#probably would help if my brain would allow me some coherent posts about the characters i do have thoughts for

[ciphernull]

man it feels like everyone in the swtor community has so much developed for their characters, it's intimidating! all these complex backgrounds and divergent plotlines and i'm over here just like "i made this guy, he's blue and has issues, please love him"

[hazeism]

hello! Idk if you want to but if you’d like to explain more of your thoughts on villain Nanami? I know u drew that a bit ago but it’s still neat. Ty ty have a great day!

FIRST OF ALL hiiii <3 n__n as the little fairy living in your computer I love you personally and also let me out. Thank you so much for sending me this and giving me a chance to indulge, hehe.

I’m no good at, like, generating plot and timelines and stuff so I don’t really have much for him... just mostly about the dynamics I think he’d have with people (Getou mostly because I can’t help ittt) and his own weird brand of inner turmoil it’d give him... Going to get rambly here (not much of an explanation and more of a dumb, my bad, I’m not very good at like. coherent thought hdudhb, especially because I really like this concept and just have a lot of it in my brain which I’m not going to manage to get out here.) Watch out for lots of clauses inside clauses inside clauses, umm.

One of Nanami’s major motifs is definitely pragmatics//ideals in which he’s very measured and contemplative internally but very often goes for the actions that just offer like Standard Yield, you know. He’s very much (esp. when he was a salaryman) living just on the right side of tolerable and finding compromises and decisions that he can Live With rather than aspiring for anything, despite how much this puts him at odds with his strangely tender heart djgdhj he’s quite upright but doesn’t have an outlet for it so it manifests mostly in conformity and little allowances. King of compartmentalization.

I think in the interview, Akutami mentioned Nanami as having committed a workplace massacre, so that’s usually what I think of; This is one of those decisions in which, when straddling the line of pragmatics and ideology, he sort of just falls off and ultimately makes a decision--or maybe more an impulse, though heavy premeditation workplace murder Nanami is a veryyyy sexy concept--that is Not something he can Live With. I think that would probably mark the point where he’d have to completely reassess his character/self-perception in order to understand himself as someone not only Capable of committing such atrocities--not that Nanami has any strong belief in Human Goodness or anything like that, but he definitely understands himself as having some sort of moral order internally + having been allowed proximity to goodness in his youth (i.e. Haibara)--but having brought them to fruition and made Culpable you know.

Howeverrrr, he’s still very much too rooted in the material world to completely condemn himself, and instead would kind of resolve to. subsist. and like any base creature, sustaining subsistence is permissible at any cost: hence, joining Getou! The only semi-familiar stronghold of the Jujutsu World outside of the construct of the techncial college that would most definitely has his head.

I think he’d work as pretty much a hitman + Getou’s personal chewtoy on the side ajshdghj something in seeing his supremely stable and junior driven to such extremes by the condition of the world (an oversimplification and false attribution on Getou’s part, but, you know) ignites the fanaticism somewhere in him, something something about blurring lines and proximity and almost-maybe-etcs. sdhgd He’s not really looking to convert Nanami to his ideology or anything, I think he just likes to be close to him (+ he’s always been pretty doting with his underclassmen in that subtle way of his). This kind of closeness brings Nanami to examine and reframe some of Getou’s and his own past... something where he also recontextualizes the kinds of concessions that other people make to make their own existences Tolerable... But most of the time, it’s kind of just the same work > eat > sleep of his salarywork, except this time he doesn’t even hope for kindness from any source, cosmic, mundane, or otherwise (though I do think Getou is fond of treating him! Doting :) but I don’t think that necessarily makes Nanami feel good dhgbfhdj.) simply because he’s beyond the point of deserving...I don’t really know if he ever gets his sense of volition back, I guess it’d depend on a lot of stuff.

No happy endings here! Whoops. Post-Volume 0, I like to think that he’d taken something of a shine to the girls and maybe goes with them and looks after them. The thought is soothing to my heart... Despite how distant he gets from the idea of personhood and empathy, he’s ultimately. you know. Nanami Kento...

TLDR; Nanami makes bad decision and takes full responsibility like the big boy he is and gets thrown around miserably and voluntarily for the rest of his life over it. Whoops! Getou is the cat batting the ball of string and it is unraveling only a little .

I actually wrote a fic about him and that Getou dynamic hereeee (with more on the way, hopefully!) and you can find a playlist I’m working on for them heeere (warning for my weird music taste, lol).

I hope at least one thought in these walls of text were coherent enough to be worth your penny?

Thank you so, so much again, and I hope you have a lovely day :) If you have any followup questions or want to share your own thoughts PLZ plz plz feel free. I am actually actively encouraging it. kiss.

[deepwaterwritingprompts]

do you have any advice for plotting out stories? I never seem to know where to go and end up abandoning projects a lot

Okay, let's do this. Plot. You'd think as someone who's written almost two thousand one line excerpts, plot wouldn't be my strong point. But, in my serious work, there's actually nothing I like better than a horribly complex plot. Here's my advice for plotting in general, and, specifically, how *I* plot something a little more complex. Fair warning this answer is INCREDIBLY LONG SORRY

General Advice

First and foremost, don't expect any plotting process to go fast. Very rarely does anyone sit down and bang out an entire plot that A: makes sense, or B: functions at all. There will be issues  that can only be solved by sitting with them for a while. You can keep writing while you wait, and who knows, may write the solution without even trying. Write the easy parts first, whatever those happen to be for you. That's allowed.

Second, get a piece of paper and, if you can, physically write out any plot points you already have. Your own unofficial, scrap paper timeline. Its really helpful to be able to add things and cross them out without it feeling too "important." Add question marks. Write stupid notes. Doodle. Its fun. 

Third, I'm not saying this is always strictly necessary, but please, figure out at least VAGUELY how you would like it to end first. Maybe you change it later. That's fine. Its very difficult to write a functioning plot if you don't know what its actually heading towards. 

Further to this point, have a list of things that NEED to happen for the story work, and another of things you WANT to happen because they are cool, or they fit the mood, etc. You can edit these as you go, and drop them in and out of your scribbled plot timeline. I want to make it clear that I think both lists are equally important. "My MC needs to win the big battle so there can be a happy ending." Is just as important as: "I think it would be cool if someone, at some point, got poisoned." Your Need list creates a functioning plot, but you can use the list of stuff you Want to make the need elements happen in a way that makes the story... you know. Good.

My last general advice is: don't be afraid to make changes. This goes for every aspect of the story. Change is good, and I promise absolutely no one gets it 100% right the first time. You can save that draft. Mess it up, take out characters, cut chapters. You will know, even if you don't want to admit it, when something isn't working. Don't worry, you'll figure it out. 

Complex Plots

Complex plots. I'm talking red herrings, multiple plot bunnies, purposeful loose ends, (actually good) twist endings, puzzles, mysteries, etc. First, take everything I've already said and multiply it by ten. It's going to take a long long time. There will be problems that require time and space to think. You must make notes, write things down, and be very ready to cross them right out again. 

When you read a really good, tight plot, it can feel like the author wrote it down one point after another in a 12 pt font, bulleted, perfect set of pre-planned directions for how to write the story. Maybe some people do it this way. I can't.  Instead, I let the story tell itself, and importantly, I don't worry about the details until the end. 

Here is a real example of how I work through a big scary plot, from the second novel in a series (I'm currently querying the first. Send good vibes). Let's look at some examples from my Need and Want lists:

Need:- Characters A and B need to make it to the end of the book alive. Want:- I want Character A to heroically save Character B near the end.- I want to give Character C some character development, in the form of anxiety about their role as a teacher. 

These were all things I knew pretty much right away. They didn't connect, and I didn't try to make them connect at the time. Then, months later, I was writing (out of order) the scene where Character C talks about their anxiety surrounding teaching.  Me: Oh. Character A can try to make them feel better by asking to be taught a random skill. Character C can teach them that skill, which can be used to save Character B at the end. 

Bam. A random Want for Character C's development has become an integral part of the plot, tying right into the very climax of the novel. "But wait!" you say, "Random life saving skill? Isn't that too convenient?" Well, yes, at first. But I don't worry about that, because two months later, I'll realize there needs to be an early scene where someone ends up in mortal peril, to demonstrate just how dangerous the situation is. Standard adventure plot stuff.

Me: Oh, the person in mortal peril can be saved. Character A can see this and be impressed. Then later, when trying to think of something Character C can teach them, it only makes sense to remember that dangerous incident, and ask: "Can you teach me CPR?"

Now, I know I want that early, danger establishing scene to involve someone almost drowning, which means I know that they need to end up by a body of water. I know who needs to go in, and what needs to go wrong for that to happen, and which character needs to be there to save them, and before you know it I've got at least half a chapter.

That half a chapter is no longer just a random, danger establishing scene. It affects a scene in the middle, which in turn affects the climax, and in turn the end of the novel itself. It's part of the plot.

In this way, I let the story tell itself. I make one decision, and use it to affect the next one, and the previous one, and so forth. It's like doing a puzzle, but the pieces are all inside my brain, which is a black bag I'm just kind of groping around in. I take out a piece, I put it where i think it's probably going to end up, and fish around for the next one. Eventually, I promise, you WILL find those matching pieces, especially if you have a solid NEED and WANT list. And the further you get, the easier it becomes! Magic. 

Which isn't to say it's ever going to be easy. It's not. But it is, I think, less difficult than expecting yourself to just *bam!* come up with a functioning plot all at once. How many times did I say Bam! in this advice post? I'm Emeril Lagasse now, I don't know. Hope this was halfway coherent. Happy plotting.

[theonetheycallhannah]

The Treatment of Captain Syverson-Chapter Four: E-Stim

Pairing: Captain “Sy” Syverson x OFC (Shane Benton)

Summary: Shane deals with the consequences of her email to her boss, both good and bad. A mortifying situation has an…unexpected outcome. Emotions run high in the fourth chapter of The Tx of Sy! Behind on the action? Catch up HERE! 

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Language, some angst and emotions. (Like I literally cried writing part of it) And like, an asshole boss…but if you stick it out with Susan, you won’t be disappointed.

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, Henry is not mine, le sigh, and all mention of him, his characters, any characters from his films, or his precious doggy, Kal, are strictly for transformative and recreational use. I neither ask for, nor accept payment for the work I post on Tumblr or AO3. Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism.

Tags:

@onlyhenrys

 @cavillryarchive

 @summersong69

 @titty-teetee

 @bloodyinspiredfuck

 @agniavateira

@oddsnendsfanfics

(you didn’t ask, but i took the liberty! Hope that’s okay!)

@tumblnewby @suavechops

Shane had spent her morning getting ready for work and treating her first patient with a whopping headache…maybe a small glass of wine would have been more responsible of her. But she slept like the dead, which was the goal.

She took a moment before her second patient to check her email…there was a reply from Susan.

Shane, come to my office at your next possible availability.

No "thank you" or "please" or "fuck you very much." just an order. Last she checked, SHE wasn't in the military. Since Heather wasn't in yet, she messaged the secretary on duty, Marsha, to see if she could find a way to make an opening in her morning. She wanted to get this meeting over with.

Sure, Shane. Looks like Cory could take your next patient, if you like. He's seen him before.

Perfect. Please make that change and block me for a meeting with Susan. Thank you so much.

She saw Cory walk by, and warned him. "Cory, I'm having Marsha move Mr. Greenbaum to you next hour. I need to meet with Susan about something." she rolled her eyes.

"Oh, shit. Okay. No problem." Cory knew all too well the fuckery that a Susan meeting could entail.

"I really appreciate it. I owe you big time."

"Nah, Mr. G is cool. We just talk about huntin' and stuff."

"He'll probably like that we switched, then." she laughed. And headed for what felt like the principal's office. Bleak and miserable.

She knocked on the door, and was told in an all too cheerful manner to come in.

"Hey!"

"Morning Susan."

"Close the door and have a seat, Shane."

She typed away for a moment before fully engaging…as was her way. She thought it gave her the power. It really just annoyed the fuck out of everyone.

"So, tell me what's going on with this patient you emailed me about."

"Well, he's an ACL and MCL tear, traumatic, plus a dislocated patella. He did it during a mission in Iraq. Ummm, he's improving a lot. Potter did the surgery. He had him keep the crutches about two weeks longer than we thought he would, but--"

"No I mean…this relationship. What's the deal, here?"

"Oh, there's not much to say about it, really. He's been fairly flirty from pretty early on. I've been able to ignore it, but to be honest, I think he's a really great guy, and I think he deserves better than me ignoring his advances, especially when, to be honest Susan, the feelings he has for me are not unrequited." her heart was racing. More than if Sy had been in the room flirting with her, but so much less pleasant.

"I don't think you should see this guy until the treatment is over. What if it doesn't work out and he doesn't want to come here anymore because of you." That hurt…not that it wasn't rattling around in her head, too.

"Well, Susan, to be honest, that's one reason I haven't spoken up about this already. I have that fear. But he's been very adamant about it lately, and it's been on my mind a lot, and I think I owe it to the both of us to see it through."

"I think I should call this guy. Let me pull him up."

She gave her his details to get his information pulled up in their system. God, this was embarrassing. She should have known this nightmare was coming.

"Hello?" a gravelly bark came across the speakerphone.

"Hello, Mr. Syverson?"

"Captain Syverson, yes, Ma'am." She wasn't expecting him to pull rank…and he did it so politely.

"Sorry, Captain Syverson. My name is Susan DeForrest, I'm the manager here at Fort Wood Therapy Clinic. How are you this morning?"

"This side of the daisies ain't worth complainin. What can I do ya for, ma'am?"

"Well, I have Miss Benton, your therapist here in a meeting. You're on speaker."

"Hey Sy." Shane mewled sheepishly.

"Hey there, Shane." she could hear the smile in his voice. She didn't know if Susan could.

"She's saying that the two of you would like to see each other socially, outside of therapy."

"Oh, that's not quite the words I'd use, ma'am, but I s'pose you're technically correct."

"And she's explained to you that this facility has a policy in place regarding such fraternization?" What a load of bullshit she was shoveling. Making it sound so sinister and clandestine what she and Sy were trying to start up. Like espionage. This woman…

"I'm aware that certain policies exist like that to protect patients or customers, and more frequently the staff from situations that could present problems for both or either parties. I am not aware that a strict policy exists to police your staff in such a stringent manner. In fact, I know the opposite to be true."

"Excuse me?" Susan asked, shell shocked.

"See, them policies o' yours, they're all available online. Public knowledge. Even your personnel ones. Now, y'all have a nice and thorough handbook, I mean, I have been up all night just pouring over this like honey on toast, and I can tell you, I ain't findin' a word about y'all not being allowed to date your patients."

"Well, it's in policy number…"

"Nope, you were gonna say 47, subsection 2, part b. But that just says that you shouldn't treat anyone you're close to (i.e. friend, relative, or significant other) if you can't maintain objectivity or your own comfortability. Now, if I'd make Shane uncomfortable, or if she lost her objectivity over me, I'd be devastated. Shane, do I or do you think I could make you uncomfortable or unobjective?" he was laying it on so thick. If she hadn't been falling for him, this would have done it.

"I don't think so, Sy." She held back a smile…but not well.

"There ya have it. Miss DeForrest, I trust that Shane is free to live her life in the way she sees fit?"

"Well, I still think she should wait…" Susan started, but was cut off again by Sy.

"Because you see, I've seen a lot of young people fail to grow old. A lot of people waitin' to do things…they never ended up doin'. This life…it can be real, real short, Miss DeForrest. And I'm not keen on waitin' to be happy when I could be happy right now. Have I made myself clear enough for you? Or do I need to go to the next link in the chain of command here?" The emotion and resolve in his voice was completely shattering. He wasn't crying. But Shane and Susan both were. And then suddenly, Susan sniffed herself into composure and answered him with dignity.

"No, Captain Syverson. That will not be necessary. Shane…is free, of course, to socialize with whomever she sees fit so long as it doesn't affect anyone's treatment adversely. Thank you for your time, candor, and perspective, sir."

"I'm glad to help Shane. She's helped me more than any therapist I've ever had. We clicked immediately. I knew she was somethin' special. But getting to know her over the last few weeks has shown me what true happiness could feel like…I'd forgotten that over in Iraq. She gave that back to me. I'd like to thank her properly."

"I think she'd like that too. Thank you, sir." Susan hung up the phone without letting them say goodbye to each other, but Shane was an utter mess, and unable to form coherent words right now, anyway.

"Wow." Susan exclaimed.

"Yeah." Shane sniffed into a tissue, dabbing her eyes and then blowing her nose loudly, and unapologetically.

"Did he say he spent the whole night reading our policies?" Susan asked, not sure she heard him right.

"That's what I understood." Shane was somehow not surprised.

"Did you tell him to do that?"

"I didn't even know the policies were online, nor did I know you'd pull him in to our meeting…I didn't even know we were having one until twenty minutes ago."

"Right…fair. Sorry, I'm still…off-put by all of that." She had been beaten…and it wasn't familiar or comfortable.

"So, are we finished here?" Shane inquired, tentative about the state of mind her boss was in.

"Yes, go on and take the rest of the hour for continuing ed or whatever." She was normally much more composed…Sy had really gotten to her. She loved it.

Shane hurried back to her treatment room. She had to call him.

"Hello?" that same gravelly voice now confused as he'd just hung up with her, basically.

"May I speak to the great hero Captain Syverson, please?"

"Sunshine. How ya doin'?"

"Did you really stay up all night last night to read our entire employee manual?"

"I wanted the straight up, true life details about this policy that could mess up my future."

"I think you broke my boss's brain. She was still stewing when I left. She thought I told you where to find all that and what not. I didn't even know you could find it online. Plus, I didn't know we'd be meeting or that she'd drag you into a personnel matter. She's the worst. And you're literally my hero for beating her down like you did."

"Hey, ya know, she started it. I just finished it."

"You sure did. And how!"

"So…since we're all legal now…"

"Is the magic gone since it's not forbidden?" she laughed.

"Oh, I was gonna say, yeah, I think this may be a mistake. Sorry."

They both giggled.

"I'm free after work on Friday." she suggested.

"Not anymore, you're not. Bring some nice clothes and change when you're done. I'll pick you up after. Just text me when you're about ready?"

"You haven't given me your number, Sy."

"It's in my chart, dork."

"You have to officially give it to me."

"Oh I'll give it to ya, baby." He'd dug deep into the bass part of his register for that one.

"Syyyyy." she groaned.

"Oh, you already know I like it when you say my name."

"I'm being serious right now, what's your damn number or the date is off." She bluffed.

"Not because I believe that idle threat, but because I wanna…give it to ya." he rattled off the number.

"Okay, I'll be texting you with mine. Now, I have work today, so if you text me and don't get an immediate response, you know that's why."

"I'm not your only patient? I'm hurt, Shane."

"I know, that's why you've been coming to therapy for weeks."

"Har-Har, good thing I'm not into you for your sense of humor."

"Good thing I'm not into you for your looks, since 80% of your face is obscured by hair."

"We could go all day like this."

"The stamina." she teased.

"Well, look who joined the game!" he sounded almost proud.

"Don't think I haven't been participating silently for…a while."

"How long?" he inquired

"Isn't that my line?" she laughed at the penis joke she'd just made.

"You'll find out soon enough, and you won't be laughing. How long?"

"Well, you remember your evaluation."

"I do."

"Yeah…then." she bleated, too shy to say so with pride.

"No way! You mean you've liked me all this time too! And haven't said shit!?"

"I had to be professional, Sy! I didn't want to! Damn! You've gotta know how much I didn't want to be professional."

"I'll forgive ya, I guess, lil' lady."

"Merciful of you, sir!" she chuckled. "I'll need to go here soon. Won't be long now until my next one gets here."

"Tease me with a 'sir' then cut me off. Cruel."

"You like 'sir,' huh?" she whispered.

"I do. Yes…I…do."

"Noted. Well, until tomorrow."

"Don't forget to text me. I want you to give it to me too." he chuckled.

"Oh, you're bad."

"But, I'm real, real good sunshine." The deep rich promise in his voice did not go unnoticed.

"Bye Sy."

"Later Shane."

She hung up and texted him immediately. A selfie. He replied in kind. He seemed to be home on his couch, Aika by his side…he was not wearing a shirt…well…this day would be eternal.

Up Next: Chapter Five- Sensory Integration 1

[wherevermyway]

step out! do what you want (chapter five)

pairings: reader/bang chan, reader/han jisung
 side pairings: established changbin/minho, reader/bang chan/han jisung rating: explicit | 18+ warnings: angst, violence, mention of firearms, description of graphic injuries, profanity, more dirty smut (including a threesome again, but this time with double the penetration lol and double the lack of protection) because I am trash. also, jisung is a bratty little shit because of course he is. drug dealer!au, organized crime!au. word count: about 6,500 also posted to my AO3 here! chapter/series navigation

chapter five: do you want to live forever?

recommended tracks: haunt // bed by the 1975, devil in the details by placebo, nevermind by dennis lloyd,  cypher part 3: killer by bts rapline, boxer by stray kids, hyung by dumbfoundead, black swan (stranger things mashup) by bts/seokjinnie, call on me by eric prydz; boom by nct dream; roller coaster by tomorrow x together, how do you sleep? by sam smith, obsession by exo, after hours by the weeknd, part time god by the bad dreamers. playlist can be found here!

note: this chapter took forever and a year for me to write. hopefully, it’s up to everyone’s standards after that cliffhanger! (don’t worry, I brought back some good ol’ smut because I’m a skanky hoe.)

disclaimer: any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable, please stop reading now.

side note: for the love of minho’s cats, don’t mix party drugs or drugs with alcohol.

“I don’t miss from this close.”

The world stopped as you stared down the barrel of Changbin’s pistol. His face was emotionless, staring down at you, waiting for you to say something - specifically, he wanted you to say the right thing.

You’re unable to form a coherent sentence, unintelligible noises come babbling up from your throat, too terrified to even plead for your life. Tears start building up in the corner of your eyes as your body starts to tremble.

Jisung shakes his head, standing in between both of you. He lifts his hands to the air, slowly stepping in between Changbin’s pistol and you. “Changbin-hyung,” he says, his voice shockingly calm. “It’s not her fault. I don’t have definitive proof, but I will risk my life for her on this.”

Changbin’s expression doesn’t change. He rolls his eyes up to meet Jisung’s and moves his arm to aim the pistol at him, touching the gun to his forehead as he cocks it. “You’d bet your life on it?”

“Jisung,” you manage to weakly squeak out. The tears that had been building up start pouring down your cheeks, unable to be stopped. First, you had almost lost Christopher. Now you were about to lose Jisung.

“Absolutely.” Jisung is reserved, stoic in his resolve. “I need you to trust me, Changbin-hyung. Please.”

Changbin scoffs, rolling his head to the side. He disarms the pistol, tucking it back into its holster. He turns back to Jisung, running his tongue over his teeth. Suddenly, he winds up a punch and decks the silver-haired man right in the face, causing him to land on the floor with a thud.

“What the fuck?” Jisung shouts, grabbing his face.

“Don’t you ever do that to one of your superiors again. Your hyungs’ orders are absolute, even if you disagree with them. If you ever interfere like this again, I will break your fucking kneecaps.” Changbin spits out, rubbing his knuckles. “Got it?”

Jisung squints at Changbin in disbelief, but nods his head. “Understood, hyung.”

“Good. As for you,” Changbin looks directly into your eyes, taking a couple of steps closer until he’s at the edge of the bed. He grabs your jaw with a firm grip. “If I find out that you’re working for them, I absolutely will kill you. No questions asked. I don’t care if Jisung or Chan protest. Nobody fucks with my family. Nobody fucks with me.”

His words, laden with venom, cause your blood to run cold. You weakly nod your head, as best as you could with his hand holding your jaw in place. He lets go of your face with an aggressive push. Changbin turns away from both of you.

Jisung sits up, looking at you with a mortified expression. You could feel his sympathy from where you sat, knowing that he was as terrified as you. He’s about to open up his mouth to speak, but Changbin beats him to it.

“Minho found out that your phone was being tracked. Said he added his number to your phone, unlocking it after guessing your passcode a couple of times. It concerned him, so he was able to gain access to your phone and take a look remotely. He just found the tracker while I was at the hospital with Chan.”

The realization that your phone had compromised you had caused your heart to drop to your stomach. It was your fault that all of you were in this mess, that Christopher was holding on to his life in the hospital. Your face falls, and you hold it in your hands. How was this possible?

“I’ve got a burner for you,” Changbin says, tossing a basic phone on the bed in front of you. “There’s nothing fancy about it, but it has our numbers in it in case you need anything.” You weakly nod your head in acceptance.

“What’s happening with Chan-hyung now?” Jisung speaks up, working himself to his feet. He wobbles a bit, then walks to the bed, sitting down next to you. The spot that Changbin punched is starting to bruise up.

Changbin sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He unceremoniously flops on to the foot of the bed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands together in front of him. “Chan is fine for now.” You allow yourself a sigh of relief. “However, the bullet damaged his clavicle and he lost about a litre and a half of blood. I’m sure he’ll be released in no time, but he’s going to be out of commission for a while. “

You were relieved that Christopher was going to be okay, but waiting was going to be hell. “What do we do now?” You ask Changbin, hoping that you can make yourself useful.

He swivels his head to look at you and sighs deeply. “Honestly? I’m not totally sure yet. I just need the three of you to stay here until I figure more of this shit out.”

And wait you did. Time passed a snail’s pace while you waited in the small apartment. Felix was there for a few days, but didn’t say much. He was replaced by Seungmin, and he shared some entertaining conversations to pass the time. The next week, Minho was there, and you were relieved to see a face you recognized. He helped everything seem to go a bit smoother with his witty humour.

It had to have been about two, maybe three, weeks since your altercation with Changbin. You had avoided checking the days, since you knew that would just make everything go that much slower.

“Hey, bunny?” You heard Jisung’s voice call for you from the bedroom. He walked into the living room, staring at his phone, as he came to sit next to you and Minho.

“What’s up?”

“It’s Changbin-hyung. He’s coming over and wanted to make sure you were awake.” Jisung sets his phone down on the coffee table, then relaxes back into the couch and sighs. “He didn’t say what it was, he just said it was important and he’d be here in, like, twenty minutes.”

“Huh,” Minho sighs, checking his phone as he leans back into the couch. “He hasn’t even told me. It’s probably something pretty important, then.”

The next twenty minutes dragged on as slowly as humanly possible. You, Jisung, and Minho all sat on the couch in silence, staring off into the wall.

“That’s it,” you hear a calm, soothing voice come from behind the front door. The three of you all snap your heads in that direction, and, as Jisung stands, his phone goes off. “No, you can’t - goddammit,” the voice calls again as the door handle rattles.

Jisung grabs his phone, checks it, then shoves it into his pocket. “It’s locked,” he says, advancing towards the front door. He fumbles with the lock a bit until it clicks and recedes into its cavern. “I listened to you this time, hyung,” Jisung says with a smirk as he opens the door. His face falls as soon as the door opens all the way, shocked at what he’s seeing.

“Since when do you listen?” The voice that drifts through the door is familiar, and it makes your heart drop into the pit of your stomach. A cold sweat comes over you as you stare at the doorway.

It’s Christopher.

Your feet start to move before you even register it. It’s almost like your brain is on autopilot as you beeline your way into his arms.

“Ow,” Christopher groans as you squeeze his ribs, “injured shoulder, injured shoulder.”

“Oh my god,” you hastily let go of Christopher, then take his face into your hands. “It’s you. It’s really you. You’re alive.”

Christopher smiles, then leans down to kiss your lips. “Hey, baby. Don’t worry, I can’t be taken out that easily.” Jisung comes closer and leans his elbow on Christopher’s good shoulder.

“Took you long enough,” the silver-haired man quips. “And here I was worried you were actually gonna die for a minute.” Christopher groans and rolls his eyes at Jisung.

“Come on,” Changbin says, placing his hand on the small of Christopher’s back and ushering him to the couch. “Let the poor guy sit down.”

“Ah, Bin,” Christopher grumbles as he walks with Changbin, “I’ve been resting for two and a half weeks straight. I don’t really need to sit down that badly.”

“I don’t care,” Changbin says, guiding the blond-haired man to the cushion. “I need you at peak condition as soon as I can get you there” He sits down next to Christopher and motions for you and Jisung to sit down. “I have important news.”

Jisung sits on the floor behind the coffee table, letting you have the spot next to Christopher on the couch. Minho leans up against the wall and tucks his hands into his pockets.

“I found the person that’s been tracking you,” Changbin says as he stares into your eyes. “You’re absolutely positive you’re not involved?”

You vigorously shake your head. “Of course not. Why would I want to bring harm to a bunch of guys I barely know?”

“Because,” Changbin says, slicking his hand back through his hair. “You know who the threat is. You know them very well, actually.” Your breath hitches in your throat as you stare Changbin down.

“It’s your friend Minji.” Your eyes fly open and you sit back. “I don’t know if it’s just her, or if it’s something more than her, but she’s involved. You sent a pin of your location to her your first night with Chan, and that’s how they found you both.”

Your head was spinning. There was no way that Minji could ever or would ever want to hurt you. Right? “There’s no way that’s true,” you manage to squeak out, staring at the floor in disbelief. “Minji would never involve herself with something like that.”

“But she did,” Changbin sighs. “Like I said, I don’t know if it’s just her or not. It’s going to take some time to figure everything out, but once I do, I’m taking care of it.”

“Taking care of it?” You perk up cautiously.

Changbin hums, then looks to the floor. There’s an awkward silence as you wait for him to speak up. “She won’t be an issue anymore.” Christopher turns to look at him, then swivels his head around to look at you, eyes wide with shock.

You furrow your brows as you look at Christopher, then to Changbin. Your jaw drops as you realize exactly what he means. “No,” you manage to whimper out, then jump to your feet. “You’re not going to kill Minji, are you?”

Changbin sighs and rolls his eyes. “I already told you,” he says, standing up to be eye-level with you. “Nobody fucks with my family and nobody fucks with me. She’s a threat and needs to be eliminated.”

“How can you even be sure?” You’re practically yelling at Changbin now. There was no way that your friend was really in the middle of all of this.

“I have my sources,” Changbin grunts, folding his arms. “You’re not going to be able to change my mind on this. Besides, how do you think you ended up at the same place as Hyunjin and Chan that night? How do you think both of them got shot within a couple of days? It all adds up. She was using you as a cog in her machine.”

There was no way this was true.

Changbin reaches into the breast pocket of his jacket, then flops a stack of papers on the table. “If you don’t believe me, then look at this. I have copies of her text messages from the week prior to the Itaewon house party, along with some other damning things in there. Why do you think you were caught up in a picture with Chan, but she wasn’t in a picture with Hyunjin? Both of you were at the same party at the same time. Bit suspicious, isn’t it?”

You start to thumb through the papers Changbin provided. Sure enough, the copies of the text messages Minji had sent to an unknown number proved him right. Starting from a couple of nights before you both went to that party, copies of conversations the two of you had before the party, including the messages you had sent each other after you parted, and the message with Christopher’s apartment’s location forwarded to some random number.

It was mind-boggling. You had known Minji for over a year now, so to be betrayed like this was a shock. She was your first and only friend you had from work. How long had she ben planning this?

The papers fell from your hands as you grabbed your face. “This can’t be true. There’s no way,” you whispered, falling to your knees. “Minji would never do this to me.”

“She did, though,” Changbin said with a sigh, folding his arms. “I don’t know if she intended for you to get involved in all of this or not, but here we are. I’ve gotta take care of this.” He reoriented himself, making eye contact with Minho and Jisung. “Can I trust this,” he motioned in a circle in front of you, “to you?”

You see Minho nod from the corner of your eye. Changbin starts to make his way for the door, but you instinctively reach out and grab his pant leg. “Please,” you whisper, unable to look at him, “please don’t do this to her. She doesn’t deserve this.”

Changbin groans heavily, and you swear you can hear him roll his eyes. “You saw the messages. I don’t know how else to convince you that your so-called ‘friend’ is not who she says she is.” He tugs his leg free from your grasp and continues walking to the door. “I’m not risking this, not for the family. Chan and Hyunjin were already injured, and that grievance is too large for me to forgive.”

He opens the door, and closes it with a slam. You swear you heard him apologize, but it easily could have been a figment of your imagination.

“Baby,” Christopher says, softly, reaching his good arm out to grab your shoulder, “I’m sorry. There’s nothing we can do once Changbin sets his mind on something, especially if it’s something to protect the family.”

Your eyes fall on a piece of paper in front of you, and you grab it in your hands, pulling it to your face to look at it. The paper has screenshots of text messages from Minji’s phone number transcribed on it.

Yeah, she’s there now.

Best thing that could have happened, now we know where he is.

No, I don’t care. She’s expendable.

It’s orders from the top. You need to take BC out. It’ll dismantle their whole group.

Why the fuck didn’t you kill him? I just got word that he survived.

I’m going to have one of the guys kill you then clean up your mistake.

The messages from Minji seem surreal. You had no idea that she had this side to her. How much had she been hiding all this time? Did she really believe you were expendable?

Jisung leans down next to you, whispering your name. “It’s okay, bunny,” his voice is soft as he reaches up to rub the tears off of your face. “We’ll get through this.”

Christopher groans on his way to the floor, but he makes his way down right next to you. “Sung is right, baby. This is just a blip in the road. We’ve got you.”

Minho’s phone goes off, and he walks past the three of you. “Looks like Binnie changed his mind and needs my help. I’m going to take off, but Jeongin will be here to watch over in an hour or something.”

You stare at your hands, noticing they don’t even feel like an extension of your body anymore. They’re just there, somehow attached to your body. Nothing even feels real at this point. This entire month has been an absolute shitshow, and nothing could really surprise you at this point.

“What the fuck,” you manage to squeak out after a tense silence. “I thought I knew Minji.”

Jisung pulls you to his arms, tightly gripping your shoulders. “There’s no way you could have predicted this. I bet she didn’t even plan to have you be a part of this at first, that’s just the way it happened.”

In the back of your mind, everything started to fall into place. You very distinctly recall Minji pressing you to come to this stupid house party, even though you weren’t feeling it. “Minji,” you grumbled as you applied your mascara, “I’m not gonna stay for very long. I’m just gonna go in, have a drink or two, then leave. Is that fine?”

“Yes! Yes, babe, that’s great,” Minji said with a smile, winking to you in the mirror as she applied her last layer of lipstick. “Nobody wants to show up to a party alone, and nobody wants to leave a party alone. Maybe we’ll find some cute guys while we’re there?”

When you were at the party and she ducked off within minutes, it didn’t make sense. “Oh, I just saw my ex, I’ll only be gone for a minute,” she said, but she disappeared for the rest of the night. Now, in hindsight, everything made sense. She knew that Hyunjin and Christopher were at the party, and you were lucky enough to capture Christopher’s attention. She may not have intended for it to happen, but it did, and she was probably beside herself with excitement.

You shook your head, frantically running your fingers through your hair as you pulled yourself from the memory. “What the fuck is happening? How could she use me like this?” You broke away from Jisung, turning around to look at both him and Christopher. They just exchange concerned glances with each other and say nothing.

“What the fuck?!” You exclaim with a loud sigh, falling back on to the floor and staring at the ceiling. Your eyes were burning with tears that stung of your betrayal. Minji was your only friend from work, the only friend you really bothered to make and keep since you moved here. To be betrayed by her like this was another level of pain.

“Bunny,” Jisung whispers, grabbing your arm. “It’s going to be okay, maybe not right now, but we’ll get through this.”

“You don’t understand, Jisung,” you yell at him through tears, “Minji was my only close friend. After you and I split, she was the only real friend I had to vent to. To know that my entire friendship with her was a fucking lie?”

Jisung sits back on his heels, biting his lip and turning away from you. He mouths something to Christopher, but you can’t make out whatever he says. You don’t care at this point, honestly, because this whole situation is a nightmare.

“Alright, alright,” Christopher sighs, working his way to be closer to you. “No more of this pity party. It’s not on you to feel bad for her behaviour. She’s the one that fucked you over, now you need to acknowledge it and move on.”

“Chan,” Jisung starts, a bit of shock to his voice, “don’t you think that’s a bit harsh?”

You want to agree with Jisung, but you know that, deep down inside, Christopher is right. You drag your hands over your face and sit upright. “He’s right, though,” you say with a groan. “As much as I don’t want to admit it, he’s right. She fucked it up on her own accord. I can be mad at her for this later.”

“That’s the spirit,” Christopher says, wrapping his good arm around your shoulders, “I’m not saying don’t be angry. Absolutely, let yourself be angry. But we need to figure out what we’re going to do next, alright?”

The three of you chatted for a while, and eventually Jeongin showed up, bringing some takeout from a pasta restaurant just up the street.  It was a relatively uneventful dinner, some jokes springing up between the acquainted men, leaving you a bit out of the loop as you sat on and watched.

Your mind couldn’t help but travel to think about if Changbin had found Minji yet. If he found her, was she dead? You could swear that you heard her whispering your name on the wind as it drifted in from the window.

“Hey,” Jisung waved his hand in front of your face, “Are you alive in there?” The voice you were hallucinating wasn’t Minji’s, it was just Jisung, saying your name over and over as he tried to get your attention. “I was worried you had mentally checked out on us. How are you doing?” He reached his arm around you, his hand soothingly rubbing on your back.

“Oh,” you manage to squeak out, “yeah, sorry, I was just distracted.”

“Alright,” Christopher says, looking at Jisung as he stands up. “I have an idea. But I need you to grab her and bring her with, since I’m out of commission.” Christopher ducks off into the bedroom without waiting for Jisung’s response.

“Way ahead of you,” Jisung smiles, turning to Jeongin, “sorry, man, it’s gonna be a busy night without you. You cool?”

The young man with black hair waves his hand in the air dismissively as he pulls out his phone, stretching out onto the couch. “Don’t worry about me,” he says, “I’ll keep myself plenty entertained. Maybe I’ll watch one of those American programmes on TV. Brush up on my English or something.”

You’re about to open your mouth to protest, but Jisung scoops you up in his arms and throws you over his shoulder. “Come on,” he says with a perk in his voice, “we could all use this, just a little break from reality.” He brings you into the bedroom, tossing you on the bed next to Christopher. He closes the door behind him, then flops down on the bed in between both of you.

“Is this what you had in mind?” Jisung perks up, asking Christopher specifically. The blond laughs, bringing his hands behind his head.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” Christopher says with a cocky smile on his face. “I can’t really do much, though,” he whines, “but I don’t mind watching you two entertain each other while I sit back.”

“You heard the man,” Jisung smirks as he rolls over on top of you. “He wants a show, so I guess we gotta give him one.”

“Oi,” Christopher interjects, “I would just like to point out that I never said you had to do anything. But, it would be nice to have a little fun. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve seen you guys and I could really use the stress relief,” his voice trails off as he leans back onto the headboard. “I’m fine with just taking care of it myself, too.”

Jisung crawls up to the spot right next to Christopher. “I want to watch,” he says with a wide grin as he looks at both of you.

“I don’t care,” Christopher sighs before moving to undo his jeans. “I’ve been waiting for this for far too long.” Jisung leans over to Christopher, lightly grabbing his face.

“Don’t worry, hyung,” he says with a giggle, “I’m just teasing. We’ll help you out.” Jisung presses his lips to Christopher, motioning for you to hurry up with his free hand. Christopher pushes back into Jisung, grabbing his hair with his good hand.

You watch the guys wrestle with each other a bit before you wiggle your way up into Christopher’s lap, completely undoing his pants for him. The blond groans with relief into the silver-haired man’s lips, clearly relieved to be free from the restraint of his pants. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this,” the blond mutters, “like, you’re not my type, Jisung, but,”

Jisung bites down on Christopher’s bottom lip, hard enough to make the older man squeal, “Yeah, are you really gonna complain about it right now, though? Because I’d be happy to stop.”

Christopher glares at the younger man, “I’m injured. Can you give me a break?”

“Aww,” Jisung mocks Christopher, jokingly pushing in his cheeks with his fingertips. “Poor boss, thinking that getting shot on the job is such a good idea. Bet that’ll teach you not to get shot next time?”

You balk at Jisung’s words, looking at him with wide eyes. Did he really just say that to his superior? Christopher catches your eye, noticing your shock. “Don’t worry,” he groans, waving his hand dismissively, “Jisung is a brat sometimes. I’ll let him have it for now, but he knows he should watch his tongue. Once I’m recovered, you’re fucked.”

Jisung scoffs. “Yeah, I’d like to see you try, tough guy.” Christopher whips his head back in disbelief, about to say something, but you interrupt both of them, sticking your hands in their faces.

“Can you save whatever this is for later?” You try to plead, but Jisung simply rolls his eyes at you.

“Yeah, I’ll stop whenever Chan-hyung clearly stops enjoying this,” he says with a smirk, looking down at Christopher’s lap, then up to you. Chris groans, gritting his teeth at Jisung’s nickname.

“The nickname, I told you,” he starts, but Jisung brings his finger to Christopher’s lips.

“Shush,” he whispers, and replaces his finger with his lips for a quick, soft kiss. “Come on, it’s your turn to do something, bunny, give him something to finally shut up over.”

Watching your (maybe?) ex-boyfriend tease your (maybe?) current boyfriend was a lot for you to mentally (and physically, in some regards) handle. Christopher turned to you, his eyes half open, and his mouth slightly agape.

“What is it?” You softly whisper, positioning yourself directly on top of Christopher’s lap, placing your hands on either side of his jaw, angling his face to be just under yours.

“Come on,” Christopher whines, grinding his pelvis up into yours, “you know what I want after all this time.”

“It’s only been a couple weeks,” Jisung quips, smirking at you as he leans up against the headboard. “Doesn’t seem like that long to me, no?”

Christopher groans and digs his good hand into your thigh. “Are you both seriously going to make me beg for it?”

You and Jisung eye each other, giving each other a smirk before turning your attention back to Christopher. “We can’t push you too hard, “ you say with a slight whine, grinding your hips down into his, “it would be bad for the healing process.”

Christopher rolls his eyes at you, giving you a completely deadpan look. “Are you fucking joking?”

“Oh!” Jisung gasps with feigned despair. “It could be too much physical activity if you move around too much. We can’t bump your arm around or anything, it would probably cause problems.”

“Oh my god,” Christopher whines, “I’m not gonna move my goddamn arm, I promise. Can one of you please just help me out here? My good arm has been out of service since I went out, and now I have both of you taunting me? Fucking kill me before I have to go through any more of this.”

“Okay,” you simply say, leaning down to give Christopher a deep, needy kiss. “Just promise you won’t move your arm around at all. If one of us does something that makes your arm hurt, you need to tell us, alright?”

Christopher rapidly nods his head, “Yeah, yeah, fine, just please,” he pleads with a whine, grabbing your hip with his good hand, “I want you so badly. I want to be inside you right this second. Please.”

The look that he gives you when he pleads with you makes your soul melt. It must have an effect on Jisung, too, because he makes a pointed effort to adjust himself in his spot. “I wanna watch you unravel Chan, baby,” he whispers with a devious grin. “I love that he wants you so badly.”

Christopher reorients himself against the headboard, releasing your hip from his grip. He grabs Jisung’s shoulder with his left hand, digging his fingernails into the younger man’s skin. “If you keep making comments without actions, I swear to god, I am going to rip your -“

Jisung shakes his hands in his superior’s face. “Sorry, sorry,” he pleads, “what do you want me to do?”

“Here,” you say, pulling Jisung closer to you. “Just let your hands roam around me. I’m sure you’ll elicit a reaction out of me that will pique Christopher’s interest.” Jisung nods his head to the side, agreeing with you, as he gets behind you. He helps you sneak all of your clothes off, and, by the look on Christopher’s face, it seems to be working.

Once Jisung slides your panties off, you open up the front opening to Christopher’s briefs, and waste no time mounting yourself on his cock. It’s a bit uncomfortable, since you didn’t really think ahead and prepare yourself, but you grin and bear it anyway. The look that Christopher gives you makes all of your discomfort melt away.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, letting his head fall back on the headboard. Jisung comes up from behind you, sinking his teeth into your neck and letting his hands grasp your breasts. He isn’t very subtle about it, but he’s pressing his cock up against your back, grinding up against you for some sort of stimulation.

“Looks like that’s exactly what our Chan needed, hmm?” Jisung groans into your ear, “You seem to be enjoying yourself, too, baby, yeah?”

You somehow manage to whine out some semblance of agreement, and it causes both Christopher and Jisung to tense.

Christopher rolls his head up, looking both of you in the eyes. “I have an idea,” he whimpers, “but it’s going to involve effort for both of you.”

It took effort, but within a few minutes, with a lot of lubricant that Jisung somehow managed to find, and stretching, you somehow are able to fit both Jisung and Christopher inside of you at the same time. Jisung puts in most of the physical effort, since it’s hard to find the will to get yourself to move, but it really does feel incredible.

Below you, Christopher seems to be having an otherworldly experience. His eyes are shut tightly, and he’s grabbing onto your waist with a vise grip. Jisung has one of his arms wrapped around you as best as he can, his hand stretching up in the space between your breasts. You’re trying your best not to lean up against Christopher with too much pressure, but you feel like your body is going to give out if either he or Jisung lets go of you.

When Jisung starts moving, that’s when you lose all semblance of self-control. Your voice refuses to be restrained, and you’re sure every neighbour in a twenty kilometre radius can hear you praising every deity that has ever existed. The pressure in your abdomen, albeit a bit uncomfortable, feels miraculous. You’re shouting out Christopher’s and Jisung’s names without even intending to, and the effect it’s having on them is obvious.

“Fuck, I’m not gonna,” Christopher groans deeply, letting up one thrust before he collapses into himself, moaning your name as he begins to paint your insides. “Holy fuck,” he groans again, looking up into your eyes, grabbing your face and guiding you to look at him.

The two of you stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, before you feel Jisung dig into your sides. “Baby,” he whines, “this is so much, I’m gonna come,.” He sinks his teeth into your shoulder so hard, you’re positive you start bleeding, but you don’t care at all. In fact, you welcome it.

You aren’t really sure what you tell Jisung, you just know that you welcome it. He hastily drags one of his hands down to your clit, rotating it just enough to bring you over the edge with him.

You try your best not to collapse on to Christopher as your muscles give out. Thankfully, somehow, Jisung is able to keep a hold of you, pulling you backwards on to him. The three of you take a long moment to catch your breath, before Jisung pulls you off of Christopher and back onto him.

“What,” Jisung breathes out, “the fuck was that? Did we seriously just do that?”

Christopher lets out a small cough, then a throaty laugh. “Holy shit. That seriously happened?”

You don’t really have much to say as you come back to your senses. However, you bolt upright with a look of terror in your eyes. “Oh my god,” you say with a hushed tone, “Jeongin heard us.”

Jisung lets out a cackle. “Ah,” he says, reaching out to pull you back down to his arms, “when I stepped out there earlier, I told him to go take a walk for a little bit, that we’d be fine and he wouldn’t wanna be around for what was about to happen.”

“Crafty bastard,” Christopher retorts from his spot, letting out a couple soft chuckles.

“Hey,” Jisung groans, “you may doubt me, but I have my moments, sometimes.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Christopher groans in response. “Can you grab me a paracetamol or something? My arm is fucking killing me.”

You quickly sit up, instantly regretting it due to the the spinning effect you feel. “I’ve got it,” Jisung says from behind you, rolling off of the foot of the bed, digging around in one of the drawers of the dresser. He pulls out a bottle and tosses it at Christopher.

“Thanks,” the blond says, taking out a couple of small pills and swallowing them with no qualms. “Now get back here, baby,” he says to you, tossing the bottle onto the nightstand next to him, then opening his good arm to you.

“Are you sure you don’t want any water?” You ask him as you shakily pull yourself to his side.

“Don’t worry about me,” he grumbles, rotating his right arm around a bit. “Hey, you too, Jisung, get over here.”

Jisung snickers, snuggling up to your back. “What, you’re feeling soft for your blood brother?”

Christopher rolls his eyes and scoffs. “No. That was just an experience I never thought I’d cross off my list.”

“You love me,” Jisung chuckles, tossing the blanket from the end of the bed over the three of you.

“Shut up,” Christopher retorts, deliberately not offering him an affirmation or a denial.

A couple more weeks end up passing, and both you and Jisung try your hardest to help Christopher heal up his shoulder. He’s stubborn, though, trying to make things as difficult as possible at every turn. There was one time the three of you were fooling around on the couch, and Christopher nearly injured his arm even further, forgetting he couldn’t put any load-bearing weight on it. It was a crisis averted, but still a nuisance.

There were a couple of other minor problems that popped up, but the three of you had managed to laugh it off. It was weird, really, it was like you were dating both of them at the same time, but nobody really cared. Nobody got overly jealous, probably because the three of you were stuck in a small apartment together and had no other sense of release from each other.

It wasn’t a bad thing, though. You all had a strange way of working around each other’s quirks. The three of you could also sleep comfortably together on the bed, with you and Jisung alternating between the middle spot. Jisung and Christopher didn’t really know what exactly they were, but they went along with whatever it was anyways.

Sometimes they were basically dating, and other times they couldn’t stand to be around each other. It was weird when Jisung would walk past Christopher, give him a kiss on the forehead, and then continue to walk by like nothing happened. Neither of them ever really addressed it, which was peculiar, but it was what they did, and you learned to accept it.

Regardless of whatever was happening between the three of you, you made it work, and that was good enough for you. Once you were no longer in danger of being killed, and once Christopher was back to full health, the three of you could start to work towards a new normal.

It had to have been about a month since Christopher was released from the hospital, that was when Changbin came over next. It was a Saturday morning, early and unannounced. Christopher was the one that woke up to the text message from Changbin, letting you know of his presence.

Christopher didn’t have time to wake you up, only to let Changbin, Felix, and Jeongin in. You heard the three of them come through the front door, and Changbin invited himself into your bedroom.

“Get up,” he said with an assertive tone, staring you down from the doorframe. “We’ve found her. We’ve found all of them, and we need to go.”

[elizabeatrice]

Mystery Spot (Chapter 68)

Let’s Talk About JSHK Manga #4

If you get the title reference, I applaud you.

Warning: 1) !!! MANGA SPOILERS UP TO CHAPTER 68 !!! Duh.

2) I dropped a couple of f bombs and several curses here ... I really ranted lmao.

3) This reaction/review is closer to me spewing wild theories rather than an actual review. But these wild theories are my reactions. So. Ehhh these theories are probably wrong anyway. Lemme have my dark, twisted fun, mkay? Not sure if they’re entirely coherent though.

Had trouble copying some kanji this time around ‘cause they’re so freaking blurry! So I got too lazy to write this yesterday haha. Thank you Ropes of Fate for the translation! Truly commendable heroes of the fandom *sobs*. I also used three panels from Chapter 61, translated by Caim.

Let’s jump into it (ba dum tss).

This chapter is a bit shorter than usual and boy do you feel it. Well. At least I do. But I really hope sensei are taking some time to relax. Last chapter was 45 pages, after all. Y’all deserve it you wonderful creators.

First of all I would like to dedicate the biggest f bomb for the villagers because what the fuck. Why the fuck would you sacrifice poor, innocent young girls just to keep yourself safe? And it’s not even a sacrifice to kami-sama! Y’all just droppin’ these girls to be eaten by supernaturals! And y’all practically manipulated them smh.

Are y’all insane?! Y’all could’ve just moved the fuck out. What kind of insane people just decide to stay near a literal pit of hell? Don’t give me the ‘we’ve lived here for generations’ bs okay ‘cause y’all neighbors be getting eaten by supernaturals but y’all rather trade innocent young girls for your own safety. If Berkians and Asgardians can suck it up and be the bigger nation with all that ‘Berk/Asgard is not a place it’s the people’ shit, y’all can too.

I’ve disliked characters in JSHK before. But I’ve never hated JSHK characters before. Until now. Y’all fucking did it, dumbass villagers.

Ahem. Pardon me.

Because my brain is a literal self-debate machine let me just say that I did consider several possibilities in these ‘people’’s defense. There’s the obvious ‘some people back then didn’t know any better and believe a human sacrifice will solve everything’ mindset. Then there’s the possibility of them being trapped in their village for some reason, hence not having any other choice but to sacrifice those girls.

But y’know what else could be the case? ‘Cause my mind really went dark there for a bit.

The Minamoto clan let it happen.

In the last chapter it was mentioned that the Minamoto clan was involved. And this is a bit shocking now that I think about it more ‘cause Teru has always been adamant that all supernaturals are evil and must be exorcised, humans must be protected.

But what if they just let the villagers sacrifice these girls so that the monsters can be contained in this village, in that pit, instead of running amok to other places and cause more trouble?

Which makes me wonder.

Uh. Where did Teru go to? Does he know about this? Did he go to that pit (or that village, if Kamome Academy wasn’t built on its land)?

If he does know, isn’t he interested in saving a fellow human student and underclassman? If he does know about the Akane clan, isn’t he interested in telling his VP, who’s obsessed with an Akane? Unless ... you know ... he meant for this to happen, which I kinda doubt.

He must know something about this. He went out of his way to make Akane promise to protect Kou if something were to happen. What’s more dangerous than the Grim Reaper showing up looking for a sacrifice who turned out to be Kou’s beloved senpai’s best friend? What if Akane had to choose between Aoi and Kou at some point?

Okie next I wanna talk about Hanako. This is gonna sound just as far fetched as the previous bit lmao but here goes.

Boiiii y’all saw it. The pause before his answer. His face drawn out of view, in an evasive body language.

(Hanako my boy pls do us all a favor and stop lying to your girlfriend, we all know how well that turned out in Picture Perfect lmao)

Theory. He knew what’s been going on all along. Or at least the gist of it.

Remember this?

Imma take a detour a lil bit.

The Far Shore/torii gate refused Nene in chapter 67, right? In my Chapter 67 reaction I said it was the bracelet that saved her but now I think the bracelet probably disguised her as Sumire in the villagers’ eyes. So the Far Shore/torii gate refused her, and we all thought it was because she wasn’t an Akane.

But then we found out that Hanako was right about the village. It was just a ‘made up world’ inside Shinigami’s boundary. It’s just a reenactment of the day Sumire died, probably based on Shinigami’s memories, as the first page of Chapter 64 said.

So of course Nene was refused. Because in his memories, Sumire was the one who fell into the pit that day.

Sumire also said in this chapter’s narration that the villagers sacrificed young girls. Not Akane girls. Also, before the sacrifices began, the monsters already ate villagers anyway, right? They didn’t only eat young girls. It wasn’t said as such. The villagers probably just chose young girls because that’s sorta like the equivalent of offering the best meat or smth. Practically a please accept our humble offering of tenderloin wagyu, O Horrible Monsters.

The coveted bloodline thing was probably a plus, not obligatory. Often in stories, people with high ‘spiritual energy’ are supposed to taste more delicious and grant whoever eats their meat special powers or smth (e.g. Tang Sanzang from Journey to the West). Also ancient cultures sacrifice young girls often, that was the trend.

And they proceeded to try to sacrifice Nene anyway, despite her not being an Akane. They said it themselves. “It doesn’t matter if it’s that girl.”

So according to the (rather vague) information we have, it’s possible that the sacrifice doesn’t have to be an Akane or a girl.

Some of y’all have been theorizing that the Yugi twins got involved with supernaturals, and that sorta lead to their death.

What if this is it?

I myself am not sure how it went down if this is really the case. But I keep imagining our boy’s infamous ‘I’m not going anywhere’ being said by Sumire because bruh she’s the epitome of not going anywhere. She was chosen to be sacrificed since she was a child, not given a choice. Even after she died and became a yorishiro, she was imprisoned in this time prison world or whatever, reliving her death every single day with no escape.

And I couldn’t help but think ‘hoooo shit what if???’

I mean. I don’t know who was the chosen sacrifice. Could be Tsukasa, could be Amane. Maybe he killed his brother so that he wouldn’t get sacrificed, and decided that he’ll die along with his brother. I’m not going anywhere. Maybe it also means I’m not letting you send my brother to be eaten by monsters, and since we can’t escape either, we’re staying here no matter what.

And if the Minamotos were really in on it, it makes sense for Grandma Minamoto to accuse Amane of being an evil murderer. He practically got in the way ‘of other people’s safety’ by killing the chosen sacrifice.

banjjakz also said something about the possibility of Tsukasa being a previous sacrifice. Read about it here and here. It’s pretty interesting!

Besides, a wonder whose precious person got sacrificed and later became their yorishiro? That’d be some parallel, haha.

Sure, Sumire said ‘if the kannagi was switched’. But the early narration didn’t mention a sacrifice of kannagi. Just ‘young girls’.

Look just lemme have this, alright?

Oh. Also I wanted to point out the possible tension/trust issues between Hanako and Nene but many other blogs have pointed it out quite well so I’m just gonna stick with my wild theories.

But I will address what Nene said about the pit.

Where is said pit anyway? In Kamome? Why is it open? Is it Tsukasa changing rumors and allowing more supernaturals to cross back to the Near shore? More likely. I mean, he does grant wishes for supernaturals after all.

Oh. Speaking of Nene. Let’s give her a round of applause for her character development. She’s become of better judgement regarding men’s terrible behavior. Wow. That’s my girl. I mean, we still don’t know much about Shinigami, but from what I’ve seen so far, Sumire guuuurrrrllllll you deserve better.

Regardless of my ships, these supernatural boys should take notes from my precious Kou and how he loves so selflessly. Lmao. Remember that one post-chapter panels in Picture Perfect where he said he’ll find Nene a prince in the real world, even though he likes her? Broooo I want ten of this precious boy.

Lastly, Akane and Aoi.

Where are they? They look like they’re stranded in some wild boundary somewhere, the one with half sunken houses and lost things that usually appear in color spreads. I am so hyped, ‘cause I love the aesthetics, and I wanna see more of this place.

Oh. And Akane’s alive. Phew. I gotta be honest though, I kinda looked forward to his death. Not because I hate the kiddo. He’s technically still human, right. I’m just wondering whether his death or Aoi’s would cause Teru to outright declare war against the Seven Wonders because aren’t these folks supposed to protect students like they claim to be? (This, of course, ignores my previous theories about the Minamoto clan)

Basically I just wanna see some shit go down with Teru mkay ‘cause this powerful dude has been useless for quite too long now.

Aoi’s still pretty confusing, too. She went from this weird expression:

to this:

She kinda looked like she was still under the influence of the drug thingy. But she was also concerned about Akane, even though it’s not like how she worried about Nene in the past. And she knew Akane longer than her, they practically grew up together. Real Aoi would be in tears seeing his condition, y’all. So I guess the drug thingy’s effect is slowly wearing out.

Closing! JSHK is dark but usually not in ways my brain expects it to be. (And a lot of times I still get surprised with the amount of comedy it has lmao.) Sooo sensei are probably gonna prove me wrong about most of these, anyway. Haha.

As always feel free to discuss.

[honeydewplaydough]

Childish Laughter & Bleeding Scars

Cross posted on AO3 !  Can you guys tell me that Nie Mingjue is my favorite character lol?

What an unfortunate sight he must be, thought Nie Mingjue as he sputtered out blood through fleeting breaths. Coughs shook his whole frame. Suspended by his wrist, he hung mere inches off the ground. If he had been just a couple of inches taller, maybe he would be able to at least rest some of his body weight on the tips of his toes. But for now, he hung bonelessly, arms pulled tight. The pain was a dull ache that spread through the entirety of his shoulders and down to the middle of his back.

Nie Mingjue figured he would have rather suffered the grueling sharp pains of a hundred stab wounds than what seemed like the slow tearing of muscles.

The man leaned his head against the cold of the wall, allowing for at least the merciful kiss of relief on the back of his head. For if the lavish Sun Palace were warmth, the warmth of alcohol, the warmth of bodies pressing together, and the warmth of blood splattering across the floors, then the dungeons were the depths of a winter raging sea.

Deadly. Cold. Merciless.

Another cough wrecked his Nie Mingjue’s body. He had, at one point, attempted to count the days however the only light sources were the unreliable brightness of the lanterns that somehow flickered out on their own free will and left him in periods of darkness that never seemed to end. To pour salt in the wound, the servants also did not feed him in a coherent and a time measurable manner.

To be fair, however, feeding him was a strong word. They brought him scraps of supposed food when they damned well pleased.

And besides, eating the food prepared by any Wen Dog’s hand was not a luxury Nie Mingjue was willing to extend to them.

Furthermore, with his Qi haphazardly sealed, he would not be able to fight off the poison they would inevitably force-feed him once it had entered his body. He would be forced to witness what it would do to his body in full force. Would it make him vomit his intense up? Would it make him lose his teeth and have his gums be raw and exposed? Cause unscratchable itches that would leave him howling like some sort of maddened animal?

He would not let them have a chance to bear witness to it.

The lurch of his body forward strained his muscles and for a moment made him forget about his thoughts. He felt the clot of blood forcing its way up to his throat and down to the ground to where all the blood had trickled down from his chin and accumulated there at his exposed feet.

Worse than that was the blood that laid at his feet did not come from his own turbulent inwards.

It was also so that his body was covered from head to toe in wounds. Slices of varying degrees tore from shoulders down. A particularly nasty one had stretched from belly button to naval. Hundreds of them littered over his body, some of them being calculated slices meant to remove the top layer of skin, skinning him as if he were some sort of vegetable. Others meant to cut down deep and not a single thought was spared to the carnage that the knife took with it when it was pulled from his skin.

He couldn’t say which he had preferred.

All Nie Mingjue could do was simply hang there in silence as various torturers used his body as their canvas. Each one of them probably hoped to be praised when their Sect Leader came back from the battle he had so leisurely attended.

Just thinking about the man-made and anger run through his veins. The man that had slain his father in such a meticulous way that no blame could ever be put on to him. The man that bought our mercenaries to come and hack away at his borders, causing him both inconvenience and weeks of little sleep.

The man that haunted his dreams starting from his youth to adulthood.

Let it be known, however, that if Nie Mingjue were to see that bastard face to face, he’d kill him. He wasn’t twelve anymore. He’d face him like the man that he was and would take his head back to QingHe. For himself. To prove to himself that his youth was not a waste. That Wen Ruohan could not harm him anymore.

He would show the head off to his people. To not only to inspire them, that it was possible to shoot down the sun and conquer evil, but that as long as he stood here alive on this earth, he would always protect them.

An offering for Lan Xichen. To show him that there was nothing to be afraid of. That Nie Mingjue would move mountains, conquer the sun, and show him that he was worthy.

Revenge for Nie Huaisang. Former Clan Leader Nie had been both their fathers. He had smiled down at them all the same, had picked up Nie Huaisang, and had held Nie Mingjue by the hand. He told them stories of ole underneath the starry nights.

Nie Huaisang had loved their dad too.

To bring him the head of the one who killed him, would show that Nie Mingjue would protect him and would make do on the promise he made when he was still just a youth.

He just hoped that his little useless brother wouldn’t try and turn into something it was not.

‘Oh, da-ge! Why must I work so tirelessly out on the field every day if one, the war is over, and two, you’ve already shot the son out of the sky! If anything, now is the perfect opportunity to laze around! Discover new hobbies, pick up an ancient craft! Who knows, maybe by the end of summer, I’ll become a talented flute player. One that will shake the entire cultivation world and seize them up by their necks!’

Nie Mingjue let out a snort, as he pictured his brother saying it. It sounded close enough to him and he couldn’t help but let out a small smile at the thought. The thought of his useless, no good, weak little brother being safe at night.

It was then, he heard a shuffling of feet from behind the entrance to his personal hellhole. He rolled his eyes, cursing the cowardice of the poor bastard. Was he not restrained? Were they transporting him somewhere? No, the last time they had tried that, he had needed at least seven Wen Dogs to drag him down the halls.

He tried to contain his snort at that memory.

It had caused Meng Yao to lose face, even if it was just other Wen Dogs of slightly lower rank, and that had made the beating he received earlier a bit more worth it.

But at the topic of hand, he was starting to get annoyed. What kind of grown man or woman shook like that? Did they not have the upper hand? Were they some poor servant here to dress his wounds?

Nie Mingjue was annoyed.

He had been slightly fevered and the ache in his shoulders and his back were only worsening. Whoever it was, Nie Mingjue couldn’t care less. Be it Wen Ruohan himself or a scrambling slave of a slave. They should at least have some face!

“I know you are there, you Wen Dog! Stop shuffling like a coward and face me,” Nie Mingjue snapped out.

The shuffling and rustling of robes paused for a moment. And a few steps were heard. For some reason, the more that Nie Mingjue paid attention to the noise, instead of it barely passing through his ears and onto his brain, he realized that the person had tiny feet. The pitter-patters of steps caused great confusion.

Had they sent down a small child to torture him? Had they sent a little servant boy to dress the wounds and toss down his scraps? What was he doing here?

“Doggie?” Came the small voice.

Nie Mingjue furrowed his eyebrows. The child did not sound over the age of three years old. What game were those bastards playing? What kind of monster sends down a child? Had it not been Nie Mingjue and the boy had come closer to another war criminal, he was still little enough that he could simply be kicked out of the way.

Suddenly, the boy was standing in front of him behind the bars. One hand was gripping the bars as he plastered himself against them.

“I… The Doggie?” He asked excitedly pointing to himself. He looked to be searching for something on Nie Mingjue’s face, “Woof Woof!”

[hugsfromdad]

I've been mia on here, but not mia in the disaster bisexual front. So lemme fill you in

Okay, so idk if I've talked on here over the past few months about a cute cashier, but I can't seem to find it on my blog, so imma assume I haven't.

Back in mid August, I got my kitten. I got him 2 weeks earlier than expected, so the day before I picked him up, I had to run out and get his supplies. My friend was coming over that day, so we decided to hang out (outside) at my house, go get ice cream, and then go to the pet store for my stuff. after we got all that I needed, we went into Market Basket to buy some snacks so we could sit out in the parking lot and talk for a few hours. Well, that's where this story starts.

I looked hella fucking gay that day. (Striped button up UNbuttoned like halfway, my huge choker chain, and then my white washed levi's with a white 'Sisters' belt, and white converses. I can post a pic later if y'all want) so anyways, I was expecting to get some looks and stared. I did. Whatever. Well, were checking out at the speed aisle, and I notice eyes on me. I normally glace around when I'm checking out to see who is working, but I was met this time by the gaze of a cashier two rows back. I glanced down cause I didn't want to be rude, but when I check again, she was still looking at me. So I intentionally held her gaze for a few moments as I took note of what she looked like. Then I finished checking out and left with my friend.

While I'm a disaster bi and will focus and freak out over the smallest interraction with a cute person, I have become aware that most people (my friends) don't read into moments like that and will make fun of me if I do. That being said, I told myself it was probably just in my head and not that significant; that she was just checking out my outfit and clocking me as either a gay guy out with his girlfriend, (which was pretty much the case) or a couple getting some things.

WELL, so right as I was trying to not make anything out of it, my friend turns to me and goes. "Did you see that cashier staring at you? Like, she kept looking at you." And I was like "OKAY SO IT WASNT JUST ME" and she was like "no, she was really looking at you. She's really cute, too." And thus it began.

She's got a great style (also gorgeous even with a mask on, but I was more intrigued and attracted to her style). I told her that I liked her style a couple months ago and she repeated it back to me. She wears multiple necklaces, rings, and somehow makes her store uniform look cool. When I first really took note of her, my immediate thought was "she gives me west coast vibes." My best friend agreed with me when we were in the store together and she was there. And she might not be from the west coast, but if she told me she was from san Fransisco, I would believe it in a heartbeat. She got like a modern Marissa from the OC style. (I didn't watch the show, only those couple gay scenes with her character in it, so don't come for me)

So anyways, for the first 3-4ish months, my brain would short circuit as soon as we would lock eyes. Like, I can't describe it besides just a fog or a mental lockdown. I could like make eye contact, but I would just be in constant panic. I also couldn't imagine what to do next. Thus, I would panic and choose to go in a different aisle than hers for the first while. I didn't know what to do with a gorgeous woman who had eyes on me. (ALSO; I would like to state that her vibes and style are so immaculate, that I almost expect her to be gay. I thought she was clocking me as another gay person at first, but then I realized that we gays don't stare at someone of the opposite gender THIS much. So she could be gay. Idk. I'm good either way.)

Back to the panic: so it took me awhile to actually get the nerve up to choose her aisle when I could. Then we finally like interacted. I finally got her name, and I like asked her how she was. This happened like twice, and then there was a time I came in right after seeing my nephews(socially distanced). It was a slower day, so I didn't feel hurried in moving along. I asked her how her day was, and she answered and asked how mine was. I mentioner being happy cause I finally got to see my nephews after months of not. She then asked how old they were. We talked for a moment before I knew I have to go. It was as I was picking up my bag that I paused and looked at her and said "I've been meaning to say, I like your style." She like paused and said thanks, and that she liked mine as well. I then said something like "see you next time" and left.

From then, I'd see her when I went in, but almost every time she was in the wrong lane. We'd lock eyes as I walked in, and as I checked out and left, but we didn't get to like talk. That is, until I was tagging along shopping with my mum the day after fucking election night.

I don't think I need to say that I was more anxious and distracted than I had ever been when going in, and glued to my phone; refreshing google and watching the numbers come in. I don't think I even looked up when I walked in. I was in another place. I should also mention that I had noticed that the cute cashier (that's literally my nickname for her) usually worked on the weekends. This was a wednesday. So I was NOT paying sttention. I just followed my mum around the store while watching my phone and trying to do the math to see if there was a possibility that biden could win. Well, my mother eventually stuck us in line to check out, and asks me to get off my phone and help her unload, thats when I lift me head, and I'm staring directly into her eyes.

She was bagging for our aisle, so she was just standing there in my direct line of sight. And she has been watching me, waiting for me to fucking finally look up.

I'm sure I looked beyond stunned. Because I was. I honestly was so braindead from the day, that it took me a moment of staring back at to her process as to what was happening. I got it together quickly tho and bantered and talked with her a bit as she bagged and I helped load. She definitely was doing more than most, if that makes sense. I challenged her to fitting all of the groceries onto one cart cause she said she could. It was fun, and I think I again said "see you around* or something like that as we left.

And once again, once we got outside, my mother now goes "oh that bagger was cute." And I told her that that was the cute one I had mentioned before. THEN SHE GOES "oh yeah I picked up on that vibe of y'all." And I WANTED to ask her what that MEANT, but I didn't want to push it and then have my mother know/be able to make things awakrd.

ANYWAYS, 3 chapters in, lemme get to last months. I fucking got in anxiety meds. AND MY WORLD CHANGED. my mental block and fog was GONE. I could finally see a pathway through to like actually talking talking to her. SO, I pulled out a receipt, wrote down my number, and stuck it in my wallet for the next time I saw her.

Welp, the next time that was, she was in the wrong lane and teaching a new cashier what to do, so there was no way I was gonna try and insert myself into that situation. BUT, as I was walking both in and out, we locked eyes as usual, but this time as I was leaving, I did like a quick smile which caused me to squint my eyes for a half second. It almost looks like when a cat does their slow blink at you. I saw her respond to that and like smile back at me as I left. It was the first time I had ever done anything that was direct and nonverbally flirty.

So, I had to go again last night. And my parents were putting us in strict lockdown for the next 10 days, so we had to stock up. Before we left, I rewrote my note. And I told my best friends what was happening, and no matter what was the situation, I was gonna give her the note.

Well, she wasnt there. I was extremely disappointed.

Annnnd that leaves us here. It's gonna be a good 10-14 days before I'm allowed to go out, but youd better fucking believe it when I say that imma be giving her my number the moment I see her next. So wish me luck.

And also in case anyone asks; I don't want to try any dating apps cause I hate them. Also I'm half asleep now she don't have the energy to go back and edit this. Hopefully it's coherent.

So I guess I'll update y'all when I eventually get to leave the house and see her again

[azuremist]

So, this post will dip its toes into some of The Discourse™, because today, I will be talking about something I found in the Professor Layton fandom that made me want a Burger King pissy meal. This may not be entirely coherent, as I am a very emotional person, but then again, neither are any of my posts, really. In case any of you are wondering, this is 100% okay to reblog, but if you aren’t an abuse survivor or have PTSD, don’t clown around on this fucking post. This is under a ‘read more’ because, believe me, you do not want this to be clogging up your dash. As many of you know, I’m autistic, so when I’m passionate about something, I tend to infodump, so this may be quite long.

 This post will also be covering possibly triggering topics, so please read at your own risk.

 Now, this post will be about a blog entirely irrelevant to this, except for the fact that it is where this whole thing is happening. I will not be tagging that blog, because I do not think the moderator of the blog is at fault or anything, they just happen to be a confession blog where people put their opinions on; opinions which I will be talking about today. But for anyone interested in seeing the posts, they’re @/professorlaytonconfessions. Obviously, don’t witchhunt, but I’d hope you all would know that by now.

 So lately, as anyone following that blog may know, the hot topic of discussion is how Luke’s parents are portrayed as abusive in the Professor Layton fandom so that Luke can be portrayed as having PTSD/being adopted by Hershel, and how that is apparently a bad thing. Which, allow me to clarify: if you do not portray Clark and Brenda that way, that is totally fine. What is not fine is the way that these people react to an abuse survivor saying that they portray Luke’s parents that way to cope.

So, here is the original post in question:

 (“Luke’s parents are not abusive. Clark and Brenda Triton ARE NOT ABUSIVE. You can say Luke was adopted by Hershel or whatever but the Tritons aren’t and never were abusive.”)

 This, from what I can tell, appears to be the first post on this matter. And, while it isn’t as bad as some of the stuff we’ll be seeing later, there is some stuff to unpack. Mainly, their language in saying that people can do one thing (say Luke was adopted by Hershel), but can’t do another (portray them as abusive). Can it be frustrating if a fandom misrepresents your favorite characters consistently? Of course it is!! I’m not saying it’s not! But what I am saying is that you can’t tell people how they can and cannot portray characters. It’s their choice. If you do not like it, then look for content of the Tritons elsewhere. Or, make it yourself! Everyone has the power to make the exact kind of content they want to see, if they just make it themselves. And if you don’t think of yourself as talented, commission somebody to write or draw it! Freelance artists need the money, you want the content… It’s a win-win.

 However, a different anon replies with this confession:

“You guys can say that Clark wasn’t abusive in canon, and I guess I’ll agree. But fictional characters can be whatever we want, and some people want to project onto Luke and his relationship with his parents. Don’t make abuse victims feel bad for projecting themselves onto fictional characters.”

 And this? This is a perfectly reasonable statement. It is true that abuse survivors can project onto Luke’s relationship with his parents, and it is understandable that, as such, they may get upset when seeing a post that (as we just covered) tells people what they can and cannot do with these characters. People, especially people with trauma, project onto characters so much that it has become practically a meme, of sorts, especially in the artist/writing community. I would know, as I do this a lot, as well. So, while the tone of this post reads to me as slightly more frustrated than I initially was upon reading the original post, it’s honestly not a good feeling when somebody criticisms your healthy coping mechanisms just because they don’t like how you portray a character; especially if, like me, you struggled for a long time with unhealthy coping mechanisms before finding this one.

 And while I wish this was the end, and this could just be a nice post about how traumatized people cope, someone decided to send in the coldest, most brain-dead take here today, in my opinion:

“my good dude, a fictional character may be a fictional character but they are still a… character. that’s literally the meaning of the word. they’re not blank slates. as someone who really adores luke’s parents, this is just really awful and pretty dismissive, please just move your projections elsewhere.”

 Now, this is so much to unpack that I feel tempted to throw away the whole damn suitcase. But okay, sure, let’s take a crack at it. Someone replied, to an abuse survivor, saying that projecting onto these fictional characters to cope with their literal trauma, by saying that their healthy coping mechanism is ‘just really awful’. Why? Because they really adore the characters, of course! That’s more important than an abuse survivor learning to heal from what horrible thing traumatized them! Of course! Yes, perfectly reasonable. (For those of you who have trouble reading it, that was sarcasm.) And then, immediately followed that insensitive remark with an almost doubly insensitive remark: ‘Just move your projections elsewhere.’ This truly shows how much this particular person cares about how two characters are portrayed over how a trauma survivor feels. The utter lack of respect to say, ‘Just move your projections elsewhere,’ to a real person with PTSD trying to cope, just because they dislike seeing fictional people get portrayed as bad people, is lacking empathy in every sense.

 For those who do not understand, allow me to make a comparison. Imagine a soldier with PTSD, who has a service dog to stop them from having a panic attack in public. Their service dog helps them cope with their trauma, and makes them feel safe. Now imagine that they took their service dog to their favorite public place. Perhaps a diner they went to when they were younger, someplace that comforts them… And someone in the restaurant came up to them and said, ‘As someone who hates dogs, this is awful and pretty dismissive. Please just take your canine elsewhere.’

 Now this may seem like an extreme comparison, but let me tell you, as someone who has both PTSD and a service dog: it’s not, really. Either way, you’re calling the way someone copes with their trauma awful for wanting to exist in a place (the diner, the Professor Layton fandom) where they can feel safe.

 Now, let’s just move on from that bordering-on-ableist post, because there are still more things to go. Here is the next post:

“This isn’t aimed at abuse survivors… it’s more that there are so many artists in the fandom (a lot of popular ones) who push for this headcanon that the Tritons were horrible parents and Luke should stay with Layton instead. (Some artists outright refuse to draw the Tritons??? What?) As a fan of the Triton family, it makes me feel bad… no one ever projects these kind of headcanons onto a character who deserves it, like Descole (the one who ACTUALLY tried to hurt Luke) or Randall ect.”

 Okay, so first. ‘This isn’t aimed at abuse survivors, it’s more… so artists’. Implying that artists can’t be abuse survivors? Yes, this even includes ‘a lot of the popular ones’. Just because someone doesn’t say they have PTSD does not mean that they do not have it. You are not, and never will be, entitled to personal information, and that includes diagnosis. The exact artists you are making this vent about may very well be an abuse survivor, but you just don’t know. You shouldn’t have to know to decide whether or not someone is ‘valid enough’ to portray a certain character a certain way. Same goes for people who refuse to draw the Tritons all together. I’m going to say it again: you are not entitled to personal information, and that includes why someone may not want to draw a certain character.

 And, you feel bad? How bad do you think the traumatized people who are drawing this stuff feel? This is just like the autism moms who say stuff like, “But their autism is so hard on me!”

And, as for why they don’t project these headcanons onto Descole and Randall… Maybe it’s because they were abused by their parents specifically, and want to make Luke go through the exact same thing they did. Maybe they just like Descole and Randall more than the Tritons. But then again, as I’ve said: you are NOT! Entitled! To personal! Information!!

“people’s headcanons, preferences and interpretations are not a personal attack. people like and dislike the same things and that’s okay. don’t take someone disliking something you like personally bc I can guarantee it’s not personal.”

 This one is easily the most tolerable of everything we’ve seen, but there are still certain things I’d like to point out. Particularly, ‘Don’t take someone disliking something you like personally.’ Because, for abuse survivors, it isn’t as simple as a matter as ‘liking’ or ‘disliking’. It’s how you cope. It’s how you feel safe. Fictional characters mean so much to people with mental illnesses and/or disabilities, so of course we may take it personally if you decide to tell us how we can enjoy them. And calling coping mechanisms ‘liking something’ seems to be infantilizing the issue quite a bit. But with that being said, again, this isn’t too terribly bad. Unlike this next one, which is, yet again, just a god-awful, brain-dead take.

“i feel like an issue in this fandom is that often artists who get popular have these awful headcanons (like luke’s parents being abusive.) and because those artists are popular it feels like their hcs are EVERYWHERE and people copy them just to get in their good books. when in truth they’re probably just a vocal minority’

 And here we have, again, the return of the assumption that artists (even these ‘popular artists’ that you are trying so desperately to blame) do not have PTSD. Just, assumptions everywhere. We also see the return of the descriptor ‘awful’ to describe how abuse victims cope, which is just… Well, you know. And this particular post leaves me with so many questions! Most of them of the ‘how do you know who and who isn’t traumatized’ variety. “How do you know that artists, even popular artists, aren’t abuse victims?” “So, is what you’re proposing that abuse victims just don’t ever make vent art involving these characters? Or, at least, not post them anywhere?” “How do you know that the people presumably ‘copying the popular artists’ aren’t abuse survivors, either?” There are quite a large amount of assumptions being made here, and it’s just frustrating to see. Anybody can be traumatized, anybody can be trauma victims trying to cope. But, also, say it with me now: YOU ARE NOT ENTITLED TO PERSONAL INFORMATION, TO SEE WHO AND WHO ISN’T ‘VALID ENOUGH’ TO PORTRAY A CHARACTER A CERTAIN WAY.

 And, with that final post, we are up to date with all of the current posts on the matter. Now, allow me to remind you that ALL OF THOSE POSTS WERE IN RESPONSE TO AN ABUSE SURVIVOR SAYING THAT THEY USED LUKE AND THE TRITONS TO COPE WITH THEIR TRAUMA. Every time someone insinuated that no artists had trauma, called the headcanon ‘awful’, all of that, was in response to a literal, real-life traumatized person. Because… What? They portrayed a character in a bad way? So they should just find a whole new coping mechanism, and ditch this one that works, just because you, a stranger on the internet, told them to?

 So you may be asking yourself, “Azure, I have read 2,000 words of your ragetyping. What is the point of all of this?’ Well, my friend, besides just getting all of this out of my system, I think the point of this can be summarized quite concisely by a post made by @/your-fave-has-ptsd: “It is far more important for us (people with trauma) to see ourselves in the media than it is for us to stay true to canon.”

 So, if you put how a fictional character is portrayed over abuse survivors’ feelings (and, again, I must reiterate: you don’t know who does and doesn’t have PTSD), then maybe you should really reevaluate your priorities. If you don’t like how someone portrays Luke’s relationship with his parents, maybe just make the content that you want to see yourself, and block those who make the content you do not want to see. Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

[thefilmsnob]

Glen Coco’s Top 10 Films of 2017

Unlike last year, 2017 was a stand-out for the film industry. There wasn’t an abundance of undisputed masterpieces per se, but there were still more than enough excellent motion pictures that deserve recognition. As always, it killed me having  to omit so many great films, but that’s just life I guess. You got your ups and you got your downs. Anyway, here are my picks for the ten greatest films of 2017. But first, I’ll list the runners-up and the traditional bonus track. There’s always a bonus track.

Runners-Up

-Blade Runner 2049 ***

-Get Out

-Kong: Skull Island

-Last Flag Flying

-Molly’s Game

-Phantom Thread

-T2: Trainspotting

-Thor: Ragnarok

***Blade Runner 2049 probably would make this list in another life. The thing is, when I saw it, I was very tired and frustrated and I found it hard to focus. Because of this, I missed some important plot details, so the whole time my brain was trying to catch up with the narrative. It never did and I was lost. This is a gorgeous-looking film with excellent performances, direction, cinematography, visual effects and production design. But, I can not, in good conscience, include it without a second viewing. I’m a fucking nerd.

And here are the top 10!

#10b. (Bonus Track) The Lost City of Z

Director: James Gray

Starring: Charlie Hunnam, Robert Pattinson, Sienna Miller, Tom Holland

For a movie with a dashing lead who takes multiple expeditions into the Amazon rainforest to find a fabled lost city while facing perilous conditions from treacherous landscapes to hostile natives, The Lost City of Z  has been seen by a total of zero people. That’s a shame. This is a movie that reminds us of pulp magazines and classic exploration films of old, promising mystery, intrigue and adventure. The film takes place over several years in the early 1900s and follows Percy Fawcett whose interest in a lost city turns into an obsession and whose multiple trips to find what may not exist threatens his family life and reputation. Directed by James Gray, The Lost City of Z is a refreshing antidote to the modern action film full of CGI and empty noise. The rich cinematography provides a natural and vivid look which amplifies the sense of danger Fawcett and his men must face. And Charlie Hunnam shines as Fawcett, pulling us into his world with his passion and charisma and even when disillusionment threatens these qualities, we remain invested in his struggle to the end. 

#10. Mother!

Director: Darren Aronofsky

Starring: Jennifer Lawrence, Javier Bardem, Ed Harris, Michelle Pfeiffer

Mother! is undeniably polarizing and that’s understandable. Darren Aronofsky’s films aren’t meant for a mass audience and his use of surrealism can be frustrating at times, but it can also be deeply profound and Aronofsky is nothing if not ambitious. Mother! is perhaps his most challenging film but also one of his most mesmerizing. It starts out relatively calm as we see Mother (Jennifer Lawrence) living with Him (Javier Bardem) in a large country home in what seems like a tranquil existence, albeit with eerie undertones. Things get weird when unexpected guests arrive, played by Ed Harris and a deliciously chilly Michelle Pfeiffer. You think you’re in for a standard thriller until Aronofsky takes us down a wildly unexpected path. Never has a movie escalated so quickly and severely. Toward the end, it becomes a beautifully chaotic mixture of bizarre images and themes that blur the lines between reality and fantasy while grappling with topics from religion and death to the burdens of celebrity and motherhood. It’s a tumultuous journey, but if you suspend your disbelief and accept the mayhem, it’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced.  

#9. The Florida Project

Director: Sean Baker

Starring: Brooklynn Prince, Bria Vinaite, Willem Dafoe

Rarely do movies focus their attention on the poor, uneducated and unfortunate souls we’re introduced to in The Florida Project. But writer/director Sean Baker has decided to observe the beauty and excitement in their lives. Brooklyn Prince, in one of the most impressive performances by any child actor, plays Moonee, who, along with her friends, makes the row of motels that line a street in Kissimmee, Florida her playground. It’s fascinating watching what these children get up to, from the innocent to the questionable to the downright illegal. But, Baker never judges; he merely observes the products of a sad reality. He highlights the joy in their lives while never ignoring their present struggles and the troubling future they probably have in store. Bria Vinaite gives an impeccably raw performance as Moonee’s mother, Halley, who drinks, does drugs, recruits Moonee to resell perfume to tourists and is no more mature than her six-year-old daughter. Willem Dafoe is the manager of the motel in which they reside who’s constantly solving everyone’s problems while unconsciously acting as a father figure at times without being unrealistically portrayed as a saint. Dafoe’s great here. But, it’s Moonee who shines at the end in one of the most emotional and heartbreaking scenes of 2017. Sadly, Moonee may not be destined for greatness, but Prince sure is.

#8. Dunkirk

Director: Christopher Nolan

Starring: Fionn Whitehead, Mark Rylance, Kenneth Branagh

Christopher Nolan is a master of creating spectacles that are as thought-provoking as they are thrilling and Dunkirk is no exception. With the help of Hans Zimmer’s relentless score and many turbulent scenarios, Nolan stresses the utter fear and desperation felt by hundreds of thousands of soldiers evacuating the beach at Dunkirk in 1940 while also highlighting the collective heroism displayed in the process. The film is split into three distinct yet interweaving story lines set on the beach, on the water and in the air, intercut expertly and involving a superb ensemble cast. Nolan’s wise omission of extraneous elements like generals strategizing in war rooms allows the movie to focus on the the event itself, making it a more urgent experience. Even with all the moving parts, we’re guided by Hoyte van Hoytema’s masterful camerawork; what could’ve been a disorienting jumble of images is, in fact, impeccably vivid and coherent, eschewing rapid-fire cuts. But, this is Nolan’s pride and joy and there’s no denying it’s a work of a man so unabashedly dedicated to his craft, one who’s created a breathtaking experience with such a sharp attention to detail that’s at once sweeping and intimate.

#7. The Post

Director: Steven Spielberg

Starring: Meryl Streep, Tom Hanks, every TV actor of the last 5 years

Calling The Post timely isn’t so much an opinion as it is a truism. The parallels between the deceptive presidencies of Nixon and Trump are so painfully obvious that the film couldn’t be timelier. Back in the Nixon era, the Vietnam War was the source of deception which led to the release of the Pentagon Papers detailing more than 20 years of admissions of the failing American war effort, contradicting previous information. The Post is the story of how some journalists decided to print this information, specifically Washington Post heiress and publisher Katherine Graham, Meryl Streep in an Oscar-worthy performance in which she masterfully and subtlety conveys the weight of responsibility on her shoulders regarding a decision with potentially disastrous consequences. Streep makes her anxiety increasingly palpable until it all comes to a head in a powerfully assertive speech. Tom Hanks is great as Post Editor-in-Chief, Ben Bradlee, who’s fairly aggressive about getting the big story and improving his reputation, though Hanks still lets us admire this gruff character for his fierce dedication to journalistic integrity. Also great are the countless TV actors from Bob Odenkirk to Sarah Paulson to, yes, David Cross. As usual, Spielberg does a workmanlike job on the film and adds that elegant, classic Hollywood sheen to the material. He avoids an abundance of exposition, keeps his focus on the human crisis of conscience and allows the proceedings to flow smoothly. This is a very important story about heroes who risked everything in the name of truth and freedom of the press.

#6. Lady Bird

Director: Greta Gerwig

Starring: Saoirse Ronan, Laurie Metcalf, Tracy Letts

In her directorial debut film, Lady Bird, Greta Gerwig puts a fresh spin on the high school movie without relying on overly quirky characters, gimmickry or excess. Its breezy naturalism helps it transcend the genre with the stripped-down, straightforward and ordinary nature of the movie, paradoxically, making it so complex. A celebration of autonomy and liberation, Lady Bird follows the titular character (Saoirse Ronan) who feels trapped in a mundane life at an all-girls Catholic school in Sacramento with a mother (Laurie Metcalf) who’s mastered the art of passive aggression. But, Ronan turns Lady Bird’s normalcy into a thing of beauty and makes her an embodiment of perseverance in subtle ways. Metcalf is exceptional here too, often ruthless but always sympathetic as the overworked breadwinner of the family. But most of the praise should go to Gerwig, already a great actress and now directing with a gentle and pure touch, allowing the film to breath with little contrivance. She keeps her scenes brief and adds her unique observations and unorthodox comedic sensibilities to the dialogue which is authentic, witty and often shockingly hilarious. This is a smart and insightful film that’s all but devoid of flaws.

#5. Stronger

Director: David Gordon Green

Starring: Jake Gyllenhaal, Tatiana Maslany, Miranda Richardson

Once again, Jake Gyllenhaal has been snubbed by the Academy. In Stronger, he gives yet another magnificent performance playing Jeff Bauman, an underachieving Boston native who loses his legs during the Boston Marathon bombing while cheering on his ex-girlfriend, Erin (Tatiana Maslany), at the finish line. The movie recounts his rehabilitation as well as the accompanying emotional turmoil he and his family must endure. Movies like this have been done before but rarely with this much brutal honesty. Gyllenhaal is so convincing, making you feel his every ache and bruise; we’re heart broken just watching the poor man trying to enter his bathtub. He completely transforms in front of our eyes from an overeager and fun-loving young man to a bitter, often angry victim with impressive ease. Maslany is equally impressive, wrestling with a multitude of emotions from compassion to guilt to frustration to anger, often simultaneously, in this refreshing take on the ‘caring loved one’ role. In less competent hands, this would be a conventional TV movie full of cliches and sentiment. But David Gordon Green imbues his work with so much realism whether it’s the injury itself, the recovery process, the reactions from friends and family or Bauman’s mental state. It’s a truly inspirational film and meditation on heroism that actually respects its audience.

#4. Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri

Director: Martin McDonagh

Starring: Frances McDormand, Woody Harrelson, Sam Rockwell

Not only is Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri timely, but it has one of last year’s most original premises. Enraged by the lack of progress made by the police in identifying the person who raped and murdered her teenage daughter, Mildred Hayes, played by the force of nature that is Frances McDormand, takes action by renting three billboards near her home in Ebbing and posting messages calling out the police for their lack of competence and urgency, especially Chief Willoughby (Woody Harrelson). Obviously, this starts a chaotic chain of events, crafted by writer/director Martin McDonagh, that deals with relevant social issues in a way that’s by turns tragic and shockingly hilarious. But, contrary to the marketing campaign, McDonagh’s film isn’t so black and white; he illustrates the complexity of the matter by exposing fault in all parties involved as well as the tragic consequences of their actions. McDormand shows us an utterly depleted woman with nothing but rage and a mission, making some of the most scathing remarks you’ll hear to anyone in her way, yet still able to sympathize when she sees her adversary in pain, like Willoughby who’s dying of cancer. Harrelson gives an incredibly poignant speech related to this that’s one of the films highlights. Sam Rockwell is also sensational as a racist scumbag of a cop who nonetheless embarks on a path of redemption. The ending is ambiguous. What happens is irrelevant. Whether you think Rockwell deserves redemption is also besides the point. What matters is that there’s a dialogue starting, progress being made and, indeed, something being done. In other words, there’s hope.

#3. The Disaster Artist

Director: James Franco

Starring: Dave Franco, James Franco, Seth Rogan

Apparently, James Franco might be a bad dude and shame on him if he is. But, I’m here to talk about movies and The Disaster Artist is a damn good one. Most of the credit should go to writers Scott Neustadter and Michael H. Weber, anyway, for crafting an insightful, hilarious, yet oddly touching screenplay about the wildly misguided Tommy Wiseau (James Franco) who was responsible for The Room, one of the worst movies ever made. We’re oriented by Dave Franco playing The Room star, Greg Sestero, from when he meets the awful but ambitious performer, Wiseau, in an acting class in the late ‘90s through the early ‘00s which sees the pair become friends, move to LA to act, fail miserably and decide to make their own movie. Dave Franco charms as the wide-eyed optimist who’s accepting to a fault. James Franco, still maybe an ass, is great as Wiseau, capturing his voice and mannerisms perfectly, giving us a character who’s as delusional and jealous as he is free-spirited, also to a fault. Their relationship is charming in the beginning and no less intriguing when its threatened by one’s pride and the other’s loss of confidence. The story’s at its best when Wiseau is filming his dream project and we see his lack of talent and leadership grate on cast and crew, specifically Seth Rogen as Sandy Schklair, whose exasperation is priceless. But the film makers are wise to tease without deriding and actually give some credit to Wiseau for, when you think about it, the man accomplished more than most of us ever will, illustrated in a film about a film that moves effortlessly from start to finish.

#2. Wind River

Director: Taylor Sheridan

Starring: Jeremy Renner, Elizabeth Olsen

If there’s any justice in this world, Taylor Sheridan soon will be swimming in awards and money for the man is responsible for the scripts of wonderful films like Sicario, Hell or High Water and now Wind River which he also directed. Few people are better at crafting profoundly entertaining commentaries on the dark and controversial pockets of America. With Wind River, he focuses on problems faced by those living on Indian reservations. The film seems like a recipe for a generic crime thriller starring Hawkeye and the Scarlett Witch until you remember Sheridan’s track record and the fact that Jeremy Renner and Elizabeth Olsen are actually great actors. After we’re shown a chilling prelude involving a teen girl running, and collapsing, in the snow in freezing temperatures without appropriate clothing, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service agent Cory Lambert (Renner) finds the body and gets the narrative wheels in motion. Once rookie FBI agent Jane Banner (Olsen) arrives, they team up to solve the case that takes them to dark and twisted places. Sheridan let’s the film take its time to develop; it progresses clearly and logically, making it easy to follow along, unlike similar films. And unlike these films, you actually care as much about the people investigating the case as the case itself. Though used sparingly, Sheridan composes some of the most realistic and tense action sequences you’ll see. There’s one scene that’s almost unbearably intense but so utterly effective in making you feel the horror this community feels. It, like this film, gets under your skin and stays with you well after the credits roll.

#1. Call Me by Your Name

Director: Luca Guadagnino

Starring: Timothee Chalamet, Armie Hammer, Michael Stuhlbarg

If you consider just how many love stories have been written in the history of humanity, you might think it impossible to create another great one. But what director Luca Guadagnino does with a script from James Ivory is pure bliss. Not only will you fall in love with the characters, but you’ll also fall in love with the gorgeous, picturesque northern Italian countryside on display. It’s here, during a lazy summer of 1983, where an introverted, music-loving Italian-American teen, Elio (Timothee Chalamet), meets an older, classically handsome and outgoing graduate student named Oliver (Armie Hammer), forming a relationship that will change their lives forever. Elio’s father (Michael Stuhlbarg), an archaeology professor, invites Oliver to live with them for the summer to help with his research and although Elio initially is turned off by this ‘intruder’, gradually he forms an attraction. How the film makers deal with this attraction and eventual relationship is simply perfection. The way in which the two characters subtly feel each other out at the start feels so true to life and each subsequent step from attraction to bonding to seduction is equally realistic and even more entertaining.The film benefits from the actors’ fearless performances, especially that of newcomer Chalamet who’s a ball of pent up sexual energy. The movie ends with Stuhlbarg having an irresistibly touching discussion with his son, full of warmth and understanding, and a final heartbreaking scene, so simple in concept yet so emotionally complex. Chalamet takes your breath away here with an array of emotions parading across his face as Sufjan Stevens’ gorgeous ‘Mystery of Love’ plays in its entirety. It’s one of the the most entrancing endings to a movie you’ll see, capping off the best film of 2017.

[awildoliveblog]

Let me introduce myself.

My name is Misty Gorley. As my little bio there says, I live near Austin with my grandmother, my cats, and way too many houseplants for our small house. I am enrolled in courses in herbalism and horticulture and love clean, natural living. But my deepest love is for Bible truth and prophecy, which will be my main focus here.

My grandfather was a pastor with the Assemblies of God. He died this past Thanksgiving, which is why my grandmother and I moved in together, and while we were preparing his funeral, it occurred to me that I have quite a legacy to live up to. Growing up I watched him be a real pastor, the kind that truly loved Jesus and people. All people. Any people. It didn’t matter who you were or what you did. He had an encouraging word and a smile, actually usually a laugh, for you. It didn’t matter what time it was or what you needed, he was there to help and pray. And he loved God. I have never known another man with such a love for God. Even toward the end, when his dementia had completely clouded his mind and taken away all the other aspects of his own personality, his love remained. I would take them to run errands every Friday since he could no longer be trusted to drive, and he was so excited to see people, and he was still telling them how much he loved them, how much God loved them, how God had worked in his life. He once told the crew and customers of the local Firestone as we left after a group conversation about God that he had started, “This may sound crazy, but I am not crazy. For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son! And He loves you *pointing at one*, and you *pointing at another*, and you *pointing at the last*.” That was my Pops.

But my family moved and went to churches other than my grandfather’s with pastors not like my grandfather at all, and some discontent set in. And once I hit my late teens, I started having questions about the theology I was being taught. Don’t get me wrong. I have always believed that God is God, that the Bible is His infallible word, that Jesus was His Son come to save us. But I started having questions about specific doctrines. Nothing could ever be explained to me truly logically. One verse pulled out of context would be used to prove a point that other verses I would find in the Bible would contradict. But the Bible can’t contradict itself, can it? And why did the Bible feel so disjointed and random? How did it all tie together, all the passages we’re so familiar with and the very obscure, heavily symbolic passages? No one could ever explain those. There was always an attitude of, ‘Misty, these are spiritual things. They are high above us. We will understand them once we get to heaven.’ But wasn’t the Bible given to us for our edification here on earth? So when I was 18 I stopped going to church. It just seemed to be a social club that would gather for some hyper-emotionalism a couple of times a week and call that a relationship with God and then disperse to live and eat and entertain themselves just like everyone else the rest of the week.

I had begun to have health problems that the doctors couldn’t explain, even if they bothered to listen to me, and those led to an inability to work full-time. Eventually I got a diagnosis of brain injuries that had drastically impacted my endocrine system, and I went into treatment, which ended up putting me in full bed-rest. I had finally gotten to the point in 2016 where I was asking God, ‘What do you want of me?’ Several years before my mom had started watching a channel on her Roku called Amazing Discoveries. Their tagline mentioned Bible prophecy, which she had always had a deep interest in. She mentioned it to me a few times over the years, but never pushed the issue at all, and I never gave it much thought. But once I started asking God what He wanted me to do, all that would go through my head was, ‘Watch Amazing Discoveries.’ I would ask again and again, and that’s all I would get.

So I finally did. And wow! My mind was blown! Here were people teaching the Bible logically! It was an approach to the mind, not the emotions! I mean, one of my favourite verses has always been Isaiah 1:18: ‘Come now, and let us reason together,’ says the Lord. True, we are emotional creatures, and the beauty of the truth will elicit a deep emotional response, but our culture has become too dependent on how we feel instead of conforming our feelings to the truth. I was learning that many of the doctrines I grew up with aren’t actually biblical and that verses were being pulled out of context to ‘prove’ points that other verses in the Bible contradicted. And here these teachers used the entire Bible, from the front to the back, and everything lined up and fit together and made absolute, perfect sense! Their position of sola scriptura, the Bible and the Bible alone, was the most legitimate that I’d ever found. Using the Bible only, letting it define and explain itself, they explained all of the symbology. If you had asked me before, I would have said I knew the Bible. I had read it and studied it, but now it felt like I had found the key to the code. It all opened up before me, and I fell in love with the Bible! I had always known the Bible was important. It was necessary. It was God’s word. But wow! This was something else altogether. It was beautiful! It was deep! It was powerful! It was consistent!!! And it was repeating two things over and over and over. God loves every single person, and He has a definite specific plan that has been acted out over the millennia to save everyone who is willing to be saved. Which I always knew, but not like this. Spiritual matters always felt so nebulous and airy fairy and far away, things removed and remote and bigger than I was allowed to grasp, but once I read the Bible for what it was really saying, I realized that the whole thing is meant to be understood, and it is telling one story. Just one simple story! A story of how a world was subjugated by a causeless rebel who wants to destroy it simply because it is loved by a God that he hates and wants to replace and how that God, unwilling to live without us and loving us more than His own life, enacted a brilliant plan to free that world. That plan will very soon be coming to its finale. It is so close, and I have to be part of sharing that solution with as many people as will hear!

Once she knew I was watching Amazing Discoveries, my mom was thrilled. If you ever wanted to know a person who devoted every aspect of her life to God, that was my mom. Her perspective was so firmly rooted in God’s Word that she was a joy to talk to. And that was her name, Joy. And that was her character. She was full of joy and love. She never turned her back on me, no matter how difficult my situation got, and she stood by me faithfully, even though she was called naive and foolish by some. We would talk for hours about the beautiful truths we were learning. It was one of my favourite things to do, talk to her. Her number one desire was to share these truths with as many people as possible. After my grandfather’s funeral, she came down with what seemed to be a virus, but when it hadn’t gone away after several weeks, we went to the doctor on January 3. It turns out that it was stage 4 breast cancer that had metastasized to her liver, and she went downhill fast. She died on January 29 of kidney failure at the age of 58.

I thank God that I had such a wonderful mother who taught me so much. I have learned about true self-sacrificial love. I have learned about full dependence on God. I have learned many things about myself, areas I need to change and areas where I’m stronger than I thought I was.

And I have realized on a deeper level than ever before that my grandfather was always spot on in his main focus: Everything is about God’s love. All of those deep doctrines and theologies and sciences, that’s what they’re all saying… Love! I love and spend a lot of time on studies into all of those things as much as I can, and I’m always amazed at how they all boil down to love. God is love, perfect agape love, and that is the point of the universe! Period. The beautiful truths I have learned combined with the legacy Mom and Pops left me means that I have a responsibility to continue sharing the love of God, and so I am starting this blog. I cannot promise to be an extremely faithful post-every-Wednesday kind of blogger. Some weeks may be tougher with too much brain fog to write a coherent post. There will probably be times where I have to tell myself, ‘Misty, normal people don’t have time to read two posts a day…’ But I have so much that I’m excited to share, and I hope you’ll join me in a joyful celebration of the beauty of God and His word! (I promise not to post two times a day…)

Let’s be eager to leave what is familiar for what is true. ~ Francis Chan

My feelings are not God. God is God. My feelings do not define truth. God’s word defines truth. My feelings are echoes and responses to what my mind perceives. And sometimes – many times – my feelings are out of sync with the truth. When that happens – and it happens every day in some measure – I try not to bend the truth to justify my imperfect feelings, but rather, I plead with God: Purify my perceptions of your truth and transform my feelings so that they are in sync with the truth. ~ John Piper

That which can be destroyed by the truth, should be.

[sportafreddie]

Consultation hours: Chap. 1

Relationships: Joseph Christiansen/Dadsona Additional Tags: Dadsona was a soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Mentioned Amputation, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Depression, Religious Content, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Identity Porn, Panic Attacks, Prosthesis, Past Character Death, Canonical Character Death Summary: “Sam (Dadsona) goes to the church's anonymous consultation hours because he is at the end of his rope. Joseph Christiansen tries to help him. In the process, he might end up helping himself too... .”

“So I, um, I’ve never done anything like this before. Still don’t see the fucking point—ah, sorry, you’re not supposed to curse in churches, right? I’m… I’m not religious, so if this service is only something actual members can use, let me know and I’ll fuc—go. This probably isn’t how you’re supposed to start. What was it? Forgive me father, for I have sinned, or something?”

A deep chuckle catches me off-guard and I curse. “I’m sorry,” the deep voice says. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

I take a few deep breaths and fiddle with the zipper of my jacket. Once I stop feeling like the walls of the box are closing in on me, I focus on the faint outline of the other person, barely visible through the wall that separates us two.

The man clears his throat. “Even though we are using the confessional box, it’s not a confession and I’m not a priest. The effort is appreciated, though.”

Something about his voice slowly makes me relax, probably how calm he sounds. I lean back in my seat, folding my hands in my lap.

“To answer your questions in the right order,” the man continues. “You’re not supposed to swear in churches, you’re right about that, but you seem nervous, so it’s understandable. And no, you do not have to be religious or a member of this church to come talk to me. I want to help everyone, Christian or not. Your religious affiliation doesn’t really matter. What matters is that you came here to talk about something and I will try my best to help you with whatever that is.” The man paused. “I totally forgot to introduce myself. My name is Joseph and I am a youth minister. Are you comfortable with giving me your name?”

I don’t reply, but he doesn’t seem to take my silence as rude.

“Rest assured that anything you say will stay between us. I may not be a priest, but I take the oath of secrecy very seriously. Now, I said before this isn’t a confession, but the rules still apply. Even if you admit to a crime, I will not tell a soul, I promise. If it would make you feel more comfortable, you can give me a wrong name or a nickname? The whole purpose of this—” He gestures to the wall between us. “—is to grant you as much anonymity as possible. It can be hard to talk to strangers, but maybe less so when they don’t know who you are. I’d simply like to have something to call you.”

I look down at my hands and think about it. Finally, after a few moments of silence, I nod. “You can call me Houdini.”

Joseph laughs lightly. “Are you a wizard?”

“Something like that.”

My tone makes Joseph stop laughing. “I didn’t mean any offense.”

“None taken.”

I can see him relax a little, but the man still sits upright, like he has a stick tied to his back or shoved up his arse. I wonder what he looks like; before hearing him speak, I thought the priest-or-whatever would be an old man, but he sounds like he could be anywhere between thirty and fifty.

“What brought you here today, Houdini?”

I can’t help myself and snort. Not because it is a stupid question, but because I find it funny how a seemingly innocent question could be so loaded. I look back down at my hands and clutch a fist, just to feel my muscles tense under my skin.

“I don’t know, honestly,” I say after a while. Joseph doesn’t press me to continue or asks me why I am here, then, just lets me sort my thoughts and bring them into an order that somewhat resembles coherence. “Someone suggested I go see a professional, pay some prig with two doctorates and a cosy little office to listen to my problems and blame everything on my daddy issues, but there’s no way in hell— Can I say that?”

“Go ahead. I won’t judge you for what you say.”

I nod and run a hand through my hair. It’s getting too long again. I know I should go to a barber, but the mere thought makes me feel sick. Belatedly, I realise I’ve gripped my hair hard enough to hurt. I lower my hand and try not to think of Joseph watching my every move.

“I… um… I don’t like talking about… stuff. I don’t see the fucking point. You sit there, pour out your heart, and that’s supposed to make you feel better?”

“Yes.”

“You’re being paid to say that. Your opinion doesn’t count.”

Joseph makes a noise that sounds like when someone tries not to laugh and ends up snorting, but stifles that sound by covering their mouth and nose. I risk a glance to the side and see him lower his hand again. “Actually, I’m not being paid for this.” That makes me frown. “I’m doing this in my free time.”

“Don’t you have anything better to do? No wife and kids to go home to?”

His chair creaks as he shifts. “Ah. Yes. But…” I can tell he is uncomfortable, even though he tries his best to hide it. Maybe, had I seen his face, I would have fallen for it, but all I have is his voice and it sounds off, strained.

Well-done, asshole.

I open my mouth to apologise or continue where I left off while ignoring my comment, but he speaks up before I can get a word out. “Whenever we bottle up our feelings and refuse to let them happen to us, we make things worse. At one point, we cannot continue burying them somewhere at the back of our mind because there is no space left and they all come out at once, a metaphorical dam that breaks. By talking about what we are feeling, we allow our emotions to come and go again. It is like a wave.”

He actually makes a wave motion with his hand as he says this. I can’t tell whether I should find it adorable or disturbing and choose to settle for the neutral interesting.

“So, yes, pouring your heart out indeed does help. That’s what you came for, isn’t it? To talk to someone. So, somewhere inside you, you must believe it might help you with whatever you are going through.”

What Joseph just said makes sense, but that only makes me want to find a counterargument even more.

‘We never get angry just because. Anger always is a follow-up reaction, never the first. You argue because you don’t want to deal with what you really feel. You butt heads with people because you want to distract them from what’s going on in your head. You don’t know how to deal with the situation, so you default to anger. But behind that anger there lies something else…’ I jerk and shake my head to push that memory back into the dark corner it came from.

“Why did you come here, Houdini?”

That's the one-billion-dollar question, isn’t it?

I sigh in frustration and clutch a fist, feeling my blunt nails dig into my skin. The not-quite-pain helps me focus. I take a deep breath and tuck loose strands of hair behind my ear. “I came here,” I begin, “because it’s the last thing I can think of. I tried self-help books, even bought some guide by an apparently very famous guy, but the tips were complete bullshit. I scrolled through online forums but reading about how other people managed to get their lives under control again just made me feel shittier, because if they did it, why can’t I? I drank the most disgusting tea I had ever tasted in my life because it was advertised as the best herbal sleeping aid on the market and I’m not allowed to mix the good stuff with my medication, not even the over-the-counter shit you can buy from every in-store pharmacy in the whole country. So, this is, basically, the last idea I have because I’d rather cut off another limb than go to a psychologist.”

I only realise what I just said when Joseph carefully repeats “Cut off another limb?”

I tense up again and my breath audibly hitches. I don’t see Joseph turn to look at me as much as I feel his gaze tear through the wall separating us and even though I don’t know this man, I can tell he is itching to get up and comfort me physically, but he doesn’t. He shifts on his chair. “Repeat after me: 4, 9, 2, 10, 5, 18. Can you do that, Houdini? 4, 9, 2, 10, 5, 18.”

I literally cannot breathe and Joseph wants me to count? Clawing at my throat to get air through the knot there that makes me choke, I stutter out the first three numbers, then pause and work my brain trying to remember the rest of them. By the time I say 18, my breathing has stabilised again and my vision has cleared. I blink away the last remnants of the panic attack and rub my throat. “What the-“

“The brain cannot focus on panicking and counting numbers out of order at the same time,” Joseph explains quietly. “At least, that’s what I’ve heard. All I know for certain is that most of the time it works. Are you feeling any better? I can get you something to drink if you want.” I shake my head. “I’m not going to make you tell me something you don’t want. But what you said… Are you purposely hurting yourself, Houdini?”

He sounds so concerned about a random stranger’s well-being, so worried about a man he doesn’t know, just being in his proximity makes me feel like an even shittier person. I shake my head again. “I’m not… hurting myself. Not on purpose. I didn’t…” I make a cutting motion with my hand, since actually saying it is more than I can handle at the moment. “The… the doctors… you know. Surgery.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Houdini.” And he actually sounds sincere about it. How can a person be this compassionate?! “As I said, you don’t have to tell me about it, unless it is important as to why you came here. Can you tell me what it is you are dealing with? There are thousands of guides out there and only half of them, if not less, are actually written by professionals. You don’t have to feel bad about not having found a method that works for you yet. Everyone is different and so are their problems and needs.”

“Are you sure you’re not a psychologist?”

Joseph laughs. “No, I swear. I’m not a—How did you put it? –prig with two doctorates and a cosy little office.” I can’t help but smile lightly at that. “Before you ask, I also didn’t take psychology in college. I have a Bachelor in Pastoral Ministry from the South Florida Bible College and Seminary.”

“Florida,” I repeat. “What brought you to Maple Bay of all places?”

“A fresh start, so to say. I was offered a job with the church. My wife and I fell in love with the neighbourhood and ocean view and so we settled down.” I can that was a very abridged version of the truth, but don’t pry. “Where are you from, originally?”

In any other situation, I might have taken offense at his words. But he cannot see me, doesn’t know the colour of my skin nor my name, so no, it can’t be that. “New York area.”

“Why did you come here?”

I shrug. “I got a scholarship to the college here. After I graduated, I… um… travelled, for a while. My husband and I actually met during college, he was from around here, and we just… stayed.”

Joseph is silent for a while before he speaks again. “Your husband…?”

The thought hits me so hard I almost physically flinch. “Fuck. You’re not homophobic, are you? I don’t want to presume, just because you’re religious, but if you are I’m—“

“Woah, woah, Houdini, I’m not homophobic!” My mouth clicks shut. Joseph turns to ‘look’ at me and shakes his head. “There is nothing wrong with being gay, bisexual, pansexual or any other sexual or romantic orientation. The man loves all of his children. Except snitches.”

I pause, uncertain whether the last part was serious or not. Only when Joseph chuckles I realise he was joking and I feel myself crack a smile again. He seems pretty chill for a religious guy. “Okay.” I clear my throat to bridge the time it takes my brain to come up with something better to say. “Cool.”

Not better. Possibly worse. Cool is uncool already, do keep up.

 “What I meant with that question…” His voice softens. “Is your husband…” He makes some kind of gesture. It takes me a few moments to realise what he means.

“Dead? Yeah, he died a few years ago. But it’s okay.”

It’s not.

“Still, I’m sorry for your loss.”

Can he stop sounding so sincere? Just hearing him be so compassionate and caring makes me feel bad just by being in his proximity. Couldn’t the church have hired a counsellor that didn’t make their customers shitty in comparison? It’s not like I didn’t already know I was fucked up, I didn’t need the perfect to show me that.

Neither of us speaks for what feels like hours, but realistically the silence only lasts for a few seconds before Joseph breaks it. “Since you said it’s okay, I assume you’re not here because of him. Do you want to tell me?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh deeply. I came here on a whim; I didn’t prepare some kind of speech or even stop to gather my thoughts and try to shape them into actual words before I drove to the church and walked in. I’m completely unprepared and I hate every second of it.

“There are days when I wake up and hate the fact I did.” Even I’m surprised by those words. “Sometimes I don’t have the energy to get up, not for food, not for the loo, not for my kid. Other days, the tiniest noise sets me off, and I feel like I’m right in the middle of a warzone. There are days I swear I can still feel my leg, even though I know it’s not there yet, they cut it off, they had to, but I still look down and pull up my trousers and see there is nothing there and that upsets me. I constantly feel like a ticking time bomb, like any second, I’m going to explode. I spent the time between panic attacks waiting for the next one to happen. Sometimes, I can’t sleep for days. Sometimes I get so irrationally angry I yell at anyone who tries to talk to me, even my own fucking child, and sometimes I stare into the mirror and hate myself so much I just…”

I ran my hand through my hair, gripping it tightly. The pain helps me focus. “I know you’re not supposed to bottle things up. They told us that message a thousand times. We’ve got professionals on site to help you, you can tell them anything, yet anyone who actually took advantage of that was seen as weak and they talked about you behind your back, made bets on how long you’d last. But I have to stay strong, for my daughter. She doesn’t know half of what I just told you. I don’t want to make life even more difficult for her. She’s strong, she dealt with losing her father far better than I have, let’s be honest, but she shouldn’t have to carry that burden. So I…” I take a shuddered breath. “I do my best to bury everything underneath layers upon layers of silly jokes and awkwardness. Before… I used to be like that, a long time ago, so I just have to remember how things had been back then and I can pass as a semi-functional quirky human being. No one knows. Well, now you do.”

Joseph exhales loudly. There is a certain tenseness to his voice as he finally speaks that makes me wonder. “That sounds terrible. I’m sorry you have to go through something like that, Houdini. You said you haven’t been to a doctor or psychologist at all?” I nod. “I would urge you to go see a professional, Houdini, because what you just described sounds very serious. Now, you mentioned ‘they’ and ‘us’. What is it that you do, or did, for a living?”

“I’m a translator. Before that I was a, well, I was in the military, after college. Part of the Reserve Officer Training Corps. They paid for my education, I served time after I graduated.”

“Were you…” Joseph trails off and I can practically hear the cogs and wheels turn in his head. “Were you ever actually deployed?”

“Yeah.”

“And did you lose— “

“Yeah.”

Next to me, behind the semi-transparent wall that lets me see the faint outlines of his body, Joseph rubs the back of his head. “Gosh, Houdini, you really deal with a lot of fudge-crab you had to endure.”

I snort. “Fudge-crab?”

“You have four children, you learn to get creative. I made it a habit not to swear even when they aren’t around, so I don’t accidentally do it when they are.”

For a moment I wonder whether I misheard him. “Four? You have four children? Who in their right mind gets more than twooooo… I mean—“

Joseph laughs. “Don’t worry about it, Houdini. I’m not offended. Four children are really quite a handful but I wouldn’t want to have any of them gone.”

“So did you have quadruplets or…?”

I see Joseph shake his head. “We have twins, but the other two were born alone. My eldest, Chris, is eleven. Christie and Christian, our twins, turn eight later this year and last but not least, there is Crish, he just turned two.”

I really try not to comment on the choice of names, but my brain short-circuits and my mouth moves before my brain can catch up. “You named your children after variations of Christ?”

“Crish’s name was my wife’s idea. To this day I’m still not quite convinced she wasn’t joking but I liked the sound of it. What is the name of your child?”

“Telling you would defeat the purpose of anonymity.”

Joseph titled his head in acknowledgment. “True. How about we call her Christiann?”

That startles a laugh out of me. I can’t help but giggle, imagining my daughter’s reaction once I get home and tell her what her new name is. “Why not Chrissie?”

“I have a long list of Christ-related names at home, Houdini. Anything from Christa to Chrys. If I were you, I wouldn’t challenge me to a silly name contest.”

“Oh god.” I snort with laughter. “Please, spare me, I surrender. I’m waving the metaphorical white flag.”

Joseph laughs with me. I can’t remember the last time I genuinely laughed like that, to the point of my chest starting to hurt. I want to say something to continue the easy barter between us, but the vibration of my phone against my thigh and the music I selected for incoming messages playing ruin the moment. I look down and fish it out, frowning at the screen. “Shit. I have to go. Um, thank you for listening to me vomit up words, Joseph, I… yeah, I appreciate it.”

“You know you can always come here whenever you need someone to talk to. My hours are posted at the blackboard outside of the building, right next to the door. I hope you’ll feel a bit better. What you did today is an important step towards getting better. You admitted to yourself you have a problem and you sought out help.”

I look down at my hands, then at the door. Should I just go? Or should I wait until he has left? What if we both exit at the same time and he ends up seeing me?

Either I thought out loud, again, or Joseph could anticipate my question. “I will stay in here until you have left. I promise, I won’t peek, I won’t jump out and go back on my word. I hope to see, well, hear you again, Houdini.”

Awkwardly, I nod, then I push open the door. I wait for the sound of Joseph standing up and pushing open his, but the youth minister is silent and doesn’t seem to move, so I walk out of the box and down the aisle towards the door.

I don’t slow down until I reach my car.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The ringing of the doorbell pulled me out of my thoughts. Groggily I lift my head and contemplate whether I should go answer it or not, but I could hear Amanda’s footsteps and, knowing she’s got it, buried my face in the pillow again.

It was a male voice, that much I was able to tell through the closed door, but I couldn’t hear what the person was saying. I caught the word ‘cookies’ and frowned, but didn’t think any more of it until the door to my room burst open and Amanda was standing there, a plate with cookies in one hand, a flyer in the other.

“Who was that?” I asked her, trying to muster enough energy to sit up.

Amanda shoved a cookie into her mouth and grinned. “One of our neighbours. He brought us cookies. They’re okay, if a bit too sweet.”

“What did he want?”

“He just wanted to say hello and introduce himself. He actually asked if the parents are home, I told him parent, singular, and he got all flustered. But I said you weren’t home. Didn’t think you wanted to deal with anyone right now.”

She sat down on my bed and I pulled her close, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. “Thank you, panda,” I said quietly.

She offered me a cookie and I gratefully accepted it. It was the first solid thing I had consumed in the last two days.

“And what is that?” I pointed at the flyer.

“Oh, that.” Amanda handed it over. “Apparently the neighbours here like to barbeque. We’re invited. All the families in the cul-de-sac will show up, he said, a perfect opportunity for getting to know everyone.”

She looked at me expectantly, the worry clear and visible in her eyes. I kissed her temple and smiled when she wrinkled her nose in mock-disgust.

“We’ll see, dear. Now give me more cookies.”

I put the flyer aside on my bedside table.

Hours later, when I returned to my bedroom, I found myself looking at the paper again.

I didn’t go to the barbeque.

[mustinvestigate]

stream of consciousness headcanon…ish…thing…

...which owes entire countries’ national debts to @niceteeth-nastysmile‘s health & food canon post and @adistraughtthought‘s on MacCready’s teeth and why Lucy was just beyond brilliant.

And this is all fic-related ponderings of general standards of personal upkeep in post-apocalyptia and their divergence from vault or pre-war sensibilities and how exactly romance could surmount this, which doesn’t really earn “above the fold” status, so…

So it’s generally held in fandom lore that folk are too busy surviving to truck much with hygiene, a thought which derails the sexiness of many T+ fics before they start. Like, “We’ve been trekking across the desert nurturing a deadly two-person epidemic of UST and, oops, convenient cave-in, we’re trapped together…carrying several days’ worth of sweat and battle muck in non-breathable armor we seemingly never change, without water to drink or freshen up with, and, y’know, let’s just sit in opposite cave chambers and breathe through our mouths until rescue comes, ok?”

And a vault dweller or pre-war person would live in suspended state of horror at the miasma of human funk and yellowed snaggleteeth when they have any at all, unable to hold a civil conversation no matter how high their charisma stat. As for romancing, well…nope. Nope nope nope.

Except, in settlements at least, with more pooled resources and storage space and security to allow people to spend time on less essential tasks like making tallow soap and extra under-clothing to change regularly and water to wash clothing and bodies, they’d totally raise standards to at least those of a modern week-long camping trip, right? Being clean and in fresh clothing is one of those small achievable luxuries, on the level of toys and games or cards for communal entertainment, that makes a huuuuge difference in feeling like you’re living, not just surviving. And with teeth, well, humans have been cleaning their teeth (albeit sometimes in ways that could not have been kind to gums or enamel) since we’ve been human. Morning breath and stuck-in food bits have apparently always been pretty high on the short list of activities worth spending limited energy on fixing.

Also often found in human settlements? Doctors, or at least some form of medical-type professionals to push for improved sanitation and enough cleanliness to minimise the spread of disease, not to mention heal injuries or perform simple dentistry or help prevent/treat substance abuse and all sorts of other ailments that lead to one being unable to maintain a comfortable-ish body.

(Aside for ghouls: although they’re described in-game as smelling like rotting flesh, I call bullshit. The smell of rot comes from decay, and by definition, things which are decaying are in the process of existing increasingly…uh…less so. [I don’t know, I can’t word good today, ok? Ahem.] And since ghouls are canonically unplagued by senescence [see? Fancy words!], there’s no decay beyond a certain level of damage that would produce that particular offensive smell. And further still since the skin damage would probably render most of their sweat glands gone or non-functional anyway, they’d possibly even lack the traditional human eau du ew at the end of a hard day’s farming. Y’all just decided they smell bad because you don’t like how they look – real nice, post-apocalyptic humans. Real. Nice.)

People living outside of settlements, though…they might be a different story. Like, raiders? Forget it. You’d smell ‘em coming a mile away, where they may be gasping their last due to catastrophic bacterial infection from what started as a wee molar cavity. They’re not expending energy on small personal-upkeep luxuries, or value stealing them from those who do.

Non-sociopathic nomadic types, like traders or mercenaries or people who don’t have useful skills or can’t afford to buy into a settlement (however it works when there’s no pre-war savior throwing away land for free), where carrying space is very limited and they likely don’t have much time or energy for non-essential luxuries…yeah, they might be closer to what we picture as a standard post-apocalyptic citizen. Like…in today’s terms…your stereotypical European gap-year backpacker. You’d certainly bathe and wash clothes when the opportunity and supplies came to hand, but wouldn’t go out of your way unless your red and orange Maslows were all in the black, and if your yellow, green, and blue were already in the pink, why bother?

(Is that a coherent joke? Probably not. Requires googling. But we strike on!)

Hence, in a slightly roundabout way, we come to MacCready’s teeth, and, further, the impact therein on writing a romance with a pre-war character. Or, really, any of the romanceable companion options, but fanon, and Bethesda going out of their way to make him the only one with bad teeth, seem to hold that MacCready’s a special case. He grew up LARPing Lord of The Flies, defiantly proud that there were no adults to make them clean anything they didn’t want to, and he married a girl (brilliant doctor or not) who was part of the same culture and tolerant of near-toxic personal hygiene or at the very least, since they seemed to be on the road when she tragically died, was biding her time until they settled down to enforce better standards.

(And, seriously, Bethesda, just admit it’s the same character as the Lucy he was best buddies with instead of someone who just happened to have the same name…except that does mean that sweet girl died terribly…and now I no longer know what I want to believe. Huh.)

And a pre-war professional lady, one who’d’ve had to maintain a polished image as a non-negotiable element of her career, she’d get past this…how?

Actually…even writing this out, it still doesn’t seem insurmountable. For years, I shared a very small office with a large, manly fellow who didn’t wear deodorant, worked out before work, and ate a lot of fish-heavy lunches. It’s amazing how quickly the human nose shrugs and moves the goal-posts, particularly for lovely people you get on with, or when everyone around you’s more or less at the same level of smell, or when you’re also working out and coming in kinda sweaty and, you know, we’re all human here, right, why are we so dang picky?

And my version of Nora, for all she prefers pretty dresses and parties, isn’t averse to dirty fingernails. She was in the military, had all her hair shaved off and slogged through muddy obstacle courses and dug latrines and everything; she went hunting with her father and helped out in his plumbing shop, getting elbow-deep in animal viscera and worse. A filthy soldier-type would definitely be on her experience spectrum with probably no more judgement than welp, try to stay upwind when possible, even that forgotten after she’s been in the same outfit herself for a couple of weeks.

But the teeth, man, there’s something moreish about bad teeth, right? There’s not just the aesthetics of non-white, non-straight teeth (trust me…having moved to a country [unfairly] famous for poor-quality dentistry, I can report that uniformly white, straight chompers quickly become the weird-looking alternative) but the visceral reaction to class comma lack of, to an indicator not just of “poor” but “poor and not trying to do better.”

Like, I grew up what’s politely called white working class (in a family that mostly passes leisure time with drinking, Fox News, and stockpiling weapons of dubious origins, so, y’know, shruggy-emoticon), and you bet all of us cousins had braces. We were going to get good grades and have office jobs. Our parents were real touchy about terms like “redneck” or “okie” and wouldn’t admit to liking country music. There was something different about the kids who lived in the same area but didn’t get braces. We weren’t encouraged to make friends of them, and as for dating…well…the bad teeth on a significant other brought home would carefully, one could say pointedly, not be mentioned, but every other possible flaw would be.

In college, I dated a mysterious guy I met on Match.com, who wasn’t white and who had the worst teeth I’d ever seen in real life. They were somewhere between ferengi and pirate and I’m sad to say they were the first thing anyone would notice about him. We ended up dating for two bloody years, even talked about marriage, and the funny thing? I never found out what the deal was with those awful, awful teeth.

At first, I didn’t bring it up because, well…how bad did his childhood have to be, that no one made him brush, no one took out a loan to get him in braces? Like, bad teeth were so intrinsically linked with lower-class deprivation in my mind that I just could not even broach the topic with someone of a different ethnic background. And, anyway, he turned out to be solidly middle-class from birth, held two degrees and a software engineering cubicle job that required a tie, even on Fridays. And by that point, well…if the teeth were the first thing you noticed, the second was that he was bubbly and goofy and sweet, and when months later someone looked at a photo of us and asked, “Oh dear, what happened to that poor boy’s teeth?”, it genuinely took me a minute to figure out what she was talking about.

So, my conclusion: even when one’s brought up to see poor hygiene and bad teeth as viscerally, mockably horrifying…as romantic obstacles, they’re quite surmountable. Like, there’d be some half-hearted stocking up of new brushes and mouthwash, nagging to go see the dentist no I don’t care that your childhood dentist looked like Ted Bundy, and probably a collateral raising of their bathing frequency through shared living routines, and it’d be fine, you guys. Totally fine.

Anyway.

This is what happens after a few months without drinking, y’all. These are the brain cells that’d usually get culled off by the friendly gin hammer.

[scriptshrink]

Borderline Personality Disorder: Intense/Fluctuating emotions, personal experience

Hey there. I have borderline personality disorder, depression and bulimia. Figured I’d put all that time I’ve spent analysing my emotions and thinking patterns to good use and write up how I experience BPD. This relates to how I experience the intense and fluctuating emotions.

Reminder that this is all my personal experiences. They’re not universal amongst people with BPD. 

TW for cutting, suicidal thoughts, violent thoughts, violence, eating disorder, depression.

If I’m not feeling something really strongly, I’m feeling nothing. That ‘I don’t know how to like things casually’ post is really accurate. And if I feel nothing I’m really aimless and bored but without the drive to do something. I don’t tend to do anything unless someone else gives me something to do, my usual hobbies tend to be just as boring. Usually I end up sleeping or watching TV shows to pass time. A lot of my day to day life is finding distractions, because I’m bored. Always bored. So bored. To Do lists work really well for me because they give me things to do, rather than make me think them up on the spot. I guess I must have some kind of normal emotional reactions but I can’t think of any times where that happens, I’m bored. When that goes on too long, I’m tired/depressed. If something enjoyable happens, my day suddenly revolves around that or it’s fleetingly good and then I’m tired and bored. 

Below are the most common emotions that I have actual ‘episodes’ of. They tend to last at least five to ten minutes up to a few hours. Rarely, a standard high will last overnight/through a sleep. Both the depression moods can go from minutes to weeks. 

Highs: Standard, weird. (These are the terms I use to describe/differentiate between the types of high/up moods I experience.)

Standard highs are great. You know when you drink coffee for the first time and you get so wired? It’s a bit like that. My brain gets really energised and I come up with new ideas for things and start planning them out. I also work on existing projects, if I think to direct my energy to them, because the energy doesn’t really mind what I’m working on, creativity and drive is on 100%. Sometimes I talk a lot, in conversations or to myself. If I’m nattering to myself, I find it hard to stay on one topic, everything leads into something else or a new idea comes up and takes over. Physically, my heart sometimes races and I get a weird feeling of anticipation in my stomach. It’s really frustrating because it’s like something exciting is about to happen but nothing is and there’s no reason for it. Uh, if I’m talking to myself I tend to walk really fast, usually I kind of stroll everywhere but during highs I’m really power walking, not quite to breathlessness. I find that if I do the power walk and talking combo, when I stop walking for more than five or ten minutes the high goes away. Sometimes I clean, usually making a resolution that this time I’m going to get my life on track for real, organising everything, setting things up, maybe even cooking. Energy level wise, I feel like I could probably run a marathon but I never do much more physical than cleaning/fast walking. 

Weird highs: where I have ideas and weird but funny/important/interesting (at least to me) thoughts that I *need* to tell people. It usually leads to me spamming a couple of friends with FB messages, unless someone happens to be online and engages with something I say. Like, I might send someone thirty messages in an hour or two, starting with an idea for a business, fleshing this plan out, also do you watch Daredevil because I just started and its awesome, why do shows have love interests all the time, hey so I want to touch that body but not in the sex way??? Does that even make sense? It should make sense. Im taking you off the list of people I have a crush on and putting you back square in the friend list because I need room for daredevil. Why are there spiders in my room? This is really freaky. Theres a spider on my bed noopeeee. Never going to sleep again. Hey have you seen this tumblr post. It reminds me of you. Oh did you end up eating anything? You need to eat. Hey, how do you think zombies know to avoid walking though fire? Because they do seem to know in the walking dead, which suggests they have some kind of self preservation instinct. Unless they know there’s food in the fire, then they walk in. So not much self preservation. What part of the brain would need to be functioning for that? New project for holidays: an extensive report on the bodily functions of zombies and the necessary brain areas needed to achieve them, along with the resultant emotions that they could hypothetically be feeling. 

And so on and so forth. Usually with degenerating spelling and grammar. If, however, the person responded to say, ‘Do you watch Daredevil?’ with ‘omg yes, who is your favourite character?’ then the weird would probably be focused to Daredevil commentary. 

Weird highs tend to simply be less coherent, less productive and with an undertone of anxiousness or uncomfortable energy. Sudden loud noises or shadows or other scary/superstition things feel a lot more frightening. Like, I *will* be afraid the Joker is in my cupboard, especially at night. Think about it like a standard high being the energy that comes from downing a dozen energy drinks and a weird high is when you’re incredibly sleep deprived to the point where you’re past tired to energised.

Anger

Anger was actually the first thing that made me think I might have BPD. I’m not actually sure if it’s triggered by anything or my brain just randomly makes the switch but I go from zero to raging-enough-to-murder-you in like, ten seconds. Like, so much angry energy inside that I have to move. I shake my hands at my sides a lot (I also do that when I’m stressing out), again, lots of power walking and talking. Violent thoughts are really big when I’m overwhelmingly angry, sometimes I’ll self harm or want to self harm to try and let the anger out. I have this idea that I’m full to bursting with this energy and cutting will let some of it bleed out. Alternatively, everything and everyone pisses me the fuck off. Like, breathtakingly angry (for some reason that phrase always occurs to me when I’m mad). Best example is from when I was on a psych ward. There was this lady, A, who did not shut up. She’d talk about herself and her husband (switching between how good he was and how he’d abandoned her), telling everyone that they were beautiful and shouldn’t be on here, getting upset (although she never yelled). She did not stop. No one liked her much because she didn’t listen, just talked. And I didn’t like her either but I work in hospitality, I have an excellent customer service face. But one night I flipped into rage mode and was pacing the ward. Mad about most of the people, about the announcements that were always going on, about not being allowed to leave or being able to get outside. And I turned a corner, saw A at the other end of the hall and was utterly furious with her because she didn’t get the fucking message, she kept talking, just fucking say something A, I fucking dare you, I will rip your head off. I was 100% ready to try and break her neck if she talked to me, my hands were like…phantom urges to do it. And she walked past me and said I didn’t look okay and I said ‘I’m not’, and she obviously realised not to talk to me. So I went three or four laps of the ward wanting nothing more than to physically rip A’s head off and wondering if today would be the day I actually did something because I’m on a psych ward, why not? (Because even when that furious, I know the difference between legal and illegal so I am aware that I can’t actually use an insanity plea. Being borderline doesn’t erase your awareness/knowledge of things.) Then I saw one of the girls who was receiving involuntary ECT and she looked like crap and I started fantisizing about suffocating her, because I couldn’t think of a way to break her out of the ward and my anger had switched to the fact that she was being forced to have ECT. 

The anger mood can be good though, I tend to do my more active social justicey things in an angry state. Like letter writing or getting involved in debates. I rarely have the emotional spoons to get into conversations with centre/right wing people about politics anymore, unless I’m in an angry state. But there’s a line, sometimes the anger state becomes too much and tips over into feeling helpless rage and then I just end up spiralling from anger to depression because there’s nothing I can do. So anger can be good but it’s a fine thing.

One other thing. A few of sites I’ve visited suggest that people with BPD can have problems controlling anger. This isn’t something I have a problem with because I’m one of those people who overanalyses everything, which has helped me keep perspective. I think of my brain as split into two parts, subjective, which rules the roost, and objective, which is aware of what, why and how my subjective brain twists things and how I *should* be acting. I essentially logic myself through anger episodes because on one level I realise that my anger isn’t justified/relative to the situation. One of my psychs put it as ‘using intelligence to mitigate borderline personality’. I mention this because it was an interesting idea to me, often in fiction smart characters suffer from mental illnesses of some kind but I have never seen that intelligence used to combat it as well. 

Depression: Empty, Painful. (Again, these are just the terms I use to differentiate)

Depression is weird. When I received the diagnosis of BPD earlier this year, the doctors suggested that my depression was less severe than previously thought and was exacerbated by being borderline. I don’t know. Interesting thought about interactions, I guess? Anyway, being depressed works in one of two ways. Empty, which is like…being bored but worse? Aimless, no emotions, not sad, not seeing the point of anything. Not in a suicidal way, just that there seems no logical reason for anything. The thought of suicide is more because I need to *do* something, but nothing really has any point so might as well die. It’s more of a…a logical conclusion to a series of thoughts? Empty depressed is a bit like strapping on a backpack of rocks every time you try to do anything, physically things seem to take more effort. But there’s not really a corresponding emotional heaviness. I feel like I should be sad, and sometimes I *do* get sad (not depressed, just sad), but it really is nothingness. I tend to sleep a lot when I feel like this.

Painful depression is a whole different kettle of fish. That hurts a lot, emotionally. I often feel like there’s something in my chest that’s hurting, but also like a vacuum, and I tend to do things to try and protect that area. Cross my arms or put something heavy on my chest (I love weighted blankets for that). Mostly I’ll go to bed and curl in a ball with my arms/toys/pillow/a wadded blanket/something pressed into my chest. If I cry, I’ll silently scream into the exhalations until I haven’t got any breath left. It’s all trying to dig whatever the feeling is out of my chest. Self loathing really digs its claws in as well, some of which is due to eating disorder thinking. Painful depression and eating disorder thinking like to go hand in hand. Physically, energy isn’t really a thing. Mainly because the emotional hurt makes it feel too hard to do anything. Lots of blasting music when I’m like this. Sometimes I binge watch TV, but usually that’s too hard and I don’t feel like I want to. Painful depression is when suicidal thoughts become a real danger for me, because it’s an emotional drive to make the pain stop, rather than a more intellectual reasoning. 

Episodic vs. Everyday thinking. 

Something I feel like I need to add, especially after the anger part. None of what I think/feel when I’m in an extreme is different to what I would think/feel normally. They’re just about 1000 times more intense than usual. I always have some level of ‘There’s a monster in my cupboard’ fear or ‘I want to stab this person in the face’ anger because these are things that I, personally, think and feel normally. The difference between the ‘baseline’ emotion and a borderline episode (for want of a better word) is the intensity of the emotion. During an episode, the feeling is dialled right up so the corresponding thoughts become a lot more central and a lot less casual.

Example: Fear.

Scene: I’ve missed a call from my parents. I call back. No one answers.

Baseline thought: What if someone’s died? Haha yeah right. You know, I’ll feel really bad if someone has died and I just laughed. I didn’t mean it. 

Borderline thought: What if someone’s died? What if Mum’s been in a car crash or Dad’s had a heart attack? Why isn’t anyone picking up? (I’m probably calling both of my parents and the home phone at this point) Oh my god, I don’t want my dad to die. Why isn’t anyone answering me, what’s happened? What if they were all driving to the city and had a car crash and everyone’s dead? I’ll miss them so much. They won’t get to see me graduate. I’ll never watch tv with dad again. Mum won’t ever make dinner or give me a backstretch again. I don’t have this relationship with anyone else, I can’t do this without them. (I don’t cry much but I’d be feeling very much like crying because by this point some part of me is convinced that my parents are dead. This is also partially me catastophising- imagining the worst possible outcome without evidence.)

Example: Anger

Scene: Someone is walking slowly in front of me.

Baseline thought: I will stab u holy shit, why are you walking so slow? No, be patient, it’s alright. Chillax, life is a journey. I still want to stab him. Yeah, but does walking slowly really deserve death? It’s all good. You aren’t in a rush.

Borderline thought: Fucking fucker I will fucking stab you oh my god, hurry the fuck up. Right in the back, slide the knife in between your vertebrae. (Lots of visualising said stabbing, probably clenching a fist/pretending to hold a knife by my side). 

[Thank you for sharing your experiences. - Shrink]