with you” she asked? "No," he said. "It’s one thing for me to put myself at risk but I cannot risk someone else getting caught.”

He arrived in Sherbrooke not getting there till well after dark. He tied his oxen and cart as close to the jail house as he dared.



One of the guards was pacing back and forth in front of the jail. Grabbing a jug of moonshine out of the back of the wagon, he poured some of it over his clothing and proceeded to stagger towards the jail.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” he said, purposely slurring his words.

"What do you have there sir?” With that Levi offered the guard a swig from his jug. “Best moonshine this side of the Atlantic,” Levi boasted.

Soon the guards were fast asleep outside the jail in a drunken stupor. Levi ran back over to wagon and grabbed the peavey, atool used to roll the logs into the sawmill which has a giant hook on one end.

Using the peavey, he pried open the jail cell door. He yelled at the prisoner and told him to get ready to leave. The young man was shackled and chained and shivering from the cold cell. Levi went to work with the peavey and broke the chains.

He wrapped the cold wretch in a bear’s hide and tied some deer hide around his feet which appeared to have incurred a beating.

Levi helped him into the wagon and told him to lie down in the back until they got out of sight.

Once they had travelled outside of the town of Sherbrooke, Levi lit the lantern. It was a stormy night and although it made travel difficult, there was one benefit. The wagon wheel tracks were being filled in quickly with snow making tracking next to impossible. Small blessings.

The young man now had warm clothing and a full belly. They made their way slowly to Levi’s home.

Levi told the youth that he could stay for just a few days as it was likely that his house would be an obvious place to look. This assumed, of course, that the guards could remember who gave them the moonshine, a tribute to the talent of Levi’s brother for making the hooch.

The young man told Levi the story of his incarceration. He had been travelling with his family when they were apprehended by slave hunters. They managed to escape and he thought some of them might be in Halifax in a newly established settlement for the Black community. But he had had the misfortune of being caught and jailed in Sherbrooke by his captors, referred to a “Yanks”.

When they get back to the house, Levi’swife Abigail attended to the young man’s ghastly wound. She made sure that he had a full belly and a warm place to sleep.

It took a week for the news to seep out of Sherbrooke about a daring jail break and the ineptness of the drunken guards.

Levi met with his father and told him the role he had played in the jail escape. His father beamed with pride that his son had come to the rescue of this poor soul. He also had some choice words for the man’s captors. “Damn Catholics,” for allowing such a thing to happen.

Levi’s uncle Grant (his father’s brother) lived a few days away in a place called Garden of Eden. Grant agreed that if they could get the young man to his home, he would assist him in getting to Halifax. They were planning to go there to sell furs.

All young black men at the time were given the name of Tom by their owners. Tom became fast friends with Grant and Abigail’s son, Joseph. He pleaded to make the trip to Halifax with his uncle, Grant. His mother was appalled at the idea but his father was more understanding figuring that no one would care about the matter in a few years’ time. He permeated Joe to go, after convincing Abigail, of course.

Tom’s journey to reconnect with his family commenced in the spring with the aid of the Mason clan.

Before delivering Tom to Grant, the Masons did their best to prepare Tom for survival in the wilds of Nova Scotia.

Tom thanked the Mason family profusely for their kindness and pledged this

More a half a century later Levi’s great grandson Abe and his brother Joe went to Truro to bid on some livestock.

Now, Joe was a young man of twenty and somewhat naïve in the ways of the world. While in Truro, Joe rescued a boy from drowning by diving into a river in the dark and almost drowning. The boy he rescued was black.

When they were safely back on shore, a group of local men asked him what was wrong with him for risking his life to save a man of color. Joe was hot tempered and before you know it, fists were flying. Joe and Abe found themselves in the middle of a brawl where they were outnumbered 10 to 2.

From out of nowhere came 4 young black men came to their aid. Thanking them for their rescue they got to talking. Before too long, they all realized that their families were connected with a tale from long ago.

Abe asked the young man why he had helped him and risked himself in this way.

The young man proceeded to tell him the story of how his great grandfather had been rescued from execution by a stranger.

He said that they were raised to never turn your back on someone in need. The story was all too familiar to them. Joe and Abe listened with rapt interest and realized that the story that had been passed down over the generations was not a tall tale after all.

The boys compared stories and there was little doubt that it was their great grandfather who orchestrated the break out from the jail of the young black man whose relatives just rescued them from a beating.

Kindness pass it on

[kiradurbin]

Super Short Reviews Fall/Winter TV part 4 (catch up)

The Accident (Hulu) – Depressing!!  A small Welsh town deals with the loss of their family and community after a terrible accident at the local factory.   Nice opportunity to see some fresh UK faces but be prepared for several hours of major downer tv.

Daybreak (Net) – If you think your teenagers are a nightmare now, check out this post-apocalyptic version of Glendale.  An atomic bomb goes off and somehow only young people survive…  also somehow the Glendale mall is indoors.  Mad Max meets Warm Bodies.

Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist (NBC) – I love all the bright colours and food in this show!!  I also love Peter Gallagher.  And Mandy Moore (the choreographer.)   Only Many Moore could get me to not skip through the musical numbers.  Yes, that’s right, there are musical numbers.  With people who can really SAAAANG. Broadway alumns include Skylar Astin, Lauren Graham, Andrew Leeds, Alice Lee, Stephanie Styles, Zak Orth, and Renee Elise Goldsberry.   Big happy thumbs up.  And very glad that Jane Levy is back to her proper genre.  

Dolly Parton’s Heartstrings (Netflix) – Each episode is like its own mini Hallmark movie, but there are topics here Hallmark wouldn’t touch with a fishing pole – i.e. extramarital affairs and homosexuality,  Stars abound, and Dolly is in every episode at least a little.  Each intro includes Dolly giving a short tale of how a particular song came to be.

Briarpatch (USA) –  I could not get into this.  I adore Rosario Dawson but the setup seemed like every Texas movie I’ve already seen Robert Rodriguez do.  

The Bonfire of Destiny (Netflix) – France.  1897.  The first episode is VERY exciting... the second sets the real tone / pace of a very well done period piece showcasing the struggle of women in a far from equal world.

War of the Worlds (Epix) – Epix online will let you watch the first three episodes free and trust me you’ll want to see a lot more.  Fantastic international cast and basically the opposite of the pandemic fall out we are all experiencing right now.  Wait until you get your first glimpse of the “enemy” … no spoilers!  

Dollface (Hulu) – Kat Dennings is really committed to that lipstick and those false eyelashes!!  But the real treasures here are the sidekicks / friends Brenda Song, Shay Mitchell, and especially Esther Povitsky.  I love anything that makes fun of the shallowness of LA, but this goes one step further to make fun of the shallowness of female friendships.  Although I have to admit, after a few episodes, I wondered if the joke was on me and they aren’t making fun of these types of girls at all but instead actually glorifying them??  Prob depends on how many cocktails you’ve had.

Year of the Rabbit (IFC) – Binge watch this after you finish Miracle Workers Dark Ages.  Very Funny parody of all those Whitechapel murder shows we love.  Matt Berry’s IMDB star has skyrocketed since the “What We Do in the Shadows” remount, and US television seems determined play everything they can get their hands on.  Smart play.

Soundtrack (Netflix) – Unlike Zoey’s Playlist above, these characters LIP SYNC to the real song.  Lip syncing is great fun in Lip Sync Battle but it serves no purpose here.  I can’t even imagine what the creators were thinking by adding this device into the storytelling, especially since the three leads are quite capable in their acting.  It won’t have another season (no surprise) but I hope to see Paul James and Callie Hernandez in other staring roles very soon.

Tyler Perry’s Young Dylan (Nickelodeon) – I think your kids will have to be really young to enjoy this; even though it does address some popular culture, my ten year old zoned out pretty darn fast.

The Feed (Amazon) – Didn’t they do this story on Black Mirror?  The visual effects are cool but I couldn’t connect with any of the characters enough to care about who hacked into The Feed or if the whole world was going to end.    

Nobody’s Looking (Netflix) – Brazil.  Either a writer’s meta-dream or a red-head’s comic delight... in my case what’s the difference?   This fresh, clever, FUNNY show riffs on laughing AT “humans,” laughing WITH “humans,” and most importantly laughing ABOUT how strange and weird and complicated and yet simple “ humans” can be.  Yes, Brazil, you got it all right here.  It can be tough to appreciate comedy when you’re twitching between reading the subtitles and looking at the funny actors, but this works in all the best ways, and validates my love of tv and Netfllix and the opportunity to watch international shows. Huge shout out as well to all the brilliant musical scorers  – which I forgot to mention in my review of Living with Myself – the perfect score can be the difference between good fun and comedy art.  Watch two episodes (one hour) and tell me you’re not whistling the background music -- and not in an annoying earworm way, but in an Amelie I want to make the world a better place way.  Saude!!

NOT REVIEWED:

The Red Shadows (Sundance Now)

We Are the Wave (Netflix) – Germany

The Dead Lands (Shudder)

McMillions (HBO)

Mortel (Netflix) – France.

Interrogation (CBS All Access)

Couple Trouble (Sundance Now)

Mythic Quest: Raven’s Banquet (AppleTV)

Playing for Keeps (Sundance Now)

[maxaroha]

Task 001 // The Reaping

A burst of cold woke Kali up from a rather deep sleep. She had reached her bed at the time of night where it was deciding if morning was a better name for the shrinking darkness. Her window was still wide open, the window blowing her makeshift curtains inwards to her small room.

Her mother stood over her, a little bucket hanging from her hand that looked empty. It was only then, that Kali realized her face and hair were soaked. She glared at her mom and closed her eyes willing the day to transform into night so that she didn’t have to face this particular day. Natasha smiled inwardly, before shaking her daughter’s eyes open again.

“You’ve got to get dressed and cleaned up. There’s some warm water and soap in the bathroom,” she explained, hitting her daughter with a pillow before retreating out of the messy, cluttered room of her daughter.

Kali sighed loudly, trying to reach her mom’s ears. She heard a chuckle from the kitchen and smiled. She pried herself out of bed, checking on the drawings she had deposited on her desk that sat under the other window that peered out of her room. Kali had recently acquired some coloured pencils, along with a few coins, from the Hob in exchange for a couple of drawings of the merchant’s spouse meeting secretly with a Peacekeeper.

Her drawings were finally in colour and they were absolutely breathtaking. Kali couldn’t stop looking at the colours that dotted the pages, wanting to tack them up on her wall immediately, but deciding to get cleaned up first. She scrubbed the soot off her skin, washed the leaves and small twigs out of her hair, and tried to get the charcoal out from under her fingernails. Emerging, she was dressed in her finest light purple cotton dress, a pair of scuffed Mary Janes on her socked feet, and her hair styled as much as she could. Kali made her way over to their small dining room table, a pile of potatoes and an egg on her plate.

“Thanks mom,” Kali said, stuffing a forkful of food into her mouth.

“Tonight, are you working?” she asked, her eyebrows raised, always a little concerned when she went to spy on whoever was next on her list.

Kali swallowed, her eyes glistening with excitement. She nodded, shoveling another mouthful in her mouth. It was their ritual to ignore the Reaping that dominated the day. It helped them deal with the fact that she might not be coming home. Plus, her odds of being Reaped were so much lower than so many people in Twelve, particularly the Seam.

“Well, I also need you to help me mix some more tinctures and some anxiety-reducing mixtures. I’m sure tonight there will be families that need them,” she added, non-chalantly. “Oh and can you go see it the Mellarks are willing to part with some bread for a little bit less than normal?”

Kali cocked her head in surprise, wondering why they would need to pay less than normal. “Why? They’re still mourning. I can toss in a few coins to help if you want.” Kali had wanted to save her extra coins from spying for a new set of paints or a new shirt to replace the one she had ruined a few nights ago when she had caught it on a nail and it ripped upwards. There was also some blood on it, so Kali had reduced it to rags. But she would give her coins to help her mom, everytime.

Natasha smiled at her daughter. “You don’t have to. You’ve got your ways.”

Her mother was not wrong. She had some information on the Mellarks, nothing too damning but it could hurt their business. Kali, although a spy, didn’t like to use her skills for things like this. ���I will see what I can do, but I can also toss a little bit in, mom.”

“I know, but you’re still a kid -”

“No, we are a team, mom.” Kali gave her mom a look and she fell silent.

“Are we having dinner with the Jamesons tonight?” Kali asked, filling the silence and urging her mom to accept that Kali was more than capable to help now.

“I think so. I will talk to Cara and see if they are okay with that.”

“I definitely think Etta would like it, she was bugging me to come over and play a couple of days ago.”

The two fell into a comfortable conversation, talking about the shop and some of the innocuous secrets that Kali had discovered when she had sat in the Hob, blending in with the crowds and sketching. Surprisingly, no one had caught on to her or her business, unless they really needed her. A lot of people often forgot about her when she finished their transaction, focused on the secrets they now held in their hands.

They headed down to the Town Square, pausing in front of the Jamesons before turning towards the hustle and bustle.

Kali separated from her mom and was placed near the back of the group of teenagers. She had wanted to bring her sketchbook, but she knew the Peacekeeper would have confiscated it when she entered the square. Kali watched and listened, looking at some of the other kids that she knew, smiling at some and looking proud at others. She needed this air of mystery, confidence, and kindness. It made her shift into the shadows sometimes and stopped some people from coming to speak to her. It was a hard line to walk, but Kali had perfected it as the years went by.

She found Levi in the crowd, his blonde hair glistening in the sunlight. She passed over him and found the Jamesons and her mom standing in the crowd together. Her eyes flickered back to the stage and watched as the crazy Capitol lady spoke to them. Kali barely paid attention until the woman placed her hand in the female stack of names.

“Kaliope Hilade.”

Her world tilted as her brain processed what was happening. She walked purposefully out to the path up to the stage, trying to act as confident as she could. Kali needed to look strong, someone that people would want to help. Maybe someone would volunteer for her, but at the very least she could look good for the Capitol. Her mind was whirling as she adjusted herself to the situation. The walk seemed to last forever and as she got to the stage, she went numb. Her mother was in the crowd, she was aghast and seemed to be wishing for a different future. Cara was holding on to her and Kali barely registered the next name that came up.

“Levi Jameson.”

Kali could not believe it. She saw Levi walk up and shook his hand, like normal, but saw a look of fear and disbelief come over his face, one that reflected what Kali felt.

They walked Kali and Levi into the Justice Building, depositing Kali in a room by herself, with a window that looked out over the Square. She started to shake a little bit, but tried to quell it as much as possible.

The door creaked open and her mother stepped in. Kali turned to her, running to give her a hug. Natasha held her tight for a few minutes. They were revelling in each other before they had to face the undeniable future that had been chosen for them only a few minutes before.

Natasha broke the hug, stepping back and looking at her daughter.

“I was saving this for your eighteenth birthday, but I’ve been bringing them to the Reaping for the past couple of years. I couldn’t -” a sob escaped from Natasha’s mouth, but she swallowed it, her eyes glistening with tears. “But, I couldn’t not give it to you if you - if you weren’t coming home with me after the Reaping.”

She held out her hand and in it lay a small silver necklace with a little leaf adorning the end of it. Kali picked it up and held it tightly in her hand, looking up at her mother. Her mom placed her hand on her daughter’s cheek. Kali closed her eyes, wanting time to stand still.

“You are my little leafbud.” Kali opened her eyes and saw tears streaming down her mother’s face. Kali couldn’t hold it in anymore and a sob that sounded like the cry of an abandoned bear cub came out of her. She fell into her mother’s arms, clutching at her shirt as she cried into her shoulder.

“But, you’ve grown into a rose, my dear. Beautiful, but dangerous.” Natasha pulled away, wanting to look at her daughter’s face before she was taken away. “I will miss you every second that you are away.”

“I will come home, mom.”

Natasha’s eyes darted around her daughter’s face, trying to take in everything about her. Kali stared at her mom, her partner, her best friend. Everything that she had was here in this one person. She would come home, no matter what.

The door opened and a Peacekeeper walked into the room, ready to lead Kali away from home. Natasha kissed Kali on the forehead, grasping her hand. “I love you, Kali.”

“I love you, mom.” Kali pulled away, her hand still clutching her necklace. The door closed behind her and her mother collapsed on the ground, pounding the carpet in anger and sadness.

[fashiontrendin-blog]

We Recreated Some of Our Moms’ Most Iconic Outfits

http://fashion-trendin.com/we-recreated-some-of-our-moms-most-iconic-outfits/

We Recreated Some of Our Moms’ Most Iconic Outfits

There’s something about an old photo of a mom that exudes glamour, don’t you think? The mom in question could be wearing denim shorts and a tank top and sitting in a basement full of trash and still look absolutely, positively enchanting. What is that?!?! I’m not sure. Maybe it’s the telltale sepia tone of a bygone era, the visible signs of passé sartorial trends, the gentle revelation that the expanse of this person’s life is so much wider than the juncture at which she became a parent or all of the above.

In honor of Mother’s Day, Team Man Repeller recreated outfits from treasured photos of our moms to pay homage to them, their styles and the impact they’ve had on us. Find them below, and deposit your own favorite mom photos in the comments.

Harling (Me)

How old my mom was in this photo:

32.

A little about her outfit and why she was wearing it: 

My mom told me that we were in Casa de Campo in the Dominican Republic when this photo was taken. She’s holding my sister Lizzy, who was four months old, and I am the recently minted two-year-old on the floor demanding to take her place. My mom couldn’t remember much about the outfit except that the batik shorts she was wearing came with a matching top that she swapped out for a black tank because “Lizzy spit up on it.” She recalled that the shorts had a comfortable waistband, which she appreciated after recently having a baby. When I asked her how she felt in the outfit at the time, she said, “I was much more focused on yours and Lizzy’s outfits than my own because I had only just discovered the thrill of being able to dress two kids in coordinating ensembles, so I didn’t think about my own clothes that much.”

What it was like to recreate the outfit myself: 

Quite easy, in the sense that the outfit was made up of very simple components. I just wish I owned batik shorts!

How my mom has influenced my style:

In countless, profound ways. She typically gravitates towards bright colors and patterns and unusual shapes, and she loves piecing them together into outfits that feel very much her. I was surprised I couldn’t find an old photo in which her maximalist aesthetic was more apparent, but she told me that when my sisters and I were little, she prioritized wearing stuff that was easy to wash and move around in. Her sense of style as I know it didn’t actually take root until I was a teenager. In hindsight, I guess that makes sense; my teens were a seminal time for me in terms of coming into my own style, and I found a lot of inspiration in my mom’s wardrobe and perspective. She is definitely the reason I am who I am when it comes to style, and because of that, the reason I work in the fashion industry, and because of that, the reason I get to wake up every morning and do something I love. I can’t imagine a greater gift besides life itself, which she gave me, too. Moms, man.

Leandra

How old was your mom in this photo?

34.

Tell me about her outfit and why she was wearing it. 

We were in Mougins, which is a small town in the South of France that used to be inhabited by and visited by loads of artists. It was also a center that produced florals, and the economy there is still more or less driven by the production and sales of scented soaps and various other things that smell good. We were there for dinner, and my brother Haim (next to me) was being a shithead because he gives zero fucks about soap, so I recall that my mom was trying to get him to smile. She purchased the skirt she was wearing that same day! I actually own it currently.

What was it like to recreate the outfit yourself? 

I thought it would be a cop-out to use the same skirt but don’t have another in the same silhouette, so I went the route of approximating colors for the base look and actual products for the accessories — cue fanny pack and summery-ass closed-toe shoes. I’m pretty comfortable with how it turned out, to the extent that I actually ended up wearing the outfit for the rest of the day.

How has your mom influenced your style?

More than I give her credit for. I spent years combing through her closet when I was a kid and was always so surprised by how the clothes looked on their hangers or folded in the closet vs. how they looked when she wore them — like completely different garments! She taught me everything I know about building a sense of personal style. I can already tell that I will regret saying that on record! She won’t let me live it down. But it’s true, Mama.

Amelia

How old was your mom in this photo?

31 (which means I was a year old!).

Tell me about her outfit and why she was wearing it.

We were at a park in Lower Merion, Pennsylvania, visiting family friends. It was spring. My mom was wearing her favorite high-waist jeans (“which had zipper ankles, by the way”), a white ribbed tank top and a boxy peach cotton knit cable with a hat, of course; my mom wore a hat every single day until we moved to San Francisco. She was barefoot in this photo but owned a pair of white huaraches that she wore to their death — they were likely paired with this outfit earlier in the day.

What was it like to recreate the outfit yourself?

I already had one of the two most important pieces of this outfit (not including the baby): the sweater. I’d call my version “close-enough”; I got it recently after a friend who works at J.Crew sent it to me, but I had been searching for an equivalent of my mom’s sweater in this photo my whole life. (She doesn’t have it anymore.) The hat was the second most important part, because when I think of my mom, I think of big, big curls (although at this time in her life she had super short hair and a braided “rat’s tail” down her back; very ’80s) and a wide-brimmed straw hat. I borrowed this one from the Man Repeller fashion closet and tucked my hair into it — something I wouldn’t mind doing again in the future. I had no idea I’d like how this looks on me! I also really like how much it makes me look like my mom.

How has your mom influenced your style?

My mom’s style sways far more “bohemian”/vintage than mine. I tend to lean more “preppy,” like my mom in the top half of this photo, and her mom’s mom/my grandmother, Mimi. There’s a clear and direct line between my mom’s style and my own love for white button-downs, black one-piece swimsuits and anything “cozy,” but I’d say my mom’s greatest influence on my personal style has always been in her limitless support of my “sartorial self-expression.” With every phase I went through, she wasn’t just on board, but a full accomplice: She made me custom bell bottoms when I was in the sixth grade and the ’60s and ’70s were back among the Limited Too set. She took me to dip-dye my hair pink and helped source a multitude of spikes during my “punk” phase. The list goes on. Today, it translates a little more literally into home decor (she’s my interior decorator/consultant/treasure hunter), but she’s still without a doubt my favorite person to go shopping for clothes with!

Crystal

How old was your mom in this photo?

28.

Tell me about her outfit and why she was wearing it. 

First, hi Mama, happy Mother’s Day, I love you endlessly! Mom says that this photo was taken Christmas day, when we were all on our way to my grandma’s house for dinner. She says she felt incredibly happy because she was on her way to her mom’s house. The outfit she’s wearing pretty much sums up my mom’s overall aesthetic. She’s incredibly put-together and buttoned-up, but always manages to maintain a little bit of an edge.

What was it like to recreate the outfit yourself? 

Well it wasn’t super easy, because much to the chagrin of Lydia (my mom), I do not own a cable-knit sweater or slacks. BUT I was able to style an outfit that honored her original look while also staying true to my personal style. I would toootalllyyyyy wear this again, even though I probably wouldn’t have put these pieces together in the first place had I not been trying to recreate her look.

How has your mom influenced your style?

I always say that “I am because she is” and “she is because Ella Mae (my grandma/her mom) was.” My grandma had impeccable style, and my mom passed down her style rules to me. We have VERY different tastes, but I do follow some of her style rules word-for-word:

1. Spend money on good shoes. 2. If you see a thrift store, don’t pass it by. 3. Save your money for quality pieces instead of investing in cheap garments that won’t last.

Louisiana

How old was your mom in this photo?

She says she was 29!

Tell me about her outfit and why she was wearing it.

It was her “Saturday outfit.” She remembers that because she was wearing jeans, which she wouldn’t wear to work during the week. I think it is kind of representative of her taste and style now. She still wears a lot of minimal, classic pieces.

What was it like to recreate the outfit yourself?

It was actually really easy for me to recreate this outfit since it consisted of two really basic items (black long-sleeved top and medium-wash jeans) that I already had in my wardrobe. I’ve definitely worn this outfit before, and more than once! The only thing I didn’t have were the peep-toe shoes, but other than that, it was so cool to see how her outfit withstood the test of time.

Elizabeth

How old was your mom in this photo?

25, a year younger than I am now.

Tell me about her outfit and why she was wearing it. 

My mom was on her honeymoon in London in this photograph. She says she chose the outfit because “it was the ’80s” — touché, Mom. It was kind of a combination of clothes she would wear to downtown clubs and more conservative stuff. She had just taken the bar exam and was about to start practicing law. Gotta dress the part! The skirt was from Fiorucci and the jacket was Levi’s.

What was it like to recreate the outfit yourself?

A little tricky — most of my mom’s photos are in storage sadly. Also I will not wear a skirt this length ever again because I don’t like the length on me. I wish I’d been able to find a navy or black polo like hers because I love how she wore it.

Has your mom influenced your style?

Yes, of course she has — she is an icon. 🙂 But I think I’ve influenced hers, too!

Nora

How old was your mom in this photo?

33 (she’s the brunette in the front in the overalls).

Tell me about her outfit and why she was wearing it.

My mom was an actress/model for a bit in her youth, and this was backstage at the western-themed dinner theater show she did.

What was it like to recreate the outfit yourself?

Easy, I basically wear this outfit all the time.

How has your mom influenced your style?

The older I get, the more I dress like my mother: in low-key outfits that prioritize comfort, with some sort of statement accessory.

Haley

How old was your mom in this photo?

24!

Tell me about her outfit and why she was wearing it.

From my mom: “I totally know where I was: Waimea Canyon, Kauai, on my honeymoon in August 1984. I remember the moment well because as we stood there, we watched clouds approach, rain all over us, and then move on. I’d never experienced something like that. But I don’t remember the outfit specifically or the tube sock (?!) situation. From all the other photos from that trip, it does seem to be pretty standard dress for me though. I laugh about those rolled up sleeves — that had just become a thing. I remember we all suddenly started doing it because it made our T-shirts look more stylish and feminine. And of course I had on large cheap sunglasses — very me. I now find it hard to imagine I wore such short shorts. I would never remember that about myself! I do remember the honeymoon was so fun though. We were from Colorado, so Hawaii seemed like another land.”

What was it like to recreate the outfit yourself?

I purposely chose this photo because I love it and immediately recognized how easy it would be to replicate it with my own clothes. I draw a lot of inspiration from the ’80s when I dress casually like this, so it was a perfect fit. How cool does she look?! My mom has been perpetually tan her whole life (something she did not pass on to me), so I look considerably less carefree and sun-kissed than she does. Also less relaxed, but I’ll blame that on my living in New York and her vacationing in Hawaii. Either way though, I felt great and ready to jog at a moment’s notice. I didn’t want to take it off (and didn’t).

How has your mom influenced your style?

My mom always claims she has little interest in fashion, but her incredible backlog of stylish photographs says otherwise! Looking back, I can see the distinct thread of ’80s influence in her style throughout her 20s, 30s and 40s. The fun jackets and oversize blazers and big hair — all things I associated with making a woman look grown-up — were really just things my mom loved. Those are the things that make me feel grown-up now, too. I even have a couple of her old blazers for special occasions. Today, my mom’s not much into material things, but I still relish the times we get ready together. There’s something uniquely comforting to me about keeping her company while she blows her hair dry and helping her pick out a necklace. It reminds me of sitting in her bathroom as a kid, watching her “freshen up” with a keen, unwavering interest.

Matt

How old was your mom in this photo?

27.

Tell me about her outfit and why she was wearing it.

This photo was snapped at my dad’s med school graduation party. When asked about the inspo for this particular look, my mom said it was a simple time and she prioritized function over aesthetic — especially since budgets were tight and “her world revolved around me” or whatever (thanks, Mom!).

What was it like to recreate the outfit yourself? 

It was difficult in the sense that I was hopeful this assignment would provide an excuse for me to purchase the denim onesie of my dreams, but alas I couldn’t find one in time. It was fun putting this together (full transparency: the pieces are mine, but the styling was fully my boyfriend’s) and I was feeling it! 10/10 would wear again.

Has your mom influenced your style?

Umm…I stole one of her cropped denim jackets from the basement last time I was home and now wear it regularly, so if by “influenced” you mean “unwittingly contributed to” — YES!

Patty

How old was your mom in this photo?

26!

Tell me about her outfit and why she was wearing it.

Mary Anne is in her element here: hanging poolside on a sunny day in a breezy outfit with a brand-spanking new human — me! This outfit is pretty indicative of her style; my mom looks beautiful in color and she keeps it radically simple. Example: my brother was two years old when this was taken, and my mom’s solution to him constantly pulling her hair was to cut it into this pixie.

What was it like to recreate the outfit yourself?

It made me realize that I don’t really own ANY yellow tops. I ordered this T-shirt from Amazon, settled for wearing white denim shorts and jazzed it up with some fun earrings and red slides in lieu of my mom’s cool red plaid. This T-shirt probably won’t get that much action, but I am soooo very into the idea of summer plaid. Eyes peeled!

How has your mom influenced your style?

My mom has always been supportive and endlessly patient with my style choices. I wanted to chop my hair off? Cool, let’s do it. I wanted to wear pink leggings with a (slightly different shade of) pink top covered with rainbow beads? Okay then! My mom influenced my style mostly by being a determined ally in fueling my independence.

Imani

Vintage shorts, belt, top, bag

How old was your mom in this photo?

19.

Tell me about her outfit and why she was wearing it. 

This photograph was actually taken on my mom’s college campus. She was dolled up just for a regular day of class (I truly am my mother’s child). She was taking #OOTD pics before social media even existed! From what she remembers, she felt pretty cool — my mom was a New York City girl on an upstate campus, so she had a leg up in the style department.

What was it like to recreate the outfit yourself?

Recreating my mom’s outfit was quite easy, as many ’80s/’90s silhouettes have persisted through today. The twist was the styling; without this photo, I probably never would have paired my oversize jorts with an equally oversized button-down. Now that I’ve given it a try, I’ll probably be repeating this look all summer — you’ve been warned.

How has your mom influenced your style?

My mom has never let me leave the house without a pair of earrings, which I believe spawned my obsession for huge ones.

Starling

How old was your mom in this photo?

23 (my age!).

Tell me about her outfit and why she was wearing it. 

Her older sister Polly took it while visiting my mom in Paris. She says it was right before ripping up sweatshirts became trendy due to Dirty Dancing.

What was it like to recreate the outfit yourself?

Adding a chambray romper to my wishlist as we speak. Sadly, a dress had to do for my recreation due to this wardrobe limitation.

Has your mom influenced your style?

Heck. Yes. In the fashion sense but also in her style of speaking, collaborating and creating. I’ve always admired her ability to see the value in people’s differences. I credit that skill for empowering her to found an elementary school in my hometown called Touchstone Academy, which gives kids a chance to learn in their own unique ways in a hands-on, supportive environment. I was a student there, and she was my principal!

Edith

How old was your mom in this photo? 

I’d guess 27.

Tell me about her outfit and why she was wearing it.

I didn’t ask her because I wanted it to be a surprise, so this is mostly speculation — sound off in the comments, Mom! (JK!) Though I do know that this photo was taken by a friend whom we still know. I’m pretty sure the coffee is from a Korean deli they used to go to together. They’re in Central Park, it’s a quintessential autumn day and she’s nothing if not dressed for practicality with the heavy jacket and the fancifully tied scarf. That’s my dad’s hand — he painted a portrait of the full photo, too! Did I answer your question here? Not really! Thanks for playing!

What was it like to recreate the outfit yourself? 

I definitely ended up feeling more like an impersonator. To my disappointment, the Anthora coffee cup did not function as a time-travel device. I subbed in my favorite light bomber jacket from Equipment, though I ended up regretting my own lapse in judgment re: not finding a leather jacket to perfectly replicate her autumnal Central Park look. I totally fumbled on the side part. My mom and I are sharing the neck scarf I’m wearing (designed by the illustrious Happy Menocal for Moda Operandi) after going to the showcase together, so I was happy to have a chance to include it/have the outfit recreation come full circle in a funny way.

How has your mom influenced your style? 

My mom’s style continues to be more refined and tasteful than my own, so I’m still trying to keep up and learn from her. The best wisdom she is slowly imparting upon me is how to dress practically with personality (her sense of color is divine). I definitely wish we still had this chic leather jacket!

Jasmin

How old was your mom in this photo?

38.

Tell me about her outfit, and why she was wearing it.

She was on holiday in Israel in the Negev desert. They had just been on a drive and here she’s sitting down to have some tea (of course). Given the activity she wanted to wear something light and comfortable but also needed a jumper on her shoulders as the temperature in the desert can suddenly drop in the evenings. And a hat because sun protection is a must – she likes to say it’s primarily for function but we all know it’s more than that. Side note: my mum and my dad had his and hers versions of these shoes and matching jackets in the same color suede. Both were worn regularly in my formative years. She felt comfortable and appropriate for the activity – it’s a very her look, similar to her style now too.

What was it like to recreate the outfit yourself?

I initially had a different outfit in mind, one that included high-waisted LIME GREEN jeans with matching loafers. However, we could find the photo so opted for this one. For the most part it was pretty simple to re-create, but I couldn’t of done it without Eliz’s help! I kind of love it, felt very chic and put together. May add to my roster of summer outfits.

How has your mom influenced your style?

I like that she always swings between simple and chic to colorful and fun – growing up sometimes she’d be in a crisp white shirt and checked waistcoat and then other days in lime green jeans or bright red kaftans. I think I’m definitely in a similar mindset with my style at the moment where I don’t feel confined to just one type of look. Looking through old photos for this shoot was definitely an inspiration booster!

Ashley

How old was your mom in this photo?

She was fresh out of college so probably 22.

Tell me about her outfit, and why she was wearing it.

This photo was taken the week of college graduation. She had graduated early but went back to school to walk in the big ceremony so it was her first time seeing a lot of her college friends in months. She wore a blazer and a sweater to let the world know she was grown-up and sophisticated but she was also still fun and Debbie so she kept it chill with her favorite clothing item: shorts.

What was it like to recreate the outfit yourself?

My mom and I are complete opposites style-wise. I suspect it’s because she’s very short so she gravitates towards patterns in order to stand out. She sent me a slew of photos that I couldn’t even begin to fathom recreating using my own wardrobe. We are both big shorts people, though, which made that part easy.

How has your mom influenced your style?

A few years ago my mom did a mega wardrobe clean-out and I started going through a lot of old things that I’d never even seen her in. I kept some of her cool T-shirts and random jewelry. A few years ago, when I stopped wearing only jeans and plain tanks, I realized how fun it was to use her random pieces to dress up my otherwise boring wardrobe. I’ve also adopted her mantra that you can never have too many shoes, which stresses out my New York closet.

[reseau-actu]

Is it easier or harder to live without plastic than 10 years ago?

Ten years ago I attempted to live plastic-free. With the government pledging to crack down on plastic waste, will it be any easier a decade on?

Summer 2008 was a warm one. I know that because my kitchen gently hummed with the sour scent of plastic milk bottles and yoghurt cartons.

During that July, I saved all 603 plastic items my husband, toddler and I generated so I could compare with an experimental month "off" plastic in the August that followed.

The project was triggered by a BBC report on plastic pollution in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, which left me wondering if it was possible to eliminate disposable plastic from normal daily life.

The answer was: "not quite". But that August we reduced our plastic tally to just 116 items, of which 63 were disposable nappies.

Ten years later, nappies are no longer in my shopping trolley. It's now laden with the full range of groceries consumed by a family with two school-age children.

Much of it is packed in plastic - and it's easy to see why: this lightweight, durable material keeps food fresh and is easy to move and store.

But with avoiding disposable plastic high on many people's to-do lists, I decided to rerun my 2008 experiment.

Would spending a month without buying anything wrapped in, or containing, plastic be any easier now?

Week 1 - breakfast battle

I tackle our breakfast routine first. We awake to milk on the doorstep, in glass bottles, just like in my childhood, albeit ordered online rather than via handwritten note.

The kids are amused by the novelty and I overhear my eight-year-old daughter telling a friend: "They appear outside our house overnight."

Image copyright Milk & More

Image caption Milk doorstep delivery new subscriptions have risen since the start of January

It seems we are not alone in making the switch in 2018.

Müller-owned delivery company Milk & More says it has had 10,000 new online customers signing up since 1 January, of which 90% are ordering milk in glass bottles.

It comes despite a long term downward trend for milk deliveries which last year accounted for just 3% by volume of the milk sold - down from 7% in 2008.

Delivered milk is more costly: a glass doorstep pint is around 81p, whereas a four-pint supermarket bottle is about £1.10. But not having to pick up milk has already cut my "top-up" trips to the local convenience store.

Image caption My homemade bagels won't win any prizes

Milk bottles are one of the most widely and easily-recycled pieces of plastic packaging.

At the other end of the recyclability scale are plastic films such as bags, pouches and peelable lids which make up more than a quarter of plastic household waste.

As a family we are heavily reliant at breakfast time on bags of bagels and boxes of cereals with plastic inners.

This prompts me to try making bagels for the first time in my life - not as hard as you might think.

But as for cereals, my suggestion to the rest of the family that we all eat porridge for a month (boxes of oats have no liners) goes down like a gruel-filled balloon.

Then I find a new "zero waste" shop a couple of miles away that has versions of our usual options but loose in bins for scooping into our own containers. Family breakfast truce achieved.

Week 2 - the supermarket

There's no avoiding the fact that visiting separate shops for separate goods takes longer than my normal one-hit blitz at the supermarket.

So I decide to give my usual routine a try - but on my new avoid-plastic-at-all-costs rule.

Attempting to shop based on packaging status alone leads to some combinations worthy of Ready Steady Cook: leeks, carrots, a giant mango and a box of eggs.

Image caption Films and nets are not currently easily recycled

Bags of salad are out, as is most pasta and rice. Tinned food is easier although cans of acidic foods such as tomatoes, or even fizzy drinks, have a plastic lining to stop the contents reacting with the metal.

Many glass jars have plastic lids or labels so items such as chocolate hazelnut spread are off the menu too (sorry kids) but I take a risk with some pasta sauces, wondering whether the synthetic rubber lining to the lids counts as plastic.

I'm reminded how heavy glass, tins and cardboard are - and, of course, have their own environmental impact - as I heave my trolley to the checkout.

Here, there is a major change since my original challenge. Single-use carrier bags are no longer dished out freely, since 2015 in England (and earlier in other parts of the UK) they cost at least 5p.

The levy has slashed usage by 83%, according to government figures. Several chains are now dropping the 5p bags altogether and only selling "bags for life".

Like so many shoppers, I'd brought my own reusable bags, so no rule-breaking there.

But the food on the shelves doesn't seem any less plastic-wrapped than a decade ago.

Image copyright Getty Images

Image caption Retailers say shrink-wrapping fish and meat has cut the amount of plastic used and prolongs shelf life

However, Iain Ferguson, environment manager at the Co-op says food retailers have made many changes, they just may not be immediately visible.

"In the past 10 years a lot of work has gone into making plastic films thinner and plastic bottles lighter," he says.

Modifications such as removing polystyrene from pizza bases, switching tomato punnets to cardboard and packing meat in one type of plastic rather than layers of differing types are other moves the Co-op has made.

"Our customers say they want no plastic but customers also buy in plastic because they want the convenience," Mr Ferguson says.

"The best thing we can do is to make it easier to recycle."

All the major supermarkets insist they have made or are making significant changes and frozen food retailer Iceland has announced it will do away with plastic altogether for its own brand products by 2023.

Back to the pressing issue of family teatime, I grab a cardboard box of fish-fingers, some naked broccoli and loose potatoes. Giant mango for pudding.

Week 3 - beach effects

Half term and we travel from London to Cornwall.

Unfortunately I forget my reusable cup and water bottle and end up with a pile of junk from the journey down, adding to the 21 million water bottles and 6.8 million coffee cups the UK gets through each day.

Image caption Avril Sainsbury of Bude Cleaner Seas says attitudes to plastic litter are changing

I turn to social media for a nudge back on track. Online campaigning has increased massively since 2008 and hashtags such as #oneless, #nomoresingleuse and #strawssuck, are all used to promote the idea that small changes can create a big effect.

Among them is my children's favourite - #2minutebeachclean which started in the north Cornish seaside resort of Bude in 2014.

Known for its long sandy beaches and rolling surf, the town sees the effects of plastic pollution every day, especially after a storm.

"It can feel overwhelming," says Avril Sainsbury of water quality project Bude Cleaner Seas as we survey Crooklets Beach together.

"You will see everything that you'll find in your home, disposable lighters, bottles, caps, seals - to ghost nets, which are [abandoned] fishing nets."

But she says attitudes to marine litter are changing and people are now more likely to say "gosh I'll help you" if they see a beach clean taking place.

Image caption Micro plastics mingle with the sand on Crooklets Beach in Bude

I'm feeling guilty about those water bottles and coffee cups from the journey but Bude is a practical place. Local teacher Deb Rosser has come up with a practical solution.

"You can go to anywhere in Bude - that can be cafes, shops and accommodation providers - and they will refill your bottle for free with pure Cornish tap water," says Deb, describing her Refill Bude concept which has spread nationwide since starting in 2014.

Image caption Sales of branded Refill Bude cups and bottles have raised more than £5,000 for Bude Sea Pool

There are now 7,800 refill points around the UK and I find a new one in Boscastle National Trust Cafe, near where we are staying.

The manager says the cafe has also just swapped from cardboard cups and plates to crockery. No excuse then for plastic-free fails while we're on holiday.

Week 4 - the verdict

Back at home and some plastic-packed toiletries run out this week. I purchase a bamboo toothbrush (admittedly with nylon bristles), and get to grips with a shampoo bar instead of a bottle.

Our stock of toilet paper holds out, just, but I research a paper-wrapped alternative that can be delivered.

At the end of the month, we have not managed to live entirely plastic-free but we have cut down on our normal consumption.

It's taken a lot more time but has not necessarily been more expensive as it's forced me to limit what I buy.

Image caption My 48-item plastic tally for the month

The tally for the month comes to 48 plastic items including:

Five ham packets - several packed lunch fails

Three cereal inners

Two chicken packs

A polystyrene pizza base

Chocolate mini eggs - they were foil wrapped but in a plastic net

Two jelly wrappers

A sachet of yeast from making those bagels

Once nappies are taken out of the equation, it's not too different from the 53 items I gathered during my experiment 10 years ago.

Yet looking back on my normal consumption in 2008, there have been big changes.

Then, I used 36 disposable carrier bags a month, got through 23 polystyrene coffee cups at work and a plastic water bottle every other day.

Now, my office has a stock of mugs, and taking a reusable bag and water bottle everywhere with me has become second nature.

The same can't be said for plastic-free food shopping.

While I will keep some of my swaps (including the milk delivery) I do find it currently impractical to keep my family fed without buying any plastic at all.

However, with changes coming thick and fast - plastic-free teabags, the deposit return scheme, stores encouraging customers to bring their own containers - I may not need to wait 10 more years to give it another try.

Article complet: BBC News - Home — http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-43545991

[sudsybear]

Place setting

Bookends

Simon & Garfunkel Time it was, and what a time it was, it was

A time of innocence, a time of confidences

Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph

Preserve your memories; they're all that's left you

 The Beginning

 We were born in the mid-sixties. Unlike the youth of the country that were rioting on the news, protesting the war in Vietnam, and watching Nixon resign on national television, our parents were corporate drones making ends meet, putting food on the table, and saving money for their children’s college educations. Instead of participating in the flower-power movement, hippies, and free love, “Turn on, tune in, and drop out,” our parents paid mortgages and were room-mothers, scoutmasters, and sport coaches. Through the seventies when Nixon resigned and as a nation we endured the crude oil crisis, they helped us with homework and shuttled us to and from soccer practices and music lessons.

 We grew up in a suburb north of the conservative city of Cincinnati, Ohio. A wealthy bedroom community, Wyoming was settled in the early 1800s. It is a dignified suburb, steeped not in significant national or state history, but it owns a strong sense of importance and value to the larger community to which it belongs. Beginning as an area for the landed gentry, over the century since it was founded, the land was developed in stages. Grand homes built in the valley with butlers’ pantries and servants’ quarters have long since been interspersed with newer smaller homes. The building booms of the decades of the twentieth century brought a variety of architectural styles – 1920s Tudors, 1950s bungalows and three bedroom ranches, 1960s split-levels and two-story colonials. Finally in the 1970s, vacant land was precious and challenging to find, and contemporary custom-built homes were finessed onto odd lots.

 As the land was cleared, roads built, and homes went up, the city planted trees along the right-of-way, and conscientious homeowners planted more in their yards; ornamentals, along with deciduous staples like oak, beech and maples. The elms all died off in the Dutch elm disease epidemic, but they were replaced with hardier species. Plenty of conifers are sprinkled around for their evergreenness, and fruit trees too, not for the fruit they bear, but for the flowers and fragrance in springtime – flowering pears and crabapples. Declared a “Tree City USA” in the mid-90s the trees are a point of community pride, almost sacred. A homeowner thinks long and hard before cutting one down. The community grieves when an ancient timber falls over in a storm. The high school biology department annually assigns students to collect and identify fifty unique tree leaves. And along with the trees in all their varieties, in the spring and summer, the city maintains flower boxes around the street signs. Where in other communities stop signs and sidewalks suffice, in Wyoming the city department of public works has a budget for petunias and pansies and geraniums to prettify otherwise bland street corners.

 Wyoming is a tight-knit community. New homeowners buy not just a house, but a legacy. Someone moves into a house, and the new homeowners quickly learn to describe their residence, not as a street address, but, “Oh yes, we bought the Smith’s house on such-and-such a street.”

 There were basically three camps in town when I was growing up; those who grew up in Wyoming, whose family was part of the community fabric and who would never consider living anywhere else. There were well-compensated doctors, lawyers, and corporate executives; professionals enjoying the prestige and the schools. And finally, those who wanted something better for their children and worked hard to stay financially afloat stretching budgets to afford the high cost of living. This last group may have been deeply in debt, held two or more jobs, lived frugally, or some combination of the three. Today, despite the fact that my husband is a professional engineer and earns a good wage, there is no way my own family could afford to live there without substantial financial assistance.

 The school system has an excellent reputation. Expectations are high, quality services are provided, and creative alternatives are offered. The school system is small, intimate almost, and stable. In the years I attended, graduating classes varied in size from as low as 120 to as high as 180, large enough to provide ample opportunities, but small enough to know all your classmates. Students graduate from high school with the same kids they were with in kindergarten. Teachers teach for a lifetime. Oh sure, there’s some turnover, corporate relocations, financial hardships, personal obligations, but overall change is slow.

Parents work with the schools, the school board and city council coordinate efforts and communicate with the citizenry. As far as I know, no school tax levy has ever been defeated. May Fete, an annual spring carnival, is sponsored and run by the Parents Association as a fundraiser to supplement the school budget. A Boosters club supports the sports programs, and a Music Association supports the music departments. Since we graduated, an Alumni Association was formed, and an independent School Foundation established to provide even more money for the schools. 98% of all graduates go on to college. Whether they graduate college is another question entirely, but the option of not going on to some sort of secondary education is rarely exercised. If you don’t go to college, you join the armed services. Wyoming graduates are expected to become useful members of society and leaders of the future.

 In the 1980s our parents were indulgent. They gave their children every opportunity to learn and succeed. They put us on the front of the technology curve with home computers, Atari, cable when it was new. Not every kid got a car for his or her sixteenth birthday…but it wasn’t unheard of. Designer clothes, cosmetic surgery, winter trips to Disney World, Aspen, Hilton Head, or Sanibel Island were common - as were summer homes in Michigan. Unused season tickets to the Symphony Orchestra, the Pops, or the Playhouse were giveaways, “Here, we can’t use these, you take them.” Money flows in our community.

 My father ran for city council in the late 1970s. Elected on his first bid for office he was a bit of a renegade candidate – he rode a motorcycle. In a community of sedans and station wagons, Camaros, BMWs and Jaguars, a small street bike (Yamaha RD350 – two stroke) was enough edginess to get him remembered and elected. He served for more than twenty years, with re-elections every two years. I was in Middle School when he was first elected. By the time I was a teenager, I was accustomed to police officers stopping by the house to deliver the “Friday Memo,” a sort of state-of-the-city packet for all the councilmembers. I accompanied Dad to the city building for any one of a number of errands – to deliver or pick up paperwork, to talk to the city manager, head of the public works, or a police officer. Dad was involved and worked hard to respond to neighbors’ inquiries and concerns.

 Mother volunteered with the city ambulance squad. Initially trained as an EMT, later she took paramedic training. She first joined when I was in elementary school, and “ran squad” until after I left for college. Although she attended monthly evening meetings and occasional training sessions, she was mostly on call from the house. Actually, she could go anywhere she wanted so long as she didn’t leave the city limits. But when her pager blared, she dropped everything and drove to the police station to pick up the ambulance and respond to the call. If I was with her in the car, she either dropped me off somewhere safe to walk to a friend’s house or home, or I rode with her to the police station. It rarely happened that way. Usually, we were at home, and she yelled, “I’m leaving!” and left. Or, I arrived home from school to an empty house with a note explaining where she was, and what to do about dinner. We got very good at the message system, and I got an early lesson in self-reliance.

 My older brother Tom volunteered with the fire department as a teen. He was part of the “Salvage Squad” - a junior squad of teens who helped out at the firehouse. They responded to calls just like the adult volunteer firefighters, but for the most part took care of equipment and clean up.

 Tom’s bedroom was a clutter of wires and electronics. He rigged up a CB radio, hooked up an intercom system between the kitchen and his bedroom. He built models of various sorts, and plugged the local police frequency into his radio scanner to monitor the activity going on in the community. His room was off limits – six years younger, all the wires fascinated me. I don’t remember invading his space, but I probably did. That’s what younger sisters do to annoy their older brothers. Mostly I remember that wires and electronics were a part of home.

 Tom was enthusiastic, and between his radios and scanners following the fire and police channels and Mom’s pager and scanner following the fire and police channels, the house was noisy. It also happened that the fire chief lived next door; and his wife was a city employee. Had there ever been a real disaster, Mom might have responded as part of the Life Squad, Tom with the fire department, and Dad as a city official. It never happened, but demonstrates how deeply I was steeped in the community. Police officers knew me both as Councilman’s and Squadwoman’s daughter. I knew more about the leadership of the city, and how small cities were run, than any twelve year old should know.

 Over the months, years, after Tom left for the west coast (Willamette Valley in Oregon) Mom and Dad removed the various wiring schemes. By the time I was in high school, all those wires and equipment were a fond but distant memory.

 *          *          *

 In 1981 we attended my eldest brother’s May graduation from Wake Forest University in North Carolina. At the other end of summer, in August, Mom and Dad and I drove back from visiting my brother Tom in Western Oregon. We stopped long enough to celebrate my 14th birthday at a family restaurant in Casper, Wyoming. My gift that year was tickets to see a bona fide small town rodeo. Three more days on the road, and we would be home. I was just about to enter high school.

 My brothers were both long gone. Tom left for Oregon two years previous. After a spell of enthusiasm for becoming a firefighter, he later decided he wanted something beyond community college and enrolled at Willamette University. Now firmly ensconced in the culture of Oregon, he was a visitor in my life. My eldest brother Jack had been gone even longer, since 1977. He left home for Wake Forest University when I started fifth grade. I spent my middle school years riding in the back of various cars to shuttle him or his things back and forth to North Carolina. I counted eleven crossings of Paint Creek along the West Virginia turnpike in the late 70s. The year Jack spent abroad, Mom and Dad left Tom and I home for a week while they visited him in Venice. By 1981, Jack was graduated and working in West Berlin in Germany to be near his girlfriend. For me, it was cosmopolitan and exotic to have brothers on opposite sides of the world. I talked to either one of them on the telephone when we called. I wrote letters every once in a while. Prior to e-mail, they were virtual siblings, each only as much a part of my life as I wanted them to be.

 Even though they were gone from my immediate existence, they each cast long shadows. In his own time in high school Jack was active in the drama club. The walls of drama club meeting room were plastered with his images, and indelible memories stuck with his teachers. Tom was equipment manager for the winning football team and other sports. He left memories of his own with teachers.

 But I wasn’t alone in walking in siblings’ shadows. My graduating class was a bit unusual - we were a lot of “youngests.” Our parents had already been through the system at least once, more often twice or more - they were seasoned school participants. They knew the teachers, the administrators, how the system worked. Many teachers taught our older siblings, so we heard, “Oh, another Perrino. And hey, there’s another Savage. Another Ammerman, another Klebanow. How are your folks? How’s Jim or Amy or <name of another older sibling>?” and on and on. There was a comfort in that familiarity…and a danger.

 With familiarity came comfort and with that came friendship, which meant teachers forgave poor behavior, overlooked outbursts, and discipline relaxed. With stories and legends handed down from older siblings, ideas and how-tos were easily copied, and only sometimes stopped. Our parents were tired of parenting, comfortable with their experience with our older siblings, no longer as attentive; busy with aging parents, caught in the middle of two needy generations. With this unique set of circumstances, we teens pushed the envelope, and got away with more than we might have otherwise; later curfews, blind eyes toward the underage drinking.

 Two unique youth organizations complement the usual assortment of activities provided by the local school district. I’ve been gone so many years, I don’t know if they still exist or not. Corral is one. At the time, it was the community’s answer to “What do you do with the teen population to keep them off the streets and off of drugs?” The parent/student group put on dances a couple of times a month. We hired local bands to play, hired DJ’s, showed bad or classic movies like King Kong, Godzilla, Rear Window or The Birds. The movie nights were more successful before the advent of cable television, VCRs, DVDs, and the corner Hollywood or Blockbuster video store. We grew up during the great “Beta vs. VHS” debate. Not every family chose correctly, and there weren’t a whole lot of titles to choose from back then, mostly families recorded what was on cable, and watched at a more convenient time. In the fall, Corral events started after the football game ended, then as the season changed, after the basketball games. Every spring a talent/variety show featured student performances – kids sang, danced, wrote and performed their own comedy sketches, and played instruments.

 Another institution was the “Sub Deb Club.” A high school girls’ sorority, Sub Deb was a self-selecting clique. Was it “cool”? Yes and no. It was similar to a college sorority with more humiliation and much less alcohol. Only loosely supervised by parents of the members, you were invited to join as freshmen, attending “pre-rush” parties. My close and forever friends Valli, Julie and Erin were all enthusiastic, so I went along with it…for a while. Julie’s older sister was active in the organization, and Julie knew some of the older girls. The first few parties were fun – we played silly games to get to know each other and talked about boys and who was popular. After the initial parties, you decided whether or not to rush.

 In order to rush, you needed to hook up with a big sister, a junior or senior member of the club, who was your mentor. The age gap between my brothers and me was large enough that I didn’t know any current students when I entered high school. Not directly anyway. I knew older or younger siblings, or students who were the children of my parent’s friends. Despite participating in Girl Scouts for years, I lacked confidence to ask any of my former troup-mates to be my big sister for Sub Deb. So I was assigned to Beth and Shelley. Friendly, and heavy-set, in the image-conscious anorexic ‘80s they weren’t particularly popular. They participated in flag corps with another friend of mine. Well meaning and sweet, we hit it off, and I enjoyed their company. They welcomed me into their crowd, and I enjoyed the interaction.

 Once rush started, you wore a goofy costume involving a beanie and a tail any time or place outside of school grounds. You were forbidden to wash your hair during rush period (about six weeks) and were required to carry around an unrefrigerated raw egg. Finally, you were required to do whatever a current member asked of you, no matter how outrageous. That’s where I met my downfall.

 On the first day of rush, as soon as I set foot off the high school parking lot property onto the public sidewalk (absolutely no rush activities were allowed on school property) I was ambushed by a particularly vicious upperclassman. “Hey Scum!”

 “What?”

 “Is that how you address a current member of the club?”

 “Sorry, Miss so and so. What can I do for you ma’am?”

 “I want you to kiss Steve Guggenheim.”

 “Oh, no.” I panicked and wanted to cry right then and there. No. How humiliating. He’s my neighbor! He’s a senior! I baby-sat his younger siblings, and I’ve had a crush on him for a year. “No, I’m not going to kiss him.”

 “I’ll have to bring this up to the blackball board. You do know the penalties for disobeying an older member?”

 “Yes Ma’am.” I’ll never live this down, I can’t do this. I’m scared. No amount of personal humiliation is worth a social club. That’s it. I won’t do it anymore.

 I quit that day. I called my big sisters, explained what happened and quit. I would not subject myself to such humiliation.

 To end rush period, on a Saturday morning, pledges stood on street corners in their rush costumes, hair unwashed for so many weeks, a rotten egg kept (and carried with you – except at school) for the duration of rush, and the older members stopped at your corner, ceremonially broke your now rotten egg, and taunted you verbally and poured food products all over you.

 All the endured humiliation was rewarded with the opportunity to attend two additional formal dances per year throughout high school. Homecoming and Prom events were open to all students, but every fall and spring Sub Deb formals were held for members only. Two events per year provided additional opportunities to dress up, rent a limo, go out to eat, and have a special night with your friends or boyfriend. Other social opportunities were offered for members…rush parties in the fall, and usually one event in the summer – a picnic or pool party or some such. The group also performed service projects throughout the year; raking leaves for the elderly, volunteering at the local school for the deaf, collecting for the local food pantry.

 But I quit. My forever friends (Julie, Valli, and Erin) stuck it out, but I couldn’t hack it. My best friends were busy with a social club that I didn’t share, but I did make friends with some very open and supportive upperclassmen. My big sisters understood, and we genuinely liked each other, and they enfolded me into their social world. I waved to them from the bleachers when they performed at football games, and walked to Corral events with them. They were fun company in the lunchroom, and friendly faces in the hallways at school.

 In the winter, they invited me to do a Corral Show act with them. Another girl and I were two of only a handful of freshman in the show that winter - 1982. Ross was stage manager that year, and friendly with the girls in our rag-tag group, mostly juniors, Cynthia and myself, and a foreign exchange student. We performed a skit we called, “If I were not in high school.” Dressed in outlandish costumes we sang simple lyrics while pantomiming for our parents and friends. The audience loved it, and voted us their favorite act, a coveted prize in the friendly competition. We beat out such talent as a nationally recognized young cellist, an enthusiastic acoustic guitar player, several dance groups, and a couple other comedy skits. Not a bad start for a freshman with little experience. And Ross and I began to cross paths more and more frequently.

  +�o�¾