#i used to be happy for others but my empathy dies little by little everyday. i've been hollowed out by how much im forced to give but never

[bunnihearted]

i hate positivity posts bc they just make me angry and bitter that so many other ppl get to have nice experiences but i dont

[velvetporcelain]

thought bulimia 🧠

I had a long conversation with my father today. He’s lonely and needs someone to vent to so I allow it. He wants reassurance and support and I gladly give it. That man has set the bar so high for my vision of what it means to be a man and a father.

That man may have disappointed me but he never hurt me. Maybe because he didn’t know how to emotionally connect. Maybe he had gone his entire life without that connection, no I know he has.

He is an emotional man. Angry, sad, happy. He dives into his emotions deeply and they sound very much like telling old war stories. He lets anger and paranoia get the best of him. He thinks everyone is against him. It’s an automatic defense mode thing where if he prepares for disappointment or disaster now, he will not have to bear the burden.

I have never held anything against him. He was always just there when I needed a parent with no judgments. None at all. Only empathy, support and comfort. Now it is time for me to give him those things. I do. Willingly.

I have been really trying to keep connected with him like I do my mother. More regular “hi dad please have a good day” I love my ability to pull my energy back to me and put it where I want it, with certainty and with love, not for love.

I love loving people into life. Love can change SO much. Its power remains misunderstood because I know everyone believes in love. Even the sadistic and sick fucks out there that love to be sick and sadistic. People know love. This convinces me more to believe that love is life. Love is all you need. Love is all you want. No matter if you’re looking for it in the corporate world or in the human world. Love is water. Love is sustaining. I’m convinced it comes before food on the needs list. Feeling love IS choosing love. You will start to feel like you love yourself a bit more after every time you choose love.

Really- what do you think of when you think of the word love? No second guessing. I think love is choosing love. But it is so board of a word that we will forever be experiencing what other people think is love and some people love the same and some people love differently, so that leaves an infinite amount of chances to experience love everyday. The more I give it a chance the more I start to learn about love. Note the different methods of love and at what the different dosages are. People are so broken that I think they think broken people need the most dosage of love. I beg to differ. Micro-dosing with love is probably the best method I have found so far. Instead of big huge presentations of love, I micro-dose them throughout my day when I feel the humanly urge to love, which is pretty much always. I mean come on, I’m a woman, REMEMBER THAT.

Love does not have to be fancy, it is completely fucking free. Love does not showboat. Love is a little tiny red mushroom in the forest. It is potent.

I am really at the age where I realized how fucking difficult it is parenting. They gave me a good life, I wouldn’t be me without it.

My dad told me today that he is scared of death and he kinda wants to live now. The vulnerability and honesty in his voice I cannot forget. He said that he use to not care if he died. He said that. And now, he cares. I can’t help but think that this may have something do my recent micro-dosing of love. He is sorta my test subject now 👀 muahaha. No but seriously. I can’t believe my dad said that. He has called me everyday since Thursday? Friday? Almost always forty five minutes? It’s been really good healing for both of us. I plan to keep it this way the rest of my life with him. I love seeing the immense opportunities to apply the same social media ideology. You know the “likes” and the “little red hearts” - that’s what people think love is, again, cannot hold that against them because I do not enjoy that idea of love. Feel me? So. I redirect the urge to want short bursts of love from whatever meaningless platform it could come from and create it myself. I talk to the people that really matter to me and give me meaningful perspectives on life.

Ugh my dad, you know? I want to know more about him. So that’s my winter goal.

1. Talk to my dad more.

Your winter goal is-

1. micro-dose with love as much as possible. Keep yourselves and others warm. 🥰

I have to go now that I have just puked my mind all over the keyboard.

-x

[bird-in-a-cage]

@hotdadlicense, part two of your ask!

#45 “Lets get wasted and then go piss on his grave.”

Release

Hawkins had exactly two bars; the bar out east and the bar our west. The bar out east was called Dixies’, it was definitely the rowdier of the two, notoriously known for not carding so it was wildly popular with college kids returning home for the holidays desperate to escape the crushing boredom of family life, and old enough looking high school kids. The cops tended to leave it alone, maybe raiding once or twice a year but always with a few hours notice. As far as law enforcement was concerned if these kids were in a building drinking they weren’t doing it on the street, so less work for them and the community. For the greater good and all that crap. 

The bar out west was called The Tavern. It was a little more old school. The wall behind the bar was lined with whiskey and bourbon bottles rather than tequila and different flavoured sambucas. It had an older clientele. Steve liked working there, whenever he came back from college for the holidays and wanted to pick up a few shifts here and there to help save money to move to Chicago permanently. He didn’t like drinking there though, the air was too smokey and there wasn’t a good looking person in sight, but in many ways they helped. Dixies’ was for fun. The Tavern was for work. Regulars seemed to like him too, only if they could ask about his father and what the old man was up to now, trying to rub elbows for a potential business deal or to get an invite to the Christmas party up at the cabin. Steve was more than used to it, played along just enough to bump his tips.

They didn’t need to know he hadn’t spoken to either of his parents in a good six months, and that his father was busy cosying up to some woman younger than Steve in Milan or that his mother was getting trashed daily in the Bahamas, making eyes at pool boys. Frankly Steve didn’t need to know that either, why they didn’t just divorce years back he never understood. But then, he never really understood his parents on any level.

So, whenever he would come back to the holidays it was purely to make money. He had an empty house to live in and didn’t have to pay a dime for apart from to put food in the fridge. He would rather stay in Chicago though. He liked his life up there. It was so different from being stuck in small town America where nothing exciting happened. The most exciting thing that had happened since he’d been away from January was a new stop sign getting erected by the elementary school. Chicago was alive. He had friends there. Friends he could sometimes make out with. Friends who actually wanted to be around him by choice and not by circumstance, something which he’d learned the difference pretty quickly after leaving the first time.

There wasn’t really anyone around from the old days. Nancy had moved to DC to pursue political journalism. Jonathan had found his way to Seattle, a place which by all handed down stories suited him perfectly. Even Tommy and Carol had gone. The rumor was they’d had a bit of a shotgun wedding after a pregnancy scare and skipped town to New Mexico to go stay with Tommy’s grandma.

Steve couldn’t imagine how fun that was.

He was tending the bar alone. Thursday night, so not exactly a hive of activity. His regulars had come and gone. Mr Jones was propping up the end of the bar, barely awake, not from drink just because he was old now and he just fell asleep sometimes. Things in Hawkins never changed. The entrance was pushed open, and in staggered a face Steve hadn’t seen in years, one he was certain had skipped town by now.

Billy fucking Hargrove.

The last time they’d seen each other was before Steve had left for college. They’d maybe fooled around once or twice that summer but it wasn’t anything serious. Turns out they were only beating the crap out of each other in high school because of some weird sexual tension that would spill over and become beat downs in the parking lot. Outside of the hallways, away from prying eyes, with a chance to actually use their words, they kind of got on. Even if Billy was still kind of a pushy asshole.

Billy didn’t look great though, decidedly drunk as he made his way over to the bar, dressed completely in black. Pants, shoes, belt, his old leather jacket and a plain shirt which he was making quick work of undoing a couple of the top buttons of. His hair was cut short, but not too short, and he’d gotten another piercing in the same ear as his signature hoop. But aside from that, he looked just the same. It was a real blast from the past.

“Whiskey please,” he muttered, rummaging around in his pocket for his wallet. He hadn’t noticed who was behind the bar yet.

“You know, legally, I’m not allowed to serve you if you’re already drunk,” Steve said with a smile, trying to be as kind as possible. He didn’t know what Billy was like now. He could still have that wicked hair trigger for all Steve knew. And he really didn’t want to have to deal with glass getting thrown around. It was a nightmare to clean up. Billy’s head popped up from his lap at the sound of Steve’s voice. His blue eyes were glassy. Like marbles. Just as loose too. He grinned and let on the bar. He was definitely using it for support.

“Stevie!” He slurred around his tongue. Yup, wasted. “What are you doin’ here? Nevermind, whiskey please ol’ friend. For me and everyone here! ‘Cause why the fuck not huh?” Billy slapped a dollar bill on the bar and fought with his jacket to rip it off. There was a light dusting of a boot mark on the side of his shirt, just above his hip. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together.

“You got kicked out of Dixies’, didn’t you?”

“Mayybee,” Billy giggled, before staring right at Steve, waiting for his drink. “And the liquor store closed already so you’re my only hope ol’ friend, ol’ buddy, ol’ pal of mine!”

Steve sighed and checked the time on his watch, there was still an hour before he could close up. There was no way he was going to ply Billy with more alcohol, so he gave him a glass of water instead, which received a very annoyed look in return. “Drink that first then maybe.”

Billy muttered something dark under his breath but wasn’t so far gone he was going to start a fight. He grabbed the glass roughly and took a sip. His ring hit off the rim and echoed dull. “What you doin’ here anyway? Thought you’d escaped this shithole.”

Before Steve left they’d spoken about escaping this town. Billy was more desperate for it than Steve was. He had dreams of going back to California, staying near the coast, surfing everyday, maybe going to study mechanical engineering, something practical he could do with his hands. By the looks of it they were still just dreams. The story he’d heard from Dustin one time was, before the conversation was quickly changed, was his whole home life had gone to even more shit than it already was. Billy’s stepmom got sick so couldn’t work, his dad jumped back on the wagon with abandon so didn’t work, leaving Billy to make sure Max got through high school and all the bills were paid at the end of every month single handed.

“He’s still a dick, but he’s not that much of a dick anymore. Anyway, how’s the pizza there? Is it awesome?!”

“I come back sometimes,” Steve answered. Billy’s body rolled like a chuckle but no noise came out. “What’s with the look? You ditch the metal and go goth?”

“It was my dad’s funeral today.”

Well, if that didn’t just suck the fun out of everything.

“Shit. Shit man, I’m sorry. I was just having a joke-”

“No no it's okay,” Billy interrupted, smiling again like he hadn’t just dropped a complete bombshell into the middle of their stilted conversation. “I’m not commiseratin’. I’m celebratin’! The old cunt’s heart finally popped. Surprised they fuckin’ found one instead of a black hole…”

Billy drank his water back in one like it was hard liquor. It didn’t look like he was celebrating. Steve refilled the glass quietly.

“How is...everyone?” Steve asked. Because that’s what you did when things like this come up. Least that’s what he had done with funerals in the past. Extending empathy.

Billy shrugged. “Everyone’s fine. Happy to be rid of him.” He ran this thumb around the edge of the glass. It didn’t make a noise. “When’d you getoff?”

Steve felt himself get a little hot under the collar. A long time had passed since that summer, but the memories of it sometimes still remained. Echoes of it all would sometimes dance over his skin if someone he was hooking up with touched him certain ways, or kissed certain spots. As much as they’d hated each other in high school, it had made for some pretty fun make up sex. But no, Billy was far too gone for any of that. And Steve wasn’t about to start being that guy, hanging around his childhood home and hooking up with old flames because there was nothing better to do other than watch the corn grow. “About an hour. Why?”

Billy felt around in his pockets for what felt like an age before tossing his keys behind the bar into the corner. They landed with a metallic clatter against the floor. “I shouldn’t drive. Can you take me somewhere?”

“Bill-”

“Please?” For a moment Billy actually looked vulnerable. Steve had never seen that before. It didn’t suit him. Not in the slightest. “I’m a fuckin’ orphan now man just, please? Then I’ll leave you alone. And you can escape again. Just one place.”   

There was that too. Steve had learnt through Dustin, who’d learnt through Will, who’d gotten it off Jane, who’d gotten it from Max herself, that Billy’s mom died when he was a kid. Apparently it was rough, but he never talked about it. Just wore it around his neck like a constant weight, let it wear him down and let the sadness feed the anger. Two snakes chasing each other’s tails. And Max wasn’t around back then to have seen it. It was all second hand stories heard through her stepfather. God only knew how much of a reliable narrator he was. 

Steve really didn’t want to be a babysitter again, he’d left those days in the past even if Dustin still sent him a mother’s day card for a joke. He really didn’t want to have to babysit a drunk, emotionally unstable adult. But he couldn’t exactly leave Billy to his own devices. Not when he was like this. God only knew what he was capable of anymore.

“One place?” He reiterated, just to make sure. Billy’s glassy eyes lit up as much as they could.

“Just one. That’s all. I promise.”

“Fine,” Steve said, going for sounding annoyed by it all, but he probably just came off as normal. Taking care of other people. That’s what he did best. Even at college he was Dorm Mom, leaving out glasses of water and snacks and advil. It was something that was never going to leave him. Maybe he just had to accept that. Billy smiled, probably about as close to warm as he could manage and leant down to scoop his jacket off the floor.

“I’ll get you outside. Yous still drive that shitty beamer right?”

He was staggering away before Steve even had time to answer. His quiet night plans of just going to sleep were in tatters.

-

Billy was sitting on the ground when Steve finished and had locked up for the night, clearly not giving a damn about the dry dirt he was getting over his pants, or all up the side of Steve’s car where he was leaning, swigging from a small half empty bottle of Jack Daniels. Steve couldn’t even pretend to not be annoyed. It was late, he’d been on his feet for six hours, and he wanted to go home and eat something. Not be taken on a drunken adventure.

“Where did you get that?” He asked, walking over to his car to open it up and get them both inside. He wanted to get this over and done with as soon as possible. Billy scrambled to his feet without help but just creating a little cloud of dust.

“I had it’in my pocket the whoooole time. Don’t tell the barman. He might get mad at me.”

“Might huh?” God this was going to be a long night. It was already a long night. Steve got into the driver’s side, Billy sprawled himself into the passenger seat, somehow worse than before. He just had to keep reminding himself that Billy had a rough day. The roughest of rough days whether he would ever admit it or not. “So, where am I driving you too?”

“The church.” Billy took another swig and Steve wanted to just bat that bottle out of his hands already, but he didn’t want the car he used barely three months out of the year to stink of bourbon the next time he got in it and be reminded of all this.

“The church? There’s four churches in this town, you’re gonna have to help me out more on that one.”

Two bars. Four churches. Welcome to the midwest.

“The one with the tree...” Billy slowly spread his arms out to imitate branches, tilting his head to make the shape in his mind.

Steve wound his hand tight around the steering wheel, still trying to give the benefit of the doubt but this was already driving him crazy. “Yeah, no, still gonna have to work a little harder helping me out here man. I’m not a mind reader.”

BIlly sighed dramatic and loud, ripping a flyer from an inner jacket pocket and thrusting it under Steve’s nose for him to take. Neil Hargrove’s funeral flyer. Oh. Oh god they were going to do this? There was no way Steve wanted to sit in his car and listen to Billy cry or whatever while staring at a fresh grave. He signed on for a ride home, maybe once through the drive thru to sober the guy up, not get strapped into the emotional rollercoaster that was maybe about to start.

But they were both here. And Billy had just finished the bottle and tossed it out the door to smash to pieces in a far off part of the parking lot hidden by darkness. Steve couldn’t kick him out now. Nothing about who he was as a person would let him. He still sighed annoyed about the whole thing though, and started the engine, driving off to the edge of town where this church was. Billy was relatively quiet on the drive, staring out the window at passing street lights, warm yellow dots reflecting in his eyes. Steve wanted to make conversation, maybe ask how it had been, what he’d been up to, what his plans were now Max was getting close to graduating, but it didn’t seem right to do so. How do you really flow into a conversation about how you’ve been stuck in a place you despise for longer than you ever wanted to be, and you’re now an orphan to boot. Even though Steve never saw his parents, a fact he was more than used to since he turned thirteen, he still couldn’t imagine them dying. Just being left alone forever. They called a few times a year. They were horrible people but they were still his parents. It was something Steve didn’t want to think about too hard. 

Billy still had enough common courtesy left to roll the window down a crack before lighting up a cigarette though. So there was that at least.

The church was quiet and dark. As it should be past midnight. Steve parked up out front and followed Billy’s staggering steps as he suddenly knew exactly where he was going and went with drunken determination. At least Steve hoped that he knew where he was going. He stayed a couple paces behind, had brought a flashlight just in case Billy stumbled or anything and needed to be picked up out of the headstones before someone called the police on them trespassing. Steve didn’t need that on his record, and he dreaded to think how long Billy’s must be by now.

Even in the dark Neil Hargrove’s stone looked brand new. It was light grey granite. Didn’t have a lot of words etched into it. Just his name, the dates of his life, and the words ‘son, father, husband’. Steve flashed his light over it, watched Billy stand to attention and lean over the fresh dirt, a leg keeping him stable on either side of it, body close to the stone. He laughed darkly and spat venom at the letters.

“You fuckin’ deserve this. Fuckin’ cunt.”

For what felt like slow, painful hours there were only the sounds of Billy’s heavy laboured breaths, little metallic echoes of a belt and zipper being undone, then the ungodly splash of piss, quickly evolving into an endless stream that just kept coming and coming. Steve was frozen to the spot he picked a few feet back. He wanted to at least not illuminate the for sure crime he was witness to now, but no part of him could move. Just in shock. Steve had joked about stuff like this sure, but do actually do it? Billy laughed as it just kept coming, cackling and howling in delight to no one but himself.

Like he’d been waiting his whole life to unload like this.

Eventually the stream came to an end, he audibly tucked himself away and spat again, before either the drink or the emotion of the day finally got too much, and he collapsed flat on his back in the grass. Probably where he’d stood earlier in the daylight to check his father was really dead. That seemed like a Billy thing to do. Steve waited a few beats before stepping closer, making sure not to shine the light directly into his glassy marbles and more aim it towards his heaving chest.

“Feel better?” was all he could come up with to say. What’s even normal to say after watching someone piss on their own father’s grave, no matter how much you hate them? Billy grinned wide, his lips reaching to his ears almost, and laughed. He sounded free.

“I’ve been waitin’ to do that alllll day!”

“You don’t say,” Steve couldn’t help but smile, and bent over to help Billy up from his sprawled state. He was quite the lump to move but was soon on his feet with his arm slung over Steve’s shoulder and moving without needing pulled. Steve held onto his waist to keep him upright and in a straight line. He smelt horrific.

“Can we get pizza? Really want pizza.” Billy slurred as his head found its way onto Steve’s shoulder easily, like all the fight and hate and decades of built up resentment and anger had literally just been pissed away. 

Steve couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yeah man. We can get pizza.”

[factual-fantasy]

I just remembered an Undertale timeline I made a long time ago and tried drawing a “cover” for it. I’ll talk a little about the story in case anyone’s interested at the end.

I’ll talk a little about the story after the read more in case anyone’s interested, I’ll try my best to not go too far into it. Also nobody use this timeline please? Its personal and I’d prefer it stays mine and isn’t drawn or added onto by anyone. Thank you.💗 

In this timeline Frisk wanted to create the perfect pacifist timeline, and she believed that saving absolutely everyone was the answer. Whether they were dead, alive or missing didn’t matter, saving them all would create the happiest world for everyone. The determination she had to pull this off was so strong, that she could live with half her soul, and 1/10th of her determination without issue. Now about the souls..

First I will say that Frisk wanted to save the six other human children, but there wasn’t enough of her soul to go around. If she did have enough soul to share however, that would mean the barrier couldn’t have been broken because it required the other six souls to break to begin with.

Anyway, now the people she actually saved. She found Gaster’s room and gave him some of her determination, it acted as a glue that kept Gaster’s broken soul together, so she didn’t loose any of her actual soul saving him. With a fixed soul, Gaster could then leave the void and re-enter time without falling apart.

At the end of the pacifist she gave Asriel the outer ring(?) of her soul which is why his soul has a red outline but the center is white, (he’s a monster so there’s the white part.)

Then for Chara, she gave her a big chunk right out of the center because Chara is human and naturally requires more. And she gave Chara a part of her core, where hypothetically all her feelings are found. Chara looks sad in the picture you might’ve noticed. Well, She’s feeling Frisks feelings, her love, her empathy, her guilt, her sadness and regret. The power to feel these things is now Chara’s power too. And she feels horrible. She feels soul crushing remorse for what she’s done. She’s changed. Her Character is changed.

(the next part basically becomes a mini fic but its more detail if you’re interested. It also talks about other details that aren’t super important to the main starting structure of the timeline.)

In this timeline Papyrus has the same power to remember resets, but pretended to be blissfully ignorant for Sans’s sake and so he could keep offering his hand of help to Frisk/basically Chara. In every single timeline Papyrus continued to believe that he could help her, he never stopped trying to matter how many times he died. And eventually with the right help she did. Papyrus was the first to say “I forgive you” and truly mean it. Chara and Papyrus quickly got on good terms when he saw how blatantly horrified she was at her actions and how sorry she was. 

However it took Sans two years to actually forgive her. In this timeline Sans gets on good terms with Chara on a Christmas evening two years after the whole Undertale thing happens. On that day everyone is celebrating inside while Chara is sitting outside on the porch by herself. She feels as if she doesn’t deserve to be in the presence of all this happiness, especially not from the ones she’s killed so many times. She feels disgusted with herself looking at Sans across the room and just KNOWING that he remembers EVERYTHING shes done and still hates her for it. Her sins are crawling up her back you could say. So she’s out there by herself sulking, and Sans just pops up without the front door making a sound.

“What’cha doin outside? Its cold out here.“ he says. She looks up at him. Holy crud. She’s so screwed. Shes out here by herself with Sans. The person that probably hates her most in the world. If he wanted to, he could take a shortcut somewhere with her and just kill her. But instead.. he lightly tosses her coat in her lap and casually sits down beside her. “Not havin fun?“ ..”I was..“ Chara says, “But lets be honest.. we both know I don’t deserve this. I never deserved a second chance to begin with..“ Its silent for a bit, but then she says, ”..I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.. for everything.“ She sounds like she wants to cry but she’s too scared and emotionally exhausted to cry. “...you really think I hate you and wanna kill you, huh?“ Sans asked. He was little surprised when she instantly nods in response. 0 hesitation. 0 denying. 100% sure. 1000% afraid. Sans kind’a sighs and then goes on to say this,

“Look, kid..You know what I am? I’m a judge, well a judge of character to be specific. I look at someone and judge them on the content of their character, their motives, their intentions, and their actions.“ Chara cringes at the last part. “But.. I also judge them on change. How they look at themselves and what they do to fix their mistakes and clean up the messes they’ve made.. Chara.. when I look at you, I don’t see the same Chara I saw over two years ago.” Chara doesn’t look at him still being afraid. Sans carefully puts his hand on her shoulder, she looks at him with tears welling in her eyes.

“I don’t hate you Chara. I don’t want you to die..well.. not anymore. I judge you now and see someone who’s remorseful, and has tried everyday for the past two years to fix what she’s done. All I’ve seen out of you since we’ve been on the surface is a kid who’s sorry, And wants to make it up to everyone. As soon as you learned that Papyrus remembers what you did too, you went straight to him and apologized profusely. I cant find anything about your past self that still remains. You’re a changed person Chara, and I’m happy you’ve finally gone down the right path.” Chara was stunned into silence. Then to top it all off he said.

“I forgive you Chara.“ ..She started to cry. Sans just gave her a hug and sat with her finally being confident that she didn’t have a hidden knife up her sleeve. She finally had that heavy weight lifted off her shoulders. She felt like she could finally move on knowing the person who hated her the most had forgiven her. 

The whole “Sans forgiving Chara” thing was a huge knot in the timeline that I wasn’t quite sure how to untie until now. I like this little timeline and might start drawing from it more often. I’m not 100% sure “Refinedtale” is going to stay its name, but I think it works for now. I hope you’ve enjoyed if you’ve read this far in. :) 

[lxssalxnnblogs]

Personal Perspective of the Presidential Election Now That it is Truly Over

By Alyssa 

Let the people feel. The pursuit of happiness is not running out of time. Let this all sink in as naturally as every person needs to. In a transition, it is important to focus on something solid. During change, we need a larger source than just will and determination to remind us that light exists in what felt like a pitch black hole. Maybe for you, this was too close to call, for others, this closeness was obvious based on the patterns of the past. But in this tumultuous year, I think I have derived what we all have been feeling. 

In this world, good and evil coexist in every space and situation. That’s called bittersweet. Everything this year feels bittersweet. We lost so much and left so little to work from on something that, honestly, needs immediate attention. But the truth is, there is not a chance in hell this President transitions smoothly. Something said by both supporters and non-supporters. But I want to remind everyone that it is finished. He lost, there is no legal battle, there is no recount where it doesn’t prolong itself until Biden/Harris inauguration. This battle is done even though it really doesn’t feel like it. Like craving something all day, then finally eating it and it not being at all what satisfies you.

But when those times come, and the lingering question rolls through your thoughts, “Have we done, enough.” The answer we all know to be true is, OF COURSE NOT! The point of this essay is a description as to what I feel is happening to us as a whole and even a Trump supporter (while not for any valid reasons) feels that have more work to do.  There are a small number of naive people who have no acknowledgment for the future, Trump and the one percent, because other than their personal financial investments, their lives will not change...yet. 

But us, the other 99, know we want to improve the world. The younger of us have our minds as martyrs and our empathy is crippling to the point that every world issue feels like a personal obligation and for a percentage it is, but it is not ALL on any one of us. This win took all of us. As much as watching these numbers for four days was a hurricane with multiple untrusting eyes.Yet, watching them move bluer and bluer exposed emotions within you that you might not enjoy feeling. Fighting never feels good. Winning does. 

As much as most of us want to be moral warriors 24/7, this will HURT us in the long term. Like midterm burnout, what will keep us moving. The exhaustion of fighting and fighting without a moment of rest, this PTSD patient can tell you, will break you eventually. I believe it broke my mother’s generation. Right out of the Civil Rights Movement, my people (as shown by many poll resources throughout the decades) have not been turning out to change our communities. While, WE ALL KNOW, voting is not the only way to fix everything, IT WAS A BIG PART OF THE PLAN. However, I completely understand, as we discussed in my other op-eds regarding Lovecraft Country, my people have witnessed more than enough trauma to make us believe that their good enough,well, was.

I think it is vitally important that we focus on this win while we have the time to. For the next three months, while we are still battling covid, senate runoff races (If you live in GA, we love you and need you at the afterparty for the runoff races in your state) and physically removing the President apparently, it is time to rest. 

Show out this holiday season! Thanksgiving better be a party in your home! Do an at home spa day with the family (yes, boys too!)? Congratulate as many new voters, no matter the age! Let people feel PROUD. 

Because the honest truth is next year, we are getting into the mud again. We have the unfortunate pleasure, as winners, to clean up after Trump's mess. I think this would be a lesson to teach us about true morality. We are not the Avengers who saved the day and then leave the people to clean up the mess. Yes, we stopped the bad guys, but now we have to help the people who were hurt the most from this. 

This is the time that all people know is coming. I believe the other emotion we are all feeling is one I have to deal with everyday with PTSD. When you’ve seen how hard something was the first time, the second time feels even scarier because it is exactly as hard as you think it is. Before this, Trump’s world was reality and there was no viable way out, but the fear of this happening again, creeps in even though you defeated it before. 

Facism dies and grows two more heads. Fighting is a morally obligatory part of our societal job. If that makes you as anxious as it makes me, that is why I need to focus on the feeling. Firstly, it distracts for a moment from the bittersweet taste that isn’t satisfying me and secondly, it gives me something to focus on when I do, inevitably, go back into the trenches. It is said that an emotional memory lasts longer. Well, what an emotional day? As our brains process this eventual memory, it is up to us to decide what emotions we want this day to feel. The last time I was this emotional, was the day Kobe passed away and we all deservedly needed to acknowledge grief and lost. That is natural for us. But in our society, we don’t feel excitement and optimism enough. Not in the work that needs to get done, but that, even though it may be by the skin of our teeth, goodness has prevailed today. Use this as proof to set your mind to expand because the numbers are in the past. We can’t change that 47.8 percent of America is exponentially lost. 

Expansion is the feeling I’ve been focusing on. The first AA and Indian woman Vice President opens an expansion of WHO can lead, the children whose dreams mind gets to expand, the world’s view on what we believe gets to expand. For others it's the feeling of duty, for our ancestors who created good trouble sparking women like Stacey Abrams to turn GA BLUE  and she lost just a while ago. What feeling is pulling you forward now because we all know what the future holds? What are you telling yourself now that you can use when we all work, with the knowledge of the past, to set a new American standard? An American standard that doesn’t leave any person out, including yourself. An educated and therefore independent America that as our President-Elect Joe Biden said, will help us own the 21st century together.

[desroundtree]

Five Months

It’s been five months since I’ve been out of my neighborhood. Five months since I’ve physically seen anyone besides my family. Five months since the world changed and left some of us scared enough to see that we did in fact need change. Really badly.

Now that five months is gone it seems as if all the feelings every one had at the beginning of the pandemic is what I’m experiencing right now. The sadness that just doesn’t leave, the yearning to not be in the moment I’m in, the need to be outside and talk and laugh and dance and sing. I still don’t feel like I can do half of those things, but I know that in time those things will feel easier. I will be more comfortable or as comfortable as the rest of the world seems to be with a virus that doesn’t have a cure and has killed over 160,000 people.

Maybe.

Probably not.

The truth is I miss things. Things that probably seem pretty stupid to most but are the world to me - especially as I battle what feels like every medical condition under the sun. I miss street festivals and food trucks. I miss soft serve ice cream and concerts. Parks and petting other people’s dogs. Sunlight and a warm breeze. Laughing and day drinking. Traveling and making plans. Smiling at babies.  

I miss everything my little life had to offer even with all the pain and bullshit. I still understood that these things would be there to make me happy and now that they aren’t - I’m just realizing that those small things are as important as any of the big things people complain about missing. Those small things fill the nooks and crannies that make me - me.

But now I just feel like I have been changed, and not in a good way, by this experience. I am even more reluctant than normal, more wistful than I’ve been in a while and the truth is the sadness is the worst it has ever been. It’s deep and all encompassing and is fully entwined with what has happened and what is still happening in this country and in the world. It’s sadness that makes my bones ache and robs me of my breath. Sometimes I don’t know what is worse, the pain or the despair that comes along with it because everything feels bad at this point. 

Trying is harder than it has ever been, maybe that’s pandemic talk since a lot of people struggled in the beginning mostly with the disconnect from the world. I struggled with everything, swallowed it then let it eat me up from the inside out. I swallowed my fear and and ate it like a holiday meal.

Because let’s be honest. That’s much easier than facing all the things, all the time. Plus, having a child during a pandemic has you doing all sorts of mental and emotional jumping jacks just to make them feel NORMAL. Which is not really normal to them, just safe. As parents we have been thrust into this terrible place where we are just trying to convince everyone that everything will be alright.

I’m feeling all the fear as the world seems to want to rush back to a normal that got us all sick in the first place. A normal that had us push through so often, we infected those around us. A normal that just wasn’t really normal at all if you break it down. But this isn’t about normal since not one thing about this situation can even be considered that. And all I want is normal, I’m sure I’m not alone in this either. I crave something that feels like what summer should feel like, what life could be if I wasn’t in pain constantly and too scared to move from where I am to where anyone else is. I don’t know. 

Maybe I’m wrong but it just feels like something that’s been pushed upon us, like the diseases I have. It’s something we are trying to learn to deal with, still, even though it’s almost been half a year since this started. Just like we are learning about the virus, I’m learning what the stress and heartache of the virus does. I’m learning to understand on a spiritual level how it still changes us even if no one we know got sick or no one died in our families.  

I don’t like that there is no empathy for others and what they have lost or are still fighting. There shouldn’t be a marker for empathy, it should be given often and freely.

Maybe people are just tired for the same reason I’m tired. Five months is a long time to have to change your life completely and adapt. Five months is a long time to have to think about someone other than yourself - strangers and the elderly and the immunocompromised and the mentally ill and the rest of us still struggling to figure out how and why the last five months happened. Some of us are preparing for the next five months and trying not to break down in the process. We are hoping and praying that the actions of others don’t equate to punishment for all of us and that’s my biggest fear. My biggest fear are the repercussions those that are still not partaking in anything, still wearing a mask and following the rules, still being about someone other than ourselves will have to deal with. We are still in quarantine even though the world is rushing to that new normal people have come up with in their heads.

Five months is a long time, in a pandemic it feels like years. Years that we’ve been separated from the world, following the arrows in the supermarket, and washing our hands vigorously. It feels like it’s been years that we have been away from anyone and everything. It feels like years that we have been wearing masks and staying 6ft apart. It feels awful and it does that everyday.

There are hopes that I have, wishes we all have - and sometimes I feel like those are the only thing that really keep me going. Life is so short and trying to be a part of it lately, sucks. Because there really isn’t a way to do it without the paranoia that last five months has given me as a gift. I sit and wonder how long it’s going to take me to feel the comfort others have found so easily.

I know I’ll  be ok. I know we will be ok because we really have no choice. But what we have to do is pull together so we don’t have another five months like the ones we just experienced. I thought I would be able to learn to be grateful - for the time, for the patience it would teach me, for the peace I could find.

Right now, I just want it all to be over and not have to pretend it’s the truth. 

[gchoate17]

I read 23 books in 2019. These were my favorite 10.

1.      Planting Dandelions by Kyran Pittman (2011)

This is a book I should revisit over and over again as I reach each new stage of parenthood because I think the parts I will most appreciate will evolve as my child ages. I found books like WHAT TO EXPECT WHEN YOU'RE EXPECTING to be so clinical that I felt more isolated after reading them. They made me feel ill-prepared for what I had gotten myself into. Alternatively, Pittman is easy to relate to. Her language is intelligent and playful, her wit is sharp, and she seems willing to follow her pen toward the most vulnerable of topics. This book probably gave me a better understanding of my wife's experience in becoming a mother, and it certainly made me feel less alone as a self-doubting parent, if not as a human.

2.      Always Happy Hour by Mary Miller (2017)

As depressed as so many of these characters are, I found them to be inspiring as well. These stories are a kind of preservation of what it feels like to quietly defy societal conventions and the satisfaction and loneliness that comes from the repetition of such acts. I could see how some readers may be turned off by the pace at which Miller unfurls these stories, but to me, that’s where her writing subtly displays its brilliance.

3.      Watership Down by Richard Adams (1972)

This book’s ability to defy anyone who wants to strictly label it a children’s book is a testament to Richard Adams’s storytelling. He hits a range of emotions, he develops characters, he points out the truisms of multiple species, and it was all very wholesome, in the best of ways.

4.      Tumor by Anna Leahy (2017)

When my grandfather died of lung cancer, it happened so quickly—and he smoked—so I didn’t have much use to learn about the intricacies of tumors and its treatments. Cancer is so prevalent that it never really felt worth researching until I was in my mid-30s and my dad developed brain cancer. I scoured the Internet for information, but the content itself was even more technical than the presentation of it. My lack of understanding added to the feelings of helplessness I already felt, so I gave up my search for knowledge long before I was satisfied, before my father died. Reading this book—even two years after my father’s death—helped me find some of the satisfaction I had initially sought. Leahy did the research, she put it in context, and she made it palatable. She injected it with empathy. She wrote something that exists in that oft-elusive intersection of art and science.

5.      A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole (1980)

Such a great cast of characters. With so much dialogue, it would have been easy for Toole to get lazy in his writing through repetitive character-defining phrases, but the brilliance of this book lies in the subtle originality his characters speak all the way to the last page.

6.      I Want to Stare at My Phone with You by Rhett Brinkley (2018)

This is one of those books you read and then feel like you know the person who wrote it better than you probably actually do, and that's because Brinkley is unflinchingly candid in every essay. He self-deprecates humbly, and he writes with affection about a cast of characters who are full of self-doubt, but who find joy in the mundane. Brinkley has clearly cultivated a talent for finding a narrative in his everyday life, and the style in which he delivers that narrative is riddled with dry humor. As with all good writing, though, it remains unpredictable--the profound moments hit when you least expect them, and they hit surprisingly hard.

7.      We Cast a Shadow by Maurice Carlos Ruffin (2019)

While I understand the nature of satire, I didn’t think I could overcome the ineptitude of the protagonist’s behavior through the first 133 pages. But then I read pages 134-135 and realized they needed the first 133 pages. Ruffin pulls off an incredible, much-needed macro-commentary on the current-day status of the racial divide in America by writing about the micro-details of a future America. As I read this book, I couldn’t help but think I was reading something that would (and should) eventually be required reading for high school students in the decades to come. Or immediately. And I should also say the surprise for me with this book was how much the narrative forced me to think about my relationship with my father, as well as that with my son.

8.      On Writing by Stephen King (2000)

While I agree with most of King’s writing advice, I didn’t find it to be advice that goes beyond that which is given in other books on the craft. My real pleasure from this book derived from reading about where King’s own experience of writing intersected with his life. Rather than reading this book entitled On Writing by Stephen King, I want to read a book called A Writer’s Life by Stephen King. Still, the first thing I want to do after reading this book is to go pick up one of his novels. I have way too much respect for him—as a man and as a writer and as a voice in our society—to not have read a single one of his novels.

9.      Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams (1979)

Quirky as hell, in that delightfully British way. Conversations provide the vehicle for ridiculous humor as much as they serve to progress the narrative. (I saw the movie long before I read the book and couldn’t not see Sam Rockwell as Zaphod Beeblebrox.)

10.   Unnatural Habitats & Other Stories by Angela Mitchell (2018)

My book club unanimously agreed that we didn’t like most of the characters in these stories, but part of that is because we know them so well—here in Arkansas, where a good portion of the stories are set. And there is no doubt that Mitchell knows them, too. She especially seemed to have a firm grasp of how to write along the thin line between the fragile vulnerabilities of a young Southern girl and the unyielding, yet sometimes misguided power of the Southern woman. Short stories aren’t my preferred genre, but these were all linked well enough to keep me from feeling lost. I look forward to seeing what Mitchell can do at a novel’s length.

Biggest Disappointment: 22. As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner (1930)

Fifteen points of view seems a bit excessive. And the child's POV was a little obnoxious.

Previous Book Lists: 2018, 2017, 2016, 2015, 2014, 2013, 2012, 2011.

[mindlessselfdeprivation]

The Nothing

It’s just like The Neverending Story. It’s not darkness, it’s not even a hole, because even hole would be something. No, this...this is just nothing.

That’s depression. That’s what true despair is, it’s The Nothing that eats up your everything. It bleaches your life, nothing has any color or flavor or texture anymore. Food sucks, company is annoying, being alone is excruciating and substances exist only as a shit-ass temporary floaty. Recreation means nothing anymore, every desperate action during the day is taken only to distract me from myself for a little bit longer. Sleep will come soon, and in sleep there’s just that sweet fucking nothing. 

Which is what you feel like you constantly have, at any given time. Nothing. The Nothing has it now. And now every memory is covered in spikes, too painful to even go near.

Nothing can make you feel ok anymore, and your good days are the ones where you only brood and lament your life for a few hours out of the day. You know, as opposed to every second you’re awake. 

Those days happen so much more often. I swear to fucking God, some days I feel like the pain inside me is gonna open a fucking hole in the earth. Like I’m no longer going to be able to keep this horrible monster at bay anymore, and the scream that finally peals out of me will shred my lungs and crack open an abyss that swallows me once and for all. 

I fear for anyone that might be around when that bomb goes off. Which is another problem. Although I’m desperate to be seen and heard and known and loved, I’m fucking terrified of getting near anyone ever again, it seems like an absurd idea to even say it out loud. I’m a goddamned hurricane, I’m a fucking natural disaster on legs, an extinction level event taken human form. All of my relationships....it’s just a festering sewage basin, that whole area of my life. Everything there, flies and pestilence, disease and rot. 

That’s my heart in there too. Fucking rotten, like an old forgotten tree stump wasting away in a swamp somewhere in whogivesafuck. Thinking on it, can I even love anymore? Do I even know what that is anymore? 

An older woman I work with asked me for a hug the other day cause she was a little sad, thinking about her brother that died...and I was happy to oblige, she’s the sweetest little thing. And I realized - holy shit, this is the first real hug I’ve had in an entire year. I’ve hardly touched anyone for ten months outside of a handshake or a friendly bro-hug. 

And afterwards she thanked me and said I gave great hugs, and it dawned on me...I remembered being a guy who loved hugs, remembered a guy that was very romantic and affectionate, that insisted on using physical touch to remind those around him that he loved them dearly....then I looked over from that guy to the one that’s in there now. What a shadow, what a husk he’s become. Empty and hollow and discarded. A lost soul...an inevitable consequence of The Nothing.

The worst thing? I mean, if there is a blacker black than all the rest...

The Apathy. That’s what The Nothing shits out and leaves behind for you. You just don’t....fucking....care...anymore.

I used to have passion, play music, learn language or just about any damn thing else (I was always such a junkie for knowledge), write stories or poetry or music or any one of a dozen other things that enjoyed. And I don’t even write this out of sadness or with some sense of self pity, this is just a cold, apathetic recall of facts. There was a guy who knew love and there’s the guy sitting there now. And those are simply two different guys. And the insurance adjuster in me is fairly certain that at this level of damage, it’ll cost more to repair the existing vehicle than it would to just buy a new one.

I don’t have any real relationships anymore. I have the ones that are necessary to maintain normal social function, but even those I put in just enough to get buy and no more. I’ve lost too much and hurt too deeply and hurt others far too much to let anyone close anymore. It’s hard to describe how it feels to look around you and realize you’re standing alone, no one around. 

The only times I hear from someone is when they need something from me. I’m like a tool for rent. Why buy this thing when I only ever need to use it once in a blue moon?

Family? No, two sisters and two brothers in law that I don’t know anymore and they definitely don’t know me. A mom that taught me to use people like pawns and a dad so devoid of emotion and connection that it’s impossible to communicate, a daughter I never see or speak to anymore and an ex that swore we’d remain amicable for the sake of our daughter but slowly, methodically, and fucking brilliantly shut me out of her life completely...and my daughter with her by extension. Friends? No one there that knows me either, just people I talk to on occasion to spend a little bit of my distraction time with someone else.

But no one around me knows this. I put on a pretty decent mask I suppose, my boss apparently thought I was a really happy guy and married with kids. Ha. Cool, it’s working. I’ve gotten good at camouflage. It’s just another form of lying, and I’m incredibly good at lying. 

Talking about it, is like...what’s the fucking point? This is a tar pit, baby. I’m not bringing anyone else in this. Even if you were standing right next to me with a brilliant torch, this darkness, this Nothing around me is far too thick to see it. 

I miss writing though, maybe that’s why I’m finally doing this. Putting something down. I’m going to commit to talking to this fucking thing everyday. No one knows me here, I barely use this website. I only ever got onto it for....well, another person who eventually left. Maybe that’s why I feel I can be ok here, being naked and bleeding and fucked up and real.....no one who knows me by my mask will have to know what lives underneath it. This is my tree of trust.

I don’t want this to just be a dumping ground for depressed Emo bullshit though, I can go listen to Dashboard Confessionals while cutting myself if I wanted to go there. What I want is a true exploration and record of The Nothing as it grows stronger, what it’s taking, what fuels it, can I escape. I don’t want help either, I don’t think there is any such thing (see tar pit reference above). Maybe you’re always alone too, maybe you’re also constantly afraid that the house of cards will get blown down and people will see the real ugly inside. 

Maybe this is just me yelling into the wind that you’re alone, but not so alone. Maybe all of us are and none of us. Maybe I don’t know what to believe anymore.

I’ve tried to remember it, you know. Happiness. I’ve tried to find that motherfucker like Sherlock and his dear Watson, complete with cocaine and violins. You ever try to think of a nice warm fire while you’re soaking wet and freezing your balls off? And how’d that work out for ya? Same idea - “Just think happy thoughts” is like telling someone that just fell into arctic waters that they should “Just think of a nice warm fire”.

Hopefully, they’re still giving you the finger when their body gets frozen in place. It’d be a bit of justice, if there is such a thing.

That happiness is like the thought of a warm blanket when I’m currently buried in snow. Doesn’t actually exist.

There’s not a day where I don’t wake up wishing to fuck that I hadn’t. And there isn’t a night that I go to sleep that I don’t pray that I won’t wake up this time. Life has become a grueling marathon of pain and most days I have trouble figuring out why I fucking bother. 

Even as I’m writing this, I’m constantly stopping to wonder what’s the fucking point. 

I’ve gone on dating apps, funny enough. But every time I actually think about having a connection with someone, it honestly freaks me the fuck out. I’m so fucking damaged, there’s just no fucking way I’ll find someone with a back strong enough to help me carry all this baggage. I freak out and delete the account.

It’s completely not about the sex for me, if you can believe it. I’ve got such a low libido recently that even the idea of it lately gives me paralyzing anxiety. I don’t want to have sex if it’s not with someone I have a good intellectual connection with, and I never have. The problem with that is that sex in my mind is held on this strange pedestal where it straddles the line between sacred entity and foul beast, and it’s gotten so complicated and ridiculous that I just don’t care anymore. 

There isn’t anything even tempting or alluring about sex anymore. Even masturbation is almost completely without enjoyment, used every so often as a tool for general upkeep. And even this The Nothing has it’s hands on. The other day, I stumbled on a video that looked almost exactly like my child’s mother with another man...and I got physically ill. After throwing up 3 times and shaking for nearly an hour, I slowly pulled myself back from the panic attack I was having.

I didn’t eat for 3 days and I couldn’t get another erection for more than a week. Suppose it’s safe to say I’m still in love with that woman, I guess. Not only did I feel like absolute shit that whole week, I felt like shit for feeling like shit. My Yin and my Yang were both very very pissed off. This is just one of a number of broken fuses and faulty wires inside this broken machine.

Sometimes I wish we had the ability to do a form of Vulcan Min-meld, but with emotions and empathy. Especially when someone asks what’s wrong. Just grab their hand and rest it gently over my heart and let it tell the story for which I’ll never have the words. 

That’s also why I’d be scared like hell if that were possible, I’d be afraid the weight of it would crush them. I’m not trying to be really morose or hyperbolic, I’m fairly certain the vast majority of people walking around out there don’t carry this. I’ve talked to them, I know them. When you’ve spent a fucking lifetime perfecting your camouflage and your tower of lies, you can spot someone else playing that game from a mile away. And I’m not saying everyone else out there is skipping through a magic pixie lolly-pop fairyland or anything, but most people out there are general pretty stoked about being alive and doing stuff. People like me are out there, but I don’t see very many people that are under the spell of The Nothing.

I fucking hope not, this is an existence I wouldn’t wish on anyone, friend or foe. On that note, I also hope you aren’t going through that as well if you’re reading this right now. If you’ve never counted the different ways you could choose to end your life instead of counting sheep to fall asleep at night, you are truly blessed. 

I hope you stay whole. And with whatever capacity I’m still capable of feeling it, I love you. Cause maybe you don’t hear it that often either, and for that I’m sorry. I’d rather go without food than love, and I’ve been in both spots before.

I hope The Nothing never finds you.

Until next time.

[fallxnprxnce]

How affected would Nuada be if his sister Nuala had the iron malady. Also if that happened, how do you think that would affect Nuada's plans through out the film? You got this! Continue working hard online and offline and I'm sure things will work out! Have a frabjous day!

Okay first of all I just want to saythat you get 1,000 positive karma points for even mentioning my own fictionalillness that I came up with in your ask? Like wut? Thank you for payingattention and even caring about my little brain children? You’re awesome? =)

And again, sorry for this taking a ridiculousamount of time for me to finally answer, but I wanted to really give it somethought and not just write a tiny thing. Today is the first day I’ve had bothtime and motivation to write in like a week.

Also omg, I am trying to muddlethrough these last couple months of work but both my jobs are kicking my assright now. Mid-May, they both will end, and then I’m off until the end of June,so I just need to make it that far, heh.

Now let’s get down to business. XD

If you are reading this and you’re newto this blog or you just haven’t ever heard anything about the Iron Malady, it’s a fictional illness Icreated for one of my literary worlds. I made it more to deal with theissue of high or forest type elves being taken as prisoners of war by humans orsubterranean elves and placed in cells, or to deal with how they feel when theyare very far from home, away from their home forest, not in a forest, or areotherwise around a lot of human technology and civilization. Building on the common headcanon in a numberof fandoms that elves’ emotions are so potent as to have the ability to directlyaffect their longterm mental and physical health, the Iron Malady is an illnessthat arises from the intense feeling of hopelessness or dread that all thatthey have known is lost, that they will never see their home again, or that theworld is changing around them too fast for them to handle. A feeling of beingleft behind, becoming obsolete, or “homesick” for times and places they feelthey can never recapture. That’s a veryquick and general synopsis, but for those who wish to read more, I will directyou to this post where I describe itin more detail, discuss symptoms and stages of disease progression, and discussremedies to ease suffering and/or cure it.

So… how Nuada would react to Nualagetting the Iron Malady would depend upon whether their soul bond would conferthe illness onto him as well. I feellike if she was laid up with the Iron Malady, Nuada would be too, or at leasthe wouldn’t be far behind her. This is for two reasons: 1) they are physicallylinked, so all physical symptoms would be experienced by Nuada in real-time, 2)he would feel her emotions through the bonds, and the very definition of theIron Malady is that it’s brought about by intense feelings of sadness, grief,and hopelessness… which I think would massively affect him, and 3) just knowingshe had that illness would devastate him because I headcanon that that’s whatthe twins’ mother died of, and also just because he would know if Nuala hasthat illness that she must be suffering very badly emotionally. So my veryshort answer would be that he would become ill too, and without anyone to takecare of him, he would die, so both twins would die. If he returned to hispeople and got help, he could be in recovery for weeks if not months, so allother plans of his would be delayed by that amount of time.

Of course, having said all of that,that even assumes Nuala can get theIron Malady, which I believe she can’t. It begins as an emotional illness, afeeling  of intense dread, grief,sadness, etc., and Nuala seems incapable of that sort of emotion. (Disclaimer: Iwill insert at this time for those of you who were just like whaaaaaat? at thatstatement that I am not a fan of Nuala and I tend to have very harsh andpessimistic views of her. If you like her, I do not mean any insult and you arefree to love her if you want. Just take what I say within the context that Ihave a rather low opinions of her as a person haha.) I am not certain exactly the reason why she has a flat affect most ofthe time with regard to the fate of her people, but it has to be one of thesethree:

1) She doesn’t care. It could be possible that Nuala really just doesn’t care whether elves fade or not.If I wanted to be really mean and wallow in my pessimistic views of her, Imight want to say this, but I actually believe this is the least probable causeof her apparent apathy.

2) She can’tcare. It could be, and I think this isentirely likely, that Nuala has just been alive long enough, has seen enoughsuffering, has felt enough pain, and has pondered this subject long enough thateverything has… well… kinda… broken her brain a bit, heh. Not to say she’scrazy or anything, she’s not. But just in the sense of… sometimes you feel somuch that you redline and end up not emoting at all? Does that make sense toyou all? Like if everyone is pushing and trying to get through a doorway but theyall get jammed, then nobody gets through. What if her mind is the door and heremotions are the people pushing to get through? If she could emote, it would bevolatile and explosive, just like Nuada, but she can’t anymore.

3) She’s too wise to care. This sounds nasty, but it really isn’t. Truewisdom is seeing the big picture. It’s stepping outside of yourself, yoursituation, away from material things, away from trivial everyday things, andseeing the grander scheme of everything. Often times when one reaches truewisdom or enlightenment or whatever you want to call it, it involves not onlyan understanding of the greater picture and a detachment from personal desires,but also patience and compassion for others. This results in an enlightenedperson viewing strife and war and suffering as if they are watching TV. Notthat it isn’t real, not in that sense… but as if they are outside lookingin. They don’t place themselves in the situation or empathize, but rather theypractice patient compassion. What’s the difference? Empathy is when I identifywith what you’re going through because I’ve been through it myself or Iunderstand what it must be making you feel, and that makes me either sad foryou or really want to help you. I become personally emotionally involved inyour suffering. Patient compassion is very calmly looking at someone who issuffering and saying, this is difficult for you but you will get through it,and I understand that until you do, you will be upset and not yourself. It’sattributing all suffering to want, desire, and a lack of getting what you wantas far as the material here and now. It’s looking at someone who is in a rageand very calmly saying, I understand that this angers you, and I recognize thatyou are not wise enough to know that this too shall pass. I understand that itwill take time for you to work through this, and that until then, you may beunfit to live with.

I think it is very likely that Nualahas this very serene, wise, enlightened way of looking at the world. It rendersher not really able to get overly excited about much, because to be excited,upset, angry, etc., you have to be invested emotionally. She is an observer,watching life but not overly participating in it except in a few ways she feelsfurthers or maintains the greater good. Nuada and Nuala truly are yin and yang,for she is temperance, patience, understanding, and long-term, and Nuada isvolatility, impulsiveness, intolerance, and short-term. But I feel that that’sbecause Nuada never removed himself from the emotional equation. He’s allowedhimself to feel centuries of injustice, death, loss, and degradation of hispeople, and that has done very damaging things to his mind. Nuala may seem likea whole and better person on the surface, but that is because she has declinedto become emotionally invested in her people’s struggle, which I find shameful.But… it would protect her from falling victim to the Iron Malady.

Alright, SO… Now that we’ve gottenthat out of the way, IF… Nuada did not immediately come down with the IronMalady just by association with Nuala and IF… Nuala was actually capable offalling into the emotional valley that gives rise to the illness… now what?

In the HellboyII universe, I say the Iron Malady arose in elves who feared that their wayof life was falling apart, that it would fall apart forever, and that theywould fade. That despairover their situation of having to live underground, or seeing the humansoverpopulate and all of that, gave rise to this wasting illness that, even whenproperly treated, some simply do not recover from. Nuala and Nuada’s mother wasa kind, loving, and gentle soul, but she was also a fragile one, and she wasnot able to recover. Nuala… I believe would recover with the proper treatment,but that’s anybody’s guess. But even if we’re going to say that Nuada wasn’tphysically affected by the illness, he would still be aware that she had it.Actually, you could argue that he might be able to stop if before it happens,if he really wanted to, because he would be able to sense her emotionally goingdown that path long before it manifests itself in illness. He’s used to beingshunned and shut out by his sister, but if he felt real sadness from her? Ifshe reached out to him for help? You can bet your ass he’d be there for her.

So… I do not ship Nuala and Nuadaromantically or sexually. Yes, I know it’s canon. Yes, I don’t care. XD Butjust because my Nuada isn’t in lovewith Nuala does not mean he doesn’t love her. He loves her like a sister,certainly, and like anyone bonded to someone by their soul for the whole of his life would be. Nuada and Nuala do not have a traditional sense of self because of thisbond. They may exist apart from each other, but never knowing anythingother than feeling each other’s joy, pain, illness, sadness, happiness, wounds,etc. as their own… makes for a bondthat really can’t have any clear labels. That’s part of the reason why Nuada isso angry with and resentful of Nuala, because shunning him is like shunning apart of herself and like denying him a part of himself. It’s as if Nuada was awart on her finger and she decided to, quite literally, cut him off. But…having said that… because of the nature of this bond and Nuada’s own very openand emotional nature, there is no way for him to cut her off completely. So if she came down with something like theIron Malady, all bets would be off at that point. Fights wouldn’t matter.Differences wouldn’t matter. Insults, slights, grudges, bones to pick, none ofthat would matter to him anymore. All that would matter is being there for herand seeing her get well again. He’d worry about the rest later.

His plans for the humans would absolutely takea back seat to being there for his sister.He would return to the “palace,” assuming this is happening before he killsBalor, and would stay there with his sister until she was well again, and basicallywould not accept no for an answer. It isn’t like he would forget about what hewanted to do as far as assembling the crown, gaining the Golden Army, or exterminatinghumans, but rather his sister’s life and well-being would supersede all of thatin his mind. I can’t say that he would be surprised necessarily if she was toget the Iron Malady, but it would only strengthen his anger for humans. He’s alreadypissed off that they killed his mother, the way he sees it, but now his sisteris ill? Hell no.

Also, on a very basic and selfishsense, he would realize that if he doesn’tmake sure Nuala is cared for in a suitable manner and she dies, he would diealong with her. So if he ever intends on going through with his plan, heneeds to make sure he’s alive to do it. I can see this creating an even widerrift between Nuada and Balor, simply because he resents his father for hismother’s death. He feels he did nothing to save her, or at the very least, didnot provide her with enough support in life to prevent the illness fromhappening. Nuada would make sure the same thing doesn’t happen with Nuala.

He would make sure that Nuala was notjust feeling better but had been feeling better for some time before herevisited his plan again. This isn’t like a… take two Advil and call me in themorning sort of illness, heh. It takes weeks or months for a person to recover,and even after they do, they are prone to relapse if they are not taught how tobetter manage their depression or are not left with enough of a support system.I suppose if Nuala really wanted to discourage Nuada from his plans, the bestway would be to tell him that she needed him to stay with her in order toprevent a relapse. But that would assume he’d believe such a thing, heh.

But those are like… ultimate “I getthe Army and then I dead the humans so hard” plans. What about other supportingplans along the way? There are a fewthat I think would be either put off or nixed entirely if Nuala was sick withthe Iron Malady…

He wouldn’t kill Balor. Perhaps that whole thing might have gonedifferently if Nuala hadn’t been there to give consent for Balor’s death decreein the first place, but if she had the Iron Malady, Nuada would right suspectthat killing their father wasn’t what would bring Nuala out of her sadness. Infact, that would only exacerbate it tenfold.

He wouldn’t use the forest god in the way hedid. If anything, he might have brought itto Nuala first and shown her look, one of these still exists and I’m incubatingit, to make her happy. Not… “and then I’m going to use it to kill the hoomins,”haha… but just… “look, there is hope yet.” Maybe the poor forest god would havehad a better ending (or beginning?) and a much deeper meaning if it had beenused in that way. Great. I just gave myself a sad.

He wouldn’t care as much as Abe trying to makemoves on Nuala. Nuada doesn’tlike Abe for a lot of reasons, and he doesn’t think he is worthy of his sister,but… just like with Balor, now is not the time to attack someone she clearlycares for. For the sake of her recovery, I could see Nuada allowing Abe tovisit her. Supervised visits, ofcourse. XD

Nuada’s biggest problem during this timethough, would be not falling victim to it himself. Seeing his sister with the same illness hismother died from would take Nuada to a very rough place in his mind, and Ireally think it would be difficult for him to not fall into a depressionhimself. He would most likely want to stay in her room, sleep by her beside,basically never leave her. He would start regretting things he said and did toher, would start wishing they had been on better terms, all of that. So therewould be a great deal of regret and guilt involved in addition to just thesadness of seeing someone he loves laid up like that. So I think he’d be luckyif he remained entirely healthy himself during this time.

But yeah, that’s my 2 cents… of 5dollars, since this was long as hell, haha… but I hope I answered everythingwell enough! Thank you for sending  thisin!

[develand64]

The Uncommon Power of Grace

A revolutionary idea lies at its core: radical equality

In his book “What’s So Amazing About Grace?” Philip Yancey describes a conference on comparative religions where experts from around the world debated which belief, if any, was unique to the Christian faith. C.S. Lewis happened to enter the room during the discussion. When he was told the topic was Christianity’s unique contribution among world religions, Lewis responded: “Oh, that’s easy. It’s grace.”

Lewis was right. No other religion places grace at its theological center. It was a revolutionary idea; as Mr. Yancey puts it, grace “seems to go against every instinct of humanity.” We are naturally drawn to covenants and karma, to cause and effect, to earning what we receive.

Grace is different. It is the unmerited favor of God, unconditional love given to the undeserving. It’s a difficult concept to understand because it isn’t entirely rational. “Grace defies reason and logic,” as Bono, the lead singer of U2, put it. “Love interrupts, if you like, the consequences of your actions.”

There’s a radical equality at the core of grace. None of us are deserving of God’s grace, so it’s not dependent on social status, wealth or intelligence. There is equality between kings and peasants, the prominent and the unheralded, rule followers and rule breakers.

If you find yourself in the company of people whose hearts have been captured by grace, count yourself lucky. They love us despite our messy lives, stay connected to us through our struggles, always holding out the hope of redemption. When relationships are broken, my wife Cindy told me, it’s grace that causes people not to give up, to extend the invitation to reconnect, to work through misunderstandings with sensitivity and transparency.

You don’t sense hard edges, dogmatism or self-righteous judgment from gracious people. There’s a tenderness about them that opens doors that had previously been bolted shut. People who have been transformed by grace have a special place in their hearts for those living in the shadows of society. They’re easily moved by stories of suffering and step into the breach to heal. And grace properly understood always produces gratitude.

Of course, grace can easily be exploited by people who don’t want to be held accountable for their misdeeds; the theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer referred to this as “cheap grace.” Nor is it easy to balance grace with the requirements of justice. We obviously can’t organize society entirely around the concept of grace. Yet the problem today is more the absence of grace than its presence.

It’s easy to understand why. Living a grace-filled life is hard. Most of us, when we feel wronged, want payback. Our first impulse, when hurt or offended, is to strike out, justifying our anger in the name of fairness. We forget the words of Edward Herbert (the poet George’s brother), “He that cannot forgive others breaks the bridge over which he must pass himself,” and we forget that only grace can break the cycle of ancient hatreds among peoples. (It is notable that while I have regretted not granting grace to others, I’ve never once regretted extending it.)

When Mr. Yancey was young, he rejected the church for a time because he found so little grace there. There is a tendency among many people of faith to come across as holier than thou, more eager to judge than to forgive. Jesus encountered this throughout his ministry, which helps explain why he was more comfortable in the company of the unclean and reviled, the lowly and the outcast, than religious authorities. The odds are that you know people who have had scars of ungrace inflicted upon them by the Christian church. Yet when we see grace in action — whether in acts of extravagant, indiscriminate love, in radical self-giving, or in showing equanimity in the face of death — it can move us unlike anything else

In 2014, Steve Hayner, my spiritual confidant, was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Upon learning it had spread, Steve wrote, “In all probability, the remainder of my life on this earth is now to be counted in weeks and months.” (He died in January 2015.) Steve acknowledged that pain and death are reminders of the nature of our broken world. Yet he went on to say: “There is a much bigger story of which this is only a tiny part. And it is God’s story of love, hope, forgiveness, reconciliation, and joy. We went into this journey choosing to trust God and to offer our fears to God. We’ve been so grateful for the freedom from fear and the abundance of peace that we have experienced.” He added, “There are, of course, times of discouragement, grief, pain, and wonder. After all, there are a lot of unknowns ahead of us.”

I sent Steve’s reflections to my friend Jonathan Rauch, who responded, “It’s letters like this — the wisdom, the grace — that make me wish I weren’t an atheist.”

When I recently asked Jonathan how, as a nonbeliever, he understood grace and why it inspires us when we see it in others, he told me that grace is “some combination of generosity and magnanimity, kindness and forgiveness, and empathy — all above the ordinary call of duty, and bestowed even (or especially?) when not particularly earned.” We see it demonstrated in heroic ways and in small, everyday contexts, he said. “But I guess, regardless of the context, it’s always at least a little unexpected and out of the ordinary.”

A lot like if the incarnate deity, veiled in flesh, were born in a manger in Bethlehem

By Peter Wehner

FOR THE GRACE OF MANKIND, BE NICE TO ALL KIND. HAPPY HOLIDAYS! D (agnostic)

[winterschild999]

You’re Safe

SUMMARY - Bucky escapes from Hydra but isn’t able to save you .When Steve finds him he begs him to search for you and bring you back . Will you be able to escape Hydra?

WARNING- Angst , fluff

WORDS - 1477 

A/N- I really like this story . Hope you do too . 

Not edited ,any mistakes I am sorry . Also I am taking requests now so if you got any send them in . THANK YOU .

He was free. He was out of the hell hole that made him the killing monster. The place that induced horrible nightmares months after being out of it . It was 70 years of torture.70 years of torture that he has to come to terms with and accept that it wasn't him .That he was brainwashed.Yet,he never felt free. His demons surrounded him every second of the day .

He's screamed your name as he thrashed in the bed late at night,Steve would come in and bring him back to reality far,far away from his nightmares.He begged Steve to search for you . He begged him to let him go so he could find you . He cried every night ,blaming himself for leaving you back there. He escaped but you couldn't. He promised to you every night as you lay your naked body on his,that he would one day escape and take you with him because you deserve better,you deserve to see the world,experience happiness,the little things that bring joy and more importantly love.

Steve knew he had to find you . Bucky would not get better until you are here. But he also knew that to go out and search for you is going to be very dangerous.He and Bucky are criminals and they can't afford to be caught.He did his best to search for you though . He asked T'challa if it was possible to track you down . To see if there was anybody who was alive in any of the Hydra facilities. Every time T'challa came back and gave Steve the bad news that they found no one Bucky's hurt would break. He didn't want to accept the possibility that you might be dead. However selfish it may sounded he wanted you to be alive for him . You were the one for him .

The first time he met you was when you were assigned to a mission along with him. There was some softness in your eyes that wasn't present in the other soldiers. It made him weak to look in your eyes. A sadness in your eyes that broke his walls. The empathy in your eyes that made him want to scream and yell at you for making him so vulnerable. He hated it. He felt as if he was naked in front of you .Like you could see all of him ,and right through him .He didn't like it one bit. He felt exposed. He wasn't used to such behaviour from anyone. Everyone saw him as a killing monster.Not a human .Not a person with feelings,just a body that was capable to take life.

But then you come along,breaking the iron walls he build around himself,trying to understand him, empathise with him ,he didn't know what to do . For a long time he showed aggression towards you.He treated you badly. But you understood everything he was doing and why he was doing . You knew he was scared. You were once like him. You have been here long before he was. You have been through everything he has been through . But you didn't want him to become like you. Distant and cold. So you showed softness. You gave him the touch he craved for . You were the opposing force of Hydra,stopping him from breaking .

"Shh..It's okay." You soothe him as your fingers run along his cheek .

His face was bruised with cuts,there were shave cuts too,it wasn't like his keepers were going to be gentle while shaving him . His face twitched as your fingers touched his cheek,his heart was beating out of his chest ,bated breath.He wasn't looking at you , his eyes stuck to the ground concentrating on the feeling of touch ,that too one that wasn't meant to do any harm . Slowly the tension in his shoulders decreased and you lifted his face up by his chin . His eyes roamed yours to see if you held any ill intentions,and he couldn't find any . You moved your face closer to his ,lips barely touching .You wanted to give him the power to choose whether to kiss you or not. Hydra has been taking away his will but you won't . With uncertainty in his eyes he closed to gap between your lips. His lips didn't move against yours .They were just pressed to yours as you hands rest on his shoulders. You pulled back to look at him .Tears were running down his cheek .You heart broke for him.

"Come here. It'll all be okay . Shh..I'm here James."You bring him in your embrace as he sobs.

He wraps his arms around your torso as hard as he could as he if he was scared to lose you , like this was all not real and you are not going to be there when he wakes up . But you  were right there ,you head on his arm ,hand on his chest sleeping peacefully. As the days went Bucky couldn't keep his hands off of you , he needed you , he wanted you and it took quite some time for him to feel comfortable being naked in front of you . He hated his body .He hated what they had done to him . He hated the scars. But you showed them love. He melted under your touch , under your kisses.

"I am going to get you out of here. We are going to get out of here."He said every night.It was a promise he made to you and himself.

"I don't know James .All my life I have been here. I don't remember my life before Hydra. I had no life before Hydra. I was an orphan . I have no one when I get out of here."

"You have me ."He assured you and you smiled up at him and snuggled closer to him .

You were so happy when James escaped.You were happy that he got another chance at life. He deserved it . He was a good man.As soon as he escaped though you were all taken for another Hydra facility. So even if he came for you , he wouldn't have found you .

"Call Steve Rogers." T'challa ordered as he brought back a body to Wakanda. Weak and barely alive . He put her on the hospital bed and immediately the doctors surrounded to save her life. 

"It's her?Is it Y/N ?" Steve asked as T'challa walked out.He just nodded. 

Steve didn't know how to tell Bucky this . He didn't know if he wanted to . Bucky would be even more heartbroken if you died here. 

"Steve?Who is it?" Bucky asked from behind Steve.

"Bucky.."Steve warned trying to keep him away from you . He didn't want him to see you in the state you were in. T'challa had found you in an abandoned Hydra facility.Your skin sticking to your bones like you hadn't eaten in ages.You wounds open,dried blood all over. You couldn't even open your eyes or properly sleep. You were hanging to life on a very thin thread.

"Y/N? I want to see her." Bucky pushed Steve out of the way and his eyes feel on you . He broke down in tears looking at the state of you. Guilt filled every inch of his body.

Everyday he would come to the ICU and sit next you silently,looking at you hoping that you would come back to conscience.You were the one who made him better. You broke the walls of the Winter Soldier. You brought him to his right mind but when it was his time he could do nothing but stare at you. You slowly opened your eyes . You looked around you and everything was white. You didn't know where you were. You didn't know what happened. Were you captured again?You could not understand what was happening .You were panicking .And people in lab coats approached you and you started pulling at the wires attached to your body .

"Call Barnes."You hear one of them say . 

You pulled your hand harshly as on of them came to touch it and it ripped off the IV tube causing you to hiss in pain .Your eyes showed fear.You didn't want this anymore. You don't think you can do this any longer .You'd rather die than be back at Hydra.

"Y/N." You hear a firm voice, you know right away who it belongs to .

"James?" You say turning towards the direction of the sound .

You start crying as soon as you see him . The only face you were familiar with. The only person you could feel safe with .

"Shhh...Come here.It'll all be okay . I'm here Y/N . You are safe."He holds you tight in his arms as your arms wrap around his torso as hard as you could hoping that this was all real , and he would still be here when you wake up . And he was.He was there for you .

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@avengedqueen26 @supernaturaldean67 

[fairymascot]

hey, anon! i'm glad you enjoyed the game. :) thanks for your question. i happen to have a metric boatload of ending thoughts, actually, so i'll go ahead and stash 'em under a cut.

when i was playing, even though i knew the ultimate choice going in, i still found myself all kinds of torn up over it. the way it was presented was just thoroughly heartbreaking, and even though i'd assumed before that i'd just say fuck it and save chloe, when it came down to it, i couldn't do it. first of all, because of the town: i'd spent so long getting to know all those people, intersecting with their lives in those little ways, trying to help them through whatever means i had. it really made me feel like i was part of that community. the writers also did a great job of showcasing the multifacetedness of the characters -- even the ones i'd had consistently negative interaction with over the course of the game, like victoria and david, revealed potential for growth and change. killing all those people just didn't feel right, no matter how much i love chloe. and especially because i love chloe.

which brings me to the second part of my reasoning: chloe herself. chloe, who's spent years wishing arcadia bay would be wiped off the map so she could be free, was asking me to sacrifice her for the sake of the town. for the sake of her family. it's such a huge moment of growth for her that i felt it'd be wrong to disrespect her wishes and just reject her will outright. worse, by doing so, i'd be subjecting her not only to a lifetime of solitude where she had absolutely nobody but max, but also to the crushing guilt of knowing thousands of people died so she could live.

were the decision framed with the promise that she and max could be happy if i saved her, then that may well have been my first choice. but sacrificing all those people and dooming chloe to what seemed to me was a life of certain misery just didn't feel like it would be the right choice in any way. so i chose the bay. and despite how controversial it was, i thought, and still think, that it's a good ending. soul-crushing, absolutely, but it felt complete. and when i listened to spanish sahara and heard 'forget the horror here', i felt like maybe chloe could finally be at peace.

just to be perfectly clear: in real life, no matter what kind of shit the world throws at you, i never believe death is the answer. i completely understand why many players hated that your ultimate choice boiled down to leaving a mentally ill lesbian teenager who hasn't been offered a single chance at happiness to die. but when i consider her as a fictional character that’s part of a certain narrative arc, i find it to be an appropriate ending, and one that resonated with me emotionally. ultimately, the stakes made sense to me: it's not so much that the cruel and irrational world set out to get chloe ever since max turned up, it's simply that chloe had died, and max was twisting around the entire fabric of time and space for the purpose of changing that one person's fate. the world was only trying to recorrect itself, as i'm sure it would've done with anybody else. what makes chloe special is that she's special to max. max spends the whole game fighting the world for chloe. it's only fair that in the end, only one can remain.

is saving the bay the true ending? at the time, i felt so. one, because of how beautiful and touching it was presented. two, because it was chloe's wish. three, because it's simply the most obvious solution to the morality test. it's the trolley problem: do you sacrifice one for many, or do you refrain from intervening and let the events play out as they would, accepting that it’s not your decision to make? of course people's go-to answer would be that saving more lives is preferable. perhaps that was dontnod's guiding notion, as well. i don't know. on a general story scale, 'a personal, emotional sacrifice for the sake of the greater good' certainly feels like the 'right' ending. the 'just' ending. the 'heroic' ending.

maybe life is strange doesn't have to be a game about that, though.

after choosing to save the bay, i went back and watched the other ending, too. it surprised me. i expected to be wracked with guilt. i expected the game to show me the horrors i've brought upon arcadia bay, to condemn me for my selfish choice. but it didn't. saving chloe was a touching and peaceful ending, too. as they drive through the ruins of arcadia bay, i found myself filled with an odd sense of calm: it felt as though a curse had been lifted, some great evil banished at long last. completely quiet, already overrun with birds and does, it was beautiful. the town that had taken away every single thing chloe ever loved, who had subjected her and max to an unending string of unspeakable horrors, was finally gone. and they were free.

there's rachel's will to consider, as well. chloe says that the tornado might be rachel's revenge. and maybe she's right, and maybe not quite. dontnod confirmed that the doe is a manifestation of rachel's spirit; that means the whole time, rachel was guiding them along. reading this analysis was a big turning point in my evaluation of the ending: rachel, despite the ultimate betrayal and hurt she'd brought chloe, was looking out for her even after death. she wanted chloe to be safe and free, first and foremost. was the tornado a deliberate way of releasing her rage against the bay, or was it a side effect of all the time-bending that rachel's spirit simply allowed, because chloe's well-being was just that much more important? either way, chloe is not thrown helpless into the clutches of fate: if there's some sort of cosmic deity looking out to hurt her in any way it can, there's an equally powerful one protecting her, too.

and max is the meditator. 

here's the thing about max. we've been shown, over and over, that she's a kind and empathetic person. that she's an everyday hero, the kind who wants to help everyone around her. and we've been shown, over and over, that even stronger than that is her love for chloe. it transcends everything else.

throughout the game, you talk to many people -- you help them and affect their lives at certain junctions, some of them small, like showing victoria kindness when she needed it, and some a literal matter of life and death, like with kate. but the one biggest presence in the game and in max's life, the one that dictates the entire line of the plot, is chloe. every big decision max makes in the game is for the sole purpose of helping her. she tells us outright, a dozen different times, that she'd throw away anything to protect her; that chloe is her number one priority; that she won't trade her. the game itself sums it up in a powerful visual metaphor near the end: max is faced with every single person she knows in arcadia bay inside the diner, all of them cramped together in that claustrophobic space, begging her to let them live in a distressing cacophony of voices. and after that, chloe: a whole segment of max walking through their shared memories, alone in the dark. it's calm and quiet and beautiful, and you can feel the way she drinks each memory in, reveling in it. a single memory with chloe is given more focus, and more emotional breathing space, than every other person in arcadia bay combined.

if saving the bay feels like the right ending on the macro scale, saving chloe feels like the right ending on the micro scale. if i, as a player, would be more inclined to save the bay on the basis of narrative and moral conventions, then max, as a character, would choose chloe hands-down, even with the guilt that would plague them for the rest of their lives. at the very least, they'll be together. at the very least, they'll have a chance at a future.

ultimately, both endings involve a lot of pain and sacrifice, but both of them are presented with such gentleness, empathy and emotional backing that i can't say either one is 'right' or 'wrong'. for me, right now, i'd say saving chloe feels like the true ending -- because it’s max’s story, and that’s what i believe she’d want. but it's really up to you and how you experience the narrative.

[mrhugoanthony]

In the midst, Filipinos are Reunited

As the school year was coming to a close and summer was edging around the corner, I began reflecting on how people will spend their summer breaks if the country remains in its current state throughout the sunny season. Aside from living in the sunny country of Philippines where people love the vitamin D and most especially social gatherings and cultural festivals.

    The coronavirus hit all of us by surprise, and consumed us within months. Nobody predicted that it would kill so many people, force countries to lockdown, shut all schools either it’s public or private, and close all public places where we get our everyday needs, and put our life on hold. It hit us and now it's everywhere. It made our whole world bleed of tears, and spreading like wildfire. Many individuals or should we say half of the population of the world suffer from this kind of situation that we are facing today, it’s because some were fired at work, they don’t even know where to get some stuffs for them to live and others living financially burden.

There are bunch of family members lost their jobs due to this virus, many of our Filipino compatriots were repatriated from other countries, but not all of them returned home but rather they choose to stay just to feed their families left behind Philippines, many OFWs have been reported dead abroad and the worst part is that, when one patient got this virus and pass away from that place there’s no way for the body to back where it from but rather it will buried from that place, the rule is so strict and it because also for the safety of everybody, but the Philippine government has devised a way to repatriate the corpses of OFWs who died abroad, they have created a way in which their corpses will be flown to the Philippines and burned here so that they can be seen for a while even it is already at the coffin by their orphaned families.

We Filipinos know that we share only one religion a religion where everybody has and that is humanity, this crisis is bringing humanity out of people. Our world is changing it is in the process of healing and soon there is light at the end of the tunnel and all of the Pollution is being cleared off, the differences of each other is being restored, and at the end of this, the world will heal. There are so many lessons of humanity to take on from there racism, health, love and how to embrace uncertainty and make something out of it, we need to be strong as a citizen of the Philippines, because there is no way who can help us to surpass the problem of our society to curb this virus. 

During this chaos time, we Filipinos realize the weight of humanity and the implications of our actions, and how we are all connected. While waiting for the borders to be open, so that we can go back home and feel again the comfort of our family. We are all shouting louder for us to be heard and for our needs to be give. I empathize with those who have been uprooted from their home, and force to flee, I understand their pain and suffering because I know how it feels. My mother is also from abroad but suddenly she forced to go home, because beside of their house there is a patient who are infected in COVID-19

As a student I would like to encourage everyone to be an Einstein of their own way, unite and show empathy for all, whatever state you are in or where you are today, let us help each other, let's work together this time. Forget the differences and discrimination because there is nothing feel better for you to see your fellow Filipinos who are happy with the help you give no matter how big or little it is but because for them, it is enough and tremendous thing to continue their life and maybe soon when we need help they will give back the effort we do before.

    The country of Philippines are now on the top leader board of the world which has also having a highest cases of COVID 19, and because of that medical staff who has to go to work, risk their life, and have direct contact with COVID-19, it is not easy to work in this kind of situation, to the point that this day we need to risk our life in order also to help others.

    To sum it up COVID 19 has brought our lives like hell and made a decision that terrified the public.  More over this virus has also great impact on the society it lessens the crime rate, crowded areas where people go before, made the beaches clean and unite the families that had not been together for a long time.

    In the midst of this crisis we need to be mentally positive of how we should survive and face the new morning with the same vibes before, salute to all the frontliners during some of the most tragic events, I can say that it’s during these moments when I’ve witnessed humanity at its best.

[maximofftrash]

Stripped

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Gabriel x Reader

Word Count: 1,824

Warnings: Suuuuper angsty. Death, sadness and hate :( 

A/n: This is for @ilostmyshoe-79 ‘s sweet Emotions Challenge! The emotion I wrote for is hate and hopefully I did it justice! Thank you so much for the opportunity to participate (:

It happened after we opened Lucifer’s cage. Dean had gone and tried to lock the fallen angel in on his own, but of course Bobby, Cas, and I followed closely behind. I’ll admit it, I didn’t want to go. It was hard enough to get out of bed in the morning, let alone to try and lock the devil in a cage. Every part of my body screamed for me to turn around. To get back in my car and drive all the way across the country. To hide because I couldn’t see Sam, not with that monster inside of him. Not the monster that killed Gabriel.

But, there I was. Adam and Sam, well, rather Michael and Lucifer, stood face to face. Bobby, Cas, and I arrived and immediately prepared for a battle. Unsure of how things would go down, each of us expected the worst. And boy did we get the worst.

Cas struck first, throwing a molotov cocktail of holy oil along with a “Hey assbutt!” at Michael. He had vanished for the time being, and the three of us let out a breath of some sort of relief. Unfortunately, that breath was taken away when Lucifer snapped his fingers and Cas exploded. I could feel a few drops of blood reach my forehead, and I winced as I wiped it away. Before I had completely processed everything, Bobby shot at the fallen angel, resulting in his neck being snapped. My body then kicked into overdrive. Seeing the remains of my family on the ground boiled my blood.

I emptied two pistols into Lucifer, stepping closer with each shot. Once I ran out, I found myself a few feet from where the devil stood.

“Now now. Did you really think that would stop me?” He mocked, completely unharmed by my bullets.

“No. But I was hoping it would hurt.” I spat.

“Is this because of my little brother? Y/n you should know that killing Gabriel hurt me just as much as it hurt you.”

“No! You don’t get to say his name! You don’t get to talk about him. Not after you murdered him. Your own brother!” I was trembling as I spoke, the hatred raking through me.

He continued to ramble on about how killing Gabriel wasn’t planned and about the apocalypse and his father. I tried my best to tune him out and focus on my task. I let the angel blade slide down my arm inside of my jacket. Just as I grasped the hilt in my hand, the sound caught Lucifer’s attention and he stopped his speech to give me an unsatisfied look. I knew I had lost the element of surprise, but I still lunged to embed the blade in his chest. As I brought my arm down to strike, Lucifer’s hand reached up and stopped it. Looking me in the eyes he shook his head, tsking before taking the blade and burying it in my stomach. My eyes went wide and my mouth fell open as I dropped to my knees. I could hear Dean in the background, pleading for Sam to come forward and realize what was happening. Unfortunately, Lucifer had too much control, and I feared we’d never get Sam back.

Lucifer squatted down, now level with me. I stared into his eyes and prepared myself for the end. I hated that he’d be the one to end everything for me, but in a way I was happy. I knew I’d be with Gabe in our own heaven. I’d finally be able to see my love again, be able to hold him and kiss him and lay with him. I wouldn’t have to wake up everyday being angry at the world. I would no longer be filled with hate and I would finally be at peace.

“Say hi to my brother for me y/n.” He whispered, and those were the final words I heard before I felt the angel blade being twisted and plunged further into my stomach. I felt a faint smile play on my lips as I realized I was going to see Gabe, and I heard Dean’s screams fading away as I slipped into darkness.

~

My eyes slowly fluttered open and I rolled over to feel the soft comfort of a bed and fluff of cozy blankets. I yawned and stretched before getting out of bed to explore my surroundings. The room felt extremely familiar, but I couldn’t seem to place where I’d seen it before. I moved to the window and saw a fairly large yard, and soon realized I’m on the second floor of a house. My house. The one I’d dreamt about owning with Gabe from the minute we started dating. The pieces slowly started aligning as I came to realize that this is my heaven.

The opening and closing of a door brought me out of my thoughts and I rushed down the stairs to see who it was. As I reached the bottom the bottom step, a voice made my head snap up.

“Y/n?”

Tears welled in my eyes as I looked up at the man that I love. Waves of shock rolled over me before I snapped and ran into his arms.

“Oh God, Gabe I can’t believe it’s you it’s really you.” I sobbed into his chest as his arms wrapped around me, slowly rocking me back and forth.

“I missed you so much sugar. You have no idea how hard it’s been without you.” He whispered as he pulled away, brushing a lock of hair behind my ear.

“Oh trust me, I know.” I cracked a small smile before planting my lips on his. He pulled away to wipe my tears and I felt as if I could stay in that moment forever.

“So this is it huh? My heaven?” I questioned, breaking the silence.

“Our heaven.” He smiled back.

My eyes lit up at the thought of being able to be there with him forever.

“Wait, so can other people come to our heaven?” I questioned, my head racing with plans. “I mean can Sam and Dean and Bobby come and visit? And Cas too? It would be so awesome for us all to get back together. I mean we could have family dinners and movie nights. Oh! How are Jo and Ellen? Have you heard from them at all. I would love to-”

“Y/n, baby.” Gabe cut me off, grabbing my hand. He looked at me with a sort of pity and tears formed in his eyes.

“Gabe, what’s wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“As much as I want you to stay, I’m afraid it’s not your time yet.”

“What? What do you mean. I’m dead Gabe, dead.” I scoffed in disbelief, unable to comprehend what he was telling me.

“Sweetheart, trust me. I’ve been around long enough to know when people are gonna stick around up here. And I have a feeling you won't be here for as long as you think.”

“I don’t, I don’t understand. What do you mean? I want to stay here with you!” I sobbed, worrying I’d be taken away from Gabriel yet again.

“Don’t worry sugar. Just know I love you and I’m always with you.” I looked at him confused, before he pressed another kiss to my lips. The kiss faded and I slipped into a familiar darkness yet again.

~

I feel breath start to fill my lungs, and as my eyes open I shoot up into a sitting position.

“Whoa. Easy there.” Dean’s gruff voice fills my ears as I take in my surroundings. I’m back in that damn field. Dean and Cas are kneeling next to me and I can see Bobby standing behind them.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“Sammy gained control of the bastard. Saw his opportunity and jumped in the pit. Took Michael with him.” Dean replies solemnly and I sit in shock for a few minutes.

“Okay.” I manage to reply. “But why am I here?” I look to the boys and they look back with confused faces. “I died.” I clarify. “How am I alive again?”

Dean helps me onto my feet then looks to Castiel, telling him to explain.

“I brought you back. After healing Dean and resurrecting Bobby, that is.” Cas states matter of factly.

“Why? How?” I furrow my brow, not comprehending how Cas came back to life.

“Well I am unsure as to why. But as for how, God resurrected me.”

“What?” I spat, angrily staring down the angel in front of me.

“As I said, God-”

“No. No no no no no!” I yell and start to pace around, receiving confused looks from the guys.

“That’s not fair. That’s not how that works.” I state as I stop pacing and turn to walk towards him. “You don’t just get to come back to life like that. No. That’s not how this shit works.” I place my finger on his chest, practically breathing fire onto the angel. I don’t understand why Cas gets to come back to life so easily while Gabe remains dead.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand your frustrations y/n.” Castiel states.

“You don’t understand my frustrations?” I fume at the angel. “Why do you get to be alive while Gabe just rots away? Why do you get to come back but he doesn’t? Why Castiel, why?” I practically scream as tears run down my face. “It isn’t fair!” Bringing my fists down repeatedly on Castiel’s chest I repeat, “It isn’t fair!” Continually sobbing as Dean wraps his arms around me, pulling me away from the confused angel. I fall to the ground near Dean’s feet, sobbing uncontrollably.

After a bit of time I’m able to regain some composure and rise to my feet. Bobby and Dean move to help me up but I brush them off. I return my loathing stare to Cas before finally speaking again.

“I hate you Castiel. I hate you for coming back instead of Gabe. I hate you for being God’s favorite. I hate you for bringing me back to life. I was so happy in my heaven with Gabe, and you took that from me. Your very existence reminds me of how much it hurts to be without the love of my life. And I know some of this isn't your fault. Some of it is God’s. And I hate him just as much. But you’re here and he’s not. And that being said, I never want to see you again.” I seethe as stray tears drop down my cheeks.

Cas looks at me completely broken, but too much hate is coursing through my veins for me to feel any empathy for him. With one last glance at the three men standing before me, I stride back to where my car is parked before peeling out of the field and never looking back.

~

tags: @ilostmyshoe-79 @ohmababypoe @travelwithwords

[breakingarrows]

January - June 2019 in Film

The Favourite

Really enjoyable dark comedy about a trio of lesbian aristocrats, one of which happens to be the queen of England, struggling for political power and control.

Velvet Buzzsaw

Doesn’t do enough to be a fun horror movie but at least Jake Gyllenhaal is fun as a pretentious art critic.

Dragon Ball Super: Broly

Watched this on my phone late one sleepless night. The action in the backhalf is what people came for, but it was the stuff surrounding Broly that I cared more about. When he gets confronted in a lunch room I was actually somewhat affected, thinking, “Leave him alone!”

Psycho

Excellent thriller

Police Story

God I love everything about this film. The comedy is superb and the action is the best of Jackie’s films. Poor, poor May.

Twin Peaks Fire Walk with Me

The soundtrack is the best thing I’ve heard in a long while. The film is what some may expect of Lynch, ethereal and sometimes meandering. Laura Palmer’s death is certain, but the film overcomes her predestined fate and makes you empathize with her.

First Man

Decent bio-pic lite, mostly watched for Ryan Gosling. Surprised at the time dedicated to dealing with grief of both his daughter and the others who died while testing things. Audio during flights make them actually thrilling even though you know he’s not going to die.

Hal

Reminds me I need to watch his actual films. His hatred of the studios is very endearing.

L.A. Confidential

Films like this I could watch forever.

They Shall Not Grow Old

I watched this after a long day so fell asleep midway through in the theater. Hopefully I didn’t snore as it was packed.

Sunset Boulevard

Strange film about relationship between writer and former star. Others liked it more, and have dug into it more, but it didn’t hook me that much.

The Return of the Living Dead

Pretty fun comedy but kinda expected more gags.

Incredibles 2

Disappointing.

Under the Skin

The kind of film that grows on you the more you think about it. Need to rewatch at some point. Love how there is barely any dialogue.

Evolution

Worse than I remember.

Mr. Nice Guy

Awful, didn’t even bother to finish after stream glitched out.

Suburban Commando

Standard action/comedy with wasted potential.

Dune

Perfect source material for Lynch. So ethereal and evocative.

Ghost in the Shell 2.0

Why ruin a perfectly good film with dated CGI?

Miami Connection

Better as a Best of the Worst viewing.

Police Story 2

Not quite as good as the first but still beyond most action movies nowadays.

Us

Prime reddit text post material whose explanation works against it.

The Fabulous Baron Munchausen

Lovely kids fantasy storybook material put to film. The color, the music, the adventure, I love this film.

Chinatown

God I could watch Noirs like this everyday for the rest of my life. What an ending too.

The Seventh Seal

Made me think about my relationship with Christianity that I abandoned years ago.

2001: A Space Odyssey

Still impressed by the way they handled the visual effects of space travel. Also impressed by how well it holds up as a idealistic projection of mankind we still haven’t, and probably will never, reach.

Ed Wood

Johnny Depp is an awful person but man is Ed endearing in this film.

My Name is Julia Ross

Very good thriller. Classic gaslighting.

So Dark the Night

Thriller with a twist that is “meh.”

Won’t You Be My Neighbor

That damn commencement speech fucking gets me.

Guava Island

Enjoyable little short.

F for Fake

I hate masterpiece as a descriptor because its so overused and thrown around by pretty much all forms of critical media in the mainstream/amatuer space but fuck me if this isn’t the closest thing I can think of. Masterful editing, unbelievable that this came out in the midst of the entire subject its covering.

The ‘Burbs

Not Dante’s best, the ending really ruins it. Why have a treatsie about the culture of a neighborhood only to go on and fulfill it?

Fauve

Haunting film that would make me keep the children indoors for a week if I had them.

The Wages of Fear

Excellent thriller about trying to escape from dead ends. There was no need to treat the woman lover so badly though.

The Big Heat

Don’t even remember this one lol.

The Virgin Suicides

Really captures that sort of constant flux of extreme emotions of my middle school years. Fuck that mom also.

Lick the Star

Nice little short.

Twin Peaks: The Missing Pieces

Decent addition, though the only one of these that would have improved the film would be the transition from David Bowie to the meeting of the man from another place above the convenience store.

The Hidden Fortress

Hard to watch this without thinking about the things Lucas took for Star Wars, but separate from that an excellent adventure film that I’m glad had a happy ending.

Avengers: Endgame

Total shit the more I think about it. Officially done with the MCU and Disney at large in terms of film output now that I paid my dues by watching this out of obligation than actual interest. What a waste of what little potential there was after the similarly disastrous Infinity War. Why bother making a whole first movie about Thanos if you’re just going to dump that in the follow up? Disney’s biggest outputs of the past decade (MCU and Star Wars) have been such shit and I’m glad I no longer feel the need to waste my time and money on them with this setting me free.

Drive a Crooked Road

Decent noir.

Under the Silver Lake

Enjoyable though something that is hard to qualify as good or not. Would have to rewatch with a notepad to determine whether or not the things it kinda motions towards have any real depth or meaning to them beyond the surface level.

Freaked

Fucking fantastic comedy film. The gags are so good and come so often. Wish they made more like this.

Unicorn Store

This will keep you guessing as to whether the Unicorn shows up or not and I’m not going to spoil it. Brie’s boss staring off into space after being asked if this is what he wanted or not was fucking great though.

Matinee

The true love letter to B movies.

Blue Velvet

One of Lynch’s weaker films though Kyle and Laura Dern are fantastic and the roots of Twin Peaks are obvious.

John Wick: Chapter 2

Made me google the plot summary to John Wick 3 instead of going to see it.

The Legend of Drunken Master

Decent Jackie film. The ending setpiece is really what you watch this for.

In a Lonely Place

Very good noir, loved the ease of which the film transitions the viewers empathy from the male lead to the female.

Extremely Wicked, Shockingly Evil and Vile

I like Zac Efron but the point of the film is kinda muddled and its hard to believe this was supposed to be from his girlfriend’s point of view when she’s barely in it.

The Elephant Man

I cried.

Godzilla: King of the Monsters

Disappointing to see them repeating the fault of Infinity War by placing the blame of the deterioration of the world in the hands of “overpopulation.” What kinda fucking rich bourgeois propaganda is this shit?

Godzilla

Copy+Paste everything from the commentary track here. Good shit.

Tampopo

What a wonderful film about the love of food and relationships we have with it. Truly a ramen western.

Shazam

You know this wasn’t that bad, but boy was that ending shot of Superman a pathetic representation of how bad the DCEU has been.

Dreams

These vignettes were very evocative of the emotions summoned by my own dreams. Dreams about grief and longing, nightmares you can barely run from, imaginative scenarios with rules that are entirely fictional but so real in the moment. The ending was a nice monologue against effects of the industrial revolution and modernization and a celebration of life.

Paths of Glory

Fuck war, fuck the rich, fuck those that perpetuate violence for their own gain, fuck it all, I hope they burn for eternity.

[mandibierly]

‘Broadchurch’ Season 3 Premiere Postmortem: Creator Chris Chibnall on the Final Case

Olivia Colman as DS Ellie Miller and David Tennant as DI Alec Hardy in BBC America’s Broadchurch (Photo: Colin Hutton)

The premiere of the third and final season of BBC America’s Broadchurch ended with a chilling realization: whoever sexually assaulted Trish (Happy Valley‘s Julie Hesmondhalgh) outside her friend Cath’s 50th birthday party came prepared to do it — carrying a condom, blue twine to bind her wrists, and some kind of cotton gag. The case will introduce DI Alec Hardy (David Tennant) and DS Ellie Miller (Olivia Colman) to new Broadchurch residents, but as we learned, familiar faces still abound in the series. Beth Latimer (Jodie Whittaker) is now an ISVA (Independent Sexual Violence Advisor) and will stand by Trish throughout the investigation, while Beth’s now-estranged husband, Mark (Andrew Buchan), continues to struggle both with the death of their son, Danny, and his subsequent decision to collaborate with local newspaper editor Maggie Radcliffe (Carolyn Pickles) on a book.

Yahoo TV will speak with creator Chris Chibnall, who once again wrote all eight episodes, for weekly postmortems. Let’s begin.

What struck me straight away is how much we heard from the crisis worker at the SARC (Sexual Assault Referral Centre) where Hardy and Miller took Trish to collect evidence. In most shows, that sequence would have been a montage, with no dialogue at all. It was obviously important to you to have the audience hear how a rape survivor should be treated and to understand each step of that process. Chris Chibnall: It’s where the whole show started, to be honest. When I had the idea for investigating a sexual assault within Broadchurch, myself and my colleagues went to talk to people who worked in that field, so we visited a Sexual Assault Referral Centre, we talked to sexual violence advisors, we talked to survivors of these crimes, we talked to specialist detectives. I wanted to ensure that this was the right thing to do and the right way to tell this story. They all knew the show, and I asked, “Is it appropriate that we do this story in Broadchurch?” Unanimously, they all said, “Yeah, not only is it appropriate, but we think you should because we think this story needs to be told.”

What we wanted to tell — and what I wanted to tell — was an example of best practice of how a survivor of a crime like this is looked after, how there are heroic [people], mostly women within that area, who provide incredible support and incredible sensitivity and an extraordinary service for people who’ve been through these kinds of traumas.

Another moment that seemed very purposeful on your part was what Trish says to Hardy and Miller after she’s showered and changed her clothes: “Do you believe me?” That’s first, then it’s “Who did this to me?” Women worrying about whether they’ll be believed is definitely a theme this season. I wanted to honor Trish’s experience, and I wanted to guarantee [it] to the audience. I wanted everybody to be in no doubt, this is not a story about was this woman raped or not; this is about a woman who has undergone that and now, how does she survive that and live through that? How is she supported and how do the police investigate that? I wanted to be very clear about the parameters of our storytelling, absolutely.

It’s also true that here in the UK the police currently operate from a position of believing the person who’s made the allegation. That’s under discussion here, at the moment. It’s a very controversial question.

Julie Hesmondhalgh as Trish in BBC America’s Broadchurch (Photo: Colin Hutton)

Describe how you decided to you have the attack happen during a friend’s 50th birthday party and for Trish to wait two days to report the attack. It seems like you really wanted to hit head-on the things that we normally hear women wrongly being “blamed for” in these cases: “Well, you were drinking heavily.” “You waited to report it.” I think, obviously, crimes happen to people when they’re living their lives. Not to sound too facile about that, but I really wanted to tell a story about a woman who’s going about her everyday life, who’s doing the normal things that people do. What I didn’t want to do was to show that kind of cliché of the 24-year-old girl in this short skirt running down a dark alley. It was much more about the quite common occurrences of women in their late forties who are being attacked and, obviously, parties are prime territory for things like that. I really wanted to ensure that we could discuss those issues and that there’s no sense of victim shaming or victim blaming within the show.

Miller gives her cell number to Trish, and Hardy is somewhat angry about that. He says, “She can’t be ringing you all the time.” Ellie shouts, “She’s been raped!” How did you approach their different approaches to the case? Having that double act in Hardy and Miller and the humanity that David Tennant and Olivia Coleman bring to those parts enables me to offer quite nuanced opinions and perspectives on the approach. Both of them are clearly there to support Trish and want the best outcome for her. Ellie, historically and currently within the show, will break a rule in the cause of empathy and human sympathy, whereas Hardy is a little bit more by the book. He doesn’t want to break the rules. He’s very keen to do things properly.

Also, what’s key about that scene, there’s a couple of things: One is, they both kind of respect each other’s positions, too, and they both understand it. Also, the climax of that scene is the first time in the episode where we actually use the word “rape,” and it was giving the first use of that word the appropriate weight and power and force and just being very careful, generally, how we approached everything.

Beth working as an ISVA and Beth and Mark having, unfortunately, separated after the death of a child both feel like very realistic next steps for those characters. Why was keeping that family in the story essential to you? I think the Latimers are the emotional center and the emotional heartbeat to Broadchurch as a complete series. I like to think of it as a television novel, really. I think the joy of returning television series is the amount of time that can pass, so the time that has passed off-screen has also passed on-screen. We’re now revisiting these characters three years after the events of Season 1, a year and a half after Season 2, so it becomes a real joy to be able to think where those characters might have gone, how the impact of the events we’ve seen on-screen landed in their off-screen lives. Also, I knew all along I really wanted to explore the long shape of grief that affects them both in very different ways. And, I really couldn’t imagine the show without Jodie Whitaker and Andy Buchan, who are just amazing actors and, like I say, the emotional core of the show.

Ellie’s son Tom (Adam Wilson) has also returned. He’s 15 now, and he and a friend have been suspended from school for supplying links and files of porn to other students. Again, that’s an issue we’ll see recur this season, and not just with teenage Tom but also with older men.  As a parent myself, and for all the parents in the show and in the audience, a big thing is the access to pornographic material that our kids have and what that is going to potentially do to them and how do we stop it? How do we control it? I think the show has always been concerned with those matters. I think, really, this year, what we’re dealing with is, what is society’s attitude to sex in general and how is that changing people’s behavior?

Broadchurch airs Wednesdays at 10 p.m. on BBC America.