i ❤️ old man yaoi

little fires everywhere thoughts

so i like doing this just because it kinda like. gives closure to these open-ended shows that get me like doozy the days after finishing it because its just SO much. anyways thoughts below!

-the direction was really well done, honestly, like all the scenes were so picturesque, the acting gave exactly the vibes that they were going for- elena  acting so perfect that it’s almost ingenuine, that there’s something far worse underneath, a facade to hide what a monster she really is. pearl and mia’s relationship, where it seems to be good to the richardsons, but obviously mia’s secrets dictate pearl’s actions, where she’s lying where she is/who she’s with, seeing the richardsons behind mia’s back... it overall gives the story of two families, both with their own problems, in which some sort of blazing fire, whether literal or not, destroys everything as they know it, and they rebuild it accordingly. mia decides to set things straight with her daughter, to allow her to meet her family, to acknowledge pearl’s needs, to stop with the secrets. elena finally admits to her wrongdoing, leading to vvv

-i HATE elena but reese did an EXCELLENT like aboslutely excellent job of executing that horrible, self-absorbed woman who will never acknowledge her own faults in anything. there was this song in the soundtrack, marvin gaye’s piece of clay, which pretty much exemplifies exactly what elena did to her kids, to everyone in her life, where she has this perfect little plan and everyone needs to follow it. when her ex was against it, it like... crushed her, to the point where she still needs to visit him in the middle of the night while her husband keeps calling her, wondering where she is. that sure, izzy wasn’t expected, but elena was so willing to blame everything wrong in her life to izzy, that she didn’t get the promotion or whatever... that her husband and her were on thin ice, that she had to buy a pacifier late at night. and this sort of abuse when on izzy’s ENTIRE LIFE! elena constantly degraded her, making her siblings hate her too, like, izzy was so alone and bill at least kinda was nice to her, or at least more understanding than elena, yet even he has his limits of how understandning he can be, so its like. absolutely horrid how elena treated her. like even in the little scenes, where elena’s like, ‘oh why don’t you keep your hair down? its your best feature” and when izzy was ready for homecoming, elena’s like “eh, could be better, here’s some lipstick.” like... its terrible how elena aligns all her actions to ensure that where she is in life? the kids, the house, the job, the stagnancy and boredom? it’s all that 4th child’s fault. so when that fire happens, burning down her entire house, she finally like. GETS it and its like... insane, that she DID burn down the house. SHE DID!!!

-i love mia and her story is so sad. i love kerry washington, i rewatched scandal like a billion times, but kerry delivered a totally new character that is so like. strong-willed, so proud yet humble, like. i love her but obviously there is flaws with her. this show also offers the question- what really makes a mother? love? genes? money? mia was paid to have this baby, so she wasn’t technically pearl’s mother. yet, mia knew that because pearl came from HER body, she is HERS and that sort of mentality, is that wrong? immoral? i personally think not at all, it’s natural to feel that, but the ryans didn’t deserve that sort of betrayal. ok but also about the ryans...

-the scenes in the subway. this show gave some scenes that were absolutely haunting, that were super terrifying, like the obvious elena’s “YES YOU ARE!!!”, when mia took elena’s photo and burned it, and the number 1 in my opinion was the scene in the subway, where mia looks over to see joe ryan, then it quickly shifts to elena. that scene comes early on in the show, leading me to think that (without knowing who that man was, i assumed it was a past abuser) that mia sees her abuser in elena. but now knowing who that man actually is, i think its sort of saying, how the two are these rich people who can hold power over her, like if joe ryan wanted, he maybe could take pearl away, or at least sue mia, send her to jail, something, and elena can do the same, she has that sort of power too as a rich white woman. so i just. really liked that scene it was so powerful.

-bebe and may ling. i didn’t like the mcculloughs, but may ling... i hate to say it, but may ling would have had a better life with the mcculloughs. so this brings that question back- what makes a mother? a GOOD mother? bebe gave up everything for may ling, and shes a good mother for that. but would she have been a better mother for letting may ling go? what about the mcculloughs, i forgot the lady’s name, but she obv loved may ling, yet there were things she could never provide that may ling deserved- that cultural aspect. so its like. really sad. i dont know what to think of how their story ended.. its hard.

-this show was GOOD!!!! 

As the sun dipped beneath the horizon, the clouds overhead blushed cotton-candy pink. Their reflections gleamed on the crystalline waters of Lake Lyn. The horses whinnied, the birds chirped, and Simon and Isabelle crunched their peanut brittle and popcorn. This, Simon thought, was the sound of happiness. “You still haven’t told me how you found this place,” Isabelle said. “It’s perfect.” Simon didn’t want to admit that it was Jon Cartwright who’d told him about the isolated inlet on the edge of Lake Lyn, its hanging willows and rainbow of wildflowers making it the perfect spot for a romantic picnic. (Even when the picnic consisted of peanut brittle, popcorn, and the handful of other random teeth-decaying, artery-clogging snacks they’d grabbed on their way out of Alicante.) Simon, who had long ago grown tired of hearing about Jon’s romantic exploits, had done his best to tune the jerk out. But apparently a few details had lodged in his subconscious. Enough, at least, to find the place. Jon Cartwright was a blowhard and a buffoon—Simon would maintain this to his dying day. But it turned out the guy had good taste in romantic date spots. “Just stumbled on it,” Simon mumbled. “Good luck, I guess.” Isabelle gazed out at the impossibly smooth water. “This place reminds me of Luke’s farm,” she said softly. “Me too,” he said. In that other life, the one he barely remembered, he and Clary had spent many long, happy days at Luke’s summer house upstate, splashing in the lake, lying in the grass, naming the clouds. Isabelle turned to him. Simon’s jacket was spread out between them as an improvised picnic blanket. It was a small jacket—not very much distance for him to cross, if he wanted to reach her. He’d never wanted anything more. “I think about it a lot,” Izzy said. “The farm, the lake.” “Why?” Her voice softened. “Because that was where I almost lost you—where I was sure I would lose you. But I got you back.” Simon didn’t know what to say. “It doesn’t even matter,” she said, harder now. “Not like you even know what I’m talking about.” “I know what happened there.” Namely, Simon had summoned the Angel Raziel—and the Angel had actually shown up. He wished he could remember it; he would like to know how that felt, talking to an angel. “Clary told you,” she said flatly. “Yeah.” Isabelle was a little sensitive on the subject of Clary. She definitely didn’t need to hear about all the time he’d had with Clary this summer, the long hours spent lying in Central Park, side by side, swapping stories of their past—Simon telling her what he remembered; Clary telling him what actually happened. “But she wasn’t even there,” Isabelle said. “She knows the important stuff.” Isabelle shook her head. She reached across the picnic blanket and rested a hand on Simon’s knee. He worked very hard to hear her over the sudden buzzing in his ears. “If she wasn’t there, she can’t know how brave you were,” Isabelle said. “She can’t know how scared I was for you. That’s the important stuff.” There was silence between them, then. But finally, it wasn’t the awkward kind. It was the good kind, the kind where Simon could hear what Isabelle was saying without her having to say it, and where he could answer her in kind. “What’s it like?” she asked him. “Not remembering. Being a blank slate.” Her hand was still warm on his knee. She’d never asked him that before. “It’s not quite a blank slate,” he explained, or tried to. “It’s more like . . . double vision. Like I’m remembering two different things at the same time. Sometimes one seems more real, sometimes the other does. Sometimes everything is blurry. That’s when I usually take some Advil, and a nap.” “But you’re starting to remember things.” “Some things,” he allowed. “Jordan. I remember a lot about Jordan. Caring about him. Losing—” Simon swallowed hard. “Losing him. I remember my mom freaking out about me being a vampire. And some stuff before Clary’s mom got kidnapped. The two of us being friends, before all of this started. Normal Brooklyn stuff.” He stopped talking as he realized her face was clouding over. “Of course you remember Clary.” “It’s not like that,” he said. “Like what?” Simon didn’t think about it. He just did it. He took her hand. She let him. He wasn’t sure how to explain this—it was still all jumbled in his head—but he had to try. “It’s not like the things I remember are more important than the things I can’t remember. Sometimes it seems like it’s random. But sometimes . . . I don’t know, sometimes it feels like the most important things are going to be the hardest to get back. Picture all these memories buried, like dinosaur bones, and me trying to dig them up. Some of them are just lying right beneath the surface, but the important ones, those are miles down.” “And you’re saying that’s where I am? Miles beneath the surface?” He held on to her tightly. “You’re basically down there at the molten center of the earth.” “You are so weird.” “I try my best.” She threaded her fingers through his. “I’m jealous, you know. Sometimes. That you can forget.” “Are you kidding?” Simon couldn’t even begin to understand that one. “Everything you have, all the people in your life—no one would want that taken away.”

Isabelle looked back out at the lake, blinking hard. “Sometimes people get taken away from you whether you want it or not. And sometimes that hurts so much, it might be easier to forget.”

She didn’t have to say his name. Simon said it for her. “Max.” “You remember him?” Simon had never realized what a sad sound it was, hope. He shook his head. “I wish I did, though.” “Clary told you about him,” she said. Not a question. “And what happened to him.” He nodded, but her gaze was still fixed on the water.

“He died in Idris, you know. I like being here sometimes. I feel closer to him here. Other times I wish this place would evaporate. That no one could ever come here again.”

“I’m sorry,” Simon said, thinking they had to be the lamest, most useless words in the English language. “I wish I could say something that would help.” She faced him; she whispered, “You did.” “What?” “After Max. You . . . said something. You helped.” “Izzy . . .” “Yes?” This was it, this was The Moment—the moment talking gave way to gazing, which would inevitably give way to kissing. All he had to do was lean slightly forward and give himself over to it. He leaned back. “Maybe we should start heading back to campus.” She made that angry cat noise again, then lobbed a chunk of peanut brittle at him. “What is wrong with you?” she exclaimed. “Because I know there’s nothing wrong with me. You would be insane not to want to kiss me, and if this is some stupid playing-hard-to-get thing, you’re wasting your time, because trust me, I know when a guy wants to kiss me. And you, Simon Lewis, want to kiss me. So what is happening here?” “I don’t know,” he admitted, and ridiculous as this was, it was also wholly true. “Is it the stupid memory thing? Are you seriously still afraid that you can’t live up to some amazing forgotten version of yourself? Do you want me to tell you all the ways you weren’t amazing? For one, you snored.” “Did not.” “Like a Drevak demon.” “This is slander,” Simon said, outraged. She snorted. “My point, Simon, is that you’re supposed to be past all of this. I thought you figured out that no one is expecting you to be anyone other than who you are. That I just need you to be you. I only want you. This Simon. Isn’t that why we’re here? Because you finally got that through your thick head?” “I guess.” “So what are you afraid of? It’s obviously something.” “How do you know?” he asked, curious how she could be so certain, when he still had no clue himself. She smiled, and it was the kind of smile you give to someone who can make you want to throttle them and kiss them all at the same time. “Because I know you.” He thought about gathering her up in his arms, about how it would feel—and that’s when he realized what he was afraid of. It was that feeling, the hugeness of it, like staring into the sun. Like falling into the sun. “Losing myself,” he said. “What?” “That’s what I’m afraid of. Losing myself, in this. In you. I’ve spent this whole year trying to find myself, to figure out who I am, and now there’s you, there’s us, there’s this all-consuming, terrifying black hole of a feeling, and if I give into it . . . I feel like I’m standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon, you know? Like, here’s something bigger, deeper than the human mind is built to fathom. And I’m just supposed to . . . jump in?” He waited nervously for her reaction, suspecting that girls probably didn’t like it much when you admitted you were afraid of them. Girls like Izzy probably didn’t like it when you admitted you were afraid of anything. Nothing scared her; she deserved someone just as brave.

“Is that all?” Her face lit up. “Simon, don’t you think I’m scared of that too? You’re not the only one on that ledge. If we jump, we jump together. We fall together.”

Simon had spent so long trying to gather together the pieces of himself, to fit the puzzle back together. But the final piece, the most important piece, had been right in front of him the whole time. Losing himself to Izzy—could it be that this was the only way to really find himself? Could it be that this, here, was home? Enough bad metaphors, he told himself. Enough delaying. Enough being afraid. He stopped thinking about the person he used to be or the relationship they used to have; he stopped thinking about whether he was screwing things up or why he wanted to; he stopped thinking about demon amnesia and Shadowhunter Ascension and the Fair Folk and the Dark War and politics and homework and the unregulated traffic of deadly sharp objects. He stopped thinking about what could happen, and what could go wrong. He took her in his arms and kissed her—kissed her the way he’d been longing to kiss her since he first laid eyes on her, kissed her not like a romance novel hero or a Shadowhunter warrior or some imaginary character from the past, but like Simon Lewis kissing the girl he loved more than anything in the world. It was like falling into the sun, falling together, hearts blazing with pale fire, and Simon knew he would never stop falling, knew that now that he’d grabbed hold of her again, he would never let go.