#why has nobody else watched season one i feel alone /j

[the-skibidi-rizzler]

Crying because i just started watching His Man and im on s1 ep 6 and they're about to switch rooms and im scared.

[colin-therightstuff]

The Right Stuff's Colin O'Donoghue Talks Gordo's Marital Lie, Going From Pirate to Astronaut to... Jedi?

Colin O’Donoghue‘s first major series gig after wrapping Once Upon a Time couldn’t be more different than the roguish pirate Captain Hook that he brought to life for six seasons.

Going from the fairytale character to taking on The Right Stuff‘s Gordon “Gordo” Cooper was an “opportunity to play somebody who was a real person and was a test pilot and then went on to be an astronaut,” O’Donoghue enthuses to TVLine, “and he’s got quite some clout. Just the idea of getting to play somebody like that was a dream for me.”

Below, the actor talks about shedding his accent to portray Gordo and his character’s “complicated” marriage to wife Trudy (Chicago Fire‘s Eloise Mumford), which is tested by a woman from his past in this Friday’s episode of the Disney+ drama. O’Donoghue also reveals his next dream role (hint: it’s Star Wars-related).

TVLINE | What excited you about this particular project and playing an astronaut? I had a meeting with [executive producers] Jennifer Davisson and Michael Hampton, actually, years ago. I think it’s three or four years ago now. I was doing a show called Once Upon a Time at the time, and they gave me the book The Right Stuff. It hadn’t been developed or anything at that point, but I read the book, and I remember thinking, “Right, well, this is something that I’d really want to pursue if I was no longer doing Once Upon a Time,” and then I got the script for The Right Stuff. I think it’s the best pilot script I’ve ever read. So I was desperate to play the part. The way it transpired was I knew somebody else had been offered the role, and they had to pull out, unfortunately for them. So it was all very last-minute, me coming in, doing it, but it felt almost serendipitous.

TVLINE | I did watch Once Upon a Time, so when I queued up The Right Stuff, I was thrown for a second. I was like, “Wait, is this really Colin?!” [Laughs]

TVLINE | How difficult was it to master the accent? I kind of got it pretty quickly. Howard [Samuelsohn], the sort of voice coach/acting coach, was excellent. But I had very little time to prepare. I had maybe three or four days before I started shooting. Luckily, I had played a Southern character not long before that in kind of a Western Dolly Parton thing that I’d done. I knew how to do the accent. Gordo was from Oklahoma, and he had a very specific way of speaking. I did a mixture of sort of the two… I just love doing accents, full stop, anyway. I find it very difficult to act in my own voice.

TVLINE | I saw that episode of Dolly Parton’s Heartstrings. That was a really good episode. Yeah, it was a lot of fun. I mean, how can you say no to Dolly Parton? She’s an incredible woman.

TVLINE | I feel like you’ve now gotten to live out all the typical American young boy fantasies. You’ve gotten to play a cowboy and an astronaut. I know, yeah, a cowboy, pirate, and an astronaut and a test pilot. So the only thing that’s left, I guess, is to be a Jedi.

TVLINE | There’s always The Mandalorian. You are in the Disney family. Yeah. I have two shows on Disney+ now [The Right Stuff and Once Upon a Time], so why not a third, you know?

TVLINE | I mean crazier things have happened this year, so I definitely think you have a good shot of becoming a Jedi. [Laughs] Fingers crossed.

TVLINE | I want to talk about the relationship between Gordo and John Glenn (Suits‘ Patrick J. Adams), because they have a very kind of different bond than I think Glenn has with any of the other astronauts on Mercury Seven. How would you describe their dynamic? I think, in reality, John Glenn was the most decorated of the pilots, and everybody knew who he was, and I think Gordo has just a massive respect. What was amazing about these seven guys is that they all firmly believed that they were the best pilots. As individuals, they were the best one, and that’s a test pilot sort of mentality from the get-go… When you think about what they were doing as test pilots was nobody had ever sat in the airplane, and they had to try and push them harder and faster and more than anybody could ever imagine to see where the breaking point was. And so you would have to believe that you were the best to be able to do that, to believe that you could, in some way, control whatever was going to happen. Because Gordo was the youngest of the seven, [John] sees a young pilot who has a lot of talent, and for Gordo, he just sees this legend and somebody who has faith. John Glenn didn’t drink, he didn’t smoke, and I think that he was just somebody that Gordo really looked up to.

TVLINE | Does Gordo find himself playing the mediator role, because he’s sort of got his foot in both worlds? He’s both John Glenn’s friend, and he’s socializing with the other guys. Yeah, I think he does sort of straddle both. He tries quite hard to get John to be involved. In some ways, John sort of stood alone on his own, maybe, and I think Gordo was trying to bring him in and make him part of the team, as opposed to being the leader.

TVLINE | Gordo’s marriage to Trudy is also somewhat different compared to the other astronauts’ marriages in that his wife is also a pilot, and he’s very supportive of that. When he’s telling the story of how they met, it’s clear that he’s attracted to her because of that. It was a very complicated sort of situation, because when Gordo joined and put himself forward to become an astronaut, they were separated, and even as a test pilot, that was frowned upon. Look, you could go drink a bottle of Jack Daniels and sit behind the cockpit and fly, but if you were separated, that was frowned upon. It was a weird time, and he knew that he would be bounced out of the program if they found out that they were separated. So they essentially lived a lie. I think he loved Trudy, and certainly our version of Gordo, very much, does love her… The reality of it is that they are separated, and it doesn’t matter how much he says or talks about how much he loved her or how beautiful she was with the sun setting behind her. It’s just complicated, and they were living a lie for the whole time he was in the NASA space program.

TVLINE | There’s a moment, I think it was Episode 3, where Gordo is tempted to stray and cheat. Did he just get lucky that they were interrupted in that moment? Or do you consider him a faithful man? [Laughs] That’s the million-dollar question. That’s the whole point of that. In reality, I think pretty much all of the guys, except for John Glenn, were sort of playing away from home, and they were all heavy, heavy drinkers. It was a different time. I think the version we have in this Gordo is trying to make his marriage work. He does want it to work. But I think he gets tempted in that moment. Whether or not he would’ve followed through, that’s sort of left hanging in the air, and some people on the crew believe that he was definitely going to go for it, and others don’t. Others think that he would’ve pulled back at the last minute.

TVLINE | I’m going to exaggerate here, but I feel like there’s an actor in this series from almost every show that TVLine covers or has covered or that our readers love. [Laughs]

TVLINE | What was the experience like of filming with all these guys, as you were also depicting a brotherhood of sorts onscreen? Genuinely, it became that. We became incredibly close as an entire cast and not just the seven astronauts. We became a very, very tight-knit group, and it was an absolute joy and pleasure to be a part of that. Everybody is so incredibly good in the show. You can’t help but learn from working with people. We all really connected, and a lot of that started from before I came on. Patrick Adams had set up, I think, a WhatsApp group and an email chain so that people could share whatever sort of information they found on Mercury Seven or their characters. It sort of went from there. Because we were all in Orlando, and none of us, obviously, were from there, we were arranging to go for dinners or whatever meet-up, and so we just became like a family.

(x)

[stereostevie]

The Rap Grammy Nominations Are Weird As Hell | Nov 25, 2020 11:12 AM BY TOM BREIHAN

The very first time that the Grammy Awards recognized rap music, it was an utter fiasco — a clear case of an aging pop-music establishment failing to understand this vital new youth music that had sprung up and rewritten the rules. For the 1989 awards show, the Grammys added one rap category, Best Rap Performance. DJ Jazzy Jeff & The Fresh Prince won it for “Parents Just Don’t Understand,” beating out LL Cool J and Salt-N-Pepa and Kool Moe Dee and JJ Fad. The show didn’t deign to recognize Public Enemy, N.W.A, EPMD, Slick Rick, Big Daddy Kane, Eric B. & Rakim, or Ice-T, all of whom had released classic albums within the voting window. The award wasn’t televised, and most of the nominees, Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince included, skipped the show, attending a “Boycott The Grammys” party instead.

Since that night, the history of rap at the Grammys has been a series of baffling, embarrassing decisions. It’s Steely Dan winning Album Of The Year over The Marshall Mathers LP. It’s Gretchen Wilson winning Best New Artist over Kanye West. “It’s weird and it sucks that I robbed you.” It’s also a history of rappers getting angry over the Grammys: “I never let a statue tell me how nice I am,” “You think I give a damn about a Grammy?” In 2019, Drake showed up to accept Best Rap Song. In his acceptance speech, he talked about how the Grammy voters weren’t necessarily the right people to define rap success. The broadcast cut him off mid-speech. Earlier this year, Kanye West, a man who once cared more about Grammy Awards than anyone else not named Neil Portnow, tweeted a video of himself pissing on one of his Grammys. (The Grammys still nominated West this year, for Best Contemporary Christian Music Album.)

Yesterday, the Grammys nominated Freddie Gibbs and the Alchemist’s Alfredo in the Best Rap Album category. That’s great! Freddie Gibbs is a great underground rap success story, a guy who bet on himself and kept doing great work in his own lane even after multiple major-label situations fell apart. Gibbs has never made a hit song in his life, and he’s gotten himself into a position where he doesn’t need to make hit songs — where he can just follow his instincts and keep his own style intact. Alfredo isn’t my favorite rap record of the year. (Even in the field of Alchemist-produced 2020 rap albums, I’d give the slight edge to Boldy James’ The Price Of Tea In China.) But the nomination for Alfredo is still a very cool surprise, the kind of thing that I would’ve never expected to see from the Grammy nominating committee.

And yet Gibbs’ nomination doesn’t exactly announce a new golden age of Grammy rap consideration, a time when Recording Academy voters are finally figuring out how to approach the genre. Instead, his nomination points toward something else: An institutional recognition of middlebrow, middle-aged, respectable rap music.

All of this year’s Best Rap Album nominees are Black men between the ages of 35 and 47. The oldest nominee is Nas, who is now on his fifth Best Rap Album nomination and who has never won the award. (The Best Rap Album Grammy didn’t exist in 1994, when Nas released Illmatic, but there’s no way in hell that Nas would’ve won it anyway. The Academy would’ve given the award to Coolio’s It Takes A Thief or something.) The youngest nominee is D Smoke, a former high school Spanish teacher who is also the brother of the TDE R&B singer SiR. D Smoke made his way into Grammy contention after winning the first season of Rhythm + Flow, the Netflix rap-competition show. (Two of the three judges from Rhythm + Flow, Cardi B and Chance The Rapper, have won Best Rap Album themselves. T.I., the other judge, has been nominated three times and never won.)

D Smoke isn’t exactly a revered or popular rapper, and I have’t seen anyone calling his perfectly-OK album Black Habits a masterpiece, though the man has certainly done better than anyone could’ve expected from a rap reality-show winner. But D Smoke raps exactly like a diet version of Kendrick Lamar, so his nomination works as a clear indication that the Grammy voters really, really wish they had a Kendrick album to nominate. D Smoke is also up for Best New Artist, alongside fellow rappers Chika, Megan Thee Stallion, and (I guess) Doja Cat. Presumably, Megan’s Good News would also be nominated if it had come out early enough to be eligible. Meanwhile, Chika hasn’t released an album, and Doja Cat is nominated in the pop categories, not the rap ones.

Instead, then, we’re looking at five guys hovering around the age of 40, all of whom are respected technicians with boom-bap inclinations. Jay Electronica, who’s nominated for A Written Testimony and who should probably be considered the front-runner, is technically a New Orleans native, but nobody thinks of him as a Southern rapper. (Jay-Z is all over A Written Testimony, to the point where anointing Jay Electronica feels a bit like throwing awards love to Jay-Z in a year with no Jay-Z album.) All the albums up for Best Rap Album are, at the very least, solid. A couple of them, Alfredo and A Written Testimony, are very good. But this is still a remarkably stodgy list — one that shows that the whole middle-aged respectability fetish that’s long plagued the Grammys is now embedded in its rap voting wing.

Freddie Gibbs and Nas and Jay Electronica and D Smoke and Royce Da 5’9″ are all gifted rappers who have done great work. Most of them could justifiably be considered legends. But none of them really show the world where rap music is, let alone where it’s going. By recognizing those albums, the Grammys have pointedly elected not to recognize something like Lil Baby’s My Turn, which is probably 2020’s most popular album in any genre and which is also a fine example of the 808-heavy depressive melodic-goo rap music that currently dominates the genre’s mainstream.

Other hugely popular, artistically important albums are also absent: Lil Uzi Vert’s Eternal Atake, Roddy Rich’s Please Excuse Me For Being Antisocial, Polo G’s The Goat, Gunna’s Wunna, Rod Wave’s Pray 4 Love. Instead, the rap albums getting nominated are the 2020 equivalents of the Steely Dan album that famously beat Eminem. That’s not an indictment of the nominated albums. It’s an indictment of the stuff the Recording Academy values. It’s also a cautionary look of how things might look if the Recording Academy ever gets its way, if rap comes to rely on accepted ossified skill-sets instead of its current state of constant, furious stylistic evolution.

As someone who’s around the same age as this year’s Best Rap Album nominees, I’m not all that amped to see emotionally troubled, pill-gobbling 20-year-olds dominating rap music. But those kids are crucially moving the genre past whatever old men like me might want it to be. Fortunately, there’s at least one Grammy category that has done a pretty good job capturing where things are right now, and that’s Best Rap Song. The list of nominations there — Lil Baby’s “The Bigger Picture,” Roddy Ricch’s “The Box,” Drake’s “Laugh Now, Cry Later,” DaBaby’s “Rockstar,” and Megan Thee Stallion’s “Savage” — isn’t necessarily perfect, but it’s a fairly accurate representation of the kind of rap that moves people right now. I don’t know why the division between the Best Rap Album and Best Rap Song nominees is so stark. Maybe it’s a signal that the album is increasingly irrelevant. Maybe it reflects two different voting bodies. Either way, it’s striking.

Look, the Grammys are weird. They are always going to be weird. Fiona Apple’s Fetch The Bolt Cutters should’ve been the biggest lay-up in the world, but it isn’t up for Album Of The Year. Instead, the Academy’s voters went for Coldplay and Jacob Collier and a deluxe edition of a Black Pumas album that didn’t even come out in the eligibility period. “Rockstar” and “Savage” are both up for Record Of The Year, but Post Malone’s Hollywood’s Bleeding is the only album that’s even rap-adjacent that’s nominated for Album Of The Year this year. I thought for sure that Lil Baby’s My Turn would be the token rap album that would inevitably lose to Taylor Swift. Instead, we didn’t even get one of those, and My Turn got snubbed even in its own category. Nothing makes sense.

But this year’s Best Rap Albums nominations still show a weird alignment between Grammy Voters and a certain streak of real-hip-hop rap conservatism. Watch out for that. Nothing good, except maybe a Freddie Gibbs Grammy win, will come out of that.

FURIOUS FIVE

1. Roc Marciano – “Downtown 81” It’s not on streaming services yet, but Roc Marciano’s new album Mt. Marci is out in the world now, and it is marvelous. (I can’t tell you whether the digital download is worth the $40 that Marci is charging on his website. Make your own financial decisions.) Right now, the only song out for general consumption is one of the few that Marci didn’t produce himself. (It’s a Jake One beat.) But otherwise, “Downtown 81” is exactly the sort of laid-back, intricately worded deadpan splendor that you can expect to hear on the LP, whenever it goes wide. So maybe that’s worth the price of a full tank of gas.

2. Meek Mill – “GTA” (Feat. 42 Dugg)

Meek Mill released his Quarantine Pack EP on Friday, and the track currently getting the big push is the downbeat Lil Durk collab “Pain Away.” But the real thrill here is in hearing Meek and 42 Dugg getting bracingly urgent over a Detroit-ass bassline.

3. Chief Keef & Mike Will Made-It – “Status” Sosa and Mike Will have evidently chosen to name their new song after this column. Gentlemen, I see this tribute, and I appreciate it. I love you too.

4. Willie The Kid & V Don – “Mother Of Pearls” (Feat. Eto) This is pretty.

5. Statik Selektah – “Play Around” (Feat. Conway The Machine, 2 Chainz, Killer Mike, Allan Kingdom, & Haile Supreme)

Once upon a time, maybe 13 years ago, I was apparently such a recognizable and influential part of the New York rap press that Statik Selektah noticed me at an MOP show, introduced himself, and tried to get me to listen to his mix CD. All these years later, Statik is a globally acknowledged boom-bap specialist with enough juice to put three of the world’s greatest middle-aged rappers on a track together. I’m proud of Statik. I bet he gets nominated for a Grammy someday.

[whump-my-dear-watson]

Whumptober day no.8, 9 +10:

Stab wound + shackled + unconscious

Character: Henry Mills (Andrew J. West)

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (season 7)

Word Count: 1,700

Summary: Henry Mills is abducted and tortured for information on his step-mom, the only problem is, he's still under the curse.

Authors note: this is heavily inspired by 7x17,, where I fell in love with Henry whump, I tried to stay away from seasonal plotlines and everything, but eh you know

The first thing Henry noticed was his immobility. Not a fun thing to wake up and be unable to move. As his eyes focused he began to realize just how much trouble he was in. The room was dark but he observed a window on the other side of the room, must mean it was night. Or early morning. A sharp pain shot through his head, he instinctively placed a hand to it. It was wet, pulling his hand in front of his face, it dripped of blood. That explains the pain. 

Henry braced himself against a wall attempting to stand up in the dimly lit half-finished basement. 

From what he could tell it was a basement, the little to no furnishing gave off an eerie feeling, especially the chains he observed on the ground. 

His heart in his head he traced the line of the chains in the ground to his feet.

How hadn’t he noticed them at first? Now it was all he could feel. The cold thickness of the metal pressing down on him. 

He was a nobody. A has-been writer obsessed with everything he can't have, why would anyone want him?

As if to answer his questions the stairs began to creak, one dress shoe at a time a lean man made his way towards him. 

He racked his brain trying to place him, maybe it was the lighting, the headache or something else entirely, but he didn't recognize his captor at all. 

“Look who's awake. If not for your history of never giving up, I might have worried you would stay in your feeble state.” He took a step closer and smiled at Henry. It was unnerving, but not necessarily sadistic. “You still look a little feeble to be quite frank with you.”

“Who are you?” Henry spit.

“Don't be coy with me Mr. Mills. I know you remember.”

Henry shuddered into himself, the man was insane. He didn’t know what he wanted, only flashes of Jacinda and Lucy were on his brain. Why hadn’t he just ran with it? Why didn’t he put himself out there sooner? Now maybe he would never get the chance. 

“The problem is, I’m having a little trouble remembering.” the man said, his words twisting in and out of the realm of reality. “I remember a woman. From a, a past life, one might say. She was your mother. Problem is, I can only remember bits and pieces, the fog and all that.”

“So what do you want with me?” 

“I need you to tell me who your mother is, in this reality. Or, something, rather unpleasant might become of you.” at this, the man revealed a set of, particularly sharp knives. Although Henry figured it was better than dull knives. 

“Please. Give me the keys. Let me go. I promise I won’t tell anyone just-” 

The man's hand flew faster than should've been humanly possible, the surprise hurt worse than the pain from the hit. Henry was knocked off balance, and pulled against his chains until he was as far away as it would let him. 

“You’re not going anywhere until you tell me the true identity of the once evil queen.”

“Evil Queen? You’ve-you’ve read my book? Is that what this is about?” Henry asked, his head spinning. 

“You’re innocent and unknowing act won’t work on me. But I’ll give you a minute to think about what you should say next,” he then took one of the biggest knives from his collection and flipped it around in his hands. 

“No. no, no, no, no” Henry pulled away but was locked in place by his restraints. The man lunged at him, turning the knife in his hand so the hilt hit Henry in the back of the head, the blackness consumed his vision as his knees buckled. 

***

When Henry stirred from his unconscious state the first thing he noticed was that it was day now. The half windowsill on the far wall let a strip of light into the room. Henry groaned as he tried to sit up, the rapid motion inflicted immediate nausea. Concussion? Probably. His brain was too foggy to think straight to try too deliberate any further. At least it seemed like he was alone, but something was different this time. 

Henry figured he definitely had a concussion when he realized the thing he was missing, he was sitting atop a metal folding chair, his hands bound behind him. 

His chest rose and fell as he began to breathe deeper, trying too control his rampaging emotions. Henry blinked his eyes repeatedly to try to focus. To try to find out how to getaway. That was when he noticed the man, sitting in the corner. Observing him. 

“What-what do you want,”

The man took his time approaching him as if savoring the fear that strikes into Henry every time he took a step closer. 

“I’m growing rather tired of that question. How about we try another method?”

With his unusual quickness, he lunged at Henry, this time the blade of the knife going straight into his side. 

Henry yelped, unable to contain his loud display of pain.

Blood dripped from the stab wound, and the sight of it made him lightheaded. 

With one swift motion, the man pulled the knife out, effectively ripping out another scream from Henry. 

“Now, did that give you some motivation? Or do we need to continue.”

“Please, I’ll tell you whatever you need to hear,” he panted.

“Good.”

The sound of a distant ring interrupted them. The doorbell. Henry couldn’t push down his rising hope that it was his rescue. 

“Excuse me, I’ll just be a minute.” 

Henry’s heart pounded as he was sure that his rescue was imminent. It immediately sank to his feet as the man returned down the stairs, no one behind him. No one was coming. His naivety had led to his devastation, of course, no one was coming. 

“Sorry about that,” the man said reaching the bottom stair. “It was just my package, finally arriving.”

Henry’s forehead dripped with blood, he looked up to meet the man's eyes. Hoping that he would find empathy in his heart too let him go. 

The man just gave another emotionless smile. “Where did we leave off?” 

***

Jacinda tapped her foot restlessly as she waited in the lobby of the police station. She checked her phone again, She would have to pick up Lucy from school soon. 

“Jacinda, what can I do for you?” Detective Rodgers asked approaching her in her seat. 

“I’m really worried about Henry. I haven't heard from him in days. He won't answer his texts. No one’s seen him,”

“I’m sure he’s fine. But I’ll look into it, for you. Where did you see him last?” 

Jacinda furrowed her brows, “I don’t know, Ronnie’s I think. Rodgers, something's really wrong. I can feel it.”

“Don't worry. I’ll put some guy’s on it right away, and tonight’s my night off, so I can devote some time. If Henry’s in trouble, we’ll find him. I’ll keep you posted,” he patted her shoulder offering his support. 

And Rodgers did try, he looked over Henry's place, talked to some people, and he was beginning too think Jacinda was right. Something was wrong. 

***

“I should've had believed this was going to be easy. I mean, you're Henry Mills after all. But I did think my, persuasion techniques, would have worked by now,” the man said standing over a slouched Henry. 

Everything hurt. He had a very real feeling that he was bleeding out, and worse of all he didn't even know why. Why was he chosen to be in this sick man's game? 

“Please,” he begged, his pride having left him ages ago. 

“No. I think I'll break you. But none of these methods seems to be working.”

He stroked his chin with a thoughtful gaze, Henry wondered if he was just trying to be intimidating. He couldn’t say it wasn't working. 

“I would say this is a bright idea, but, all my ideas are bright. We are going to make a phone call.” 

He practically threw his phone at Henry, he has no idea why. Did he want him to be released? Was he really just insane? 

“Call for help. Honestly, even if you were to be retrieved, I'll still get my answer. I'm sure your mother wouldn't let her son sit in the hospital alone. But who knows if you'll get that far,” 

He made sure to plant himself in front of the staircase as he watched Henry’s shaking fingers dial the phone.

Henry knew that there had to be a trick, there had to be some ulterior motive, but he wasn't going to risk not taking a chance. 

The phone was ringing too long. Would she even pick up? 

“Hello, this is Jacinda. I can't come to the phone right now, but leave a message.” 

A tear slipped down Henry's face as he heard the answering machine. He gulped and tried to relay something meaningful. 

“Hey, it's me, Henry. I'm really sorry how this all turned out-” he was interrupted by a coupling fit. “I've been taken by a man, whatever you do, stay away from him. Stay safe. Jacinda, I lo-” this time it was the man who interrupted him, pushing him and his hair onto the ground. Henry's body shook with pain and he tried to pick up the phone again with his bloody hands, but it wasn't working.

“Time's up. I think they got the idea. Now, if the lady luck will have me, your mother will come straight to us. I owe it all to you, Mr. Mills.”

“I won't tell anyone that it was you, I'll say you wore a mask, you won't get in trouble, just, please..let me go,” Henry pleaded. 

“Now why would I do that when we're just getting started?”

(TO BE CONTINUED)

[simplylove101]

Influential TV Shows

Okay this is kinda random and why I prob won’t tag the shows I list cuz this is more just something I wanted to get out of my head after watching J&J’s latest podcast where they were talking about this topic. They kept it to 7 shows each and while that would certainly be interesting to try, that’s kinda hard. lol I went about grouping some of them - shows that shaped me growing up, shows that impacted me/stuck with me, comfort shows/watch with the family, taught me about fandoms, etc. And saying something about each of them. Anyway, this is stupid but here we go lol:

The Shows Growing Up:

Sailor Moon: Okay, nobody make fun of me. lol This is the first show I remember really watching as a kid that wasn't Barney or whatever, something I decided to watch by myself and it actually had an ongoing story. And ofc it took time for me to realize that this was just an English dubbed version that they would play on Cartoon Network. Looking back on it, it’s a little cringey (the voice readings, Serena being a bit of a crybaby) but seeing girls, even if it was animated, kicking ass over evil as a group made an impression on me so it’s no wonder I would watch it religiously after school and was sad when they stopped airing it. And ofc I watched all the movies too. I was a shameless fan. lmao I also eventually read the manga and appreciated it.

Hey Arnold: As a kid, I would watch Cartoon Network & Nickelodeon (& eventually Disney when I got a little bit older), and I think one of the Nickelodeon shows that really stuck with me as a kid, like Rugrats, was this one. It had a wide range of really distinct characters. It was genuinely funny. And I did love the dynamic between Arnold & Helga (who was interesting & sometimes they would let her be the protagonist of an ep instead of him, like the therapist one which is a def fave) even if her crush was kinda as stalkerish as you can get why maintaining innocence. lol And you know what? I did totally watch the recent movie they did where it tied up loose ends like getting these two together and allowing her to grow as a character. Gotta say it was rewarding after all this time. lol  

All That: I feel like I gotta put this here because I watched this show all the time as a kid. And I think it’s something that really taught me about comedy. I had seen things from Saturday Night Live growing up cuz of my parents but this was my Nickelodeon version with people that weren’t much older than me at the time so I could really get what was going on/enjoy it. It’s also the first place where we saw people like Amanda Bynes & Kenan Thompson & Kel Mitchell (which is partly why I later watched things like The Amanda Show and Kenan & Kel) What can I say? As a young person, it was just really cool seeing kids being funny. Yeah, there was some cheese but I didn’t care. It stayed with me.

Boy Meets World/Sister, Sister/Lizzie McGuire/Even Stevens: I kinda cheated here and bundled these shows because these are four of the shows I watched on Disney growing up (Disney showed reruns of Boy Meets World & Sister, Sister for the record) There were others like That’s So Raven, Suite Life, Wizards of Waverly sort of, Proud Family to name a few but these shows I picked have such iconic episodes that I still remember well and love. Like Even Stevens - musical episode hands down Idc. Boy Meets World - Scream-inspired Halloween ep for sure. Yes, there was cheesiness with all these shows. Sometimes very after-school special, but they shaped me I think. Also gotta mention, I remember thinking of Hilary Duff as my idol. lol

The Ones I Watched With the Fam:

That 70′s Show: Now the thing with my family is that we were one where for a time we would watch tv while eating dinner and my dad would have control of what channel we watched. It was always this way, which meant it would either be Law & Order or Seinfeld (the second one I was cool with and I almost included it on here cuz it’s such a staple comedy but eh,,, I appreciated it more later on. It felt more forced on me at the time) This is probably one of the only shows I can say my whole family truly agreed on watching all together tho, including my sister who generally watches trashy reality shows. This show will always remain one of my faves, because it was hilarious. It got a little weaker towards the end (We do NOT speak about Season 8) but I loved how it was a true ensemble sitcom where everyone brought something to the table and enjoyed the different dynamics between the group. The funny running gags, Jackie & Hyde still remain one of my all-time otps, and Kelso is probably the funniest & lovable dumb character I can think of (If nothing else, Ashton Kutcher was meant to play this part ok) It was nice to have something my whole family could enjoy together. It was a rarity so this show has a special place in my heart for that alone.

Joan of Arcadia: Another show that has a place in my heart, despite it only lasting 2 seasons and it ending on a bad note (major cliffhanger, still never fully making things right w/ Adam after destroying his character, ultimately S2 was problematic but still) because this is a show that I watched religiously (pun not actually intended here lol) with my mom every Friday it was on. What I loved about it was that the concept is centered around Joan talking to God yet it generally wasn’t being preachy. Joan wasn’t always willing to do what God wanted her to do, and things didn’t always turn out how she wanted. It was a kinda perfect blend for me and my mom to watch together. After this we were more willing to watch stuff as a pair cuz we were close but this started all that. I remember always being curious how God would appear to Joan cuz it was always changing, but there were some fave recurring ones like Cute Guy God, Goth God & Old Lady God to name a few. heh Joan was played wonderfully by the awesome Amber Tamblyn who could always make me cry (naturally she played my fave Tibby in the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants movies too lol) and she had awesome friends in Adam & Grace (who were my faves) and family. I rewatched this show and you know, I’d say S1 holds up and even the first half of S2. Heck, the episode where Joan & Adam break up towards the end of it, while totally heartbreaking and PISSES me off cuz bad writing for Adam, was solid simply for the acting so there’s that. lol

Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Putting this show under this category because this was a show that I mostly got into because my sister loved it growing up. I was really young when it came out so I mostly remembered bits & pieces when I later watched it when I got a little older. It stuck with me tho cuz ofc the awesome Sarah Michelle Gellar playing badass Buffy (she was my sister’s idol) and it was a genuinely funny and smart show. It also got dark too. It wasn’t always solid towards the end, but I think it mostly nailed the actual ending (why Anya had to die tho... Spike I got but ugh) Anyway, this was kinda a big deal cuz it was the only thing my sister and I really watched together that wasn’t bad reality television or me barely paying attention to Dawson’s Creek at the time lol This showed that my sister could have taste when she wanted to (lmao sorry)

The Carol Burnett Show: I had to mention this show because this is one that got me, really my family, through dealing with my mom’s dementia. We chose to care for her at home instead of putting her in a nursing home. We did this for 2 years until her death. And the one thing we (excluding my sister cuz her & old stuff don’t mix) could always count on cheering us up was this show. My dad told me that my mom loved this show growing up and that’s why we turned on for her. So luckily memory or no memory, she still had a sense of humor and she knew when to laugh. And with good reason. This show is hilarious. So iconic. Carol Burnett was/is rightfully loved dearly for this show. I wish I had more I could say, but this was truly a comfort show when I desperately needed it so I am forever grateful that it existed.

Honorable Mention: Young & Hungry - another show that got us through that dark period, my dad actually really enjoyed this, despite seeming skeptical, and eventually started calling it the “Josh & Gaby Show” lmao Only thing is we never finished it together so oops. Not so much influential maybe but worth mentioning it felt like since it was underrated, got me thru a tough time, was hilarious and I loved that cast a lot. Emily Osment deserved to be the lead of her own show. Comedy queen.

The Ones That Brought Out the Fangirl In Me AKA The Teen Years:

The O.C/One Tree Hill/Gossip Girl/The Vampire Diaries: Another category where I’m just grouping them up together cuz ultimately it wasn’t about high art with these shows. They were the staple teen shows that everyone was watching and well, I was one of those people. lol It all started with The O.C. It was one of those ‘at the right time’ kinda things cuz I just went into the 6th grade when S1 started and it was such a big hit that everyone was always talking about it and there were even shirts involved (I never went that far lol) but this is where my need to explore YouTube came and then I was making fanvids. Gossip Girl is the one where I actually inserted myself into a fandom for the first time. My goodness the cringe that came with it but it gave me two of the longest online friendships I’ve ever had so I don’t regret it. (Shoutout to @backtothestart02 here as one of them) And well, three of these shows taught me the toxicity that can come from fandom. So I’ve been less vocal/more aware with other shows because of it. There’s problematic stuff in all of these but they were entertaining most of the time despite frustration (lol) 

Honorable Mention: Teen Wolf - Had to mention this one cuz this was a show where I had a group of friends who all watched this together and we talked about it til the end (even when we weren’t happy with it lol) I was never really vocal in the fandom cuz by this point I was wary of them (fandoms I mean), but it was nice to share a show with people who felt similarly about it. As a show, I truly loved it up to 3B. Some of my favorite episodes were the ones that almost felt standalone-ish (3x06 AKA Motel California still remains my fave to this day) Lastly, it’s because of this show I was introduced to Dylan O’Brien who I always refer to as my ‘always & forever’ guy so yeah lol

Maybe Superhero Shows Are Worth Watching lol:

The Flash/Daredevil/Cloak & Dagger/Runaways: So I’m someone who growing up, beyond Spider-Man and Batman, never really jumped at superhero movies. I still don’t to an extent but I’m more willing to watch stuff now. I think because when it comes to TV, I’m willing to check out at least an ep. I got into The Flash because my friend Lauren was really into it (and still very much is now) and wanted me to check it out so I did. I sorta watched Arrow before it until a point so I’d seen Barry’s appearances on it and remembered thinking he was precious so I wasn’t surprised that I liked him as a main character. I do think these later seasons have lost some quality but I think the earlier ones were very solid and Grant is perfect in the role. Daredevil... R.I.P. That show was so high quality so the fact that Netflix cancelled it is just rude. Now... Cloak & Dagger has been one of those surprises for me cuz it was such a slow burn that when it really got going it left me wanting more. That S1 finale was so solid. Cannot wait for S2. Love the dynamic between Ty & Tandy. Now Runaways isn’t perfect but it’s my biggest fandom right now and I’m proud of that fact. It’s a show that highlights diversity with 4 PoC leads & 4 kickass ladies (Nico & Gert are my bb girls), healthy ships including an LGBTQ couple currently as the main one (tho it is Gertchase that owns my heart), and overall a pretty great cast that meshes well like the thrown together family they portray. It even got me back into writing fanfic again. A miracle tbh. lol

Overall Just Amazing:

This Is Us: I just think that this show pulled me in the second they revealed that first plot twist in the pilot. It surprised me and then they kept doing that a bit after. Now it’s more about how it has the ability to make me cry every ep and feel things. It doesn’t always touch me the same it did in that first season (it was an emotional year for me tbh) but it does have a class act cast who can always pull at my heart strings.

Boardwalk Empire: This technically could have went under something I sort of watched with my dad, but it is kinda a weird show to share I guess. We didn’t usually watch it together (saved some awkward convos sometimes lol) but always talked about each episode weekly and it was kinda fun cuz it was usually in-depth. My dad still quotes things from it to this day. He also once said that he considers S1 the best TV season he’s ever watched. I agree that it was great. For me, the first 3 seasons are solid while the last 2 felt different but still pretty good. There was such quality to it. Great acting headed by Steve Buscemi. What can I say? I have a thing for gangster stories. I could say more but I’ll stop. lol

Stranger Things: The show that really turned me into a binge-watcher. I had just gotten Netflix and what show did I decide to watch on my birthday? This show. I had seen things in the media about the kids from it and I was like, they’re adorable!! And ofc I got hooked when I actually watched the show. It just has everything in it that I like: mystery, thrills, humor, hint of romance, awesome acting, music moments, nostalgia. This was my obsession for a while until I got into some other things but if you don’t think I’m totally pumped for S3, then you best believe I’m watching it all in a day if I can. lol

Community: This is a show that reminded me how a show can think totally outside of the box and still have a lot of heart with its comedy. I love situations where a group of misfits come together and become a family. I love that this show celebrates being different. Troy Barnes remains one of my favorite TV characters ever (& omg his friendship with Abed is pure goals!!) and Donald Glover played him perfectly. And Alison Brie is just adorable as Annie. Love this group of weirdos. The quality was different after S3 but I still adore it.

Into the Badlands: Have to mention this show because what it has been doing action-wise is just incredible. The fighting sequences are out of this world. I’m always excited to see how they top it. Also, an Asian male lead? Go dude! The whole cast is wonderful and everything is just high quality, ok? Also, that cinematography!! Can’t believe it’s ending when it comes back. Sadness.

One Day at a Time: This is more of a recent discovery for me (had friends who watched it and knew it was good but only decided to check it out not too long ago) but it’s already made its impact on me. This show has so much heart to it. The writers put so much care into their work when they bring up these controversial issues in the episodes. All while being totally hilarious (but also trust me, I manage to cry at least 1 or twice an ep lol) A show centered on a Cuban family, plenty of good rep for LGBTQ/non-binary people while also handling things like depression/anxiety, addiction, immigration, etc. It’s definitely making its mark on TV. Also, Rita Moreno is a living legend who I adore. I love this cast so much.

12 Monkeys: I. loved. this. show! I still think it had the best series finale that I have seen in a while. It wrapped up things so well that I was smiling for a while after watching it. I couldn’t believe that of all shows this one gave me a happy ending. lol Casserole remains one of my all-time ships because they were truly epic and pulled at my heart strings so many times. Jennifer Goines was my queen. But seriously, a show about time travel that managed to make sense? So impressed. And the visuals? gahhh

Friday Night Lights: Last, but most definitely not least, this show is just up there as one of the all-time bests IDC. The fact that at first glance the show seems centered only about football and it got me to keep watching definitely says something. lol This show had so much heart, the cast was excellent, an ending that was pretty much perfect. Coach & Tami Taylor were relationship goals. Honestly one of the best portrayals of a married couple I’ve ever seen because they were very much a team (while yes there was the occasional bickering that you gotta love) and it just felt real, you know? Also, it’s a show that proved that you can come back from a sophomore slump (yeah S2 was the worst season) and continue to be great.I can’t decide if it’s my favorite show of all-time but it’s certainly one of the first ones to come to mind. So glad I decided to give it a chance.

There’s probably a couple other shows I could list here but some I haven’t finished yet and don’t feel ready to put them on here yet. This is just what I could come up with.

[alj4890]

What Happened to Our Friends? ~Fluffy Friday

(Liam, Drake, Amanda, Maxwell) *friendship x unrequited love*

A Choices: The Royal Romance Fan Fiction

A/N Before the events of The Other Friend and this particular storyline was suggested by one of my little guys.

*song that is lip synched Dream Come True some of the lyrics listed below.*

Tagging those who wanted extra fluff 😉@brightpinkpeppercorn @riseandshinelittleblossom-deact @zaffrenotes  @fullbeaumonty  @speedyoperarascalparty  @bobasheebaby  @tmarie82   @littleblossom-18 @cocomaxley  @ehkw1989  @hopefulmoonobject @leelee10898  @itsstillnotwhatyouthink   @littlecrookedheart @mrswalkerwritesagain @debramcg1106 @krsnlove @littleblossom357 @ritachacha @lodberg

"We have to go to a karaoke bar. We are literally in its birth place!" Maxwell argued while staring out at the bright lights of Tokyo. The city looked amazing against the dark night sky.

Drake and Liam turned hesitantly to the one who had the worst singing voice. Amanda knew what their look meant.

"Don't worry. I won't sing." She folded her arms and looked away from them.

"Then I'll go." Drake said. He let out a grunt when Amanda hit him with a pillow. He smiled as he threw his arm around her shoulders. "We still like you. You're the frog of our group. Nobody croaks a song like you."

Amanda couldn't stop her laugh from coming out. "Yeah, yeah. Keep talking and I start belting out show tunes."

In a sea of neon, they discovered a club that Maxwell declared was the one. When they walked into the lobby, they were surrounded by many in cosplay. Liam studied some and tried to figure out why it was so familiar. His eyes widened as it hit him.

"Amanda! Look it's --"

"Liam! It's a room filled with RWBY fans!"

Maxwell and Drake stared at them in confusion. "Guys...want to tell us what Ruby is?" Maxwell asked.

"First off, it isn't technically the word, 'ruby'. It is the four main characters initials forming their team name." Liam began to explain. "Even though the one character is actually named, Ruby."

"It's an American created anime. It is about--"

Drake held his hand up. "Hold on, let me check on something. Yep. I don't care."

Amanda and Liam looked around and saw a shop selling some RWBY costumes. They whispered excitedly and ran off.

"HEY!" Maxwell exclaimed. "What has gotten into them? Did I miss something when we walked in here?"

"You had to go out and pick this place." Drake said. His jaw dropped when he saw his once sane friends. Liam had on a black hoodie that suspiciously looked like it had a bunny's face on it but was covered by some type of armor over his upper chest. He also had some armor on his upper arms. Gloves and blue jeans completed the look...and was that a shield? He had a large sword and was swinging it alongside what was once Amanda.

She not only was wearing a costume that made him and Maxwell blush at seeing her in something more revealing than she normally wore, she had somehow turned her hair red and had it pulled up in a ponytail. Or else it was a wig. He couldn't tell from this distance. Her outfit looked like something straight out of Greek mythology.

Liam and Amanda stopped before them and posed with their weapons. Amanda had a sword that extended into a javelin in her hand that she held as if to throw while blocking with her shield . "What the---what are you?" Maxwell asked.

"I'm Jaune Arc." Liam announced. "She's Pyrrah Nikos."

"Hello again." She waved and mimicked Pyrrah's sweet voice and phrase perfectly. Liam's smile grew with pride as some nearby asked her to do it again while recording her. When she added the, "I'm sorry," Liam clutched his heart. "That line gets me every time." He said to Maxwell.

"You know what gets me? Is finding a twenty-four hour psychiatrist for you two." Drake dryly replied.

"How did you get your hair like that?" Maxwell stepped closer to her and stared at locks that were once dark brown, a color he had been very fond of.

"Spray on hair color." She faced Liam and handed Maxwell her weapons. "Speaking of hair, hold still..." She ran her fingers through Liam's until it was mussed completely.

"Thank you. I forgot to do that." He scrutinized her and straightened her sash, causing Drake and Maxwell to simply stare. This could not be happening. Where were their calm, retiring friends? Who were these people?

After Amanda and Liam were satisfied with how the other looked, they all walked in and were surrounded by multiples of particular characters. There was a table with pictures of scenes from RWBY and a sheet of paper. Amanda read it and immediately wrote her name down.

"What did you sign up for?" Liam asked.

"RWBY lip synch contest!" Liam groaned when he couldn't think of a song to lip sync dressed as Juane.

"Seriously! What has happened to you two?"

They shrugged at Drake. "You would understand if you watched it." Amanda answered patiently. Liam's pitying look at him and Maxwell freaked them out.

"How have we not known you two suffered with this affliction? Have you been having clandestine dates to watch this?" Maxwell's laugh died when they lowered their eyes.

"Wait, that's what you have been doing?! What did you use to trick us into not joining?" He asked.

Amanda chewed on her bottom lip while Liam rubbed the back of his neck. "You know that committee we asked if you wanted to be a part of that you both refused last year?"

"Are you talking about the one to make sure roadkill is removed in a specific--good lord we were stupid to believe that was an actual thing." Drake held his head at the revelation.

Maxwell's eyes widened. "You even made an acronym for it! You called it...RWBY!

"It was rather grim for a committee." Amanda winked at Liam, causing him to double over in laughter.

"What's so funny?" The two left in the dark demanded.

"You wouldn't understand it." Liam replied. Amanda took pity on them. "Grimm are the creatures that our characters, and many that you see here represented, fight."

"You have private jokes over this?" Maxwell thought something was very wrong with this. He wasn't sure what, but she shouldn't have private jokes with just Liam. That was supposed to be their thing.

They sat at a table and began to watch some Ruby's and Weiss' and a few Sun's try their hand getting the crowd into their performances. Many Yang's, two Blake's, and one Nora gave it their all.

Amanda sat with her leg shaking. She recalled why she never volunteered to do these things. She hated being the center of attention. Her costume had gone to her head and made her think she really was brave.

Noticing her jittery nervousness, Maxwell leaned forward and spoke in her ear, "Just pretend it is only us in the room."

Liam grinned at her. "Remember, your song is to me."

She nodded and stood when her name was called. She left her weapons and got on the stage. Her head was bowed in front of the microphone as she waited for her song to start. She couldn't help but think of the irony of lip synching this song in front of Maxwell.

"What do you mean her song is to you?" Drake asked.

"Her character is in love with mine. I, or rather my character doesn't know it and has a crush on someone else. That one," he pointed at a girl all in white. "Weiss is the one Juane likes, until season 3." His smile disappeared as he thought of that season. That ending still upset him.

"They kiss!" Maxwell had pulled up an image on his phone. He gritted his teeth as he looked up at Amanda. Why would they pick these two characters?

When the first piano notes were played, her head came up and she began. She started on one end of the room, acting coy with some of the other Juane's.

When she reached their table, she had relaxed and was really playing it up. She actually appeared sincere as she mouthed the rest of the lyrics. She smiled at Liam and moved around him. He in turn did the mannerisms of Juane causing cheers from the crowd.

I've been spending time wondering why,

Nothing that I do can catch your eye.

Just can't capture your attention.

Maybe I'm too tall or not your type,

But I'm not giving up, I'll get it right.

Being close to you is my intention.

I see more in you than the rest of them do

And I'm not gonna let you fall.

I'll swallow my pride, time after time,

Cause you're worth it all.

Whenever I think of you,

How I wish you only knew,

That you might be my dream come true.

But what do I have to do to make you notice me?

A girl dressed as Weiss at a nearby table began to flirt with Maxwell. Amanda narrowed her eyes and thought the timing couldn't be more perfect. She walked over to stand directly in front of the man she secretly loved with her whole heart.

Oh, know that.

You and I we would be alright,

We could dance on the roof, we could light the night.

Gotta make you see me in that way.

Why don't you,

Forget about the little chick in white?

She don't care about you and she's so uptight.

Let me put a smile on your face.

She tilted his face up and ran her gloved hand along his jaw and into his hair as she leaned down to look directly in his eyes. He swallowed nervously and placed his hand over hers.

How I wish that you knew that I'm crazy for you.

And I'm waiting by your side.

I'll get you alone,

Make you my own,

It will be divine.

She walked away, smiling at Maxwell's stunned expression. She returned to the stage and continued to work the crowd into a frenzy as they began to clap along with the last few stanzas. She ended the song by meeting Maxwell's eyes with a heartbroken face as she pleaded the sad words, "notice me?"

Once the contest ended, Amanda was announced as the winner. As she went to the stage to collect her prize, the guys all stood cheering. She was given a gift basket filled with RWBY collectibles and shirts. She promised the crowd to share it with her Juane, causing the cosplayers to laugh and applaud.

"I feel like we are stuck in some alternate dimension." Drake whispered to Maxwell.

Suddenly a loud song began making them both jump. Liam whooped. "They're playing Shine!" He jumped up and grabbed Amanda as her face lit with recognition of the song. They joined the other cosplayers and began to do some choreographed dance.

"They have a dance!" Mawell knew this was the final straw. Drake was pulling it up on his phone. "Yep, and apparently it was a pretty big deal between their characters. Why am I looking this up?! This has to be some type of contagion. We will probably lose our minds soon just like them."

Maxwell frowned and watched them dance in line. They came back, cheeks red and an arm around each other. "Can you believe this night?" Amanda yelled over the music.

"Nope. I haven't been able to believe any part of it." Drake teased. "Are we ever going to do what we originally planned?"

"I booked a room for the karaoke." Liam motioned for them to follow him.

Amanda fell into step with Maxwell and slipped her arm through his. She gave into an impulse and kissed his cheek. She leaned her head against his shoulder as they walked. "Thank you for encouraging me earlier."

His anger evaporated when he looked down at her. "Why did you and Liam choose these two out of all the characters?"

A soft smile appeared on her face. "These are who we share the most characteristics with. Juane is placed as leader of his team but doubts his ability to be the right one and struggles throughout the series. He wants to protect all he loves and is relentless in trying to make himself worthy of their faith in him. He never sees what he really is."

Maxwell nodded. "That is definitely Liam. What about yours?" His curiosity peaked as she started to blush.

"Pyrrah is one who offers encouragement to everyone. She doesn't mind being in the background yet is willing to step up when it is the right thing to do. She sees the best in those around her and tries to point it out to them."

Maxwell grinned. "That's you. Anything else you identify with?"

"Well...she did suffer with an unrequited love for Juane. I definitely know what that feels like." Amanda preceded him into the room while he paused outside. Did she mean she had been in love with someone or was in love with someone and it wasn't reciprocated? Who was it? Liam was dressed as Juane...but she lip synched some lines to directly to him. He wondered if he would ever figure it out.

[resetmypatientviolence]

Thirsty Thursday (Drake x MC) [NSFW Alphabet]

In college, my Thirsty Thursdays were walking to the bar by my townhouse and drinking cheap ass poison Long Islands and the night would guarantee a drunken rendition of Don’t Stop Believing or My Heart Will Go On from the karaoke. Now, it’s writing some straight up SMUT for you all. Let’s bring back some Choices Thirsty Thursday y’all. Or not, but please enjoy some glorious smut your way.

Pairing: Drake x Jaela

Rating: M; NSFW Under the Cut (A)

Warnings: It’s flith. Enjoy!

Note: This is a mix of headcanon and mini-drabbles. And I’ve been dying to use this gif as my Jaela faceclaim on a fic since forever.

A= Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Very loving, the both of them, even if they’re getting dressed in a closet from a ball, fingers—so rough and desperate moments before, carefully zipping up her dress or, her, buttoning his shirt. In bed, after getting water and a washcloth (if they’re awake enough, sometimes they’ll just lay there in bliss, the wind drying their skin) Drake will hold her close, kissing her face and neck and whispering in her ear until they fall asleep—or get out of bed for the day. Jaela’s much of the same, loving her head on his chest, body aching and craving more, but giving in to his tender, sleepy, marshmallow hold.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Can Drake say that every part of her is his favorite, treating it like a goddess? He’s enamored with her body, her taste, her everything… although, if he had to admit it—and as great as her breasts, ass, and pussy are—he loves her thighs. How they tighten around his head when she comes on his tongue, how they quiver as he pounds into her, squeezing around his waist when she cries out his name, or how he can grip them as she rides him, that devilish smirk on her face when his nails dig into them.

It’s simple: his dick and lips. He works wonders with those on every inch of her, and she can spend hours kissing him. She loves how quickly he gets hard when she leans in at a dinner, whispering what she’d like to do to him right now, if she could, hand squeezing his dick. They never last long after that, either leaving for a quickie or just going home. 

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically…)

Drake loves to come in her, with or without the condom, watching her face when he does (if he doesn’t throw his head back) because he knows she likes it—no, loves it, as she whispers in his ear, pulling his hips closer as he climaxes. Otherwise, she likes it when he comes on her—even if doesn’t do it often—or in her mouth, locking eyes before she swallows, that simple action—sometimes in the home, in a scheduled alcove, tucked away on the palace grounds, or under his desk—almost makes him come again. He’ll wipe her lips with him thumb, enchanting soft laughter emitting from her, and he helps her up, kissing her.

“I didn’t know it was round two, Drake….”

“Not my fault you have many talents, Walker.”

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

They don’t keep secrets from each other, never again, let alone anything to do with their pleasure. They’re open and vocal to what they want from each other But, if there is one, they both like to send pictures and videos to one another when they’re away… or sometimes, right in the other room. Drake was hesitant at first—“Are you really that surprised? Do you remember the texts we sent during the social season and tour? It’s not my fault you don’t know what Snapchat is so I couldn’t send you what I really wanted to…”

“But Abdi, what if somebody—”

“We’re literally husband and wife and not teenagers. Just… let me know when you’re in your room. If you don’t like it, then we don’t. But try? I miss you.”

… and when Jaela sent him those fucking pictures two minutes after he said he was alone, well, he changed his mind. Let’s just say they have an extra layer of security to unlock their pictures.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

They’re nearly matched, Drake having a slight edge due to living in the palace and studying abroad, mostly flings—two relationships that lasted a half a year or less.

He had to begrudgingly agree that it wasn’t all bad when he could be the palace player, until Abdi appeared. That thing with Kiara was off the moment Abdi stepped on that plane, even if he didn’t trust her. He didn’t know why, or how, but he didn’t want to break this girls heart.

Jaela went on dates and had some on and off relationships, a couple for a few months back in New York, so she knows tricks, but not that Drake doesn’t, either. It doesn’t take long for them to figure out exactly what makes the other moan like nobody can hear them, even if others are just outside the door.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying.)

For Drake, anything that allows him to see her face, how her lips part and eyes either lock on his or roll back when she comes undone because of him, panting his name. He’s not a fan of doggie style… but when he’s dominant, he does like to bend her over (bar, table, bed, kitchen counter, office desk, of anything else that’ll do where he can [gently] pull on her hair and gulp at the sight her arched neck and the look she just gives him) and fuck her, hard. 

Truly, anything and everything for Jaela. Riding him is particularly fun and sexy for her and she loves how his mouth or hands works her breasts when she’s on top, but she’s also weak in the knees for when he pushes her against a wall, hitches up a leg (or two) and fucks her there.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Jaela’s the goofy one in bed when it calls for it, though Drake has his moments, but otherwise, they’re both serious when they make love. Having sex is a deep expression of their love, their emotions, so it’s always an intimate moment no matter where they are or how intense they’re being.  

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Drake’s groomed, nothing gets too wild because he likes how she feels—and he wants to make sure she can feel him too. Jaela goes between well trimmed and groomed to waxing to bare, often surprising him when she does get waxed. He doesn’t mind either way, but there is something about those surprises…. Like that one time on the Unity Tour when they were at the god-awful dinner. To be fair, she’s the one who excused herself and came back, sticking her lace panties in his pocket. “Abdi… you’re playing a dangerous game…”

“Uh-huh,” she whispers, scooting closer to him as his fingers trail up the hem of her dress. Everybody else is caught in talk about unity and politics and everything they don’t care about right now, only wanting dinner to end so they can beeline to her—their room, because sleeping apart is stupid—but they look when Drake gasps because she took him by surprise, her pussy bare for him. “So, about the Cordonian apple orchards,” she begins as his fingers enter her, hands clasped together to cover her smirk, counting down the seconds till somebody takes over so she can enjoy his one—no—two pumping fingers.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

God, so romantic and close, even in the goofy, quickie, or intense sex. There isn’t a time where Drake doesn’t say how fucking beautiful she is, or when she doesn’t take a moment to pause and just whisper how much she loves him, capturing his dark gaze into hers. Their first time set the precedent for all others to follow.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He much rather prefer being the one to make her moan, but he loses himself when she teases him by touching herself. Though, when he walks in the room, whether before or after sex, he’ll replace her fast enough, even if it is sexy as hell and he’s ready for round two when she does that, knowing how much it teases him. She relishes in that when he’s the one tied up, loving the desire in his eyes and how desperate he is to touch her. “Not yet,” she’ll tease and touch her wet fingers to his lips.

He likes to jack off when eating her out, because god, isn’t that the sexiest thing he can do her. He can’t help himself.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Okay. Drake’s a simple guy when it comes to the bed, and never really had done much outside of the standard “just two people fucking” and nothing else. Enter Jaela. It’s nothing wild, but more than Drake was used to. They’ve used ropes, silk ties, blindfolds, wax, ice, and on some drunken nights, like to lick whiskey off each others body, savoring how the burn mixes with their sweat on their tongue, or how it pools between her breasts, his tongue tracing its way to her nipples after, whiskey and lips leaving a trail of fire.

Drake’s also fond of handcuffs—on him—but he tries to downplay it. Though, when she sets them on his desk in the middle of a workday, leaning over to whisper in his ear, “Now or later?” His excitement can’t be contained. He still gets flustered when he thinks about the time they locked his office door on a Friday night and they didn’t leave until dawn, handcuffs tucked in his bottom drawer.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

In the home—and they can’t say bed because they’ve fucked in nearly every room, Jaela bent over almost every surface than allows it, on the floor, in the shower, the bed (of course, Drake does like this the most, because he can take his time with her). But… they always do seem to find a closet or room—no matter where they are—at a ball or when visiting a duchy for an extended time.

Jaela gets such a thrill from her skirt being hiked up and Drake entering her, their mouths capturing their moans when the party—or meeting, or anything else—goes on outside them, Drake covering her mouth when she comes, not holding anything back as she shudders.

“Abdi, they’re going to hear you…”

“Isn’t that part of the thrill?”

“It’s… hot, yeah.” And he turns her around, grinning, that dark, hooded look in his eye. “But you do need to learn a lesson on being quiet…”

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

When they whisper, teasing, in each others ear, when Drake tousles his hair, when she crosses her legs, dress or skirt revealing more of her flesh, their scent, when Jaela comes out of the shower, water sticking and shining to her skin like dew… and of course, when their eyes meet across a crowded room, heat building in their core, just knowing the other is thinking the same longing thoughts after all these years.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Choking, threesomes, extreme BDSM.  

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Drake’s always been the very skilled giver. Not that Jaela doesn’t want to drop to her knees at a moments notice, or after he eats her out, but sometimes she just can’t after he does, too tired to even think straight. “Besides,” he whispers, running a finger over her clit as he positions himself, drawing a whimper from her. “I want to feel you… right, now.” And he enters her, another wave of pleasure—how many times did she come that night on their honeymoon? She lost count—her desire to return the favor gone as he fills her, tasting herself on his lips.

Her favorite—and his, because he grips her hair even harder when she does this—is dragging him into palace closet and going to her knees before he can even kiss her. “Abdi—”

“And you’re still shocked I was thinking of sucking your cock throughout that entire meeting? I though you knew me better than that, Walker.” And his hand is buried in her hair, knees shaking, chin tilted as she licks his length, free hand gripping the fabric of his pants tight, taking as much as she can of him in.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

It honestly depends on where they are. In public or offices or if the kids are playing outside, they tend to be fast—unless they lock the office door—because there’s so much to do, including each other. However, at home, it’s far different. It’s slow, sensual. There’s not always candles, but their hands linger and take time with each others body, no matter if they’re slow and gentle, whispering words of love; rough and dirty, Drake in shock but loving how good she is at talking like that—Jaela’s just happy he’s a quick learner; or when they both battle for dominance that night, often from after an argument, bodies grinding and switching positions and trying to take control, to show how much they care through their control of each others pleasure.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

It comes to no surprise to Drake that Jaela loves quickies, and he’s happy to oblige. But still, even when their lives seem to revolve around endless meetings and raising their children, he always prefers laying her out on the bed, saying, “I’m going to fuck you till the sun comes up, think you can keep up, Abdi?”

“I think you’ll need to keep up with me,” she whispers, hand travelling down to her core. Drake catches her fingers just before they land there, both smirking. Instead, he touches her, running a finger up her slit and she raises her hips, shutting her eyes.

“Now, you’ve got to do better than that…”And he takes her wrists, silk tie in his other hand.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Honestly, everybody in Cordonia likes to play this game. It’s no shock that Drake and Jaela are risky, too. Aside from their kinks of being tied up and playing with temperature, public sex is another major one. How can they resist each other at balls, Abdi sparkling from head to toe and Darke in a sharp fitted suit?

Everybody know what happens when they (or the various other) couples disappear for a few minutes to an hour at a time, but the risk is still there, almost drawing Jaela over the edge the moment he touches her hand in the middle of the crowd and says exactly how he’d like to rip off that dress.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

God, all of her past experiences were ruined the first time her and Drake went all night—literally. “God. Fuck, Drake,” she says, just staring at the ceiling, dawn creeping in through the window. Everything—and everything—still tingled, skin wet with his cum, her juices, and his saliva—drying as the morning breeze blew in. He laughs, running a wet washcloth over her stomach, first.

“So… do you think I’m lying when I say I can fuck you all night?”

She smirks, catching his wrist. “But can you all day?” And Drake answers with a kiss, but, they fall asleep minutes later, washcloth soaking the sheets.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Neither are big toy people, they’d rather explore and experience pleasure with their bodies. Jaela does have a vibrator, for when he’s away and she needs something… plus it livens up the videos she sends, or when they Facetime, Jaela just feeling his want and jealousy and desire through the screen.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Drake’s never one to start the teasing, usually. Jaela begins it, and she is merciless with it, especially when they can be caught or called out for nearly eyefucking. However… once she pushes him over the edge, damn can he strike back. And she loves it, begging to be fucked and him, now with the upperhand, drawing out the thing she wants the most until even he can’t resist her, bent before him, skirt pushed up, bodice pushed down, Drake’s hands over hers, keeping her flat against the kitchen table, poised and ready to go. Except…

“Say it.”

“Say what?”

“Oh, you know. You started this, remember,” he growls, his head presses against her, dripping from when he ate her out—but didn’t let her come, not tonight. Not when she pulled that stunt again. He knew how crazy it drove him. Jaela groans, hands curling into fists.

“You’re a fucking tease, you know that?”

“No more than you, Abdi.” His length runs over her clit and she shudders, just wanting him. Even she has her limits.

“Fuck me hard, please. Now.” And he enters her, releasing her wrists and bending to whisper in her ear how much he loves her—and how beautiful she is, the tenderness always breaking through whenever he took control.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

At home, they’re loud, but in the throes of passion, they never speak much, words lost to each other. In public, well, they try to keep quiet. Jaela’s the one to crack first, Drake having to cover her mouth, only to nearly break when her cries are still heard, a vibration against his hand or mouth and shoulder, if she bites it while coming.

Drake moans and groans a lot, but it’s quiet, overall. There’s whispers and profanities said, but for the most part, he loves to listen to her—especially when he’s licking her clit, catching her gaze when he looks up and she looks down, always coming soon after that.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

One day, Jaela decided to return the favor to Drake. At his desk, she straddled his lap, kissing him at first, slow and gentle. Then, she stood. He tilted his head, hand on her hip. Never breaking eye contact, she sunk to her knees under his desk, unzipping his pants and beginning to repay a favor from earlier in the week, at her desk. It was the least she could do, and hell, they were still newlyweds. They couldn’t keep their hands off one another.

The music from his computer only slightly muffled the sounds her and his groans, hand on the back of her head. “Fuck, Abdi, I—” The door opened and they both freeze, him in her mouth.

“Ah, Drake! Ready for the golf range after work?” Fucking Maxwell Beaumont.

“Uh, uh, yeah, sure.”

“You sure? You look a little flushed.”

Drake turned up the music, blasting “Wagon Wheel”, well aware of Abdi below him—and how she started to bob her head and stroke his shaft, her eyes glittering before she began. He gulped, crossing his arms. “No, no, I’m fine, just warm. Is it hot in here or…”

“I love this song!” Maxwell does a little jive, singing along. God, Drake thought, can you just open a hole right now? Please? Fucking PLEASE? What world is he living in where Jaela is happily continuing her blowjob while Maxwell dances in his office at the same time. Suddenly, Jaela sneezes, teeth applying just a little too much pressure—and he likes when she grazes them.

“Fuck!”

“Is that Chance? Come here boy!”

“Maxwell no—”

But he ducks, looking under the desk—the front raised just a few inches, enough to see her heels. Slowly, Maxwell stood up, pale. Only the music plays, So rock me momma like a wagon wheel… Until he leaves without a word.

To the very day, Maxwell can’t look Drake or Jaela in the eye when she wears those heels, and Wagon Wheel forever haunts all… except Jaela. She loves to play it when they’ve been drinking together, horror filling their faces before they scramble to reach for her phone. Except for the day they found a bar with a jukebox.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Drake’s slightly above average, and pleasantly thick. Let’s just say the bluebell dress wasn’t doing Jaela any favors.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

High, but sometimes, they just want to cuddle in bed and talk or read their books until they fall asleep together. So long as they touch each other when they’re together and say I love you, they can be happy. Life gets crazy, so they never have as much sex as they want to, but it’s always made up somehow. Besides, they’re used to waiting… and know how rewarding that can be.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

If they can fall asleep afterwards, and if it wasn’t an all night session, it’ll take about an hour to come down and drift off because they can’t stop talking or caressing each other. If it was all night, or particularly draining, then it’s within 10-15 minutes. Just enough to drink some water, clean up, and cuddle before falling asleep in each others arms… or until Jaela turns away from him, hogging the bed once she’s asleep.

Not that he minds, of course, often waking up to readjust, moonlight falling just right on her face. He’s just lucky to even be woken up by her in the first place, after all.

[rwbyremnants]

WARNING: Angst, Drug use. Non-Freezerburn chapter.

Note: From here on in, there won't be any Freezerburn for quite a few chapters. Don‘t worry, it won‘t be forever, but there will be a lot less of them interacting directly for a while – and there will be other ships instead (we'll try to mention it in the pre-chapter notes though). You have been warned.

=Chapter 22

Ruby Rose was beginning to feel extremely anxious about her sister. It had been almost three full days since the last time they Skyped, and that had mostly been a lot of sobbing and Yang telling her that she couldn't talk, that she had "things to do". There was a lot of apologizing, and self-hatred, but none of it made sense; just a load of gibberish. Since then, she'd only received one text message the day before: 'I'm okay. Sorry to worry everyone.' Short but to the point.

She had just returned from the library with an armload of books, and Penny was out getting some food from the dining hall for both of them. This seemed like as good a time as any to try calling Yang for the hundredth time.

Except this time was not like the last ninety-nine. Because Yang answered. There was a lot of background noise, people chattering and laughing, faint radio music, but it was definitely her sister's voice on the other line. "Hey, Ruby."

"SIS!" Ruby burst out, gripping the edge of her desk and leaning in - as if it would make any difference. "Where have you been - what happened to you?! Weiss has called me a bunch of times, freaking out! I mean, it's cool that's she's calling me, and I still can't get used to that - BUT WHAT'S GOING ON?!"

"Currently? I'm about half an hour from Blake's place." Surrounding Yang was the interior of a rather old diner, filled with quite a few people all being loud and mouthy. She'd been known before to go out for a drive on her bike when she was annoyed or upset, but not this distance. Still, she leant in to the phone herself. "I needed to get away."

"But… why? What's wrong? Weiss said you just picked up and left, and she was really mad one time and really sad the other time, and…" Ruby squirmed. She felt bad, like she was making her sister feel guilty, but she hated being caught between two friends like this, regardless of whether or not one was related to her.

Straight away Yang's hand went into her hair, grasping a good handful and pulling hard as she tried to get her thoughts together. She knew she'd have to hear about Weiss's reaction eventually, but it wasn't any less painful to hear. She could already feel her own tears beginning to well up.

"I know, I know… I bet she hates me, and I'll deserve it. I deserve all you guys ’ hate. But it's way more complicated than that. I had no choice."

"Come on, you know what Dad would say: 'You always have a choice.'”

“Like I could talk to Dad about this,” she sighed wearily. “He did push me to open up, but I don’t… I didn’t know what to say.”

“Sis…" She got up from the desk and carried her phone back over to her bed, laying on her back. She had to adjust her glasses when they tried to slide up onto her forehead. "Just tell me what happened."

Yang's breath had already started to get shaky. She managed to notice a few of the other people in the diner were looking around occasionally, some even pointing and questioning their friends. For someone usually so confident, all Yang wanted to do right now was turn invisible, disappear entirely.

"Winter." She got straight to the point, managing to hide herself in her coat. "Winter happened."

"But… it's still Spring. What are you talking about?"

There wasn't even a faint chuckle. That was how much this had affected her. Everything that made Yang, Yang had seemed to have disappeared, her sense of humor for things being the main one. Instead she just explained further, "Her sister, Winter. Not the season. She found pictures of me from my old Ying Facebook, threatened to out me to the press. I don't care if my reputation gets pulled through the dirt, but it won't be mine on the line if it gets out. It'll be hers."

To Yang's surprise, however, Ruby snorted with laughter. "Oh come on, you're gonna have to do better than that. She can't have a sister named 'Winter', that's dumb."

Sobbing quite clearly down the phone, she stared downward toward the table a moment, trying to keep the tears in. She couldn't cry here I public, not when right now she was still on the news occasionally. Weiss would see it, or worse, Winter would. "God, how I wish it was all a lie and I was making it up, but it's true. She didn't even let me say goodbye, or leave a note. She told me to just take off…"

"You're… you're serious. But Weiss wouldn't do that! She'd never put her reputation above you, not in a million years - that's not the kind of person she is! You know that, don't you?!"

"I know. But Winter is," she emphasized, now simply staring at the mug of coffee that remained on her table, nearly untouched. She hadn't been eating or drinking properly the past few days, unless forced. And this was no different. "I don't care what they think about me, they can call me the T-bomb, a cross dresser, anything under the sun, I don't care. But in the end, it's not gonna be me in the spotlight, it'll be her. The media won't leave her alone if this gets out. And I've done more than enough studying on the subject to find out what happens to celebrities her age that get a story like this all over the media. And it's not pretty."

“Yang...”

She sniffed once more, grasping her hair tightly. "I can't let her risk her entire career for me, her future, a-and maybe even her mental health, just for me. I can't let her do that."

"And you didn't… you don't think Weiss deserves to talk to you about this? I mean…" Ruby wasn't sure what else to say. This was so unlike her sister, to walk away from a situation instead of confronting it head-on. Of course she had Weiss's best interests at heart, but would this really be in her best interests?

"If I have any further contact with her, Winter will release the picture. I can't talk to her about. No matter how much I want to." Pulling at her hair even more, she was beyond caring how much it was starting to hurt. If anything the pain was just a distraction. "Don't you get it? My choice is either risk ruining her life, or look like a piece of shit. I can't win!"

"But you…" She knew she was grasping at straws now, but she couldn't just let her sister believe that the situation was completely hopeless. She couldn't believe it herself; that wasn't allowed. Nobody could put her sister in a situation where she had no choice but to hate herself this way. "There has to be something we can do!"

"I am doing something." Yang finally loosened her grip on her hair, giving herself that relief as she tried to calm her breathing. She'd had plenty of time to think of a plan while she was packing the essentials for Blake's, while she had to keep ignoring the nonstop calls and messages from Weiss that came the first two days. Now, there was just the odd one or two per day, starting to sound more and more defeated with each one. That had spurred on her plan.

"I'm staying away, so she can find someone she deserves. Who she can be happy with. Someone who's not a circus freak."

Ruby sat bolt upright. "Stop it! I c-can't- you know I can't stand it when you say stuff like this, even if it's about yourself, I- you're not a freak! You're my beautiful, strong, awesome sister, anybody would be lucky to have you, even someone as incredible as Weiss, and I… and I'm so mad right now!"

But the blonde just continued to stare outward into nothing. Occasionally she'd catch a stranger's glance again, and end up looking away and hiding herself. Her sister's words meant well, but when she was constantly being watched and pointed out, it didn't help at all. She felt like they were judging her, laughing at her. Like they had the exact same thoughts Winter did. The longer this was going on, the more of her confidence she was losing. The more she was starting to feel like Winter was right – that she was a freak, a sham of a woman. A fake.

And sure enough, she was beginning to sob again, voice high pitched and cracked thanks to the lump in her throat. "J-just… T-tell her I'm safe, I-if she's worried. You can't t-tell her what I told you about Winter though… Please."

The younger girl's voice was hushed when she said, "Don't do that. Don't… make me promise that, Yang - she's really upset. Not just a little, but a lot. Don't make me swear that I can't tell her…" But her voice already sounded dejected. She knew she would make the promise to her sister, and that she would keep it.

"I'm sorry…" Her own voice was just as quiet, just as defeated. "I'm sorry to put this on you, seriously, I am… but I have to protect her. I need to know you'll do that for me."

"Well… I'm not sure this is really protecting her. But I guess I can keep my lips zipped for a little while. As long as I think it’s not gonna hurt more than it helps. Wow, I'm so sorry this is happening, Sis - I thought everything was going so great…"

If anything, that made her sob yet again, finally wiping away the tears from one of her eyes. "It was. God it was, Ruby… That's why it hurts so much to know she's gonna have to hate me. Just don’t have any choice."

At this point Penny had finally made it back to the room, holding two bags full of food for them both from the cafeteria. But upon noticing Ruby was on the phone, she tried to keep herself quiet, only walking over to the desk to prepare each dinner quietly.

"Okay, um…" Ruby's silver eyes darted between her roommate and her phone, and she whispered. "I should go for now, but… listen. You are not a freak, you're not a bad person. And as soon as the semester is over, me and Penny are gonna take you out to Disney, or Knott's Berry Farm or something, okay? Just…" Her breath caught. "I know this'll be hard for a while, but you can get through it - and I can help, if you let me."

Finally, there was a shaky sigh from the other side the line. "I'll give you another call in a few days. Hopefully when I'm less… unstable. But if she asks… I'm safe. That's all she can know."

Penny looked toward her and mouthed "Yang?" , having finished plating up Ruby's pre-prepared meal, handing it over to her. But Ruby didn't take it quite yet. Nodding at her very briefly, she turned back to the screen and said, "I love you, Big Sister. Keep yourself safe or I'll kick your butt."

Then she gave an awkward little wave and disconnected the call. All Yang had managed to do was force a quick smile that didn’t even convince herself before it cut off. After which Penny passed over the plate of food again. Carbonara wasn't exactly doing to be a pick-me-up for something this drastic, but it was a start at least.

"Is she alright?"

"Not even a little." But there was no use in moping; not when she was literally powerless in the situation. Didn't do much to improve her mood as she dug into the food, of course, but it at least kept her from getting any sadder.

The last part of Yang ’ s journey was seen through teary eyes. The phone call was necessary, the final thing she needed to do before she could get on with her so-called plan, but it didn't mean it hurt any less. Now was when reality was beginning to kick her in the gut. The reality that now everything she had was twelve hours and several hundred miles away. Her family, her sister, her lover.

Or now, ex-lover. Yang couldn't see a way out of this anymore. Not when anything she could do would result in her picture being made public. Her career would be destroyed, no doubt her father would have a few things to say, and it would ruin her. Until a time when the world was yet more accepting of people like Yang, or even the possibility their favorite popstar might be gay when she hadn’t already paraded out in a rainbow suit, all she could do was step back, and allow Weiss to live the life she deserved. Without her complications.

The call to Blake wasn't any more fruitful than Ruby's attempts to get in contact. It had been just a quiet voice, asking “ Can I stop over for a few weeks? ” with no further comments as to why. Nor any jokes or witty humor that Blake had gotten used to now that her and her best friend were back in contact. She obliged, but had no clue what to expect when she would finally get there. But thankfully she wouldn't have to wait any longer.

The dark-haired girl smiled at her blonde friend as she made her way toward the townhouse, having parked the bike in a safe enough place. All she had on her was her guitar on her back, and the small trunk-attachment to her bike containing her clothes. She didn't exactly look too happy either, which made Blake step up to be the first to speak. "So… How was the open road? Feel free enough for you?"

But while Yang managed to force herself to chuckle at the comment, it began to descend rather quickly into a disheartened gaze into nothing. And then to teary eyes, then to full on sobbing right on Blake's doorstep.

Instantly, Blake was bending down to wrap her arms around Yang's shoulders. "Hey… hey, girl, don't cry. What's wrong?"

If she wasn't holding the case, she would have hugged straight back. Instead, all she did was nestle her head into Blake's neck, quite literally crying onto her shoulder. And she did so for a good few minutes before she could finally bring herself to speak again. But even that was very few words.

"I-I lost h-her… I-I can't… everything’s- W-We can't…"

"Lost who? Weiss?" Gulping, she looked around the neighborhood nervously and then gripped her old friend's bicep hard as she tried to help pick her up. "Come on, you can tell me about it inside - I'll get you some water."

They managed it eventually. "Here," Blake breathed as she pushed the plastic tumbler full of ice water into her hands. The ice cubes were shaped like stars; apparently, she had a special ice tray and had decided she needed them. "Now… I mean, you're totally welcome to crash in my spare room, but there's no bed in there. Just an old futon."

"That's f-fine…" She wiped away some of the tears with her spare hand, before taking a large gulp of water. The ice cold was a definite comfort to the lump in her throat, and was more than enough to calm her down as well. Downing already half of the cup, she finally placed it down on the coffee table, returning her hands to her knees as she kept staring into nothing.

"I left Weiss… I had to, to protect her. God it's all such a mess…"

Nodding as she sank down into the couch next to her friend, Blake said in a soft, soothing voice, "Yeah, I kinda guessed that. Start at the beginning…"

So Yang did. Blake listened patiently while the whole story about Winter came out, the old pictures and the threats-that-weren't-threats, her sudden flight from the skyscraper where the diva made her home. As they went on, Blake mostly just nodded, though her amber eyes were downcast and sad.

"Wow," she sighed at last, running a hand through her black bangs. "That was a really dick move of her, blackmailing somebody just because she doesn't like that you're dating her sister. What a piece of shit."

"A dick with a point, though…" Yang was still no better off. The tears had stopped at least, but she was still blankly staring outward, unable to give eye contact to even her friend anymore. Deeply sighing, she shrugged her shoulders. "If she can find those pictures so easy, someone who's a professional could, too. It's her or someone else…"

"Um… I hate to play a devil's advocate, but what's to stop them from doing that anyway?" Shrugging, she got up and grabbed a box from the coffee table, pulling it into her lap. It was patterned to look like a stack of old books, but was actually wooden. "You're all over the news still, you and that killer song you two made together. So like… you really think the interest is going to vanish just because you left?"

"Well duh. Of course they could. But if her and I aren't together, them finding out about me isn't going to damage Weiss's reputation, is it? If they did and it's me in the dirt, I don't care. But I can't let Weiss get smeared because of me… I just can't."

The other girl nodded as she opened the box up and began sifting through its contents. Some bits and bobs, a plastic bag. "You're doing better than I would. I'd probably have thrown that Winter jerk out on her ass and let the chips fall where they may, but that's just me."

"As soon as she called me 'sir' I wanted to punch her in the face…" At the thought, Yang's spare hand was clenching into a fist. But when she put the cup back down on the table, it was only then she noticed Blake's box. "What's that?"

"Something important," Blake told her as she opened the bag - and a sharp, earthy aroma filled the room. Taking a pinch of small green flakes from inside, she began stuffing them into the bowl of the pipe in her other hand. "Why didn't you punch her in the face? That sounds a lot more like you than running away, even if you were worried about your girlfriend."

Slapping a hand to her face, she pinched the bridge of her nose as she thought about that, and eventually groaned rather loudly. "I know, I know. But she’s my girlfriend's sister. And my boss's daughter. I'm pretty sure if I'd have been fired if I did punch her."

But within a few seconds, she sniffed the air. What was that? Yang recognized it, and yet she couldn't put her finger on just what…

"That's fair, I guess… well, not fair but it makes sense. About the least 'fair' thing I've heard of in a thousand years." Then she passed the pipe over to Yang, holding aloft a silvery Zippo lighter. No explanation was given, no hesitation; she just expected her to already know.

And then it finally clicked what that scent was. And what Blake was holding towards her face. "Hoooold the fuck up." She pushed the pipe slightly away. "Is this a hash pipe?"

"No, it's a half-pipe," Blake snorted sarcastically. "And I want you to grind it with your skateboard, bro." When Yang still looked between her and the pipe as if they were both independently crazy, Blake rolled her eyes. "Look. You just broke up with Weiss, and you couldn't control that. Wasn't your fault, you didn't do anything wrong - and you still ended up in this huge mess, being the scapegoat for her sister's bigotry. Now, I have some ice cream in the freezer, but all the ice cream in the world won't do you as much good as a few solid puffs of Mary Jane."

Yang continued to look between the pipe and Blake again. She was completely serious about this. She herself had never touched the stuff, only heard of it in passing and knew a couple of colleagues at Junior's used to smoke up. She was pretty sure Junior himself was on something stronger.

Holding the pipe, she chuckled to herself. "Y'know, never in a million years could I have guessed that my ex, who was such a goody two-shoes she'd never even kissed anybody before me, was gonna be teaching me how to get high."

"Oh," Blake said, trying her hardest not to laugh, "You're holding it backward. Here…" Turning the pipe around, she placed it back in her hand and then held up the lighter. "I'll do this part. You put your finger on that hole in the back; that's the carb. You hold that while you pull the first time, to help get the herb lit. Then you take your finger off and inhale more."

"…In English?" she teased. But holding it just as Blake asked, she knew she had the right idea. Once the herb was lit and the smoke was on it's way, Yang looked down toward it, taking a deep breath in…

Which was a huge mistake of course. Straight away, Yang ended up coughing and spluttering terribly, feeling her throat starting to close back up again. In a strained voice she managed to ask; "What the fuck was that?! Jesus Christ!"

This time, Blake couldn't suppress her laughter, and she pounded Yang on the back while her hand held the pipe still so none of the smoldering embers would spill. "That was your first hit! Huzzah!"

“You fu-” She had to break off to do more coughing. “OW! Ugh, couldn’t you have shown me-” More coughing “-how to do it first?”

"Yeah, that's fair, that's fair. Just wanted you to get first crack at it since… I mean, your need is greater than mine right now."

Taking the pipe from Yang, Blake raised it to her lips and pressed her finger against the carb, flicked the lighter again. Yellow flame sparked into life, then was drawn down into the bowl of singed green as Blake pulled in for a moment. Once her index finger slid off the end, the already-red weed glowed yet brighter. Then she lowered the pipe, looked casually over at Yang…

And nothing. Not for several seconds; no smoke came out. Just when Yang opened her mouth to ask what was going on, Blake finally blew out a heavy cloud directly at her. She coughed yet again, right away wafting her hand in front of her face to rid the smoke. But all she got in return was a smug grin from the woman in question. This still completely warped Yang's mind… That she had talked to Blake after all those years, and now she was getting high with her in her apartment. And they were having fun with it!

"Eww!" she laughed, taking the pipe back from her. "Keep your smoke to yourself, you damn filthy stoner."

"No," Blake told her defiantly. Then she bumped their shoulders together with a small smile. "I promise this is going to help you a ton. I mean, you don't have to - I'm not gonna kick you out if you wanna stop here, obviously. Just, I strongly recommend you try one more time first. See if you can get the hang of it - but try to kind of… 'eat' the smoke, almost."

"Eat the smoke… That sounds so weird, but I'll give it a shot."

Bringing it to her lips, she copied exactly as Blake did, letting the small amount of weed begin to burn as she pulled. Then she removed her finger, watching as it burned brightly. She could feel the smoke, only this time, she attempted to do as was recommended, taking in a small amount that bit at a time rather than just straight up inhaling it.

Satisfied, she lowered the pipe from her face and looked upward, blowing her own cloud upward and into the air. It was the strangest thing she had witnessed for a good while…

"Wow, that was a lot better," Blake said, actually impressed. "Then again, you've smoked enough cock by now…" Snorting, she slapped a hand over her face. "Damn, this stuff acts fast - I normally don't start spewing out stuff I really shouldn't for another ten or twenty minutes!"

"I still can't believe that you of all people smoke this stuff. You never even touched a cock before me," she teased right back. But Yang wasn't feeling any different just yet; if anything, just a little depressed. Had she taken enough? Maybe not. Looking back at the pipe again, she asked, "Can I go again? Or is this a one-shot thing?"

"Hey, go for it," Blake said with a shrug, laying the box of paraphernalia aside for the moment. "Any other day, I'd give you hell for bogarting the pipe, but like I said, this is all you this time. You need this."

"This is just all so new, it's still screwing with my head…" She kept talking about the pipe rather than anything else. Thinking about things may just make them worse if she kept going, and this was Blake's offer to try and help her get better. Taking another hit of the weed, she breathed out the smoke into the air again.

It was only now she was starting to feel the contented buzzing… and a slight numbness in her head. Like something had been opened up. It was a weird way to describe it, but it fit perfectly. Blake wasn't wrong.

Taking the pipe from Yang, Blake hesitated with her both of their hands still on it, eyes narrowed at her old friend. "Ohhhh yeah. You're feelin' it now, I can see it." Grinning mischievously, she raised it to take her own hit, then hesitated to say, "And I mean, I'm sorry if I seemed pushy about it before, but maybe now you're starting to get why."

Sitting right back on the sofa, she stared outward for no reason. She nodded to show she had paid attention to her, but was somewhat out of the conversation entirely. That was until she asked, "So was this your version of Break-up Ice Cream back in the day?"

"Huh?" Blake breathed out along with another plume of herb, lips pursing very slightly toward the end. Then she turned and asked again. "Back in what day?"

"Back when I… Ah crap." She cringed, closing her eyes tightly as she looked to one side. Was this how she was going to get over things? By going over and asking awkward questions about her other relationship. But when she seemed not to mind, she asked, "When it was me?"

That made Blake nod. She looked very slightly less comfortable with the conversation, but perhaps because of the chemicals now in her system, setting off reactions in her brain, it was a barely-perceptible difference.

"Nah. Back then it really was ice cream, and maybe a few appletinis at Junior's. I didn't pick up this habit until a year or so later. Some girl named Coco I worked with was always trying to get me to party with her, and I put her off, and put her off, and put her off…" Realizing she was starting to ramble, she giggled. "Buuuut not forever. Eventually I tried it, and it was just… freeing. Easy, and nice. Helped the troubles melt away, helped me relax."

"I can see the appeal. I mean, I just went for a shit tonne of booze but now that I think about it, that's really expensive…" She was beginning to ramble herself. Two hits were enough of the weed for the time being. It was enough to make her feel numb, but open her mind when thinking of what to say. And one thought…

"Wait, Coco… Tall girl? Never takes off her sunglasses or beret?"

"Yeah, that's her," Blake answered offhandedly, breathing out another hit of smoke; this time, she managed to make a tiny ring that slowly made its way up toward the ceiling. "And this shit can be expensive, too, but my guy has pretty fair prices. Nothing like what you'd see out in Colorado, though…"

"Maybe we should road trip there…" Although she was impressed by the ring that faded on the ceiling itself, she was clearly thinking herself, until she raised her hand up to snap her fingers. "Okay, I just remembered! That Coco girl was that girl I fucked… Like way back in school at a party I wasn't supposed to be at. Small world."

Blake was staring over at her with wide eyes, hand raised to pass the pipe back to her again. "You are shitting me. Yang, you are totally shitting me right now - you banged Coco?! That sassy asshole?!"

She stared at it a moment, debating whether or not to take another hit. But in the end she did, accepting it from her hands for a moment and getting it ready. But she continued first, "Dude I was, like, fifteen? She was a little older. I was a hormone-driven little virgin and we were both drunk as fuck. Put us in a room together and of course we'll end up banging each other's brains out."

"Well, I can tell you from experience that she was the lucky one in that equation," Blake laughed as she watched Yang took another long pull from the pipe, still full of disbelief. "You're a much better kisser - and I mean, we remember how the rest of it went."

Blowing it the smoke again, and attempting to make a ring just like Blake did, yet failing miserably, she looked back over, still holding the pipe to herself for a small while longer. She certainly did know the rest. With her mind buzzing as much as it was, she found herself grinning as she remembered the moments together. Even the sappy stuff. "I liked how you'd kiss me on the neck to try and get me in the mood, but then act completely innocent about it… Please tell me you do that to Sun, because he'll love it."

"Oh, God!" she laughed, mortified and covering her face with both hands. "Stooop! I was such a little dumbass…" Then she lowered them and pointed at Yang as she said, "What about you, with your smooth 'I'll act like I'm stretching so I can put my arm around you in the movie theater' routine?!"

But Yang only continued to smirk, and eventually gazed right back at Blake, raising her eyebrow. "What about that time in the movie theatre?"

Now Blake was squirming a lot more, cheeks reddening both from laughter and from that memory. "See? Even back when we were dating, you had way better moves than Coco - even if they were a little… primitive. And she kisses like she's a dog trying to lick a fire hydrant."

"Dude, dude dude dude; you banged Coco, too?!" Yang assumed, finally passing the pipe back over to her again. "I mean I get she gave you this stuff but wow."

"Wh-WHAT?! Oh shit, I said that, didn't I? Or not said it, but…" Thoroughly embarrassed, Blake had to sit still with the pipe for several minutes before she was able to continue.

"Yeah… I made out with her a few times, some heavy petting. We didn't really… um…" Her hand gestured a little too widely to be normal. "We weren't like you and me were, it was just when we were really stoned and feelin' it, but yeah. Kinda." Then she leaned very, very close and whispered, "I didn't lose my virginity to her like you did, though! Man… I mean, was she good? At that, not kissing; we know she's not great at kissing. She got better toward the end though."

"Nah you only lost your virginity to me." Ending up leaning right back into the sofa, and slightly into Blake as well. She wasn't lying about taking a few hits to unwind completely, all she wanted to do was giggle and/or sleep. But she didn't, she answered Blake's question after a bit of thought. "It was… embarrassing? We ’ re talking eight-ish years ago, though… I couldn't make her finish, she had to do it herself while I made out with her. Or more, while I got a dementor's kiss."

"DEMENTOR'S-" Now Blake laughed so hard that a few tiny bits of weed jumped from the pipe onto the floor, despite her best efforts. "Shit! That's- ffffuuuuuckkkk!!!!"

Yang was too giddy and giggly to care, and simply leant against Blake even more. "She was okay up till then, but like, how does someone think sucking out your soul is a way to kiss? I've had better kisses when Zwei licked my face!"

"Right?!" When she looked down at the pipe, she noticed most of the herb was ash, so she managed to push herself to her feet. "Whoa…" Wobbling, she glanced over her shoulder and said, "Be right back," and headed for the bathroom, carrying the pipe with her.

While Blake had left her on her own, Yang kept sinking further and further back into the sofa, only now taking the opportunity to rest her arms across the back of it. She was tempted to do it while Blake was sat with her by habit, but stopped as soon as she mentioned it was an old tactic of hers.

Not that those thoughts of Blake were back. That ship had sailed, which was a firm belief even when she was high as a kite. But some cuddling and giggling wouldn't hurt, not after the miserable half week she had just endured.

By the time Blake got back, she was tilting her head and staring toward the ceiling, clearly deep in thought about something. "Ready for round two?" Blake was sighing as sat, reaching for the box. As she did, she caught sight of the look on Yang's face and said, "Or… are we? You okay over there?"

Still staring up at the ceiling, Yang tilted her head in Blake's general direction. At least to let her know she was talking to her. "If Plastic is made from dead dinosaurs… And dildos are made from plastic… does that mean I've been fucked by a dinosaur, or that Weiss fucked me with a dinosaur?"

Of course, Blake dropped the Zippo in surprise at the bold statement. "Whoa, whoa, WHOA, she what?!" Then she laughed slightly as she retrieved it from the floor. "Woooow, girl, you guys were deep in it if she was willing to buy dildos! I mean, especially when they have to go where yours go."

"Oh it was pretty deep alright. In both ways if you know what I mean… eh??" She was back to giggling again, face creasing up as she tried to stop herself from having another giggle fit. Although upon noticing Blake was going for more of the weed, she started to smile. "Remind me to get some of that one day, this shit's good."

"I'll hook you up before you leave, if you want." Packing the bowl a second time, Blake cleared her throat and asked, "I mean… I knew you said you took it in the ass when you were with guys. Kinda figured that. But I guess I wasn't expecting you to keep doing that if you're with… you know. A vagina-having girl." Then she flashed a sheepish grin over at her old friend. "Sorry if I said that in a dumb way."

"You're fiiiiiine." There was emphasis on that part as she finally looked back toward her again, eyes half closed in her happy daze. "I was surprised too. There I was showing her a nice hanfu I bought, then next minute there's a biiiig blue strap-on in my face."

"STRAP-ON!" Blake was literally gaping at her, jaw almost to the floor. "Wow, you guys- that pop princess actually…" Then her brow wrinkled. "What's a 'hanpoo'?"

Now Yang was in her giggling fit however, face creasing up yet again as she wore a ridiculous grin on her face. Blake now knew that a popstar who was once famous for her Christianity was apparently quite the freak in the bedroom. And that wasn't even the half of it. Though the pronunciation of the dress also didn't help her giggling. "It's 'Hanfu', it's like a nice dress. Something we wear at formal occasions."

"Something trans people wear at formal occasions? Why did I not know about this?" Finally finished packing the bowl, she raised it to her lips as she asked, "Does Laverne have one?"

Laughing yet again, she sat herself upright so she could be ready to take it after Blake. "You dumb fuck, try the other minority I am. Y'know, the Chinese side?"

Blinking, Blake sat there for a few seconds as she processed that information. "Ohhhh." Then she smiled over at Yang. "You were always kinda… resistant to your heritage. Didn't care much. That's great for you if you're embracing it more, like… yeah, man. Be all the parts of who you are, and stuff."

"Was more to shut dad up and sate Weiss's curiosity. Though it did look really nice I think…" Then gradually her smile was slipping. Still dazed, but slipping. "She's got the pictures though… I'll have to show you another time…"

Blake didn't notice at first; she was too busy hitting the pipe. Then she looked over as she blew out the smoke and saw Yang backsliding into melancholy. She looked at her for a minute, contemplating. This could get a lot worse if things kept going in that direction.

"Hey, wanna try something fun?" she said with a wicked glee.

Blinking a couple of times, she looked back around to her, tilting her head. That was a smile she recognized… But couldn't remember why. But she was too dazed to care. "Fuck it, whatever it is, go for it."

Still grinning and trying not to giggle, Blake took another huge drag on the pipe, sucking in far more smoke than was usual. Then she motioned for Yang to lean closer, turning in her direction with tiny wisps spilling from the corners of her mouth. Looking toward the smoke coming out of her mouth, she wondered just what she was up to. She had suspicions, but was too stoned to care.

Her suspicions were well-founded. The hand holding the lighter pulled down on Yang's chin just enough to open her mouth, then leaned in and pressed their lips together - but instead of kissing her, she started blowing the smoke hard and fast into Yang's mouth. And without warning, Yang was breathing it in. Thankfully she wasn't so unprepared she was coughing and spluttering like the first hit, but she never expected to be locked lips with Blake again. But again, she was too stoned to care about drawing back straight away.

Eventually she did however, and breathed the smoke out toward their side, ending up staring into the dilated pupils of her 'tutor'.

"…Well."

"Huzzah, Yang Xiao Long - you have just been shotgunned." Blake was smiling a secret smile, one Yang would remember all too well. A smile that displayed opportunities to her. But she didn't do anything else, didn't move in again; she just held up the pipe and lighter for Yang to take next.

Yang looked back down at it a moment, and then back toward her. Once again, the smile was beginning to come back. Tonight, Yang was going to forget everything for a while. Forget that she was still upset about what happened with Winter, forget the boundary she had set herself of 'never going back'. She was going to be selfish.

Taking the pipe, she copied just what Blake did, taking a deep breath in and holding it in her mouth. And then she took Blake's lips, breathing it out into her mouth just as she did for her. That was the first step, but she sensed there was more to come. This time, Blake also drew back to breathe the smoke out… but only an inch or two. They were too close, too intimate for just smoking buddies.

"This is… good stuff," she whispered, licking her lips. Yang's had been on them a second ago, warm and soft.

Even if she was still holding the pipe upright, Yang waited until both of them were finished exhaling the smoke, before she acted on her selfish instinct. In four years, she never forgot that smile, or what it meant. It was one of those things she knew by heart. Their lips met, and she was kneading against them slowly and intimately. At times she bit her lips, others she was lightly gasping for breath. Everything about it was needy, like she'd been deprived of it for years.

There was a surprised "Mmmhh!!" from the brunette when Yang changed the game, but she didn't resist, didn't pull away or stop her. After the first few seconds, her body began to respond, lips smashing back with as much passion and desire, hands coming up to wrest on Yang's sides instead of taking the pipe and lighter back. The familiar feeling of their mouths entwined gave way to tongues seeking out each other in record time, and quiet sighs of contentment came out through her nose here and there.

Memories were starting to push out the more recent ones. She remembered what Blake liked after all this time, memories brought back by her own 'style' of kissing. She brushed her tongue against the side of Blake's on occasion, still sometimes breaking to gasp and sigh in contentment. 'God I missed this,' she thought to herself, expression loosening from its melancholy to that of relaxation. A breath of cannabis was one thing to calm her down, but the breath of Blake was another altogether.

All the while, she tried to keep a hold of the lighter and the pipe, but that was getting increasingly difficult. After some time, Blake seemed to realize that the pipe was still in play. She drew back with a needy moan of regret and took them away from Yang, raising her pipe to her mouth without another word.

But her eyes… they stayed on Yang this time. It was as if she couldn't look away from her anymore. Didn't want to.

Just as Yang did with her. Maybe it wasn't in the same loving way she would have done those years ago, but it was still a need. A selfish need to try and pick herself up, and have what she wanted. Screw what anyone else thought, she was going to make out with Blake. And she was going to like it. No one could stop them, not even…

"Oh, fuck…" The dazed eyes closed shut tightly for a moment as she cringed. She never moved away, but the passing thought couldn't go unannounced. "Your boyfriend… Sun…"

"Right… RIGHT!" Blake set the pipe and lighter down on the coffee table very carefully with shaking hands, then turned to gape at Yang. "Shit, I was just chilling with you and totally forgot… that might be a thing, right? Oh man…" Running a hand through her hair, she flopped back against the couch. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done this… I mean, shotgunning you, turning it into something else. Too far, and you just got here and everything!"

Yang ran her own hands over her face and dragged them downwards, pulling her lower eyelids with them a moment. Why did that thought have to come up now? When she was so stoned off her ass she couldn't think straight! Even if she wasn't panicking, which would have been a very Yang thing to do given the situation, she groaned outward.

"No, it's my fault," she began, looking down at the pipe again. "I shoulda just asked for ice cream as soon as I got in, or shoved you away… Awh fuck, I've ruined everything again…"

"Nah, dude," Blake soothed her as she petted along her glorious blonde hair. "You're fine, it's not…" Clearing her throat, she pulled Yang in and hugged her tightly. "You didn't do anything wrong. I got you stoned, and I'm the one used to handling my high. I was trying too hard to cheer you up and not thinking about how I was doing it, so… I'm really sorry, okay?"

Looking downwards toward the floor, she said nothing. Not agreeing, not disagreeing. They were both to blame, deep down Yang knew it. But with all of the self-hatred she was still feeling from the past few days, she couldn't believe it. She could only put the blame on herself.

And the flood of memories started to come back, as did the crashing reality of what she had done. She kissed someone else. Her ex. Her ex who was in another relationship, while she still was trying to get over hers. Even if she had to leave, it still felt like cheating. Cheating on the woman she loved with her best friend. And that crashing reality had bought the tears back into her eyes, and made her fall forward against her own knees, putting her face against them as she cried loudly once again.

"Fuck," Blake breathed, clutching at Yang's back all the more tightly. "God am I an idiot… don't cry, Yang, I d-didn't mean to make it worse…" But Blake was already crying herself, from the mere fact that Yang was. "I was g-gonna get us ice cream next… I'll get you some if you stop, okay? Damn it…"

"I-I just… ruined your relationship too…" she sobbed, but instinctively leant into her warm hug. Even if it felt like the worst thing she could do, she was still so desperate for intimacy she did it anyway, nuzzling against her. "Why do I ruin everyone's lives?! What did I d-do to deserve this?!"

Blake pulled back to gaze into her face, one hand gripping her neck hard. "You're not ruining anything! This is just a… weird thing, we're old friends who are really high right now! I don't care, Sun won't care - it's not gonna be a big deal, I promise."

She didn't make eye contact, or at least she tried not to. All she did was continue to let the tears fall. Maybe the more recent events were salvageable, but she felt there was something that wasn't. "But I ruined everything with Weiss now…"

“ Shush with that, ” she told Yang, kissing her cheek gently. Like she was made of glass. “ You did the best you could with a horrible situation … I don ’ t know if I could even have done as well as you. Seriously, God, I would have clawed her eyes out if that was me! ”

Looking downward into the ground, Yang couldn't think of anything else to say about it. She did all she could, or, all she could without making things violent. Maybe that would be the better option. Or…

"Maybe she's right…" Yang said quietly. "She was young and never had even a kiss before me… Maybe I did take advantage without thinking about it…"

"Don't go down that road. I went there after we broke up and it didn't get me anywhere." Then she cringed. "Damn, shouldn't have said that; I'm not trying to make this about me. But yeah, I felt guilty about all kinds of shit, and blamed you sometimes, and I mean… what was the point? When it comes down to it, we would have torn each other apart if we stayed together back then, so it was just the best for everybody involved. Not that my brain was ready to admit that right away."

Sniffing again, Yang's sobs were starting to die down. It was only tears that continued to fall. "But this is different…" she began, hunching her shoulders. "We both had personal problems back then. I was discovering myself and you were still really anxious about people in general. Me and Weiss?" She was starting to ramble. But again, she was too stoned to care. Even if it was getting personal.

"I'm more or less done with my growing. But she… she has so much further to go. She hates her own body, hated it to the point she nearly cried when I first saw… all of her. And she's insecure of how people will judge her… How her father will judge her. A girl that's been repressed so long and I was the only one that treated her like a person… Of course she'd have felt things for me! But I should have held mine back, been a good enough person to let her grow more rather than take advantage…"

Tears were still spilling down Blake's cheeks from before, and Yang's tale didn't help anything. "You're such a good person… even though you were just trying to do what you thought was best, you still beat yourself up like this…" Her hand came up and began caressing Yang's face, thumb smoothing over her eye and nose on accident in her altered mental state. "You didn't take advantage of Weiss, okay? She's an adult, you're an adult, you were adulting together. It's just… one of those things."

Things had died down. Now she was just back to the same state she had been for the past few days. At least, now with the addition of being completely relaxed thanks to the weed. That was one plus side at least. After a moment of staying in Blake's grip, she sighed.

"Maybe I should think about this more when I'm not high as a kite."

"Maybe," Blake said with a shrug. "But I mean, sometimes being high helps me think shit through. Gives me a new perspective." She smiled cautiously as she added, "And I'm not going anywhere either way, you got that?"

Thinking on that for a moment, she backed herself up and out of Blake's grip. Only so she could lean forward and rest her head against her shoulder instead. It wasn't exactly anything like a hug or a cuddle, but it was all she had the energy to do, and the only way she could show Blake she was grateful. All that followed was a small whisper.

"Thank you."

[fluffyllamas-23]

Day 5: Insomnia - Keith

This is set at the beginning of season 3.  I don’t think there are any spoilers, but just a warning. Also, I’m really not sure of the timeline of events, so I’m making it up

I really like this one, I was getting so emotional writing the beginning, omg

Keith finds himself wandering the castle at three fifteen in the morning again.  Again.  

It’s going on four months since Shiro went missing, two months since Keith took over Shiro’s position, and he doesn’t sleep anymore. He tries, he really does - he’s exhausted and run down, and knows he needs sleep, but he just can’t.

Not when Shiro is missing and everyone expects him to be the leader.  He’s not cut out for it.  Shiro is the leader.  Shiro has this...innate sense for leadership.  He’s born for the role, not Keith.  Keith is a fuck up.  Keith screws up everything he touches.  Keith drives people away.  That’s why he tries so hard to keep everyone at a distance.

Shiro disappearing is just a stark reminder that everyone leaves.  Everyone leaves, and he can’t let himself get close to anybody else, because he looks up to Shiro so much and now he’s just so broken because his favorite person in existence is gone. No matter how much Keith tries, he can’t find Shiro.

Each time he lies down, he feels his body twitch with desperation and anxiety. Shiro’s face is behind his eyelids and in his dreams, and while it should be a comfort, all it does is make the hurt run deeper.  His chest has been aching and there’s been a lump in his throat since the moment they realized he wasn’t in his pilot’s chair, and Keith doesn’t know if he can take it anymore.

He needs Shiro back, he needs it like he needs air, because he’s a mess.  He’s okay when he’s with people, but the moment he’s alone, that’s when the gravity of the situation weighs on his shoulders. It’s too much.  It’s too much, and Keith isn’t sure how much longer he can handle it.  

He cries every night, to his dismay - he really hates crying.   

At this point, he’s gone two months without sleeping more than an hour or two a night and he feels dead on his feet.

Keith isn’t paying attention to where he’s going until he finds himself standing at Hunk’s door.  

He blinks heavily, swaying on his feet.

God, he’s tired.  

His body is screaming at him to rest, but he can’t.  

Hunk is suddenly in front of him. “Keith?”

“Oh, hey,” Keith says, shooting Hunk a very tired, worn out smile.

“What are you...it’s three thirty...why are you awake?”

“I...um...I couldn’t sleep,” Keith whispers, “did I wake you?”

“Yeah, but it’s-”

Keith’s eyes fills with tears, “I’m sorry.”

“No! No, no, it’s fine, I’m thirsty anyways,” Hunk lies quickly when he sees Keith’s face crumple.  “Since you’re up, come with me?”

Keith swipes at his cheeks, “yeah, okay.”

Hunk knows that Keith isn’t sleeping...everyone knows Keith isn’t sleeping, and they’re all worried.  Nobody's quite sure how to broach the subject though, because the lack of sleep is making him snappy.  

Hunk takes a moment to study Keith’s face, which he can just barely see in the dim lighting.

Keith’s eyes are bloodshot and glassy, and beneath them are bags and deep purple bruises.  His face is void of any color, and Hunk pieces everything together.  

He’s sleep deprived, yes, and that accounts for a lot of his behavior recently. It can’t, however, fully be to blame for how slow and clumsy his movements have been, or how much he’s been struggling to process conversations.  Keith is low energy, and has been sounding increasingly run down, and Hunk finally realizes that Keith is definitely coming down with something.  

“Sit down,” Hunk instructs, pointing to one of the chairs at the counter. “Want anything?”

“Water?” Keith croaks out, grimacing at how dry his throat suddenly feels.

Hunk nods slowly, watching as Keith crosses his arms and sinks lower in his chair.  His eyelids droop, and he nods off briefly, but jerks awake a moment later when his head drops forward.

“Here,” Hunk says, placing a glass of water in front of him.

Keith stares at it for a full minute, blinking slowly before he shakes his head and looks at Hunk.  “Thank you.”

“Are you ready to go back to bed?”

Keith shrugs, “I think I’m up for the rest of the day.”

Hunk chews on his bottom lip, “How about we watch a movie, then?”

Maybe a movie will lull him to sleep.  

“Yeah...that sounds good,” Keith nods.  He sniffles and rubs at his nose that’s suddenly doing an impressive imitation of a faucet.

*

It’s six am, and Hunk’s plan didn’t work.  

Keith keeps nodding off, and is slumped against Hunk’s side. Each time Hunk thinks he’s asleep, Keith jerks awake not long after.  

Initially, Keith was on the opposite end of the couch, but as he began to feel worse and worse, he inched closer and closer to Hunk until he’s pressed into his side.

Hunk’s wracking his brain to think of ways that will get Keith to stay asleep, because Keith really needs to get a decent night’s sleep.

Keith curls into himself as he goes into another chesty coughing fit. He shivers, and Hunk reaches for the blanket that’s draped on the back of the couch. As soon as the blanket is on him, Keith tries getting warmer and presses himself closer to Hunk.

“Are you alright?” Hunk asks.  He brushes his fingertips across Keith’s forehead and grimaces as Keith’s skin burns beneath his touch.

“M’tired.”

“I know...you have a fever.”

Keith is silent and then offers a weak, “Oh.”

He sits up, but he’s suddenly so exhausted that he can’t hold himself upright, and he drops down onto Hunk.  Keith grips his shirt tightly, eyes filling with tears.

“I don’t...I don’t feel good, Hunk.”

“Yeah?” Hunk frowns, “I didn’t think so.  Is there anything specific that’s bothering you?”

“I-I...I j-just...I d-don’t f-feel well,” Keith whimpers, sniffling miserably.

His entire body is aching and heavy, which Keith isn’t sure if it’s because he’s running a fever, or if it’s from sheer exhaustion. Everything hurts - head, throat, muscles; his sinuses are throbbing, and he can feel the congestion rattling around in his lungs with each inhale.   He needs to sleep.

“You want me to see if there’s anything that’ll help you sleep?”

“I have to find Shiro,” Keith mumbles, his tone verging on desperation.

“What does that have to do with sleeping?”

There’s a beat, and then, “If I sleep...I won’t be able to find him.”

“Keith, you can’t find him like this.”

“I know,” he moans, bursting into tears, “I’m useless.  I’ll never be a good leader, I can’t even find Shiro, why would black pick me?”

“Keith,” Hunk breathes, wrapping his arms around his feverish, emotional teammate. “Black picked you because you’re going to make a great leader, you’ve just gotta have a little faith in yourself.”

Keith says nothing, his face buried in Hunk’s chest. “But is that why you haven’t been sleeping? You think sleeping will stop you from finding Shiro?”

He stops crying after a few minutes and tightens his grip on Hunk’s shirt. “I try to sleep...but I can’t. Everytime I close my eyes, I see him.  And then I do fall asleep, and I have nightmares about him...I’m so tired...I just want to sleep.”

Hunk thinks for a few moments, “I’ll be right back.  I’m going to go get you something that will help with that.”

Hunk is gone and back before Keith is able to process their conversation.

“What’s that?” Keith frowns when Hunk hands him two small pills.

“Sedative,” He says. Keith shakes his head, the movement jerky and uncoordinated and it makes his head spin.  “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t...I can’t sleep,” Keith says in a small voice and grips Hunk’s shirt again. “What if something happens? I’m the leader...I have...I have to be alert.”

Hunk smiles softly, “You’re not going to be alert if you don’t get some rest.”

“But what if something happens?”

“Nothing will happen, and if it does, I’ll handle it.  You just need to sleep.”

Two minutes after Keith takes the pills, Hunk feels his grip on his shirt loosen. Keith’s hand falls limply to his side as he finally falls into a deep, dreamless sleep.

[allenmendezsr]

The Pleasure Of Reuniting (get Your Ex Back

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The Pleasure Of Reuniting (get Your Ex Back

 Buy Now

    WARNING! Just about anything you’re thinking of doing to get your ex back is probably all wrong and will ruin your chance forever…

I’ll hold your hand step-by-step and show you exactly how to quickly and easily get your ex lover back into your arms before it’s too late…

“We Need To Talk” THUMP!…out of nowhere those four little words brought Dan’s world tumbling down and his heart started to race with sheer panic. He had a feeling something was wrong but NOT this.

And before Dan could get a word in Cindy started in with “I need space right now, it’s not you it’s me. I just want some time apart from you”. Dan could hardly believe what was happening…Cindy started to explain how unappreciated she felt and how it’s not my fault I don’t love you anymore.

BUT WAIT…BUT WAIT I CAN CHANGE! Stammered Dan as Cindy bolted out the door with her purse, keys and cell phone in hand. It was OVER…and the final straw for Cindy when Dan came in with friends to watch the final football game of the season and ignored her for the last time.

Dan begged and pleaded with Cindy desperately sending dozens of text messages to give him another chance but it was useless and drove her away for good…Dan had no idea how to start over and have Cindy back in his arms.

Like the end of so many relationships this was THE END of Dan and Cindy…

What if it did NOT have to end this way?

What if you could get your ex lover back even for the worst mistakes?…Start over from scratch?…Get back their love and trust?…Recapture their heart? Even if your situation seems so screwed up and hopeless it would take a miracle?

Right here in this letter I want to show you what the very FIRST thing Dan could have done to avoid a broken heart but first let me say…

I know you’re probably going through an overwhelming amount of pain and sadness especially if you are the only one trying to get back together right now. How would I know? Because I’ve been down the same road before and know how you feel and it can be an earth shattering experience.

But there really is no sense to go on and on about the pain you’re feeling right now because just like you I understand the feelings of suffering and loneliness all too well.

You’ve already experience how difficult it is to simply go about your daily life let alone going to work, school or any other type of activity without thinking about her… You probably have already experienced a loss of appetite and sleep because of him. One though leads to another and is a painful reminder and it feels you have no control over thinking about your ex lover.

Here’s good news if you’re in pain, don’t know what to do and are running around in circles…

Do you realize broken up couples reunite all the time? You might find it hard to believe that even in the worst breakup situations like…cheating, loss of interest, jealousy, loss of passion and worst than you can imagine…getting back together with compulsive liars and even an abusive relationship, people get back together and are able to save their relationship.   

Your Situation Is NOT Hopeless…

I’m sure you can think of a few breakups that have patched things up…In some situations you might have had total disbelief that things worked out.

I know how you feel…I felt the same way…

Let me ask you this…

Do you know or have you heard of anyone who has gotten their ex back?

Can you remember why they broke up in the first place?

Just think back for a moment…Against ALL odds…

I bet you know of at least one guy or girl that has taken back their lover after cheating or even worse mental or physical abuse…regardless of their situation and what kind of relationship they were in. Couples have been able to get back with their ex that SHOULD NEVER have been able to patch things up.

If history has taught us anything it’s that guys have taken girls back and girls have taken guys back since the begging of time. Couples get back together ALL the time EVERYDAY…

I’m not saying you should get back together with a mentally or physically abusive person because there are some really dangerous relationships that are better off ending. I’m just showing you that just about ANY SITUATION can be mended…

Couples get back together ALL THE TIME…No matter how HOPELESS the situation might be!

And guess what? There is no reason you can’t get back with your ex lover and have passion in your life no matter how bad you think things are right now.

Have you ever wondered if there was some insider strategy, or maybe even some kind of secret to wooing back your lost love others have used in the worse possible situations?  

Now…I’m not implying these people used some strange weirdo voodoo tactics and put spells on their ex lovers to get them back in their arms.

In most ALL cases they STUMBLED upon the exact methods and exactly how to do the proper things at the proper time to capture their lover’s heart back without even knowing what they were doing and by sheer luck.

Again…let me make this very clear to you…they STUMBLED upon this primarily by sheer luck and had ABSOLUTELY no idea of the reasons why they worked!

Think of the possibilities…

Knowing how they did what they did…exactly what they said and when they said it and how to put it into action would be a shortcut to start over in your relationship with excitement, passion, love and to eliminating past hurts and regrets.

Imagine…A PROVEN shortcut to get your ex blissfully running back to you with open arms…

The point being…There is a PROVEN shortcut that has worked time and time again to get an ex lover back and to AVOID the foolish pitfalls other people make.

You see these exact methods that a few people were fortunate to stumble upon can be applied with precise accuracy every time.

And here’s the kicker…

I know what you’re probably thinking to yourself right now.

I’d be skeptical with disbelief too and be asking…

What if it’s too late? How do I know what worked for others will work for my situation? Just try to relax for a moment and take a deep breath…

I’m going to show you a field-tested, proven method that goes into your ex lovers deepest desires, interests and needs so just bare with me okay?

I want to show you some secrets that will change your situation and life forever. I know exactly what you are going through. I’ve dealt with several breakups that were downright brutal and know deep down inside how it feels to be hopeless and unloved.

Are you dealing with any of these symptoms?

Feeling sick to your stomach

Loosing sleep

The loss of your appetite

Endlessly checking you voice mail and email

Missing work or school

Trying to just make it though another day

Feelings of deep depression and lack of joy in your life

Searching for reasons why things did not work out

Trying to figure out why they left you

Constantly wanting to text your ex (mindless texting)

Wanting to call your ex to feel better

Staying at home in hopes they will call you back

Rehearsing what you’ll say if you see them in public

Wondering if they have another lover

Feeling like you want to spy and see what they are doing

Obsessing they will find someone else

Feeling sad while thinking of things you used to do together

Almost ALL breakups can be devastating and overwhelming to deal with. And in most situations when you get in touch with them things get worse by the minute.

Sheer desperation and panic sets in and before you know you’re saying things you regret driving you ex even further away because you have no idea of what you SHOULD be doing.

Are you making these common deadly mistakes that are killing any chance to get back together?

Trying to convince them you will change and things will be different this time?

Trying profusely to show them they are the love of your life?

Desperately trying to beg and plead so your ex will take you back?

Being extra nice telling them over and over again you love them?

Buying gifts like flowers and chocolates or anything of that nature?

Saying we are sorry for what happened over and over?

Trying to make your ex feel bad by being depressed in hopes they will take you back?

Trying to argue with reason and logic it’s not our fault to persuade your ex to come back?

  STOP: You Need To Think About Something For A Moment…

Without knowing it, doing any of these things will just push your ex even further away. Doing any of these things will actually have the total opposite effect and completely be counter productive…

And as good as your intentions might be, before you know it they will find someone else that’s NOT so needy and pushy…It’s only a matter of time if you keep doing these destructive counter intuitive things.

It sucks seeing or to imagine your ex with someone else right?

You still have time and a small window of opportunity to get on the right track to doing things that will get your ex back…It’s NOT your fault for doing these things. We think this is the best approach and nobody ever told us this is the worse possible way to get your lover back. 

You will soon discover what you need to start doing right now to get your ex back into your life…and what you need to STOP doing right now…

“J Tee” Stumbles Upon PROVEN Methods To Get Your Ex Back After Being Dumped Like Yesterdays Trash…

My name is J. T. Straton, kinda strange I know…it started way back in high school…you can simply call me “J Tee”…I need to confess right here I’m not a doctor, psychologists or one of those relationship gurus you here about on T.V. 

I’m just an ordinary guy who stumbled upon the core secrets to get a lover back into your arms again…Needless to say…those over educated types with degrees get angry with me and I’ll tell you why in a moment…   After being dumped like yesterdays trash several times with my heart shattered into tiny pieces and finally a divorce that drove me to drinking…

Frankly, I Was Scared Out Of My Mind And Never Wanted To Feel Lonely And Desperate Again…

Somehow after several painful years of breakups and being driven to my knees… I gathered up the courage to pull myself together to get my head on straight once and for all.

It was at that point I decided to research, study and consume everything I could on relationships and how others saved their relationships in worse case situations.

I knew there was some kind of simple method that could be applied with precise accuracy if I could just dig deep enough it would be exposed.

After royally screwing up my last relationship with someone I really loved with ALL my heart I experimented with a couple techniques I found to see if I could get her back.

In a nutshell, one strategy worked better than I could have ever imagined and we are still together today enjoying an exciting, passionate, and loving relationship…

But there was always this little voice in the back of my head saying

“Maybe You Just Got Lucky”

Who knows? Maybe it was a fluke right? It’s possible.

So here’s what happened next. When I originally focused on getting my ex back I had no idea what I was doing. I was obsessed with learning everything I could digest without even realizing friends were coming to me for advice. 

Then it hit me like a ton of bricks… I became very good at helping others reunite with their lovers over the years. I could go on and on, and ON. The simple truth is their relationships were hanging by a thread and on the brink of total disaster.

I became the “go to guy” for my friends and family when they had any type of problems with their relationships.  I showed them ways to have their ex take notice and realize they can’t take them for granted anymore while making their ex desperately wanting to take them back 

WARNING: These Methods Are Unconventional!

I’ve got to make something very clear to you right now before we go any further and give you a STRONG WARNING…My secrets, methods and strategies are really unconventional and the so called relationship experts are pissed off at me because their private consultations can cost upwards of $125 per hour and can go on for several months and sometimes years.

Within just a few minutes I can show a friend one of my secret strategies and he puts it into ACTION…and before you know it… he’s back in his lover’s arms relaxing at home having a romantic dinner.

Let’s cut the crap and get straight to the point. Most of these high paid so called “relationship experts” rarely have any real life experience and have no incentive to get your ex back quickly because they get richer by the minute…

Plus their methods are too darn complicated, take too long and don’t work for everyone.

Think about this for a moment… Would you rather be sitting on the phone or in an office where you are being charged by the hour while being lectured or would you be more inclined to listen to someone who’s actually been in your shoes before?

I’m not a mind reader and don’t know what your answer would be but if you are anything like me, I’d much rather get straight to the point with someone that’s actually BEEN THERE in REAL LIFE any day of the year.

If you are still with me here, you are probably having problems with your relationship and want you ex back. If this is true there might be a way I can help you too.

“Dude, I Need Your Help”

It turns out that friends were telling guys and girls I’ve never even heard of before at the time to seek my advice.  They would come up to me and be like “dude I need you help”!

In all honesty, I didn’t really want to deal with so many people one on one…but I sort of had to. Things got too crazy and there was no way I could spend enough time coaching everyone.

I was getting stressed out and hardly had any time to myself so I could relax and live my own life.

So I realized the next best thing I could do… was to put everything I discovered over the years while helping people get back together into an easy step-by-step system with all my secrets to getting your ex back.   

Again, I must WARN you these are NOT typical strategies and methods. They are NOT conventional ideas and I STRONGLY doubt that you’ve ever heard or read about these secrets before.

And here’s something you need to know right now…

These Secrets Might Actually Work TOO GOOD!

Truth be told… I get chills down my spine with how good this works…and the reason is because sometimes people have ill intentions. I ONLY want to help people with good hearted intentions.

I get worried some wacko will get back with their ex girlfriend that really would put her in grave danger. I don’t want to help some psychotic girl going after a married man and breaking up a marriage.

There have been instances of a perfectly sane women getting back together with a psycho guy and even women who take back men who abuse them endlessly while having multiple affairs.

How insane is that?

Just like a double edge sword, these secret strategies can be applied for dark dubious reasons or honorable lovable reasons.

This is NOT for someone that might be having deep metal issues, a physically abusive sex crazed maniac, ex convicts staking your ex or some type of psychotic crazed person who needs to be locked up behind bars.

I hope we are both on the same page here?

Moving on…

There Are Literally NO IMPOSSIBLE SITUATIONS To Get Your Ex Lover Back…

The secret techniques I show you in The Pleasure Of Reuniting have helped literally thousands of brokenhearted people just like you get their ex lovers back with open arms.

If you were once a couple you can still get back together with your lover. It’s simply human nature to secretly want your lover back even in the worse types of situations.

I’m sure by now you want to see PROVEN results that this has worked for other people.

I’m with you because I would too…

PROOF That “The Pleasure Of Reuniting” Works Better Than Anything You’ve Ever Tried Before…

“Finally Got Back With My Boyfriend”

 I’m so happy I finally got back with my boyfriend and wanted to tell you your system worked… After being together for 4 years and breaking up for 2 months I though we’d never get back together. Once I stopped being so needy and stopped chasing him around he called wondering what was going on. I followed your plan and he was practically begging me to get back together.

Just wanted to thank you for helping me out. Dana

“She Called Asking If I Wanted To Get Back With Her!”

I did exactly what you said to do and she called asking if I wanted to get back with her! I was thinking she would never take me back after cheating on her. I owe you big time. 

James

“It Actually Really Worked!”

My girlfriend called me yesterday and we got back together. I thought it was over for good. It actually really worked!

Nick

“I Got My Wife Back!”

JT it worked!  I got your book because my wife left me for doing something really stupid. I put your system to work.  I got me wife back! She called me up wanting to meet after agreeing with her for about a week the mistakes I made. I was stunned she took me back.  My wife is back with me and it’s better than it was before.

Thanks man! Steven

“We Finally Just Got Back Together And I Really Needed To Thank You From The Bottom Of My Heart!”

Thank you for showing me your secrets and for helping me save my relationship. As soon as I read your book I knew what I had to do. I was doing everything wrong and pushing my boyfriend further away. It was so tough at first to follow your plan and to stop calling him everyday because after 2 years my boyfriend said he was leaving me and I was desperate to get him back. We finally just got back together and I really needed to thank you from the bottom of my heart!  Kristine

#1 Secret To Getting Your Ex Back

There’s no better way to prove to you that these secret strategies work than by actually showing you the #1 primary reason why most ALL people ruin their chances of getting their ex back forever…

You want to put this PROVEN concept into action right here… right now.

This is the biggest deadliest mistake that almost every person makes… They act out with sheer desperation and total despair trying to get their lover back. Most likely you’re doing the same dire mistake right now or soon will be…

I know you’re dealing with all kinds of emotions with your break up but if you don’t STOP what you’re doing right now and get on the right track to using the right approach you’re chances will be much greater of losing your lover forever…

Here’s the reason why…Nobody desires a person who shows desperation while being pushy and actually your ex will despise you even more because being needy is a sign of weakness, insecurity and lack of confidence …

You need to step back for a moment and realize your ex actually wants you back right now but is waiting for you to discover and understand their true core desires and are desperate to be reconnected on a deeper level…

If you can avoid being in a constant sate of panic and keep this one idea in the back of your mind you stand a much greater chance of reuniting with your lover…

Then and ONLY then can you get to the point where you can AGREE with the breakup situation and let your ex know you are O.K. with it and they are right. You want to convey that you AGREE with them. I know this sounds crazy and counterintuitive but there are psychological reasons why this works…

You don’t want to go into any details or the reason why…just agree and say you’re O.K. with it…I’ll show you what to do next…

This in only the first step to moving in the right direction… 

There are many other vital elements that you need to start following right now to make sure you don’t screw things up in The Pleasure of Reuniting but let’s make sure you at least grasp this #1 deadly mistake right here, right now before it’s too late…

Here’s How This PROVEN Step-By-Step System Works, And How You Can Put It To Work For YOU…

 Here’s what you’ll discover inside of The Pleasure Of Reuniting system…

Instant Fast Action Benefits…

These secret strategies and methods you get with The Pleasure of Reuniting can be applied quickly and easily just like hundreds of others couples have done to be reunited back into their lovers arms again.

Do you want to get back with your ex and feel the comfort of being with the one you love and desire?

I’d love to share my secret strategies with you. I know the pain can be devastating after a breakup and there is no reason to continue going through that type of experience.

I know you probably have a few questions in the back of your mind such as the following…

Frequently Asked Questions

What if I order The Pleasure of Reuniting and it doesn’t happen to work for me? If for some odd reason you try The Pleasure of Reuniting and it doesn’t work for you to get your lover back in your arms, you can simply contact me and get a full refund. In fact you can have a full 60 days to try it out. 

How quickly will I get results? In most situations you will see an immediate improvement with how you are relating to your ex and typically get results within the first week.  In some situations all you need is the right way to make an apology (I show you how) and you’ll be back in your lover’s arms wondering what all the fuss was about.

Can I get the same strategic information anywhere on the Internet? I’ve seen, read and researched ALL of them and some are O.K. but most only give you half baked ideas and never complete the ENTIRE PROCESS. You only get small pieces of the relationship puzzle and it can make your situation worse.

Most basically tell you in one way or another not to get in touch with your ex for 30 days and work on yourself. That’s their one size fits all plan and they don’t give you the proven process of what you really need to do and say right now to get your ex back fast…

What if I cheated on my ex? Is there still hope for me? If you put into action the techniques within my manual you can still get your ex back even in the worse types of situations…

When will I receive The Pleasure of Reuniting? You will receive your e-book in a PDF format which means you can instantly download it to your hard drive and be reading within seconds. You will have an easy secure, private and safe download link with simply access.

Will I be able to view and read the e-book on both a mac and pc? Yes! Because “The Pleasure Of Reuniting” is in a PDF format which you can view on both mac and windows pc.

What if I need to contact you and have some questions about The Pleasure of Reuniting? Great!  I’d love to personally help you if you have any questions. You will get special contact information for customers only in the manual so you can get answers to any questions you might have.

Listen… I will show you step-by-step and take you by the hand how to get your lover back into your life, how to keep them in your life ALL while being madly in love with you again…

Picture how great it will feel to have your ex back in your arms again…

Finally have a good night’s rest

Being able to enjoy eating the food you love again

Feeling your lover next to you again

Finally getting you life back in order

Feel good and have energy again

Going to work or school with focus without a pit in your stomach

Right now you can finally have ALL these things above and your lover back for only $39. You get a no risk full 100% iron clad money back guarantee.

“Order right now and download The Pleasure Of Reuniting. And if for any reason you are not back together with your ex within 60 days…or not happy for any reason…You will get a fast and heartfelt immediate refund.”

Fair enough?

It’s been PROVEN and statistics show that the longer you wait the more difficult it will be to get your ex back. They will find someone else to have sex with and your window of opportunity will be gone forever.

You need to make your own decision to take immediate action right now and get a handle on your situation quickly before it’s too late…

This is not some scare tactic because I know from first hand experience that it’s indifference that builds towards an ex lover not hate and time is your greatest imposter right now.

The longer you wait to take control of your life the harder it gets because like weeds in a fertile garden, distance grows between you and your ex swiftly and without hesitation.

You will have an unfair advantage to be empowered right now to get your ex back into your arms where they belong…It’s YOUR right to have YOUR ex lover back into your life and in YOUR bed softly snuggling you with renewed excitement and passion…

Retail Price $99 (Limited Time Offer – Now Only $39!)

Get Immediate Access – 24 Hours A Day – 7 Days A Week – 365 Days A Year! Thousands of couples all over the world reunited every day!

Cheering For You,

JT (J Tee) Straton

PS. You have a full 60 day (more than enough time to get your ex back) to see if my “The Pleasure of Reuniting” is right for you. If you determine that it isn’t, just let us know and we’ll gladly refund your money. No hassles. No hard feelings.

PPS. Just so that you know, there’s nothing “mystical” about “The Pleasure of Reuniting” even though it may seem like it. Sure, it’s responsible for thousands of couples getting back together.

And while that may seem amazing, you should consider this: You and I, as human beings, have the ability to communicate in a way that can instantly get your ex back with just a few words.

And if you can communicate with someone, you can influence them…and ultimately turn them into your direction.

When you think about it, the odds are stacked in your favor. When you understand basic human psychology, and you use the strategies to influence your ex using the techniques I teach you, it’s pretty hard not to see amazing results.

My point is, YOU CAN DO THIS. You can make The Pleasure of Reuniting work for you. All you need to do is “download” the system and put it into action.

  Here’s what people just like you are saying…

“She Came Back To Me Yesterday!”

Within only 5 days things turned around for me and my girlfriend and she came back to me yesterday.Your book helped me get her back fast and I am so grateful to you! I though I lost her to another man but I followed what you said and found out what the real problem was.

Thank You… 

Jesse

“I Was Amazed How Quick I Actually Got My Girl Back By Using Your Methods”

About 2 weeks ago, I bought your system and used the rapid connect formula in your book and my ex girlfriend was acting desperate to get back together with me…The tables had turned just like you said they would  It worked great. I was amazed how quick I actually got my girl back by using your methods! I am so deeply thankful to you. Tim

“Dating My Ex Again”

It looks like we might get back for good. I’m dating my ex again and we are starting to communicate a lot better than before. He emailed me the other day saying he still cares about me and even said he still loves me. I know I need to keep following your system for long term success but I’m thrilled we are at least talking again and seeing each other. 

Cynthia

Download The Pleasure Of Reuniting System

“Still Hard To Believe We Got Back Together!”

Hey JT, it’s still hard to believe we got back together after reading your book. At first I was very skeptical about anything working for my situation. Things were really bad because I already did a lot of the mistakes that you mentioned.  I used your step by step plan after a brutal breakup because I had nothing to lose. Little did I know it would actually work for me.  Things are still a little crazy but I know with the results I’ve already seen that my ex boyfriend  will take me back for good if I keep following your book… 

Thanks for putting up with all my emails and questions. Kelly

“OMG! This Stuff Actually Worked For Me…”

OMG! This stuff actually worked for me!!!  I followed what you said to do and say and we got back together! You’re the greatest! 

Shannah

“Best Investment Ever Made!”

Here I was thinking this would probably be a big waste of time and money. Best investment ever made!!!  As soon as I read the first 2 chapters and changed my point of view my ex wanted to see me again.  You’re a genius because I tried everything else and nothing was helping… I really want you to know how thankful I am for showing me how to get my ex back.

Thank You!!! Joey

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[deputy-hawk]

i’m rewatching the return from the start, so here are some kind of nonsensical notes that nobody asked for on parts 1+2:

the rancho rosa logo for this ep is a kind of sepia? it took me way too long to notice it was changing from episode to episode, so i’m gonna keep an eye on it

the upholstery on coop’s chair in the black lodge is similar to the white lodge/1930s room furniture, unlike every other chair there

laura’s portrait fades away to the sound of running water, replaced by shots of the river leading over the waterfall as if hovering above it. the waterfall morphs into fanning red curtains. wasn’t there something in tshotp about the significance of the waterfall? 

cooper doesn’t have his fbi badge in the scene with the giant, but he is himself? where exactly does this scene fit in??

“two birds with one stone.” wasn’t there also something in tshotp about a top secret government force who all had bird codenames? hmmm???

has anyone else ever seen that clip of a young russ tamblyn (aka dr jacoby) dancing with shovels? bc it’s pretty amazing

HERE COMES THAT BIG OL’ BOX

if you’re not watching this show with headphones/a decent sound system then you’re definitely missing out bc half the joy of this season has been in the sound design. SO GOOD.

“ooh. now i’m so curious you’re driving me crazy.”

was the strange repetition of the insurance man’s “i’d like to see sheriff truman” our first indication this season of time acting skewy?

the music for doppelcoop’s introduction makes me actually jump out of my skin every time

“weeell, lookee here” is a very underrated line imo

pretty sure i can hear chickens in the background of this scene??

“it’s a world of truck drivers” feels very very different now that i have a) read laura’s diary and b) seen part 14.

am i the only one who just assumed ray and darya were lodge spirits at first? no human being looks like that?

“mr. c, mr. c…” otis, you were a man of few words but i appreciated each and every one of them.

it’s subtle, but the music cue after tracey’s “he’s not here. no one is here.” is chilling and perfect. presumably coincides with coop appearing in the box.

seriously, holy shit, the sound design for this scene is so good. every line of dialogue has its own accompanying unsettling metallic whoosh. i am living.

other people have definitely pointed this out, but ruth davenport’s neighbour has a small mexican chihuahua

the two exasperated policemen trying to find a key for ruth’s apartment, with the names barney, chip, hank and harvey dropped all over the place despite having absolutely no bearing on anything because marjorie had it all along? feels meta.

ruth davenport’s decapitated head is played by mary stofle, who i assume is a relative of emily stofle aka david lynch’s wife

listen, i’ve said it before and i’ll say it again but i would live and die for constance talbot. i am in Love.

lucy, quietly: “okay, deputy chief hawk.” hawk: *tiny little fond nod* me: *sobbing alone in my bedroom*

i have never in my life seen anyone do this with their face before and i’m not sure if i ever want to again:

and i would really like matthew lillard to win some awards please

does anyone else refer to the diner guy from mulholland drive exclusively as “the diner guy from mulholland drive” or is that just me

proper old peaksy music vibes come back for the first time (aside from the opening credits) with hawk walking through the forest at night. fitting.

“is. it… FUUUUTURE… or is. it. past?”

al strobel <3

i’ve never really talked about him here because no one ever really posts content for him, but al strobel as the one-armed man is far and away my favourite performance from the the original series

i feel like the curtains being sheer enough to see through compared to the heavy, velvety, theatrical style curtains of the old series probably says a lot about the current state of the divide between the lodge and “reality”

when laura takes her face off the line is smooth cut – when sarah does so in part 14 it’s torn and jagged.

it makes me so emotional to hear coop use his regular voice in these scenes, it’s ridiculous how much i’ve missed him

sometimes it amazes me how gay i am for sheryl lee

there have been so many mysteries piled on top of mysteries this season that i had 100% forgotten that laura whispers something seemingly distressing in coop’s ear in this episode and that we still don’t know what she said. does coop need to remember it to wake up?

speaking of mysteries, WHY DID LAURA GET DRAGGED FROM THE LODGE SCREAMING IS SHE OKAY AND WHEN WILL WE SEE HER AGAIN I NEED TO KNOW

i’m afraid i’m v much in the camp of “the evolution of the arm looks and sounds genuinely awful”, but i can appreciate the massive Fuck You to michael j. anderson

“the evoLOOOUUUution, of the AAAhhhhhrrm” ily al strobel

it just reminds me of a piece of sentient chewing gum on a twig. i’m aware they didn’t have unlimited funds, but the effects are just… Not Great.

that face squishing thing doppelcoop does to jack is exactly how i show my friends and family affection and i’m not sure what this says about me

if the evolution of the arm looks kinda bad, its doppelganger is on a whooole other level and tbh, that is not going to age well at all.

“yeah, it’s the dog’s bollocks in ‘ere” – literally no one speaks like that, david. nobody.

this roadhouse scene sets up the freddie and james, becky and steven, AND shelly and red plots all in the space of about sixty seconds

james marshall has (bless him) blossomed into a very subtle and effective actor over the years, and i’ve genuinely enjoyed his performance this season

[tumbling-down-the-hall]

Brain hurt

Random thoughts for nobody and everybody during my brain hurt time.

I miss him. That's no surprise to anybody. But it's not entirely him that I miss. I miss the closeness with him. I miss our showers. I miss sitting on the couch playing Mario kart for hours. I miss being with somebody. I miss watching him when he was working on something. I miss everything. It's weird.

He said he was working through things. Idk if he actually is or if he is just saying that. I wonder if he thinks about me as much as I think about him. He said not to wait for him when we broke up. I didn't tell him I only wanted him. I didn't tell him I would wait centuries for him. Even though I wanted to. I want to wait for him.

I have gone on dates. But it's not the same. 4 boys. 6 dates. Multiple texts. Multiple fuck ups.

J- 2 dates. Both very much a me style. I enjoyed hanging out with him. But we would have ended up as fuck buddies I'm sure of it. We didn't have that much in common. But I really liked his voice. And being with him. But I can't reach out to him. Cuz I fucked up. It's fine.

G. 2 dates. Dinner one and movie two. We didn't really click. But I wanted to so badly. He was a comp sci person it would have been perfect. But it wasn't. We are chatting again on a different dating site so maybe I did jump the gun ending it early. I'm not sure. Time will tell. (he still reminds me of an old fling that I blocked)

C. 1 date. Pizza at a cool place that reminded me of Michigan. Which was cool. But we didn't hit it off. We definitely hit it off while texting. But meeting in person. Didn't work out 🙁🙁. He messaged me later telling me I had to be more analytical when it came to finding happiness and I didn't respond but I was like nah bro. I need to be less analytical because I am overthinking everything. Which is better now. (forces me to take time to respond to certain boy instead of sending the first thing that comes to my mind like I would months ago. So that's cool)

P (I think?) 1 date. A movie. Charlie's angels. Was super good. Date was not. I had only been talking to him for a couple days and then he was like wanna go to a movie and I said fuck it sure. Because I had nothing better to do... :/ I barely knew him. He put his head on my shoulder. That was weird. And then he did the thigh hand hold thing and I'm like Bru but we held hands so whatever. It was nice. But kinda weird. And he kept bringing up the hotel thing and I was like mmm that's weird and I kept thinking that he wanted a FWB and I'm like not me bro and he was like that's not what I meant. But still didn't continue that path.

I don't want to date during this season because everybody is getting engaged and it makes me feel so alone. I want somebody. I want that person for me. I still think I know who it is despite him not knowing and everybody telling me no.

I'm still talking to guys but idk it's not the same. I still get excited when I see I have a message on a certain platform. Because as of late I know it's him. Because nobody else messages me on it. She used to but now that she is back at school, it's wifi all the time 😂😂

It's going to be him. He may be bad for me. But I only want him. Messaging him has helped me. But I am getting my hopes up for something to happen. It's not going to. But my life is so dramatic that maybe it will. I'll pray tomorrow for answers. And look for my besties b-day/Christmas presents

Idk why I'm so hung up on the promises he made me. Like I have had promises broken before. But he was so confident in his. Why did it change? I know why because he impulsively did something that he shouldn't have. He was right, it's not my fault. But it still sucks. I want him to keep his promises. I want to be with him. I want to be there to help him at the end of the day. I want to be the person he turns to again. But I probably won't ever be that person again. Because he used me.

I want him to see this and know.

I want him.

I want to help. I want to change.

I just want a hug. A kiss. Innocence again idk.

I hurt. But it's going to be fine. I will be fine. I just have to take it one day at a time. I need to go to therapy. I get therapy at work. But it's different talking to a person about this and talking to nobody about it. I want to go to a gravestone and just unload. But that isn't a smart/good thing.

I'm thankful for friends. I'm thankful for pushing me to be better. I'm going to get better. I want to be better. If not for my own sake but for her sake because I suck as a human right now 😂😂

[lesmotsincompris]

Thoughts on GoT S07E06

Since everybody was discussing the leaks, I decided to watch the leaked episode and almost forgot to post my thoughts here as usual.

Anyway: that was terrible, y’all. That was a whole new level of terrible.

The show was awful long before this, of course, but I think this episode perfectly encapsulates how poorly written it can be. Every scene has a lot to tear apart, but let’s try to keep it short:

Winterfell

Oh boy, did that hurt. What D&D have done to Arya isn’t simply character assassination; they murdered her character, shat on the corpse, set the poop on fire, and put the fire out with vomit.

Arya’s lines during this episode seem to come from an anti-Sansa thread on Reddit. It’s so viciously misogynystic and victim-blaming that I’m losing all respect for fans that buy this kind of bullshit reasoning (and I’ve seen them with my own eyes).

Again knitting is brought in a negative context. Again Sansa is called stupid. Again Sansa is portrayed as an ambitious bitch because she didn’t act as the ideal victim is supposed to act. Again Sansa’s forced marriages are used against her. Again we have another reminder that Sansa was raped, because gods forbid we forget it. This isn’t dealing with trauma, this is rubbing in the audience’s faces one of the most hated scenes of this show.

It’s ridiculously out of continuity too. Everything Arya herself did to survive is ignored (hanging out with Tywin on season 2, anyone?). Also she couldn’t possibly think her sister helped the Lannisters get rid of Ned, she was fucking there. If she saw Sansa’s pretty hair and dress, she must have seen her crying and screaming in despair. Watch your own damn show, D&D!

Once more I must ask: what is Littlefinger still doing in this story? He’s trying to put Arya against Sansa, but why? What does he gain with that? Why is Sansa still listening to him? You can’t give me Sansa being snarky at him in one episode and fully trusting him in another, it just doesn’t make sense.

Sansa was rude to Brienne for no reason, and sent her away purely because D&D needed Sansa alone and unprotected in Winterfell again. It’s so forced it hurts.

Apparently Jon didn’t give any news in weeks. Great job, Jon. But hey, couldn’t they use their fucking omniscient robot brother to see what stupidity Jon was up to this time?

I was giggling during the entire briefcase scene, not even The Room can aspire to be this bad.

Dragonstone

“Heroes do stupid things and they die” is the supreme maxim of Grimdark™. It’s also clearly not what GRRM is going for in the books.

We had a scene with the sole purpose of delivering exposition that Jon is in love with Dany. Is he? Why would he be? What evidence have we seen of this? Oh no, but it’s a lot easier to have a character established as "clever" saying "he loves you" than actually showing the process of two people falling in love.

For all their speech abut sparing the innocent, Tyrion says they’ll burn King’s Landing if anyone touches Dany. See, the smallfolk are only important if they bend the knee, otherwise they can die. So much for wheel-breaking.

(we still don’t know what that means, btw)

Again Tyrion tells Dany what to do and how to act; I’m gonna stab with a knitting needle anyone that calls this show feminist. I don’t think Tyrion is wrong in everything he says, but having him mansplaining Dany constantly is annoying. If he “believes” her, why doesn’t he let her to think on her own? If he doesn’t trust her to do it, then why does he follow her?

I can’t blame Dany for being hostile to the whole succession talk. Yes, it’s an important matter, and one book!Dany still has to address, but it came very suddenly and when they had other more important matters to deal with.

Tyrion doesn’t want Dany to go and she goes, and again the narrative will prove Dany wrong for not listening to a man. Fuck this show.

Beyond the Wall

Aaah, le crap de le crap. Don’t get me wrong, Winterfell stuff made me roll my eyes so hard I could watch my own brain cells dying. But Winterfell was filler, while this is supposed to be the big moment, the “go go go, shock shock shock” we’ve been told about, the core of the wham episode of this season.

And it sucks.

Tormund says that smart people don’t go looking for the dead, and I have to agree with him. The whole plan of capturing a wight and touring it around Westeros was incredibly stupid to begin with, so it’s hard to feel bad for the characters when things go inevitably wrong.

Less than five minutes into this episode they were already joking about Gendry being assaulted by Melisandre. Fuck this show.

Gendry being sold to Melisandre, much like Tyrion killing Davos’ son with wildfire, becomes a “look, those characters know each other” gag. This is a very poor choice and ignores the fact that those characters met under traumatic circumstances that deserve a stronger reaction than that.

Of course you don’t hear Beric “bitching” about being killed six times, that would mean death and trauma carry any weight and in this show they don’t. Not anymore.

I’ve been complaining for a while that the show seems to have forgotten why Jorah was exiled, so they answered me with him admitting Ned was right. That’s great, it would have been a significant character development… if we had actually seen it. Character development is a character going from point A to point B, not suddenly being on point B with no indication of how they got there.

Then Jon says he’s glad Ned didn’t catch Jorah. Why? Does Jon knows that Jorah was exiled for selling people? Is Jon okay with that? Since when? He barely knows Jorah and no relationship was portrayed on screen before this moment, why this sudden concern with him?

Sandor says he hates gingers, which is another nail in the SanSan coffin for the show. We already that’s D&D’s NOTP, but the petty ways they find to demonstrate it always amuse me.

I joked about this being the Ultimate Bro Trip - All the Extras Edition, but boy I was right. There’s everything one could expect from this sort of event: sexual assault played for laughs, dick jokes, the most disgusting reference to Tormund x Brienne, heavy-handed hints of R+L=J, lots of walking for nothing, lots of shitting all over GRRM’s careful worldbuilding, lots of dudes bonding over stuff that makes me hate them as characters, poorly executed action with no real stakes. A true winner!

There are small things that worked for me. I kinda like Beric’s speech to Jon, or Sandor turning around when they burn Thoros’ wound. It’s a simple but effective way to remind the viewer of Sandor’s trauma. It doesn’t cost much in terms of dialogue or screentime, and keeps the character consistent and fleshed-out. But those were isolated moments, and isolated moments are not enough to save us from this torture of a scene.

I like the surprise element of the bear attack, but it was too shaky and confusing for my taste. Gendry says the bear has blue eyes, but I could hardly see the bear itself? And how can I care about characters dying if I can’t even see who’s dying? After some point it was The Revenant - Westeros edition, and still not the silliest scene in the episode.

The white walkers now die like vampires from Buffy and one stab is enough to finish them. Worse, they’re following the route of 'kill the boss, every minion dies’. I hate this trope, I’m sure there’s a name for it. It’s particularly bad in this case because now the white walkers’ impressive numbers don’t mean anything; just kill the extra blue dude with a vaguely Japanese armor and presto! Also, you know, it contradicts what we’ve seen so far including in this very episode.

Despite them walking for ages, Gendry goes back to Eastwatch pretty fast. The white walkers are kind enough to wait for no fucking reason while Gendry sends a raven, the raven reaches Dragonstone, Dany gets ready, and Dany flies to the Wall and beyond. This should have taken weeks, but apparently it happens over a day or so.

Look, when people talk about ‘teleportation’ in this show, we don’t mean that the writers must depict every beat of the trip. We mean that the trip needs to make sense considering everything we know about the setting and the resources available in that world. It doesn’t have to be super accurate either, just not physically impossible like this was.

The white walkers not attacking the group makes the previous Plot Armor evolve to a Plot AT Field from Evangelion. If there was going to be battle anyway, why the waiting? You’re already bending space and time for Daenerys to arrive, so I’m sure there would be better ways to have the ice dragon scene without all this contrivance.

The dragon saving scene would have been awesome if not for all the implausibility that led to it. It’s hard to be invested when you’re already angry and disappointed. The contrivances don’t stop there, and Jon takes two levels in stupidity and keeps fighting all macho when everybody else is safe on dragon back. Also Daenerys loves him for some reason.

That spear throwing was the funniest thing. Congrats to whoever did the dragon animations and noises, though, that was a great job. Emilia Clarke’s nearly-crying face would have been a great start for one of Daenerys’ more emotional moments in the show, watching the death of one of her children. Too bad this is basically all the reaction she’s allowed to have.

Jon got Viserion killed out of sheer stupidity and stubbornness, but somehow Dany loves him even more for that! She wants to wait for him, even if that endangers her other dragons. Back at the Wall, she waits for his return, not perhaps a sign of Viserion. When he apologizes for being the worst, she’s not remotely angry at him. It was “good” that her dragon died, because now she understands. Now she knows that in this show men are always right and women pay a dear price for not listening to them.

Can’t see the narrative goal of leaving Jon behind or him falling in the water. Nobody actually expected him to die, even if he should have. Then you have Uncle Benjen Ex Machina holding thousands of White Walkers on his own, as if that somehow prevents a few of them from going after Jon. This whole scene accomplished nothing but stretching our suspension of disbelief further, as if there was any left at this point.

The walkers somehow put chains on the dragon to pull it. Why not just make the dragon fall on land? Viserion returning could have been cool if: a) it wasn’t a product of a conga line of plot contrivances; b) they didn’t take four years to show us his eyes opening, as if this wasn’t ridiculously obvious.

Daenerys can’t mourn her fucking dragon, she’s too busy finding the Ultimate Man to Listen To. What prompts Jon to decide that Dany is now his queen? Why does he call her Dany? How does Dany know the Night’s King name?

More importantly, why do I still care to ask about all this questions when the answer is “D&D are fucking dumb and they’re hoping we are too”?

Extra notes

Should we start printing Euron’s picture in milk boxes? And what happened to Theon?

Fuck this show, fuckindammit, that was a lot of time and energy wasted just to get angry.

[belphegor1982]

Here’s the last (for now) of my Don Camillo WW2 vignettes - a chapter that, despite the sensitive themes, practically wrote itself. It might just be my favourite of the four. I’ll leave you to judge.

BETWEEN THE MOUNTAINS AND THE PLAINS

Chapter One: September Chapter Two: The Clandestine Chaplain Chapter Three: Tidings of Comfort and Joy

Chapter Four: Giosuè

Chapter Five: Vigil

May 1944

Rain had started to fall before dawn and it was still coming down in buckets when Don Camillo left the church after morning Mass. He had barely taken off his hat when he heard a faint rapping at the rectory door.

When he opened the door, there was nobody in sight. Then he looked down, and saw a child.

“Are you Don Camillo?” said a small, somewhat trembling voice.

Don Camillo nodded, too surprised by his find to do anything else at first. Then he opened the door wide, picked up the boy, and then closed the door quickly.

The little boy stood awkwardly on the tile floor, shivering slightly in his drenched coat, clutching a little suitcase in a white hand. His blond hair was plastered on his head under his soaked cap and he looked quite pale, but it was impossible to tell whether it was from the cold rain, fear, or distress – or all of them at once.

Don Camillo knew all his parishioners, even the smallest ones, but he had no idea who this child could be. Where did he come from, and what had possessed him to go out alone, under that downpour?

After one look at the boy’s face, however, he decided there were more pressing matters. He snatched the boy again and set him down in front of the hearth in which he put a couple of logs. Then he ran up to his room to take his warmest blanket and left it to the child, saying, “Take off your wet clothes and wrap yourself in that. I’ll be right back.”

He bustled around in the kitchen for a while, then he came back with a cup of steaming camomile tea. The boy was standing in front of the hearth in a shapeless mass of blanket; his only clearly identifiable features were a pale face, a pink nose, a tuft of blond hair and two bright green eyes that stared up at Don Camillo as though they did not quite know what to make of him.

He accepted the hot cup almost warily, and only sat in Don Camillo’s armchair when he was told to.

Don Camillo drew up a chair from the kitchen table, sat down with his elbows on his thighs, and looked at the boy closely.

“Who are you?” he asked. “I’ve never seen you before. Are you from Boretto?”

The boy’s shivering had died down a little; his small hands were steadier around the cup. But he still looked fairly intimidated.

“I don’t know where that is, sir,” he said, taking a small sip of the hot tea in a way that made it clear he had very good manners. “I live in Piacenza.”

Don Camillo stared at him, astonished.

Piacenza was maybe eighty kilometres away, as the crow flies; it had been heavily bombed by the Americans for the last couple of months. All bridges were down, most of the main roads and rail road lines were cut. How on earth had this boy been able to even leave the city?

And, more importantly perhaps, what had made him come all the way to Don Camillo’s doorstep?

“What’s your name?”

“Giosuè Falco, sir.”

Don Camillo racked his brain for any Falco he knew of, but the boy’s name was as unfamiliar as his face.

“I have a letter from Don Vincenzo, sir.”

“Stop calling me ‘sir’, I’m a priest, not a—wait. Don Vincenzo? From San Donato Church1?”

“Yessir. Reverend.”

The boy shuffled off to his suitcase, somewhat hindered by his blanket, leaving Don Camillo with a lot to think about. Don Vincenzo was an old classmate of his from the seminary, the kind of friend you only see once in a blue moon but who makes it feel like no time has passed at all. If he had been Giosuè’s parish priest, then at least it explained why the boy had known his name before knocking on his door.

Meanwhile, Giosuè had opened his suitcase and picked up an envelope from underneath a cardboard panel that served as a false bottom. He handed the envelope to Don Camillo and stood there, staring at him with a look that was a startling mix of dread and desperate defiance. Don Camillo opened the envelope, and everything suddenly became quite clear… and more than a little complicated.

He silently handed the small chain with the six-point star pendant to the boy and read Don Vincenzo’s letter.

When he was done, he looked to Giosuè, sitting again in the big armchair still wrapped in his blanket, and gave a sigh.

“Do you want more tea?” he asked gently.

Giosuè nodded.

When Don Camillo came back with another hot cup, the boy wrapped his lithe fingers around it and blew on the tea to cool it down.

And then words poured out of him, as unstoppable as the rain beating against the windows.

* * *

At first Giosuè hadn’t really noticed that there were things he couldn’t do, places he couldn’t go. He liked nothing more than stay at home, in their cosy little flat, inventing stories and reading books. He had assumed the reason his big sister Paola didn’t go to the cinema as much as she used to was because she preferred to go to the park with her sweetheart; then he found out that the park was forbidden to them, too. There were words painted on the window of Signor Levi’s haberdashery down the street, where his mum bought buttons and knitting material, that spelled J-U-D-E in funny-looking letters. Giosuè wondered about this word for a while, because it wasn’t in any of his books. And then one day it wasn’t Signor Levi’s store any more, and a stranger replaced him behind the counter.

There were a lot of things Giosuè didn’t understand, but he easily picked up on his parents’ and elder sister’s nervousness every time they went out, every time they listened to the radio or read the paper, and it frightened him to no end. He had never seen his parents afraid of anything before.

One evening, just as his sister was setting the table and his dad was seasoning the minestrone, they had heard a car screech to a stop in front of their building. His dad had dropped the spoon into the soup to run to the window. When he had turned to Giosuè’s mother, there had been a stark, naked terror on his face that made Giosuè’s breath come short. His mum had taken him and his sister by the hand, run out the door and up the flight of stairs, and only stopped in front of Signora Rosa’s door.

Signora Rosa was a war widow about the same age as Giosuè’s mum, and she had always had a kind word for all the children of the building. Giosuè’s mum explained the situation in half a dozen hurried words; then she had held her children tightly, kissed them, and whispered “I love you” before she flew down the stairs again, tears streaming down her face.

Signora Rosa had quickly ushered Paola and Giosuè into her flat, locked the door, and set the table for two more people. Giosuè and Paola had run to the window in time to see their parents and Paola’s friend Sara and her whole family get rushed into a truck by a bunch of German soldiers. Giosuè’s dad had not even been allowed to take a jacket, and his light shirt stood out against the dull green-grey of the uniforms.

When Signora Rosa was sure the soldiers were not watching the flat, she went with Paola and Giosuè and collected as many of their clothes as could be stored in her closets.

A few days later, as Paola’s and Giosuè’s parents showed no sign of life, Signora Rosa took the children to a church. Giosuè had never seen a Mass before. Every two minutes he had to keep from asking Paola what the priest was talking about; but Paola had only just started studying Latin, and didn’t understand what was going on much more than he did. Afterwards, Signora Rosa had a conversation with the priest and came back to them, saying, “I’ll keep you two as long as I’m able. But if anything happens, for whatever reason, go to Don Vincenzo here. He knows other people who can help.”

Paola and Giosuè lived with Signora Rosa for about a month. Food was scarce, because Signora Rosa could only get food stamps for one, but she read Giosuè a story every night before bed, and even let him go up into the attic with a book when her little two-room flat became a little cramped for three people.

Giosuè liked it up there. He could fill the dark, dusty space with stories of cowboys and Indians, noble pirates in the Malaysian sea, bold rebels and thieves who stole only from evil lords, and imagine he was marooned on a desert island.

One day, he fell asleep on his book; when he came back down, the door of Signora Rosa’s flat was ajar, the lock broken, and Signora Rosa and Paola were gone.

Giosuè did not cry, nor did he make a fuss. He gathered clothes and a few books in his little suitcase, took his coat and his woollen cap, and walked out as though in a dream. For a long while he just followed his feet, not knowing where to go and who to turn to. There was a cold, gaping void inside him that only his mum’s arms, his dad’s smile, or his sister’s laugh could have filled. And then he remembered Signora Rosa’s words, as though from very far away.

He never knew how he reached Don Vincenzo’s church. When he got there, the whole area had been bombed just the night before, and the streets were full of rubble, bits of masonry, and people looking just as lost as Giosuè felt. Nobody paid attention to him as he slipped inside the church.

Don Vincenzo was clearing rubble in the nave with a shovel; part of the ceiling had collapsed and the floor was covered in dust and debris. When he saw Giosuè he made to say something, then recognised him and looked at him sadly.

“Your sister, Signora Rosa?”

Giosuè couldn’t speak. He shook his head. Don Vincenzo left his shovel propped up against a pew and sighed.

“Come with me.”

Don Vincenzo gave him a hot meal and put him to bed. Despite his earlier nap, Giosuè sank into the mattress, hid his head under the covers and fell into a deep, thankfully dreamless sleep.

When he woke up, it was dark, and Don Vincenzo was standing beside the bed with an oil lamp.

“I can’t keep you here,” he whispered. “It’s too dangerous for you. There are unexploded bombs and German soldiers all over the place. You’re better off in the country than in the city. I have a friend you can go to; you’ll be safe there.”

Don Vincenzo gave an envelope to Giosuè with a letter addressed to Don Camillo, advised him to put his Star of David inside it, as well, in case he was searched, and hid everything under a big square of cardboard in his suitcase. The part of Giosuè that was not feeling numb and cold thought that this was exactly like the book about smugglers his father had read to him, what seemed like a lifetime ago.

And indeed Don Vincenzo smuggled Giosuè out of Piacenza that night, and entrusted him to two or three young men with hard eyes and grave faces, who wore big red kerchiefs around their necks. They put Giosuè on a truck and drove a few hours in the dark, keeping to little roads to remain inconspicuous. Giosuè stared up at them, half-terrified and half-fascinated, the bumps in the road forgotten. They reminded him of the outlaw crew from his favourite book, The Tigers of Mompracem.

“Are you like rebel pirates?” he whispered. The two men who were in the back of the truck with him exchanged a look, and when their eyes were on him again, they had lost some of their hard edge and seemed amused.

“Something like that, yeah,” said one of the men with a small smile. And, since it was a somewhat chilly spring night, he took off his coat and put it around Giosuè, who kept it for the rest of the trip.

They left Giosuè at the bus stop, about nine hundred metres from the centre of Brescello, made him go over the directions to the church one last time, and left before drawing attention to themselves.

Giosuè walked off in the rain, one hand clutching his suitcase and the other buried in his coat pocket to keep warm (if not dry), and finally stopped at Don Camillo’s door.

* * *

Don Camillo listened intently to Giosuè. He did not interrupt him once; only, at some point, he jumped to his feet and began pacing back and forth, hands tightly clasped behind his back to avoid using them against some poor innocent chair that did not deserve to be shattered to pieces.

Giosuè’s voice was a little birdsong against the patter of the rain that only wavered twice: at his parents’ disappearance and at finding Signora Rosa’s flat empty. When he was done he tightened the blanket around himself and fell silent.

Don Camillo gave himself a minute to regain his calm, after which he carefully unknotted his fingers and went to stand in front of the boy.

“Right,” he said finally. “You can take one of the bedrooms upstairs; the bell ringer usually lives up there, too, but his father’s sick so he moved back in with his wife to take care of him.”

“And if the Germans come to take me away?” asked Giosuè after a few seconds’ silence.

“I’ll smash their heads in first.”

This Don Camillo said very calmly, as though stating that three times two makes six. Giosuè looked at his enormous hands and the expression on his face, and he gave a nod.

And a small smile.

* * *

News travel fast in little towns, and by evening the whole village knew about the rectory’s newest resident.

“One of my nephews,” said Don Camillo when anyone asked. “My sister sent him here until the Americans stop dropping bombs on the city. Plus he’s never been to the country before. Imagine that!”

Since one of Don Camillo’s sisters lived in Milan with her husband and her children, nobody had any reason to question the explanation. Between the boy’s posh accent and his somewhat pale face and hands, compared to the other children in the village, it wasn’t so hard to assume that he came from one of those big cities where you never really feel the sun on your face or spend much time at all outdoors.

Giosuè was set up in one of the rectory bedrooms. There wasn’t much in terms of creature comforts: a bed, a wardrobe, a bedside table and his own lamp, as well as a desk with a chair. But the bed was the most comfortable of the rectory and the light from the window fell directly on the desk all afternoon until six, so Giosuè spent quite some time reading there.

Two days after his arrival, he timidly asked Don Camillo if he could have some coloured pencils and paper to draw.

Don Camillo scratched his head.

“I do have pencils and some paper, but there’s no coloured pencils here. Hold on.”

He went to knock on Peppone’s mother’s door. As he had hoped, it was his wife Maria who opened.

“Why, Reverend, Easter was last month2. To what do I owe the—” There she stopped, and suddenly went pale. “Something’s happened to my husband, hasn’t it?”

Don Camillo’s occasional visit to the mountains was an open secret among the partisans’ families. They kept it to themselves, so no soul in the village knew who had no business knowing about it, but they all dreaded to find their priest on their doorstep with bad news one day. Don Camillo quickly reassured Signora Bottazzi that everything was fine and that nothing drastic had befallen Peppone since he had last seen him.

“As a matter of fact, I’m here because of Gio,” he added. Giosuè had accepted to be called ‘Gio’ in front of other people for the time being, just in case. It was a perfectly acceptable diminutive form of Giosuè as well as Giovanni. “His mother sent him here with whatever he could carry, but, as it turns out, it’s not much. Do you think I could borrow a few clothes that Tonino overgrown? Gio’s just yea high.”

Maria let him in, looking amused, and had Don Camillo sit at the kitchen table while she went upstairs to look for clothes.

After a few seconds, Don Camillo felt something tugging on his cassock. He looked down and found Beppo, Peppone’s second youngest, staring up at him.

“Daddy’s not here,” he said with all the gravity of a four-year-old who knows that these things are important.

“I know,” said Don Camillo, equally serious. “Hopefully he’ll come back soon.”

“Beppo!” came Lucia’s voice as she thundered down the stairs. “Beppo, where—oh, hello, Don Camillo.”

“Did you lose something?” asked Don Camillo wryly.

“Only my little brother who was supposed to help me tidy up our bedroom.” She bent down and grinned, showing yet another hole where a milk tooth used to be. Don Camillo made a mental note to tell Peppone next time he saw him. He missed his children like crazy and every single detail counted. “There you are. Come on!”

“Actually,” said Don Camillo, “I wondered if you could lend some of your coloured pencils to Gio for a while. He didn’t come with much and he misses being able to draw.”

Lucia wrinkled her nose and pondered the matter for a few seconds.

“All right,” she said, “but I’m keeping the red pencil for now. I want to draw something for Daddy. He likes red.”

“That he does,” grumbled Don Camillo, shaking his head. Lucia was not quite seven and still very much an innocent where politics were concerned, so he made no further comment.

Lucia disappeared upstairs, leaving Beppo who was still staring up at Don Camillo in a mixture of wariness and curiosity, and came back with a tin case.

“There,” she said proudly, “all five of them. Be careful not to drop them, because Mum says it breaks the lead inside.”

Don Camillo thanked her solemnly, then also thanked Maria when she came back down with a small bag full of clothes.

When he walked out the door, Beppo waved at him from his spot near the table.

Giosuè was thrilled to get his pencils and immediately set to work. The result was a very commendable (for an eight-year-old) portrait of himself and his family; the colours were a little subdued, but once Don Camillo gave him some drawing pins to put it on the wall of his bedroom, he declared himself satisfied.

The next drawing featured a pirate ship manned by little figures with blank kerchiefs around their necks. When Don Camillo asked Giosuè about that, Giosuè replied that he would finish it when Lucia was kind enough to lend him the red pencil.

Don Camillo rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything.

* * *

“Don Camillo,” said Giosuè that night when Don Camillo went to tuck him in and turn off the lights, “can you read me a story?”

“I thought you preferred to read your books yourself,” said Don Camillo, surprised at the request. Giosuè looked a little embarrassed.

“I know I’m too old now. It’s just that… It was nice.”

Don Camillo looked at Giosuè and at the book that stuck out from under his pillow. Then he gave a resigned sigh.

“Where did you stop?”

Five minutes later, Giosuè was gazing into space with shining eyes as Don Camillo’s voice read, “A cluster of ships rocked and tugged at anchor in the bay, sheltered somewhat by a reef. Not a soul stirred upon their decks nor among the longhouses and palisades lining the shore. Darkness blanketed the forest and tempestuous waters. If anyone sailing from the east had chanced to look carefully, however, they would have spotted two flickering dots, a pair of brightly lit windows illuminated atop a cliff that jutted over the sea…”

* * *

Life at the rectory soon fell into a comfortable enough routine: every morning Don Camillo would tiptoe out of his room and downstairs to church to say the first Mass, then come back to the rectory and make breakfast for two. Meals were generally rather frugal, because Don Camillo had limited means, but since the rectory garden included a little orchard, Giosuè could have fresh fruit and vegetables that would have cost a fortune in food stamps back in the city.

The first time Giosuè saw Don Camillo get out into the orchard with his cassock tucked into a pair of trousers, a hat on his head and a rake and a spade in hand, he stared at him with wide eyes.

“Well,” said Don Camillo, “you don’t think the garden will tend itself on its own, do you? What’s the point of God giving us all those wonderful things if we’re not going to take care of them?”

Giosuè watched him work for three or four minutes, then asked, “Can I help you?”

“Of course you can. Take that weeder over there and go to the cabbage patch. There’s a few weeds that could make a mess of things if we let them.”

They ended up working all afternoon, at the end of which Giosuè’s knees and hands were brown with crusted earth. He was exhausted and covered in dirt and sweat, but happy.

“I didn’t do too bad a job, did I?” he said as he washed his hands in the kitchen sink, standing on a stool to reach the tap. “I’ve never weeded a garden before.”

“So you’ve really never set foot out of the city?” Don Camillo asked distractedly, checking that the worst of the dirt was gone from his fingers and handing him a towel.

“No. Are there always so many birds around? They don’t sound the same as those at home at all. Up there there’s just pigeons and sparrows. But here they all look different!”

Don Camillo stared at him.

* * *

The next morning, after breakfast, Don Camillo took Giosuè for a stroll in the countryside, along the dykes and the fields bordered with poplar trees. Thankfully, the mist rose quickly and made way for a warm spring day, with the loveliest greens and colours the Po Lowlands had to offer. Giosuè didn’t know which way to turn. Everything was new and interesting to him: the wildlife, the trees, the cows mooing in the fields… One ambled closer as he walked along a fence, and he turned to Don Camillo.

“Can I pet her?”

“It’s a cow, not a house cat,” muttered Don Camillo. “If she lets you, maybe.”

Slowly, carefully, Giosuè reached and touched the cow’s nose between the nostrils. Emboldened, he put the flat of his palm on her nose and grinned.

Then the cow gave a shake which startled him so much that he jerked and fell back. The cow gazed at him sleepily for a while, then turned back whence she came, lazily beating her tail against her rump to keep the flies away.

Giosuè looked delighted.

“I petted a cow!” he said excitedly. “Wait till I tell—”

Don Camillo never knew whom he intended to tell, because then Giosuè’s face crumpled and he turned pale. The boy swayed a little on his feet, his fists clenched tightly, and his lip wobbled a little, but after a while he seemed to regain his equilibrium, if not his composure. Don Camillo put a hand on his shoulder to steady him all the same.

He cleared his throat, unsure what to do, and said gently, “In the next field there’s a donkey, and I know he’s going to let you pet his ears. Do you want to try?”

Giosuè swallowed, nodded, and wiped his eyes with the back of his fists.

The donkey was an old, placid animal, who occasionally pulled a cart when his master needed to transport things, but who was otherwise very happy to spend his last few years out in a field, munching on grass and getting fed apples by the village children. He indeed let Giosuè pet him as long as he wanted, and if he was disappointed by the lack of apples, he didn’t let it show.

Giosuè stroked his nose, his forehead and his long, fuzzy ears, marvelling at the different textures and the warm breath of the donkey that tickled his face. He regained colour, little by little, and when Don Camillo and he walked away, Giosuè was smiling slightly again.

The day ended up one for the books: Giosuè climbed a tree for the first time and discovered a nest, happened on a whole family of rabbits making a beeline for their burrow, and had a ricochet contest with Don Camillo, who even allowed him to take off his shoes and socks to dip his toes into the great river. The water was cool and inviting and soon he was wading up to mid-calf, and would have ventured farther had Don Camillo not barked at him to stop right there, mister.

They sat on the warm grass for a while, waiting for Giosuè’s feet to dry. Giosuè found an interest in everything: the butterflies, the cloud shapes, the bees and how they made honey…

Don Camillo listened to his chirping voice with a smile, and wondered how on earth anyone could even think of raising a child in a city.

* * *

“In the middle of that pack of Tigers, their captain, the invincible Sandokan, clutching his scimitar in his right hand, a fiery look on his face, his long hair blowing in the wind, spurred his warriors with a voice that thundered above the roar of cannons3… Well, he really must have a healthy set of lungs, because let me tell you, cannons make a lot of noise.”

“Keep reading, Don Camillo!”

* * *

When Don Camillo came back from vespers one evening, he found Giosuè ensconced in his armchair with one of his books instead of sitting at the table to work on his grammar.

“Couldn’t wait to know what happened next, could you?” he grumbled. Giosuè shook his head.

“It’s Shabbat tonight,” he said seriously. “I’m not supposed to work until the stars show tomorrow night.”

For the five or six days Giosuè had been there this was the first time the boy talked about his religion, or indeed showed any sign that he was religious at all.

“I think you’re supposed to pray a lot more, but at home we only celebrate the big things, like Passover, Kippur and Hanukkah. And Shabbat. My dad always says Shabbat is important because it’s about family.”

Don Camillo noted the present tense and the way Giosuè’s hands tightened around his book, and asked quickly, “So what do you do?”

“Um,” said Giosuè, his voice wavering a little, “well, on Friday evening Mum lights the candles and says the words, and we wear our good clothes, and that’s when we have the best meals of the week. It’s a day for remembering family, too, so Mum and Dad tell us stories about Grandpa and Grandma and Nan and Pap. There’s also a special wine and spices but I don’t remember which ones. Paola’s older, she would know better.”

Don Camillo opened a drawer and took out two small, half-burned candles.

“I’m all out of new candles. Would these do?”

Giosuè’s smile said it would.

Don Camillo watched Giosuè repeat the gestures he had seen his mum do countless times: light the candles, cover his eyes, and chant quietly, “Barukh ata Adonai Eloheinu Melekh ha-olam…”

He left the boy to his prayer and slipped out silently to the church.

“Jesus,” he said when he was in front of the main altar, “I know the child doesn’t believe You’re the Son of God, but do You mind if I pray for him and his family a little?”

“I never mind prayers, wherever they come from and whomever they’re for,” said Christ gently. “The boy is honouring God with his prayers, and his family as well. It helps him keep them alive in his heart. Let him pray.”

And Don Camillo prayed, too. But he kept getting distracted by the thought of Giosuè lighting the candles his mother was supposed to because he was the only one of his family left alive.

* * *

Two days later, both candles had burned down to stubs. Don Camillo went to the general store and bought two fresh candles, and gave them to Giosuè.

* * *

Days passed and turned into weeks, made of little moments and the kind of understated happiness that you never really acknowledge right away. Giosuè was a quiet boy, never in the way; he always liked to have someone in sight, though, and could usually be found working on his grammar or his arithmetic at the kitchen table, sitting in the shade of the apple tree in the orchard, or nestled in Don Camillo’s old armchair. Sometimes he had tea with Tonino and Lucia Bottazzi and often ended up drawing pictures along with Lucia.

Don Camillo went about his usual business: saying Masses, looking after the church, going to help old Signor Benzoni (who was alone with a broken leg) with wood cutting, setting up a scarecrow in the orchard to keep the birds from pillaging his fruit and vegetables… When he came back home, he sat down, lit a half-cigar and read an old newspaper, or turned on the radio, as usual. Only now, he always looked around for Giosuè first, and only when he had found him at one of his usual spots did he truly relax.

* * *

One night, Don Camillo woke up with a jolt. He remained still for a while, eyes and ears wide open in the dark, searching for what could have woken him up like that. After a moment, he became aware of a faint keening sound that came from somewhere on the same floor. He jumped to his feet, pulled on his cassock over his nightshirt and ran out of his room.

When he stopped in front of Giosuè’s bedroom door, no doubt was possible as to where the sound came from. Don Camillo entered as noiselessly as he could, but since he was a big man with big feet currently operated by a sleepy brain, he was about as discreet as an elephant. Giosuè made no sign that he had heard anything, however: he was curled up on himself in a tight ball, sobbing uncontrollably, his face all scrunched up, blind and deaf to anything that was not the source of his pain.

“M—m—mummy,” he hiccuped breathlessly. “D—daddy…”

Don Camillo, who had found the words to comfort parents burying a child, who had been at the front lines of the Great War, and knew a thing or two about dealing with people in pain, felt helpless in the face of such an immense grief. It poured out of the boy in hot, violent waves, the eternal cry of “Why” and other questions that are fated to remain unanswered, because in this case the truth is too ugly, too impossible to even conceive. How do you explain to an eight year old child that his entire family is most likely dead because madmen from another country set the whole continent ablaze with the idea that they, alone, have worth? How do you – how can you – wrangle innocent words around the insane concept of a ‘master race’ that must not suffer ‘lesser races’ to live?

Don Camillo sat heavily on the chair by the bed. He slowly reached with his big paw of a hand and, very gently, pushed Giosuè’s soaked hair out of his eyes. Giosuè clutched at his hand with surprising strength and did not let go, so Don Camillo stayed where he was and waited.

Giosuè cried himself back to sleep and, at some point in the night, loosened his grip on Don Camillo’s hand. Don Camillo spent the rest of the night downstairs, within hearing in case the boy woke up again, staring into space and not really knowing if he wanted to grab his old M91 gun and shoot at anything wearing a German uniform, or burst into tears.

* * *

The following Sunday, during Mass, the words of Don Camillo’s sermon exploded in peals of thunder under the ceiling of the little church, and there was lightning in his eyes. It had been a while since his parishioners had been treated to a full-blown Don Camillo sermon; while most were undeterred, some people shrank or leaned back in their seats in alarm while others nodded approvingly.

A small group of little old ladies hung back on the parvis after Mass. Since those particular old ladies were the primary source of gossip (and, occasionally, reliable information) in the village, Don Camillo never failed to salute them.

“That was a very interesting sermon, Father,” purred old Signora Catarina in a tone that made Don Camillo prick up his ears and look at her sharply. “That bit about Christian charity – yes, that was quite memorable.”

“Of course,” said Signorina Gabriella in the same kind of voice, “it’s the duty of any Christian to be charitable to other Christians.”

“Ladies, I think you’ve missed the point of my sermon,” said Don Camillo, whose temper was rising, making his ears bright pink. “Charity is indeed a Christian duty, but not restricted to only Christians. Where would the world go if it was?”

“To be sure,” said Signora Catarina with an odd smile. “Oh, by the way, I don’t think we’ve ever seen your nephew in church for Mass once. I do hope his parents raised him right about these things. The nephew of a priest, not going to church! Imagine that!”

Don Camillo was starting to get a very bad feeling. By now his ears were scarlet and he was quite pale.

“I think,” he said slowly, crossing his arms against his chest, “that you are putting your nose where it doesn’t belong. But since you seem to have a question, ask it, and I’ll answer it once and for all.”

The ladies gasped and put their hands in front of their mouths; then, as one, they turned to Signora Catarina, who asked much more straightforwardly:

“When will we see your nephew in church?”

“When he makes his First Communion, and not before,” said Don Camillo, still fighting to remain calm. “He’ll probably make it in the city, though, with his classmates and his own parish priest instead of an uncle who only sees him once every seven or eight years. Any other questions?”

The squad of little old ladies shook their heads.

“Good. And in case I wasn’t clear enough, I advise you to brush up on the definition of charity: it’s something you give to other people regardless of whether you think they deserve it or not. Rather like forgiveness, in that respect.”

He strode back home without even remembering to take off his vestments and went straight to Giosuè, who was pouring over Tonino Bottazzi’s geography book.

“How well did you do in school when you had to learn poems?” he asked bluntly.

Giosuè, startled, had to think for a few seconds.

“Not bad,” he said. “I was fourth in my class.”

“Oh, good. Because we might have a problem.”

Don Camillo explained the scene on the parvis in a few terse words. He was careful not to frighten the child too much but still tried to convey that this was no laughing matter.

“If a few old ladies are starting to have doubts, you can be sure that other people will, too, and fairly soon. Dangerous people.”

Giosuè’s face lost all colour.

“What do we do?” he whispered.

Don Camillo ran his big hand across his chin, deeply preoccupied, and looked at him thoughtfully.

“I’m going to prepare you for your First Communion.”

Giosuè, shocked out of his fear, looked at him as though he had grown a second head.

* * *

Of course Don Camillo had no intention to have Giosuè make his First Communion. The boy was already being hunted for his faith and it was one of the only things he had managed to hold on to. Besides, he would have had to be baptised first.

But that didn’t mean they couldn’t cheat their way out of the problem.

Thus Giosuè began to learn the Pater Noster, the Credo, and the usual liturgy of communion. He made a great effort, but still stumbled on the Latin words and fumbled with the declensions. The Credo was the worst, being so long, and Giosuè, who didn’t understand Latin at all, had to rely only on mnemonics and his power of recall.

Needless to say, he had his work cut out for him.

* * *

Two days later, as Don Camillo was giving a fresh coat of paint to the statue of St Anthony the Abbott and Giosuè was ambling around gazing up at the stained-glass windows, there was a frantic knock on the little side chapel window.

Don Camillo pulled the window open, still holding the brush and the palette, and saw old Giulietta Balducci making desperate gestures.

“What happened?” asked Don Camillo, startled. “The end of the world?”

The old woman was panting as though she had been running, but she gathered enough breath to gasp, “Germans…! There’s a bunch of German soldiers heading for the church! They’ll be there in—”

The door of the church banged open. Don Camillo reflexively pushed the window shut.

Calling the group of soldiers a ‘bunch’ might have been an exaggeration: all in all, they were five, but this included a lieutenant and the German captain in charge of the local administration.

After a glance at Giosuè who was rooted to the spot as though struck by lightning, Don Camillo put down his brush and his palette, rolled down his sleeves, and walked up to the German captain.

“Unless you’re coming for a confession, a baptism or last rites, I will ask you to come back later,” he said. “Right now I’m busy.”

“I wouldn’t dream of wasting your time, Father,” said the German captain politely in very good Italian. “We are only here to settle a small issue, that is all.”

And his gaze went past Don Camillo to Giosuè.

Don Camillo resolutely ignored the way his heart started hammering in his chest and crossed his arms. “What issue?”

“Well, as you know, this is a small town – I’m sorry, a ‘commune’4, isn’t that what they’re called here? You see, I come from a fairly little village myself, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned there, it’s that gossip is inevitable.”

“I suppose it is,” said Don Camillo, watching him closely. “And?”

The captain didn’t answer right away. He looked at Giosuè again and said with an odd smile, “So this is your nephew.”

“Yes,” said Don Camillo whose ears were starting to burn. “This is Gio. Why don’t you say hello, Gio.”

“‘Lo,” murmured Giosuè. The captain smiled amiably.

“Shy little fellow, isn’t he? He doesn’t look like you much, if you’ll forgive my bluntness.”

“Takes after his father’s family. What can I do for you?”

“Reverend, you and I are both administrators, in a way; you manage the souls of your parishioners, I make sure things are done properly. To do that, I need everybody’s cooperation. We are at war, after all, and we all must make concessions for the greater good.”

Not only had Don Camillo been born with a serious aversion to beating around the bush and the German was badly trying his patience, but the sight of Giosuè staring at the soldiers in terror was making it ten times worse. The rhythm of his pounding heart was now approaching a call to arms.

“Let’s be frank, Reverend,” the captain continued. “If you were harbouring a fugitive, would you come forward and tell us?”

“I’m not in the habit of hiding criminals, if that’s what you’re asking,” said Don Camillo flatly. “Unless you count Barchini’s cat. He took refuge in the rectory attic after he broke Signora Cristina’s vase last summer. I was rodent-free for two months so I didn’t complain.”

“The captain was not thinking about that kind of vermin,” said the lieutenant in a grave voice. The captain gave him a look, then came back to Don Camillo.

“We have received serious allegations regarding your nephew.”

“He’s eight. Whatever those ‘allegations’ are they can’t be worse than a little childish mischief.”

“First off, that he’s not really your nephew.”

“Are you insulting my sister, or her husband?”

“And more importantly, that he’s a Jew.”

“That’s funny. I distinctly remember being present at his baptism.”

No more than half a second passed between the end of one sentence and the beginning of the next. The German soldiers watched the exchange of metaphorical shots with impassive faces. If they had been standing on the side, though, their heads would have been snapping back and forth between the two men.

The German captain gritted his teeth for a second, then he was all smiles again.

“Look, as I said, we’re not here to make any trouble. You’re obviously a respected authority in the village; you’ve been these people’s priest for a long time and it would be a shame to change this state of things. I just want some proof that the boy is who you say he is.”

“And my word isn’t enough?”

“Quite frankly, no.”

The captain turned abruptly to Giosuè, who was standing frozen a few feet away.

“I understand you’ll make your First Communion soon,” he said almost kindly.

Giosuè was so still and white that he appeared to be carved out of marble. But he gave a tiny nod.

“Congratulations. That’s a big step in a young boy’s life. It means you’ve reached the age of reason, you know that?”

Another nod.

“I’m sure your family prepared you well for this. Personally, I’ve always had trouble with all the Latin, but it helped very much when I learned Italian. Never let anyone tell you that Latin is useless and incomprehensible.”

From the slightly puzzled look on Giosuè’s face that was starting to compete with the terror, Latin was not the only thing that could be incomprehensible.

And then the captain gave another smile.

“So how about you recite a Pater Noster for me, to prove that you have nothing to fear from us.”

“Is that why you and your soldiers are invading my church?” Don Camillo didn’t even have to force the disbelief into his voice, but he had to fight tooth and nail to keep the fury to an acceptable level. “To force a prayer out of a frightened boy?”

The captain raised a hand and did not look at Don Camillo. “Please, Father,” he said with steel in his voice. “This will not take long and it’s a small price to pay for peace of mind. Especially ours. Come on, child. Let’s hear it.”

Giosuè’s huge eyes were fixed somewhere between the captain’s gun and the buttons on his jacket. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly, his mind a complete blank.

“Well? Nothing?”

“This is a waste of time,” interrupted the lieutenant sharply. “Let’s just check if he’s circumcised and be done with it.”

He took a step towards Giosuè.

Don Camillo felt the blood drain from his face. He grabbed the first thing that his hand could find, which turned out to be a five foot candelabra made of solid lead, and brandished it like a stick as though it weighed nothing. He did not shout, he did not bark or bellow; instead, his voice was as deep and icy as the great river right before it bursts its banks and swallows up everything – people, cattle, trees, houses.

“Anyone so much as touches this child and none of you will leave this place alive.”

The captain, the lieutenant and the three soldiers drew every single weapon they had and aimed at Don Camillo.

Who knows how this could have ended, and the consequences it could have had? Who can tell who would have fired the first shot, or struck the first blow? How much blood would have flowed on the stone tile floor of the little church, and how quickly, if a small, tremulous voice hadn’t spoken at the very second it did?

“Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum. Benedicta tu in mulieribus…”

They all turned and stared at Giosuè, who was standing very straight with his hands locked behind his back. If the situation hadn’t been what it was, and if he hadn’t been so ashen-faced, he might have looked like he was in class, being asked by the schoolmaster to recite a poem.

Giosuè did not hesitate once. The prayer was word-perfect, the Latin impeccable.

“…nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen.”

“Amen,” muttered Don Camillo, lowering the candelabra by about fifty millimetres. The Germans did the same with their guns and took their fingers off the triggers.

The German captain stared at Giosuè with his eyebrows raised.

“It appears our informants were mistaken about their allegations. The Ave Maria, huh? Not quite what I had asked for, but all right.”

“I can say the Pater Noster, too,” said Giosuè, his face still white but his eyes blazing. “If you want.”

“No, that’ll do. Thank you, young man.”

The lieutenant snapped his heels together. “Herr Hauptmann, this is still very suspicious. The boy looked far too scared to –”

Don Camillo snapped.

“Of course he was scared, you bloody idiot!” he roared, still brandishing the huge candelabra, his voice reverberating all around inside the church. “So would you be, if you were an eight year old boy and a horde of foreign soldiers armed to the teeth made you say a prayer! One of the most intimate links between a human soul and God, and he wanted to force that out of him! And you…!”

The lieutenant involuntarily took a step back in alarm.

“What you were about to do to that child is unspeakable! Have you no shame, no sense of basic human decency? If I were your confessor I would refuse you absolution!”

“I’m a Protestant,” muttered the lieutenant.

“I don’t care what you are!” bellowed Don Camillo, still wielding his candelabra. Two of the soldiers scrambled back. “You’re a coward hiding behind a uniform, that’s all! All of you! Now get out and don’t even think of darkening the door of the house of the Lord again if it’s to bully children!”

The lieutenant had his hand on his gun again, but the captain stopped him with a gesture. Then he glanced at the very large, very heavy candelabra in Don Camillo’s hands and gave him a curious look.

“I wonder if you could give me one good reason not to arrest you right now.”

“I don’t have to. You’ll just have to take this up with Him when your time comes and hope your conscience is clear.”

“And yours is?” asked the captain.

“Yes,” said Don Camillo firmly.

The captain looked at him unblinkingly for a few seconds. Then he nodded to his soldiers, who half-walked and half-ran to the door as though he had sounded the retreat. The lieutenant followed them with more dignity, his face still dark; the captain was the last to get out, and he did so with a last, somewhat unsettling look at Don Camillo and Giosuè.

When the door of the church clunked shut, Don Camillo carefully put down the candelabra, which suddenly seemed to weigh a ton. He felt around behind him for the wall he knew was there, and leaned heavily against it. His heart seemed to have left his ribcage for his throat and was thumping so hard and so wildly that his vision blurred with every beat. Feeling the cool, rough surface of the stone under his palm did him a world of good.

He fished his large white and yellow handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead with a shaking hand.

They had come so close to taking Giosuè away. Much, much too close.

Giosuè’s hands were shaking badly, too, but he was still ramrod-straight as he stared at the door the Germans had closed behind them.

“Don Camillo,” he said in a faraway voice, “I’d like to go out and see the donkey again, please.”

Don Camillo didn’t trust himself to speak. He nodded.

* * *

When they were on a small path, well out of sight of the houses, Giosuè asked for permission to have a run.

“All right, but not too far.”

Don Camillo sat on a stone marker and watched Giosuè bolt away like a cannon shot. He ran as fast as he could, as far as he was allowed to, which was to a little bridge about two or three hundred metres away. He dashed back instantly and came back very red, drenched with sweat and with his chest heaving, but looking a little more at peace.

The donkey was enjoying a day off in his field; he watched placidly as the two humans approached, then moseyed closer in search of affection and possible food.

Before they left the rectory, Don Camillo had stuffed his pockets with apples and some bread in a clean handkerchief. He gave an apple to Giosuè, who gladly fed it to the donkey and whispered in his ears as the animal munched.

Giosuè spent a long time stroking the donkey and murmuring to him. Don Camillo didn’t know whether it was the long, slow gestures or the one-sided conversation, but it seemed to soothe the boy, who only left the fence when the donkey walked off to his stable.

Don Camillo and Giosuè strolled along the dykes in comfortable silence for a long time, not really knowing nor caring who was following whom.

The end of June was drawing near, and late spring was giving way to summer. In the fields and in the ditches, the poppies and the deep green herbs had disappeared in favour of a tall, thin wild grass that was slowly turning yellow. The heat, while not yet quite as strong as it would get in another month or so, was still strong enough to make a stark difference between sunlight and shade, and after a while both Don Camillo and Giosuè were glad to stop under an elm to rest and snack on the bread and apples.

Don Camillo’s absolute fury and terror on Giosuè’s behalf had burned a trail of fire inside him that had gradually gone out, leaving only cold ashes and a sadness that grew with each passing moment. He watched the boy follow a colourful beetle and collect interesting-looking stones, still chewing on his apple, and let the logical conclusion draw itself.

Giosuè was no longer safe here.

* * *

Don Camillo wrote a letter that night, after Giosuè went to bed. He was very careful whom he sent it to, and even more careful in his choice of words, in case it was intercepted and fell into the wrong hands.

The answer arrived a few days later in the form of a letter from the nearby commune of Viadana. Don Camillo was so lost in thought when he got out of the post office to send a telegram of confirmation that he almost smacked into four people and a couple of walls on the way home.

That evening, he sat down in front of Giosuè, who had finished his arithmetic exercises and was reading one of his adventure books, nestled in his armchair.

“Giosuè,” he said, “I need to talk to you.”

Giosuè marked his page and looked up. His look of polite interest vanished when he saw the expression on Don Camillo’s face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, anxiousness creeping into his voice.

Don Camillo couldn’t choose between answering ‘Nothing’ and ‘Everything’, so he settled for a third option. “I’ve been thinking. And…” His voice trailed off and he ran his hand across his face. “Look,” he continued, “There’s no way around it. It’s getting too dangerous for you out here. That German captain will be waiting for you or me to slip up, and that’s only if he actually decides to wait for evidence that I’m not really your uncle. And that lieutenant is just itching to arrest you.”

“So,” Giosuè whispered, “you’re going to send me away?”

“I’m not throwing you out into the street!” shouted Don Camillo. “Who do you think I am?”

Giosuè, who by now was used to the variations in volume of Don Camillo’s voice and knew this was no cause for alarm, gave him a somewhat pointed look.

“But you’re saying I can’t stay here.”

“I’m saying I need to get you somewhere safer. The Germans could show up again tomorrow using any excuse, like the fact that you don’t actually have any papers. Or they could just as well do without an excuse.”

Giosuè pondered the argument, then asked, “Where are we going, then?”

Don Camillo noted the ‘we’ with a pang, and explained, “There’s a hamlet called Cizzolo, in the commune of Viadana. I wrote to their priest, Don Silvio; he said that there’s a family there who will gladly hide you as long as it’s necessary.” He deliberately avoided saying either ‘until the Germans go away’ or ‘until your parents come back’. It almost seemed like too much to ask for and he didn’t want to give the boy false hopes anyway. “Their farm is far enough from the hamlet itself and it’s surrounded by fields. Even the county road doesn’t cross Cizzolo. It’s a long way from all the strategic routes, so the Germans never even set foot there. You’ll be safe.”

Giosuè was by nature a pensive child who seldom spoke before he had thought about what he was going to say. He mulled over Don Camillo’s words for a bit; then he squeezed his book tighter, nodded, and looked up with a slightly unsteady smile.

“I’m glad you were my uncle, you know. Even if it was just for a little while.”

Don Camillo stared at him for about ten seconds. Then he cleared his throat and tried not to look like someone had punched him in the chest.

“Me too,” he said finally with a smile that was just as shaky as Giosuè’s.

And he abruptly got up and strode to the kitchen to make dinner.

* * *

Don Silvio, a tall, thin young man with soft round blue eyes behind his glasses, showed up on the following Wednesday afternoon, as per his letter, in a little cart pulled by a mule.

“The Guatellis lent her to me to get the boy,” he said as he jumped down from the cart. “I figured he would be more comfortable in a cart than riding the rear rack on my bicycle for twenty kilometres.”

Don Camillo tied the mule in a shaded spot in the rectory garden and invited Don Silvio inside.

As he put two glasses and a bottle of Lambrusco on the table, Giosuè came downstairs, holding the little suitcase he had arrived with. Don Silvio held out his hand.

“Do you want some help with that?”

“No, thank you,” said Giosuè politely. He laid down the suitcase near the door and sat down at the kitchen table. Don Camillo put a pear, a bit of bread and the last of his honey in front of him and asked him sternly:

“Are you sure you didn’t forget anything upstairs?”

“Yes, Don Camillo.”

“Did you check the clothes line? Your white shirt should be dry by now.”

Giosuè opened his mouth, blinked, and hurried out to the rectory garden.

Don Silvio’s warm smile widened at Giosuè’s hasty departure.

“Quite the little gentleman, isn’t he?”

“He’s a good lad,” said Don Camillo, who was still looking at the door that led to the garden. He took a chair at the kitchen table beside Don Silvio and poured two glasses of Lambrusco. “Can you swear to me that he’ll be safe there?”

Don Silvio took his glass and sighed. “With everything that’s happened and probably will, I can’t guarantee his safety any more than I can guarantee mine, yours, or anyone’s. But Ettore and Giuseppina Guatelli are good people. They have two baby girls who are one and three years old. They’re aware of the risks, but they’re willing to do whatever it takes to protect the boy.”

“Good.”

“Where did he come from, by the way? Did he just show up on your doorstep one day, or…?”

“No, that’s – that’s more or less what happened.”

Don Camillo quickly told Giosuè’s story to Don Silvio, who listened with an expression that grew darker with every word.

“Poor boy,” he sighed when Don Camillo stopped talking. “Do you think his family is still alive, somewhere?”

“I don’t know. There’s no way to find out, not until—” Don Camillo broke off as Giosuè came back inside, carrying his dry laundry. “Well, you were gone some time.”

“I was saying goodbye to the orchard,” said Giosuè quietly.

Don Silvio shot Don Camillo a sympathetic glance.

Giosuè had his snack while the two adults had their glass of wine, and the three of them chatted amiably for a while.

Soon enough – somewhat too soon to Giosuè’s and Don Camillo’s liking – it was time to say goodbye.

“Make sure he works on his conjugation and his six and seven multiplication tables,” said Don Camillo to Don Silvio while Giosuè put his suitcase into the cart and looked at the mule with interest. “And it would be nice if someone could read him a page or two of The Tigers of Mompracem before bed. We stopped at page 122. Oh, and he must have two candles of his own every Friday evening till Saturday night. It’s important.”

Don Silvio nodded with a smile. “I’ll make sure of it, don’t worry.”

There was plenty of things Don Camillo wanted to add, but then Don Silvio went to harness the mule to the cart, and he found Giosuè craning his neck to look up at him.

Don Camillo knelt down, looked at the boy in the eyes, and everything he wanted to say vanished from his mind. What could he say? ‘Be careful’? ‘Be good’? Giosuè had never been anything but. All the other words caught in his throat and added to the lump that had been there for days, ever since he had received Don Silvio’s letter.

Fortunately, Giosuè must have understood most of what Don Camillo had meant to say, because he threw his arms around his neck. Don Camillo remained thunderstruck for a few seconds; then he hugged the boy back, hesitatingly at first, then fiercely.

“You’ll say goodbye to Tonino and Lucia for me, won’t you,” whispered Giosuè, still gripping Don Camillo’s cassock with his clenched fists.

Don Camillo could only nod silently.

Giosuè hopped onto the cart next to Don Silvio, who saluted with a wave. When they passed the gate of the rectory garden and into the street, Giosuè turned around in his seat; his green eyes were full of tears, but he was smiling the biggest smile Don Camillo had seen on his face. Then the little cart disappeared round a street corner and was gone.

Don Camillo stood where he was for a solid fifteen minutes, staring at the street. Then he went back into the rectory and climbed the stairs.

Giosuè’s room was just as it had looked two months ago: spotless, but bare. The only sign that someone had lived and slept there were the pile of neatly-folded clothes on the bed (to be returned to Tonino), the pencil case (which Lucia had shared with Giosuè every other week, when they weren’t drawing together at the Bottazzis’ kitchen table while Don Camillo was out on errands), and the stack of drawings on the desk.

Giosuè had drawn a lot, and the subjects of his artistic endeavours were many and various. His family was in many drawings, together or in separate portraits, and a few featured what Don Camillo thought must be Signora Rosa. In addition to the partisans-as-pirates picture Giosuè had done early on, a few more featured frowning men with red kerchiefs, including one with a fearsome moustache that made Don Camillo think Lucia must have let something slip about her father’s clandestine activities during one of their drawing sessions. Giosuè had drawn the orchard, too, with the apple tree and the vegetable patch, and the donkey in his field, the bridge over the Canalaccio, and the poplar trees along the Main Dyke. He had drawn Don Camillo a few times, as well, including one picture in which two figures, a big black one and a small yellow-headed one, both armed with big sticks, were driving off a bunch of little green-grey characters who seemed to be calling for their mothers.

Don Camillo sat at the desk to look at the drawings; soon, though, he found the silent, empty room dreary and lonely and almost stifling, so he gathered up the drawings and retreated to the one place where he had never felt alone.

* * *

“Jesus,” said Don Camillo with something that was not quite yet a smile, “look at those. The boy is talented, isn’t he?”

“He is, Don Camillo, reasonably so. It also goes to show that if you put all your heart into something, some of it always comes out, one way or another.”

Don Camillo was sitting on a pew facing the main altar and the crucified Christ, looking at the pictures one by one and waiting for the cold, tight ball of misery and worry in chest to go away. So far, it hadn’t budged.

“Something on your mind, Camillo?” asked Jesus kindly. Don Camillo lowered the sheets of paper and his shoulders sagged.

“Lord,” he sighed, “I know You’re watching over Giosuè; I know Don Silvio wouldn’t leave him with people he doesn’t trust completely and I know he’ll be looking out for him, too; but I can’t help it. I worry about him like mad.”

“And it’s very much to your credit. But surely that is not the only reason why you’re here now.”

Every now and then, when Don Camillo had done something reprehensible, or felt angry or sad and didn’t want to talk to Jesus about it, he was not above telling a barefaced lie. Of course, Jesus always knew, because even if he hadn’t read Don Camillo’s heart like an open book, it was useless to try and keep secrets from him.

This Don Camillo knew perfectly well, but it had never stopped him.

He could have thrown out his arms and played wide-eyed innocence, and for a moment he found it very tempting. Instead he carefully put the drawings on the pew beside him and hastily wiped his eyes.

“I didn’t know it was possible to miss someone this badly after so little time,” he said quietly. “He’s not even been here two months and… Lord, it’s like the sun rose and I didn’t even know it was night.”

Jesus smiled. “What changed, then?”

“I don’t know… Habits, mostly. Little things. Correcting his homework and reading him stories. Working in the vegetable patch, going off to see the donkey, strolling through the countryside… Making sure he was well-fed, got enough sleep, didn’t get bored…”

“I wouldn’t call those ‘little things’, Camillo. You’ve grown to care a lot for the boy, it’s only natural that you miss him.”

“And worry, too. I know. But, Jesus…”

Don Camillo stood up and walked up to the altar with his hands behind his back and his head hanging low, as usual when he was preoccupied or downhearted.

“Do You remember when it looked like Tonino Bottazzi was going to die from the whooping-cough, five years ago? One evening I found Peppone sobbing his heart out, on that pew right here. He didn’t even have the strength to ask me to light the candle he had brought.”

“I remember, Don Camillo. I remember everything. But what has this got to do with Giosuè?”

“Lord, I thought I understood why he was crying. Now I know that I didn’t, not really.”

“What do you mean?”

Don Camillo didn’t answer; not because he didn’t want to, but because he didn’t know where to begin and how to put everything – the turmoil in his head and the weight in his heart – into intelligible sentences. He paced back and forth for a little while in silence, then saluted Jesus with a quick sign of the cross and went back into the rectory.

He put Giosuè’s drawings into his old military chest between the photographs and the partisans’ letters, grabbed his field altar, and took off to Mario Pasotti’s house to borrow his motorcycle.

* * *

The sun was setting as Don Camillo stopped by the old dead tree to get directions. After he hid the motorcycle in a safe spot, it took him about an hour’s trekking in the falling darkness to find what – or rather who – he was looking for.

It was Stràziami who was on lookout duty; after he had made sure Don Camillo was not a lost German soldier nor a Black Brigade straggler, he welcomed him with his usual solemn bordering on grim expression, and took him inside the shelter built out of the same old patched-up tarpaulins camouflaged under interwoven branches and ferns.

Beside Stràziami, most of the usual familiar faces – Bigio, Brusco, Smilzo, Francesca, Nino – were there, but the squad was clearly missing at least half its men.

“What happened?” asked Don Camillo, alarmed. “Where’s the rest of you?”

“Not dead, if that’s what you’re worried about,” said a voice behind him as Peppone made his way into the shelter. “The band was getting too large for safety, so we split. Aldo took half the men across the mountains, towards La Spezia. Evening, Reverend,” he added, holding out his hand with a grin.

Don Camillo shook his hand heartily with an answering smile. “Hello, Peppone.” Then something crossed his mind and he looked around. “If Aldo left, who’s in charge now?”

Peppone crossed his arms and gave Don Camillo a somewhat self-satisfied look. Don Camillo threw out his arms.

“I should have known.”

“We voted,” pointed out Brusco.

“The democratic process may pertain to the triumphal march of proletarian revolution,” added Smilzo.

Don Camillo rolled his eyes. “Somebody take the books from that boy. Or better, give him some proper ones.”

“Never mind books,” said Smilzo eagerly. “How’s my mum and dad? And Carola?”

Don Camillo was immediately flooded with questions, which he answered best he could. Then, as usual, he went to sit outside the shelter and waited for whoever was in need of a confession.

Every man and woman sat down one after the other and talked for a little while – even Smilzo, who murmured things in an anguished voice and then finished by flippantly asking Don Camillo to say hello to Carola for him, and even Stràziami, who stayed silent for five minutes straight before admitting how scared and desperate he felt, sometimes, and how much he wished he could come back to the valley to see his wife and young child.

Peppone was the last to come, but come he did.

“God be with you, brother,” said Don Camillo when Peppone sat down next to him. “How long has it been since your last confession?”

“A good long while, and hopefully the next one will wait. How are Maria and the kids? And my mother?”

“They’re fine. Marco had a runny nose for a couple of weeks, but the doctor said it was just hay fever. Lucia’s lost another tooth, an upper canine…”

Don Camillo went on with his little news bulletin, which Peppone drank like a man being offered clear water in the middle of the desert. The more he talked, the happier Peppone looked, and the more Don Camillo’s heart sank in his chest as he thought about Giosuè.

When he was done, Don Camillo fell silent, and Peppone didn’t speak, either. The night air was cool, but not cold; the mountain all around them was still giving back the heat it had accumulated in its earth and its rocks during the day. The smells were sharper here, and the night was filled with the song of foreign birds and insects, odd animal yelps, and trees creaking as their wood settled.

“You can never really see the stars here, not when you have to hide under the trees all the time,” murmured Peppone after a while. “Everywhere you look there’s a mountain blocking your view. Not like home. When you look up from the valley, the sky never ends.”

Don Camillo nodded, but didn’t reply. Peppone glanced at him from the corner of his eye.

“What’s wrong, Father? You’ve been looking funny ever since you arrived. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

Don Camillo almost retorted something casually sarcastic out of habit, but the lump in his throat had come back, so he kept his mouth closed. This time Peppone half-turned to look at him.

“Don Camillo, is everything all right? You didn’t get bad news about your family, did you? We heard that all the big cities in the North were being bombed since early Spring.”

“No, nothing of the kind. Last I heard, they were all alive and well, thank the Lord.” Don Camillo paused and looked up. Peppone was right; only a patch of dark blue was visible, with a handful of stars that looked like pins planted haphazardly, a far cry from the immensity that was the sky stretched over the great river. It was enough to make one homesick after only two or three hours. “It’s just that… It’s a lot of things, really.”

Peppone picked up a small stick and poked at the moss at his feet.

“Well. Maybe it’s your turn, then.”

“To do what?”

“I don’t know, confess?”

Don Camillo glared at him.

“Just because you’ve never taken the sacrament of repentance seriously—”

“Not true, but that’s not the point. Look, where I stand from, there’s priests, and then there’s chaplains. And chaplains are—”

“They’re the exact same thing! Are you seriously presuming to teach me my job, Peppone?”

“Hear me out instead of getting on your high horse! What I meant to say is that chaplains don’t just celebrate Masses or dish out sacraments, they also listen to the poor devil who’s cold and scared and sick and tired of the fighting and the hunger and the death, even if he hasn’t had much to do when it comes to sin. The kind of stuff that falls under, uh, ‘spiritual assistance’. Right?”

“… Right,” muttered Don Camillo, mightily annoyed at hearing his life’s work and calling being reduced to ‘celebrating Masses and dishing out sacraments’ but following Peppone’s line of reasoning.

“Right. So, you’ve been our chaplain for a while now, and as chaplains go, you’re not that bad.”

“Thank you very much!” exclaimed Don Camillo, who was this close to seeing red. “I wonder if my position as your chaplain involves punching you in the nose every time you say or do something stupid. But that would be a full-time job and I’d have to leave my parish for that!”

Peppone shrugged. “So, the boys talk to you, and they’re grateful for it,” he said, ignoring Don Camillo’s little outburst. “But who do you talk to?”

“You know who I talk to, Peppone. I couldn’t ask for a better chaplain. And it would do you good if you talked to Him once in a while, too.”

“Who I talk to and how is my business. Besides, it looks like you have something on your mind that you didn’t talk to your ‘chaplain’ about.”

For all that Peppone was about as subtle as a bull in a china shop on his best day and tended to let his temper get the better of him, he could every now and then make very shrewd observations. Don Camillo’s anger vanished as suddenly as it had flared up.

“All right,” he sighed. “But I need to speak to the father, not to the partisan or the Communist.”

“They’re all listening anyway.”

And Don Camillo talked, starting from the moment he had found Giosuè on his doorstep, and explained everything that ensued. Peppone kept fiddling with the stick he still had in his hand and listened intently. He must have heard what Don Camillo didn’t say, as well, because when Don Camillo told him in broad strokes what had happened in the church with the German captain and lieutenant, Peppone went white and shot him a sharp glance.

“Bloody cowards,” he muttered with an expression that was nothing short of murderous; and he spat on the ground. This was his only interruption.

Don Camillo continued until he reached the part where Don Silvio had taken Giosuè to the Guatellis, and trailed off in the middle of a sentence. Peppone waited for the rest, and when he didn’t get it, he glanced at Don Camillo again, this time with something funny in his eyes.

“They have a way of growing on you, don’t they?” he asked softly.

It was so unusual for him to speak so quietly that it abruptly brought Don Camillo back to the present.

Don Camillo shook his head. “I can’t even imagine what it must be like when they’re yours.”

“I couldn’t describe it right even if I wanted to – I think I’d have to have stayed in school a lot longer than I did for that. But it’s like… being scared to death and feeling like a giant at the same time. You go about your normal business and suddenly you realise that your heart is bursting with love and it has to come out somehow, but then they can do or say things that make you wonder where you’ve gone wrong.” Peppone rubbed the back of his neck, making his cap tip dangerously over his eyes. “So you balance it all out with the little things.”

“What little things?”

“The everyday stuff – tucking them in at night, kissing them goodbye when they go to school in the morning and goodnight before they go to bed, taking care of their cuts and scratches, holding them when they cry… It probably sounds silly.”

“It really doesn’t,” whispered Don Camillo, who was thinking about The Tigers of Mompracem and the way Giosuè’s eyes had lit up every night when he opened the book.

Something rustled nearby and made both men freeze. It turned out to be an owl flying off from a branch, and they relaxed.

They listened to the silence for a little while, and then Peppone said:

“Giosuè sounds like a good kid.”

“He is.”

“And you know he’s safe where he is, but you can’t help worrying and meanwhile you’ve got a hole in your heart the size of the Milan Cathedral.”

“… Yes.”

Peppone dropped the stick and glanced at Don Camillo.

“Well, if you ever need to talk, I promise I will listen as a father and leave the partisan and the Communist out the door.”

Don Camillo caught his eye and smiled – a heartfelt, genuine smile that eased down the lump in his throat.

“Thank you.”

“Does that sort of make me your chaplain, too?”

“Don’t start.”

“All right.”

They got up, leaning on one another and wincing at the various little sounds of bones popping, and went to join the others in the shelter.

Don Camillo celebrated the usual clandestine Mass, with Smilzo acting as as a smirking but nonetheless eager altar boy. After three or four hours of sleep, he made his way down to the spot he had hidden the motorcycle, followed by Peppone and Brusco just in case.

The sun was barely starting to rise over the river when he left the motorcycle against the wall of Pasotti’s barn and tiptoed back to the rectory to change before morning Mass.

* * *

Later that day, Don Camillo went to knock on Peppone’s mother’s door; it was Tonino who opened it. The boy greeted him politely and went to get his mother.

When Maria arrived – followed by Lucia, who was eagerly waiting for her turn at the coloured pencils – Don Camillo handed her the bag with Tonino’s old clothes.

“Gio went back to his parents’ yesterday,” he explained, to the children’s disappointment. “He was sorry he couldn’t come say goodbye properly but he did tell me to thank you for everything.”

“Well,” said Maria, “he was a good lad and having him around was a pleasure. Be sure to let him know he’ll always be welcome here.”

Don Camillo promised, and Maria went off to put away the clothes, smiling.

Lucia looked down at her pencil case.

“I liked Gio,” she said, somewhat sadly. “He was nice and he drew great pirates. Do you think he can come back sometime, when the war is over?”

“I hope so,” said Don Camillo with a smile.

“But if you befriend me, my life will be full of sunlight. I will know a footstep that will be like no other footstep. And look! Do you see the wheat fields over there? I do not eat bread; I have no use for wheat. The wheat fields hold no meaning for me, and that is sad. But your hair is the colour of gold. How wonderful it will be when you have befriended me! The wheat, which is golden, will remind me of you. And I will love the sound of the wind through the wheat…” The fox fell silent and looked at the little prince for a long while. “Please… Befriend me!” he said.

(…)

Thus the little prince befriended the fox. And when it was time for the little prince to go… “Ah!” said the fox… “I will cry.” “It’s your own fault,” said the little prince. “I did not mean to do you any harm, but you wanted me to befriend you…” “Of course,” said the fox. “But you will cry!” said the little prince. “Of course,” said the fox. “So then you did not gain anything!” “I did,” said the fox, “because of the colour of the wheat fields.”

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Le petit prince

1While Piacenza was indeed heavily bombed in the spring of 1944, there is no San Donato Church there (that I know of). 2Traditionally the priest goes around his parish on Easter to bless his parishioners and their houses. 3From Emilio Salgari’s The Tigers of Mompracem. Salgari was famous for his adventure books, the most famous of which are his Sandokan series. They’ve spawned several screen adaptations. I remember quite fondly a cartoon where Sandokan and his pirates were literal anthropomorphic tigers; the cartoon itself was made in 1991/1992, but I watched it when it reran on a non-cable channel here in 1994. I really liked that cartoon, even though the animation might not have aged so well (I’m rather afraid to go back and check!). My twelve year old self thought the pirate captain was very dashing and loved his friendship with his second, Yanez :o) When I was researching adventure books for Giosuè to love, I happened on these characters and just could not resist working them into the story – especially considering the Italian partisans were called “fuori legge”, “ribelli” and “banditi” – “outlaws”, “rebels” and “bandits” by the Fascist authorities. 4A commune (Italian Comune) is a town, which can include several frazioni (hamlets/subdivisions).

Unlike the Nazis, Mussolini’s Fascist régime was not based on the idea of extermination of “lesser races”, but as Mussolini got closer to Hitler in the second half of the 1930s, Italian Jews began to suffer, as well. “Racial laws” were issued in 1938, similar to the Nuremberg Laws,  excluding Italian Jews from public service (including teaching) and public places such as libraries and parks, forbidding them to marry Gentiles, publish a newspaper, own a trade or even a radio set. Foreign Jews as well as some anti-fascist Italian Jews were imprisoned in internment camps from 1940; while the conditions were difficult, they were not work or death camps. The Italian authorities actually tolerated Jewish emigration from occupied countries (like Croatia or France) and went as far as to consistently refuse to hand back the refugees when their governments demanded them back.

The roundups truly began with the German invasion in 1943. Censuses have Jewish people in Italy in 1939 around 35,150 (they were around 47,480 in 1931; a lot of people either converted or immigrated rather than be subjected to the racial laws). In October 1943, the Gestapo arrested 1,259 people in the Ghetto of Rome; of the 1,023 people who were sent to Auschwitz only fifteen men and one woman came back. The police and the Blackshirts helped in the arrests and deportations from September 1943. There was a real support from the Gentile (mostly Catholic) population, however: many Italian Jews were saved hidden in attics, on farms, in religious institutions, orphanages and parishes.

About 7,750 Italian Jews were murdered in the death camps in less than a year and a half.

So... This one was the easiest and the trickiest to write. I just hope I did everybody justice and conveyed what I wanted to convey. But that’s for you to decide.

[secretromanticsstuff]

Season One of Agents of Shield

I cannot do anything halfway. At least when it comes to watching lots and lots of TV.  So I’ve had a particular problem with Netflix originals. How do I get through all of them? My strategy so far has been to watch all the drama’s  backwards in order or release, and comedies forward.  So far I have watched everything released after Stranger things (stranger things included.) Narcos will be the next original drama I tackle. As far as comedies, I’m caught up with Kimmy Schmidt, Grace and Frankie, and have seen season one of Master of None. Yeah, I’m not making as much progress with the comedies.  Why am I doing this exactly? I don’t know, it must be because I’m  a compulsive couch potato.  Who isn’t anymore? Or maybe I figure if I’m paying for the subscription I should get as much out of it as possible. Or maybe I secretly wish I were a TV/Movie critic, and like being in the know of what’s good and what’s worth people’s time and what isn’t. But in order to know that you have to wade through a LOT of the stuff that really really isn’t.  That’s the price you have to pay to occasionally stumble upon the really good gems that nobody else seems to know about.  That’s the best feeling. That’s what I’m always hoping for.

Until recently, I didn’t have a concrete plan/schedule in place to tackle the Marvel TV universe, which if I’m not mistaken, has 5 (6?) original series streaming on Netflix. But before Netflix even started airing marvel properties, ABC had already aired 2 other Marvel series, all part of the same expanded universe as the big budget films. So, because I’m compulsive, I must watch these as well before I can even think to check out the Marvel TV that Netflix has to offer. I know, I’m really not making this easy on myself.  But I finally refined my TV watching strategy to hopefully get through all of this crap eventually.  So right now the plan is: watch Marvel tv as much as I feel like Monday through Thursday, along with some Netflix comedy series (in order of release date going forwards) if I feel like watching that instead. And yeah, I really haven’t felt like watching the Netflix comedies much at all(or haven’t been in the mood for Master of None specifically, because that’s the one I’m on), so I’m going easy on myself there. ((but I will probably binge all of Kimmy Schmidt the second the new season comes out.)) Then on Friday-Sunday, I watch one season of a netflix Drama. (Last weekend I watched a miniseries my friend lent me.  After finally getting to Stranger Things I thought I’d pause on the Netflix Drama’s  for as many weekends as I need before I start Narcos.) If a new Drama series is released, or a new season of a Drama that I’m caught up with (anything after Stranger things) I drop all plans to watch seasons of older released shows, and watch the newest one instead.  New releases in the Drama category take priority. I will also make exceptions about using weekends to get through shorter Marvel seasons.  The weekend of May 25th I will probably be watching season 1 of Agent Carter, for example.  This weekend, I will, of course, be binging season 2 of 13 Reasons Why, as soon as it is released.  So if I’m watching drama’s backwards, and comedies forward, from oldest to newest,  the idea with the Marvel shows is to watch every episode of every marvel series in chronological order of release.  As of today, I have successfully gotten through season 1 of Agents of Shield, uninterrupted. Season 2 will be different.  10 episodes in, the show took a winter hiatus and aired season 1 of Agent Carter before resuming.  And somewhere between the weekly episodes on ABC, Netflix then dropped all of season 1 of Daredevil.  So at that point I will pause on Agents of Shield again to get through that…and so on.  Ok, everybody caught up with my compulsive plan? Ok good.  If I ever (that’s a big if) get caught up enough that I can move on to checking out what they’re offering on my amazon prime account, I might do it differently. I might watch those shows in order of popularity so I don’t have to wait so long to see what people are nerding out about the most. Idk, we’ll see if we ever get there.  

Ok so Agents of Shield season 1:

As is typical with most Whedon  shows, the first season is pretty tough to get through, and not a great selling point. The pilot wasn’t that compelling, aside from the fact that THE J. AUGUST RICHARDS, Angel’s Charles Gunn himself, is in it!!!  Even better, they set him up with a story line. He continues to make appearances on the show, even if he’s not part of the main cast. Yeah so aside from getting excited whenever Gunn showed up, it was not great.  Not great until the twist, which was great, and then the entire show suddenly turned great.  This happens at about exactly episode 16sh. And it seems like they planned the show to take place at the same time as the events of Captain America: Winter Soldier which is pretty cool. Gotta love that Marvel continuity.  Some highlights from the end of the season:

We meet the cellist from Portland that Coulson had a romance with, as mentioned briefly in The Avengers, and she is none other than AMY ACKER!!  Angel’s Fred Burkle herself!!!  Whedon really takes care of his own huh?

It was extremely affirming to watch my NOTP become a decidedly HELLNOTP.  It’s like they read my mind, and purposely set me up for disappointment, only to take a left turn and leave me pleasantly surprised when they crushed that stupid little romantic side plot to the ground.  I’m talking of course about Ward’s romance…with anyone.  Ward sucks, is boring, has always sucked,  and he can go die alone.

We actually do get to see Samuel L Jackson, but after his first appearance earlier in the season, they sure make us wait for it. And after saying we won’t see him anymore(boo!!!), he ominously mentions that he is still around everywhere.  Or something.  Could this mean he will pop up in other Marvel TV shows too? Nah, that would probably be too expensive for the TV studios. He will likely just continue to make the occasional appearance in the big budget films, but a girl can dream. Actually it is pretty amazing he even made appearances (more than one!) on this show at all, so that’s something. I guess I shouldn’t complain.  

Low point (after “the twist”):

Patton Oswalt. Just…ugh.  And when they introduce him they set us up to get an appearance from Samuel L Jackson. We get him instead. The nerve. (like he’s an ok comedian and all I just never want to see him in a TV acting roll because he always plays the same character. He ruined Burn Notice, he ruined United States of Tara, and now he’s going to ruin Agents of Shield because apparently he’s a bunch of robot butler clone guys (or something)that all look and sound like him and if he dies we just get another one.  Fantastic.  (I think he was good in Ratatouille though. But that’s it.)

So those are my thoughts on S1, thanks for reading, message me if you need to geek out about it with me.  

[mayaknowsnothing-blog]

From An Introverted Extrovert:

Recently, my best friend described me as extroverted. My reaction:

No seriously. What the hell? I hate crowds. I hate being surrounded by a bunch of people. I will gladly choose a day in by myself than a day out with a group of friends any day of the week. However, I love a good spontaneous adventure. I love to travel to new places...but not for long. I love the comfort of my own bed too much. I use that “Do Not Disturb” feature on my iPhone way too much sometimes. Though, I know that he’s kind of right--nobody knows me quite like my best friend. I mean, we’ve been attached at the hip since middle school. I’m pretty out there, but I’m also pretty in there?

Now, for the true extroverts that loves crowds, loves constantly being surrounded by people and going out, and loves the hustle and bustle of just life in general, you may not understand why your introverted best friend would rather skip out on movie night with the gang.

Please don’t take offense. It’s not you, it’s me.

I am perfectly content in my bedroom alone with the company of my laptop and some video games. As I currently am. It’s the only time a person like me can truly relax--social anxiety is a real bitch, and when I’m in public, or even hanging with friends and family--yes, family--I’m constantly anxious about something. 

I understand why my friend described me as extroverted--we go to separate colleges and I only share highlights of my college life on social media. I mean, if I shared every single time that I was “j chillin in bed watching Impractical Jokers,” people would probably unfollow me. If you had to judge whether or not I was introverted or extroverted based on my social media accounts (I mean I have a YouTube channel for Christ's sake), you too would believe that I was a very social and outgoing human being. And yes, you could say I am pretty involved in things in college, but boy those things d r a i n me.

Sometimes I feel like curling up in my bed and watching an Impractical Jokers marathon...for an entire week straight. Sometimes I groan when I hear my phone buzz.

It’s finals season. Something we are all aware of. And whether you’re in high school or college...you know how draining studying for major exams can be. Even more so for college students--one exam can determine your whole future in your said major. So yeah, that’s stressful. Unfortunately, for me, it doesn’t take much to overwhelm me. I’ve lost count at the number of anxiety attacks I’ve had in the last four weeks. And when I become too overwhelmed and stressed, my body just likes to shut down. My solution? Curl up in bed and nap. 

Or curl up in bed and watch TV.

Or curl up in bed and play videos games.

Maybe listen to music too.

My personal favorite? Curl up in bed and eat (shout out to the emotional/stress eaters).

While I don’t always recommend doing this, it’s my form of self care as ironic as it seems. And no, I don’t have a whole cake, a box of pizza, and pot of soup on the bed with me (mostly because I have anxiety when it comes to my body image...ofc).

Listen, it’s okay to want to be alone sometimes.

I repeat: it is okay to want to be alone sometimes.

No one knows your body like you, and if your body is telling you to rest, please for the love of God, R E S T. Don’t wait until your body completely gives up and you’re mentally, physically, and emotionally exhausted. Don’t make plans you don't want to make. It’s not fair to you or the people involved. Just be upfront--you’re not feeling it today. You’re probably not feeling it tomorrow. Just let them know when you are, and let them know when you aren’t. A friend that knows you should understand.

I have a good amount of friends, and most of them love to hang out all the time. Which is perfectly fine--I love my friends dearly and sometimes I want to hang out too. 

But sometimes it becomes a little too much for this introverted extrovert. 

I’m in many group chats, so every single day at least one person from one chat is hitting us up (or hitting me up) wanting to hang out, grab lunch, watch a movie, go do this and that.........................................!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

*Cue Maya being overwhelmed*

We’re wrapping up finals here, and I’m about to say goodbye to sophomore year of college (literally where has the time gone?), and right now, my only focus is to get through these exams. Most of my friends are done, but mine end pretty late, which is another reason for my inclusiveness. So yeah, I’ve been pretty AWOL from my friends (I apologize, just know that I love y’all). But it’s for my own benefit, and it's definitely nothing personal. For some people, they need to be constantly surrounded by friends. That’s just not me. I like my “me” time...maybe more than most, which is why I still consider myself pretty introverted as well. Maybe it’s because I had such an awful semester last semester (I was still grieving over the lost of two close family members, and I also never took care of myself, but yet I tried to take care of everyone else...that is very self destructive). Not to get into specifics, but some of you guys know just how bad it had gotten for me. I’ll talk about that another time. I think that experience made me realize how important it truly is to take care of myself and to put myself first sometimes.

I guess you could say I’m the perfect blend of introvert and extrovert, but for right now, I’m definitely leaning more towards introvert. The month of April has truly been a trying month for me, and it’s only now beginning to calm down as we transition into May. Who knows, once I’m done for the summer, I’ll transition back into my extroverted self, but for now?

I’m good.