#have you truly worked in a restaurant until you have had an emotional breakdown by the dumpsters? i submit: no

[knowlesian]

one of my favorite games to play whenever i rewatch the bear is “spot the very realistic health code/basic kitchen rule violations”

so far my favorite is one of the ones i’ve never seen mentioned: how often people wear their aprons outside the kitchen, which is absolutely a no-no and equally absolutely happens all the goddamned time and i am speaking from a lot of experience on that one

[lytters]

jealousy, jealousy || b. katsuki

chapter four

masterlist

guilt roils within you, sinking and settling in your skin like a new lover. it coats your mouth, your brain, and you can barely focus on what nejire is saying. you feel bad for not paying attention to her as she chatters on about her day, but your mind is far away, left behind some streets ago with a certain blond at a certain fountain.

distracted, you don’t realize where nejire has led you until you’re seated with a menu in hand. it’s a restaurant you and katsuki used to come to all the time when you were in highschool. your mood drops further, and it feels wrong to be seated here with nejire and not him.

“y/n-chan? what’s wrong?” nejire asks, concern splayed across her face.

“nothing!” you try for a smile, failing miserably as tears begin splashing down your cheeks.

“y/n!” she’s alarmed now, dashing over to sit next to you.

god, this was embarrassing. you’re crying over nothing while on (fake) date with a pretty woman who has done nothing but try to help you and yet, you can’t help but wish it wasn’t her.

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry,” you choke out between sobs. “just, give me a moment.”

nejire wraps her arms around you, patting your head comfortingly. everything you’ve tried to suppress since last night, every emotion, every thought, it comes crashing hard. it sweeps you off your feet, tossing and turning and drowning you until you’re gasping for air. you only stop crying when you’ve run out of tears and energy.

blowing your nose noisily, you wipe the remnants of your tears away and sit upright. nejire’s arms fall from around you, and you turn to her. you avert your eyes, too ashamed to meet hers, and apologize. she shakes her head sympathetically, wrapping you in another hug. it feels like she’s trying to hold you steady, to stop you from spilling everything once more, but your cup’s been emptied, leaving you with a hollow feeling.

“i’m sorry,” you apologize once more as nejire returns to her seat. “i… i think i was just overwhelmed by...”

you shrug helplessly as you trail off.

nejire only smiles empathetically and says, “it’s fine, i get it. i’ve been there too. do you want to talk about it?”

“...maybe we could eat then talk?” you’re feeling drained from your little breakdown, and it doesn’t help that hunger is finally setting in.

“definitely!” she beams at you before calling the waiter over. you place your orders, and the food comes almost instantly. nejire picks up from where she left off earlier, and you’re a much more attentive listener this time, albeit still as silent as before. she doesn’t seem to mind though, and you appreciate her for it. by the time you’ve finished dinner, you feel a lot better. between having hot food in your stomach and nejire’s cheerful demeanor, you’d like to think you have enough energy to be a proper date.

“nejire-senpai,,” you start cautiously. “i really appreciate you wanting to help, i do. but… i don’t think we should continue this fake-dating thing.”

“why not?” nejire asks, and for once, there isn’t a barrage of follow-up questions.

“it just doesn’t seem right, you know? it feels like i’m using you, and i’ll be lying to my friends. and i don’t think it’ll work anyway. if katsuki’s with her, then it must mean he does have genuine feelings for her. he wouldn’t waste time on someone he doesn’t like.”

“y/n-chan, how sure are you that he doesn’t have feelings for you?” nejire asks gently. “because from what i remember from highschool, he only ever had eyes for you. maybe i don’t know him as well as you do, but you were the only one he ever looked at that way. and based off his reaction earlier, it didn’t exactly seem like it was coming from a place of platonicity.”

“nejire-senpai, i really appreciate you hoping for me, but i’ve spent years hoping, and katsuki’s not the type to not act on his feelings. if he truly does have feelings for me, wouldn’t he have acted on it by now?” frustration seeps through in your tone, tinging the atmosphere with bitterness that almost hurts.

nejire must see something in your eyes because she backs down, saying, “alright, if that’s what you wish to do, then we’ll stop. but that doesn’t mean we can’t still hang out! i do actually miss my kohai!”

relieved that she understands, or at least you think she does, you crack a smile, her happiness infectious.

“of course, you were my favorite senpai for a reason.”

she gasps delightedly. “say that again, but let me record it this time! i’m going to play this back for mirio. he’s going to be sooo jealous!”

you laugh, but agree to it, even adding a few reasons why she was your favorite senior. mirio would probably act hurt by it, but he would know you were only joking. at least partially anyway.

the remainder of your time at the diner is spent talking about everything and nothing at all, laughing at the stupidest of reasons until you had to leave. nejire pays for the meal, insisting that she had to, as your favorite senior. you agree reluctantly, and once the payment has been made, you both make your way to the train station together.

the night air is warm, slightly sticky from the summer humidity. but it’s not so unbearable as you walk arm in arm with nejire, giggling as you walk. you’re almost at the train station when you spot katsuki, only he isn’t alone this time. his girlfriend is by his side, the both of them leaning against a railing as they sip on some drinks.

you don’t realize how tense you are until nejire squeezes your arm lightly.

“y/n-chan, come on, let’s go.”

but you’re frozen in place, eyes glued to them, watching as he smiles at her, laughs with her. that used to be you, once upon a time. where you were younger, before life split your paths up. your stare must hold a weight to it, because katsuki turns his head and makes direct eye contact with you. his shoulders tense for a moment before it relaxes once more, and he murmurs something to her.

he begins walking to you with her following right behind, and you’re now caught between fight or flight because you were not ready to speak to him yet. katsuki stops right in front of you, saving you from making a choice as he speaks.

“y/n, nejire-san.” he nods politely. politely. that was unlike katsuki to be civil, especially when he’d been on the verge of losing his temper earlier. is it because he thinks nejire is your girlfriend? he opens his mouth to continue speaking, then closes it, as if at a loss for words.

a light cough from his side reminds you all that she is still around, and katsuki shifts a little before introducing her.

“this is my,” he hesitates, shooting a quick look to the girl. she wraps an arm around his biceps, leaning forward with an innocent smile. “my girlfriend, harada akio.”

though you had already acknowledged this, repeated this and said several times, having confirmation that she is his girlfriend feels like a knife’s been shoved between your ribs, twisting and dragging its way across your chest.

“nice to meet you, harada-chan!” nejire chirps when you take too long to respond.

“nice to meet you,” harada replies, waiting for nejire to introduce herself.

before nejire can, you cut in, plastering a bright grin on.

“this is my girlfriend, hado nejire.” oh god, what are you saying? what are you doing? are you insane? have you lost your mind? “nice to meet you harada-san, i’m l/n y/n.”

harada smiles at you, all pearly whites and perfect lips.

“nice to meet you l/n-san, i’ve heard plenty about you.”

shock flits through your system for a second before pettiness takes over. you aren’t friends with hitoshi for no reason, and you channel as much of him as you can in this moment.

“funny, i can’t say the same. katsuki never even mentioned he has a girlfriend.” your smile bares more teeth than can be considered friendly, and a sliver of satisfaction snakes down your spine at her faltering smile. hitoshi would be proud of you.

“you didn’t tell me you were dating nejire-san either.” katsuki interjects through clenched teeth.

“you don’t sound too pleased about that, bakugo-kun.” nejire smiles sharply. “jealous?”

“why would he be?” harada says blandly. you watch her grip on katsuki’s arm tighten. “now, we’ve got plans to catch a movie, so we’ll be off first. it was nice meeting you, i hope to see you again.”

you exchange terse goodbyes, and nejire’s hand grounds you as they walk off. when they’ve walked out of sight, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“sooooo,” nejire starts. “we’re doing the fake dating thing after all.”

you flush, scratching the back of your neck sheepishly.

“i’m so sorry senpai, i just…”

“felt like you had to one up him? wipe that smug look off that girl’s face? punch them both?” she suggests, and you laugh.

“yes, yes, and yes.” you slip out of her hold, sliding your hands to grab hers. “i know i said i didn’t want to do it, but” – you shrug helplessly – “i kinda just dug my own grave there, so if you really don’t mind, would you be my fake girlfriend?”

nejire lets out an exaggerated gasp, hands flying out of yours and up to her mouth.

“y/n-chan, i would love to be your fake girlfriend! it would be my absolute honor!” she pulls you in for a tight hug, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

you laugh at her theatrics and let her spin you around until you’re both breathless and in stitches.

“thank you, really.” you say right before you part ways at the train station.

“like i said, anything for my precious little kohai.” nejire pinches your cheek affectionately. “now get home safe, alright? can’t be losing my fake girlfriend just when i got her.”

“i will, senpai. you get home safe too.” you wave at her as she steps on to her train. she winks, blowing a kiss at you.

“don’t you worry sweetheart, i’ll be just fine.”

[julemmaes]

Payback

Rowaelin Month, Day Five

A/N: Yall I'm dying. I didn't even wanna write today and I kinda forced myself to and I'm not proud of myself for this but I just wanted you to have something so yep. Tomorrow's will be a lot angstier and sadder than this one, so soak up the very light fluff I'm giving you till you can

Signing off, goodnight yall

Word count: 3,614

Aelin hated the underground car park reserved for the residents of her building. It was dark, so narrow that you had to do at least a hundred swerves to avoid taking any corner and scratching off half your car, and it was impossible to find a spot when everyone came home in the evening after hours and hours in the office and parked as they saw fit while still thinking about the thousands of pieces of paperwork that would be waiting for them at their desks only nine hours later, sometimes taking up more than two spots at once.

The only reason she still tried to park down there was that there was a flock of pigeons in the trees just outside their block of flats, on the main road, which had made a nasty habit of shitting on anything - or anyone, on some unpleasant occasion - that stopped for more than five minutes under the thick branches. A perfect hiding place for birds, that no one had thought to warn her about when she had moved in only a few months earlier.

She had deemed herself lucky the night before, when she had returned before anyone else and found the lot completely empty. She'd been so happy that she'd driven around a bit down there just for the hell of it. She'd pulled up next to the exit, thinking it would be easier to get out the next morning.

She hadn't anticipated the three assholes who had parked so as to block her path in every conceivable way.

She grunted, banging her fist against the steering wheel when she realised she still wasn't clear, and put the car into reverse for the twelfth time, before changing gear and driving three inches forward. And so on, and on, and on, until she managed to steer the face of the car towards the exit and let out a satisfied howl.

She started up the slope towards the road, taking her eyes off the driveway and distracting herself for a moment to choose which radio to listen to, when the car hit something and the dull sound of the bang echoed throughout her body, propelling her forward.

Aelin squealed, hitting the brakes hard enough to cause a high-pitched squeal, and soon the smell of burnt plastic filled her nostrils.

The car shut off and she pulled the handbrake vehemently, getting out of the car and trying to figure out which wall she had hit, already cursing every deity that had ever existed. She didn't have enough money to afford a repair, and she knew perfectly well that the dent would be there for months before she let any of her friends help her.

She wrinkled her brow, noticing how no side of the car was touching walls or columns.

"What the..."

And then she heard it, a grunt of pain.

She opened her eyes wide, running around the car and finding a man on the ground.

To the view of a head full of stark white hair, the fear she’d just ran over one of the oldies that lived on her floor stuck her. But then the person got up on their elbows and she let go of a sigh of relief.

But still, she had just runapartment someone over. She hurried his way.

"Oh, fuck." said Aelin, approaching the stranger. The man pulled himself up to sit, bringing a hand to his face, on his cheek, where a cut was bleeding profusely on his shirt.

"Holy shit." muttered the guy, looking up at her, "That hurt."

Aelin was frozen in time, her hands to her gaping mouth, looking for the right words.

When he tried to stand, swaying a little, she pushed through the fog in her mind and truly looked at him, searching other injuries, but not failing to notice his sheer handsomeness.

The man looked like he’d been made in heaven.

She shook her head, mentally reprimanding herself – now was not the time – and started talking.

“I’m so so so sorry. I didn’t see you there and- oh god, you’re bleeding. You need me to rush you to the hospital? Fuck, you think you broke something?” the words just kept flowing and flowing. “Where were you even going? Why didn’t you just got out of the main entrance? This fucking parking lot. I swear we have to call the landlord and have him put some lights down here. Your shirt,” she grimaced, eyeing the blood standing out on the white fabric. Aelin looked him in the eye, “I have a very similar one upstairs? You want me to go fetch it for you, I could-”

“Jesus Christ!” he yelled, putting his hands in between them, forcing her to step back, “Shut the fuck up!”

Aelin’s mouth closed shut and her eyebrows raised so high she felt her skin pull on her temples. She crossed her arms over her chest. Her eyes popping out.

This man. Sure, she’d just ran him over, but no one had ever talked to her like that.

“I’m fine.” he grumbled, “And I live in this building, I’ll go take my own shirt, thank you.” He took a deep breath, brushing off his trousers and bending to gather his stuff that had scattered around during his fall. When he lifted his head again, he gave her a tight smile and his piercing green eyes stared at her with an intensity that had Aelin’s toes curling in her shoes.

“Have a nice day.”

He then proceeded to walk away, leaving Aelin alone in the darkish driveway.

She looked around, hoping to see someone who could confirm that it had just been a figment of her imagination, but there was no one.

Getting back in her car, Aelin started the engine and drove up to the street, chewing on her lips, “What the fuck just happened?”

***

Aelin had thought all day about the mysterious man. She hadn’t been able to focus during her meetings and hadn’t even finished one of her projects. Something that she sure as fuck knew her boss would make her notice and work her ass off to make up for once word got to him.

Her day had started off so bad she knew it couldn’t get any worse, but she’d been wrong.

Her assistant had spilled coffee over her only finished drawing and herself. One of her coworkers had decided today was the perfect day to quit her job and pile her projects on Aelin’s desk. Then she’d gone out for lunch with some of her friends and it had started raining so heavily she’d been forced to stay in the office, only eye-eating the mouth-watering dishes her friends had posted on their instagram stories. They’d made it to the diner just before the sky cracked open.

And, the cherry on top, someone had keyed her car.

She’d been on the verge of tears when she’d spotted the red stains of her neighbor’s blood on the parking lot floor when she got back home, but she didn’t let any fall.

She had a date.

And she wouldn’t let all these little things get to her and ruin what could possibly be the best night of her life.

One of her life-long best friends had set her up on a blind date with one of her boyfriend’s best friends. She’d promised the man was the perfect match, someone Elide thought would keep her on her toes and match her overflowing personality.

Aelin had been hesitant at first when Elide hadn’t wanted to give her a name, or show her a picture, claiming she’d go all FBI style on him and ruin their first meeting, but she’d also promised Aelin she’d met the guy a few times and he’d been nothing but a gentleman.

And she had heard so much of him she felt like she’d known him her whole life.

Some of the things Elide had told her, she’d liked better if she’d found directly from him, but Aelin was a picky woman and she wasn’t risking another date with a creeper.

She pulled up in the restaurant’s parking lot where Elide had reserved the four of them a table and turned off her car, clutching the wheel. She took a deep breath. And another.

She was still a little worked up and all the pent-up emotions of the day were threatening to spill over the surface any minute, but she could make it past dinner and then have her little monthly breakdown in the peace and quiet of her apartment.

She fixed her lipstick, tightened up her ponytail and let two strands of hair cascade on the side of her face. She blew herself a kiss in the mirror, “You can do it.” she whispered as a short pet talk.

She got off the car, pulled out her phone to check if Elide was already inside and she was so focused on the screen she failed to notice someone backing up right in front of her until it was too late.

The car only bumped into her hip, but it was enough to make her lose her balance.

Aelin merely had time to register what was happening that she found herself lying in a puddle of rain and mud. She closed her eyes at the dull pain on the back of her head, but she knew for a fact the hit hadn’t been that bad.

She lifted her arms up, looking down at the wet spots on her dress, darkening by the second. Her seventy euros purse soaking up the water all around her.

The tension behind her eyes just increased when she heard the driver’s door open and someone step out of the car. She couldn’t have stopped the sobs even if she wanted to.

“Miss? Oh god, I’m so sorry. Are you alright?”

Strong arms circled her waist and pulled her up in a standing position. She brought her hands to her face, her body now racked by her crying as she tried to get a handle of herself.

“Miss?” the voice called again, now nearer. “Are you hurt? I didn’t-” the man talking stopped suddenly and Aelin looked up, not seeing anything through the tears. “You.”

And then it hit her.

That voice.

She knew that voice.

She ran her hand over her face, rubbing her eyes and staring right back at the man she had ran over that same morning.

Her mouth fell open.

He was looking at her with an amused expression and Aelin couldn’t find the words once again.

What was it with this man and his ability to take her ability to talk by just showing up?

He had a transparent band-aid on his cheek, his cut far less severe than she had thought, and his eyes were glistening with mirth. He was wearing a simple black pair of jeans and a dark green t-shirt, but he was even more handsome than in his work clothes.

Aelin was taking rushed, trembling breaths, and she was about to kill this man with her bare hands. Shred his skin off his bones and have him beg-

“I guess we’re even now, uh?”

His attempt of a joke flew over her head and she charged at him, a scream lodged in her throat.

His eyes widened and he took a step back when she flung her arm at him, trying to hit him. His hands closed around her wrists, blocking her from causing him more harm that she’d already done.

“You asshole!” she was screaming at the top of her lungs. “You ruined my dress!”

Aelin lifted a leg, more than convinced to kneel his balls, but he managed to block her blow again, infuriating her even more.

“I was about to meet the love of my life and ruined my fucking dress!”

He tried to push her away from him, still squeezing her wrists, and his brow furrowed.

“He’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of. He’s a pediatrician! He loves children! And he has a cute fucking dog my friend said I would love and cuddle the shit out of! Her name is Fleetfoot and she’s a golden retriever and Elide knows I fucking love goldens. And he’s from Orynth, just. Like. Me!” she got louder and louder with every word she spit out. “And he’s tall, and handsome and he’s the perfect match! And I deserved this one night!”

The man was now looking at her with a dumbfounded expression, his hold slightly loosening.

“I’m so done with this dating thing and I’d finally found him and you!” she shoved a finger in his chest, making him retreat a few steps. “You wanted your payback so bad you ran me over with your car!

“And now he’s gonna take one look at me and think I’m a fucking psycho! I bet my hair are the most disgusting thing he’s ever seen and my make up. Oh fuck, I must look like a panda.” Aelin started crying harder, laying her hands flat on the man’s torso, pushing her head to his chest. “I look like a fucking panda.”

She tried to speak again but her mind just couldn’t form any coherent thought, until she felt the man’s arms closing around her shoulders. He stepped closer, running his hand up and down her back, whispering something she couldn’t really hear over her crying.

Aelin didn’t know how much time she spent in the stranger’s embrace, but when the gravity of the scene she’d just made in front of him downed on her, she felt her body flare up in embarrassment.

That was her life now?

Having mental breakdowns in a dark parking lot after someone she’d ran over with her car had returned the gesture and then making them console her?

She detached herself from the man and for a second she thought she’d felt him hesitate before he took a step back. And another, leaving her standing her in her soaking wet dress and her puffy, surely-red eyes. He bent down, picking up her purse and handing it to her.

She lowered her gaze, not even daring looking at his shoes and closed her eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

The man made a sound of surprise, “Why would you be sorry?”

Aelin wished she could die on the spot. Evaporate out of existence.

“For hitting you. Or at least trying. And crying all over you.” she said and then grimaced. She ran a hand over her face. “I just had a very hard day and I wasn’t even sure I wanted to come, but this guy seriously seems like he could be the missing piece to whatever the fuck my puzzle-life is. I didn’t want to take a raincheck and have him thinking I’m not serious about this.”

A beat of silence, “I’m sure he would have understood.”

She shook her head, keeping on talking as if he hadn’t even been there, “And now I can’t go in like this.” she passed her hands on her dress, the tears building up again in her eyes. “Plus, Elide didn’t tell me what he looks like, cause she thinks he’s a real snack and wanted to see my face when I saw him for the first time.” she was bordering on pouting, “That means he’s gotta be smoking hot or I’ll be so pissed at her.”

The man snorted loudly, “A snack.” he hummed, “Maybe I should meet your friend and thank her.”

Aelin’s head snapped up, “Oh no, she’s taken.” she shook her head vehemently, “Like so freaking taken. I swear she and her boyfriend have been together for a whole of three months and they already act like a married couple.”

He nodded, a lopsided smile on his face, “I know the kind.”

She’d been so absorbed by her talking that she hadn’t noticed she’d stopped crying.

She breathed through her nose and clasped her hands together, before reaching one out towards him, “I think introductions are needed. I’m Aelin.” she offered a tentative smile.

His hand engulfed hers, shaking it with impressive gentleness. His smile grew even larger if possible and Aelin was starting to think she was about to het murdered.

But then he said his name and the world ceased existing around them.

Their hands still moving up and down between them.

She tilted her head forward, “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

He licked his lower lip, “I’m Rowan.”

Aelin closed her eyes, holding her breath.

She squeezed his hand before releasing it. She took a step back, wishing for the ground beneath her feet to crack open and just eat her whole.

“I’m gonna go kill myself now, if you’ll excuse me.”

His laugh reached her ears with painful speed.

Rowan.

She couldn’t believe it.

Well, she could. The man laughing his heart out at her expense was probably the most handsome person she’d ever seen in her entire life.

At least Elide hadn’t lied about that.

“A tad dramatic, if you ask me,” he said as his laugh died down. He pointed at the restaurant behind him, “You want me to go fetch the married couple so we can go back at the appartment and you can change? I’m not against you walking in there with this outfit at all,” he gave a pointed look, matched by a shit-eating grin that seemed to be etched in his lips, “I’m not gonna think you’re a psycho, not for this at least, and I’m ready to fight everyone who looks at you the wrong way. But you look like you could use the comfort of a warm house.”

Aelin looked up at him with a questioning look, trying to understand if this man she’d just tried to maul was seriously offering her options, letting her choose after everything that had gone down so far between the two of them. As if still giving her a chance.

Rowan arched a brow, looking around and glancing back at her, “Aelin?”

Oh, fuck.

She had been oh so not ready o hear her name from his lips.

She nodded and he smiled, leaning down a bit.

She could smell his cologne from here.

“Yes to what? Me calling Lorcan and Elide or getting inside even if you dripping wet?”

Holy fucking shit, this man shouldn’t have been allowed to say the words dripping wet.

She stilled herself.

What the hell was she thinking? She brought her hands to her face, “Please call them and let’s head home. I’m so fucking tired.” a yawn broke her sentence, as to prove her words, “And I’m freezing in this skimpy dress.”

Rowan rushed to her side, “Oh, god, sorry for not offering sooner, here,” he opened the trunk of his car and pulled out a huge blue sweater. Without even waiting for an answer he snatched her purse from her hands and shoved her head in his sweater.

Aelin felt better right away and gave him a big smile.

Rowan answered with one of his own and of course he had to be this perfect and more.

“I’m sorry for ruining your dress, I’ll make sure they wash it carefully when I take it to the laundry. If you’d let me.”

She nodded faintly, exhaling the panty-dropping smell of his sweater.

“And I’m hoping to see you wear it again once we finally get to go on a proper date.” he smirked, “I bet you looked amazing before I went and ran you over.”

Aelin chuckled, shaking her head, “You truly are a gentleman. Elide wasn’t exaggerating.”

Rowan’s demeanor changed completely and Aelin feared she’d said something wrong, but he averted his gaze as if he was embarassed.

“I’m sorry for this morning,” he said. Aelin almost tripped on her feet. He was sorry? “I shouldn’t have talked to you like that but I was just coming back from the hospital and Elide was right saying I work with kids, but I’m not a pediatrician, I’m a pediatric surgeon.”

His gaze grew dark as he looked over her shoulder, avoiding meeting her eyes at all costs.

“Yesterday night we lost a eight years old and I wasn’t really there when you hit me with your car. I didn’t mean to yell at you like I did, it was just-”

Rowan couldn’t finish his sentence that Aelin lunged for him, hugging him as tight as he’d held her a few minutes before, hoping she could relieve some of the pain that was surely clutching his heart. She felt him sag in her arms and hold her in turn.

She was glad she could offer some kind of support.

“It must be hard.” she whispered against his chest.

Rowan nodded, hitting her head with his chin, “It is, but it’s part of the job. The only way you can live with something like that in your baggage is knowing you did everything you could to save them.”

Aelin could feel the emotion lacing his every word and tightened her arms for a moment before freeing him of her embrace. He silently thanked her and told her he’d be right back with their friends.

The second he was gone she realized she couldn’t wait for when he’d be back and they could keep talking.

She’d never felt this way before. Not this fast at least.

Sure, she had loved all her exes, but this. This was different.

There was something there, a connection.

And while he walked back to her, Lorcan and Elide in tow, a bright smile on his handsome face, she couldn’t help but think she was ready to find out all about it.

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[nincompoopydoo]

PAIRING, BAGELS, REPEAT

— I’VE SEEN FIRE, I’VE SEEN RAIN ; PART 2 / ?

PAIRING: Bruce Wayne x reader

WORD COUNT: 1909

SUMMARY: Being laid off isn’t very fun but Bruce tends to find himself even more entangled in your life, including his alter ego—Batman.

A/N: I’m loving this series and if you are, feedback is appreciated. Thank you for reading my crappy stuff aka my daydreams <3

WARNINGS: Guns! Death threats! Crying! A mental breakdown!

MASTERLIST ; MASTERPOST

James Taylor’s Fire and Rain plays like a funeral hymn on the record player, echoing through your studio apartment. You’re sitting on the ground, back against the ratty couch with a pizza box on your lap. You take a bite of a BBQ Chicken pizza slice, furiously wiping your tears away as you replayed the events from six hours ago. From being called to the principal's office to only be told that you’re one of the non-tenured teachers to be laid off due to cutbacks. Gotham High was...a tough school. The students were mean to you because well, you're young and always gave them the benefit of the doubt. Plus, you taught English Literature and frankly, your students didn’t exactly enjoy the subject as much as you wanted them to. Nevertheless, you’re devastated. Teaching was a dream of yours, and it’s being taken away from you. You cried all the way back home, tried to call your mother but it kept going to voicemail. You must have called someone else, but you don’t remember and couldn’t care less to check your phone—the whole day went by like a blur.

Then, there’s a sound. An insistent buzz, it’s the doorbell. You furrow your brows, not recalling ordering anything else other than the large pizza from Domino’s. Yet, it doesn’t cease, and you’re forced to bring yourself to stand on your feet, instinctively flattening your tousled hair to make yourself seem somewhat presentable. Like, you’re doing fine and you have everything completely under control. Maybe, you did call your mother, and she’s at the door. You’re hoping she is although she’s going to kill you for the mess.

Another buzz and you’re toddling across the wooden flooring and towards the doorway. It’s starting to become infuriating by the second, like a house fly don’t won’t stop bugging you. Considering the mood you’re in, it doesn’t take much to tick you off. Swinging the door open, you expected to see the radiant face of your mother but to your surprise, it’s not.

It’s Bruce.

Shit.

You haven’t seen him in two weeks.

You nearly choke at the sight of him in a slightly crumpled oxford blue dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, hair as much of a mess as yours and tired eyes staring down at you with concern. You note how Bruce is very charming, no matter how disarrayed he is. Meanwhile, you’re realizing the current state must be a little startling. Your eyes are probably bloodshot, hair still in a tangled mess and glaring tomato stains everywhere on your GCU t-shirt. This is such a low point for you.

“Bruce,” you say, voice raising an octave with wide eyes as you stare at him like he’s grown another head, “What are you doing here?” His frown is immediate, seemingly confused by your question. “You called me.” He gestures to his phone within his grasp. “It sounded bad even though I couldn’t make out what you were saying half of the time,” He chuckles and holds up a familiar looking paper bag “So, I got you bagels. Three of them. Thought you could use some of these.”

It takes a second or two for you to finally process what he just told you before your emotionally wrecked brain decides to do the most irrational thing ever—You just start sobbing. You’re crying so hard that it terrifies Bruce. He blinks, thoughts racing. The sight of you in complete misery strikes him like a punch to his gut and for the first time, he doesn’t know what to do. Not immediately. Yet, through glassy eyes, you manage to notice the way his face dropped and morphed into pure horror. Justification is key, you don’t want to weird him out and think you’re crazy. You wave your hand in the air dismissively, rubbing your eyes as you spoke between strangled sobs. “I’m sorry, it’s been a tough day and that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me all week.”

Oh.

Your words are a tug to the heartstrings, and it sends his head reeling but relief was all that overwhelmed him. Bruce would never wish to see you hurt, especially when it’s caused by him. Actions of affection were primarily reserved for those closest to him, but he never experienced the urge to be intimate and care so much for a person ever since his parents died. Yet, out of everyone, you’re the one that brings out the most in him. Moving closer to you, he reaches and pulls you in a hesitant embrace. You stiffened at the mere touch of his arms around you, unsure of what to do with yourself.

Sure, you had a fair share of intimate moments with the man but this, this was different. You couldn’t shake the thought of how something so warm felt so right, smelt right. Despite the fact you had been trying to suppress your feelings for Bruce, and this was doing the exact opposite of that, you can’t help but feel this was what you needed at the moment. So, you let your body sag, muscles becoming loose and you let yourself truly cry for the first time.

You end up inviting him in later, when your tears are dry. You eat two of the bagels, sharing the last one with him. You called a peace offering, a gift of appreciation, for the whole emotional massacre you unexpectedly shoved at him. He simply laughs, eyes crinkling with fondness. He thinks you’re beautiful, especially when your hair is wild, laughing like you don’t have a care in the world. It’s what keeps him grounded, to know you’re raw and very real. The next thing you know, you end up shuffling cards of UNO until the wee hours of the morning—exchanging knowing smiles and Bruce trying to pick a Wild Draw card from the deck to get you to lose. But, he lets you win anyway.

He slept on your couch that night, still in his dress shirt. You must've peeked a glance at his sleeping form, squeezed onto the couch that’s clearly too small for him. Cute. You snap a picture before heading to bed. For blackmail purposes, of course.

-

You end up working a night shift at a burger joint called Big Belly Burger somewhere in midtown. Your first week comes and goes, and you’re starting to hate how your uniform itches and how the restaurant can get really filthy by the end of the day. Yet, it’s the kids from Cameron Kane High that come after school that keeps you going because it makes you miss being a teacher even though they tend to leave a mess after a meal.

Thursday comes and you’re exhausted. Even so, you’re thankful it’s a slow night. You’ve done all your cleaning duties earlier on and Lucie, the manager went out to buy a pack of cigarettes from the convenience store around the corner. Hence, it’s just you, slumped against the counter, devouring a Triple Belly Burger.

You’re half way through the burger when you hear the door swing open. Expecting to see Lucie, you turned around to see two men brandishing handguns your way. “Everything from the register, now!” The taller masked man shouted, gun gesturing to the cash register. Your eyes are wide, and you can feel your chest heaving. There was no way you’ll be able to fight them. Not two of them with guns pointed at you.

The burger drops from your hand and so does your heart. With trembling hands, you slide the drawer of the cash register open and begin pulling out dollar notes. From the corner of your eye, you spot your phone on the counter, close enough for you to make an emergency call. Your eyes scan the two men wearily and with every ounce of courage you had left, you managed to unlock your phone, pulled up the messaging app and texted the first name on the list: Bruce Wayne.

help, was all you managed to say.

To say your luck ran out was an understatement; you were never lucky anyway. One of the robbers must have caught on to what you were doing and just as the call goes through, he snatches your phone away, throws it onto the ground and shoots it.

So close, yet so far.

You don't know if the message got through.

The muzzle is now inches away from your forehead, and you hear the cock of the gun. “Don’t you dare pull somethin’ funny like or I’ll blow your brains out. Give us the money, now.” It was in that moment, your tears give way and your life flashes before your eyes. You pray for a miracle, a savior.

Then, you see him.

A looming figure appears by the doorway and your breath hitches. It’s Batman, looking like a Goddamn angel. The robbers seem to realize this too, guns quickly directed towards the vigilante. He launches batarangs to the pair of men and immediately disarms them. In a flash, he knocks them out, unconscious bodies dropping to the ground like dead flies.

You stare at him in awe although he’s very frightening and intimidating but Batman...just saved you. Now, this is a story you’re going to be telling everybody until the day you die. He approaches you with caution, and you instinctively take a step back. Then, he calls you by your name like it’s second nature. You stare at him with blank amazement, brows raised.

“You know my name?” Your voice dwindled; It’s so soft and timid you hardly hear yourself. Despite the mask, the vigilante looks like his brain just short-circuited for a moment. He clears his throat.

“...Bruce has mentioned you.”

You ignore how his synthetic voice makes every hair on the back of your neck stand and the familiarity that struck for a split second when he said your name because you’re too wrapped up with the fact that Bruce has discussed about you to his other ‘best friend’ as one might call it. Brooding over this lump of a thought, the corner of your mouth twitches. “He did?” you say with a hint of affection. It’s hard to read the man under the mask, whoever he was but you’re certain he looked taken aback by your response. Maybe, it was the way you delivered it—the longing in the very core of the expression. You may have outed your feelings for Bruce to...Batman.

This doesn’t get any stranger than that.

“Yes,” he replies curtly, and you hear the police sirens afar. “Are you hurt?” Like the true caretaker of Gotham, he wants to be sure you haven’t been injured. You shake your head, lips pressed together. The whaling of the police sirens grow louder, lights of red and blue flashing before your eyes. He appears like a shadow against the glaring lights from the police cruisers and before you can blink, he flees with a muttered ‘Goodnight’ and disappears before the police come flooding in and does Lucie. The poor woman looked at with frantic eyes as soon as she glimpsed the two men on the ground, groaning in pain.

The glint of the batarang on the floor captures your attention, you smile at this.

You may or may not have taken it back to your apartment that currently sits proudly on the bookshelf in your living room.

You’re so telling Bruce.

TAGLIST:

@raineeace

[ak47stylegirl]

Okay, time to write about my day I guess. It was a real bag of mixed emotions, it started out pretty horrible as most of you know. I had a pretty big mental breakdown, sobbing into my Alan plushie.

But I was able to work it out with my mum and she put the rest of the amount on, plus promised not to do it again. Now I’m hesitant to trust that fully but I do trust the fact she doesn’t want to see me suffering, she a really good mum despite her downfalls.

(She was my main good parental figure growing up as my father was shit, and cause of a good few of my issues. She wasn’t all perfect, a part of me slightly resents her for just standing by while my father emotional hurt and tormented me for years, it’s still something I haven’t fully come to terms with as I love her and she’s a great mum, but...it’s complicated)

Anyway what was I talking about? Oh yeah, my day. Okay after eating breakfast, which was vegmite and toast XD I left for class. But I didn’t go alone 😁

Scotty came with me! 💙 this is us on the bus, everybody that asked about him though he was cute 🥰

Though I was slightly worried about him falling off my bag but he was securely on, so I don’t know why I worried, I just did. I guess I just didn’t want to lose him 😅 that would have been horrible 😰🥺😭

Anyway class was okay ish, the support lady wasn’t there, which got me worried as though she was going to be there to help me but whenever I started to feel really anxious, I squeezed Scott’s hand and it helped a lot.

Here’s another Scott, I made sure he was with in my eyesight at all times (almost all times)

This is the drawing I did today,

I’m very happy with how it turned out but nearing the end of the lesson, I was really getting drained, still reeling from the earlier breakdown. So once I completed that, I didn’t need to do anything else, so I left a bit early but not before talking with my teacher.

He wanted to talk to me about changing to part time, and dropping painting and drawing was okay with him, so that was good. I also asked him about the task I was struggling with and he explained it to me, so I think I can do it now, plus he had a look at my journal and said it was good 😄

So yeah, I left class a little early but decided to stop by student support to just ask exactly what was going on with my changing, plus actually support stuff. So I talked with them, and we were actually able to start the process of getting me I enrolled from the two Thursday classes, so that was good. We also talked about maybe making a time where I can meet a support person outside of class to discuss what’s going on, what I need help with, e.t.e.

Plus I asked about the printmaking thing and I think I’m going to be okay, I think they’re going to talk to my teacher and if not, it’s okay because I’m not the only one that isn’t ready. Whatever happens, I’m just going to stand firm and say I’m not ready to print and that’s that! (Easily said than done but I’ll try 😅)

Okay I think this is a good time to mention that it was nearly four/a bit passed four and I had only had breakfast 😓 I was in pain from the lack of food, plus feeling a bit yuck emotionally so I really needed a pick me up.

So chocolate it was, it was really nice plus I got a free churro as an apology for it taking a while 😄 I’ll be honest, I felt a bit bad about getting this seeing as this morning I had been panicking about money, but really I just needed some comfort food and my kitchen was a mess, (and I didn’t have chocolate at home, honestly my fridge is very empty, which is something I really need to fix 😅😥😓)

Anyway, I got home and lounged about for a bit until seven, which was when I needed to met up with people from my floor and the ones above (below it a bit too) as I had been invited out to dinner. It was a thing my building was doing, and honestly, I didn’t have the energy to cook and I just wanted to stop and relax for a bit, so I went to the dinner.

But mind you, before we left it started raining, like thunderstorm with lightning, raining. But we still walked to the restaurant.

It was very nice and relaxing, a bit of relief from all the stress. It was an Italian restaurant, and seeing as I’m lactose intolerant, it was the vegan menu for me 😅

Got myself a yummy pasta, with added chicken plus a mocktail as real cocktails and me don’t mix 🤢 or really any alcohol really. I don’t like it 🤮

But the food was really good, plus I had fun just chatting with people and just relaxing and enjoying myself for once long while. It was really nice and I think I really did need it.

The storm had thankfully finished by the time we left, and now I’m home. I’m thinking I’m going to grab a quick shower before going to bed. I have a big day tomorrow.

Also I wanted to thank and hug every single one of you, your kind words and support is a life saver, truly. Being able to talk to you about what going on is really helping, even though at times I feel like I may be annoying you or sounding ungrateful or whatever else my anxiety thinks up but really thank you so much ❤️💙 //hugs//

@misssquidtracy @godsliltippy

[chenle-dressed-in-black]

baldrs, neos, and kangs~  pt.1

     NCT mafia au with my own oc named Kang Sooyoung, who is a young girl born into one of the coldest mafias of them all. She’s trying to live on her own and cut ties with her family, but with everyone either looking out for her or waiting to kill her, it’s a lot harder than it sounds. 

     relevant people in this story who will appear a lot (every nct member appears at some point): johnny suh, dong sicheng, nakamoto yuta, and kim doyoung

warnings: language

word count: 1.6k

m.list

series m.list

     Sooyoung picks up her phone each time it rings, which is admittedly a bad habit she should start working on. “Hello?” 

     Her cousin, Gwen, mouths a question at her. Who is it? She’s sprawled across her purple velvet, four-poster bed. Her bare feet hang off the side of the bed lazily. She looks like she doesn’t have a care in the world, so nothing new there.

     “Are you even home?” It’s Sicheng, but Sooyoung should’ve expected that. “You’re not, are you?”

     He sounds irritated, which puzzles her. Gwen makes a face at her across the room. Sooyoung’s confused silence is enough to propel Sicheng into an exasperated explanation. “We’re going to the new Chinese restaurant tonight. You promised we could.” 

     “Oh.” She feels like shit. Gwen shakes her head and theatrically puts her hands on her forehead in feigned disapproval, but not surprise. Her thick, wavy hair doesn’t move with the gesture. “I completely—”

     “You forgot.” Sicheng steals the words right out of her mouth flatly. “You’re with your cousin, who’s having an emotional breakdown, so it completely slipped your mind. You’re really sorry, but we can do it another night next week.” 

     Sooyoung frowns, but she’s hopeful. “We can?”

     “No,” he deadpans. “I’m going home next week like I do every year the first week of spring.” 

     Gwen gracefully stands up, walking over to her cousin, who’s standing in the middle of the room on a plush fake-animal rug. Holding out her hand for the phone, she waits until a reluctant Sooyoung gives it over. Gwen takes a deep breath. “It’s not Sooyoung’s fault my boyfriend dumped me, Sicheng,” she says in a perfectly calm, sultry voice. “You know she’ll make it up to you.” 

     There’s a huff. “I know you’re family, but I don’t understand why Sooyoung is the one who has to solve all of your problems.” 

     “I’ll let that slide, lover boy.” Sooyoung’s eyes goes wide at that comment, but Gwen just shrugs her off. “I’m giving the phone back to the nice Kang now.”

     Sooyoung claws at the phone, shoving it back up to her ear. “I promise we’ll find another time. I’m not blowing you off.” 

     “Okay.” He’s clearly impartial at best and deeply upset at the worst. “Whatever you say. Gwendolyn should learn how to solve problems herself. She’s supposed to be the one who looks after you.” 

     Sicheng is gone before she can say anything. Sooyoung tosses the phone onto a plush chair, flopping down onto her cousin’s bed. She screams into the blanket. This marks the third time she has postponed the restaurant outing with him. Neither time before was intentional. The first time, Gwen came down with the stomach flu while her parents were off doing a black-market bypass surgery in Indonesia, so there was no one else but Sooyoung to take care of her. When Sicheng heard, he offered to bring soup and stay to help, but Gwen said she would rather die than let that boy see her with sweat matting her long black waves to her forehead and laugh at her with his dyed hair and evil eyes. 

     They don’t get along well. Obviously. Anyway, the excuse Gwen used to keep Sooyoung in the clear this time was the same as last time. Except she was the one who dumped her terrible boyfriend. That didn’t stop her from sobbing into Sooyoung’s shoulder all night, though. 

     Now, the third time around, Gwen’s not-so-ex-boyfriend cut ties with her again. Trouble and bad consequences are stray dogs she shouldn’t have fed. They follow her everywhere. Sooyoung was honestly not completely sure what was happening between Gwen and Yuta. She dumped him, but then he showed up at her apartment in sobs and begged for one more chance. She agreed, of course. Gwen’s parents reached out to Sooyoung immediately, urging her to convince their reckless daughter to leave that troublesome Neo boy once and for all. So, Yuta ended things with her again, apparently. She isn’t sure how Gwen and Yuta can even keep up. 

     It’s also Wednesday, which means that Sooyoung cannot go to her apartment. Sicheng knows everything about her, but not this. “No wonder he hates me,” says Gwen wistfully. “I’d hate me to if I were him. Me and my relationship problems are such a cock-blocker.” 

     “He was really upset.” Sooyoung sighs. “I feel bad.”

     “Of course he’s upset. The love of his life keeps ditching him for her rash cousin. And Sicheng has to spend his week being told he’s a coward for not killing more people.” 

     “I wish you wouldn’t make a joke out of his feelings. It’s really not fair,” replies Sooyoung. “I’m not what most people would call , ‘emotionally available.’”

     Gwen snaps her fingers. “But you should be, because we both know that Johnny left to go all Neo City. He’s not coming back, sweetie. I love you, but it’s the truth.” 

     “We don’t know if that’s what happened,” she says weakly, because she knows that is exactly what happened. 

     “You need to let him go.” Gwen puts a gentle hand on Sooyoung’s shaking shoulder. “The way Sicheng has. Johnny’s ignoring the most wonderful girl he’ll ever know and ditching the most annoying best friend he ever had. I’ll tell you what’s going on: Johnny Suh is an asshole.”

     While she makes self-destructive choices in her own personal life, she is extremely gifted at advising others. Right now, Sooyoung is being reprobated by the offender. “You’re one to talk about letting go.”

     Gwen drops her brown hand, returning it to her side as her expression goes cold. “At least I’m not delusional.” She’s staring hard at her cousin, black eyes afire. “I’m trying to help, but you wanna deflect everything to me.” 

     “Maybe someone should!” Sooyoung, who never yells, is screaming at the top of her lungs. “All you do is tell me to get over Johnny, but you’re still sleeping with Yuta!” 

     “If you don’t truly let him go soon,” says Gwen slowly, “I fear how much he will hurt you, in the end. Look what he’s done to you already. I can’t even blame him for this anymore; it’s just you.”

     The way she stays so collected after being insulted makes Sooyoung want to scream even louder. Does nothing bother you? That’s what she wishes she could yell, but suddenly she feels afraid that she won’t be able to control whatever comes out of her mouth if it opens again. She’s taken aback by herself. Before she can think once about it, Sooyoung is spinning on her heels and running out of the apartment. 

     Once she is gone, Gwendolyn stands in the middle of her bedroom for a long time without moving an inch. She’s stunned, frankly. That didn’t seem like Sooyoung at all. If anything, the person she who just screamed at her reminds her of Hyeyoung. And, for god’s sake, that is not a good thing. A buzzing sound yanks her out of her thoughts, sending her over to the nightstand. Her eyes take over her face. It’s Hyeyoung who’s calling her, which only has one explanation: somebody died. 

     “What happened?”

     But Gwen isn’t the one who asks, which worries her more, for some reason. She’s already looking for shoes. “What are you talking about?”

     “She’s not homeless, is she?” Hyeyoung inquires manically. “No way, because you’d let her stay with you. So what’s going on?” 

     Having secured a pair of combat boots, Gwen is tearing through her messy walk-in in search of her favorite leather coat. “That’s a great question. Here’s another one: why the hell did you call me?” 

     “I miss you, too, cousin.” 

     Gwen’s heading for the door now. “Answer the question.”

     “Sooyoung passed out in the middle of the street.” There’s accusation in her voice that Gwen doesn’t like one bit. “It looked like she was having a hard night and I’m betting you know why.” 

     “Where did you take her?” asks a jogging Gwen. “. . . Unless you left her there.” 

     “Of course I didn’t!” cries Hyeyoung. “I brought her home, obviously.”

     As she is about to reach a taxi, she cannot resist. “You mean your parents’ house?” 

     “Where else? That’s Sooyoung’s home! You need to watch out before—”

     With a carefree laugh, Gwen says, “Don’t threaten me, darling.” 

     She hangs up before Hyeyoung can scream into the phone like a death-metal vocalist. Someone is calling her name behind her; she spins. “Sicheng?” 

     He stops running once he’s caught up to her. “I need to talk to Sooyoung.”

     The taxi has already been taken by another passenger and it speeds by. Gwen’s heading toward another with him on her tail. “She’s not here.” 

     “Was she lying earlier?” he asks, his nose wrinkling in confusion. “But I heard your voice on the phone.” 

     And he trusts Sooyoung, but Sicheng doesn’t need to speak for either of them to know that. “We got into a fight and she left.”     

     “Is she at her apartment? I really need to see her.”

     Gwen is unphased by his urgency, since she matches it. “She’s at my aunt and uncle’s. Apparently she fainted in the street. I’m going to see her right now; this is all my fault.” 

     Sicheng, who does not commonly pass up a free opportunity to make a jab at the contentious girl, only asks: “Can I come with you?” 

     Opening the backseat of a taxi, Gwen shrugs. “I can’t stop you.” She scoots over to make room for him. After a few minutes, she clears her throat. “I need you to promise me something, though.” 

     Sicheng nods for her to continue.

     “As soon as we know she’s okay, you have to help me get her out of there. Hopefully before she wakes up; Sooyoung is gonna freak the fuck out if she sees her family. I don’t know how much she’s told you about what happened—”

     “Sooyoung didn’t tell me anything about why she left.”

     “Trust me on this,” Gwen pleads. “The faster she’s out, the better.”

     “Okay,” he declares, meeting her eyes. “I’ll help you.” 

series m.list

[spaceskam]

Could you maybe write about alex not being able to forget that the thing with maria happened? Like them finally getting back together but when things get steamy he sees michael and maria

ao3

Alex had never been in on a date.

In high school, that wasn’t actually an option.  In the Air Force, there wasn’t exactly time or opportunity.  Most of his experience with men was random hookups and, well, Michael Guerin.  So, when he found himself getting ready for his first real date with Michael Guerin, it was nothing short of surreal.

Michael had spiraled downward after Caulfield, Noah, and Max dying.  He stayed with Maria for four months before she dumped him because he was wasted almost every minute of the day and was getting arrested more times than he really should’ve.  Isobel had come to Alex in a truly concerning state and had begged him for help.  They needed Michael to get Max back, but Michael needed to have something on his mind other than anger and alcohol.  Alex found it hard to say no.

So, with the help of Kyle and Liz, the four of them dedicated an absurd amount of time to helping Michael Guerin.  Detox for an alien proved to be even worse than it was for humans.  He’d gotten violent, he’d lost control, he’d spent more than one night crying on Isobel’s bathroom floor.  Alex would be lying if he said it was easy to watch.

However, the Michael that came out of it was a Michael that made him lose all train of thought.  He was softer without alcohol fueling him, he was somewhere between that teenage boy Alex had fallen in love with and the man that had insisted he wouldn’t look away.  Michael had apologized more than once to Alex for all the wrong he’d done and it coaxed apologies out of Alex himself.  They’d somehow managed to repair something between them without even thinking about it and it had Alex feeling more lost in love with him than before.

At first, that had scared the shit out of him.  Michael had stood him up to go hook up with his friend and that was something that was extremely hard to forget.  Even though he understood what had driven Michael to make that call, he still felt insanely insecure over being forgotten by the man who was at the forefront of his mind every single day since they were 16 and he’d seen Michael shirtless and sunbathing beside Isobel in the bed of his truck.

However, it got a little easier when Michael assured him that’s not exactly how it happened.  Alex was on his mind, but agreeing to meet up with Alex hadn’t been.  Them agreeing that had been a fleeting moment smashed in between so much life-altering bullshit that he’d forgotten what day it was, much less when he should’ve been back to talk.  Michael had insisted that he’d literally just told Isobel that he loved him, it was just hard to process and he wanted something that didn’t feel like it might kill him if he lost it.  Admittedly, it felt like a good lie, but Alex willingly bought anything that came from the sincere face Michael had been wearing for a long time now.  He wanted Alex to know everything, no lies.  Alex was his family, he deserved it all.

That made it significantly easier to be in love with him all over again.  All that love was amplified when they started hanging out more and more, getting to know each other better than they ever had.  Sober Michael was funny and playful and loud.  He cooked a lot, he sang a lot, he worked out a lot.  And, not-so-surprisingly, sober Michael was beautifully powerful.  The control he’d managed to have over his abilities hadn’t even been considered before, but without shit tainting his system, it proved to be a lot more than that.  In a good mind, Michael was gifted beyond understanding.  He could move multiple things with little focus, he could feel people’s energies before they even walked through the door, he could fuck with the molecular structure of objects in a way that made it hard to even comprehend.

He could heal a bird with a broken wing.

Alex had been with him when he’d healed that bird outside the cabin.  It was nothing more than a fledgling and Michael had taken to it like it was second nature.  Alex had watched with blinding adoration as Michael cradled it to his chest and created some makeshift nest from pine needles, watching it for a moment before asking Alex for tweezers to which he complied.  He came back with them only to see something on Michael’s face he didn’t recognize.  Michael had picked up the bird and brought it to his chest once again.  And then his hand began glowing.  They were both more than a little speechless when the bird took flight.  Alex had to rub his back when he threw up a few seconds later with tears rolling down his cheeks.

Within a month of building on those newfound abilities along with Isobel, they managed to work together and get Max back.  For the first time probably ever, Michael was happy.  Like, really happy.  He was doing good in so many aspects of his life and Alex was more proud than he could even comprehend.  So, when Michael had approached him saying that the only thing he was missing was them being together and asked him to go on a real date, Alex couldn’t say no.  He didn’t want to say no.  Finally, they were both in a place where they could be together and be healthy.  Somehow, it felt new.

And, when Michael showed up at his door with a flower in hand, Alex was suddenly 17 and in a teen rom-com.

“Uh, hi,” Michael said, holding out the flower, “This is for you.”

Alex smiled, “Thanks.”

After putting the flower in a vase, they got into Michael’s truck and started heading towards the restaurant.  It was weirdly tense as they sat there as if they hadn’t already seen each other naked or have emotional breakdowns.  Of course, going on a date would feel like more pressure than, you know, dying.

“So, uh, anything new?” Alex asked once they finally got to the restaurant.  Michael looked over with a sweet smile.

“Not much since I saw you yesterday,” he teased.  Alex felt his face turn red and then silently cursed himself for acting like a teenage boy.  “Oh!  Max is going back to work tomorrow.  They gave him his job back.”

“That’s awesome!  I know he was worried he wouldn’t be able to,” Alex said, again fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeves.

“Also,” Michael said tentatively, shifting in his seat, “I’m thinking about going to school.” Alex’s eyes widened.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, I want to do something more with myself, you know?  I know I’m smart, I could do it.” Michael said.  He had such a sweet face that it made it hard for Alex to be upset at the idea of him leaving.  They were just getting started.

“That-that’s amazing, Guerin, seriously.  I hope it all works out.  Where are you thinking of going?” Please say something nearby, please say something nearby.

“Uh, I don’t know yet.  Probably just gonna start with like online classes and stuff, see if I like it.  I don’t know, I haven’t thought it all through, I just know I want to do more.  It feels good doing more.” Alex was almost convinced this was actually a dream.  The man Michael had turned into was dreamy.  “Obviously, I’ll still work on cars and shit.  I like working with my hands.  I’m good with them.  But you knew that.” Yep, dreamy.

Things began to get a little easier as the night went on.  They ordered separate plates but shared the food they’d ordered.  They were able to laugh and smile and enjoy each other knowing this was the real deal.  There was no confusion.  They loved each other and, even though it took eleven years, they finally got to be together.

Driving back home, however, had Alex feeling anxious.  Regardless of their history, this was technically their first date.  Were they allowed to kiss?  He hadn’t touched Michael in so long even though his body literally ached for him and the idea of leaving this night without a kiss was torture.  Staring at Michael in the driver’s seat looking happy and healthy and good made him want even more than that.  It’d been so long.

Michael walked him up to the door and they stared at each other, suddenly once again in a bad teen movie.  Should he make the first move?  Should he let Michael?  Should they just hug or shake hands?  This shouldn’t be so complicated.

“I had fun tonight,” Alex said, trying to make sure Michael wouldn’t leave when he was still trying to figure out what to do.

“Me too,” Michael said, giving that beautiful smile of his.  Why was this so hard?  They’d kissed and had sex a million times before and under way more confusing situations than this, so why was it suddenly hard?  He didn’t want it to be hard.  The whole point of working on them as people before they worked on them together was so it wouldn’t be so hard!  It wasn’t fair, he’d spent so much time working on things only for it to‒ “Can I kiss you?”

Alex blinked hard, “What?”

“Can I kiss you?  I didn’t know if, like, that’s what you want and I don’t want to assume and then go in for it and then be wrong and upset you.  And-and I know sometimes when you get that spacey look in your eyes you don’t like when people touch you, so I was just asking.  Because I really, really want to kiss you, but I don’t wanna like‒”

“Yes, absolutely, do that, kiss me,” Alex said, nodding his head as a stupid smile found his face.  Michael relaxed with a sigh.

“Okay, good, good,” he said, taking one more big breath as his eyes did that dumb thing where he looked Alex up and down.  Well, it wasn’t dumb, but it made Alex feel dumb.  It was that type of look that made his brain short circuit.

Michael cupped his face in his hands as he moved in, leaving a short and sweet kiss on his lips that felt oddly reminiscent of their actual first kiss.  He pulled back just enough to make sure it was okay and it really, really was, so Alex pulled him back.  One kiss led to another, happy laughter spilling from them helplessly.

This was good.  This was what he was waiting for.

That is until Alex’s back hit the door and all he could see was when Michael had done the same thing to Maria in the middle of the Wild Pony, right in front of him, a few months back.

Alex pulled away sharply, discomfort coursing through his veins as he stared at the man he loved.  Michael furrowed his eyebrows in concern, tilting his head.

“You okay?” Michael asked softly.  Alex shook off the image in his mind and nodded, bringing Michael back to his lips.  He was a good kisser on a bad day, a good kisser when he was drunk and sloppy, but kissing a completely sober and of-sound-mind Michael was something he hadn’t actually done since high school.  It was good.  It should’ve been amazing.

Except Maria probably got it first.

“Wait,” Alex said, placing his hands firmly on Michael’s chest and pushing him away.  Michael took even more voluntary steps back to give him space.

Alex was struggling and he didn’t know why.  He’d fixed his relationship with Michael, he’d even sort of made up with Maria.  They’d talked multiple times about why she did what she did.  Not only had she promised she wouldn’t do it again and then did, but she dated him.  She dated him for months in front of Alex, kissed him in front of Alex, stopped talking to Alex all together.  She’d been a bad friend and she knew it.  She had admitted on more than one occasion that Michael was the first decent guy she’d liked in a long time and she was hoping he would be worth it.  But she also wasn’t aware of the history she was putting herself between.  Alex said he couldn’t forget, but he promised to try to forgive.  He thought he had.

He guessed he hadn’t.

“When’s the last time you kissed Maria?” Alex asked.  Michael furrowed his eyebrows.

“Huh?  Alex, I haven’t even seen her in weeks, she won’t talk to me.” Michael told him.  Alex was aware of what he meant, but god his word choice couldn’t have been worse.

“So you’ve reached out to her?  You’ve, you’ve tried to get back with her when we were in the middle of fixing things?” Alex clarified.  Michael’s eyes widened.

“No!  No, I’ve been trying to apologize to her.  I used her and I feel awful about it.  I mean, I liked her, but I knew I wanted you and I just… I’ve tried to apologize.  I swear I haven’t been with her.” Michael promised.  Alex nodded slowly as he tried to push her out of his thoughts.

But he couldn’t.  And that pissed him off.  For months, Alex and Michael had been replacing their negative memories of each other with overwhelming positives.  He no longer saw a mutilated teenager or a broken adult, he saw a genius who was kind to a fault.  His Michael-centric dreams had gone from torture and misery to sweet domesticities and blush-worthy passion.  A future with Michael was finally tangible and right there in his grasp‒but he couldn’t enjoy it.  For a moment, he hated both Michael and Maria for it.  At the end of the day, though, Alex could only blame himself.  He couldn’t just let himself be happy.

“I think you should go,” Alex whispered.  He kicked himself when Michael’s face collapsed into sheer panic.

“Wait, no, Alex, just tell me how to fix this.  I’ll do whatever,” Michael insisted.

“I don’t know, Guerin!  I-I can’t kiss you without seeing her.  I don’t know how to make that go away,” Alex said, groaning as he let his head hit the door.  “I… I just need some time to figure everything out.”

“Alex,” Michael whispered, “Did I ruin us for good?”

Alex breathed out slowly, “I honestly don’t know.”

Michael turned around, his hands covering his face.  This was so fucking unfair.  His whole body ached for Michael’s touch, every inch of his skin all but screaming to feel his.  But his brain wouldn’t let him.  If he couldn’t now after everything that had changed over the recent months, how would he ever?

Why couldn’t he ever win?

“Okay,” Michael sighed, turning back to face him, “I’ll give you time to figure out where to go from here.  I’m sorry.  I really hope… I hope I didn’t fuck us up,” Alex nodded curtly.  Michael’s sad eyes looked over him a few times.  “Alright, I’ll see you.”

Alex rested his head against the door, watching him walk away.  It felt like a wild twist of events seeing him walk away, especially considering how utterly amazing the night had started out.  But, seeing him so upset struck worry in Alex, quickly reminding him that regardless of what Michael had done, he was also a recovering addict.

“Michael,” Alex called.  His head turned with that pained look all over his sweet face.  “Don’t drink, okay?  You’ve been doing amazing, don’t this stupid situation mess you up.”  Michael gave a small smile, nodding before healing towards his truck.

Except, when he reached the door, he paused.  Alex’s eyebrows pulled together in confusion and he was about to ask if he was alright before Michael swiftly turned and started coming back towards the cabin with a newfound determination.

“You know what?” Michael started as he stepped onto the porch, “We will figure this out‒but together.  Almost every issue we’ve ever had could’ve been fixed if we’d just fucking talked, but we were always so bad at it.  But, lately, we’ve gotten really good at the whole talking thing and we’re gonna fix this.  I love you and you love me and we have literally gone through too much bullshit for something like this to be the end of us.  Look, I’m gonna give you some time to yourself, but know I’m not giving up.  This is only our first date, we don’t need to have sex or even make out.  We’re gonna… gonna go slow and become a real ass couple until there’s no doubt in your gorgeous mind that you’re the only one in the world for me, Alex Manes.  We’re gonna see shitty movies together and cuddle on the couch and I’m going to take you on picnics and shit.  I’m gonna make you fall in love with me all over again so that our past doesn’t even matter.”

Michael had said a lot of romantic things in the time Alex had known him, but somehow this decision to communicate through the bump in the road of their relationship felt like the biggest moment in his life.  Alex couldn’t even help but smile even though he knew that he still had shit to do before they actually fulfilled his promise.

“Okay.  Let’s work through this together then,” Alex said softly.  He wanted to kiss him so badly that it nearly hurt, but he wasn’t about to ruin another moment tonight on the off chance his brain was still doused in Michael’s tongue down Maria’s throat.

Michael took a step closer, “We’re fuckin’ cosmic, baby, the universe is gonna have to try harder.”  Alex snorted, the smile still plastered on his face as Michael kissed his head and then his cheek before taking a step back.  “You have a good night and you brainstorm some ways to get your mind full of Michael and Alex, not Michael and Maria.  I will talk to you tomorrow, I love you, good night.”

“You brainstorm too, Guerin.  Love you, night.  Drive safe.” Alex said, grabbing his arm just long enough to place a chaste kiss on his lips.  That he could take.  That didn’t feel tainted.  It was when shit got heavier which, again, was unfair.  But he had a new wave of hope that they’d be able to work towards that again.  Michael brought a fucking person back to life‒he could help bring back their relationship.

Alex watched as he walked away again, only this time there was a bit of a skip in his step.  It was much better than him being sad.  Actually, literally, anything was better than him being sad.

Whenever the truck was out of sight, fatigue hit Alex.  He’d been on his prosthetic for way too many hours and the emotional roller coaster the last 30 minutes were had him feeling exhausted.  He managed to drag himself to the bathroom and drew himself a bath, sinking into the hot water as he brainstormed.  The longer he thought, the more it seemed like there was only one real place to start.  It wasn’t a place he was excited to start, but he was willing to do what it took to be with Michael.  So, when he got out of the bath, he grabbed his phone and sent a quick text to Maria.

Can we meet up tomorrow?  I need to talk to you.

[totallyvain]

Vanity Hour with Carlos Vara: Handling the Seasons of Life

Hometown: Lexington, South Carolina

Sounds like: Your next favorite pop bop

WORDS BY: THANIA GARCIA

In American culture, the search for independence comes at the age of 18. For Carlos Vara, this was exceptionally true. At 18, Vara moved to Nashville in search of a life separate from the emotional cuff to his father who had previously owned nightclubs but had abruptly found religion in the small town of Lexington in South Carolina. This along with the struggle of being closeted in a small town naturally pushed Vara to search for newness in a city rich of musical history.

At 21, Vara has somewhat of a grasp on his day to day life. Bouncing back from Nashville to Los Angeles, Vara has completed his anticipated October 4th release of “Have You Ever Seen a Boy Break Down” -  an EP meant to encapsulate his past few years bouncing from season to season in the versatile chapters of his life.

“When I was a teenager on X-Factor I thought I was going to be…well I loved songwriting and I loved singing, but I didn’t necessarily know who I was at the time. I was in the closet in the suburbs and I was growing up as a preacher’s kid so there was that phase. Then there was the phase of me moving to Nashville at 18 and coming out and discovering myself and exploring the boundaries of my mind and challenging myself and my ideas… I think that phase of my life lead to the music I made at that time and now I’m in a completely separate phase…what I create now are journal entries of specific eras of my life.”

In my interview with Vara, a clear conflict arises - a conflict found in the lyricism of his past couple releases. Vara shares, “I do have experiences where I’m like out and I’m like ‘Am I this person?’…because as I said I’ve gone through so many different stages in my life.”

Listen to “Confident,” Vara’s February 2019 release and you will fully understand this divide - a truly personal and internal divide.

Vara says, “The people who knew me at 18 would think I’m this quiet shy person. It’s like imposter syndrome for yourself it’s almost like you don’t think you have the right to be this brand new version of yourself. I feel it especially because I’ve been through so many extremes but I think now I’m in a stage where I’m like ‘why can’t I just embrace every single emotion?’ ‘why can’t I just live through these phases’ they are the best parts of life and it’s freeing to be what you want to be whenever you want to be.”

—————————————————————————————

Totally Vain: Your life has had clear chapters from your upbringing in North Carolina, to the X-Factor, to your time in Nashville and LA. When you look back at these past few years, how do you compare your artistic vision from then to now?

Carlos: “It’s interesting you say that because it is so true… I think …well actually I was talking about this yesterday when I was stoned with my friends that I feel like I’ve lived distinct phases of my life. I think through the process of growing up, my artistic vision and the way I think has changed. My music is always changing, depending on how my environment changes..because it stays so true to that. To me, my writing is based off my reality at the time, I will always be satisfied with it because I make music to be able to express myself and to be able to purge”

TV: Your environments have all had very distinct setbacks and advantages, how have they affected you in relation to the music industry?

Carlos: “I remember being a kid and watching TV and award shows and listening to music in the car…I knew I had a passion for music but being in South Carolina meant I didn’t have an uncle who was an executive, or any relation to the industry itself. I didn’t see anyone who had come out of South Carolina, all I saw was people coming from New York or Los Angeles so I just never had that hope. Senior year of high school I moved to Nashville by myself and finished graduating online. I was working restaurant jobs. I worked so many restaurants from 18 until last year before I got signed. I think that moving to Nashville was the first time in my life when I felt like I had some possibility to make it. Thank God for Instagram and Spotify and Apple music. I think that really became a way for me to connect to people who appreciate music the same way I do and connect to artists as far as co-writes. Especially in Nashville since it is a songwriting community, it definitely helped when it came to writing. Moving there was the first time I was able to discover who I am as an artist and figure myself out, retain my thoughts and grow up and figure out what I believe and have the opportunity to collaborate with people around me.”

TV: An overarching idea in your releases is confidence, both the reaction to confidence and personal self-confidence, from where do you think that idea stems from? And what kind of conflicts or internal struggles do you still have?

Carlos: “My friends know me as a very extreme person meaning I truly feel every emotion I have. I’m either going fucking crazy at a party or I’m like I want to go home. There is no in-between. I feel like for me since I am so emotional, I tend to feel it all at once and songwriting allowed me to be able to go home at 2 A.M. and smoke and just sit at the piano and play whatever is on my mind. I think it’s a way of me being able to work through any struggles I may have and for me to fully comprehend those emotions and see it as a full picture…for instance, I am extroverted but I’m sensitive and insecure so those feelings are both there at the same time. I mean it. I’ll be at a party being the loudest one there and thinking everyone hates me so it’s like I think that when I write, I want to be able to capture what that feels like. When I wrote “Confident,” I was in LA for the summer and it was my first time being out here for a super extended period of time and I had just turned 21 so I was able to get into all the gay clubs and it was exciting but it was stressful. I wanted to appear like I was cool and kept up with everyone but I just remember going to a club and being like shwasted and like going home and crying in the Uber. I’m just out here pretending to be confident and I was mad at myself and angry at myself for faking confidence and I went home and wrote a few lines for “Confident.” I think from an outside perspective people think I’m this super confident boisterous person and I guess I am but internally it’s rooted to a lot of sadness because I am freaking out inside.”

TV: Who were the artists who spoke to you the most growing up and what did you pull from in their work that you apply to your own?

Carlos: “I think of it in phases. My mom had me when she was 21 so at that time my mom only listened to pop radio and like Christina and Britney, Celine Dion, Whitney Houston all these pop vocals and also my parents owned nightclubs so I was always surrounded by an energetic musical atmosphere. Around age seven, my parents became more religious and my dad became a pastor we went to a church with a big African American community so they were soulful in their gospel and that’s when I allowed myself to become more emotional with my music and I wanted to create to provoke emotion. When I was 16/17, I went online and I discovered the things I wouldn’t normally have access to like the Beatles and the Beach Boys and Queen and Freddie. Those three eras, have all formed me today. I don’t know if I have one specific source of inspiration but it was a melting pot for sure.”

TV: As you’ve been coming to find an artistic persona, what have you found your overarching message to be?

Carlos: “I want to always be real to myself as an artist. Growing up I was always the weird kid and I never felt that I had someone I could relate to. Now I feel I’ve been blessed to have been able to reach out to kids that feel that same way I felt and I want to make music whether it be a fast fun bop or an emotional ballad, I want the music to be passionate and dramatic and I want to be a part of the world in that way, I want to create. It’s a spiritual thing, it comes out and I know how it makes me feel and I hope that when other people hear my EP, I want them to be able to feel that emotion and have a small escape or a meaningful feeling.”

TV: Can you give me a little breakdown on what kind of lyricism and sounds we can expect from your upcoming EP?

Carlos: “The cool thing about this EP is I was able to create both in Nashville and in Los Angeles. Living in Nashville, it is very much a lyric community and in Los Angeles, there is more of an emphasis on melodies, so it’s been cool and inspiring to have access to both. For me, this EP embodies real lyricism and dramatic melodies. It’s a real and vulnerable introduction to who I am and what these past 3 years of my life have been like.”

[divine17]

Don’t Think About Tomorrow (Jim Mason x Reader)

Request: “Maybe a Jim mason one where they run away together, somewhere Jim can surf” - Anon

“omg please write about jim, please break my heart into a trillion and 3 pieces” - Anon

“jealous jimmy? getting in a fight probably, he’s kinda hot-headed tbh” - Anon

“Maybe something pre/post relapse with Jkm?” - Anon

Warnings: Fem!Reader, light drug use, mentions of (drug use, death, relapse, overdoses), alluded to smut but not NSFW, maybe slightly OOC Jim, a bit sad, minor profanity 

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: It’s so long oof

Jim was a fighter. 

Even as a kid, he was the strong one. He was the Mason family’s rock, seemingly the only semi-solid surface they had to lean on. He kept Medina safely on the ground, prevented his mother’s breakdowns as much as he could. Helped his dad stay busy so he wouldn’t fight and argue with his mom. As much as Jim hated the serial-cheating, he knew it was the last stitch holding his parents together. Phil was able to bear Sandy more when he had some time alone with his sidepiece, it was that simple. 

When the two of you first met at the beach, he was in a bad place. He was popping pills like candy. His bright blue eyes were dull and void of emotion when you looked at him, absolutely lifeless in every way except literal. Jim was dead inside.

Slowly, he began to open up to you. His parents fought. His mom struggled with mental illness and refused to accept it. His father was a prestigious doctor who now had a girlfriend and almost step-son on the side, which his mother knew about and hated. His sister, Medina… Well, she just kind of existed. She dealt with the pain in her own unique ways, he was sure. Her hobby of surfing helped. Divorce was on the horizon for the family and that left Jim with very few options, so he turned to drugs. It numbed his feelings just enough that he could get through the day. 

The first time he tried it, it wasn’t serious. He was at an evening kickback on the beach when some kid, he couldn’t even remember his name, slipped two round pills into his hand with the claim that it would make him feel good. He took them, swallowing them with a long sip of cold beer, a smile on his lips. It wasn’t long until he started to feel… Well, he wasn’t sure how to describe it. Jim almost felt as if he were floating. Light as a feather and floating through the ocean breeze. He didn’t feel that dull, pulsing ache in his heart that had been there for so many years. He just wanted to smile as he somehow made his way over to a pretty girl, letting his arm hang loosely around her waist.

Somehow, the two of you ended up back at your place. A small apartment close to that very beach, just outside of the city limits of PV. He complimented it as you poured him a glass of water, your own high buzzing through your head blissfully. Neither of you were sure who made the first move. It could’ve been you, pressing a light kiss to his warm lips as you leaned down to give him the glass. Or maybe it was him who crept up behind you as you stood at the sink, moving your hair away to reveal your neck. Maybe he let his lips work on leaving the small purple love bites on the sensitive skin before you led him to the bedroom.

That night is when he knew you were different. Special. Unlike anyone else he had ever met. You were an absolute Californian anomaly to him and he struggled to wrap his head around you. He found himself melting underneath your soft touch and desperately in love with every word you spoke.

In the morning, he didn’t dread waking up to see you next to him like he would’ve with any other girl. He looked forward to it, truly. There were a lot of uncertain things in Jim’s life, things that he couldn’t quite keep within his grasp. His sister, his sobriety, his sanity. But you were a continuous source of light and positivity for the brunette boy, even if you somewhat unknowingly enabled his behaviors. He enjoyed finally having someone so… Close to him. Someone he could tell anything to and not have to worry about them running away or judging him. He was finally free of the prison that ended up being his very own mind.

Slowly, you stopped taking the drugs. After seeing one too many of your friends overdose, you finally realized what you were doing. You woke up one morning and it had truly sunk in, the danger and uncertainty of what you were doing. With each pill you took, you were gambling with your life. That wasn’t safe. That wasn’t healthy. You realized that you could be gone at any minute, and so could Jim. Overnight, your single greatest fear had grown to be losing Jim Mason. 

You talked to him about it. Jim agreed with you, and he promised that he would quit. He swore to you up and down that he would stop swallowing anything that anyone put in his hand at a party. That he would stop drinking so much that he couldn’t see straight.

And the worst part? You believed him right up until the moment he OD’d.

Maybe it was wishful thinking. You hoped and prayed that your boyfriend would get some sense knocked into him, and it seemed like your prayers were answered when he told you he had been sober from the pills for a day. And then a week, a month, two months, three. But he hid it well to everyone. He stopped taking people’s party drugs and upgraded to his mom’s bathroom cabinet of prescriptions. He did stop drinking, though, well aware that it would be unnecessarily difficult to hide that from his girlfriend and family. He knew they would all be able to smell alcohol on his breath from a mile away, they weren't stupid. 

That tragic day, he had taken you to the beach to watch the waves. It was late in the evening and the two of you decided to smoke a little weed with your feet in the water, but were soon interrupted by a group of boys. They were loud and arrogant and didn’t want to share the beach. He somehow convinced you to stay, telling you that it would be fine, nothing would happen. With a light sigh, you agreed, and continued to talk.

You remembered that conversation so well. You had mentioned that you didn't like California, having migrated from somewhere colder. That year, you had only meant to stay for the summer. That turned into a few more months, and then a few more. When you were finally ready to leave, Jim came along. How were you supposed to go home when you had met your soulmate? 

Jim said he didn't like it either. It was starkly different than where he had come from. He told you that he’d like to move away some day, after he turned eighteen. Somewhere just a little less hot, but where he could still surf. Somewhere where it’s not all sunshine all the time. He missed the weather, the feeling of light rain on his skin and wind in his hair. But the snow was one thing he’d never miss. 

“Hawaii.” You whispered, handing him the barely-lit joint from between your fingers. “Let’s move to Hawaii, Jimma.”

He sighed with pleasure, his eyes fluttering shut in bliss as he imagined the scene. His hand came to rest on your thigh, him letting you slide yours underneath. Jim’s fingers locked around yours. “I could see us there. Me and you at first, living in a little place just off the beach. Private. I could teach you how to surf.”

“One day I think I’d like to have a child. A little mini-me to run beneath our feet. A son, maybe. Or twins, just like you and Medina.” 

He loved that. Jim craved the simplicity of a domestic life with the girl he loved. He wanted to buy that little bungalow and be forced to move out three years later into a bigger one because you were pregnant with his kids. A boy and a girl that were the absolute shining stars of his existence. God, he wanted it.

It wasn’t long until the boys made their way to your spot on the rocks. They teased and taunted the two of you for a moment before Jim told them off. One of them was a smartass, said something about your body. He decided to shut him up with a swift uppercut to the chin, a simple and effective way. The boys quickly ran off, but you were left confused. Jim wasn’t usually violent like that. You brushed off the suggestion of a relapse. He probably just needed to take a deep breath, right? He would be fine. He always was. 

Later that night, the two of you danced your way back home after a nice dinner at that restaurant you loved, the one just inside of PV. He told himself that he wasn’t going to stay the night again, no matter how hard you begged or cried for him to. He swore to himself that he wasn’t going to have sex with you in his current state of mind. Jim never liked fucking when either of you were high, it clouded his head and he couldn't bring himself to fully enjoy it. It was much sweeter when he could be in the moment with you and not in his head. 

But just like his promise of sobriety, he broke his mental promises as soon as you took your top off, letting your hand ghost over his hardening cock. 

When you woke up the next morning, your boyfriend was gone. No physical trace of the brunette boy anywhere. His coat was draped loosely over the back of the couch and his shoes were still by the front door. It looked like he had just vanished into thin air. Then, you noticed your phone buzzing away on the kitchen counter. Eleven missed calls and seven unread texts from Medina, all saying some various form of “Jim is missing.” 

Your heart raced as you got dressed and headed out to look for him. You tried to keep calm, to keep your anxiety under control. You knew that Jim liked to take morning runs on the beach behind your house when he stayed over. He would leave early in the morning and come back in an hour or two. But, as you glanced down at your phone one more time, you saw the time. It was close to ten in the morning. He wasn't on a run. 

Next time Medina called, you answered. You filled her in on your side of the story. Jim had stayed over for the past few nights, which he didn't tell his sister about. Hadn’t called or texted to check in with her in the past few days. She woke up in a panic this morning and tried to reach either of you for hours, but nothing had come of it. 

“Yeah, uh, let me look around over here. He’s around somewhere.” Your white lie slipped out easily as you hung up the phone. There was something Jim hasn’t told you. Call it a gut sense. Soon enough, you managed to find the empty orange prescription bottle shallowly buried in the kitchen trash. Not bothering to read the label, you tossed it in your bag and out the door you went. 

You spent the remainder of the morning calling hospitals. Medina was out searching every nook and cranny of the small pacific town for her twin. No luck came from either of these things until you got on the phone with... Well, you weren't sure.

“I’m looking for my friend. Has a Jim Mason been checked in today?” The woman’s voice on the other end was shrill. You could barely stand it as she spoke. “Oh, um, how about any brunette John Does? Seventeen, blue eyes, about six foot tall?”

Bingo. 

You hung up abruptly after the nurse told you that there was, in fact, a kid there that matched Jim’s description. She was unable to give you any more information over the phone. No little hint that he was fine or stable, alive even. It wasn’t long until you and Medina were in your car on the way to the hospital, the other girl dialing both of her parent’s phones like mad. Naturally, neither of them picked up. It was entirely typical of them. 

The drive was tense. Dead silent except for the painstakingly loud sounds of Phil and Sandy’s voicemail greetings. Tears fell from Medina’s eyes and she, for once, didn't try to push them away. On the other hand, you were... Numb. You almost felt a little pang of sadness as you remembered that empty bottle, but you weren't sure if that was your mind tricking you or not. Your mind was quiet as you followed the directions the blonde passenger gave you in a hushed whisper.

You only started to truly feel something when the two of you rushed through the doors to the emergency room, Medina fiercely leading the way. She stopped only at the reception desk. The lady asked who she was there to see, what her relationship is.

“I’m his sister.” The girl’s tone was bold, unusually so. She faltered for a moment to come up with a lie for you, but you simply held your hand up. A small, silver ring rested on your wedding finger. The small diamond in the middle was hard to miss underneath the bright fluorescent lights. 

A faint smile crossed Medina’s face as the two of you walked away in search of room 110. The room your faux-husband allegedly rested in. You were told his doctors would be in after you, which made you more and more nervous. Your stomach bubbled with anger and sadness in a horrible mixture with nervousness and anxiety as the two of you came closer and closer. 100. 102. 104.

“Where did that ring come from?” She asked lightly, her eyes scanning over the final numbers in front of her.  

“It’s a promise ring. He gave it to me the night he promised me his sobriety.”

Your heart ached as your hand rested on the silver knob. With a deep breath, you pushed open the heavy wooden door. You glanced around the room. Small, dirty white walls. His mother stood leaned against the wall beside him, her head buried in her hands, presumably in disappointment. His father was nowhere to be seen. Medina instantly breathed a sigh of relief and ran to her brother’s side when she saw him, but you... You found it difficult to function as his mother’s piercing eyes looked over you from head to toe. 

You stepped outside of the room, immediately collapsing against the wall. You didn't bother to hold back the tears or choked sobs as people in the hall stared at you. You couldn't bring yourself to care that you were now the subject of those people’s attention. You couldn't care less that Sandy Mason now stood beside you, simply watching you. 

“So, you’re... His girlfriend?” She asked. Her voice was soft, her judgement only thinly veiled. You nodded, wiping the tears on your arm. “How long have you been together? Why haven't I met you?”

“Jim wasn’t ready to tell you about me. We got together a few days after you guys moved here. Well, not officially.” You laughed lightly. “Took him a while to ask me.” 

“Sounds enough like him.”

The two of you were interrupted by Medina opening the door. “He wants to see you, Y/N.” She stepped out into the hall, and you stood up. Sandy began to follow you but she was quickly stopped by the blonde. “Alone.”

With a small nod, you entered his room. He was now sitting up, his fingers picking at his IV in wait. Jim was exhausted, physically and mentally, you could tell. His skin was pale and his bright blue eyes were dull, almost lifeless. He didn’t look up to meet your gaze as you sat on the bed at his feet.

“Y/N...” His voice was hoarse, quiet as he took a shallow breath. He opened his mouth to speak again but you stopped him.

“Don’t. You don't have to explain yourself, Jimma.” You said softly. “I’m not angry, okay? We don’t have to talk about it right now. We need to focus on getting you out of here.”

That broke him. He leaned forward, his arms tucked in front of him loosely. You quickly moved closer to him and took his hand in yours, letting his head lay on your chest as he sobbed. 

“I don’t deserve you.” 

You hushed him. “Yes, you do, alright?"

“You’re... You’re beautiful, and kind, and you put up with all of my shit, Y/N. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted in my whole life. And now...” He let you run your thumb under his eye, collecting the water. “I fucked up.”

You nodded. “We’ll get through it. We’ll get you sober, Jim. One step at a time.”

[jrmcwilliam]

5 PM

At some point, I never thought that 4 in the afternoon was ever going to end. A rush of anxiety and stresses run through my blood as I stare over my mountain of bills and shot glasses. I don’t even know what to do with them, “Do I touch them? Do I organize them? Do I pay them? Do I drink them?” But I don’t have any money. I know that. Getting fired wasn’t the easiest part of my life, by any means. I didn’t know I was going to be moving onto something far more than a management job in a restaurant right now! I didn’t know that I was now on the path to following my dreams. Following them into a place where I understand them and truly believe that I can be a part of them. That I can do this all on my own. What I’ve learned most from this experience is that I am so done working for people. I am going to have to figure out how to make my own money and secure my own life in my own hands. It’s amazing what you see in yourself when you are left stranded and fighting for a chance to get back up. I’ve learned so many things about myself it’s like I’m a completely different person – though I have thought that maybe I’m just starting to see myself the way that others do. Which is a good and a bad thing.

I look around my house and wonder what it would be like if I didn’t live here anymore. I’ve been doing so well with keeping it afloat that now that I can’t, (or so I think), seem to get back on my feet, it’s a task that I might not be meant for at this time. It might just not be my time. Still. And that’s just going to have to be okay with me. I look at my car, the car I’ve been working so hard to keep, and I see the possibility of it being towed away into a rental car wasteland and destroyed alongside my loan and my credit. Nice. I’m going to try to keep that from happening though. I think I’m doing my best. I think. People have been telling me to make sure that I mourn the loss of my job and its really good advice, but I’m kinda strapped for time. I mean EI hasn’t come in yet and I don’t have any other form of income at the moment – other than my published book. (I know I should be focused on that…I’m trying.) But it’s going to be the time when I am going to have to pick myself up, stop watching movies, sleeping in until 11, eating until all hours of the night, and to start drinking after 5.

5 PM has been my personal time. My safe time. My happy hour. Being from a family of addicts, I find it important that I keep on top of my substance abuse. So I won’t drink until after 5, which when given the opportunity to have a beer in the afternoon, is sometimes fairly difficult. The most important part of this 5 o’clock drink is that I get to sit in silence for a whole hour, uninterrupted, nothing that needs to be done (unless I truly want to), and no one is around to judge me for it. I spend that hour doing whatever it is my heart needs me to do and sometimes it turns out to be absolutely fucking nothing. I limit myself to drinking 2. It’s 2 maximum. Then I am allowed to start drinking again when I am having dinner or after I’ve already had it. Solid monitoring. I think. Sometimes, the only thing that I want to do is turn everything off, computer and TV and iPad and iPhone and everything else that stimulates my entire brain – then just sit back, crack the beer, smoke a cigarette – be one with myself. It’s quiet, it’s unexpected, it’s glorious.

But – When I am going through something, I always tend to make the schedule change to suit my needs. Like when I got fired, I had drinks at 11 in the fucking morning. Then smoked a bowl. Then smoked six cigarettes. Not a pretty sight. But I can’t be the only one who does this when something fucked up happens. I know I’m not alone in that and I have to remind myself of that every time I have a breakdown. I am not alone in this. Then sometimes I sleep from the afternoon to the evening and stay awake until 4 in the morning watching movies that I’ve already watched a thousand times. Sad. I know – Then get so drunk that I start to explain myself to my stuffed dog, Freddy because I’m positive that he judges me sometimes. I’m so sure of it it’s solid. I convince myself that he has a soul. Yes – “That Guy” drunk. Not my finest hours.

I have ripped my house apart in really intense moments of weakness where I feel all of my emotions at the exact same time and it’s a really scary moment for anyone to go through – Because when I’m done being angry, I clean until I feel better. But it happens. I just lose complete ability to focus my emotions into manageable categories and organize them by priority – but not easy when all you wanna do is scream and swear and throw things.

Until tomorrow, it’s now 5:08. I am late for my date with myself.

JR McWilliam

*- The image is not mine and was found by me on Google by an untagged artist/s

[peculiarlylost]

Who really is Rachel Amber?

Read till the end. It will be worth it, I promise.

I think the whole point of Rachel Amber is for her to be a person who you see, but you actually never get to know. She looks like the "It" girl. Perfect parents, perfect grades, perfect house, beautiful, talented, intelligent. She is the perfect student, daughter, actress, model, psychologist, school secretary. She is a star which shines so bright she literally blinds everyone. She is fire, a passion, a dragon.... and to the pain of everyone involved she is, ultimately, a human being.

The problem with Rachel Amber is that it seems like she is used to people thinking she is flawless. She is used to getting her way and never having to face the consequences of what she does, because who she appears to be makes up for it. I think Rachel is so used to people projecting on her that they never truly see her and all her dark behaviours are usually done in the shadow... she has to live pretending. Is not only the drugs, party and sex... but the fact that she can be genuinely evil and manipulative in her ways and yet, the real world never seems to reach her.

Besides being a girl whose life has been so perfect she can barely tolerate a scratch in it before having an emotional breakdown (aka, her father having an affair). I am impressed at how she cheats, messes with different people, takes her rage issues out on others, gets involved in situation which can severely harm others (like drugging Victoria`s tea or getting Chloe skip school with her when Chloe has already enough problems with her records) she even starts a fucking forest fire... and yet people in Arcadia Bay, Chloe herself and plenty of the game players are STILL making excuses for this person. Rachel is a dark being, make no mistake, the problem is that nobody actually SEES her. When she banishes hardly anyone, besides Chloe, wants to find her... that's because she was a scapegoat in which the entire town projected it's light, she was never seen as a person. She was a ghost, a dream. When it became too much of a weight for Rachel to bear (all the expectations of people) she literally lit herself on fire.

Rachel does not care for Chloe. Does not matter what it seems to be... the girls have known each other for literally two days. Rachel is an actress. Rachel uses Chloe as a person with whom she can explore her dark side, and also somebody she can manipulate to do things she wouldn't do on her own (like run away). Chloe clings on Rachel because she is extremely alone, and puts her on a pedestal. Chloe is extremely lonely and has abandonment issues. The one difference is that Chloe and Rachel are not comparable characters. Chloe has lost her father, her best friend, is having to adapt to her step father, has problems at school, people treat her like shit and her economic situation isn't the best. Chloe is literally trapped in emotional angst and she escapes into self destruction, art and drugs. Besides her mother, Chloe has lost what she valued the most. Rachel Amber does not come from such context and can not be compared.

Rachel probably senses her father is having as affair... and all of a sudden Chloe would make a great friend... and also be an emotional punching bag? These two knew each other for a while and Rachel knows what spots to touch to get to Chloe. Chloe only idealizes Rachel, the same as the rest of Arcadia Bay, and Rachel prays on this. Chloe is a "what you see is what you get" type of girl, she is loyal and extremely reliable and Rachel uses this for her own means.

Ultimately destiny has its ways and Rachel meets Mark Jefferson. Having strong motives to have daddy and mommy issues is not a surprise Rachel would be attracted to a father figure (him). He is probably the one person she cant read and who is actually a better predator than her... she goes into his house and he eats her. Mark Jefferson is the monster Rachel Amber was looking to encounter, and she did, because her own inner demons were not too different. She was a beautiful predator, who just got eaten by a smarter one. Chloe is warned by William in before the storm "the fire is beautiful, but if you aren't careful you will get burned too".

In terms of Rachel's character and personality, we can see she is interested in astrology / psychology / certain aspects of spirituality. Usually, people who look deeply into astrology do so to understand themselves and those around them, a serious understanding of astrology gives you a bit of a advantage over other people, as you can know things about people they aren't even aware exist within themselves. You must not have a very defined sense of personality, if you need the stars to tell you the truth of who and what you are. This interest in the esoteric arts gave me the impression that maybe Rachel is more empty than she seems. When Max and Chloe find Rachel's body, there is a sign from a restaurant with a crab on it. Astrologically speaking, the crab is a sign of motherhood, probably meaning that in a fucked up way... Rachel is now finally back into her roots... into the Earth where we all come from.

Chloe speaks with her father in her dreams. Through symbols he warns her on what might actually be going on. Rachel is a beautiful star... but she is dead inside... she is a lie... just a bright light that you think is taking you somewhere, but there is a deadly emptiness to her. The point of astrology is that we protect into the stars whats is inside ourselves... all that beauty and goodness that Chloe saw in Rachel, truly was inside herself. But we also project our darkness... being a savior (and having her sun sign sitting into the sign of Piscis... the victim) Choe protected and saved Rachel... and did things for her that she probably wished somebody else would do for her. Lacking William and Max in her own life Chloe makes Rachel into this person she isn't, its all a projection. A starry dream.. and she lives that dream until Max comes back. To be someone who is "real" Chloe has a lot of problems listening to her own inner truth. For who is Rachel? "A destructive person. Someone who could never be satisfied by anyone or anything" (in the words of James) or " Fire is jealous Chloe, it wants all the beauty for itself, that's why you need to be careful" (in the words of William) In the end Rachel owes her life to both, Chloe and Frank... and what does she do? She fucks Frank, then she fucks Mark Jefferson... and thats it. She end's up dead in a dumpster. Which goes to probe she wasn't the untouchable light child she was raised to believe she was.

We are our roots, we do step into the same river twice and life does recycle back experiences, it isn't an irony that Rachel dies of an overdose. Every mother contains her daughter, and each daughter her mother. Nature works in mysterious, yet observable ways. We are our ancestors. The fact that Rachel seems to lack a free will and just walks into the destructive steps of her mother... just goes to show that you can run from your past, but you can't hide. Rachel probably never bonded with her mother, and her dismissal of the mother figure is shown when she only cares that "James lied" but doesn't really seem to take Rose into account... or even care for her.

I do not dismiss the idea that Rachel might have activated a course when she burned the tree. Rachel and Chloe are both essentially fatherless children, with the same ruthlessness that James would do anything to protect his daughter... does the storm destroy arcadia bay. The father (james) would literally kill the mother (sera) to protect the daughter (rachel) yet... in the turn of events it is mother nature who ends up bringing about order. I also think the game draws a big contrast in the topic "mother/father" there seems to be a big obsession with father (Chloe's father is dead, Rachel is the daughter of the DA, Nathan Prescott's dad is rich, Chloe's stepfather is an asshole.... etc) yet... what about mothers? What about Rose, Joyce, Sera... etc? I think the game characters are too centered on the father to even notice the role mothers are trying to play.

On Chloe: she will not be part of any club that accepts her as a member.... funny enough, some of the people in this game who are more blunt and outspoken we tend to think are assholes... yet we make exceptions for Chloe. Chloe constantly tells lies to her mother... maybe to protect her? and David, who also knows of lose (his best friend gets killed) so... is it really a coincidence that David end's up and Chloe's house... or do they have a similar energy that bind them together? There are people in this game who clearly care about Chloe: her mom, Elliot, even David. I was very saddened when I saw game players call Elliot a "psycho" and an "asshole" just because he tried to talk sense into Chloe... Chloe previously hooked up with Elliot, and even if forceful... I think Elliot did see Rachel for who she was. But what happens to the one's who do see the truth? they must walk away. Elliot SEES the truth and speaks it, so he can no longer stay in Arcadia Bay... therefore he exits the game. It was also funny to me that Rachel burns things, beats up Daemon with a piece of wood, smashes stuff...and in the other game Warren beats the shit out of Nathan Prescott and nobody says anything... yet Elliot pushes Chloe and breaks a snow globe and now he is a psycho.... right.

Everyone obsession to protect Rachel is almost sickening... yes, she might be sparkly and beautiful... but why wont anyone allow life to touch her? why is she so special she must be protected from everything? In the end, no matter if you tell her the truth or not, the result is the same... Rachel and Chloe stay in Arcadia Bay... which means that Rachel never truly meant to run away with her. They had 2 years to get away.

Chloe is with Rachel, the same way James was with Sera... protective, obsessive... never wanting to face the reality of the other person. Truth is painful as fuck... but it will only set you free if you allow it to do so. It takes a very strong soul to be real with someone... there is a difference between loving and relationships. Love is sacrificial, exciting, painful... even deadly. Relationship are a transaction. Sometimes they are based on truth, sometimes on lies. Everything has a currency and an explanation (if you want a perfect example on how to do relationships... look at Rose... the woman is perfectly put together, ready to negotiate, make excuses, be polite) make no mistake, there is a place in life for love, and there is also a place for relationships. The problem is when you confuse the two. The one difference here is that Chloe loves, and Rachel does relationships. Chloe sacrifices, Rachel manipulates. The currency here is that Rachel only care about having a father figure (which masculine Chloe would fulfill... until people like Frank and Jefferson come along) and Chloe wants a best friend and some real company (which Rachel would also fulfill.... but she'll never be Max or William).

The fact that somebody wants the truth does not mean they can handle it, the fact that you think you deserve love does not mean you have earned it. Like Sera said... after years of bad decisions... you just don't get to walk away into someone's life, you are going to live the consequences of your actions. I find that the honesty of Sera is very refreshing for a change.

I think game players would do good to stop making Rachel into this "entity" and see the game for what it is... a place in which (like real life) you can try your best, but it is nature and life's wisdom that has the upper hand.

and who really is the big bad wolf in this story? you tell me.

All credits to: Moon Seeea

I don’t agree with all he said, but it really opened my eyes.

I know that what he said is hella fucked up, but at some point mine amberprice heart brooke a little.

I love Rachel Amber, she’s probably the most developed character I have ever seen, and I know that she wasn’t just one thing, but this hitted me hard af, cause some part really made sense for me.

I’m hella sorry y’all.

[kaylahill94]

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[colettascorner]

Failure

Solo {And that was that. I had been stupid really. I knew my father's trust only went so far. I should have known that on the first job I was the lead liaison for, I'd have a tail. That he'd be watching, checking up on me. After a week of working in the bar, apparently he'd seen enough. I hadn't done a good job of hiding my attraction to the bar owner in public. It was easy to fall for his flirtatious ways, the smile, the winks. Even as I watched him pull the same game for the groupies at the bar, my belly still fluttered when he aimed them at me, and my flirtation was reciprocal, stupidly hoping that with me, he was different. I knew, deep down, there was no real feeling on his end. How could there be? Some egos are so fragile they need constant attention, regardless of how empty or shallow, to thrive. Even if the circumstances weren't what they were, I'm sure I would have learned that particular lesson the hard way in time. It was my own fault really, I'd spent my young adult life aiming to be the picture of perfection in my father's eyes. Had kept my head down, concentrating on my schooling, knowing that with how overprotective he was, that trying to date would have been futile. Even when I'd left for graduate school, my workload was so tedious that I rarely accepted an invitation for drinks with classmates, knowing that any connections made or relationships formed would have been short lived, as I would eventually be returning to New York. This had been my first taste of independence, and not only had I blown my chance at running a piece of my father's empire, I'd acted like a besotted school girl. Hindsight being twenty/twenty, as it were, I was disgusted with myself. It wasn't that I hadn't done my job, because I had. I'd spent the week increasing the bar’s social media presence, scouted local up and coming talent, booked live entertainment for Friday and Saturday night. The place was packed from wall to wall Friday night. The numbers twice what they'd been the previous month. Saturday was even better thanks to the afternoon drink specials, cover charge for the band that night. It felt good to watch the turn around of my efforts so quickly. The bar had done a solid business before our arrangement, but at this rate, the debt to my father might be paid off even sooner than my father would consider a good thing. It was after I'd spent this Saturday night making the rounds in my fuck me heels, checking that the band had everything they needed, helping behind the bar when they were in the weeds and overall making sure things ran smoothly, that I got the call. Well, text to be exact. All it said was “Base. Now.” That was it. As cryptic as ever. It didn't matter how many times my father's tech guys told him that our phones were encrypted and safe, it had taken us forever to convince him to text at all, he still insisted on using code. Having been raised with his codes as my second language I knew exactly where I needed to go, and my stomach plummeted. I didn't know why yet, but I knew I was in trouble, my Catholic guilt kicking into high gear right along side my pulse. With a final scan around the bar, I snuck down the back hallway, grabbed my purse from the owner’s office, and made my exit. The pit in my stomach grew the closer I got to my car, and I wondered if I'd ever be returning to the bar, even as a voice whispered in my mind, that I already knew I wouldn't be. Mind swirling, I was on autopilot as I left the West End and headed for The Bronx. Base was an only Italian restaurant tucked away on a side street in a neighborhood that looked a lot different than it did when my father purchased the property. Yes, he was that cliche. By the time I parked in the back lot, I had built up my inner bravado and was as ready as I could be to face my father. Squaring my shoulders, my feet aching with every step I took, I approached the back entrance, tilted my face to the surveillance camera and waited. It didn't take but a minute for one of the security guards to open the door. I nodded at each of the tank sized me manning the door and proceeded down to my father's office. With my hand on the door knob, I closed my eyes and blew out a steadying breath. Whatever this was about, I would get through it. Or he'd have me knocked off. Either way, it'd all be over soon. Entering the office, my steps faltered when I found him, not behind his desk, but at the oval conference table, surrounded by his lieutenants. Two on either side. At the end of the table sat a manila folder. A small crease formed between my brows as I eyed it warily, not sitting until commanded. When he barked the order, I immediately moved to the place obviously designated for me, but I didn't dare open the folder until given permission. I knew exactly the behavior my father expected. In this room, he was the king holding court, and no matter my place in his family or business enterprise, right now, I was but a peasant. “Letty,” I barely contained my grimace at the childhood nickname I loathed. He knew it and any reaction from me would just play into his show of dominance. Every move either of us made in this meeting was a carefully orchestrated chess match. “While the numbers thus far are proving promising in the new acquisition you've been heading, certain behavior has come to our attention and we think it best that a few adjustments be made.” I knew sending him links to all of those business articles to prove why my ideas were sound on certain subjects, would come back to bite me in the ass one day. He sat there with his smug smirk, knowing as I did that he sounded more like a CEO than a mob boss. I said nothing, merely holding his gaze and nodded in understanding. “The proof is before you, I think you'll find it conclusive, but we would love to hear your explanation once you've looked it over.” When he nodded, I reached out, pulled the folder towards me, and opened it. My stomach immediately bottomed out as I flipped through the stack of pictures. Each one starring me and the bar owner in various spots around the bar, out front on street, working on different signs and posters. In each one we were smiling and laughing, the affection in my expression made me sick to my stomach and I didn't notice until I say each frame lined up like this, but his expression was the exact same in every one. Blank eyes, charming smile. It was humiliating, but the worst of them was the last. The owner in the back alley, with some Barbie plastic blonde pinned to the brick wall beside the very exit I'd taken tonight. It was blatantly obvious what they were doing as much as it was obvious why my father had included this picture last, with yesterday's date time stamped in the corner. Embarrassed, ashamed, humiliated, my father had driven home the final nail in the coffin, and effectively convinced me that my endeavor at the bar was over, while ensuring that I'd never be tempted to return. All I wanted to do was climb under the table I'd played beneath so many times as a young girl, my own secret fort, curl up in the fetal position and bawl my eyes out. But I couldn't. Wouldn't. Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I closed the folder, slid it back onto the table, and lifted my chin. I wouldn't let them break me. If I wanted to play with the big boys, this came along with the job. I had to handle my successes and my failures. Nothing else would be acceptable from the boss’ daughter.} I have no explanation. I obviously allowed my guard down when I shouldn't have. I have the contract and business plans outlined. I can brief whomever my successor in the position is. I'll do whatever I need to to transfer all contacts and responsibilities. {Thankful that my shaking knees were hidden under the table, I folded my hands on the table to keep them from showing my reaction. Taking my time, I met the assessing stares of each man, most of whom I'd considered uncles growing up, before finally resting on my father's eyes.} I apologize for letting you down. I can assure you that this won't happen again, but any other consequences, I will face head on. {My father proceeded to lay out the “no contact" provisions, threatening a bullet between the eyes of the bar owner and his brother, if he found out that I ever went near the bar again. The police had nothing on my father when it came to enforcing his rule of law. I sat, letting him berate me for another twenty minutes before I was dismissed. I barely stayed on my feet as I rushed down the hall and back to my BMW. If I'd been a zombie on the ride there, I was a corpse on the ride back to my penthouse. I didn't remember a thing until I unlocked my door and fell inside. Adrenaline crashed over me as I crumbled to the ground, body wracking sobs echoing in the open space. Kicking out of my now hated heels, I allowed myself the breakdown I'd been holding inside. The last two hours felt like a year as waves of warring emotions crushed me. Self loathing for developing feelings for such an obvious player, embarrassment and disappointment at fucking up the first assignment that had truly been my own in my father's business. I never wanted to set foot in that restaurant again, let alone begin to rebuild the broken trust, and beg for him to allow me to continue in the business role I'd fought so fucking hard for and not become one of the pretty girls he used to “sweeten a deal". Fear that he'd never allow it. So quickly I'd lost my way, and for what? Some pretty boy scumbag that ended up being...well, exactly what he presented himself to be, even if I wanted to believe there was more substance to him. There wasn't. I wouldn't forget that. In time, I was certain I'd be thankful for my father's heavy handed control, his pulling me from the situation before I had fallen deeper into the rouse...but for now, I'd let myself cry.} End.

[sumukhcomedy]

Depressed Comedians: You Should Leave Social Media

Almost a year ago, I wrote an essay on here called “Depression Shouldn’t Be a ‘Brand.’” It added to what has become a regular topic of what I’ve written about on here for many years: the interaction of comedy and society with depression and mental health issues. At this point, I might as well make an “I’m Worried About You” series on the subject. But, over that past year, from my perspective, things have gotten significantly worse among comedians. There doesn’t even seem to be a “brand” to this anymore. Comedians are depressed and pouring that depression out on to social media on a consistent basis with no underlying marketing or humor approach to it. Social media clearly has its own psychological effect on all of us and with the mix of depression and addiction to social media, it’s simply creating a hugely negative impact on many comedians. The reality is that, if many comedians truly want to address their mental health, they should leave social media.

I can write this because I have been there and am still there in certain ways. I have depression but part of writing these essays was to express how I dealt and still deal with my depression. I gave up drinking which had a significant and positive impact on my depression. I analyzed how social media had an effect on my depression and continue to actively have an approach to how to deal with social media for my comedy and myself that allows me to be on it but in a way that I feel is healthy for me. As a result, I am a comedian who has been on Facebook for over a decade and hasn’t had a mental breakdown on it (this is actually my greatest comedy credit). That was how I interacted with my depression and social media. In certain ways, it was devastating for me to not be able to be open about everything but that was partially my personality and partially my depression. Even though I’m a comedian, I’m just not open about myself in that way particularly on the Internet where anyone could have access to that openness and particularly at times when I didn’t feel I had a grip on my depression or that there was a positive or humorous lining to that experience. Ultimately, what was most important to me was to cope with my depression on a personal level while also valuing my place in the public realm that is the Internet and the public persona that I have being both a human being and a comedian.

For example, sharing about giving up drinking was not easy for my personality and for my depression. I didn’t want to talk about it until I felt I had a true grip on everything, had “earned” by my personal standards the right to talk about it, and felt I wouldn’t ever drink again. That was 15 months in. I shared the essay with my parents, my brother, and close friends before I ever shared it with the world. Of course, when I did share it, I got plenty of comfort and support. Opening up about it has led to helping out a lot more people than I ever expected from my friends in comedy to complete strangers.

But I was anxious about it all. That’s what the Internet and social media does to me and likely many others. It makes me anxious about the judgment. I also would get very anxious even when putting jokes out there and the possible comments or the lack of approval and “likes” from others. It’s so different than stand-up comedy to me. In a small room, testing out new jokes, I can bomb and I don’t care. It’s just for that small group of people in that moment and I can toss out that joke and that experience. But when it’s on the Internet, it can be experienced by everyone and even something awful that gets put out there for a few minutes can be screenshot by a stranger. There’s a lot of anxiety to it when you’re already a person that is depressed and a person concerned about judgment.

Part of my ability to be able to cope with the interaction of social media, comedy, depression, and myself, was understanding how to be healthy with it. I chose to have an idea of who I want to be as my private self and who I want to be as my public self. With the Internet, we are all public figures to some degree now dependent upon how much we choose to interact with the Internet. Certainly, as comedians, we are public figures because we publicly perform but we have control of how public we wish to be with our comedy and who we are. Over the years from mySpace to Facebook to YouTube to Twitter to Instagram to hopefully I don’t join TikTok but I probably will, I gathered what I wanted to do with social media. I determined a purpose as to why I was on it and continued to structure an online existence that made me sane and happy enough dealing with it. This changed over time just as someone’s stand-up comedy act changes over time or just as the Internet and social media changed over time. I consistently modified my social media presence and approach to ensure my personal mental state remained intact.

Here's my secret as to what I’ve come to now in 2019 with social media. With comedy, I only post if I have a show/shows to announce. I may post a joke if I feel like it. I may post a photo if I feel like it. I don’t post more than once or twice a day. Many days I don’t even post. I limit my time on social media (I probably only spend 15-30 minutes maximum each day on all platforms and that’s even when I’ve actually posted something to check on any interactions). I don’t scroll much, if at all. I only comment on stuff posted by very close friends. I usually just post then get the hell out. I get my business done and then I leave.

As a result, this approach has left my mental state in a better place. I don’t open myself up to spending more time on social media than I need to which could lead me to being triggered by other people’s posts or total strangers’ comments that could change my emotional state. I understand what my place on social media is that is best for me: to provide people with knowledge of my comedy, maybe on occasion make them laugh or feel positive with a post (hey, I’m a comedian!), and remain in touch with people that really matter to me.

    100% chance a guy who works at a vegan restaurant loves my comedy.

At this point, too many comedians unfortunately don’t take this approach. I’m not saying that you have to follow my approach at all but it appears there is no approach even to understanding how one interacts with comedy, depression, and social media. As a result, so many comedians seem even more depressed and addicted to social media and their phones than they do to being funny. This includes a number of comedians that I know to be funny on a stage but appear only to be deeply depressed off of it and on social media.

I’ve seen so many posts from comedians that amount to “I’m sad! Help!” or posts about depression that supposedly have punchlines but that basically aren’t punchlines because the punchline solely involves them killing themselves. Who are these posts for? And, when they happen so frequently, what are you actually conveying to the public other than that you’re severely depressed and clearly not truly addressing it? I’m a comedian and I’m more concerned about these comedians’ mental states than I care about their comedy at all.

It’s clear then that so many comedians don’t have a plan for how their public persona interacts with their personal lives. To me, when you don’t have such a plan, that is when you need to leave social media. Social media’s purpose is to be public and when you’re spraying your depression for everyone to see constantly, with no humor to it, and with no positive light to it, that’s not comedy or even normal human behavior. You have severe depression and you have to address it and a great way to do that is to force yourself to get away from your phone and social media: two entities that can so easily create depression because of the manner in which they can have a negative psychological effect over you.

There is a fine line between awareness and bumming everyone out. It’s one thing to post something one time in the hope that it can help others out and make them aware and let them know they are not alone. It’s another thing to constantly post about depression. Now you’re just a depressed person communicating with other depressed people on, of all places, the depressing world of the Internet and not actually making anyone inspired to address anything with their depression.This can, of course, be pervasive within a city’s comedy scene.

I get depressed and, when I am depressed, no one on the Internet knows about it. That’s just me and how I deal with it but I’ve found it far healthier that way. The only people that need to know when I’m depressed are the closest people in my life and not surprisingly they know how best to deal and communicate with me when I’m in those situations. Some comedian I did a show with once doesn’t know how to deal with that. Some person that used to work with my brother once doesn’t know how to deal with that. So why would I make them aware on Facebook when I’m at my lowest points? And why would I do that so frequently so that, all of a sudden, with the algorithms of social media, all they really know about me is that I seem to be a deeply depressed person?

Depression sucks. It’s solitary. I feel horrible when I go through a bout of depression and feel even worse because I don’t understand why I feel depressed because I shouldn’t have a reason to feel depressed. It’s the nature of the beast. But, for those of us who have depression, it’s on each of us. Yes, we can be supportive of one another but we have to be in a way that’s meaningful not in a way that just keeps us all depressed. You have to, as a comedian and as a person, figure out a healthy and positive approach to addressing your depression on your own otherwise you’re just on a path to a quick death. I can say that because I know what it was like to be on that path but now I’m still alive, happier, and constantly working on myself.

I get frustrated with how depressed comedians interact with social media because the predominant perspective actually feels counterproductive to those points. Many comedians don’t post on social media feeling alive, happy, or that they are even working on themselves. They feel miserable and crying for help. No amount of pet photos, memes, or GIFs from your friends or strangers will cure that.

You have to take a sensible, healthy approach with depression and find the right balance with your life, comedy, and social media. For many comedians, I think that may mean leaving social media entirely because you’re already in too deep and addicted to it and it’s having a negative effect as so many addictions do.

Your life shouldn’t just be your friends pressing a cry emoji button and then scrolling on to the next thing but that’s what it’s becoming and that’s all you’ll be unless you truly work on yourself. I could care less at this point about a comedian making me laugh. We’ve already had enough dead, miserable ones. I care about that comedian making an effort to leading a positive and happy life and then making me laugh.

[ramajmedia]

The Simpsons: 10 Times The Show Broke Our Hearts | ScreenRant

With the announcement at Disney's recent D23 convention that all 30 seasons of The Simpsons will be available to stream from the platform's launch date, fans of the show are over the moon. Now more than ever viewers will have access to every episode from the long-running comedy and will be able to pour through the yellow family's back catalog.

While the show itself is a comedy, and a hilarious one at that, The Simpsons was one of the first adult cartoons to really push the boundaries of what animation can be. While maintaining a comedic tone over the years, the Simpsons have experienced real family drama and often learned valuable life lessons in the process. More than any other show of this sort The Simpsons has a way of accessing people's emotions and playing havoc with their tear ducts. Get the tissues ready.

RELATED: The Simpsons: 10 Storylines That Have Aged Poorly

10 'ALONE AGAIN, NATURA-DIDDLY' - MAUDE'S DEATH

Throughout the course of The Simpsons there have been a number of deaths but none as enduringly sad as the passing of Maude Flanders. For starters, most of the other deaths on the show have been secondary characters, who have only appeared in an episode or two. What was so shocking about Maude's passing was that, despite being a secondary character, she had been a constant presence. What exacerbates the sadness of her death is the way Ned Flanders has to reconcile with his faith in the face of tragedy. On a show with little to no stakes, when everything returns to normal at the start of each episode, Maude's death felt like a permanent loss.

9 'MARGE BE NOT PROUD' - BART'S CHRISTMAS PRESENT

In this Christmas-themed episode Bart is in trouble for shoplifting, ruining yet another family portrait. Marge is not angry, she's disappointed, and for the viewer this disappointment is palpable. It's easy to empathize with Marge. However, the heartbreaking moment comes when Bart tries to make good. When Marge accuses him of stealing yet again he produces a photo of himself that he's had taken as Marge's Christmas present. She is truly touched and their relationship is reconciled. It's a heartwarming moment between mother and son and one that had viewers reaching for the tissues.

8 'THE SQUIRT AND THE WHALE' - LISA'S WHALE FRIEND

One of the more recent entries on this list, Lisa's friendship with a beached whale was a return to form for the show. After 30 years of storytelling, The Simpsons can be forgiven for not reaching the dramatic heights of its early years. However, in this episode when Lisa befriends a whale, washed up on the beach and unable to return to the water, the show reached the emotionally charged levels of some of its earlier seasons.

RELATED: The Simpsons: 10 Funniest Homer And Bart Moments, Ranked

Lisa rallies the town to save the whale and when nothing is to be done she waits with her friend, who she has named Bluella, reading to her and sleeping next to her until sadly the whale dies. It's a heart-crushing moment and a brutal lesson about the laws of nature.

7 'LISA'S SUBSTITUTE' - LISA'S RECEIVES A NOTE

Lisa has always been the most intelligent and sensitive of the Simpson clan. These attributes sometimes ostracise her from the group and make her feel like an outsider. When a substitute teacher arrives at Springfield Elementary and seems to fill the void in Lisa's life, she begins to feel validated in a way she's never experienced before. The heartbreak comes when her substitute's time at the school is up and he has to move on. Lisa is distraught but the substitute leaves her a note, which simply reads: 'You are Lisa Simpson.' The sentiment giving her hope and strength for the future.

6 'LISA'S FIRST WORD' - MAGGIE SPEAKS

This is probably one of the most adorable episodes of The Simpsons as we not only discover Lisa's first word, we witness a normally silent character utter her first words as well, with heartbreaking sentimentality. In the episode, we learn that despite their antagonistic relationship, Bart and Lisa have a familial bond that runs even deeper. Bart, use to being an only child, hated Lisa for being born and was ready to run away, he stopped when he heard Lisa's first word 'Bart.' The episode is capped off when Homer puts Maggie to bed, telling her he doesn't mind if she never says a word. When he shuts the door, the usually silent Maggie takes out her dummy and says 'Daddy.' It's a one-two punch of heartbreak.

5 'BART GETS AN F' - BART'S BREAKDOWN

Bart's grades have never been much to write home about and in this episode he's threatened with academic purgatory. Bart learns that he will need to repeat fourth grade if he fails his next test. It's motivation enough for Bart to actually put his head down and study, which is a sharp left turn for the character.

RELATED: The Simpsons: 10 Best One-Off Characters, Ranked

The kicker comes when despite actually trying this time, Bart still fails the test. The lesson being that one bout of studying can't make up for a lifetime of not trying. Bart has a breakdown in the classroom which is truly heart wrenching and even the stoic Miss Krabappel has a moment of sympathy.

4 'ONE FISH, TWO FISH, BLOW FISH, BLUE FISH' - HOMER SAYS GOODBYE

Homer is usually carefree and empty-headed, however, in this episode his mortality is brought into question with touching results. After a night at a sushi restaurant, Homer believes he's eaten poisonous pufferfish and is told he only has 24 hours to live, well, 22 hours after being kept waiting by Dr. Hibbert. He attempts to cram in all the things he wanted to do before he died over the course of the next day but realizes too late - he's not had a chance to spend time with his family. One by one he tucks in his kids and says his goodbyes to them before heading downstairs to listen to an audiobook of the Bible and die. Of course, he doesn't die but this is one of The Simpsons' most heart-wrenching entries.

3 'MOTHER SIMPSON' - HOMER WATCHES THE STARS

Homer can barely remember his mother, having been abandoned at an early age, until one day she turns up in Springfield and he discovers she is a fugitive and has been on the run. Homer and his mother are able to spend time together and discover the things they have in common and begin to heal the wounds of their estranged past. However, the time comes for Homer's mother to leave again. In this episode, Homer is dealing with feelings of abandonment and despite learning that his mother is proud of him he is left grappling with the loss of his mother yet again. The episode concludes with Homer watching the stars. It's an unusually quiet and contemplative moment for Homer and the show.

2 'AND MAGGIE MAKES THREE' - 'DO IT FOR HER'

Perhaps the most enduringly heartbreaking episode of The Simpsons, 'And Maggie Makes Three' addresses the lack of photos of Maggie in the house. We learn that before Maggie was born Homer quit his job at the nuclear power plant and landed his dream job of working at a bowling alley.

RELATED: The Simpsons: 10 Episodes That Actually Tackled Deep Issues

Unfortunately, the new baby meant he had to return to a more lucrative position and when he was hired back at the plant, Mr. Burns put up a 'de-motivational' plaque to remind Homer: 'Don't Forget You're Here Forever.' In heartwarming fashion Homer has used all photos of Maggie to cover up the text of the plaque, changing the message to: 'Do It For Her.'

1 'FOUR REGRETTING & A FUNERAL' - BART'S BLACKBOARD MESSAGE

Not so much a story point rather a nod to the passing of Miss. Krabappel voice actor Marcia Wallace, one of the most heartbreaking moments from The Simpsons was the message Bart was writing on the blackboard, in the first episode recorded without his adversary and fourth-grade teacher. Instead of a joke line, covering the board, Bart has simply written: 'We'll really miss you Mrs. K.'

NEXT: The Simpsons: 10 Episodes That Actually Tackled Deep Issues

source https://screenrant.com/simpsons-sad-heartbreaking-moments/

[poop4u]

http://bit.ly/2GS9Twu

Essay: Why Are There So Many Books About Dogs? http://bit.ly/2UksOrS

“What would the world be like without music or rivers or the green and tender grass?” the poet Mary Oliver asks in her book “Dog Songs.” “What would this world be like without dogs?”

A world without dogs is impossible to imagine. Our relationship with them predates the written word, agriculture and civilization. They were our hunting buddies, bed warmers and, sometimes, if not much else was around, our dinner. As dogs crept into our homes, surfing kitchen counters and sleeping on the sofa, our focus was practical: managing the animal with which 60 million American households share space. (That’s about 13 million more households than the number cohabitating with the next most popular pet — cats.) Until surprisingly recently, most dog books were assiduously pragmatic: how to choose them, train them and care for them.

But the new millennium is different. “Marley & Me,” the 2005 mega-best seller by John Grogan, marked a subtle but important shift in how we think about dogs. It begins as a hilarious account of dog ownership in the 1990s. How do you get a large, muscled carnivore to sit nicely at a restaurant, remain tranquil during thunderstorms and not poop on the beach? But by the end of the book, Grogan is almost entirely concerned with his Labrador Marley’s interior life — the way he thinks, feels and apprehends the world. “I dropped my forehead against his and sat there for a long time, as if I could telegraph a message through our two skulls, from my brain to his.”

This somersault into Marley’s mental landscape involves what researchers call “theory of mind”: your thoughts, feelings and beliefs about the thoughts, feelings and beliefs of others. Theory of mind is at the root of some of our most profound experiences. Take love, for instance. It’s just an abstraction unless you are able to wonder, Does she love me too? What did he mean when he looked at me that way? Will she miss me when I’m gone?

Since 2000, books exploring dog minds have proliferated at an astonishing rate. Currently more than 70,000 dog books are listed on Amazon, including dozens of novels, many of them best-selling tear-jerkers, such as “The Art of Racing in the Rain” (2008), by Garth Stein, narrated by Enzo, an unfailingly wise and loyal Lab mix, and “A Dog’s Purpose” (2010), by W. Bruce Cameron, a tale also told by a dog — one that undergoes repeated incarnations as it arrives in a human’s life and dispenses important lessons.

The dog mind is also an increasingly prominent feature of literary fiction, from “The Door,” by the Hungarian writer Magda Szabo (published in English to acclaim in 2015), featuring, among other characters, a dog that is, as Claire Messud put it in her review for the Book Review, “as vivid and fully realized a character as any human, a truly great literary dog”; to “The Friend” (2018), by Sigrid Nunez, in which a woman develops a quasi-romantic relationship with a dead friend’s Great Dane. (Nunez’s book won last year’s National Book Award for fiction.) Now there’s even a thoughtful political book in the form of a human-canine mind-meld: “Don’t Label Me,” by Irshad Manji, a writer and activist, which unfolds as a conversation between the author and her dog, Lily, about divisive social issues like identity, diversity and religious politics. (“To do diversity honestly, we can’t be labeling all of diversity’s critics as bigots,” Manji tells her dog. “You disagree, Lil? You’re entitled to your opinion but you haven’t let me explain mine.”)

The spate of dog mind-focused books raises the question: After at least 14,000 years of living with dogs, why are we only now getting around to considering what goes on inside their heads? There are many possible explanations, but one is that in the last two decades science has discovered more about dog cognition than in the previous two centuries combined. From 1900 to 1999, most cognitive researchers dismissed dogs as uninteresting because they believed domestication had led to a hopeless dependence on humans. In 1931, the naturalist Frances Pitt scoffed that dogs lacked intelligence because “the rigorous tests imposed by nature, including that of ability to get a living, have been eliminated by human protection.” In 1971, the veterinarian Michael Fox went so far as to call dogs “Canis over-familiaris,” arguing that domestication had resulted in “psychosomatic symptoms such as depression and anorexia nervosa, asthma, diarrhea, convulsions or paralysis of the hind limbs.”

In the 1950s, cognitive experiments began to show the sophistication of animal intelligence. By the 1980s, a study found that dolphins could mimic computer sounds, then use these new sounds to label real-world objects. Pigeons could categorize objects from two-dimensional photographs.

And, of course, our relatives the great apes were found to be so mentally dexterous that their skills bordered on humans’. But when it came to dogs, the loudest message was overwhelmingly static. There is almost nothing about dogs in the cognitive literature from the 1950s all the way to 2000.

Then, suddenly, there was an explosion in the field of dog cognition, spanning the fields of psychology, anthropology and neuroscience. The psychologist Alexandra Horowitz’s “Inside of a Dog” (2009) was a landmark, providing crucial insights into how a dog experiences the world. Imagine being four feet closer to the ground, relying on smell at least as much as sight and picking up on every conscious or unconscious gesture of the person you love most. Horowitz manages to answer burning questions without being fanciful; from the point of view of a dog, she writes, “a rose is undistinguished from the rest of the plant matter surrounding it — unless it has been urinated upon by another dog.”

Horowitz’s book was followed by Gregory Berns’s “How Dogs Love Us” (2013), about his remarkable experiments involving his terrier mix, in which he trained her and other dogs to lie perfectly still in an MRI machine. Several months, and many sausages, later, Berns had the world’s first brain scans of conscious dogs. He discovered that the reward centers in their brains responded to praise just as much as to food — and, more surprisingly, some dogs preferred praise. Berns also found that dogs have a dedicated area in their brains for recognizing human faces, a skill cats, for example, are generally less good at.

John Pilley, a retired psychologist, turned the field of developmental psychology upside down with his book “Chaser” (2013), about his Border collie, who not only knew 1,000 words but learned them using a technique called fast mapping, something thought possible only by children. And the ethologist Frans de Waal, in his brand-new “Mama’s Last Hug: Animal Emotions and What They Tell Us About Ourselves,” argues that dogs have a well-developed sense of fairness and other moral values. When pairs of dogs at the Clever Dog Lab in Vienna were asked to lift a paw to a human experimenter without receiving a reward, they readily complied. But if one of the pair was rewarded with a piece of bread, the other dog lost interest in the game and refused to play. De Waal likens such behavior to that of young children, “when one of them gets a smaller pizza slice than his sibling (yelling ‘That’s not fair!’).”

De Waal elaborated on the idea in a recent opinion piece for The Times, recounting how Bully, a dog belonging to the legendary animal behaviorist Konrad Lorenz, once bit Lorenz’s hand as Lorenz tried to break up a dogfight. “Even though Dr. Lorenz petted him right away,” de Waal wrote, “Bully suffered a complete nervous breakdown. For days, he was virtually paralyzed and ignored his food. … He had violated a natural taboo, which among ancestral canines could have had the worst imaginable consequences, such as expulsion from the pack.”

The shift in how we see our dogs is not unprecedented. When it comes to the beings with whom we cohabitate, we have a history of changing our attitudes. The way we once regarded dogs — not the cleanest creatures but useful to have around — is the way we once regarded children. In early-18th-century Europe, children were born to work. Parents had large numbers of them not just because birth control was generally unavailable but because parents needed help, and understood that not all of their offspring were likely to survive infancy. Those that did were sent off to coal mines, factories and up chimneys — or to live with relatives in need of a servant.

By the 19th century, more children survived to adulthood, and more were spared the work force. Parents began to regard their children not as potential labor but as emblems of purity and innocence to be protected and loved. As the 19th century was for human children, the 21st century is for the dog. Most dogs are no longer required to work long hours. Most are not required to do anything at all, except love us. And this they do very well.

‘Let Me Tell You About Fluffy’

Oct. 5, 2012

via NYT > Home Page https://poop4u/blog April 30, 2019 at 05:06AM DMT.NEWS, @VANESSA WOODS AND BRIAN HARE, @pooop4u April 30, 2019 at 06:09AM