#as of now my threshold for obsession is so much higher and to be honest at least a little bit based in 'if it's too popular/ i can't have a

[holygroundgone]

dungeon meshi (only ever calling it that) is such a fantastic fucking all rounder, it really feels perfect, in fact it almost feels a little too perfect, it's so good and delicious and frankly uncontroversial and palatable despite the high threshold of tasteful but immense horniness, i truly feel like ryoko kui alchemized pure gold

[g0dspeeed]

Unconditional Positive Regard, 4

To finally meet her, Adam Smasher feels relieved. 

Well, kinda.

=====================

Intake

Towering over her with enough girth to block out the sunlight from the street windows was Adam and his dwindling patience. He could feel the hot coals of his temper start to heat up as the terrified receptionist tried desperately to avoid eye contact.

It would be simple, he thought. The only thing that separated his frame from her own was a large desk counter. With one hand he could flip it on her, break some bones and crush her skull if she kept stammering as stupidly as she was.

“Um, do you, do you have the extension number-”

So simple.

“If I don’t know her fucking name, then why would I know the extension number?” he snapped.

“R-Right, um. One, one moment, please, Mr. Smasher, sir.”

Red eyes rolled at her incompetence. Been in the building for less than five minutes and his composure was already diminishing. The receptionist worked quickly on the screen in front of her, her blue optics lighting up intermittently. His glare settled on the frozen form of the other receptionist. She, too, deterred her gaze away from his own and busied herself at her side of the counter.

Pitiful, he thought.

No spine.

“The, the only thing I can see in our calendar is a note about scheduling a future appointment, sir.”

“I know,” he breathed. “Make me an appointment with Services. Now.”

“Oh, we, um, we don’t typically do walk-in appointments-”

“Today you do.”

Adam’s cold stare ended any argument that the receptionist prepared to make.

She pressed a button on a switch board.

“Hi, I have a Mr. Adam Smasher here for a walk-in appoint-Yes, I know that, but he insists to be seen. Well, can you check? He’s at my desk…”

At the receptionist’s rising panic Adam couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction. Didn’t take much for that fear to kick in. Just a little physical presence and she was malleable to his whim.

A moment later, she ended her conversation and looked up at him with a weak smile.

“They said to wait in their lobby on the Services floor,” she stated.

Without so much as a thank you, Adam turned from the poor woman and headed towards the elevators. He smirked to himself as she exhaled behind him.

Even though the Arasaka Netrunner lacked proper access to the information he sought, Adam wasn’t planning to relent any time soon. For one, the job depended on it. Second, Adam knew that he simply would have to gain intel the more direct way, in an approach that was familiar, easy, and frankly more enjoyable.

Deep, deep, deep in the dark depths of his mind there lied a third reason. A reason that Adam would deny ‘til his dying breath if someone were bold enough to ask. A reason that sounded like curiosity, but actually teetered more so on the line between obsessive and slightly enamored.

But he would never admit that.

Not to a single soul.

The elevator doors opened on the Services floor, allowing the soothing fragrance of flowers to fill his senses. The lobby was empty like before, void of any witnesses as Adam stepped out of the elevator and approached the double doors. There was that same sense of determination in him, one that was resolute on getting this meeting over with and finally answering some of those damned questions that kept him up at night.

However, before he could grab the handle, the doors swung open. Out stepped the same doctor from before, Dr. Estrada, greeting him with that million-eddie smile.

Adam grimaced immediately at feeling the man’s positive attitude rolling off him like radiation.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Smasher,” said the doctor warmly. “May I call you Adam?”

“No.”

“Okay. I’m glad you decided to reschedule. Some of us were worried that you wouldn’t.”

Though annoyed, the doctor’s greeting also brought on a wave of confusion. The words as well as the man’s smile seemed oddly sincere. The doctor’s eyes held a friendliness in them with no hint of any fear or resentment from what occurred in the lobby during their first encounter. Another new kind of interaction, a change that was unsettling to the hardened merc. Those who were on the receiving end of Adam’s wrath seldom stuck around for a round two, let alone approached him with such confidence and genuineness that the man before him showed. Never broke eye contact. Never spoke in a small or mumbling voice laced with anxiety. There was a strong reminder of that initial meeting, however, one that the doctor would have a difficult time hiding. Ugly, purple bruises colored his neck in a pattern that matched the length of Adam’s fingers. His head moved stiffly.

“Have you deposited your weapons into our reservoir?” Dr. Estrada asked. When Adam didn’t respond, his hand gestured towards the reservoir unit and he added, “After they’re deposited, please also turn off your combat cyberware.”

A pause.

Adam squared his shoulders.

“And if I refuse to listen to this bullshit request?” Adam grumbled.

The doctor appeared to contemplate, as if truly mulling over Adam’s question.

“If you choose to refuse, that’s fine. We would have to reschedule for a different date.”

Another pause.

“To be honest,” continued Dr. Estrada, “You could walk in there completely ignoring our request without much issue. Our staff only has defensive cyberware programmed, and not even everyone has the full modifications so there wouldn’t be a lot of resistance. Not really anyone back there has any experience with combat, much less any violence other than that from who we work with, but…”

The man shrugged.

“She still wouldn’t see you,” Dr. Estrada concluded. “She keeps her word, keeps her promises, and when she sets an expectation, she won’t back down. Ever. And that’s just something you’re going to have to get used to, my friend.”

When it became clear that the doctor wasn’t going to offer anything more or elaborate, Adam found himself in disbelief. Again he felt unsettled. The words shocked him in their sincerity and his response, Adam’s own lack of anger or bitterness, was so foreign.

“Who the fuck is she-”

A loud scream cut through Adam’s words, upsetting the peaceful atmosphere of the floor. The doctor’s body stiffened and his hazel eyes lit up as he received new data.

Before the doctor could explain anything, another shriek ripped through the air, this time drawing out longer and with an even higher pitch.

Dr. Estrada’s smile vanished as he quickly exited through the double doors.

The whine of scraping metal echoed beyond the doorway, followed by the floor shaking as if something large and heavy was suddenly dropped.

From his place in the lobby, Adam could hear chaos build and build along the chatter of nervous voices that muttered and called out to one another in hushed tones.

Seeing that it was clear that the doctor wasn’t going to return anytime soon, Adam chose to cross the threshold.

The other side of the doors consisted of a large open space that was attached to several hallways and lined with tall windows. The space itself held many desks with computer screens and office supplies. Adam recognized some of the women from his first visit. Already appearing alarmed by whatever was happening, the sight of Adam Smasher stalking through their office certainly did not alleviate any of their fears. Before he could interrogate them, another scream rang out with enough volume to make him wince. He headed down the closest hall, towards the source of the dreadful noise.

At the hall’s end there was a group of concerned women, Dr. Estrada, and a couple in civilian clothes. The couple was holding hands, both looking more terrified than the others. All stood by an open door. Their postures were rigid.

Dr. Estrada acknowledged Adam as he approached the scene.

Again, before Adam could ask what the hell was happening, another scream cried out followed by a deep, shaky sob.

It was only then did Adam realize that the pained voice was that of a child.

Dr. Estrada motioned for the merc to come closer, though he pressed a finger to his lips as he did so. Adam complied, his eyes peeking into the open doorway to see what the commotion was about.

The room was destroyed. Absolutely torn apart. Books, papers, and other office supplies littered the floor, along with broken glass, a shattered computer monitor, and a large couch completely flipped over and on its side. One piece of framed art hung crookedly above a large dent in the wall, the metal bent and scuffed.

Small whimpers could be heard with breaks of short sobs in between. It was there amongst the wreckage and debris of the office did Adam see two forms huddled behind the flipped furniture. A small child, a girl, stood hiccupping in a pink, frilly dress. Her shoes were gone, but that wasn’t what made her so striking. All of her limbs were artificial, all new and polished chrome.

The girl couldn’t have been any more than five years old.

Her modified hands were gripped into tight fists at her side as she stood before the crouched body of the woman.

Her.

The woman with the golden eyes.

Adam swallowed at seeing her again.

How poorly his memory served in recalling their vibrancy.

Dressed casually in a pair of dark jeans and a graphic t-shirt, the woman spoke calmly to the child.

“You’re very sad that our time is over,” she said. “I see your tears.”

Once more, the girl cried out. Adam winced at the painful noise, but his attention never turned from the woman’s face. The woman did not react at all.

“I hear you,” she stated. “You don’t want to leave, but it is time to go home-”

“No!” yelled the girl. “I-I don’t wanna go home-”

“I know. I hear you, but our special time is over for today. I will see you next week-”

“No!”

The girl’s metal hands then reached out and grabbed the woman’s face. Those in the hallway gasped.

But Adam, without a second thought, stepped forward and completely entered the room.

Both the woman and the child quickly looked up and stared at the large merc as he stood before them.

The child’s anger disappeared, twisting into pure fear at the sight of Adam’s glowering presence. Her small hands detached from the woman’s face as she drew closer to the woman’s body for comfort.

“You’re okay,” chided the woman softly into the child’s hair. “He won’t hurt you.”

“He looks mean,” argued the girl, her wide eyes never turning from Adam’s scowl.

“He does,” agreed the woman, a hint of amusement in her own voice. “But know what else I see?”

With a raised finger, the woman pointed to Adam’s exposed arms.

“This man has a body like yours,” shared the woman tenderly. “See his arms? See his head? See his face? Some of his body is different, too, and that’s okay.”

She winked at Adam playfully. His scowl, though still very much present, weakened slightly at the unexpected act.

“Its time to go home,” the woman repeated, this time a firm tenor to her words. “You can choose to walk with me to the elevator or your parents can help you. You have a choice.”

Stare never leaving Adam, the child nodded her head and took the woman by the hand. As if leading her away from danger, the child pulled at the woman’s hand with a new urgency. The woman mouthed for Adam to wait in the room as she rejoined the others in the hall. The door closed behind them.

Mentally, Adam was already kicking himself over how easy it was for his focus to be deterred, let alone how he reacted to seeing her in person again. Why he decided to insert himself in the chaos with the child, he had no clue. Didn’t give a fuck about children. So long as they stayed the hell away from him, there would be no issue. But something disturbed him in seeing how the child grabbed her, how the woman contained the pain she felt in the child’s sudden hold on her face.

The woman’s words and how they were said weren’t lost on Adam either. Not one bit. How this woman was able to deescalate tense situations and how similar her dialogue with the child was to their own exchange in the lobby infuriated him.

Is that how she perceived him?

Like that of a child?

“Sorry about that.”

Angry red eyes fell upon the woman as she closed the door behind her and began tip-toeing through the mess in the office. A small smile touched her full lips as she went to stand behind a metal desk.

“Sometimes its hard to go,” she continued with a shrug. “And although I appreciate your desire to help, please don’t interfere next time.”

Adam scoffed.

“I’ll do what I want.”

Sensing his attitude, the woman’s smile flattened into a pressed line.

“Yeah, I know, Adam,” she returned. “I know that you’ll do whatever you want. Which is why I’m glad you decided to come back so we can go over how exactly this all will work out.”

“’Bout fucking time,” he groused.

To his surprise, the woman scoffed and shook her head.

Adam immediately crossed the room to stand over her. He savored how far she had to crane her head up to meet his eyes.

“Something I say amuse you?” he challenged darkly.

What he expected was her instant submission.

What he expected was her to avert her eyes like everyone else, to deny she did anything or apologize altogether, and to wait for his next command.

What he didn’t expect was what came next.

“Yes, actually,” she stated, not even hesitating to pay back his hard stare with one of her own. “Yes, I find it amusing that you’re so inconvenienced by your own stubbornness and are trying to blame me for it. You had the choice to cooperate with our policy and chose to strangle my colleague because we held up our expectation, then you have the nerve to come into my workplace, my office, demand for an appointment, and then proceed to complain because of the stalling that you yourself created. Does this normally work for you? This whole standing-over-me-tough-guy routine? Because I can do this all damn day. I really can. Know why? Because I do do this all damn day, but last I checked we both are pretty busy adults and I’d like to not have my time wasted by your outdated ways of handling things. Or is this some kind of foreplay to you?”

Oh.

Oh, where was he to begin with that?

It took every ounce of patience and self-control to not pick her up and shove her against a wall. No one spoke to him like that. No one questioned him the way she did, whether there was some truth to her words or not. Fortunately for her, she was named as a person of importance to Arasaka. Fortunately for her, there were still many questions that she held the answers to, her value in that light being the only reason she still breathed and was alive to argue with him.

“Who,” he began, his voice low and tightly controlled. “The fuck are you?”

A smile, one that hinted at some little victory, he figured, one that somehow made Adam even angrier, pulled at her lips.

“Bothered you, didn’t it?” she said. “Thought it would. You’re not used to waiting-”

“Answer me-”

“I’m Lumen,” she answered. “Dr. Lumen Furi.”

Not bothering to wait for his reply, the woman stepped away from the desk and began tidying up the office. Adam watched as she began making small piles of all the trash and debris, his anger still very much pulsing through his body. Anger from how she was talking to him, how she dared to tease him and make smartass comments in response to his voiced frustration. That anger was there, true, but more so was Adam upset with himself for how he allowed it and how learning her actual name brought some relief.

“The contract,” began Lumen. “Is one that I don’t really like.”

“What is it?”

A sigh.

Her face wore a look of disdain as she turned to speak to the merc.

“I’m conducting research on cyberpsychosis and crisis intervention,” she said. “I want to know if mental health crises are related to cyberpsychosis and even though I think it is, its 2070 and people still think that it’s just a hardware problem. They’re not looking at it seriously, at least not from a mental health standpoint, so I need hard data to prove my theory. And that’s where you come in.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Myself, Dr. Estrada, and some of the other researchers will be working with law enforcement and a Trauma Team convoy to provide crisis support to different neighborhoods in Night City. As you can imagine, it can be pretty risky work and we’re sorta ‘ride alongs’. Trauma Team has enough on their plate and covering our asses isn’t something they need to be concerned about. Arasaka is already backing our research, so-”

“Why?”

She shrugged.

“I guess they want in on the medical market? Not entirely sure. Don’t really care. What I do know is that they offered your services to aid in our groundwork.”

“In security.”

“Yep.”

“For how long?”

“Three months, once or twice a week, depending on the city region and time of day. Starting next week now that you decided to show up.”

His tempter bristled at the snarkiness in that last comment, but he decidedly shifted his focus to the contract instead. The jobs that he detested the most were that of security or protective services. He’d prefer that the only ass he cover was his own, and often the target was too slow, dumb, or fragile to make his job any easier. Although the woman appeared to be in good shape and proved her intelligence in their limited interactions, her ability to defend herself wasn’t clear, not yet. If anything, all she proved to him was that she enjoyed throwing herself in the middle of dangerous situations, a trait that wasn’t valuable to her new bodyguard.

“Fine.”

The word caused the woman to perk up. The sight entertained him.

“But I have limits,” he added. “Hard ones. And if you refuse to abide by them, you’ll either die or this contract is null.”

Her arms crossed, but she looked at him with expectation.

“Going to teach you some basic self-defense so you don’t get yourself killed. Until you do that with me then I won’t allow you to go into the field. Period. Next, I want to know what cyberware you do have and outfit you with defensive cyberware should anyone get too close.”

“Isn’t that your job?” she quipped. “To make sure no one gets ‘too close’?”

“Something tells me that you’ll fuck it all up and I’m not about to let you ruin this for me.”

He caught it. Small, but he saw that flash of rebellion, that grain of resistance, before she checked herself and pursed those lips shut.

“Last,” continued Adam. “You get a tracker.”

“Why-”

“Because I fucking said so. That’s why.”

The two stared at one another with enough intensity to start a fire. She didn’t balk at his stature, nor at how harshly his eyes took her in.

“Might I suggest a compromise?” she questioned.

“I don’t do compromises-”

“Humor me.”

When he didn’t argue, she resumed.

“If I have to have a babysitter, then I also would like a tracker for you.”

“What good-”

“Because I fucking said so.”

At that, Adam couldn’t help himself. He stomped towards her with enough force that she stepped back, pressing herself against the desk. His frame enveloped hers, all black camouflage and large arms caging her in on either side of her hips. Sitting on top of the desk, she gaped with wide eyes up at the furious mercenary, his face inches from hers as he towered over her body in muted rage.

“This is my job, my fucking ass on the line, and I’m not letting anyone, anybody, fuck up all the shit I had to do to get where I am,” he declared, voice shaking. “I don’t give a shit about who you think you are, I’m the one who says how this contract will go. Me!”

That’s it, he thought, his eyes unashamedly studying every curve and how that primal fear shattered that confident front of hers.

That’s what he liked to see.

The fear.

The uncertainty.

He got drunk on it, finally, the sight of her weakness, the proof that she was like everyone else.

Standing so close to her body, Adam picked up on the deep notes of her perfume.

“Is this what you wanted?” he growled, a new lowness coating his voice. His body shifted to stand more directly between her knees, causing her legs to spread. “Is this that ‘foreplay’ you were bitching about, Lumen?”

No response came from her at first.

Nothing.

Nothing new for him to be challenged with.

Nothing special.

But just as he felt that familiar burst of empowerment swell in his chest, the woman did something to instantly snuff it out.

Gently.

Kindly.

With a soft hand, the woman reached up and cupped Adam’s face. His own hand shot up to grip her wrist, a hard warning. It was ignored. Completely ignored as her thumb lightly stroked his cheekbone with an easy slowness. He swallowed.

As his smirk fell as did the look of uncertainty from her own face. Golden eyes glittered with something warm, something that Adam couldn’t quite define. A raw energy hummed between them as she held him there, held him in a paradoxical space of peace and a primal urgency to do something more.

A small smile.

“I love your eyes,” her voice said in a near whisper. “Red. They fit you.”

Just as his mouth parted to reply, an incoming call crossed his HUD. Adam moved away from her and the desk as if her hand burned. Her smile remained as he answered the call, the client on the other end simply informing him that he was running behind and would be late to their scheduled appointment.

“I’ll see you next Wednesday,” stated that woman above the sound of the client’s words. “You can go.”

And that he did. Adam held his composure, but never has he left a client as quickly as he did that that day.

[tiaragqueen]

Bee In Bonnet

✂ Pairing: Yandere! Kim Namjoon x Reader

✂ Word Count: 3,5k

✂ Trigger Warning: Mentions of sex and death, obsessiveness, manipulation, stupor

✂ This story is fictional and for amusement only. I don't believe any of the members would do this in real life. As always, thank you for reading and I hope you have a good day!

Do not re-upload my writing to another website or use it without my permission.

[Edited]

***

If you like my writing, please support me on ko-fi!

"Wise men say only fools rush in, but I can’t help falling in love with you. Shall I stay? Would it be a sin if I can’t help falling in love with you?" - Can’t Help Falling In Love [Elvis Presley]

          Namjoon knew what he felt was wrong.

          He knew he shouldn't have gotten close with you.

          No matter what angle you see it, no matter how many times you'd try to defend it, their relationship would and always be forbidden. Because this wasn't a fictional world where you can date your own boss.

          No, you weren't like that. You kept your relationship strictly business. Just like any other decent worker would do.

          He knew it. He acknowledged it. But that doesn't mean he liked it.

          Besides, it wasn’t as if he could automatically erase every sentiment that had bloomed on his chest. The very same sentiment that would eventually drive him into the pit of unquenchable desire.

          Jimin crouched on one knee before you, holding out an opened crimson velvet box. A silver ring – not too big and not too small, either – encrusted with little diamonds and a bigger one in the middle laid inside. You tried to laugh at the cheesiness of his proposal, knowing just how romantic Jimin could be, but joy overpowered any hilarity that you found from this situation. Tears rolled down your cheeks as you let him take your hand gently and put the ring on your ring finger.

          It fit, just like what you expected.

          Jimin had always been an attentive person. It was a trait that attracted you in the first place, and for him to buy the ring you were eyeing at the mall a few days ago warmed your chest.

          Your female colleagues cooed at the sentimental scene, shouting congratulations. Some even expressed their envy for being proposed by such a handsome man. The males were busy patting Jimin’s back like proud brothers they were – being familiar with him due to his frequent visit – and whispered innuendos on what to do during the honeymoon. Overwhelmed with the barrage of compliments and attention, you hid your glowing face on to his chest. Jimin giggled, stroking your hair with such loving eyes that made your nape reddened even more.

          Everyone was happy. Everyone was smiling. All, except one.

Namjoon stood in the threshold of his office, jaw stiff and hands clenched so tight the knuckles turned white. He hadn't expected to see this kind of thing during a break; the only time where he could meet and chat with you over a hearty lunch. Work has been very hectic lately, and he figured taking you out to that new café down the street would ease his stress.

          Yet, here he was, watching future husband and wife basking in the spotlight.

          It was terrible. How could that man be able to freely hug you with those disgusting limbs, while Namjoon had to resist his urge to even touch a single strand of your hair?

          Because he was respectful like that.

          And because he already knew you were taken.

          Namjoon hadn’t planned for this to happen. For his feelings to go out of control. You were smart and cute, yes. He liked cute things and people.

          But the more time you've spent together, the more time his opinion of you rose. Higher than any other woman he'd met before.

          You were unknowingly charming, hardworking, ambitious, and other positive adjectives he could think of. If anyone were to ask him to write a novel about you, he'd surely do it in a heartbeat. And possibly create a new one for your angelic appearance.

The cover would be your concentrated face because that was when you looked at the cutest. Not that your other expressions weren't cute either. It was simply his favorite amongst many photos he'd captured without your knowledge.

Well, everything you did enchant him anyway. Even your elated smile of finally being Jimin’s fiancée.

          Namjoon sighed, skulking back into the office. The hollow thud of the closing door echoed like a broken record in his ears.

          If only it was him that put the ring on your dainty finger and proudly stood beside you.

          If only it was him that you hugged.

          If only you loved him, he would surely give you everything. The world, the sky, the universe. Everything that you wanted, he would gladly give it to you.

          Except he couldn’t have you, could he? Because you already belonged to someone else. Someone other than him.

          And it hurt. It hurt not to be with the person you love, no matter how much you pray or wish to the stars.

          Why did fate have to be so cruel to him? Sure, he could have anything - anyone - in a flick of a finger, but why couldn't he have you? Was it wrong to love you? Was it wrong to want to make you happy?

But you were happy, weren't you? You were smiling brightly, brighter than he'd ever seen before, with Jimin. If Namjoon wished for your happiness, then he'd have to be prepared to see you in another man's arms. Because that's what true love is, right? If you can't have them, then you have to let them go so they can seek their own happiness somewhere, anywhere.

          Of course, he understood. He was famous for his intelligence, after all. But it didn't make the heartbreak any less painful.

          Namjoon glanced around the place. Despite the papers that scattered on his desk and a few items of furniture here and there, it was still empty. Funny that he had been working here for years, and yet it was the first time he'd felt this way.

          Sighing, he shuffled towards the rolling chair and plopped down. His body felt so, so heavy. Like someone had put the weight of the world on him. He unlocked his phone and stared down the bright screen. It displayed a selfie of you and him, standing in the snowy sidewalk. You looked cozy wearing that dark coat, wrapped in a red scarf. He remembered that he used to sling an arm over your shoulders, pretending that the scarf was a red thread of fate which connected the two of you.

          It was obviously a delusion, but Namjoon just wanted to enjoy the moment. The moment where he was the boyfriend protecting you from the cold, and you snuggling up to him like a cute girlfriend you would be.

          Oh, how wonderful it must be if that could become a reality.

          Namjoon frowned. Well, he supposed he could get rid of Jimin through an assassin. He didn't look particularly strong. In fact, he seemed rather... fragile. So it would be an easy job for Namjoon.

          No, he shook his head. If the news of Jimin's downfall ever reached your ears, you'd surely spiral down into depression. It was what most people tend to behave after the death of their loved ones. Namjoon refused to see you sad and, inevitably, lower your work standards.

          He needed to think of something nonlethal, yet enough to make you change your opinion on Jimin complete. But the question is, how? How could he think of anything unrelated to death, when his brain was already filled with Jimin's gruesome demise? What was the least painful route?

          Think, Namjoon, think!

          It was obviously easier said than done because hours after the proposal ended and his employees had long gone back to work he still hadn’t had an inkling of an idea. God, was it hard to think of anything less toxic...

          Glancing at the reminder that glued on to the wall beside him, an idea immediately popped on his head. Namjoon gasped before snickered, finding it amusing how he hadn’t thought of that before.

          The most used excuse in the business world. How silly of him to only finding it out now.

          He snatched his phone from the tabletop with the eagerness of a child about to receive their present and sent a short, yet detailed message to you. Pressing the send button, he rested his head against the cushioned backrest and hummed. Now all he had to do was carry out the second phase.

          A giggle pierced through the quiet evening. Namjoon reached out a hand to grab the air, pretending that it was you atop of him. Everything would go according to plan, he was sure of it. Otherwise, he wouldn't mind using his high intelligence for... unrighteous purposes.

          You came.

          Of course, you came. How could you relax after receiving such an emergency text from your boss? Not to mention, it was sent half an hour after you went home. As much as you wanted to spend more time with Jimin, you knew that it would have to wait. Besides, you were sure that this meeting whatsoever wouldn’t take so long. Hopefully.

          To be honest, you didn't know that you had a meeting tonight and even thought of refusing.

          But orders are orders, anyway. If you wanted to keep the job, then you have to obey your boss.

          You smoothed out the wrinkles on your maroon dress. It was the dress code because apparently the meeting was held in some fancy restaurant in the city. It wouldn’t be appropriate to wear formal clothes, although that was what you were planning before you read the postscript.

          Screw that. You didn't want to add other dirty clothes on to your already piling up laundry, but it was bound to happen soon. Might as well finish this quickly, so you could go back to cuddle Jimin in his full chubby glory.

          The dress was a gift from Jimin after your first date, along with a bouquet of red roses that had withered the next week. It was your favorite dress among others, for some reason. Thus, you resolved to only wear it for important matters.

          Although Namjoon wasn't aware with that fact, it didn't hinder him from smiling appreciatively at the sight of your amazing looks.

          Standing up from his seat, he approached your confused figure and held out a hand.

          “Good evening, [Name]. You look gorgeous, as always.” he greeted, exhibiting the persona of a gentleman. Namjoon kissed the back of your palm, letting his lips lingered against the soft skin. It smelled coconut, must be new body lotion. He had to buy it later.

          “Good evening, Sir,” you mumbled distractedly, paying no heed to the rather intimate gesture. Pursing your lips, you glanced around the empty restaurant. Where the heck was everybody? “Um, I thought it was supposed to be a meeting...?”

          “Indeed,” Namjoon nodded patiently as he pulled a chair for you to sit in. “A meeting of you and me.”

          He didn't mention that he had excluded this small detail from you, but you were still clueless it was almost endearing. Understandable; you must have read the text in a hurry.

          “... What?”

          Namjoon ignored your quiet inquiry and instead seated himself in front of you. Even such a simple action was so elegant in your eyes. You wondered if a graceful class existed in rich people's worlds because he might be mistaken for a butler due to his smooth movements and impeccable suit.

          Without wasting another time, Namjoon poured some red wine into one of the glasses. Your glass.

          “Here, drink it.”

          You reluctantly took the glass from his hand and took a wary sip. The cautious side of you kept telling that he might have adulterated the drink, even though you saw it with your own two eyes that he did nothing to warrant such suspicion.

          “Thank you...” you muttered. It tasted the same as other expensive wines you'd drunk before. Namjoon was too kind to do vicious things such as poisoning.

          Namjoon proceeded to ask you some questions - nothing too intrusive because he still respected your privacy; yet - and filled wine after wine in your glass until you were inebriated. You weren't aware of your own condition until you abruptly stood up and almost fell headfirst on to the table.

          Good thing Namjoon was there to save you, otherwise you'd go home with a huge bump on your forehead. Jimin would fuss over it like a mother hen he was, and you didn't think you could bear the onslaught of questions so late at night. Especially when you just wanted to hit the hay.

          Slurring a soft thank you under your breath, you attempted to leave but to no avail. Namjoon watched you struggling while still maintaining his grasp around your stomach. How could he release you when he already had you in your weakest and vulnerable moment?

          “You’re drunk,” he whispered huskily in your ear. His other hand twirled a lock of [h/c] hair that framed your darling profile. “I know a place where you can rest.”

          Somehow, the gesture managed to lull you into sleep. The world grew darker in each second as you nodded dumbly and blacked out on his arms.

          The next day, you woke up in an unfamiliar bed. Recalling the past, or at least the event that led to this situation, proved to be a challenge. You sat up against the headboard and massaged your head, hoping to assuage the headache for a little. It wasn't until memories from last night suddenly rushed in like a flood; the text, the meeting, the conversation, and the... loss of consciousness.

          Eyes widening at the size of a saucer, you ripped the blanket from your body only to discover a myriad of hickeys littering the skin. From the neck, chest, stomach, thighs, even legs. There was no area left uncovered, and you weren't sure what to fear more. The hickeys or the throbbing pain in your vagina.

          Tears welled in your eyes. What have you done? You promised to yourself that you would give your virginity after marriage, and now here you were. Laying naked on someone’s bed. Or more specifically, your boss'.

          This was infinitely worse than having a one-night stand with someone because the person you've slept with was the same one who you encountered nearly every day.

          What would your parents say later? No, what would Jimin say later? He had always been a possessive one; it took you almost half an hour just to convince him to let you go. Now, you had broken the promise you'd made both to yourself and him.

          You were such a terrible human being.

          A door opened to your left. Namjoon - the cause of your current mental breakdown and possibly more in the future - strolled inside, carrying a tray of steak and hot tea. You immediately pulled the blanket back on to your nude body, trying to retain what was left from your dignity.

          If you still had any, that is. You doubted its existence now.

          “Good morning, honey.”

          Honey? You gripped the seam of the white comforter, resisting the urge to lash out. How dare he called you with that nickname when you had no special relationship prior? No, that wasn't what angered you the most.

          It was the fact that he had tricked you into the so-called meeting. Or maybe you were the dumb one here. Either way, you were boiling.

          “Did you sleep well? I hope so. I have changed the bed and set the air conditioner so you would be more comfortable.”

          You frowned, finding it ridiculous the lengths he'd gone through just to satisfy you. As if. “What are you talking about?”

          Sighing, Namjoon put down the tray on the nightstand and started to crawl towards you.

          “S-sir?” Screw your nervousness. Why did you have to fucking stutter in front of the one person you were supposed to be brave towards? Now he knew just how much you began to fear him; his little smirk proved that to you. “What are you-?”

          A hand stopped you from falling backward from the bed. You stared wide-eyed into his darkened eyes, chest heaving at the thought of tumbling and possibly have a concussion. It was a rather unlikely scenario, but it still scared you nonetheless.

          The hand lingered on your back, before slithering lower to grasp your waist. You shivered at the coolness of his palm and put your hands on his broad chest to push him away.

          “Sir, I’m sorry but I have to go now. Jimin must be worried sick and I-”

          “Do you think he’d still accept you, after what you did with me?”

          You fell silent, hands slowly slid down and fell on his bent knees. Somehow, while you envisage Jimin's reaction, you hadn't thought that he would probably call off the engagement. A one-night stand, however accidental, is still a form of disloyalty.

          Simply put, you've indirectly cheated on him.

          Jimin might be understanding in some aspects, but nobody told you that he'd accept this betrayal. It was understandable if he chose to break things off. Still, you refused to see him leave and abandon of what could've been a happy ending; you loved him too much to let him go.

          “Bold of you to assume that he’d still love you after having sex with another man,” Namjoon mocked, his other hand went to pat your bare stomach. It churned at his touch, and there was nothing you desired more than taking a bath. Who knows, you might be able to cleanse some of his germs from your body.

          But of course, it wouldn't magically solve everything. You've slept with him, for goodness' sake!

          “... And carrying his sperm. You know what will happen right?”

          He did what-?

          “No...” The severity of the situation finally dawned on you as you shook your head frantically, hair whipping around. “No, no, no!”

          This must be a joke. It had to. There was no way you’d be pregnant with his baby. No way. Nuh-uh, you refused to believe it. This must be a dream; a nightmare.

God, how you wished you could just wake up and forget all of this ever happened. You couldn't stand another minute with this crazy man. You wanted to get out.

          But the door was behind him, and if you wanted to escape, then you had to face him first. After that- what? Running to the police station stark naked? What would people say later? They must think that you were a lunatic, while the true one was this CEO who somehow managed to impregnate you.

          What did you do in your past life to deserve this kind of reality?

          “You’ll get pregnant.” There goes that dreaded, absolute unnecessary answer. But it wasn't over yet. Namjoon was still hell-bent on shaming you even further as if this bombshell wasn't enough for you to digest.

          “I'm not!” you screamed, dismissing the fact that you literally shouted at your boss. Something that you used to not have the guts to do considering he could be quite intimidating if he wanted to.

          But now, you just couldn’t give less of a shit.

          “I’m not and I’ll never be! Jimin would still accept me cause he’s my fiancé! Now let me go, you freak!”

          Namjoon threw his head back and laughed. It was the kind of laughter that send chills down your spine. You never thought that you'd lived to see the day where he would finally lose his sanity. He'd always been the calm, composed one. So what caused him to snap?

          “Really?” He ignored your flailing limbs and gripped your waist, leaving indents of his nails on the skin. “Then how about you? Would you still accept him after what he did?”

          The struggling ceased as you frowned. “What the fuck do you mean?” He really needed to stop giving you confusing questions and be straightforward already.

          Namjoon reached out to take a remote from behind you and pushed the red button. It flickered on, conveniently displayed a piece of breaking news regarding the discovery of a young woman’s corpse in some nondescript apartment.

          "It was such a hassle to find the exact location. But with a bit of hard work, nothing can't be achieved."

          You ignored him in favor of watching Jimin thrashing about when the police took the body from the bathtub. A torrent of tears streamed down his cheeks as he begged them to touch her; to hold her for one more time. He looked desperate and heartbroken. Normally, the sight would've saddened you too.

          And now, you weren’t so sure anymore.

          “He might have proposed to you,” Namjoon murmured provocatively, kissing your jaw like a husband appreciating his wife's body. “But that doesn’t mean his heart fully belongs to you. You’re just another woman in his life, you know?”

          You bit your lower lip. It stung, you admitted, it stung because it was the truth. And there's nothing more painful than the truth being shoved on to your face, forcing you to accept it as though it's that easy.

          There was nothing left to say anyway. At this point, you didn’t know whether you should feel betrayed or ashamed. It was an agonizing mixture.

          “Do you know that girl? She is, and will always be his love. After all,” he inclined his head slightly and bit your earlobe. “Nobody forgets their first love, even if they want to.”

[anakinsbugs]

The Great CPC Hoax: Why Cost Per Click Doesn’t Matter for High-ROI Ad Campaigns

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The Great CPC Hoax: Why Cost Per Click Doesn’t Matter for High-ROI Ad Campaigns

People always ask me the same question about AdWords:

“What’s a ‘good’ cost per click?”

My response back to them is always the same:

“Why do you care?”

See, most people have AdWords wrong. They obsess over the costs.

They know that more and more competitors are advertising on the platform, which drives up prices.

So they’re zeroed-in on how much they’re going to have to spend.

That’s the wrong approach.

Instead, they should be concerned with what they’re going to get back in return.

I know this sounds counterintuitive. However, I almost never worry about the Cost Per Click for keywords.

In fact, I almost always ignore them.

I’m going to show you why CPC’s don’t matter in many cases. I’ll show you how worrying about keyword costs can mislead you time and time again.

Then, I’ll show what you should be analyzing to make sure you’re not leaving tons of money on the table.

Why Cost Per Click Doesn’t Matter (and What to Analyze Instead)

Each year, companies analyze the most expensive keywords in the country.

These are typically competitive phrases in law or insurance and can cost as much $50 for just a single click.

The insane thing is almost none of those clicks will turn into customers immediately.

Instead, they’ll usually opt-into a form, first.

That means you might have to front the bill for 50 or 100 clicks before someone ever converts.

We’re talking thousands of dollars for a single customer.

It makes sense on the surface; CPC ultimately determines how much you need to spend.

WordStream

, for example, always releases an annual update on Cost Per Click benchmarks across industries.

The businesses I own are all software-related. But we work with clients across different industries. So it’s always interesting to look at these cost breakdowns.

Average ecommerce CPC’s might only be around a dollar, while law might run up to around six dollars (these are higher than most

Bing Shopping campaigns

, which should be considered for e-commerce businesses as well).

To be honest, though, I don’t obsess over costs, alone.

The first reason comes down to what the study says at the top: Averages.

Average CPCs don’t really mean all that much.

Popular, generic terms aren’t usually all that expensive.

Only a tiny percentage of the people who ever click on those will convert. Whereas, a more commercial

long-tail keyword

will be incredibly expensive.

Just compare the difference in costs between “tax” and “file back taxes”:

See? It’s not even close.

That makes it hard to use a standard, “industry average benchmark” for any in-depth analysis.

There’s another reason why I don’t like to just look at costs — because you’re often forgetting the other side of the equation.

Conversions ultimately have a much bigger impact than costs.

Now, let’s check out those

industry average conversions

from the same study:

Ok, now we’re getting a little closer.

If you remember, the industry average CPC for ecommerce was only around a dollar. In fact, it was one of cheapest CPC’s on the entire list.

But if you now look at the average conversion rates, you’ll see why.

Their conversion rates are also among the lowest.

What does it matter if CPCs are ‘inexpensive’ if the conversions are equally low?

That’s why you often want to look at the

Cost Per Action

(or Acquisition) when putting together advertising estimates.

This is the effective price you pay to generate a lead, for instance.

It’s a performance ratio. It starts to take into account things like costs vs. conversions to help you determine a much better figure: ROI.

The industry average Cost Per Action for ecommerce lines up with education on the search network.

So from an ROI standpoint, there’s almost no difference.

This is why CPC is almost meaningless.

Yes, it’s important to a point because it drives things like your Cost Per Action.

However, what’s ultimately more important is the revenue you can generate.

It doesn’t matter whether we’re talking about

Google AdWords

, Facebook, or even Twitter ads. The message is still the same.

Digital Marketer

once ran a Twitter Lead Gen campaign, testing the effective Cost Per Action (or Lead).

One campaign was able to see a $7.81 cost per lead.

They then ran the same study with the same ad and audience targeting. But this time, they optimized the campaigns to increase conversions.

It generated a $1.38 Cost Per Lead, which came out to a five time lead increase on the same ad budget.

They were able to 5X conversions simply by focusing on conversions and Cost Per Lead. They didn’t even have to touch the CPC.

You can see this time and time again.

Jacob Baadsgaard of Disruptive Advertising confirms that the

best PPC metrics are revenue-focused

. They track lead data all the way through to closed sales.

Then, and only then, will they make a decision about which ad campaign is best.

It’s not that costs don’t matter. They do, of course. But they only matter in context to how much revenue you can generate from it.

Here’s a very simple example to illustrate.

Let’s say you run two ad campaigns side-by-side.

The Cost Per Click for the second campaign is twice as much as the first. But because the conversion rate is 2% instead of 1%, you’re able to double revenue.

Would you pay twice as high a Cost Per Click to generate twice as much revenue? Of course you would!

This is after reducing revenue by your ad costs. So it’s already accounting for the higher ad budget.

At the end of the day, you’re still doubling revenue. It’s totally worth it!

Obsessing over CPC doesn’t just leave money on the table. It can also make you waste a ton of what you’re already spending.

Here are a few examples.

Obsessing Over CPCs Can Make You Pull The Plug Too Early (or Too Late)

There are many things that separate big companies from small ones.

But here’s one of the biggest: Big companies spend more on advertising than small ones do.

Duh, right? Of course big companies have bigger budgets.

We’re not just talking about dollars spent, but percentage of revenue

Salesforce, the world’s biggest CRM company, spends up to

46 percent of their budget on marketing and advertising

!

Crazy, right?

The question is why?

Why don’t small companies spend more on advertising?

In my experience, I find that they’re often too risk averse.

They don’t have the same access to capital. So they tend to obsess over costs, as opposed to revenues.

The classic scenario is when a business owner spends a few hundred bucks on

new Facebook ads

, only to conclude that they “Don’t work” five days later.

So they pull the plug too early.

In almost all cases, they just need to let the campaigns run longer.

Jennifer Shaheen found that campaigns should

run at least 45 days

before stopping. And that makes sense when you think about it.

Look at it this way.

How many sales do you need to break even? Let’s hypothetically say two or three.

So what are the chances that those two or three sales land in the first few days?

Pretty slim!

It’s the law of averages at work. You need a big sample size before numbers start to meet projections.

It’s going to take a few weeks, at least, to get

statistically significant numbers

. Otherwise, you’re just guessing.

All of this assumes that you know the ‘right’ ad campaign variables ahead of time. Which, in all likelihood, you don’t.

Not because you’re not smart. But because it takes awhile to figure these things out!

Here’s the other thing:

Many times, you actually need to increase ad spend.

Yes, you heard me right.

Listen, the reason you spend money on advertising is to make money — not save it.

That means you need to get to statistical significance as quickly as possible.

For example, go check out a few CPC ranges for keywords you’re about to bid on.

I like to use

Ubersuggest

to get a this data:

The average CPC for “analytics software” is estimated to be around $12.85 Ok, not bad I guess.

Let’s use that as the upper limit. We can create

automated rules

in the Facebook Business Manager.

If you’re having a hard time hitting those numbers, you can set a rule to actually increase CPCs.

That will make sure I get better placement over the competition and as many conversions as possible.

Here’s how that might look inside

AdEspresso

:

Of course, this approach isn’t ideal.

Because you still might leave a lot of money on the table.

If your CPCs start edging up, the campaigns will back off or stop.

Then your lead flow will stop, too.

That’s why I like using CPAs as targets if possible, instead of CPCs.

Watch CPA Instead of CPC

Cost Per Action is a better performance than Cost Per Click.

It’s not as good as Revenue, though–and there’s the problem.

CPAs can still be subjective.

Is a ‘high’ CPA bad? Maybe, maybe not.

If your CPA is over $100 in ecommerce, that might be bad.

Almost every single campaign CPA will be over $100 in law, for example. So it’s not bad at all.

Its still a much better metric to control ad campaign performance, though.

You can still figure out an upper range that starts to make ad campaigns unprofitable. You’ll base this on your average sale per customer. (More on this later.)

For starters, you can set automated rules to increase or decrease the total budget based on your CPA.

Inside AdWords, you can go to “Bulk Actions” and create new “Rules” for these ranges:

Under “Change budgets,” you can set an automated rule to either increase or decrease budgets based on cost per conversion numbers.

This tells AdWords to automatically increase your daily budget 25 percent if the CPA is within a certain dollar range.

You can do this same exact strategy inside Facebook, too.

You’ll set a rule to increase, decrease, or stop a campaign if the CPA hits a certain threshold.

Managing ad campaigns by CPA can net you more customers and revenue.

There’s still one big section we’re forgetting.

Keyword pricing or competitive pressure aren’t the only factors to worry about.

Many times, your customer base could be going through their own issues, and that’s not something you can change.

That’s why focusing on revenue is always the best approach.

Increase the Revenue-Side of the Equation to Overcome Outside Factors

Spearmint Love is one my favorite success stories.

They went from a baby blog to growing revenue over

991% year over year

, and they did it almost exclusively through

Facebook

and

Instagram ads

.

The craziest part is that it almost didn’t happen.

They were growing like a weed, until…everything just stopped.

Results were declining across the board and they couldn’t figure out why.

Until, one day while on a walk, it dawned on one of the co-founders.

Parents will buy baby clothes until that baby grows up. In other words, their customers were kind of ‘moving on’ from the company.

The ad campaign decline had nothing to do with costs or his ad campaigns per se.

It had everything to do with their customer base.

How on Earth do you solve this problem?

By focusing on increasing revenue — not touching costs.

If the CPA is ‘too high’ to make your numbers work, start by increasing average order values.

Upsells are easy, for example, when you bundle similar products.

Think about the last time you flew somewhere. Chances are, you bought a travel-sized product at a store before going through TSA.

But that product probably only cost a few bucks, right?

Check out what

Jack Black

does here, bundling several travel products together.

You arguably need all of these products if you’re flying somewhere.

Instead of only charging you a few bucks each, they’re charging you $35 for the whole pack!

Simply bundling similar products allows them to charge 10x more. Which means you can afford a much higher initial advertising cost now, too.

You can also cross-sell products to try and raise the average order value.

For example, right underneath this travel bundle, Jack Black offers a few related products to take with you:

One interesting thing to note is the price of all three items. They’re all slightly less than the initial $35 purchase.

Why?

They’re using price anchoring effect to make these additional products seem less expensive.

The Economist included a middle pricing

tier for a print-only subscription. It was the same exact price as the ‘big’ plan for both the print and web editions.

Most people chose the combined third option because it seemed like the best deal.

Removing the middle plan on a subsequent test, however, led people to

overwhelmingly pick the cheap option

, instead.

Price anchoring changes someone’s perception of cost vs. value.

That’s why you should lead with the more expensive option. Then, showcase a few related products to cross-sell that are slightly less expensive.

Spearmint Love also expanded their product line to increase average order values.

They came out with decor pieces, like hundred-dollar baby lamps.

The age of a child mattered less in this type of purchase. So it kept the company relevant longer in their eyes of their customers.

After increasing average order values, you should increase the lifetime value of each customer.

One technique is a

vintage analysis

, which shows you which customer cohorts are worth the most already.

This way, you can identify trends or patterns.

You can see what the most lucrative customers are doing and then apply those lessons across the board.

Constantly acquiring new customers is expensive. You have to

spend a lot more

to get them to buy.

Increasing repurchases from your existing customers has a massive impact on your bottom line.

Let’s revisit that initial ad model to see why.

Keep in mind this is a simplistic example. But I think it still does a decent job showing how this works.

The first campaign has a higher initial cost; you’re barely breaking even.

This is what most companies are scared of. They worry about spending more money on keywords.

As a result, they completely neglect optimizing conversions, average order values, or repurchases.

So yes, they might bring in a few sales. But the higher costs deplete their ad budget before long.

The end result is a wash.

The second campaign has a higher average order value.

In this case, you’re not even

getting more conversions

. All you’re doing is bundling a product, for example.

Already, you’re back in the black. Not bad.

However, the third campaign?

Not only are the average order values higher, but you’re getting more repeat purchases, too.

You’re basically generating more purchases from the same number of customers. Many times, you don’t even have to spend a single dollar to get them.

All you have to do is send out an

email campaign

. These loyal customers don’t take a lot of extra persuading.

More sales, without increasing ad costs, skyrockets revenue.

You make several times the other few campaigns.

Best of all, you didn’t sweat a single CPC. You willingly paid at the top-end of the budget range to maximize your opportunities.

Then, you doubled-down on the other side of the equation.

Increasing conversions and revenue spent can act as a lever to

double or triple ad campaign ROI.

Conclusion

There’s only one reason to spend money on ads at the end of the day: to make money.

Chasing the keywords with the lowest CPC is a losing proposition.

If anything, you should be spending more money. You should actually search out the highest CPC’s in your industry.

Why?

Often, they offer the most potential. You want to maximize the most sales per dollar spent.

So you know all those “industry benchmark CPC” numbers? Don’t worry about them.

Instead,

start focusing on CPA

. That’s the number it costs for you to acquire each new customer.

It’s not perfect by any stretch. But it’s a better number to optimize around than CPC.

From there, try to dig into revenue numbers.

Can you bundle a few products to raise the average order value? Can you cross-sell recommended products and use price anchoring to lower their perceived cost?

Then, figure out how you can keep customers around longer.

That might mean introducing new, related product lines. Or it might mean introducing ‘consumable’ products that people need to repurchase again and again and again.

The point is to

drive up the lifetime value of each customer

as high as possible.

When you do that, CPC will matter even less.

There will be so much revenue generated per customer that you can afford to spend almost anything to get them in the first place.

How have you boosted ad campaign performance by focusing on conversions instead of costs?

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Go to Source Author: Neil Patel

[femmingway-blog]

Let’s Talk About Mental Illness

Why I am – and at the same time am not – talking about mental illness today.

Bell Let’s Talk has faded out of the rearview mirror, but I find myself thinking of it often recently because I feel I was not able to find a comfortable way to engage with it this year. Despite meaning well, there was no single conversation I witnessed - and I witnessed many - on January 25 that I felt reflected the intention or the spirit of efforts to promote wider discussions around mental illness.

I am taking this opportunity to talk about some mental illnesses I feel I rarely see written about on days like this, and I want to talk for a bit about why that is. I’m not going to go in-depth about my personal experiences, because unfortunately despite this day gaining in popularity, I still don’t feel that it is completely safe or responsible to hash out details of any kind of severe mental illness online. This is just the reality. Anxiety and depression are gaining big strides in being normalized and better understood, but as far as I have seen, the buck has for the most part stopped there and I am not comfortable risking my professional and personal life on a facebook status or blog post.

More about me: I am a (very) recent law school graduate completing my articles with a sole practitioner in a small New Brunswick city an hour away from my hometown. I grew up below the poverty line and learned all my survival skills from the single mother who raised my brother and I on a student loan while she pursued a higher education. I have an undergraduate degree in English, and have been living as an out bisexual woman for as long as I’ve been old enough to date. I also have chronic underlying health conditions including chronic migraines, endometriosis, hemochromatosis, and excessive sleepiness, which was recently identified as possible developing narcolepsy.

In short, I have a good deal of experience with hardship and mental illness. As someone active in my community and vocal about social issues, I have had to grapple with the temptation to share more intimate details of my life for the purpose of raising awareness or normalizing certain conversations. However I have had to accept the fact that I do not wish to make my personal experiences, traumas, and history a platform for public debate, argument, or discussion. It is important to me that I be honest with myself about what I am willing to put out into the world, and whether I wish my politics to be associated with my personal experiences without my consent. Until now, the answer to that question has been a resounding “no.” Because of this, in discussions around mental illness, mental health, and struggling with trauma, I will be selective about personal stories and anecdotes I share; the reality of the matter is that as a public advocate and a member of a number of communities, I want my personal life and experiences to continue to belong to me. I believe that people should have the right to decide which of their experiences are going to be politicized.

All that said, I will say that I have witnessed and experienced my fair share of mental health crises. Poverty, addiction, abuse, chronic illness, queerness, and femininity have all contributed to my life experience in one way or another, and it is a very unique person who travels through all this unscathed. I am very lucky in that I have had an incredibly supportive and loving family, and have consistently been surrounded by extraordinary friends and mentors. While I still struggle with genuine mental illnesses to this day, my coping skills continue to grow stronger, and I continue to become more capable of lending support to others in my life when it is needed. Unfortunately, social supports and structures are still sorely lacking, and I continue to find myself facing two major barriers: first, that most people still don’t seem to have a good grasp of what it means to live with a mental illness that is not general anxiety or depression - this means that as a society we still have difficulty compassionately understanding symptoms such as paranoia, magical thinking, delusional thoughts, compulsions, mania, and hallucinations. Second, in a crisis, I recognize that I am an individual who is ill-equipped to save someone; that is to say, that due to past experience and personal stress threshold, I have a very difficult time intervening when someone is discussing taking their own life or harming themselves severely. This is exacerbated by the fact that I have had (or had recounted to me) extremely negative experiences when accessing help from services meant to help in a crisis, such as hospitals, therapy, and the police. Both of these barriers come together to create an environment that is still incredibly unsafe for people experiencing mental health difficulties, especially when those very difficulties make it challenging to think and behave rationally, or to appear “likeable” and “non-threatening” to service providers.

What I’m Going to do About It

All this said, what I’m hoping will come of this post is an actual discussion - an open, frank, ongoing discussion sparked by what I hope are some helpful prompts, accompanied with my own opening answers. I would really love for the people who read this to actively engage and respond, and hopefully start an ongoing discussion regarding our experiences with the highs and lows of navigating mental illness and the support structures we have - and haven’t - had access to. I want to hear from you all, and I want to see you talking to each other, about the things that are missing. What are the gaps in care? What misunderstandings keep you from feeling safe to join the discussion? What has worked for you? What hidden gems might you know about that you can share with the rest of us?

I want to take this opportunity to actually open up a dialogue and discussion. Given that I’m posting this much later than I expected (though I did not go into this expecting to be writing a post of this length), I’m hoping that this dialogue will stretch into a few days, even weeks. I want the people in my life who read this to comment either on my facebook page, the status I (or others) share it to, send a message to my inbox here, tweet at me (@femmingway), send me a message – whatever you are comfortable with. I want to hear from you. I want to see you talking to each other about what is and isn’t working about the current exercise of “awareness” surrounding mental health. I have two basic prompts for you to get this started, under which I’ll list some questions to hopefully get the discussion going.

What is Wrong?

First: What is wrong?

What was missing for you?

What actual resources, supports, or services would have helped you or someone you know during a mental health crisis ?

What do you wish hadn’t been said/done to you?

What would have helped you to get better, or get functional, or at least cope more quickly?

What avoidable traumas are you comfortable sharing that you or your loved ones endured from inadequate or irresponsible mental health care?

What injuries to your mental health recovery have you found yourself unable to move past?

What keeps you afraid of sharing further stories, stories about different mental illnesses or particular incidents/hang-ups that you otherwise wish you could share with loved ones?

Whose responsibility are these issues?

What is Meaningful?

Second, I ask: What is meaningful?

What helped you the most when you were in your darkest or scariest times, mentally?

When you or your friend or family member were experiencing mania or thoughts of suicide, or were losing touch with reality, what best helped to anchor you and keep you here?

Was there a person or professional who did a particularly exemplary job at “getting” it?

Is there a resource you want others to know about that helped you during a dark time?

What campaigns and/or initiatives have made a difference to you personally?

Why were they effective?

What have you done to support others in a way that makes you both feel fulfilled and uplifted?

What can you share about the ease and joy that comes with finding another person who understands your struggle with mental illness?

How can we all learn from those experiences and bring goodness into our own personal and professional lives?

I’ll go first:

What is wrong: 

I wish that adequate public knowledge about anxiety disorders was more accessible; there have been times when I, and people I know, genuinely believed we were ill or dying because we are taught the symptoms of a heart attack in school, but not the symptoms of a panic attack – we are not taught that a panic attack can feel like a heart attack, or that one does not always know that is what is happening to them.

I wish that I had access to emergency care services in my local hospital that I was comfortable accessing and referring others to, rather than being fearful and burdened with the knowledge that I will either be sent home with meds that could be used to overdose, or locked in a room without the dignity of clothing until a doctor sees fit to send me on my way.  

I am disheartened that I have been raised to associate certain traits and symptoms with words like “obsessive-compulsive”, “psychosis/psychotic”, “depressed”, and “manic”, which are so far from the reality that it has actually hindered people from knowing how or when to access care. I am disgusted that mental illness is still an appropriate and legitimate legal excuse to remove someone’s children from them, or deny them certain kinds of government services and supposedly “inalienable” rights.

I wish that there were more knowledge available to people at a basic health level about the signs and symptoms of specific mental illnesses, so myself and my family would not have been forced to follow my growth through childhood and into my teens gravely concerned that there was something wrong with me. I’m dismayed to admit that I did not understand the words “panic disorder” or “panic attack” until I was living on my own in university, despite the fact that I now fully believe I had been experiencing them since early childhood.  There is accessible information available about the best things to do for a person when they are experiencing a panic attack brought on by OCD or attachment anxiety or a phobia, however that information can only be accessed if the seeker has the vocabulary of mental illness at their disposal in the first place.

I have many personal experiences with mental illness that have affected me profoundly as a person, and I wish I could feel comfortable sharing those stories with people who I know will respect them and listen, such as the people I choose to allow access to my facebook posts. My personal goals, my desire to be respected, and my professional life all prevent me from being entirely open about those experiences. I feel that these are the responsibility of everyone in a position of power, to examine the biases and knee-jerk reactions they have to people they might otherwise label as frightening, selfish, immature, or untrustworthy, and to instead ask themselves “what can I do with whatever personal power I possess, to make life more welcoming and safe for people who are struggling?”

What is meaningful:  

There have been times in my life where the people I depend on have made the difference between showing up or not; between hiding in a public washroom crying, or holding up my chin and faking it until I make it. I cannot stress enough the panacea that is the gaze of a person’s undivided attention when they genuinely ask you “how are you doing right now?” And “I’m here, what’s going on?”

Every year, I see more and more people in the circles I frequent sharing stories about the struggles they have faced with regards to mental illness and lack of structured support. Every year I see more people taking a step towards engaging in conversations deliberately trying to bring frank and open discussions of mental health into the realm of normalcy.

Since becoming a more informed patient, I have been able to take the information I was able to access through friends, through reading, and on the internet, to become a better advocate for myself and my own mental health. I have learned how to find ways to help myself rather than resorting as a first measure to relying on the free labour of close friends and family to sort through my own difficulties, flawed thought processes, and confusing emotions. I have learned to be picky about therapists, and to put myself and my own goals first when pursuing any kind of assistance for my mental health.

I have personally witnessed people in absolute hell who have been able to slowly recognize that what they are struggling with is very real and worthy of full attention. People who have been putting all of their energy into getting through the basic motions of living, slowly exerting that much more to open up and admit they need a hand. People who have been able to very slowly realize that admitting they are in a dark place does not mean they are somehow less worthy, less strong, or less capable or mature as people.

I find meaning and comfort in the knowledge that I have so many genuinely caring people in my life who consistently make a point to ask “how are you doing?” and really mean it. I find hope and encouragement in how many people I have known who are willing to fight for a world that is kinder, and softer. I am thankful that I know so many who know when to be hard and when to be soft; when to fight and when to listen.

Endnote

I intend to follow this post up soon with a set of ground-rules for this blog. For now, I am explicitly asking for positivity and support where they are due, and for those of us who have a tendency to notice gaps in information, to take responsibility for filling them – because if we don’t, who will?

I am working on making my social media pages shame-free spaces. That means that I am explicitly stating that this status is about ways to support the people in your communities and families who are living with mental illness, sharing your own experiences (or those of others with their consent), NOT about what anyone here personally isn’t doing or hasn’t done.  If someone is contributing to a harmful dialogue, or supporting harmful causes, that’s one thing. If they are opening up their hearts to share something private with you, don’t derail the conversation to make it about your own politics.

[ahooge]

Kamen Rider Calliope Myth 1:8

Calliope was so proud of her quip that it took her a few seconds to remember she should be checking on the student whose roommate had nearly ended up with automatic A’s for the semester. By the time she had reached the body of the Ektroma, she noticed it starting to swell up in unnerving ways, persuading her to pick up the bystander and vacate the area as quickly as possible. They had barely passed beyond the field of Pandora’s Box when the remains of the Ektroma exploded behind them, just the right distance to be out of danger, but still be aesthetically pleasing as Calliope walked cooly away, carrying the fainted student in her arms.

Calliope held the girl out to Kokonoka and Shoki as they came running forward to meet her. “Take care of her. I’ll be back.” She hurried back the way she came, heading for where Yasuda was still lying on the ground. There was no trace left of the Ektroma, but her spear was still there, gleaming in the afternoon sun. Calliope pulled it out of the ground effortlessly and, with a quick spin, removed it from physical space. Odysseus had certainly chosen his weapon wisely.

Before heading over to Hikaru, Calliope also snatched up the pen that was lying right by the spear. It looked just the same as the one she had given Hikaru back on the first day they had met. Turning it over, she saw the ink gauge was empty, and she could feel no dangerous energies eminating from it. But she was wiser this time, and she wouldn’t be handing it off to anyone else.

Kaname felt the suit dissolve around her as she reached the spot where Hikaru was lying, and when he opened his eyes, he was in the arms of a friend. General confusion quickly gave way to stinging shame as the context of their situation came back to him. Nevertheless, he was hauled to his feet by Kaname.

“Crap… I can’t believe I did that… What the hell was I thinking…”

“Shut up, Yasuda. I’m not gonna hear it.”

Hikaru immediately lapsed into silence as Kaname shifted most of his weight onto her, pulling his arm around her shoulders. She realized he had probably taken that the wrong way.

“You were being controlled by that stupid pen. Don’t go blaming yourself for shit you wouldn’t have been doing otherwise.”

“I can’t really be sure that’s true. It might have affected my mood, but… I can’t deny much of what I’ve been saying. I regret it, but… I think it just revealed how much of an awful person I am.”

Kaname groaned and stopped walking, not even bothering to brace Hikaru as he stumbled forward from the sudden change in motion.

“Oh my god. Don’t start with that. Listen, Yasuda. I already get that was all stuff from your own head. But it was the pen that twisted you all up in it and made you go out of control. It’s some kind of evil tool that feeds off of people’s insecurities. And if all of that was true, so what? So part of you is an obsessive, condescending asshole. Welcome to the club, population, like, all of Earth.”

Kaname yanked on his arm again and they started off towards the nearest building. People were starting to arrive at the scene in groups; the usually-busy area had been conspicuously clear of other people once the fight had started. Fortunately Kaname’s high-intensity glare was successful at buffering other people’s urge to offer aid, and they had a clear path towards the medical office.

“You weren’t wrong about me either. I’ve been keeping it in for awhile now, but honestly, screw this university, and going to classes, and homework, and everything to do with it. I hate almost everything about this place and a large part of me wishes I had actually never gone back after the first day. Hell, if I hadn’t even gone on the first day I wouldn’t be wrapped up in all this mess now.”

Kaname heaved the heavy door open to the building they had reached, guiding Hikaru carefully over the threshold. “But y’know what. I don’t regret it. Yeah, I’m a know-nothing dipshit who’s probably wasting a space at this school when someone like your friend should actually be here. But y’know what, tough burgers. This is the way it is now, and I have every right to hate it as much as I want to, and maybe I’ll quit tomorrow, or a week from now, or never. That’s the kind of obsessive, condescending asshole I am.”

Hikaru was trying to look at her now, but it was Kaname’s turn to avoid eye contact, as she pushed him forward a bit more solidly than was called for.

“Maybe it’s assholes like you that can make this place bearable for assholes like me. Well, a few assholes and a really nice, kind, gentle soul who deserves a lot better.”

Hikaru gave her a weak laugh. “Sorry, it’s getting hard to follow when there’s so many assholes.”

Kaname grinned back. “If you can laugh, you can walk, buddy.”

Hikaru found himself relatively steady on his own feet by this time, and relieved Kaname of his weight. “There might be one less asshole soon, though. Now that the pen’s influence is gone, my grades are going to plummet. Even more than usual, since it wasn’t really helping me learn anything. I really screwed this up.”

“Don’t even worry about that. I’m gonna be making up all the times I didn’t come to your study club. In any way I can, I’m gonna make sure you at least pass all your stupid tests.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“No shit. Didn’t you hear what I was just saying? I do what I want, baby.”

Hikaru smiled at this. He tried to laugh a bit, too, but he suddenly found the process too exhausting. He gave the nearby wall his weight as his vision started to blur, and a concerned-looking Kaname began to fade in front of him.

“Whoops. Okay, let’s get you into a bed, Yasuda. Enjoy your rest now, cuz as soon as you’re up again we’re hitting the books.”

Hikaru tried to give a response, but it was only heard in his dreams, now placid and unburdened by his own heavy desires.

–#

“At least give it some thought.”

“Sure, here goes again. No. Not interested, sempai.” Kaname pushed the top of the paper offered out to her so it curled back upon itself.

Odakyuu sighed irritably and smoothed the application out. “Well, I’m not going to beg. Especially not to you. But I had to try.”

The two of them were standing in the dying light of the afternoon sun cast through the clubroom windows. Kaname had never been more ready to go home, watch some TV and forget that she had just fought off a cyclopean monstrosity, but Kokonoka had managed to catch her and let her know that Odakyuu had something important to ask of her. It had turned out be a request to join the Ancient Cultures Research Club.

“To be honest, I still don’t know if I should be here at this University for much longer. I’m going to help Yasuda study all this weekend,and he claims he’s gonna try and help me too, but I think I’m a bit beyond help at this point. But anyway, there’s gotta be plenty of folks who would be into… fanboying about old dead people with you.”

“You would think. This club has been particularly difficult to recruit for since last semester, and I can’t imagine that situation changing now. We are, however, in a particularly dire spot. I need to submit a report to the Student Activities Committee by the end of today, and if we don’t have any members signed on the ACRC will be disbanded.”

“Why would that happen? There’s still you and Ichiry- uh, Kokonoka-san at least.”

Odakyuu shook his frizzy head. “We both have troublesome circumstances. As you know, Ichiryuu-san’s father is an active policymaker in this University, and he’s never been fond of her spending much time outside of classes doing anything, as he would term it, “frivolous”. Her training to become the Ichiryuu’s successor at their temple is intensive. As for myself, I haven’t been quite as careful with my time management as I should be, between my studies and my research here. My family has never considered my passions to be anything but a… nuisance to achieving high marks. And while I passed everything last semester, it was closer than I would have liked. The bottom line is, if we can’t prove this club still has some life in it, neither I nor Ichiryuu-san can fend off the will of our families much longer.”

Kaname sighed heavily. “That does suck, man. I feel for you. But like I said, I really can’t be the person to help you. Even if I signed on, if I left soon after you’d be back in the same position. Possibly even worse off.”

She turned to make a hasty exit, in order to avoid any greater feelings of guilt that she knew would always get her in trouble for the sake of other people. Just before she could snap the door shut, however, she heard a different voice ask her to wait.

“What do you want, Arc.”

“First off, you were correct in supposing that I would not appreciate that moniker. But more importantly, we still have matters to discuss, miss Kamen Rider.”

Kaname turned around to stare down the blue-flamed specter now borrowing Odakyuu’s body. “No, I don’t think so. The Ektroma’s dead for real this time, and the pen is secure, so no more weird possession problems at this school. Well, besides the one in front of me I guess.”

“I expect you’re being sarcastic with me right now. I know you’re wise enough to realize that there’s more than one pen, and thus more than one Ektroma that will appear. They will all need the might of Calliope to stop them.”

“Well… Good thing I’ve got this superglued to my body then.” Kaname slapped at the belt on her waist.

“Correct. It would behoove you, Kaname, to stick close to your allies. They will need you here, and you will need their skills in time. If you’re looking for an excuse not to run away, consider this it.”

“What a way with persuasion you have. Anyway, I don’t see the connection between me staying here and my conscription as the local superhero.”

“That will also come with time. In any case, I’m ready to make you a deal. I understand your frustration at the situation you’ve been forced into. And while my duties in this time and place align with matters of higher morality, I do not find myself without empathy to your case. Therefore, if you’re willing to continue to fight as Calliope when you are needed, and to heed my advice, I shall consult the Gaia Record to find a way to release you from the belt.”

Kaname was a bit surprised, but she hid it well. She hadn’t expected Archimedes to go that far for her, especially since, as he so haughtily put it, he was concerned with “matters of higher morality”.

“You’re sure? You really mean it?”

“I will do everything in my power.”

This was a decision that had many aspects to consider, but Kaname felt her mind made up fairly quickly. She was tired of considering, and reconsidering, and just thinking about all the ways her actions could blow up in her face, when they inevitably did anyway no matter how much she mulled over them. Sometimes it’s just easiest to play ball.

“Alright then. We’ve got a deal.” Kaname snatched the application form out of Odakyuu’s grasp, where it had suffered slight mangling as Arc hadn’t taken much notice of what was going on with his borrowed vessel at the time. She scribbled her name on it and pushed it back to them.

“Here, hold this. Like that, fingers and all. When you hand the wheel back to Odakyuu he should go submit that before it’s too late.”

“Understood. And Kaname,” Arc called to her as she tried to make her exit once again, “you fought valiantly today. I have confidence in your abilities and potential as a Kamen Rider.”

Kaname felt like she owed him a thanks for this compliment, but she didn’t feel like giving it. “Well… you were right. About some things. Turns out I can’t just stand by doing nothing. Not sure I can call myself a hero or anything like that.”

“That… is not something to be concerned with.”

Before their conversation could be any more prolonged, Kaname snapped the door shut and hurried off down the hall towards the stairwell. Each time she tried to free herself of a troublesome responsibility, she managed to get herself tangled up in another one, like tendrils of seaweed wrapping around her in the ocean. All she wanted to do was to swim to the beach of freedom, if she was to keep up this metaphor. She had just won a fight against a shark, the Ektroma, and freed its small, twitchy sea-otter prey (Yasuda). And Odakyuu and Kokonoka were in there too (a pissy, pinchy crab and a kindly, beautiful sea turtle respectively). And that mysterious masked sea-urchin person, would probably be… well, a sea urchin. Anyway, the point is she was still much wetter than she would like to be.

But maybe an end was in sight. Hang around with Odakyuu and Kokonoka, beat up a few more Ektroma, and with any luck Arc would find a way to get the belt off of her fairly quickly. It was at that station that Kaname disembarked from that train of thought; done, as she had decided earlier, considering all of the potential dangers of her situation. She had stopped worrying about threats that were closer than she realized, closing in faster than she knew, and leading her down a path that she could never prepare herself for.

[ End of Myth 1 ]

Author’s Note:

Holy crap, where did 8 weeks go? If you ever want to make two-plus months go in fast-forward, try having a weekly deadline for serial-fiction posts. Anyway, thank you all so much for anyone who read any amount of this fic. This is the beginning of a potentially-enormous project, one that I have a lot of plans for, but still need to do the grueling work of actually putting into digital ink. So, I’ll answer that burning question right now:

When is Myth 2 coming out? Unfortunately that is a bit TBD. I can tell you that I am writing it right now, and that it shall continue to be on my project short-list until it’s done. However, between other BLP projects requiring more immediate attention and my impending return to Japan to fulfill a 3-month teaching contract in April, it might be a bit of a wait.

So to TL:DR – I am actively working on Myth 2 and beyond, and optimal plan A is to have it start publishing in April or May, to run partially over the course of when I’ll be teaching in Japan. Speaking of which, if you are someone who enjoys seeing pics of Japanese life and weeb culture, feel free to give my instagram a looksee (nagi_kaidashi_kikou). Also, comments and feedback are always encouragement for me to keep working on something, esp when I know there are other people waiting expectantly for it.

oh, also, just to give yall something to chew on in the meantime, I plan on publishing a Fourze fanfic piece that’s been sitting on my drive for a while now. Keep a lookout for that in late March or April.

So yeah. Once again, thanks so much for reading! Yall are great.

— Nagi