#just this absolutely beautiful and talented woman sobbing while talking about finding her one true love and finding Eurydice in her heart

[pterodactylterrace]

Guys Like You Chapter 13

Title: Guys Like You

Chapter:  13

Chapter Summary:  I’ll trade your truth bomb with one of my own

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Smut. Tons of dialogue. I had trouble getting this one the way I liked it. It’s been rewritten a few times now.

{Prologue} {Chapter 1} {Chapter 2} {Chapter 3} {Chapter 4} {Chapter 5} {Chapter 6} {Chapter 7} {Chapter 8} {Chapter 9} {Chapter 10} {Chapter 11} {Chapter 12}

Henry's blood ran cold, his stomach dropping to his feet, his chest tightening like a vise. What was she saying? Had he made her feel inadequate? Like she wasn't good enough for him? Had he not paid enough attention to her? Why did she feel like this?

"Faye." Henry finally forced out, crossing the small room to sit on the edge of her bed, trying to collect himself before starting this conversation in earnest.

"It's ok, Henry. You're not going to hurt my feelings. I know I'm not a catch by any means. I mean... who wants used goods?"

"Faye." Henry repeated, more firmly this time. He took a slow breath before turning to face her more. "You need to stop. Just... stop."

"Henry, I know it's difficult, but it's something you need to hear."

"No. It's not. Faye... I don't care what other people have to say, because you know what? Whenever I picture myself happy anymore, it's with you. You're what I want. I want all of it. You're so much more than you think you are. You're a talented artist, an amazing mother and one of the most beautiful women I've ever met. Inside and out."

"Do you really expect me to believe that? You're an A-list movie star."

"And you're beautiful enough to catch my eye without even trying. I don't care what the rest of the world has to say. I want you. You make me happy. My home is wherever you and the baby are. I... fuck it, I love you Faye, and I'm sorry that I haven't been there for you like I should have."

"Henry, you didn't do anything wrong. I'm the problem."

"No, you're not. You make me happy. I want you. I love you." Henry insisted, gently taking her shoulders in his hands and looking deep into her eyes as he spoke. "Now please. Stop saying such terrible things about the woman I love."

"I... I just feel like I don't deserve you." Faye admitted, lowering her gaze and wiping at the tears threatening to fall from her eyes. She had to stay strong. She couldn't let him see her cry.

"You make me the luckiest man in the world every time you look my way. I'm crazy about you, and I mean everything I said." Henry assured, pulling her to his chest and wrapping her tight in his arms. "Move in with me?"

"What?" Faye breathed, her voice catching on a barely suppressed sob.

"I hate being so far away. It's not home without you two."

"That's not going to work out, Henry. There's no yard for Kal here, and not enough space in Kensington for everyone either."

"Then we'll find a new place. Whatever place you like. As long as I'm with you two, it's home to me."

"Options are a little limited. I can't move too far from here. This is where my job is."

"We will find you something wherever we go. You hate it there anyway."

"But my visa..."

"You worry too much."

"You don't worry enough!"

"Keep your job until we find somewhere you like. Then we will find you something there before you quit. I have thought things through, darling."

"What if I can't find anything?"

"Absolute worst case scenario, I can make up some bullshit job you do for me until something else comes up. Please, Faye? I'm going crazy being so far from you two."

"I'll think about it." Faye finally relented.

"That I can work with. Now while we're thinking, can we rethink what you're wearing to the premiere? It's the first time I'm showing my girlfriend to the public, and while you're beautiful in anything you wear, I'd really like to spoil you for the occasion."

"Like you spoil Briar?"

"I do not spoil her."

"Ice cream even though she didn't finish her dinner? Four bedtime stories? The fact that you are currently covered in pony stickers and glitter?"

"I see nothing wrong with any of it. I haven't seen her for a long time."

"Spoiling her."

"Fine then, I'm gonna spoil both my girls." Henry huffed, squeezing her a little tighter.

"Already have the baby spoiled." Faye insisted, fighting back a yawn, the emotional drain of their conversation finally taking its toll.

"Then it's her mum's turn. I'll call my stylist and see what he can do for you."

"Oh, Mr. Fancy with his stylist."

"Would you really trust me to dress myself for these things?"

"I'm imagining the blue tank top and your booty shorts for some reason."

"Which one? I have several blue vests."

"It's a tank top."

"England."

"I don't care what you say, it's not a vest."

"It is here."

"You know, I'd ask if you wanted to join me for a shower to get all that glitter off of you, but you'd probably have some bizarre English way of saying that too, and I just don't have the energy for that right now."

"No, I'm fine with however you say it, as long as I'm joining."

"You'd say anything for the chance to bone me again."

"That is true. Now let's go shower."

"Such a horn dog!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I'm just sitting here holding a gorgeous woman and talking about getting her wet and naked and slippery. Forgive me for reading too far into that."

"I said you could shower with me, not that I was gonna get you off."

"You act like I'm above fucking my fist while standing in the back of the shower staring you." Henry scoffed, tossing Faye onto his shoulder and carrying her down the hall to the shower, ignoring her indignant squeals of protest.

"Henry!" Faye finally snapped when he had closed the bathroom door behind himself, finally earning an amused hum from the man carrying her around. "Put me down!"

"Fine." He sighed, gently setting her down, sending a mischievous glance her way before his fingers hooked into the waistband of her shorts, quickly jerking them and her panties down as he dropped to his knees, diving in to lick a stripe between her folds.

"What the... oh fuck." Faye sighed, her eyes fluttering closed, one hand resting on his head as she kicked one foot free of her clothing, Henry wasting no time in throwing it over his shoulder, to grant himself better access. His tongue was relentless, alternating between plunging inside of her, to flicking across her clit, to lapping up every drop of arousal he could, his hands gripping her ass, pulling her closer as he worked her over, spurred on by the whispered sound of his name falling from her lips.

"F-fuck... Henry!" Faye groaned, her hips and thighs tensing as she felt herself being drawn closer and closer to the edge, Henry latching onto her needy bundle of nerves, sucking hard while working it with his tongue, sending her crashing into her orgasm. If it hadn't been for his hands holding her ass so tightly, Faye was pretty sure she would have fallen from the force of her climax, months of pent up frustration being released in one toe curling orgasm.

"Damn it, Henry. A little warning next time."

"It's not exactly surprise oral if I warn you." Henry teased, reluctantly letting her go and standing back up to turn on the shower.

"Nice ass." Faye teased, swatting at him as soon as he bent over, her target chuckling and shaking his head at her antics.

"And you keep saying I'm the dork."

"You're my dork."

"Mmhmm. I'm starting to think you may be the dork in this relationship." Henry teased, pulling his shirt off while the water warmed and setting it on the countertop, Faye's intense gaze locking on him not going unnoticed. "Uhh, my eyes are up here, Miss Warren."

"I know. Just enjoying the rest of the view. You know what would make it better? If you took your pants off."

"And you keep saying I'm the one with a problem."

"Your current problem is too much pants." Faye taunted, pulling her old t-shirt off and sliding past him to get in the shower.

"Really? I could have sworn my problem was lack of pussy." Henry shot back, hurried hands working on his belt. Faye was innocently washing her hair when he finally fought his way free of the rest of his clothing, his greedy paws wasting no time in palming her breasts.

"Warning!" Faye gasped, grabbing onto his wrists to keep her balance.

"How's this for a warning? I'm gonna fuck you up against that wall." Henry explained, cupping the back of her neck and pulling her in for a passionate kiss before she could protest. His hands slid slowly down her body, caressing her skin with the pads of his fingers, her arms winding around his neck, trying to pull him closer.

"Hold on." Henry instructed, his hands venturing to her ass, grabbing generous handfuls and lifting her up, Faye clinging to him, the peril of their actions not lost on her. They were both one slip away from a world of hurt.

Henry was careful with her, gently pressing her back against the shower wall, kissing and nipping at the junction of her shoulder, slowly adjusting their limbs to his satisfaction before reaching around her hip and thigh, gripping himself tightly to seek out her entrance.

"Go slow." Faye requested, biting her lip at the burning stretch she was slowly becoming used to.

"I will." Henry assured, making sure he was stable and Faye was secure in his grasp before he began slowly rolling his hips into her, leaning back just enough to watch her face changing from somewhat pained, to content to desperate all within a few deep thrusts. He continued his languid pace, a shudder going down his spine as she grew more and more frantic at his slow, deep thrusts, her nails digging into his shoulders as she squirmed in his grasp, trying to gain anymore friction she could.

"Fuck slow, I want it now." Faye groaned, one hand sliding from his shoulders down between their bodies to work her sensitized clit.

"Then come for me, beautiful." Henry groaned, trying to catch a glimpse of Faye's hand working herself, his pace increasing until she was squeezing around him moaning softly and bucking her hips through her high.

"Fuck..." Faye groaned, her nails digging into his shoulder harder when his pace only increased at her release, her legs twitching and jerking with over sensitization.

"Almost... almost." Henry panted, seeming to read her mind as he desperately sought his own release. Faye held on to him tighter, feeling another coil forming in her belly, promising another release.

"Can you...?" Henry panted, his movements becoming sloppier as he neared his finish, though desperate to hold on until finished again.

"No... too much..." Faye groaned, her hips rolling into his in spite of her words, desperate for just one more. "Fuck..." She hissed, biting down on his chest as she came again, Henry quickly following behind her.

"Are you ok?" Henry asked once he caught his breath, carefully detangling himself from her and gently setting her back on her feet.

"Yeah... I'm great." Faye sighed, shooting him a relaxed grin. "You know, if this is how it's going to be after every time we argue, I may start having to pick fights with you more often."

"Or you could just ask me 'wanna fuck?' And I'll gladly do this all over again." Henry suggested.

"That would save me the trouble of having to find something to be mad at you about."

"Help keep my hair from going any more gray, too." Henry chuckled, pecking a quick kiss to her lips when she tried to lean around him for her loofah.

"Mmm, silver fox."

"Keep it up." Henry pouted, grabbing the soap from her and dumping some into his hand, working it into a lather to wash away the sweat. It wasn't until he reached his legs that a thought occurred to him, his brows furrowing as he let it bounce around his brain for a second.

"Oh shit!"

"What?" Faye half yelped, turning wide eyes up to him.

"I... fuck... I didn't think to use a condom." Henry groaned, letting his head drop against the tile.

"Oh... well... once should be fine, right?"

"It doesn't matter if it is, we agreed I'd wear one, and I didn't."

"Can you not beat yourself up over this?"

"You were very specific about always using protection."

"Well the fact that you're upset about it says a lot." Faye offered, running her fingers along his jaw. "We'll just need to be more careful."

"Should we use Plan B?" Henry suggested, finally forcing his gaze up to meet hers. "I don't want to put you into an uncomfortable position."

"Henry. Deep breath. It's fine. Everything is fine. My period ended two days ago. We're ok. Stop worrying yourself over it."

"Can I still feel like shit about it?"

"By all means."

[dongiovannaswife]

Trust me darling, trust me.

Hewwo! I’m glad to announce/post this collab with the lovely @softlimefluff​ ♥ —an absolute honor to work with her, always ;w; please go and support her, she’s amazing and really talented! 

CW: pregnancy.

“Helena?” Giorno’s voice resounded through the house as the Don, still dressed in pajamas and hair barely pulled up into a small man bun, stepped into the kitchen. His eyebrows furrowed as he stood in the doorway, shaking slightly, trying to control himself. Fear and anxiety weighing on his chest, discomfort evident in his posture.

From the oven, his wife could feel his change of demeanor instantly.

When she turned her head with a worried glance, Giorno couldn’t help but think, “Of course she’ll notice… She always does.”

The Donna turned again, turning off the appliance and resting a hand on her baby bump. Then, turning to lean against the counter at her back, she took a deep breath, huffing as she felt the babies shift and lean against her insides —she could swear they were messing with her bladder again.

“What are you doing?” 

Giorno finally spoke after eyeing Helena up and down, frown relaxed slightly in an attempt to seem less anxious. The way his eyes darkened, however, even as sunlight pooled in through the window and lit up his golden gaze, made it clear that something was up.

“Cooking.” She answered, keeping calm, even if she could sense Giorno’s emotions from where she stood.

Giorno’s chest rumbled with a hum he managed to swallow; an automatic sound, escaping his controlled demeanor--evidence of how worried he actually was.

“You shouldn’t do that, Helena.”

Crossing her arms and tilting her head, jaw tense, she quickly replied. “Cooking? Don’t you think you’re exaggerating? It’s not like I’m lifting —I don’t know, heavy things?”

Mirroring her posture, Giorno crossed his arms too, leaning against the door and replying between gritted teeth. 

“You’re pregnant. You could get hurt. You or the twins. I don’t think you understand…”

“Alright.” She lifted her hand in a stop motion. “You just crossed a line, Giogio. You’re telling me to sit down and not to move at all?? You know that’s not healthy, right?” 

Giorno opened his mouth defensively, but was quickly stopped by his wife.

“Don’t reply yet! You are clearly being overprotective. I can’t sit all day and keep making everyone bring me food and water. Or having someone help me get to our room. I can’t sit and just watch movies or scroll through social media —you know what our doctor said.” 

“He said that pregnancy is much more dangerous with twins! I’m just trying  to look out for you! I don’t want you to get hurt!”

“But this is far too much, Don. Telling me I shouldn’t cook? I can still stand. I can still do things. I’m not a fragile flower or a piece of glass that will shatter at a touch…”

Helena sighed, softening and walking towards her husband, reaching out her hand to his jaw and rubbing the stubble there, hoping to ease the tension between them.

“See me as more than just a pregnant woman, Giorno. I am your wife. Your Donna. Your partner and companion. I know when I’m tired and when I need to rest. Let me listen to my body.”

“So what am I supposed to do then? Sit here and watch you tire yourself out while I do nothing?”

“I won’t tire myself! I know how to do things still, Mr. Giovanna!”

“Why won’t you let me help you though?”

“Because it’s not helping! It’s smothering!”

“Oh, so now I’m “controlling” and “smothering”? Mi scuzi, bella,” he bowed slightly, bending low with a flourish, “I’ll excuse myself, then, and be on my way so I don’t suffocate you.”

Without another word, Giorno walked down the hall and to the stairs, his wife calling after him, her hands balled into small fists.

“You know that’s not what I meant! GioGio! Come back and talk to me!”

Giorno’s footsteps fell heavily against the main staircase, making his point clear as he walked up to the library and slammed the doors. While sunlight lit up the room, making specks of dust dance in the glimmering light, Gio could not see past his own anger into the beauty.

Why was he the one at fault? He was only trying to help. 

The pool or workout room would have served far better for getting his anger out than a room full of books, but his pride wouldn’t yet let him return downstairs. 

As his gaze fell over the shelves, still fuming over the conflict with Lena, he spotted their collection of Pink Dark Boy, the newest volume still laying on the reading desk, waiting to be read.

“Han… Maybe he could help.”

Easing himself heavily into the oversized leather armchair, Giorno pulled out his phone, finding Rohan’s number within and checking the time. 9:43 AM. should be around 4:43pm for Rohan then… 

Hesitating only a moment, he let out a sigh, relaxing his shoulders, and tapping the screen to call his friend.

One ring. Two. Three. Maybe this was a bad--

“Mmmhhello??” 

He sounds sleepy,,, probably napping with Ari~

“Rohan? It’s. Gio.” Quiet for a moment, he looked for the words, wondering where to start and how to approach what happened…

“Something wrong? You usually text.” Gio could hear Han sitting up in bed, the sound of cloth shifting underneath him as he stretched out. 

“Erm… Han. I think… I made Helena mad.”

Sighing, Rohan looked over at Ari sleeping.

“Give me a minute, Gio.”

Pressing a kiss to Ari’s cheek, he whispered, “I’ll be right back, darling” then stood and walked upstairs his office, Gio quiet on the other end of the phone. Sitting back into his desk chair, only in boxers and messy hair, Rohan finally settled, ready to talk.

“What happened, Giorno? Why do you think she’s mad?”

“I was trying to help, Han, I swear!”

“I believe you, Giogio, but I need the whole story. Now, talk!”

With another sigh, Gio let the whole situation spill out, not leaving out either side. He knew Han was good at analyzing situations from every angle and wanted to present it properly.

“What do you think I should do? I want to make sure she’s safe, especially when it’s twins! She shouldn’t strain herself…”

Taking a moment to lean back, Rohan put his feet up on the desk.

“That’s reasonable, surely, but imagine it from her perspective as well. Put yourself in the position of a co-boss, trying to prove herself at every turn. Maintain her power and position while pregnant with the boss’ kid.”

“Her position has never been questioned, Rohan! I wouldn’t let anyone do  that to her--there’s nothing to prove.”

“Why don’t you ask her how she sees it, then, if you think it’s been that easy?”

Gio grew silent at that, thinking over Han’s words. His friend continued, pulling his feet down and resting his arms on his legs as he finished.

“Of course she wants care, but she doesn’t want to be treated like she’s incapable of doing even small things. She loves cooking, Giogio. Let her cook! But do the extra things. Do the dishes. Take a shower with her and help with the places she can’t reach. Think about what she can or can’t do and help where she actually needs.”

Chuckling, Gio smirked into the phone. 

“Since when did you get so nice, Mr. Kishibe??~”

A flush of red rushed to Han’s cheeks and he crossed his arms, making an offended noise into the phone.

“I always knew how to treat people! They just have to earn my respect, Mr. Giovanna.”

“Alright, fair, fair…” Gio grinned, taking one more moment with Han. “Suppose this means I have to apologize…”

“Suppose so... But you couldn’t stay away from Lena if you tried~”

“Why do you always have to be right, Rohan?” A laugh finally escaped from his lips, the light coming back into his eyes. “I’ll go to her now. Make things right.”

“Mmmh. Good. Is that all?”

“Yes. Thank you, Han.”

“Very well. Text me if you need.”

“Mhhm. Bye.”

Sliding the phone back into his pocket, he let out a sigh, allowing himself a moment of silence.

Standing slowly and pulling down his sleep shirt, Giorno took a deep breath, letting the anger concentrate and then, as he exhaled, felt his mind get clearer—finally able to see through his own worries. 

He wasn’t quite sure what happened; he’d always been the kind of person to see situations through others' perspective, to think like them. This might have been the first time in years that something like this happened. Deep down, he felt a pool of anxiety and shame on the edge of spilling over.

It’s not time to think about myself. But I do need to work on that...

Opening the door to the library and stepping into the hall, the first thing to hit him was the smell of arroz con leche. The scent brought back memories and as Gio leaned against the upstairs railing, he couldn't help but feel worse, thinking about Rohan’s point that Lena loves cooking. How true he was...

Lena loves being free, loves being independent. She doesn’t want someone making her feel like everything she does is wrong or bad. Plus, with the boys almost there, she needs the confidence to be able to keep up with her activities; to not be put down by others for her gender or role as a mother and wife: to prove that she’s more than that...

God, does he want to apologize right now.

Descending the stairs in silence, thinking about his words carefully, he’s frozen in his spot as he sees her sitting on the couch, head turned to the window and shoulders shaking. She’s silent, however, even though her shoulders are shaking the way they do when she cries. 

His heart breaks instantly.

“Tesoro?” he asks calmly, voice firm but worried.

She shakes her head and his voice seems to break her more; she sobs audibly, shaking her head once more and losing her false composure, starting to tremble and cry without holding back.

Walking up and kneeling before her, Giorno’s hands would be shaking if it wasn’t for the way he’s controlling his emotions, carefully placing his warm hands on her thighs, trying to bring her back, to help her calm down.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, and then repeats louder enough for it to sound like a genuine apology and not something mumbled through gritted teeth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry —I was wrong.”

Her hands grip his forearms and she finally faces him, trying to bring him closer with shaking hands and red eyes —face red, too, and lips trembling. Standing quickly, he sits at her side, offering her a space to lean and cry and let her let it all out. It shouldn’t be like that, but he knows she’s been saving it for long enough and keeping it bottled up won’t help.

Raking his fingers gently over her scalp, he coos softly under his breath, feeling her smaller hands holding onto him. Then, she blurts out. “I’m sorry, too. I’m sorry I’m too stubborn. I… I’m tired of bossing you around and just sitting. I don’t want you to get tired of me and leave me.” 

Swallowing hard without a second thought or intention, Giorno’s chest tightens with a mix of emotions he can’t quite tell the source of--for the way it presses down onto his lungs, though, he knows anxiety is at its root.

Slipping a few fingers under her jaw and making her look at him, Giorno’s eyes soften and his heart aches with the sight of her —so broken and scared. To think his actions ended up causing all this makes him want to be a better man. To listen more instead of assuming.

Pressing a kiss against the heated skin of her forehead, his free hand shoots upwards, circling her shoulders on the way. Wiping her tears and letting his lips linger there for a second, he closes his eyes and feels a wave of relief wash over him when she sighs and relaxes. 

Pulling away without letting her go, Giorno mutters. “I won’t leave you, doll. But please understand me, I have never met someone so kind, beautiful… And adorable like you, Helena. Losing you —losing our sons… It would kill me. I want to help as much as I can, let you rest all the time, not put you at risk —but I admit I was wrong, I should let you move and do your thing… I didn’t mean to make you feel like this. I can’t promise I’ll stop right now, because I’m still worried, but we’ll try everything to make things work out.”

Shaking slightly with a small sob escaping, Lena tilts her head to look at him and gives him a smile —one that doesn’t reach her eyes, doesn’t carry the brightness it usually does, but it makes him know she agrees. 

“It’s okay. I should have let you know earlier without bottling it up. It’s not your fault.” 

Humming under his breath as he glances around the room, his eyes stop at the painting close to the window. “You know it is.” 

Shaking her head again, Lena hums as she tires to make her voice come back to normal. “It’s not. We both were responsible.” 

Silence fills the room until she speaks again. “We’ll make it, Giogio. We just have to keep going together… You mean so much to me, too. I never thought I'd met someone like you. And yet here we are...” 

Humming, the sound Giorno makes rumbles through his chest; gentle as he tilts his head down, peppering her face with kisses, feeling how warm her skin was. “True.” he muttered after a while, listening intently to the dreamy sigh she let out. “You know I love you, right?” 

She hummed, closing her eyes and smiling, leaning against his shoulder. 

“I know —I love you too. But right now, I could really use some snacks.” 

“C’mon, we’ll get them together.” 

Standing slowly, Giorno offered his hand out to Lena, keeping her close as they made another start to the day. This time, with more understanding, promising to work through things together. Always together. 

[morbid-n-macabre]

Jack Unterweger, AKA The Vienna Stranger or The Prison Poet. I hate to say I'm impressed with a serial killer, but i am. Dude was one heck of a manipulative con man- even Ted Bundy had nothing on Jack!

In 1974, Jack murdered an 18 year old German woman named Margaret Schäfer; Margaret had been sexually assaulted and beaten with a steel rod, strangled with her very own bra, then dumped in the woods to rot. At trial Jack cried for the jury, swore he was sorry, and begged for a second chance. The jury didn't buy it, they sentenced him to life.

Jack never accepted that. He simply would not be spending the rest of his life in prison, not with so many woman in the world just waiting to be murdered! So, he made use of his time, got busy educating himself. Jack learned to read and write well, transformed himself from a petty thug to a cultured writer- a talent he realized could be used to his advantage. Jack quickly began writing children's books, poems, and plays; they were good, Jack had a flare for writing. Soon radio stations began broadcasting the killer's work, and in 1983 Jack wrote the ultimate sob story: an autobiography in which he told the world all about his horrific childhood. Mama, a prostitute who was always in trouble with the law, abandoned him as a very young boy; she left him with her very abusive and alcoholic father. Grandpa liked to beat him bloody, he would also bring home prostitutes and force little Jack to get drunk with them. After 7 years of this life, child services stepped in and took custody of the boy. From here on, Jack was shipped from abusive home to home. When he got a bit older, Jack followed in his mama's footsteps- he was in and out of jail for fraud and theft. Sometime before his murder rap, he even became a pimp. In this book, titled Fegefeuer - eine Reise ins Zuchthaus ( in English, "Purgatory- A Trip to Prison") Jack claimed he saw his mother's face when he killed Margaret- he'd simply snapped. But he was grown now, saw the error or his ways. He was changed.

As soon as this book hit the shelves it quickly shot to #1. The elite, celebrities, especially the literary community, all were very outspoken about giving Jack a second chance. They campaigned for his release, claimed he was reformed. Just look at his children's stories- no cold blooded killer could write like that- education had changed him! His book was so good that it was even made a movie, it's safe to say the entire country was in Jack's corner. On May 23rd of 1990, after serving just 15 years of his life sentence, a killer was freed.

Suddenly Jack was a celebrity himself- he rubbed elbows with the elite, was a guest on all of the important talk shows (he even hosted one!) Jack was featured on magazine covers, you name it. He was now living the good life, a life of privilege; dressed as prim and proper as possible Jack continued to write magazine articles. Everyone loved him, especially young and beautiful women- he was the ultimate lady's man, surrounded by them. But that just wasn't good enough- something was missing. Jack needed to kill.

His first victim was found in September of 1990. She was discovered wearing nothing but her wedding ring and socks; she'd been brutally beaten, sexually assaulted, strangled with her own stockings, posed in a degrading position and left in the woods, covered in leaves. Soon another victim was found, and another, and another... Jack killed 6 within a year of being released. Most were prostitutes, at least one was just a "fun-loving girl". All had been killed in the same manner; sexually aassaulted(often with an object like a tree branch), strangled with her own clothing (usually a bra, sometimes panty hose), posed nude, and left in the woods. It was definitely the work of a serial killer, police knew this as the killer had tied the same fancy slip knot in every article of clothing he'd used as a murder weapon. Sadly, since the first few victims had been lying in the woods for several months, there wasn't much physical evidence to be tied to anyone, only a few red fibers left on one victim's remains.

At this time, Jack, now a journalist writing true crime articles for a fancy magazine, was the one actually writing about these serial murders! At one point, he even interviewed the prostitutes in the area where his latest victims were discovered. Jack questioned these unsuspecting women on exactly how afraid they were of this serial killer who was targeting them, and asked them exactly what they were doing to protect themselves against him! Can you imagine what a thrill that must've been? Serial killers love to immerse themselves in the havoc they create, that's why they often show up at the crime scene, funerals, or even insert themselves into the case somehow. It's hard for them to stay away.

But I digress.

In June of 1991, Jack flew to Los Angeles, California, to write an article about the differences in the way prostitutes were treated in the US vs Austria. In between killing 3 American prostitutes, Ballsy Jack actually went on ride alongs with the Los Angeles police! Guess which police he tagged along with? Those who patrolled the city's known red light district, of course! He wasn't a suspect in the murders until a retired detective noticed the similarities in Jack's first murder and the 3 they had on their hands in the short time frame since he'd arrived in town. Come to find out, he fit the description of the man 2 of the victims were last seen with before they met their demise. Meanwhile, Austrian police were also looking into Jack; they'd searched his property and found a red scarf which perfectly matched the fibers found on one of their own victims. When Jack returned home to Austria, he was tipped off by a friend that he was wanted for several murders. Vowing to never return to prison and to commit suicide if he did, Jack and his 18 year old lover fled to Canada, then snuck into the US. They traveled to Miami, Florida; destitute again, Jack talked his young girlfriend into selling herself while he concentrated his efforts on writing a multitude of letters to everyone back home, pleading with them to believe in his innocence. He claimed that the police were stumped, so they were pointing the finger at him, the likely suspect! Many continued to support him, including his literary friends. American police finally caught up with their killer; in February of '92, just 2 years after his release, Jack was extradited back to Austria where he would stand trial for his 11 known murders: one in the Czech Republic, 3 in the US, and 7 in Austria. (In Austria they can and will try a person for murders not committed on their soil.)

This was said to be Austria's Trial Of The Century, everyone was interested! Jack claimed that they had the wrong man- he could prove he'd slept with 150 women in his short years of freedom, why would he need to kill any prostitutes? Again Jack plead with the jury; again the jury wasn't buying it. Jack was found guilty and sent back to prison, where he promptly made good on his promise to never live in prison again. On June 29, 1994, just 4 years after he was first released, Jack hung himself with the drawstring of his pants. Ironically this proved his guilt once as for all- he'd tied the same intricate slip knot in the drawstring that he'd tied in his victim's clothing. There is absolutely no doubt that Jack was the serial killer.

[aaronmaurer]

Movies I Liked in 2020

Every year I reflect on the pop culture I enjoyed and put it in some sort of order.

Discussing film in 2020 is almost nonsensical. Theatres were shut down in most places for most of the year, shuffling release schedules and availability of titles in various markets, further fracturing an already-fragmented landscape. I personally love the movie-going experience – the darkened atmosphere, the massive screen, the ability to escape the outside world for a couple hours in the company of a room of strangers. Man, do I miss all of that. Yet I am exceedingly grateful to the creators and media conglomerates that decided to release some of their projects to streaming services and “virtual cinemas” during this unprecedented year. (Despite Wonder Woman 1984’s flaws, wow, was it nice to have a new action blockbuster to watch over the holidays.)

I toyed with breaking out stage/theatre projects separately, but at the end of the day, had those played on the big screen they would have still been considered, so I decided to keep everything together. This year more than ever I make no claims to comprehensiveness, and it seems even more futile than usual to rank these films, so here are 15 of my favorite films of 2020 listed in alphabetical order. How I wish I could have experienced these all on the big screen.

American Utopia (available on HBO)

Spike Lee’s film of the Broadway engagement of David Byrne’s American Utopia is right up there with Jonathan Demme’s Stop Making Sense, the gold standard of concert films (and I’m not even much of a Talking Heads/Byrne fan!). The brilliance of this tour-turned-Broadway show is the elimination of any stationary equipment – Byrne and his band, utilizing mobile instruments, perform choreographed movement to the songs (a mix of Byrne solo material and Talking Heads classics) on an otherwise bare stage. The arrangements of the songs themselves are warm and life-affirming, something we all needed more of in 2020.

An American Pickle (available on HBOMax)

This quirky comedy from writer Simon Rich stars Seth Rogan in dual roles as an immigrant in the early 1900s transplanted to modern day New York and his last remaining descendant. I wasn’t expecting much from the premise but found it to be a surprisingly resonant story about family and legacy with salient observations about modern conveniences and appreciating small pleasures. Rogan himself is really great in this, creating two very distinct and believable characters that in an alternate reality might be up for awards consideration.

Black Is King (available on Disney+)

Beyonce’s latest visual album has its origins in her Lion King role, but the material transcends that misbegotten remake (despite the occasional out-of-place audio clips sprinkled throughout). The visuals here are stunning, from the costumes and makeup to the set design and choreography, all in celebration of Black excellence and beauty.

Emma. (available on HBO, VOD and Blu-ray)

One of the last films I saw in theatres this spring was the latest treatment of Jane Austen’s Emma from director Autumn de Wilde. Similar to Little Women last year, I had no prior experience with the source material, never having read the novel or seen any prior adaptations (outside of Clueless, if you count that), but I found it absolutely delightful. The cast is terrific, including Anya Taylor-Joy in a role completely different than her other big turn this year in The Queen’s Gambit, and the production design & direction are impeccably sumptuous, creating the type of escapism that came to mean all-the-more as the year wore on.

First Cow (available on Showtime, VOD and Blu-ray)

Kelly Reichardt’s latest film is a moving meditation on unexpected friendship, ideas of masculinity and economic inequality set against the backdrop of 1800s Oregon Country. Poetic but not ponderous, First Cow is one of the most humane and empathetic portraits of man and nature I experienced in 2020.

Hamilton (available on Disney+)

Already a big of Lin Manual-Miranda’s race-bent musical about founding father Alexander Hamilton, I was still awed by this document of the original Broadway production. Director Tommy Kail adeptly films his own stage direction while capturing intimate moments through closeups and vantages that are unavailable to the live audience. And while I personally may have preferred Lin to sing more than sob through some of his Act II songs, the whole cast is phenomenal, especially Leslie Odom Jr, Renée Elise Goldsberry and MVP Daveed Diggs whose energy and charisma are palpable in his dual role as Lafayette/Jefferson.

Just Mercy (available on HBO, VOD and Blu-ray)

Although technically a 2019 film, Just Mercy didn’t receive wide release until 2020 so I’m including it here. The adaptation of lawyer Bryan Stevenson’s memoir about his fight for death row inmates is a powerful story of the ongoing fight for justice and rarely falls into “based on a true story”/biopic clichés. Michael Jordan brings dignity and righteousness to the role of Stephenson and Jamie Foxx is excellent as the wrongfully incarcerated Walter McMillian.

Kajillionaire (available on VOD)

The story of an insular family of grifters, Kajillionaire explores what it’s like to exist in a bubble and reconcile that with a growing understanding of the wider world. Evan Rachel Wood engenders immense empathy with her portrayal of the family’s daughter who has been raised without any real physical affection or affirmation and Gina Rodriguez exudes light and charisma as a woman who comes into their orbit and changes everything.

Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom (available on Netflix)

Adapted from August Wilson’s play of the same name, this film contains a powerhouse performance from Viola Davis as the titular blues singer but belongs to the magnetic Chadwick Boseman in his final role. As Levee, a brash young songwriter and musician, Boseman fully realizes a portrait of a talented and demeaned Black man in America, trapped by circumstance and his own feelings of helplessness. It’s beautiful and gut-wrenching to behold, and makes his passing all the more tragic as we can only imagine the great performances that we’ll never get to see.

Mank (available on Netflix)

Mank, a biopic about Golden Age Hollywood screenwriter Herman Mankiewicz, may be director David Fincher’s most conventional film yet, however that takes nothing away from the charm of its engaging storytelling and performances. As “Mank” works – or rather drunkenly procrastinates – on the screenplay for Citizen Kane, we get flashbacks of his relationships with William Randolph Hearst and Marion Davies, which will provide the basis for his script’s thinly veiled characters.

Small Axe (available on Amazon Prime)

A series of five separate films from director Steve McQueen, the Small Axe series is linked by its exploration of the West Indian community in London. Exploring topics including the justice system, educational disparity and the unifying & life-affirming power of music, these films are each powerful and moving on their own but add up to a rich and beautiful tapestry of the complexities of immigrant life.

Soul (available on Disney+)

Soul is in many ways a spiritual successor (pun intended) to Inside Out, my all-time favorite Pixar film, envisioning life after death (or is that life before life?) as a strange and delightfully stylized realm where new souls prepare to be born. The audience surrogate to this world is a frustrated jazz musician who finds himself incapacitated the day of his big break. The stunningly rendered film is another example of the studio – and co-director Pete Docter – at its heart-rending best with lovely observations about passion, mentorship and being present to life’s small pleasures.

The Vast of Night (available on Amazon Prime)

An indie sci-fi flick set in 1950s New Mexico from first-time director Andrew Patterson, The Vast of Night pays homage to the likes of The Twilight Zone better than the current reboot of that show does. This surprisingly compelling movie creates a tangible sense of time and place and utilizes innovative shots and blocking to deliver something unique and artful, while still delivering on its genre promises.

What the Constitution Means to Me (available on Amazon Prime)

The final live communal event I attended before everything locked down last spring was the touring production of this Heidi Schreck play, and boy, was it a moving way to say a temporary goodbye to live theatre (even if I didn’t quite know it at the time). Later in the year, Amazon gifted us with a record of Schreck’s Broadway run, which loses nothing of its impact or immediacy. Using her personal history of debate contests at American Legion Halls as an entry point, Schreck explores how the Constitution has been used (and not used) to impact the rights of women (and other marginalized groups) throughout America’s history. Brilliant, heart-breaking and inspiring art.

Wolfwalkers (available on AppleTV+)

The latest wonder from director Tomm Moore (The Secret of Kells, Song of the Sea) completes his trilogy of films inspired by Irish mythology. The topics this time are the Wolfwalkers, an Irish variation of the Werewolf legend, and the clash of urbanization with the natural world. Vividly rendered in gorgeous traditional animation, this is one of the most visually splendid things I saw all year.

Bonus! Honorable Mentions:

Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga (Netflix)

Feels Good Man (VOD)

Palm Springs (hulu)

Sound of Metal (Amazon Prime)

Tenet (VOD, Blu-ray)

[5hfanfiction]

Metanoia [ 1 ]

Summary: Karla Cabello is the only heiress of the Cabello-Estrabao family and was bound to marry someone around or above her social status. Also, as a Cuban woman of her stature in 1950s America, studying was looked down upon. However, Karla is gifted with the talent to paint, she spent all her childhood painting the beautiful lakes of Miami and made use of her time falling in love with nature. That was until one day she came across the most beautiful face she had ever seen, Laura Michelle Jauregui, two years her senior, who happens to be a woman.

Eighty-seven years later, a young high school student with the name Lauren Jauregui struggles to cope with the death of her parents, which causes her decision to limit verbal communication to the world. While on the other hand, a struggling youngster named Camila Cabello continues her battle with her inner demons, as she rebels against her parent’s divorce. Life couldn’t be more complicated for these two teenagers, but fate has a solution and it’s destiny that forces them to be together. 

Chapter One: A Strange Flower that Blooms in Between Seasons

Jan 9th, 1949 - Miami, Florida.

It was a dark misty night and almost everyone was deep in their sleep, tucked in carefully in their beds, unaware of their surroundings. But, it doesn’t seem to apply to Karla and Laura who met up in the woods after they both sneaked out of their own households. It was always the same place where they would both meet up, the woods nearby the only lake near the Cabello Estate. It’s the only place where nobody was in their way. Karla and Laura both amorously hugged one another and kissed, as if their lips would never be able to touch one another again.

“I dearly missed you, my love.” Laura gasped as she reluctantly pulled away from their kiss, her hands were clasped tightly around Karla’s cheeks.

“I, too. I missed you so much, my love.” She smiled upon leaning her forehead into Laura’s, as her arms clung around her lover’s waist and held on like her life was depended on it.

They both stared at one another’s eyes while their breathing steadied after their heated kiss. But, time is short and they didn’t come here to waste time. Laura gently ran her hands down Karla’s waist, the younger’s long beige dress that covered her petite body didn’t even matter when Laura grabbed her by the legs, lifting her up with no effort. Karla fitted right in Laura’s strong arms. Karla clasped her arms around Laura’s neck, her lips plunged on her lover’s as she softly sucked on the soft red lump that she passionately adores.

A moan then escaped Karla’s mouth, as Laura’s hands roamed around her bottom, her hands gave her a soft squeeze before Karla found herself leaning on the old oak tree. This particular tree has lived long before the both of them was even born, Karla often painted it because of it’s remarkable golden green leaves that grow throughout the whole summer.

“Laura…” Karla quietly mumbled against her lover’s lips.

“Yes, my love?” Laura questioned, but still continued to touch Karla’s body.

“Shaun came to visit.” She blurted out.

Just like that Laura froze. She paused and looked at Karla, as she propped her head apart from hers.

“The boy your father wants you to marry.” Laura scoffed, as she let out a deep sigh.

Karla embraced her lover in her tiny arms that barely circled Laura’s shoulders. She leaned her head to her lover’s right ear and placed a soft and gentle kiss. The kiss was so innocent that it made Laura smile. Then, just before Laura can reply Karla whispered, “But it’s you I want to marry.”

Jan 9th, 2017 - Los Angeles, California

It’s a mournful day for the Jaureguis, as Michael, Clara and their two other children, Taylor and Chris, died in a plane crash on their way back home to Los Angeles. Lauren was supposed to have been on the trip to Australia with her family, but she was called to lead a charity campaign her parents were leaders of. Her parents had always trusted her with almost everything, because to them, Lauren can do anything. Their eldest daughter wasn’t one to complain, she’d always find ways to do the job right. That’s why they were very proud of her. But now her parents are gone and so is her siblings and everything doesn’t seem to matter anymore.

“Lauren, would you like to say a few words?” The priest from the funeral questioned the young brunette.

There was only silence as Lauren stood in front of her family’s coffins, her hands curled into fists while her eyes tried to bat away the tears and agony. The priest understood and proceeded with the funeral ceremony, which lasted about two and a half hours. Everyone in the funeral – friends and colleagues of her mother and father, as well as friends of her two siblings, threw their white roses on the coffins as caretakers began to roll it down six feet under the ground.

Lauren sat silently on the corner of her chair, she tightly held a single red rose, the red rose being her mother’s favourite. Her eyes tried hard not to water in front of so many people, it wasn’t Lauren’s forte to show emotions to strangers anyway.

It feels like it was just yesterday when Taylor was telling Lauren about how she’s going to become a successful fashion designer, and how she heard her mother praise Taylor for her dream. Taylor has always been the closest to Lauren, she looked up to her older sister and Lauren made sure she was a role model for her younger sibling. Lauren misses Taylor. She misses them.

She’s fighting the tears away when she feels a firm hold on her right shoulder, her head jolting upwards as she sees her grandmother standing beside her. The old woman stared at Lauren sympathetically, and before Lauren even knew it, she stood up and hugged her grandmother. The embrace was so sudden and so tight that they would’ve fallen down, but thankfully Laura held her ground and gave her precious hija a soft pat on the back. It was only just then that Lauren burst into tears, her eyes were shut tight while tears ran down her now rosy cheeks.

“There… there… my little girl.” Laura mumbled softly, words only for her granddaughter to hear.

Lauren said nothing in response, but her sobs began to fill the whole funeral and everyone there heard the cry of child who had just lost part of her life. Everyone stared at Lauren and Laura, even though Lauren was almost as tall as her grandmother, her cry was still of a child in pain, and they all understood that they’d be no use. Instead, everyone just offered the two a moment of silence.

After the funeral, when everyone was gone apart from Laura and Lauren, there was a long silence before Laura spoke to her dearest granddaughter. “You know your father hugged me just like you did when he lost Buster that one day. He cried and cried, pleaded to your abuela and then to me to find Buster before dawn.”

Lauren didn’t reply, but her facial expression softened before she looked up at Laura as she crouched down on the ground.

“Everything will be okay, Lauren. I’ll always be with you.” Laura says as she took a deep breath and stared at the tombstone of her son. “I promise.”

Lauren smiled faintly before she turned her gaze over to the red rose on her hand and carefully placed it in the middle of her parent’s graves. Lauren whimpered softly before she wiped her last tears after she stood up to leave the cemetery with Laura.

Jan 9th, 2017 - Manhattan, New York City

It was in the middle of the night when Camila sneaked out of her bedroom window and out the streets. She walked down a couple of blocks away before three boys gathered around her, they invited her with a wave before she approached them. “Got it?” whispered the guy with a black leather jacket, he wasn’t as big as the blond one to his left, but he was still taller than the guy to his right.

“Why the fuck are you whispering? No one can hear you, Austin.” Camila scoffed as she handed Austin an envelope filled with cash.

Austin chuckled grimly before he took the envelope and smiled in satisfaction. The blond guy patted Camila’s shoulder and nodded at her, but the guy on Austin’s right was absolutely dead silent.

“Hey Justin, why are you so quiet today?” Camila asked, her tone coming off strong but she was genuinely curious. Usually, Justin was a lot more talkative.

“I’m not comfortable doing this out in the open.” Justin replied quietly, his voice was almost inaudible.

“Oh please. Anyway, where the fuck is my deal?” Camila looked up to the blond guy with a brow raised.

“Your reputation proceeds you, here you go. And thank you, plus you’re welcome.” The blond guy responded with sarcasm as he handed Camila a transparent plastic bag filled with white powder.

“Screw you.” She replied with a cheeky grin, as she examined the contents of the plastic bag.

“You don’t have to be a big bitch, you know.” Austin says as he went on to count the money.

However, before he could even finish counting, a siren startled all of them. The three boys looked at Camila with horror as panic spread all across her face. Camila didn’t even dare to look behind her, all she could think about was how she could maybe outrun the cops or ways to lie about her package. But, it was all too late.

“You! Turn around.” The cop called out. He clearly meant for Camila to turn around as the other boys were already facing the officer.

“Ahh… damn.” Camila muttered under her breath before she slowly turned around. “Ah!” She winced as bright light directly made contact with her eyes.

There was a silent pause before the officer half chokingly called out. “C-Camila?”

“Oh… shit.” Camila looked up to confirm the voice and her worst fears finally came true. “Dad, look, I can explain.”

“Please do.” He stood straight and aimed the flashlight to the three boys at the back, and just as Camila was about to speak, her father sees the small plastic bag filled with white powder on her possession. “Fuck. Is that what I think it is?” He spat out before he snatched the plastic from Camila’s hand.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” Camila tried to make a run for it, but her father held her hand and handcuffed her around the lamppost. “Da– ow! What– why are you cuffing me?”

“Stay still!” He growled at her before he turned to the boy and grabbed the envelope he was holding, he opened it and saw cash, around two hundred dollars worth of cash. The officer also saw more of the transparent plastic bags filled with white powder inside the blond boy’s jacket pocket. “You three are going to jail. Right now.” He commanded before he took out his gun and pointed at the three boys, as his partner started handcuffing them.

He turned to Camila with sheer anger in his eyes as he yelled at her, “And you! You’re coming with me.”

Camila swears she’s never seen her father that angry before and she reckons this will cost her more than just a month’s worth of no internet connection.

Perhaps, she’s taken things to the extreme, but she never meant to use the drugs for herself, it was for a friend of hers who was asking for a favour. But, she knew her father would never believe that, he’s the captain of the police precinct and she knows what her father saw: Camila buying drugs for herself, nothing else.

It took an hour and a half to get everything sorted. Camila’s father, Alejandro, had to pull a lot of strings to get his daughter out of jail with only a minor misdemeanour. Alejandro couldn’t even face his daughter, he’s utterly disappointed in Camila, not once did he thought she’d ever get herself involve in affairs such as this.

There were no words exchanged on their way back home, the ride consisted of only silence and a growing tension between father and daughter. When they arrived home, Camila went straight inside the house and sat down on the couch, sighing deeply as she prepared herself. She was waiting and waiting for her dad to follow, but it took him at least fifteen minutes to follow her back inside their house.

Camila sat down quietly and looked at the ground with a pair of ashamed eyes, any movements from her father made her flinch and even though she tried hard to conceal her fear, it was no use. Just then, the front door clicked open and a short brown haired woman came inside in a hurry.

“Alejandro, what happened?” She rushed in as soon as she saw a glimpse of Camila.

“Why don’t you ask your daughter?” Alejandro replied to the question, there was a hint of bitterness present in his tone.

“Mila, can you please tell me what the hell is going on? I rushed here as soon as your father called about an hour ago. What happened, mi hija?"Camila’s mother ignored Alejandro’s reply, instead she knelt down in front of her daughter and stroked Camila’s hair.

Camila felt both guilt and anger hit her. Guilt for what she caused and anger for the presence of both her parents. Camila clenched her fists, her hands trembling as she furrowed her eyebrows and stayed silent upon her mother’s question. Her mother, Sinuhe, shot a look on Alejandro and he finally cracked, saying: "Your daughter tried to buy drugs.” The first look of disappointment appeared on Alejandro’s face once again, but his ex-wife’s reaction stiffened and she grabbed Camila’s shoulders.

“Why would you do that?” She raised her voice at Camila, her tone is serious and clear of any sympathy. This only further infuriated Camila that she actually pushed her mother off her. Camila stood up and yelled at both of her parents, “Try living a life with an absent mother, who by the way, I haven’t seen since I was five because she doesn’t even bother visiting, since she prefers her other life with her other family, and a father who works twenty-four-seven, who also doesn’t give a flying fuck about you, then go back to me and ask that question again!” This caught Camila’s parents by surprised, both speechless against their daughter’s outburst.

“Camila…"Alejandro’s voice trailed off.

Camila ignored her father and stormed off the living room, she ran up to her bedroom and slammed the door close. There was silence between Alejandro and his ex-wife before she fell down on the couch and sobbed.

"Why does this have to happen to my daughter?” She questioned herself, still ashamed to admit of her absence as Camila’s mother.

“Sinuhe, she’s right. Camila was only a child when you left, but it still had a huge impact on her and you never, not once after that, visited her again.” Alejandro stated, his fingers stroking his temples. “But, I didn’t do much better than you either.” He admitted, as his voice slightly cracked at his last sentence.

“Mamá…” Camila cried as she hugged her mother’s waist. “Don’t leave.” She barely mumbled against her sob.

“Mila, mommy has to go. I’m so sorry.” Sinuhe unclasped Camila’s tiny arms around her waist, she held her tears and tried hard not to sound too strong. “Let go, Camila.”

Alejandro stood behind his daughter and watched his ex-wife push their daughter away from her. He crouched down and carried Camila on his arms, his facial expression was cold and uncaring. While on the other hand, the five-years-old Camila struggled to break free from her father’s strong arms, as she still tried to reach out for her mother. “Mamá!” Camila screamed and cried out. Her eyes were already swollen, blood red face calling out for her dear mother, as Sinuhe walked further and further away from her.

Camila’s screams grew louder and louder, yet there was no response from Sinuhe. She walked out of the door and walked out of Camila’s life, essentially breaking the bond between mother and daughter.

Weeks passed and Alejandro buried himself with work even more now that his wife was gone. He had different women take care of Camila when he’s busy at work, often he’d bring home some woman with him too. Camila continued to play in the background for Alejandro. He knew she existed, but he never paid attention to his daughter unless she made herself visible, which she often doesn’t bother doing anyway.

Sometimes months would go by that Alejandro and his daughter wouldn’t share a single sentence to one another. Camila found comfort in the voice of her grandmother, Karla, instead. On holidays, if she’s lucky, she even get to spend an entire day with her grandmother.

“Mamina, when are you going to take me home with you?”

“Oh, my little angel, this is your home.” Karla says with a small smile, as she continued painting the Christmas tree in front of her. “With your Papá.” She added, not noticing the hollow look on Camila’s eyes.

Camila tugged on her grandmother’s sleeves and tried catching Karla’s attention away from the canvas she’s painting on. “Mamina, I want to go home with you.”

When Karla turned around and saw a tearful Camila, she couldn’t help but notice how similar their eyes look when crying. There’s a sharp ache in her chest too. The immediate pain Camila was feeling, Karla could literally see it and feel it in those expressive eyes of hers.

“My sweet angel, Mamina’s here. Don’t cry.” Karla dropped her palette and reached out to wrap her arms around her granddaughter.

“Please, don’t cry my sweet little angel. Mamina will always be here, I promise you.”

A/N: (TRIGGER for mentions of drug dealing) Hey, fellow Camren squad, hope you enjoy this story! xD let me know what you all think. Should I continue?

Also on wattpad: seriousvanity

  Karla Cabello is the only heiress of the Cabello-Estrabao family and was bound to marry someone around or above her social status. Also, as a Cuban woman of her stature in 1950s America, studying was looked down upon. However, Karla is gifted with the talent to paint, she spent all her childhood painting the beautiful lakes of Miami and made use of her time falling in love with nature. That was until one day she came across the most beautiful face she had ever seen, Laura Michelle Jauregui, two years her senior, who happens to be a woman. Eighty-seven years later, a young high school student with the name Lauren Jauregui struggles to cope with the death of her parents, which causes her decision to limit verbal communication to the world. While on the other hand, a struggling youngster named Camila Cabello continues her battle with her inner demons, as she rebels against her parent's divorce. Life couldn't be more complicated for these two teenagers, but fate has a solution and it's destiny that forces them to be together.

[obsidianarchives]

Have a Biscuit, Professor McGonagall

I am convinced that my second grade teacher, Mrs. Biles, hated me. I hadn’t discovered Hermione Granger yet, but I’m pretty sure that if Mrs. Biles ever read the Harry Potter series, she more than likely put the book down and said “There’s a fictional character just like Kai Mills. An absolute insufferable know-it-all, determined to take on the world.” To that Mrs. Biles, I apologize that you had me at such a time in my life where I hadn’t quite figured out how to use my powers for good. I was a bright young mind (definitely tooting my own horn a bit here) and yet my report cards were filled with things like, “Miss Mills is determined to outshine her classmates,” and “a bright girl, but just a bit reckless,” and “much too talkative for a girl her age.”

As the years went by, that reputation spread. While I had some good teachers (even my own aunt!), I still became known as “the bright yet troublesome child who can’t help herself.”

I still can’t help myself, which is why I became the one thing I never thought I’d become: a teacher.

I had a lot of great teachers, both real and fictional. My first grade teacher, Mrs. Merrit, was the first one to reward me for my academics, which taught me it was okay to be competitive. Meanwhile, Mrs. Frizzle from The Magic School Bus motivated me to not take myself so seriously, to actually enjoy the process of learning, and to make friends. I had the privilege of even having my own aunt teach me U.S. History. While she was Aunt Ann at family functions, she was Mrs. Gaines in the classroom, and she taught me to always have a fact up your sleeve, a quote to recite, or a question to ask. Simultaneously, Miss Grotke from Recess inspired me to advocate for myself and others, accept responsibility for my mistakes, and to understand that adults may have been the authority, but were definitely not always right. Still, none of my teachers held a candle to Professor Minerva McGonagall, the sharp-witted yet impeccably kind Head of Gryffindor.

That is, until I met Mrs. Sandra Gray, my high school English teacher. By this point, I had a lot in common with Hermione Granger; I had big bushy hair, I had been voted “Most Intelligent” twice, and I attended The Piney Woods Country Life School, a boarding school that my parents visited so rarely that I wondered at times if they remembered they had a daughter at all.

Mrs. Gray was an avid reader, a flawless grammarian, and a master of sass. To this day, I couldn’t tell you if she had a husband, children of her own, or even a cat. I can tell you, most emphatically, however, that she loved me. When I fell asleep in her class because I spent yet another night in the library, she let me. When I told her that I was writing my senior thesis on a book that she had not assigned, because all the books she did assign I had already read, she didn’t become offended or indignant. She looked over her glasses and replied, “Do what you will Ms. Mills, the report is still due a week from today, at noon.” When I scored a 33 out of 36 on the English section of the ACT, she bought me a box of pizza. When I graduated and finally told her what she meant to me, she answered, “I was just molding what was already there. You now have the power to do the same.”

—

Flash forward to quite a few years later: I am now a woman who doesn’t want children and yet I spend a lot of time with them. Talking with them, arguing with them, marking their mistakes, fussing at them, sighing as I’m wiping their tears, and pointing out their boogers (even 8th graders still get boogers). In true Ravenclaw fashion, I once spent a bit of class crunching the numbers for my students as an act of rebellious frustration, hoping to make them see just HOW MUCH TIME I spent working on children that did not come from my womb.

For those of you who are wondering, it’s about 2,430 hours a year, give or take. That’s about 240 hours a month, which breaks down to about 47 hours a week. That’s just a rough estimate; I majored in English, not Math.

In having this conversation, one of my students sagely remarked: “It’s almost as if you’re our other parent.”

This gave me pause, a strong pause. Despite all my beautiful baby cousins and my students and their precious antics, I have had no desire to become a parent. Changing diapers, fretting over vaccinations, picking out nurseries and preschools and day schools, trying to schedule playdates, the list of anxieties goes on and on. Not to mention when they get older — having talks about puberty, heartbreak, career moves, politics — it seems barely manageable when they’re in my sight for 8 hours, how could I possibly do it 24/7?

And yet one of my favorite teachers, Minerva McGonagall, did it all.

To save some time, not in any order of importance, Professor Minerva McGonagall did the following badass teacher things:

Wrote a welcome letter and supply list for every student

Physically visited Muggle-born families to quell their anxiety

Rewarded and disciplined with fairness and sass

Defended her students against an incompetent fellow staff member

Called out her boss on his bullshit, more than once

Helped students find their talents

Bought Harry a broomstick when he would have had NO CLUE what to buy

Enforced punctuality and owning responsibility (she definitely should’ve turned Ron into a pocket watch)

Taught her subject with passion and engagement

Comforted students when they were grieving

Defended her coworker against a tyrannical bully

Promoted academic and athletic competition

Handled being looked over for a promotion with grace and class

Gave sound and encouraging career advice

Taught students important life skills

Understood how politics and media impacted education — and warned her students to learn the same

Flawlessly mastered advanced magic

Inspired Hogwarts to defend itself

Battled cancer while making her mark on the muggle world (Dame Maggie Smith IS Minerva McGonagall, PERIODT)

Put her own personal life aside to be a myriad of things her children needed

Knew when to be serious and when to take a joke

People, fans and strangers alike, love to point out — sometimes with cheek and often with sadness — that Minerva McGonagall was never a mother. Well, I’m here to give those folks a well-guided course correction:

MINERVA MCGONAGALL WAS EVERYBODY’S MOTHER.

Her career choice wasn’t just the dramatic punchline to the sob story that comes from the loss of her husband and lack of biological children. It wasn’t just to add another sad spinster to create a diverse set of women (we’ll have a talk about Sybill Trelawney and Arabella Figg at another time).

It was to show the world that great teachers are more than just collectors of knowledge. We’re advocates. Counselors. Social workers. Taskmasters. Expectation setters. Historians. Advisors. Cheerleaders. Activists. Warriors.

As I enter year four of my teaching career, I see that in my students I have my own cast of characters. I have my Hermiones, my Harrys, my Rons, and even my Lunas. I also have a Seamus, a Dean, a Neville, and interestingly enough, a Blaise Zabini. I hope that they see how special they are to me, a childless woman without a husband, who comes to their school day in and day out, hoping to teach her children that they have all the magic they need inside of them. That they can see that in times of trouble, in times of heartache, in times of stupidity, in times of stubbornness, in times of confusion, grief, solitude, and more that they have someone. Even more so in times of triumph, joy, amazement, prosperity, and hope. Because when the battle is over, we all need a Minerva McGonagall to remind us that the walls are still standing, the classrooms are open, and it’s the children that make the school, not the other way around.

Have a biscuit, Professor McGonagall. From one teacher to another, you’ve earned it.