#and they thrive that way without needing to look out for things like social cues/other's perceptions/the will of a ���majority”

[einsatzzz]

art time-lapse of this piece that i posted in IG b4 to try out doing reels. i really like how this turned out overall plus "yasashii suisei" (link for eng tl) really fit the vibes so im queueing this here too

[gmanwhore]

Ok ok. My personal headcanons on the neighbours. These are the guys who live in Sunshine Terrace, my version of the apartment. I am using visual clues and also what I find personally interesting. I am also putting my sexuality and gender (and pronouns) headcanons here because I CAN. Warning for period relevant bigotry, especially with Gloria, mentions of SA for Francis, mentions of murder for Mclooy, mentions of grooming also for Mclooy, and mentions of suicide. Also for Mclooy.

Roman: (he/him, she/her ONLY to Lois, Trans woman lesbian and HEAVILY closeted.)

Ok so. He works as a public accountant so I am assuming he makes enough to be comfortable and afford his apartment and some nice things for him and his wife. He looks serious and roughed up, so I do believe he grew up in a rougher part of town and managed to work his way through college to have a more comfortable job. He wears pretty well the exact same suit as Arnold so I think they have some similarities in temperament. He loves his wife, he obviously buys her at least one outfit that's high fashion and I just like the idea of a gruff person having someone they truly feel comfortable around. He's still frugal with his money since he learned that from a young age (poor family) but he's responsible. Probably hides a lot of his emotions.

Lois: (she/her, cis lesbian) Lois has very big features. She's short but everything on her is big. Big lips, round body, whole thing. She's also wearing an outfit that is very high fashion for the time, pioneered by specifically a female designer, Coco Chanel. She I definitely see her as someone who is loud, never backs down, always speaks her mind, and knows a bit about everything. She is an acquired taste, sure, but she's bold and outgoing and LOVES to gossip. My high femme girlie. I also think she adores her husband. They are healthy.

Albertsky: (he/him, cis aroace man) Albertsky does his job and nothing more. His hard stare and solid, brick like design kind of lends itself to someone who knows what is good for him and what isn't. He has no time for extras, he does what he has to. Reliable, but isn't going to bend himself backwards for someone he doesn't care about. Also ties into Robertsky a bit but he is living with his brother for a) cost reasons b) ease and c) he is Robertsky's caretaker technically. There's no hard feelings there he does care about Robertsky.

Robertsky: (he/him, cis bisexual man) Robertsky is also blunt, but more in his actions and not his words. Personally I headcanon him as a semiverbal autistic person, which is a reason he lives with his brother. He's awkward in social settings but he really gets in his zone making shoes and that's what he likes to do. He's not all that rude either, just struggles with cues. It adds to his charm though because if he doesn't like someone or something he will avoid that, but if he likes someone or something you bet your lucky stars he's stuck to it like glue.

Angus: (he/him, cis bisexual man) Angus is a sleazeball. Look at him and tell me that guy isn't looking for a way to scam everyone he meets. He doesn't really care about other people, he only puts his own needs first and he thrives off attention, good or bad. He just sucks.

Elenois: (she/her, he/him (in drag) bisexual genderqueer person) Elenois, being the first on the file for 01-04 kind of lends herself to being the "older" twin, so I see her as being colder and less out there. She is still very dependent on Selenne and a lot of her life does revolve around being with her, but she has other things besides being the other Sverchtz twin. She values her own self expression, and that's why. Drag king. It allows her to express another part of herself without Elenois Sverchtz being affected by her decisions. She does care about her reputation, of course, she just needs freedom.

Selenne: (she/her, cis bisexual woman) Selenne is the more outgoing twin, but she's also the more clingy one. She takes her role as a twin to heart and struggles to not be just Selenne Sverchtz. So much of her life is centered around keeping Elenois happy and safe at the detriment of her own well being because she doesn't know anything else. She also takes her reputation very seriously and makes sure nothing can ruin it, even if it makes her upset. The Sverchtzs are just the Squid Sisters from Splatoon in this essay I will-

Arnold: (he/him, trans straight man) Arnold cares. So deeply. That's just an in game fact, instead of freaking out about his own safety he wants to ensure everyone is out and not eaten. He's friendly and outgoing, probably the guy you can go to about your problems and he'll give the advice he has. He loves Gloria the most, though, and her comfort and safety comes first for him. He's actually pretty trusting of others, though. He believes that most people are good.

Gloria: (she/her, trans demibisexual woman) Gloria is very quiet and reserved, not one to gossip or really do anything that would draw too much attention to her. She definitely comes from a rich family and has known a good amount of comfort her whole life, but isn't very trusting of others since she works in a sector where she is interacting with people or a regular basis in a time period where being any part of herself could get her hurt or killed. She does her job, she goes home, she talks to people she trusts and no one else. Arnold really balances her out, making sure she doesn't just lock herself in the apartment. She adores her husband, he is the safest person out there and he makes her smile.

Izaack: (he/him, cis gay asexual man) Izaack is a person who you think you know everything about. He's charming, kind, and sweet and sugar. He loves hearing all the gossip from the ladies, he loves updates of every kind, he just loves being in conversations! Then you realize you actually know nothing about him. He's never talked about himself. The kind, sweet man is a front, but not untrue. He just uses his personality as a shield so people can't get in to hurt him. He's heard he rumors about him and has a very hard time trusting people.

Margarette: (she/her, cis poly lesbian) Margarette gives me the vibes of just. So many older women in my life. She holds no punches and will complain about you, but she isn't afraid to do it to your face. Still, she always has a place for you and will listen to anything you need to tell her, hell, she'll drop off things you need without you asking because she knows damn well you aren't going to ask. She doesn't take shit from people and she doesn't take "oh I'm fine", she wants the people she cared about to be as happy as they can be. But still, she is very kind and is always thinking about you and always has a little treat or something soft for you. She cares deeply even if she's a bit crass about it. Also. Look at me. SHE IS AN OLDER WOMAN WHO IS A SEAMSTRESS AND ISN'T CONVENTIONALLY ATTRACTIVE AND SHE LIVES NEXT TO A SINGLE MOTHER. SHE IS A LESBIAN. SHE LIKES WOMEN.

Nacha: (he/she/they genderqueer lesbian) Nacha is an open book. She has spent SO MUCH of her life squishing herself into a box she is going to tell the doorman good morning every morning, she is going to laugh and cry and yell and live and she really doesn't care. She loves with her whole heart, which means if you break it, it hurts her more than anything. Still, if you can get past how loud she is she is wonderful to be around. She tries her best to accommodate people and tries very hard not to push but she gets easily frustrated when people don't show affection back (cough cough Francis) because she tries. So hard. She is the trier.

Anastacha: (she/her, doesn't know yet but there is a cute girl at her school...) Yeah Ana is an angsty teen who says "whatever" a lot but. But have you considered. She still wears pigtails that go out the side of her head and is also being raised by Nacha. She looks like her dad, but the main influence in her life is Nacha who doesn't want to have to regulate herself anymore. Anastacha is silly. She is playful. She's tired and probably has clinical depression from her dad but she is SILLY. Let her make jokes and have fun with her mom and be ironicly stereotypical. Also she does love her mom and doesn't really care about her dad.

Mia: (she/her, trans straight woman) Mia doesn't like people prying into her life. She likes to keep herself away from other people and doing her own thing. She is engaged to Afton because he is like that as well. She is good at keeping secrets. That is all you need to know.

W: (he/him, cis straight man) Afton also hates people prying into him life but he does have something to hide. It's not like he cares if it ruins him or anything (he isn't going to stop) but he just hates people knowing. He keeps to himself just fine. He is a horrible liar though.

Francis: (he/him (she/her later) trans bi lesbian woman) Francis is too actually, clinically depressed to have a personality. He doesn't feel good in his body from a) being different from his family and b) that one incident on his old route that has scarred him for life and is probably why he ended up in two different exploitative relationships because he doesn't value his own body. He's just. What you see is what you get and what you see is a man who hasn't slept in a week yet lays in his bed for hours doing nothing.

Steven: (any, genderqueer objectum aromantic pansexual) Steven comes across as cold and sullen but really. He has resting B| face. He's heard to crack open, but once you do you can find someone who is very passionate about his interests. It's mostly planes. He loves making model planes, it keeps his hands busy and his mind off other things. He also just doesn't really care about what other people think of him, he already knows he's done horrible things (former war plane pilot) so really. Who goes a shit if he cuts his hair weird or wears a dress or kisses his plane (Nathan). He literally just wants to be happy.

Mclooy: (he/him, aromantic pansexual) Mclooy. Isn't that good of a person gonna be honest. He's also a former soldier (from when he was sixteen) and can never shake when that ingrained in him. He has had four wives (first one was when he was about to go to war and he wasn't allowed to see her again by her parents, second divorced him for being violent and rude, third had a breakdown and shot herself and almost shot Steven, and the fourth left him because yet again he wasn't a good partner). He struggles with talking about his issues and makes jokes about it. He does have PTSD from both the war and his wife's suicide, but also from.the fact he shot a man who had started a relationship with him when he first became a soldier and Mclooy was sure was going to start harming Steven and buried him in the backyard. Yeah. He like to pretend he's fine. He's also a dirty old man I'm sorry he just. He just is.

Alf: (he/him, cis straight man) Alf genuinely could not care less about other people. I do think he's a prosecutor, he's just so good at pointing out he flaws in other people. Again from dialogue he is quick to point fingers and probably doesn't feel like certain things can be changed. He also just doesn't consider how his actions affect other people, especially how his humour and comments affect his wife. I genuinely think they are the least healthy married couple.

Rafttellyn: (she/her, doesn't know yet) Rafttellyn is used to having money. She has spent her whole life preparing to be a housewife. She's not that big of a gossip but she loves talking about people behind their backs because she doesn't have the spine to say it to their face, but also finds a certain feeling of power by being able to say what she wants. She really just feels trapped. She doesn't like the backhanded comments Alf makes about small things like her cooking or weight, and she definitely doesn't like that he jokes with his friends about how much he wishes he could get someone younger. She really just has no self esteem.

[sol-consort]

As much as you love the fact that humans are a sociable and communal species, I'm sure you're going to love the Angara.

Their society is based on the expression of emotions, being open and governed by well-being, not only physical and social but also psychological.

They have huge families where they are not even related by blood. And when a new couple forms, they literally merge the families' surnames.

You're absolutely right on the money! The more I'm learning about angara the more I'm falling in love with them.

The fact they wear their hearts on their sleves but are never naive. The fact they are so emotional intelligence and consider it the norm to voice their feelings out loud even if it causes disagreements because it let's people work through it.

Humanity is a constant masquerade, all the invisible tests and social cues. The angara literally defy a lot of the things we have stubbornly latched on into because of our fears.

We play hard to get, we lie about our feelings, we isolate and ghost people rather than face then head on. We downplay how much we love someone, we rarely hand out compliments.

We consider the first person who says "I love you" in a relationship to be the losing one. Love is war in humans. A constant test and guesswork.

So for the angara to come and simply...speak everything out loud? Without fear of embarrassment or rejection? It will intimidate so many humans.

The way Jaal complimented Peebee so openly and Cora tried to make him embarrassed about it but his only reaction was to compliment her too and she fell silent. We have to be constantly under 13 layers of irony to function, otherwise we die from embarrassment and shame.

Fuck when Jaal talked about having many mothers, I melted in my chair. Not only are they so beautiful looking with skin that reminds of galaxy and stars as their white markings, but they are so filled with love for each other.

Because at the end of the day, love is why any of us even bothers living. Be it love for one's children, or love for your passion work. Even love for another or simple love like videogames or dogs.

If love didn't exist, life wouldn't be worth living. We want to live and not just survive, we fall in love with the universe, art, concepts, and people constantly.

But none of us speaks it. And none of the speices in mass effect are bold enough to confess it. The closest ones were the humans with their enthusiasm and clear burning passion but even then, we let out actions speak our love rather than our words.

So, for the angara to come and achieve everything we've written millions of psychology guides for just naturally? The fact there was a couple clearly hugging each other and confessing their love inside the military resistance base so openly and their commander never barked at them to let go or stop? It's truly the alienating experience.

I envy them man. They have the social structures that humanity wished it had, constantly dreamed about but could never commit to. Because of our pride, our ego and fears.

I like to think the reason Ryder agrees to help the angara so much, not just to earn their trust but because humans see the angara and immediately have this urge to protect them.

They're so beautiful inside and out, so filled with love and acceptance for one another. So interested in their own community and safety. Fuck, the fact they need the sun to thrive is so poetic, they're like this beautiful garden of roses amidst such harsh environments. Of course, humans are gonna build a greenhouse to keep them alive during the winter. Are you kidding?

humans are such simps for these things.

Also, it is funny how the Angara and Protheons are on extreme opposite poles of one another.

[bioticbooty]

15 questions for 15 friends

Tagged by @pigeontheoneandonly!

ARE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?: My birth name, no. My coming out as they gayest fucker without a gender you've ever met, yes, but oddly, after myself??? Because I decided to write a self-insert (SaOS) and writing my birth name felt WRONG (for reasons I didn't understand at the time) so I made a new name that felt "right," examined those feelings over the course of a decade, and when it came time to change my name, I already had one thanks to my weird Mass Effect-loving, fanfiction-writing, stumbling-into-an-epiphany-yet-completely-missing-it self. In other words, I named myself before I knew who I was.

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?: Saturday, April 6, between 7:30 pm and 9:15 pm, watching Star Trek: Discovery Season 5, episodes 1 and 2

DON'T LOOK AT ME

DO YOU HAVE KIDS?: I have zero offspring and sometimes I feel a way about it and sometimes I don't.

WHAT SPORTS DO YOU PLAY/HAVE YOU PLAYED?: Track. And I am also going to include marching band because we walked for MILES with HEAVY INSTRUMENTS wearing SHITTY SHOES THAT ARE DEFINITELY NOT MADE FOR HIKING and WOOL UNIFORMS in the fucking HEAT (and also in the cold, in which case we were stuffing little heat buddies into the toes of our shoes).

I do not play a sport now. But I do go on little mental health walks and occasionally hike a volcano.

DO YOU USE SARCASM?: Not once in my entire life.

WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?: How they look at other people. Which is such an incredibly autistic thing, but I fucking studied the shit out of how other people communicated with and looked at other people around them in an attempt to understand it myself because I was always missing these cues that everyone else acted as if they were immediately obvious to the point they didn't need to be said. Communication became one of my special interests as a way to understand and survive in social situations.

WHAT'S YOUR EYE COLOUR?: Hazel. When I was 17 and on a picnic with a friend I was incredibly gay for (but who was tragically straight), she gazed into my eyes as the sun sparkled around us and said my eyes looked like sunflowers in a meadow.

Naturally, I fucking love sunflowers.

SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?: Happy endings. Both are good, and scary movies can have happy endings too, but I like soft and kind stories more where people don't have to suffer in order to experience or earn joy.

ANY TALENTS?: Writing (though writing that makes me feel an imposter), cooking, building, and the ability to stand in a room and spatial reason the shit out of it without moving a muscle to come up with the perfect layout.

WHERE WERE YOU BORN?: Portland, OR

WHAT ARE YOUR HOBBIES?: Writing, reading, painting, home improvement, gardening, photography, rock-hounding, traveling, being a professional asshole.

DO YOU HAVE ANY PETS?: Three cats!

HOW TALL ARE YOU?: 5'6"

FAVOURITE SUBJECT IN SCHOOL?: I loved history and literature the most at the time.

DREAM JOB?: I don't know. This is a complicated question. I don't like that jobs are tied to our ability to thrive. I like doing a lot of different things, and most of those things at the rate I like to do them are not sustainable for paying my bills. It's hard to divorce "dream job" from the hellscape that is living under late-stage capitalism, where everything we do is monetized and categorized according to how productive we are. In which case, the job I have now as a labor organizer, actively combatting this system, is my dream job. But I wish I didn't have to do it and I wish it didn't exist.

No pressure tags: @cr-noble-writes, @pushingsian, @therev28, @eletaniia, @galtori, @mrsd-writes, @rotschopf-thedrow, @swaps55, and anyone else who feels so inclined

[hygieiahub]

Unmasking Social Anxiety and the Pressure to Fit In

It’s Halloween season, and you know what that means—costumes, candy, and pretending to be someone (or something) else for the night! 🎃 But for some of us, the masks we wear aren’t just for spooky parties; we put them on all year round, especially when we’re trying to fit in at school or social events.

Ever felt like you’re not being “you” just to fit in with a certain group? Like you’re putting on a disguise that’s far scarier than any zombie or vampire costume? Well, you’re not alone. A lot of high schoolers struggle with social anxiety and the pressure to fit in, which makes it feel like we have to wear a mask just to be accepted.

The “Mask” of Social Anxiety 👻

Let’s talk about social anxiety—a ghostly feeling that haunts you in social situations. It’s that voice inside your head whispering, “What if they don’t like me?” or “What if I say something awkward?” It can make even the most fun events, like Halloween parties or school dances, feel like a walk through a haunted house—nerve-wracking.

With social anxiety, many of us feel like we need to wear a mask to hide our true selves. We act like we’re super confident when we’re really freaking out inside. Or we laugh at jokes we don’t find funny just to avoid standing out. It’s like becoming a character in a Halloween horror movie, except it’s real life, and instead of scaring others, we’re scared of being judged.

The Pressure to “Fit In” 🎭

Halloween is all about wearing masks, but sometimes the pressure to fit in makes us feel like we’re stuck wearing one every day. Whether it’s the pressure to dress a certain way, say the right things, or attend every party, trying to blend in can leave you feeling like a werewolf in sheep's clothing.

Social media doesn’t help either. When everyone’s posting their perfect Halloween costumes, group pics, or party highlights, it can feel like you’re missing out (cue the FOMO!). You might think, “If I don’t go to this party, people will think I’m weird,” or “I need to act more outgoing so I don’t look lame.” But remember, wearing a social mask for too long can get exhausting, like running from a monster that keeps catching up to you.

The Real Monster: Inauthenticity 🧟‍♂️

Here’s the scariest part of wearing a mask all the time: you start to lose track of who you really are. Social anxiety feeds off inauthenticity. The more you hide your true self, the harder it gets to remember what that even looks like. It’s like being trapped in a haunted maze, where every turn leads to more confusion about what you actually enjoy or who you really want to be friends with.

Being authentic—that is, being true to yourself—might sound scary at first, but it’s the key to breaking free from the pressure to fit in. Think of it as unmasking your real self, even if it feels vulnerable at times. After all, the people who matter most are the ones who like you for who you truly are, not the mask you wear.

Tricks for Ditching the Mask 🎃

So, how do we deal with social anxiety and the pressure to fit in without wearing a mask 24/7? Here are a few tricks (and treats) to help you embrace your authentic self:

Face Your Fears (Like a True Halloween Hero): Social anxiety thrives on avoidance. The more you avoid social situations out of fear, the scarier they become. Instead, start small—attend a smaller gathering, or challenge yourself to speak up in class. Little by little, you’ll find that the fear doesn’t haunt you as much.

Wear the Right Costume: And by this, we mean choose the role you want to play in life. Don’t force yourself into friendships or social groups that don’t feel right. If it feels like you’re wearing a costume that doesn’t fit, take it off! Find people who appreciate the real you, whether you’re into sports, drama, gaming, or even (gasp!) studying.

It’s Okay to Say No: This one’s important. You don’t have to attend every event, party, or hangout to be accepted. Sometimes, saying no to things that drain your energy or make you uncomfortable is the best way to protect your mental health. Don’t be afraid to give your social battery a break!

Be a Ghostbuster: If social anxiety feels like it’s haunting you too often, don’t hesitate to reach out for help. A school counselor, therapist, or trusted friend can help you learn how to face these fears without wearing a mask. Remember, you don’t have to fight the monster alone!

Celebrate Your Authenticity (No Mask Required) 🎉

This Halloween, instead of just dressing up for fun, why not take the chance to unmask yourself in real life? Embrace your quirks, your interests, and your true personality. After all, authenticity is way more powerful than any costume or disguise you could put on. The people who matter will love you for the real, unmasked you—and that’s no trick!

So while you’re enjoying the spook-tacular festivities this season, remember: the scariest thing isn’t being yourself—it’s hiding who you are behind a mask. 👻

Happy Halloween, and here’s to unmasking your awesomely authentic self! 🎃

-hygieia's saint

[projectlandscapeltd]

Landscaping Tips That Will Make Your Home Showcase-Worthy

Have you ever walked by a home and thought, "Wow! That yard is gorgeous" or "I'm so jealous of that plant!"? If so, then you're not alone. While most people think about how nice their home looks on the inside, landscaping can make all the difference when it comes to curb appeal. These tips are designed to help you get started in creating an outdoor space that will make your home stand out from others in your neighborhood while also providing a relaxing place where family and friends can enjoy spending time together.

Planting a tree or shrub along the front of your home.

Planting a tree or shrub along the front of your home can add curb appeal to your property. Trees and shrubs are great for adding privacy, as well as value, to your home. They also provide shade during hot summer days and serve as a natural barrier against harsh weather conditions such as strong winds or heavy rainfalls.

If you want to make sure that everything is taken care of when it comes time for landscaping work around your house (and who doesn't?), hiring professionals can help ensure that all projects go smoothly--and quickly!

Use colorful plants and flowers to add interest to your yard.

The next time you're out looking for plants and flowers for your backyard, think about using a variety of colors. This will make your home stand out from the rest.

The best way to do this is by using plants that are native to your area. They'll be able to thrive in their natural environment, which means they'll need less maintenance than other types of plants would require. And since they're already used to living there, they won't need much help adjusting when they get transplanted into someone else's yard!

You should also consider using different shapes and textures in your landscaping--like tall trees alongside shorter shrubs--so that it doesn't look too perfect or boring (which can happen when everything matches). If possible, try adding some height variation between different areas within one garden bed; this helps add interest without making things look too chaotic!

Create a focal point in your yard.

As you look around your yard, think about what could be the focal point. It's important that this area has enough space around it and a good view. You also want to make sure that it doesn't block any windows and can be seen from the street so that people know where to find you!

Consider adding a water feature to your landscape design.

A water feature is a great addition to your yard. It can add a calming effect to the property, provide a focal point for your landscape design and help keep weeds at bay.

Water features are especially beneficial when they're located near walkways or driveways because they help guide people through their surroundings by providing visual cues along the path that lead them back home.

Incorporate some edging around flower beds and other areas of the yard.

Edging is a great way to define the borders of your flower beds and vegetable gardens, as well as any other areas that you want to make look neat and tidy. You can choose from many different types of edging material, including stone and brick. If you have a large yard with lots of flowers or vegetables, consider using multiple colors so that each section stands out on its own but also blends in with the whole landscape.

If you're new to gardening, here are some tips for picking out edging:

Choose materials that match your style and budget--you don't need an expensive stone pathway if all it needs is some wood planks!

Don't forget about safety considerations when using metal products around children or pets; they might chew on them if they're not properly secured!

Install a patio or deck so that you can entertain guests outside on nice days!

If you're looking to make your home show-worthy, a patio or deck is a great place to start. Patios and decks can be used for dining, socializing, relaxing and entertaining guests. They can also be used as an extension of your living space--a place where you can enjoy time with family or friends without having to go inside the house every time you want some fresh air. A patio/deck offers many options for materials such as wood (lumber), composite or concrete which will allow you to customize its appearance however suits your taste best!

Make sure plants are spaced appropriately.

The last thing you want is for your plants to get stressed out, so make sure they're spaced appropriately so that they get enough light without crowding each other out!

Planting too close together can cause problems. Plants with large leaves or flowers will shade out the smaller ones and prevent their growth. In turn, this can lead to unhealthy plants and even death in extreme cases. The same goes for planting too far apart: if you have too much space between each plant then it won't be able to receive enough nutrients from the soil (especially if there's no fertilizer being used).

Project Landscape is a Calgary landscaping company that offers everything you need for your home or business's exterior—from fences to landscaping. Here you can find all the information you need about landscaping Calgary, fences Calgary and more. We're here to make sure that you get what you need, when you need it. We'll help you design your dream space from scratch, or update an existing landscape. Whatever your needs are, we've got you covered.

Project Landscape 3511 64 Ave. SE, Calgary, AB T2C 1N3 +1 403-257-4059 https://www.projectlandscape.ca/

[plus-size-reader]

Curfew

Randy Meeks x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 3065 words

Warnings: none

Summary: The reader struggling when the curfew is put into place, but Randy has an idea that could make it a little better.

—————————————————————————————————

You were bored.

Woodsboro wasn’t a super happening place to begin with but now that the curfew was in place, it was even worse.

There was nothing to do, and with the additional stress that these recent murders had put on everyone, you were about to blow. The boys could see it, Tatum and Sidney could see it, and most important, Randy could see it.

It was only a matter of time before you absolutely lost it.

Your parents were taking this whole thing extra hard and basically had you on complete lockdown outside of attending school. They couldn’t imagine going through what Casey and Steve’s parents were going through right now, and they were scared.

Which was fair enough.

Everyone was scared right now, but you didn’t understand how putting you under house arrest was going to keep you any safer than you would be anywhere else. Casey was killed at home, after all?

If anything, you would be much safer in a group setting than you would be locked up in your house alone. Still, your parents had made themselves very clear where this topic was concerned. You were absolutely forbidden from attending Stu’s party, or any other party until the curfew was lifted.

It just made everything that much worse.

Parties, especially Stu’s parties, were one of the only things you were looking forward to as of late. Knowing that you couldn’t go to them was really starting to wear on you, and you were understandably let down by the whole thing.

...but it wasn’t just that.

Getting together with a big group of people, your age and ready to party, was an escape for you. With so much uncertainty going on and everything falling apart at the seams, you needed that normalcy to feel human again.

Not that you could really complain about that to anyone who could actually do something about it.

You knew that there was a very real danger out there and the only way to really be safe would be to stay inside your home where no one could get you but you just felt like your folks were taking it a little too seriously.

If everyone else was going to be out anyway, what different was it going to make, really? If anything, it made you a bigger target because you were one of the only people stuck in your house while everybody else was together.

To you, the logic was sound but to them, it was little more than a pathetic excuse to get out of the town’s mandated curfew.  

Which it kind of was, but you couldn’t help but feel like they were being unreasonable. You were a smart, responsible young woman and you weren’t going to take any stupid, unnecessary risks. You just wanted to maintain some level of normal life.

You were tired of being stuck at home like a rat in a cage, never allowed to go out and do anything. It was a stark contrast to how you normally were, with a thriving social life and active party presence.

It was almost as if you were dead too, not to be dramatic.

This was just hard on you, and they weren’t making it any easier. You had to rely on your friends, now more than ever, and they were basically cutting off any contact you had with them to lunch at school and quick phone conversations.

No one would have just taken that and been happy with it. Certainly not within your tight knit group of friends.

You sighed, fiddling with your pen as you tried to remember all the things you needed to get done when you got home. You knew well enough to know that if you didn’t write it down now, you would never remember it all.

With everything else on your mind, school seemed like the least of your worries.

You were so enthralled, in fact, tapping your pen away on the table that you didn’t even notice at first when Randy came up and sat down beside you, taking note of how unhappy you were about everything going on right now.

He couldn’t blame you.

The male at your side was perfectly aware of how excited you had been for the parties the recent nice weather was bound to bring, and equally as aware of how bummed you were that your parents had put a kibosh on the latest shindig before it even had a chance to begin.

“You okay?” he hummed, startling you just a bit when you looked up to see him already sitting at your side, but the racing in your chest calmed down just as quick. No one really knew who was responsible for all these terrible murders but you knew in your heart it wasn’t Randy.

You had known him all your life and even if he was a little strange, he was the sweetest guy in Woodsboro. He wasn’t some natural born killer or a sociopath on a killing spree.

“Honestly, if I have to think about this anymore, my brain might explode” you allowed, leaning slightly into his side to take some of the pressure off your aching, tight muscles as you kept focus on your schedule.

All this stress had to be bad for your body.

Tatum seemed to think so, at least, warning you that if you didn’t learn to decompress somehow you were going to go prematurely grey and get crows feet under your eyes. While you weren’t sure how much you trusted her endless cosmo knowledge, you certainly didn’t feel the greatest.

This was all just a lot for one person to juggle.

Randy could see that much.

He had been watching you all day, moping around that you wouldn’t be allowed to go to Stu’s party and worrying about a huge midterm you had to take for your english class that would physically make or break your grade.

You were spreading yourself way too thin. Luckily, he had an idea of just how he could help you feel a little bit better without breaking your parents' rules.

He just wasn’t so sure you’d go for it once you found out just what he had in mind.

“I was thinking, maybe you’d wanna come over to my place later? I have tonight off so we could watch a movie or something?” he offered, trying not to come across as painfully awkward as he felt. Randy was your friend, and usually could talk to you no problem but what he was proposing was different.

The two of you had never really hung out, just the two of you, before.

You nodded, not even looking up from your notebook as you scribbled something down in black ink, likely a reminder to do your calculus homework based on the way your brow knit together as you formed the letters.

You were preoccupied, too in your head to really consider what was going on but he certainly wasn’t.

Randy was aware of every little movement you made, from the way your nose scrunched up as you concentrated on making sure all the due dates and assignments were right on your calendar to the way your shoulder rested gently against his side.

“Who else did you invite? You know Tatum always complains about the movies you pick” you reminded, thinking over all the times the six of you had tried to watch movies together in the past. She got bored of psychological thrillers and grossed out at the gorey slashers.

She was much more of a Meg Ryan fan herself, constantly pulling for the cheesy romance flicks that made you want to ralph. You couldn’t put it past her to make Randy grab a couple of sappy videos too, just in case.

If she was going to be involved in movie night, you were sure you’d have to shoot down a few of those crappy comedies before you could watch anything worthwhile.

Randy sighed lightly, doing his best to keep you from noticing as he thought about what his next move was. Clearly, you’d missed the point of what he was asking entirely, not that he could blame you.

He had never really been good at asking out pretty girls, especially not ones he;d known since he was in elementary school, so this was new for him as well. He just sort of hoped that you would catch his drift early so he wouldn’t have to clarify out loud.

The last thing he wanted to do was put you on the spot and make you uncomfortable.

“Oh, I was actually hoping it could just be the two of us. I know it's no Stu Macher party but it could be fun” he shrugged, this time almost wishing a giant hole would open up from under him so that he didn’t have to have this conversation.

He wanted you to say yes, of course, more than anything but he just wasn’t sure if it was going to happen and if it wasn’t, he wanted to know early on.

At least then he could have some dignity in this whole thing.

You stopped writing for a second, letting the meaning of his words sink in as you sat there, your left leg bouncing up and down to try and keep up with the racing of your thoughts. It had been going nonstop since you sat down, but now, it was just resting against his.

Was Randy hitting on you?

Randy Meeks, your childhood best friend who had never once made a move on you aside from calling you pretty in your winter formal dress in middle school?

It didn't seem likely, but it was also hard to misinterpret his words. That was about as cut and dry as a date invite could be, and if it had been coming from anyone else, Tatum and Sid would have surely confirmed it for you if you asked.

Not that you could ask either of them right now.

“You wanna watch a movie tonight? Just you and me, at your house?” you clarified, setting your notebook down beside you without a second thought in favor of looking him in the eye.

He was uncertain for a second, trying to read any cues of how you were feeling about that from your own expression but found nothing there, so he nodded.

“Like a date?” you hummed, the words barely leaving your lips as you spoke them, feeling silly at having to clarify at all but you couldn’t help it. If he wasn’t meaning it in that way and you took it like that, you risked making an even bigger ass of yourself.

...but if he did, you needed to know that too.

There was a light blush on his freckled face as he considered his options before he nodded again, giving you all the information you needed. Randy was definitely hitting on you, now all you had to do was decide if you wanted to.

A movie could be fun.

You and Randy had watched a hundred movies together before, with you sometimes staying after hours at the video store while he closed to just see the ending of Frankenstein's bride that you loved so much.

Usually, there were more people there, Tatum and Stu at the very least, with Billy and Sid joining in when they saw fit, but it couldn’t be so different to just be the two of you.

You loved spending time with him, so doing so under the context of it being a date couldn’t possibly change that up so much. This was just Randy after all, it wasn’t like he was some guy you’d only just met or some creep Tatum thought it was okay to set you up with.

...and you were sure that your parents would agree to it.

Spending a few hours at Randy’s house was vastly different than going to some house party and out of all your friends, you knew that they trusted him the most. If he said you were there, they would believe him which would cut down on the third degree.

There really were no downsides.

Besides, if you were going to go out with any of your friends, it would be him, even if Billy or Stu did happen to be single. You and Randy just had a lot more in common and you knew that he would never put you in any danger.

You trusted him, and you liked him.

If he liked you too, it only made sense that you had a movie night together, just the two of you.

~

Getting your parents to agree to letting you spend a few hours at Randy’s house wasn’t as easy a sell as you thought it would be but by the time he came to pick you up, he managed to convince them that it would all be fine.

He wasn’t going to let anything happen to you, and in all honesty, they believed it.

Randy had never given them any reason not to trust him and at the end of the day, they came to the conclusion that you did have a little bit of a point. Knowing that you were somewhere with someone else made them feel a little bit better than if you were home alone.

It brought some amount of comfort to know that Randy would be there with you. Besides, your mother was just so thrilled that he’d finally asked you out on a date that you were sure she would have agreed to anything.

That was how you got here in the first place, walking down the familiar aisles of the video store with Randy as you searched for something to watch. Between the two of you, you had basically seen all the good horror films that they had available.

Not that knowing that was stopping either of you from picking up title after title, looking them over incredulously as you searched for the perfect thing.

Initially, Randy was just going to pick something up on the way to get you but decided that this would probably be more up your alley first. The video store was only open for a short time today due to the curfew but that was more than enough time for him to find exactly what he wanted.

After all, there wasn’t a title in the store that Randy didn’t know by heart. In fact, he had likely put them each right where they were, in each of their respective spots on the shelf. That was literally all he did all day when he did work.

“What about this one?” you suggested, holding up a pretty well loved copy of night of the living dead happily for his approval. It was a classic, one that you had each seen a dozen times, but because of that, it was quick to go into the basket.

Then, after scanning the few horror aisles one more time, Randy settled on what he always settled on and plucked a copy of Prom Night off the shelf.

At this point, you were sure he’d rented that specific video nineteen times by now but didn’t bother to point that out. You knew that it was one of his favorite movies of all time and if that was what he wanted to watch tonight, you weren’t going to argue.

All you really wanted to do was spend the night relaxing with your best friend, on what was technically also your first date. It was a little bit of pressure, more so than you were used to, but nothing that you couldn’t handle.

At the end of the day, you loved Randy and this was just something else you could do together.

“Alright, are you ready to go? I’ve got plenty of good snacks at the house for us to munch on too” he promised, fully aware of just how you liked your movie nights to go down. That was something else the two of you had in common.

You were very particular about your movies, especially horror movies.

It was something he could appreciate, along with your sense of humor and heart of gold. All in all, when Randy actually stopped to think about it, he wasn’t sure why he’d waited so long to ask you to do this in the first place.

This was going to be awesome.

~

Randy’s house was nice, of course, well put together every single time you had been there but you couldn't really focus too much on that.

Instead, you occupied yourself putting the tapes into the player while Randy made popcorn in the kitchen. It was kind of strange for a few moments, as you sat waiting for him to get back, looking around the living room under such new circumstances.

You have been here a hundred times before.

You had sat in this exact spot plenty of times but tonight, it was so different. You had only ever been here before as a friend, normally with all your other friends there to keep you company even when someone had to leave the room but not anymore.

Right now, you were waiting here as a girl on a date, a date with a guy you’d known your entire life.

It was just so strange how quickly everything had changed. Just this morning, you and Randy were little more than friends, and now, you couldn’t quite be sure what you were. Not that you had too much time to consider that before he was back.

“I bring gifts,” Randy grinned, plopping down beside you on the couch, swamping the coffee table with bags of chips and assorted boxes of candy before handing you the big bowl of popcorn. Clearly when he promised snacks, he wasn’t kidding.

You watched him do a onceover of the spread he’d provided before he ultimately decided that it was going to be fine.

“Perfect, just what we needed” you smiled, relaxing even further into the couch next to him, getting ready to start whatever it was that was going on between the two of you. It was new, uncharted territory for the both of you but it wasn’t looking too bad.

A copy of Prom Night and some popcorn with Randy was perhaps the only thing that could make this whole curfew thing worthwhile.

[sunjaesol]

love, between the shadow and the soul

chenford | drabble | post-canon | title: sonnet xvii - pablo neruda

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Look, Tim Bradford did not get attracted to rookies, okay? In all the years he had been a TO, none had grabbed his attention. Not when he and Isabelle were dating, or married, or when she disappeared into the night with a trail of illicit affairs and a shot of heartache for him. Dozens of young women had sat in that car beside him and never ever had he let their femininity distract him. He served his country. He fought wars overseas. He looked Death right in the eye every single day and never blinked.

But then came officer Lucy Chen. He instantly knew the type of cop she’d be the second she turned in her seat, meeting his gaze for the first time, and nervously smiled at him. Nerves were normal, he was aware, but the doe-eyed look and the hopeful grin sold her out. No mystery. Just another young cop that would either slip through the cracks by the exam by tanking their grade due to stress, or she’d become a desk duty cop — one that stayed far from danger, that handled life with a perpetual softer touch ‘cause of her shrink parents.

Nothing wrong with that, Bishop would chastise him. Every cop had its use, she’d add. Sure, that might be true, but Tim didn’t want to babysit an armed toddler waiting for it to cry and call for mom. With just a couple well-placed Tim-tests, she’d be out of his hair in no time and then he could cross his fingers for a better recruit in the following weeks.

Life had the ability to change in a snap though — their funny, yet stern reminder that the universe called the shots, not the gun in his holster, or the rulebook. He got shot. Officer Chen backed him up. Her stubborn, yet brazen, yet honest attitude reeled him in just enough to ignore her little quirks she always joyfully displayed in the shop. Whenever he didn’t nip her ramblings in the bud fast enough, she babbled on and on about her personal life, her personal issues and relationships, like they were best friends (They weren’t! Boots and him never befriended!), like their relationship was anything more than a transactional training period. They got each other’s six. That was it.

But fuck, man. She got under his skin, too.

Lucy wore this… really nice perfume. A lot of female officers had make-up and perfume on, allowed a small sliver of self-expression, and he and Lopez had spend countless hours in a shop together. He was used to it. But somehow, Lucy’s stuck in his nose and didn’t leave. He felt like a creep, thinking about the blend of cardamom and oranges and cherry blossoms mixing with her warm skin, uncontrollable while also wanted. He wanted to fantasise about that fucking perfume of hers, a realisation that took a long time to come to terms with.

That didn’t mean he liked her though — he quickly corrected himself the first time he caught the pattern of behaviour — all it meant was that Lucy had good taste in perfume. Case closed.

So why did he linger whenever her shimmery eyes flicked up at him, why did his breath catch in his throat when her voice dropped to that infuriating sincerity as she uttered words of appraisal? Why his heart go haywire when she recorded all those audio books for him; an out of line gesture and overzealous task for a boot, which would normally result in him laughing their face.

Tim never thought he’d get over Isabelle, nor did he ever believe he’d have his happily ever after with Rachel, but with Lucy he foolishly hoped for more. A more that came from such a stupid and deluded place, probably fostered through months of loneliness and the Pavlovian response to her perfume, but one he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop it. The man was always in control about everything, ran his own tests and went over every possible outcome every day, every hour — and yet he didn’t see her coming. Lucy Chen had been right under his nose and he hadn’t been prepared for the ground to disappear beneath his feet; something that should honestly get him fired. The callousness of his emotions while entertaining the idea of a relationship with his own boot sentenced him straight to P2 or desk duty, or whatever.

Lucy deserved someone better, anyway.

Someone that understood her love for sage and cleansing homes. Someone that liked veggie burgers, chai lattes, karaoke nights and social media lurking. Someone that wouldn’t hesitate for one second to open her door for a teenage girl in need of safety and a little bit of that Chen-love. Someone that wasn’t any of those firemen assholes, but wasn’t Tim either.

He never let his insecurities get the best of him, but after seeing her thrive as a P2 without him, handling undercover stints like a pro, conquering her trauma of being buried alive, it only showcased that she had more bravery in her index finger than some army members had in their entire body, all while staying innately kind. Of course Tim lost his mind over her. Of course he tried shaping officer Barnes to be more like Lucy — more sun and bite and charisma, less army BS. Of course, of course, of course. Even Rosalind, the person he hated most besides Caleb, had him figured out in seconds. He was obvious as hell.

Which was why he had to move stations. Away from the Mid-Wilshire Division and to another. He couldn’t be around her anymore and risk compromising missions or attacks. He didn’t tell Angela the details, though her knowing look said enough, and simply replied that she’d miss him and that she was sure the chief would happily reinstate him any time.

He should’ve known that information leaked through like a wildfire.

The morning of his resignment, uniform neatly folded in his locker, Lucy stopped him in the hallway with the most befuddled expression he’d ever seen.

“What?” he said.

“What the hell,” she exclaimed. “You’re leaving and I have to hear it from Angela? Why’re you…? You love this division. Is everything okay?”

Shouldering past her, he drawled over his shoulder: “Everything’s fine, officer Chen. I’d advise you to put on your uniform and get to roll call.”

“Don’t pull this crap with me,” she bit back, latching onto his arm before he was out of reach. His feet reflexively stopped in place, stupidly waiting on her to finish her train of thought. “Tim, you can tell me if something’s wrong. We’ve been through… way too much for you to act this cold with me.”

He scoffed, feigning mockery, and put his hands on his hips. “We? Chen, I was your TO. That’s it. Get it out of your head it was more.”

Lucy blinked, once, twice, a hurt expression crossing her features, followed by disbelief and a quiet contempt he had become awfully familiar with. Swallowing back the regret, he watched as she pursed her lips and took a step back. “Wow. Okay.”

“Don’t take it personally.”

“Hard not to, officer Bradford,” she muttered. Turning to the locker rooms, she added, “Talk to me when you’re ready to not be an asshole.”

That should’ve been his cue to let her go and resume his trek to sergeant Grey, but a whiff of her fragrance wafted in his face from her dancing curls and any sensical thought was knocked out his head. He wanted to embrace her and burrow his face in her hair, he wanted to hold her with intent, he wanted to kiss the scent off her skin. His feet followed her instead, both fully aware and totally impulsive at once. He chose the excuse of loving a good argument with her to then utter: “I’m not an asshole, Chen. I’m honest.”

“If you’re honest, you’d admit that we’ve been very close friends these past months,” she exhaled, refusing to look him in the eye. He supposed he deserved that. Stopping in front of her locker, she continued with, “Distorting your own reality to fit your macho narrative isn’t healthy. Also, this is the women’s locker room. Out. Now.”

Tim sputtered out a laugh and crossed his arms. “Macho narrative? Please.”

Lucy’s eyes narrowed, all air sucked out the room at the intensity of her stare, and Tim felt himself flailing, suddenly wondering why the hell he wanted to turn in his badge when the only place he could have moments with lucy was, well, here. Why was he giving up on this, how silly it might be?

With a resolute voice, she said, “Tim, why are you resigning?”

Nothing in his entire career prepared him for this. Tim Bradford had survived Iraq and Afghanistan, twelve years of the LAPD and counting, a deadly virus, hundreds of bullets taken by the vest and felt the power of death on the blue lips of Lucy in the quiet countryside. Fear got pushed aside. Pride pulled him forward, onwards. But right now, he had to take a leap of faith — the sole thing he never relied on, but Lucy did — and trust she’d be there after the fall.

(He wanted to be that amazing someone for her.)

“Because of you,” he whispered. His fight or flight told him to run for the first time in forever, but he kept his feet glued to the floor.

Her jaw fell slack in shock. “E-excuse me? Me?! I’ve done nothing wrong!”

“Exactly,” he spit. “You… you’re…” Tim sighed. “You’re the best, Lucy.”

Faltering, her brows furrowed in utter confusion, a grain of her fury replaced with compassion. He wasn’t sure if that was warranted. All he was trying to do was get it off his chest, confess, before it escalated to insurmountable heights. “I don’t think I understand.”

“Uh…”

“You’re resigning, because I’m the best?” she tried to deduce. “No offense, any other day I’d be dancing right now, but this is just…” She gestured at him. “So weird.”

Tim let out a miserable sigh and ripped the band-aid off. Fuck it. “I’m trying to be honest about my feelings, Lucy.”

She froze. “What?”

“I like you. A lot.” Her wonderstruck expression didn’t make him feel better, so he quickly added: “Which is why I gotta decrease the risk of this exploding in our faces and go.”

“Whoa!” Lucy’s hand wrapped around his, eyes wide and searching, like any empirical data would be found within his green irises, otherwise known as fondness and unresolved tension with every quiet moment they had. “Is this… another test? Are you getting back at me for pranking you?”

He quirked a brow. “You’re a P2 now. Tests are over.”

“Right,” she quipped, catching herself. She let go of him and nervously tucked a lock behind her ear. “Yeah. Okay. And you’re serious?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. O-kay. Let me, uh…” the locker swung open “… wrap my head around this.”

“It’s a pretty easy thing to—”

“Tim.”

“Yeah, okay.” He backed off, hating how the control was out of his hands now, how he practically shoved his heart in her grip and her pretty fingers could crush it to dust if she wanted to. “I’ll let you do that.”

Walking out the locker room, he took a deep breath and straightened up his face. Alright. He royally screwed that over. If his army buddies knew, they’d all laugh in his face and tease him for the rest of his life. But at least he told her and got his answer, that a relationship was off the table but that they could save their friendship once he switched divisions and some distance mended his twisted, inside-out heart. Lucy had rocked his world and all she had to do was exist.

“Tim!”

“Wha— wow!”

Her body crashed into him the second he turned around to her beautiful voice, Lucy’s arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him down to her level ‘til all he experienced were her sweet eyes and breathless smile and a kiss. Lucy kissing him, slow and tentative, but it lit his heart aflame and urged him to hold onto her. Her perfume was all-encompassing, nose full of the fragrance and the soft slope of her neck and long, brown hair and fuck, he was kissing Lucy Chen. Except he didn’t care if the entire precinct idly watched by, or if she yanked him out the building on impulse, or anything — ‘cause he was kissing her and it was perfect. Her plump lips were better than he ever imagined.

Her hands slid from his hair to his shoulders, arms and then his hands, squeezing. His forehead pressed against hers, embarrassingly weak in the knees from that incredible kiss that he didn’t dare to stand up straight. Two silly grins broke loose on their faces. He had no clue what to do now, or not do, but he did know he wanted her. He wanted everything.

Lucy decided for him.

“Don’t go,” she whispered.

Tim smiled. “Okay.”

[sadselfhelp]

Who I Am, And Why I Created This Blog.

TRIGGER WARNINGS - Mental Illness, Self-Harm, Child Abuse, Domestic Abuse, Violence, Drug Overdose, Suicide, Psychotic Breaks. 

Take a walk with me, let me show you around the mind of The Sad Hatter.

There's a lot going on in my head right now, and I feel like I'm on the precipice of something. I'm standing on a cliff's edge and I'm either going to plummet or I'm going to fly. It's been building inside me for a long time, and I can't contain it anymore. So here it is, here's me laid bare, because I need to say this, I need to put it into words. I need to purge it all. To try and make sense of all of this shit in my brain, I think it's time I organize it. I don't know where to begin, but I guess I start at the beginning and make use of the ability to edit.

Before you read this, please be aware of the trigger warnings. And please understand that this is the most honest and open I have been, I really am stripped bare in this piece of writing. It’s not at all pretty, and am I not guiltless in parts. This may well alter whatever opinion you have of me. 

I guess the beginning is birth, right? But I don't want to rehash all that trauma, so let me speed through it. Twenty-Eight years ago I was born, violently. I'm serious, I ripped my way out of the womb, and tore that thing apart. I guess I can sort of understand why my mother couldn't love me after that was my first act, collapsing her womb. So let me speedrun this part of the story. Mum didn't want me, gave me to my dad who raised me as a single parent with the help of his parents, until he met my stepmother. Shockingly, she didn't want me either, but because she couldn't get rid of me she decided to physical and psychological torture was the next best thing. 

When I was eleven years old I snapped and didn't want to put up with it anymore, so I wrote a goodbye note and then snuck into the medicine cabinet and took a bunch of pills. Spoiler alert, I didn't die. I did however end up in a children's home, cue more abuse, little bit of bullying and sexual assault etc.... I snapped again, but instead of turning my anger inwards, I became an absolute bastard. Ok, I still turned it inwards a bit, I had a lot of anger, and now I have a few hundred scars to prove it. But, it turns out that violence can beget violence, and I acted out in every possible way. Racked up a horrifying rap sheet, assault, vandalism, arson, and finally... GBH. I was supposed to get put in a secure unit (child prison – Scottish Edition) but I was always able to talk myself out of trouble. 

See, I was this tiny little white girl with big sad eyes and a hell of a sob story, even at the bottom of the food chain I still had privilege. So instead of getting locked up, I just got sent to a different home. And here's the really messed up part, this home was better. The staff were nicer, and nobody hurt me. My behavior literally changed overnight. I went from being charged by the police on a weekly basis, to never getting so much as a pocket money sanction. I will never excuse my actions, nor condone them, but after years of guilt I finally realized that the bad things I did were in retaliation to a bad situation, and though I wasn’t acting like a good person, I’m not a bad person, just a messed up one. 

I still refused to go to school though, because though I didn't yet know it at the time, I had severe social anxiety. I was smart, a little too smart to be honest, and I found myself thriving with a private tutor. When the time came to sit my exams, someone fucked up, and despite having record breaking test scores on the pre-exams, I never actually got to sit my standard grades (think SAT's – Scottish Edition). I'm still bitter about that. So by this point in the story, I'm 16, and legally an adult, too old for a children's home. I got turfed to a hostel, and the next few parts of the story are pretty fuzzy to me. 

This is where my mental health really started to deteriorate. I bounced between homeless hostels and B&B's for a year or so, until I got a my first flat/apartment. By that point, I was utterly fucked in the head. I was blacking out frequently, for anywhere between a couple of minutes to three days. I would come back to myself in sometimes compromising positions, and once there was blood. A lot of blood, splashed all over the walls. Then there was the time I suddenly found myself standing in the kitchen, about to plunge a knife into my own chest.

Nobody ever did tell me what the hell that was about. Or maybe they did and I just... forgot? But because I was extremely suicidal, a doctor finally decided to do something, and the police and the paramedics came to my door to take me to the psychiatric hospital. I spent ten months there while I cycled through various anti-psychotics and anti-depressants, and was 'rehabilitated into society'. The second I was out, I made the worst decision I have ever made in my life. If I can give you one piece of advice, one lesson to take from my shitshow of a life, it's this: Don't move hundreds of miles away to be with the guy you met online while you were having a psychotic break.

I've never really thought of myself as a victim, but I guess I'm the only one who saw it that way. Ben, that was his name, Ben was a monster, and I didn't know it until it was too late. He never hit me, never lifted a hand to me, he never had to. He could put a knife in my hand and make me hurt myself for his entertainment. I had told him everything, so he knew exactly how to break me down, how to make me want to bleed. He locked me in a house and used me up. And when I had enough, and tried to break free of him, he would just tell the police I was mentally ill and they would smile sympathetically and give me back to him.

But then my dad had a breakdown. My dad, who when he found out what my stepmother was doing to me, buried his head in the sand and packed my little suitcase for me. I hadn't spoken to him in a while until he reached out from the same psychiatric ward I had not long vacated. He had cracked under the realization that I had never lied about her, and the guilt broke him apart. I could have hated him, if it had happened a few years earlier then I would have. But I had experienced enough of the world to learn a few things, like how easily it is to fuck up, and that no matter how strong you are, you aren't immune to monsters. The truth was he was as much a victim of her evil as I was. She had manipulated him, played with his head, used his insecurities against him. So I helped him through his issues, the way I wished someone had helped me. That doesn't really make me a good person, it just makes me human.

But my dad got better, and found his footing. And when he did, he realized something wasn't right with me, and I told him the truth about Ben. My dad had left me to suffer at the hands of an abuser once before, and he wasn't going to allow it to happen again. He came and got me, and he took me home. He moved me in with him, gave me his bed and slept on the couch. After a couple of months, he helped me get my own place.

And that's the happy ending, right? All the trauma was over, I was safe, that's where the story should end. Right? I bet you're not naive enough to believe that, but I sure as hell was. I thought I would recover and that everything would be ok. I thought that with safety, there would come the chance to heal. I thought my wounds would scab over, and I would have my scars but at least I would be able to move without bleeding out. But that's not how trauma works. I had two decades worth of trauma, abuse, and hell.

I just... faded. I didn't crack, I didn't crumble, I didn't break, I just stopped. For five years I sat in one room of my home, drowning inside myself. Last year I got handed a lifeline, and now I live somewhere better. I'm not really allowed to live independently so I actually live in kind of retirement village of all places. I have my own house, but it's got intercoms and emergency cords everywhere, I get checked on daily by on on-site worker. And I'm trying to get better, I really am. It's just not that easy.

There's more to the whole story that I maybe should have put in, like the fact that my mother was a drug addict when she was pregnant with me, and that may have been the reason some of my organs didn't properly form and/or formed wrong. My lung split in half when I was a baby, and parts of my stomach are missing. Or that my mother is full on batshit insane. I could have had a perfect childhood and I still would have been mentally ill. Hell, I was seeing psychologists at five years old. Take my sketchy genetics, add twenty years of severe traumas, and well... I'm a little fucked up. Because a lot of medical conditions use acronyms, my full list of diagnosis looks like I'm collecting the fucking alphabet.

I have Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD), Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD), and Agoraphobia. I also have a Pulmonary Sequestration, Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia, the stomach and lung issues. Immune Hemolytic Anemia, I'm basically allergic to my own blood. Plus, ya know, my liver recently decided to just fucking nope out, the pissy lil bitch is failing. I also may or may not have cancer, I don't know because I pussied out of the tests. At this point I am a walking, decaying corpse that is held together by glitter glue and bitterness.

So... why exactly am I writing this? And why am I even considering posting this? I mean, my problems aren't as bad as some other people's. We've all got shit to deal with, especially in 2020. The whole world is falling apart, so what right do I have to sit here pouting and pouring my problems out? Well, for a start, I guess this is my blog, I can post whatever, and it's up to everyone else if they read it.

So here it is, you have the backstory, so here's what it's all been leading up to.

I'm struggling. Like, really struggling. I'm stuck on this cliff, and I want off, any way I can. Whether I fall or fly, I just want free. I can't live like this anymore, because I can't breathe.

The fucking agonizing duality of being socially anxious and too easily overstimulated, and yet feeling fucking empty inside if you're not surrounded by action and noise. The world is too noisy for my brain, but my brain is too noisy for the world. I get antsy if I'm not doing at least a thousand different tasks, but I get overwhelmed if I try to do anything at all. It leads to short bursts of mania, followed by weeks of depression. But underneath all of that, under all the dramatic showboating, and the dark humor, under all the bravado... I'm really just sad.

Years ago, when I first came up with the moniker "The Sad Hatter", I said it was because I may be mad, but my madness was born of sadness. I'm just sad. I carry it with me where my heart should be. So I named myself Sad, and I put on the hat, and I wore my sadness like armor, turned it into an act, and made a spectacle of it. "I'm The Sad Hatter, and I'm mentally ill but that's alright, I'm going to be just fine!" I told you all I had my issues, and I'll come close to opening up about how bad those issues are, I'll give little chunks of information at intermittent intervals, and then two hours later I'll act like it never happened. I'll admit I was close to killing myself, and then two days later I'll post dog photo's and act like I'm all better.

I'm writing this because I'm sad. And tomorrow, I'll act like I'm not. But when I waver again, I'll come back here and I'll open up again. And along the way, maybe you're reading this and realizing you aren't alone in feeling overwhelmed. Maybe you're realizing you're not the only one who isn't healing neatly and in a timely manner. Maybe you're reading this and gaining some insight into the struggles someone you care about is facing. Maybe my opening up is can help somebody else, I really hope so, but I know it's helping one person. It's helping me.

This blog, it's about living with myself. It's about living with The Sad Hatter.

[lady-charinette]

Adrien Agreste =/= Sociopath - About Adrien Salt

I've seen a lot of posts going around about Adrien being a sociopath or the other (harasser, abuser...etc.)

What I find most of those posts lacking is looking at the big picture, or just zeroing in on certain moments of the show and even disregarding the context of those selected moments to unfairly rule judgement on a child (in canon) no less.

Definition of sociopath: A sociopath is a term used to describe someone who has antisocial personality disorder (ASPD). People with ASPD can’t understand others’ feelings. They’ll often break rules or make impulsive decisions without feeling guilty for the harm they cause.

People with ASPD may also use “mind games” to control friends, family members, co-workers, and even strangers. They may also be perceived as charismatic or charming.

We have to analyze the context and the surroundings Adrien is in.

Family, social life, relationships (platonic and romantic), personality, age, environment...etc.

Family:

We know Adrien has a father who is controlling, preferring to micro-manage every aspect of his son's life to continue to have a semblance of control at all times. We assume (heavily implied in the show), that his mother was kind, warm and emotional (whether that emotional is the "out-there" kind her twin sister has, it remains to be seen.)

According to a snippet from "Simon Says", Adrien also has "Quite a temper, you remind me of someone" according to Gabriel's own words, we can assume the "someone" is Emilie, Gabriel says this when Chat Noir refused to follow his orders and told him to basically "get off his high horse". In this context, anyone who defies Gabriel in such a way would either be branded as "disobedient" or to "have quite a temper".

According to Adrien himself in "Adrien's Double Life" (from Miraculous Secrets) he describes being Chat Noir as "...I can finally do whatever I want to do, say whatever comes to mind." He doesnt feel as restricted and controlled since that's the one aspect of his life his father has no knowledge of.

Social life:

Adrien has had no or very little interaction with peers.

Evidence: Chloe being his childhood friend. Felix commenting on Chloe's appearance in the video she sent for Adrien's birthday, saying "Chloe. Just as annoying as usual." suggests he knows her from before, maybe even as early on as their childhood days.

This makes Felix and Chloe the only kids, of spoiled and rich background, with whom Adrien interacted.

Felix is shown to be good at manipulating people and keeping up appearances (potentially connected to insecurities within the family? Not confirmed), Chloe is openly mean and bullies others (with underlying insecurities also connected to her parents).

The only positive adult (if Gorilla isn't as involved and Nathalie had been solely Gabriel's secretary and not Adrien's caretaker since there was Emilie) in Adrien's life would be his mother, who also fell into a coma during Adrien's formative years (and still during a time where he's figuring himself and his emotions out: puberty), leaving him with his father.

Moving on, even if the writer's sometimes may not always successfully show Adrien being awkward in social interactions, it doesnt mean they dont exist.

This interaction between him and Marinette, asking for her autograph, very formal in his question, awkward in posture:

He's picked up on some speech patterns from his frequent interactions with Nino ("dude", "Hey man." "Totally dude.") showing he's, like many people, mimicking his friend's behavior and speech to grow more favorably in their eyes.

The same pattern can be observed with Gabriel and Adrien: Adrien adopts his father's formal speech whenever talking to him, since that appeases him.

Adrien has had very limited friendly interactions with his peers, romantic interactions are basically non-existent. The scenes where Adrien is being chased by his fans, who obsessively adore him, cant be linked to Adrien experiencing healthy romantic contact (Lila doesn't count since she only uses Adrien to further her goals). Marinette doesn't count since Adrien's isn't even aware of her romantic feelings for him. (Again, difficulties picking up social cues due to only ever being homeschooled > limited social contact with peers)

So no, in my humble opinion, Adrien sometimes doesn't understand other people's feelings not because he's a sociopath, but because he's an awkward kid with very little experience about making friends and having healthy relationships with them.

Relationships:

Let's be direct here: Gabriel is an abusive as*hole.

If the writer's wanted to show Gabriel struggling or having remorse for his actions being Hawkmoth and putting his son through danger, well... They blew it. "Gorizilla" was a 5 second reaction of Hawkmoth showing concern after letting Adrien fall from a skyscraper. Applause. After that? Not much.

Nathalie: Adrien likes, she takes care of him, his schedule, was the one to convince Gabriel to let him attend public school. There are moments in the show where she softens up towards Adrien, but always carries that air of professionalism on her to (possibly, assumption) not grow too close. Gorilla is...Gorilla, but at least the man tries with his nonverbal support and affectionate grunts. Lol.

Gabriel: He loves his father. It's his parent, after all. However, Adrien's reactions to him are vastly different than to how he reacts when thinking of his mother. He shows signs of fear (tensing up, growing obedient...etc.), he excuses his father's excessive controlling tendencies to just be "he's just worried about me", "that's the way he always was", "father cares and protects me". Adrien shows to be frequently disappointed with Gabriel, one of the first scenes being that Gabriel couldn't attend parent's day at school, Adrien was talking on the phone alone in the school hallway. He was genuinely surprised by the blue scarf his father gifted him (not knowing it was Marinette), since all he used to get were pens (again, not even from Gabriel, but Nathalie). This is my assumption but: Adrien has previously begged his father to go outside more or attend public school, but this time it worked only because Nathalie managed to convince him.

Friends from school: Nino is his best friend, Adrien seems to be good friends with Alya too, basically everyone in class, with varying degrees of closeness. Chloe is a childhood friend whom Adrien is fond of but also grows exasperated with and corrects her behavior if she's too harsh.

Marinette: likes and respects her, but can't read her well or at least when he thinks he's got her figured out, she claims the opposite. Marinette has been sending mixed signals, on one hand even making Adrien believe (and fear) they weren't friends. "Chat Blanc" contrary to popular belief, showed that Adrien is delighted at the prospect of Marinette being Ladybug (he'd severe doubts when Chloe or anyone else was brought up as a possible option).

Kagami: likes her, respects her, admires her fencing skills, learned to have fun hanging out with her and playing as kids usually do since she also has a controlling parent and they both know some ways/tricks around their boundaries to sneak off and meet their friends. Adrien and Kagami have similarities in that respect, Gabriel pushing Adrien to be a model, Mrs. Tsurugi pushing Kagami to be a master fencer.

Lila: At first defended her, was friendly towards her since she was a new student from overseas he sympathized because surely it would be lonely? The new girl would need a friend who supported her through all this things that were new for him too. However, as soon as he caught wind of Lila's schemes, he changes his tune. He feels uncomfortable around her overstepping his boundaries, expresses anger when Lila accused Marinette of crimes she didn't commit and even makes a deal with her to not bother Marinette again (but use him instead, doing photoshoots together...etc.) to keep her safe.

Age:

A 14-15 year old, having lost his mother, the only positive, healthy relationship in his life. Surrounded by a controlling father, not much free time, many extracurricular activities and being a superhero alongside Ladybug.

Some of the signs of being a sociopath include: Breaking rules and being impulsive.... Didn't Ladybug do those too?

Breaking the rules: (since LB and Marinette are the same) stealing phones, sneaking into places where she shouldn't, using the miraculous for personal gain (latest example: getting Kagami away from Adrien), giving Adrien the snake miraculous due to personal preference instead of drawing logical conclusions. Sneaked into the Agreste mansion.

Impulsiveness: Marinette's daily fantasies (sharing a future life with Adrien and their hamster-who-must-not-be-named), when Lila's "precious family heirloom necklace" was "stolen", Marinette was quick to include her classmates in the list of potential perpetrators for it (without ill intent, but still..)

You know who the real potential sociopath in the show is?

Gabriel

Some of you might include Lila too (since she fits all the criteria for being a sociopath), but the key difference is: Lila is still just a kid.

We don't know much about her family life. Just that her mother is busy with work, we don't know where her father is, who her friends were/if she even had them. She might be lying and manipulating people to follow her own agenda, but she thrives in attention, when people notice and praise her. In some aspects, that could've been Adrien. With one neglectful parent, a missing parent, no friends (prior to going to school)...etc. There is also a lot we don't know about her.

[saharamae21]

Vapor (Part 18)

Hey guys.... It’s been a while, but happy late thanksgiving. Sorry I meant to update before I went home but here I am. I’m sleep deprieved and stressed but I love ya all. Please let me know if you want this to keep going on.

GIVE ME FEEDBACK - I WANNA KNOW IF YOU GUYS EVEN WANT TO READ THIS STILL

Work count: 1.5K

Warnings: Language, mentions of kidnapping and violence.

IMPORTANT (PLS READ) : There is two ways this fic can go depending on what you guys want. It can go on for about 3-4 more chapters or about 7-10 more chapters. I don’t know if you guys aren’t reading it anymore or if you lost interest, so please let me know.

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I had no sense of time anymore. Everything was a hazy mess as I woke up and fell asleep, constantly under the influence of some sort of drug. I wondered if it had been hours or days. I wondered if anyone was looking for me. I wanted to believe that JJ was spending every waking moment searching for me, but I couldn’t be sure. As the drugs played tricks on my mind, I remembered the look on his face. The way he glared at me caused my heart to sink further and further into my stomach. Ever since I was 12, I just kept disappointing him more and more. And as much as I loved him, I would be lying if I hadn’t thought that me being out of his life was for the best. I brought out the most extreme sides of him, the parts of himself he couldn’t control. I made him contemplate everything he’s ever known. I didn’t want to tear him apart anymore.

I woke up and the room was silent. No lights were on and the walls were moving in a ripple like effect. I could barely see through the darkness, but as the minutes passed, I became more and more coherent. I knew better than to speak out at this point. I knew better than to draw attention back to myself. As the current waves of drugs left my system, my mind wandered back to the pogues.

I wondered if John B had worked out a way to get the gold. I wondered if he and Sarah were happy together. John was always one of those people that you look at and smile. To me, he always had things figured out to an extent. He might not work well under pressure all the time, but he preservers no matter what. I knew that he would thrive no matter what the situation was. The truth was, John and I were never super close. I constantly competed with him for JJ’s attention and that often made us argue. I respected him though for doing the one thing I couldn’t the past few years, protect JJ.

I wondered if Pope had gone to his scholarship interview already. I had no doubts in my mind that he would crush it. He was the smartest person I knew and that was honestly an understatement. Not only was he booksmart, but he was streetsmart as well. He knew how to handle himself in a situation and overcome everything. He might not completely understand social cues, but he was still one of the most friendly souls that I have and will ever meet. If I ever needed anything, he would be the first person I would go to for help.

I wondered if Kiara was holding up. She had her hands full with the three boys. I remembered always being jealous of her as I grew up. She became a kook and they still wanted her around, but when I became a kook, they were so ready to push me away. I wondered what made her special enough to keep around over me, but as I grew closer to them all again I began to realize. She was special. She knew exactly how to handle everyone and keep situations under control. She was also the most caring and genuine person I’ve ever met. I would’ve kept her around over me as well. I hoped she wasn’t trying to pick up the pieces of the mess I caused.

I wondered if JJ cared that I was gone. I wondered if he thought I had disappeared on him again and that this was good riddance. I wondered if he was tearing himself apart. I couldn’t figure out which scenario I wanted more. On one hand, I wanted him to care that I wasn’t by his side right now. I wanted him to tell me he loved me and that nothing would ever hurt me again. However, with that came the guilt. I knew he would be worried sick. I knew that he would blame himself. Then there was the part of me that wished he couldn’t care less about me. The one where his anger gets the better of him and he eliminates me from his mind. He wouldn’t hurt that way. He wouldn’t see me as I slowly unraveled. But, after how long would he begin to lose bits of himself? Would he close himself off to the world again? Even if that did happen, he would have his friends to help him pull through.

I lifted my head once again and my throat felt dry. Nothing had changed since my thoughts ran wild, but something in me had changed. I was preparing to give up. I had reflected on the ones I loved the most and I had made peace with the idea of slipping through their fingers once again. My head was spinning and my body felt heavy. I was thankful for the moments that I had spent reconnecting with them, but this was the full circle ending that my life was destined. I didn’t die like all the children before me even though I was nothing special. Nothing set me apart from those children and I should’ve suffered the same fate. I shouldn’t have to live knowing that I was the one that got away… This was the ending of my full cycle.

JJ’s POV:

I sat awake and thinking about all the horrible things Addie could be going through. I wondered if I should tell her parents. Maybe they would know what to do, but how could I tell them I lost their daughter for a second time? I mentally screamed at myself. I knew that I should be out doing something, anything, but what if she came home while I was away. What if I just messed everything up further? A million thoughts ran through my head at a million miles an hour and I couldn’t keep track of them all. I let out a soft sigh and buried my head into the pillow beside me. How could I live with myself knowing that I kept failing her over and over?

I raised my head at the quiet knock and a small voice. My name left their mouth in a desperate manner. Sarah stood cautiously at the door, staring at me with sad eyes. I knew that none of this was her fault, but anger still filled me when I saw her. Her brother was doing this to Addie. Her family always looked down on people like me. That didn’t mean she was like that though. I saw the way John B and her cared for each other and I was happy for them. I just wasn’t happy at all right now.

“JJ?” she asked again. My eyes met hers and I looked away.

“Go away…” I muttered. My voice cracked as I forced the words out. I knew she was just checking up on me, but I didn’t think there was anything she could say to make me feel better. I was wrong.

“I think I know where Addie could be…” Her words repeated in my mind as I rushed with her to the car. My hands were shaking and I was sweating. I sat in the passenger seat and tried not to lose my cool. I just needed her to drive faster. I needed Addie. When we arrived at the shipping dock, I thought she was pulling my leg. I looked around frantically and saw no sign of A. I was losing my fucking mind without her.

“This way…” Sarah muttered. Her voice was small and scared. I followed her up to a shipping crate. I heard her mumbling about how her parents use this for storage. I heard her, but I wasn’t listening. I started as she fumbled with the keys and opened the doors slowly. The crate was dark, but I could still see perfectly. Addie.

I rushed forward to her and knelt down in front of her. I gently placed my hand on her cheek. Her eyes fluttered open and stared at me. Tears filled my eyes at how weak she looked. I muttered out apology after apology, begging for her to forgive me. I untied her as I pleaded. As soon as her arms were free, she reached forward and lifted my shirt. She said nothing, but she brushed her hand over my closed wound. I broke down at the small action. I told her to stop. I told her to stop worrying about me. I told her I was sorry. It wasn’t enough though. She made herself small around me. She was hurt because of me. I pulled her into my arms, lifting her to carry her to the car. Her small, hoarse voice whispered softly next to my ear.

“I’m sorry,” she said. I hugged her tightly in my arms as if to tell her I would never let her go again.

“No, no, no. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” I said back. I rushed to the car, my main focus on getting her somewhere safe. “I love you. I’m sorry.”

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[jaskierswolf]

The Bard of Kaer Morhen Pt.2/4

Previous

Jaskier had just turned eighteen the second time he met a witcher.

He was fortunately sober this time. He’d bumped into Eskel a few times over the last two years and whilst the man tragically still rejected his flirtations they had become fast friends. Eskel thrived off the extra coin that Jaskier’s songs brought in and had even managed to upgrade his armour which thrilled Jaskier. Eskel’s last set of armour had been starting to fall apart and Jaskier was worried about him. He didn’t want his friend to get hurt on the hunt.

Another bonus to their friendship was that Jaskier was already successful fresh out of university, the envy of all his peers. He was the up and coming talent. He was the bard to hire for social events.

And he was also earning a reputation for being an unparalleled lover too.

He wasn’t sure which he was more proud of.

He was strolling down the path from Lyria towards Vengerberg with his lute in his hands when he saw him.

His hair was like fire but his eyes shone like liquid gold.

Another witcher.

Jaskier grinned and trotted up to the man. He was pulling a dark horse behind him and grumbling under his breath with a sour expression on his face.

And Jaskier loved him.

“Witcher!” Jaskier called as he approached.

The man glared at him with fire in his eyes and Jaskier could have swooned. Were all witchers so handsome and sexy? Jaskier decided they must be, a side effect of the mutations perhaps. Eskel hadn’t never been willing to discuss that side of witcherhood.

“What do you want, bard?” The man growled.

Jaskier felt a rush of arousal at the gruff tones of the witcher’s voice. “Spare a humble bard a tale, witcher, and maybe you’ll find out.” He winked as he stepped closer to the gorgeous redhead.

He wanted to run his hands through those curls, and he was certain the man’s armour was about to rip open on his arms. Jaskier had never seen such large strong arms before, not even on Eskel. This man was pure muscle and it made Jaskier’s heart feel weak.

Recognition lit up in the witcher’s eyes much to Jaskier’s delight. “You’re Eskel’s bard.” He grumbled.

“I’m my own bard.” Jaskier corrected. “Darling Eskel seems determined to reject any opportunities to claim me.” Jaskier pouted for added affect and let his fingers trail absentmindedly down the witcher’s arm.

“Back off, bard.” The witcher growled. “I have a partner.”

Jaskier tilted his head and smirked. “That’s not a problem.”

The witcher laughed. “You’re brave, I’ll give you that, but I don’t think you’d win in a fight against another witcher, bard.”

Jaskier pouted but stepped away. “Fine. You win but I’m a flirt by nature so don’t take it personally. You witchers are a slippery bunch. So handsome and yet so unobtainable. Although,” He dropped his voice back into his lower register to flirt some more. “If you and your partner ever want some company.”

“Fuck off bard!” The witcher snapped. “To the gods, Eskel must be mad.”

Jaskier shrugged. “I grow on people. I was serious about the tales though. Same as Eskel, you’ll get a cut of the coin if you tell me some ballad worthy adventures. Perhaps a wyvern or other draconid, they always go down well with an audience. Ooh or a real dragon! There aren’t many of those left.”

“We don’t hunt dragons.” The witcher rolled his eyes.

Jaskier persisted. “But you must have seen one.”

“No.” The witcher shook his head.

Jaskier huffed. It seemed this witcher would be harder to crack than Eskel. Eskel had always been funny and open. This new witcher was faster to anger and less tolerant to Jaskier’s tactile and openly affectionate personality. He grinned, perhaps this one would be more likely to let him join him on a hunt, if only he could prove himself to be useful. He was pretty handy with a dagger after all. His enemies always seemed to underestimate him which he used to his advantage masterfully.

Jaskier walked with the witcher back towards Lyria. He was going in the wrong direction to where he wanted to go but he was a curious fellow and he just couldn’t let this beautiful man walk away from him without at least getting one story or even a name.

When they reached the city Jaskier waved at the merchants in the square that he knew and bartered quite successfully with the barkeep for the witcher’s lodgings and food. He slid onto the bench opposite the witcher and stared longingly as his red curls danced in the candlelight.

“So tell me, witcher, do you have a name?” He hummed as he sipped his ale. He preferred wine but prior experience had taught him to only order ale in this particular tavern.

The wine was shit.

“Lambert.” He growled.

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Lambert.” Jaskier raised his mug of ale and grinned.

The ale loosened Lambert’s tongue somewhat and Jaskier was able to pull a few basic tales from the man, nothing to sing about in their raw form but Jaskier knew he could easily fix it with a few artistic embellishments. The food was tolerable, not great but not as bad as the wine. Lambert seemed to have no complaints as he wolfed down two full plates to Jaskier’s one. Jaskier had noticed Eskel ate like a starved man too when coin afforded a more lavish amount of food so Jaskier had made sure to order extra.

Lambert grumbled what could have been a thank you, or equally a grievous insult, at Jaskier and then downed the last of his ale.

It was at that point when things began to go downhill.

The doors flung open and two rowdy drunk idiots fell stumbling into the tavern.

“Oi!” One of them shouted. His skin was pale, and almost yellow from years of excessive drinking and his eyes were bloodshot. He was a mess. “Where’s the fucking mutant?” He roared and the other man laughed before coughing his lungs out.

“We don’t want no mutants in our city.” The second man wheezed. “They’re unnatural beasts!  Steal our women and children to turn them into the monsters they’re supposed to kill!”

“Come out, freak and we’ll kill you quickly.” The first man cackled and spat on the floor.

A silence fell over the tavern.

Lambert gripped the hilt of one of the swords that was resting next to him on the bench, but Jaskier was faster. He’d pulled the dagger from his boots and had it pressed up against the first man’s neck before Lambert could even blink.

“Say that again.” Jaskier hissed as he pressed the dagger into the drunkards throat. It wasn’t hard enough to draw blood but it had certainly shaken the other man.

The first drunk swallowed nervously and his eyes flashed to his companion who answered, sounding less confident than before. “We don’t want no mutants in our city.”

Jaskier grinned and tilted his head. “Firstly, that’s a double negative. So you’re saying you do want the witcher’s in your city which I wholeheartedly agree with. Witchers are some of the finest people I’ve met.”

The poor man looked confused. His alcohol addled brain couldn’t keep up with Jaskier’s quick tongue.

“Secondly. Don’t you dare call my friend a freak again or I will not hesitate.” Jaskier pulled his dagger away from the man’s throat and turned back to join Lambert at the table.

He heard the heavy breathing of his attacker as he launched into an attack but the blow never hit. Lambert had drawn his own knife and thrown it at the man before Jaskier could even turn around.

The dagger hit the drunk in the shoulder and the man howled in pain. Both men scurried from the tavern with their tails between their legs. Luckily Jaskier was well liked by the barkeeper and his family and they weren’t thrown out after them.

Lambert clapped him on the back. “Thanks, bard.”

Jaskier nodded and pulled the witcher into an awkward hug. “Anytime, witcher. Anytime.”

__________

It was a rare occasion when two witchers met on the path. They preferred to stay out of each other’s way, there just weren’t enough contracts anymore for them to occupy them same areas and still make enough coin to live on, even with the bard’s songs, which was why Geralt was surprised to run into Lambert in Rivia.

He tried not to go back to Rivia too often. His chosen name made it awkward to be around the locals. He’d tried to assimilate a Rivian accent but around born Rivians he just sounded like a cheap copy but as was the way, a contract had lured him into town.

“Geralt of Rivia!” Lambert cheered when he spotted him and Geralt cursed under his breath. “You’ve come home!”

“Very funny, Lambert.” Geralt muttered but went over to greet his brother. “You here for the contract?”

“Just got back from the Alderman’s house. Drowner infestation down by the docks.” Lambert pushed an ale towards Geralt.

Geralt hummed thoughtfully. “Fancy splitting the coin.”

Lambert raised an eyebrow at him. “Desperate for the coin, wolf?”

Geralt grunted in affirmation. “My armour needs repairs. Right now it’s that or a decent meal. Not both.”

As if on cue, Geralt’s stomach growled causing Lambert to howl with laughter. “Take the contract.” Lambert grinned as he dumped a heavy coin purse on the table. “Ran into Eskel’s bard friend. Turns out he’s quite the investment.”

Geralt frowned at the sight of the gold coins sparkling in the dim light of the tavern. The mysterious bard, the lover of witchers had apparently gotten even Lambert to roll over. Lambert didn’t make friends with anyone outside of the wolf pack and his cat lover.

“You find out his name?” Geralt asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“Fuck!” Lambert groaned and hid his head in his hands. “It just never came up!”

The mysterious bard went by a few names depending on where you were on the Continent. In Cidaris he was known simply as the Witcher’s Bard. Further south in Metinna the name Dandelion cropped up. In Toussaint he was known as Fleur-de-lis. In Novigrad he was called Jaskier and in Vengerberg he was known as Daffodil.

It infuriated Geralt.

He wanted to know who this man was that had invested so much time and effort into singing their praises, who had befriended both his brothers with ease, who didn’t fear them.

“It never came up.” Geralt growled. “How the fuck didn’t it come up?”

Lambert flipped him off and pulled the mug of ale back across the table. “Look, he just never said, which is unbelievable because fucking hell I’ve never known anyone who can talk so much.”

Geralt hummed in response.

“Sort of like your opposite.” Lambert smirked so Geralt punched him in the arm. Hard. “Fuck off!”

“I’m taking the drowner contract.” Geralt stood up and grabbed his swords. “Some of us still work for a living.”

“Don’t knock it til you’ve tried it.” Lambert grinned and took a long draught of his ale and cackled as Geralt stormed out of the tavern to go search for the drowner nest.

It was all this fucking bard’s fault.

Geralt didn’t know why he was angry with the bard. He’d never even met him. He chalked it down to petty jealousy that his fellow witchers seemed to be earning money off the stories they gave to the bard, that they were eating lavish hot meals with decent ale to wash it down with, that they could visit brothels whenever the need arose without having to worry about the next contract.

Of course, if Geralt didn’t give half his coin away to people in need then he’d probably not be having a problem in the first place, but he just couldn’t help it. What good was a trip to the brothel if he knew that he’d taken the last of a villagers coin and they wouldn’t be able to feed their family that week.

The guilt would sour the pleasure before it could begin.

He sighed and pinched his nose.

“Bloody bard.”

He’d heard the bard’s songs a few times in his travels but never from the composer’s lips. He’d asked a few times whether the troubadours had written the songs but none of them had. One snivelling looking pompous bastard had laughed in his face and declared that his own songs were far superior and that they only reason he played the witcher songs were because they drew in a bigger crowd.

Geralt suggested that that meant the songs were better and the bard went blue in the face and then stormed out of the tavern. Geralt had been asked to leave soon after.

One girl, a pretty blonde with cornflower blue eyes, one of which was hidden behind her hair, had giggled and said she was just stealing the songs from a friend of hers but wouldn’t say anymore about the mysterious witcher bard. He’d felt foolish after asking because he knew that Eskel’s bard was a man, it was just the girl’s eyes had drawn him in more than he would like.

It wasn’t that Geralt cared about the bard.

He just wanted to know for himself.

Nothing more.

_______

Next

[nightofthemeteor]

Falconry/Bonsai

(Also here on AO3)

“Tobirama, can you come help me with something?”

“What?” came the disgruntled answer from down the hall.

Hashirama stuck his head out the door. “I need you to take a picture for my Instagram!”

He could hear his little brother stomping down the hallway, so Hashirama returned to his table and picked up a pair of pruning shears, considering the lighting in the room and the best angle to take a photo. A moment later, Tobirama walked into the room, saw Hashirama, and immediately turned around and walked out.

“Hey! Come back!”

“No way,” said Tobirama, without turning around. “I am not taking a picture of you in your underwear.”

“I’m not in only my underwear!” Hashirama protested. “I’m wearing a shirt!” Granted, it was the shortest shirt he owned, and it did leave a substantial strip of skin bare, but still.

“Can I ask,” Tobirama said witheringly, stopped in the doorway but without turning around, “Why you’re posing for a half-naked picture to put on your gardening blog? Don’t tell me you’re that desperate for exposure.” He was forced to turn around for this last part, because he had to raise his eyebrows at Hashirama to make sure he got the double entendre.

“Very funny, Tobirama. No, it’s not for more followers.” Although that could be a nice side effect, come to think of it. “It’s a…” Hashirama knew there was a word for this, if only he could remember – “Thirst trap!” he announced, proud of himself for getting the terminology right.

Tobirama wrinkled his nose. “Please never say that again, Anija. Do I know the person you’re posting this for?”

“Nah – I just met him yesterday! I ran into him on the subway as I was bringing home this very bonsai.” Hashirama affectionately patted the pot containing his newest leafy charge, a lovely boxwood tree rescued from the back shelves of a garden store on the other side of town. “I’m telling you, Tobirama, this tree is good luck!”

“Are you out of your mind, Anija? You gave your Instagram handle to some random stranger on the subway, and now you’re posting – ” Tobirama made a vague, sort of circular gesture to encompass Hashirama’s general state of undress “ – for him to see? I’m begging you to have just a shred of common sense.”

“No, this guy is fine, I promise! I have excellent judgement about this sort of thing.” Tobirama crossed his arms and gave him a flat look that said, Your judgement is terrible and we both know it. Hashirama sighed. “If you help me, I’ll buy you that expensive, iced coffee you like,” he wheedled.

“Two coffees,” Tobirama snapped. “And when you end up with some creepy stalker, I’m not going to help you.”

“Yes! Thank you!” Hashirama shoved his phone into Tobirama’s hands before he could change his mind and struck a pose next to the boxwood, shears in hand. He’d just finished pruning the tree, in fact – this picture was to show off his handiwork with the bonsai, too. The guy on the subway - Madara, he'd said his name was - had asked about it, after all. “Is the shape of the tree still good from that angle?”

“It’s fine,” Tobirama sighed in exasperation, and then, apparently resigned to his role, added: “Maybe turn it clockwise a little.”

Hashirama complied, spending a few more seconds arranging the miniature branches. “Did you get your exam marks back yet?” he asked, to keep Tobirama occupied while he fussed with the tree.

“Just got my mark for organic chem,” his brother replied, lips pressed together in an angry pout. “One point away from perfect. I swear, that TA was just trying to find some excuse to take marks away; he was a huge asshole to me all semester, just because I pointed out his synthesis problems had more than one correct solution.”

That explained why Tobirama was even grumpier than usual. “Well, you must have done an excellent job, if this TA could only find one point to take away,” Hashirama tried, in an attempt to mollify him; Tobirama’s stony expression remained unchanged. “Plus, the year is over, so you’ll never have to deal with him again!”

That got a grudging half-smile out of Tobirama. “Yeah – at least there’s that. Are you ready, Anija? I want to get this over with.”

---

The picture was…it was…different from the majority of Hashirama’s posts. Madara had been stalking his Instagram for the past half hour – was it really stalking if the guy had given him his handle and invited him to look for updates on the bonsai he’d been carrying? Probably not, right? – Madara had been looking at his Instagram for the past half hour, and it was all innocent pictures of trees, flowers, and houseplants, meticulously cared for and clearly thriving. Occasionally, Hashirama’s smiling face appeared in the background of a photo, or his hand showed up in a close-up to showcase some clippings, but there was nothing like…that. Broad shoulders in a loosely draped shirt; smooth skin over taut muscle at his stomach; sharp hipbones leading down to –

“What are you looking at, Nii-san?”

Madara jumped, fumbled his phone, and dropped it onto his chest. “Izuna! How many times do I have to tell you to knock?”

“Oh, it was porn? Sorry,” said Izuna, sticking his face obnoxiously through the crack between Madara’s bedroom door and the wall.

“It wasn’t porn,” Madara replied reflexively, before realizing that not only was he now going to have to provide an explanation, but he sort of had been looking at porn. Almost. “It’s this guy I met yesterday,” Madara mumbled at his phone. “I'm on his Instagram.”

“You met someone?!” Izuna exclaimed in delight. Madara sighed – there was no keeping his little brother out of his business now. Sure enough, Izuna threw open his door the rest of the way and bounded over to sit next to Madara on the bed. “How did this miracle occur?”

“It was…kind of accidental.” Madara wasn’t exactly the sociable type, and he certainly didn’t strike up conversations with strangers on public transit – in fact, he usually did his best to maintain a menacing aura so that people didn’t talk to him. But yesterday, after staring for probably a solid five minutes at the impressively muscled forearms of the guy standing in front of him, Madara had realized even those muscles might get tired of holding an entire bonsai tree, and he should probably offer the guy his seat. The man had accepted the offer with a very genuine-sounding thanks, and then had proceeded to flash Madara an implausibly sunny grin, gesture to the bonsai in his lap, and say, “Trees-ed to meet you!”. The line was so terrible Madara hadn't been able to let it go without comment, and before he knew what was happening, he’d been talking to the guy for twenty minutes and had acquired his Instagram handle.

“Well, can I see a picture?” Izuna demanded.

Madara winced, rapidly weighed his options, and reluctantly unlocked his phone to show Izuna the picture he’d been looking at. Izuna, shockingly, didn’t comment on the nature of the photo, but squinted down at it and said, “Hm…I think I know that guy.”

“You do?”

“I’m pretty sure I met him on campus one time, when I was waiting for your lab to finish. He was waiting for someone too, so we chatted for a few minutes. Nice guy.”

With sudden, dawning horror, Madara asked, “Was he hitting on you?”

“No, no! Nothing like that. I think he’s just a friendly type of person.”

Well, a man who flirted with anything that moved – or worse, Izuna – would have been a crushing disappointment, but a ‘friendly type of person’ was nearly as bad. Hashirama had given him his Instagram handle and told him to watch for a post with an update on ‘his’ bonsai, and said bonsai update had included a half-naked Hashirama. Madara had nearly dared to interpret that as interest…but if Hashirama was just a ‘friendly type of person,’ Madara could have been reading the cues entirely wrong. Perhaps their conversation yesterday had just been a fun way to pass the time, and the photo was intended for somebody else.

As if reading his mind, Izuna said, “You should ask him out for drinks or something.”

“I followed his Instagram,” Madara announced, “And that is exactly the number of moves I am willing to make. I’m busy, you know – I can’t go chasing all the time like you.” Just one of many excellent reasons to save that picture for his fantasies and never meet the real person ever again.

“You just finished marking all your exams,” Izuna countered. “I know you’re not that busy. Come on, Nii-san, be reasonable: when are you ever going to get another chance like this again?”

“Thanks for that, Izuna,” Madara muttered. Who said he was even interested in dating, anyways? Relationships were messy, confusing, and time-consuming; not at all worth the hassle –

Madara’s phone buzzed. Instagram message from Hashirama: Hey, sorry if this is presumptuous, but do you want to meet up for drinks sometime?

Madara stared at his screen. Then, disbelieving, he held out the phone for Izuna to read. A stunned moment of silence, and then Izuna shrieked, “You have to go!”

Well, maybe this wasn’t quite as complicated as Madara had feared. Izuna was right; he wasn’t that busy. Pursing his lips in concentration, Madara typed out a reply.

---

Tobirama had been completely wrong, as it turned out: Madara was neither a creep nor a stalker. He was a grad student with an acerbic tongue, passionate opinions, and a lovely embarrassed blush. Hashirama had become so absorbed in the conversation he’d completely forgotten to order more drinks, which was seriously unlike him – although, since he’d made up his mind to pay for the date, it was probably for the best.

“I can’t believe I’m here,” Madara remarked abruptly, somewhere around hour three or four.

“You mean existentially?”

“Literally here, in a bar, having drinks with you,” Madara clarified. “I mean – my younger brother is convinced I’m incapable of socializing. He was probably planning to set me up with one of his friends from…art school…” He leveled a suspicious glare at Hashirama as he said these last few words. “He didn’t put you up to this, did he? What’s he paying you?”

“It wasn’t your brother,” said Hashirama seriously. “It was the bonsai.”

“The bonsai paid you to take me out for drinks?”

“The bonsai brought us together.” Hashirama raised his glass; Madara followed suit, looking a little bemused but playing along, nonetheless. “To the bonsai!” Hashirama announced. He drained his glass, surreptitiously watched the way Madara’s throat moved as he drank, and thought. Tobirama would definitely judge him for thinking it, but though Hashirama barely knew Madara, he felt an immediate connection to him. He didn’t want to lose this opportunity.

“Madara,” he said. Madara looked at him with his dark, expressive eyes, shadows from his hair falling across his face, and Hashirama bit his lip. Careful, he thought. “I really am glad you’re here, in this bar, having drinks with me.”

Madara flushed again, his cheeks and the tips of his ears turning red; Hashirama wondered if he could make Madara flush anywhere else. “I’m glad, too,” he said, low and a little shaky, as though he was unused to saying things like that.

Hashirama immediately abandoned his caution of just a moment before and said, “Do you want to get out of here? We can go to my place – my brother won’t be home.”

“Yes,” said Madara. “Yes, definitely.”

---

Hashirama had the bonsai – Madara’s bonsai, the one he’d toasted that evening – set up in pride of place in his bedroom. That should have prompted Madara to suspect Hashirama had planned for this to happen, and make him annoyed at Hashirama’s confidence. He should also have been a lot more panicked when he looked at Hashirama’s face, sleepy and content, with his previously immaculate hair tangled on the pillow, and felt a tug somewhere under his sternum. Instead, he looked at that bonsai on his way out of the room and thought, Thanks.

Hashirama’s apartment wasn’t very large, considering it housed two people, but it was still annoying to search for the bathroom in an unfamiliar place. Madara had been sure Hashirama had told him it was down the hall on the left, but now he was in the entranceway. He was about to retrace his steps and try again when he heard a key jingling in the door.

“Hey, Anija, I just came back for – ” The man in the doorway spotted Madara and froze. Madara, too, had frozen in horror, because even in the dim light he’d immediately recognized Hashirama’s brother.

“You!” yelped Senju Tobirama.

“No,” Madara said, backing up a step. “Absolutely not.”

Tobirama pointed an accusing finger at him. “I was supposed to be done with you!” he hissed. “You took off that one mark on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Oh, because you think all your solutions are perfect, do you?” He’d certainly acted that way all through that torturous organic chemistry class.

“Tobirama?” came Hashirama’s concerned voice from the hallway.

“Tell me you’re not sleeping with my TA, Anija!” Tobirama practically wailed, and suddenly, Madara’s annoyance at the appearance of his least favourite student was replaced with pure schadenfreude.

“I’m afraid he very much is,” he said, before Hashirama could reply. “So you’d better get used to seeing a lot of me.” And to his great satisfaction, he watched Hashirama’s face brighten in delight, and Tobirama’s drop in utter horror.

[didanawisgi]

Anatomy of a Sheepdog

Book Excerpt; Grossman, D., with Christensen, L., On Combat: The Psychology and Physiology of Deadly Conflict in War and in Peace, WSG Research Publications, 2004.

​Reprinted countless times. Feel free to distribute as long as you attribute Lt. Col. Dave Grossman as the author and that it is an excerpt from his book, On Combat.

On Sheep, Wolves and Sheepdogs (From the book, On Combat, by Lt. Col. Dave Grossman)

“Honor never grows old, and honor rejoices the heart of age. It does so because honor is, finally, about defending those noble and worthy things that deserve defending, even if it comes at a high cost. In our time, that may mean social disapproval, public scorn, hardship, persecution, or as always, even death itself. The question remains: What is worth defending? What is worth dying for? What is worth living for?” - William J. Bennett In a lecture to the United States Naval Academy November 24, 1997

“One Vietnam veteran, an old retired colonel, once said this to me: “Most of the people in our society are sheep. They are kind, gentle, productive creatures who can only hurt one another by accident.” This is true. Remember, the murder rate is six per 100,000 per year, and the aggravated assault rate is four per 1,000 per year. What this means is that the vast majority of Americans are not inclined to hurt one another. Some estimates say that two million Americans are victims of violent crimes every year, a tragic, staggering number, perhaps an all-time record rate of violent crime. But there are almost 300 million Americans, which means that the odds of being a victim of violent crime is considerably less than one in a hundred on any given year. Furthermore, since many violent crimes are committed by repeat offenders, the actual number of violent citizens is considerably less than two million. Thus there is a paradox, and we must grasp both ends of the situation: We may well be in the most violent times in history, but violence is still remarkably rare. This is because most citizens are kind, decent people who are not capable of hurting each other, except by accident or under extreme provocation. They are sheep. I mean nothing negative by calling them sheep. To me it is like the pretty, blue robin’s egg. Inside it is soft and gooey but someday it will grow into something wonderful. But the egg cannot survive without its hard blue shell. Police officers, soldiers and other warriors are like that shell, and someday the civilization they protect will grow into something wonderful. For now, though, they need warriors to protect them from the predators. “Then there are the wolves,” the old war veteran said, “and the wolves feed on the sheep without mercy.” Do you believe there are wolves out there who will feed on the flock without mercy? You better believe it. There are evil men in this world and they are capable of evil deeds. The moment you forget that or pretend it is not so, you become a sheep. There is no safety in denial. “Then there are sheepdogs,” he went on, “and I’m a sheepdog. I live to protect the flock and confront the wolf.” Or, as a sign in one California law enforcement agency put it, “We intimidate those who intimidate others.” If you have no capacity for violence then you are a healthy productive citizen: a sheep. If you have a capacity for violence and no empathy for your fellow citizens, then you have defined an aggressive sociopath–a wolf. But what if you have a capacity for violence, and a deep love for your fellow citizens? Then you are a sheepdog, a warrior, someone who is walking the hero’s path. Someone who can walk into the heart of darkness, into the universal human phobia, and walk out unscathed. The gift of aggression

“What goes on around you… compares little with what goes on inside you.” - Ralph Waldo Emerson

Everyone has been given a gift in life. Some people have a gift for science and some have a flair for art. And warriors have been given the gift of aggression. They would no more misuse this gift than a doctor would misuse his healing arts, but they yearn for the opportunity to use their gift to help others. These people, the ones who have been blessed with the gift of aggression and a love for others, are our sheepdogs. These are our warriors. One career police officer wrote to me about this after attending one of my Bulletproof Mind training sessions: “I want to say thank you for finally shedding some light on why it is that I can do what I do. I always knew why I did it. I love my [citizens], even the bad ones, and had a talent that I could return to my community. I just couldn’t put my finger on why I could wade through the chaos, the gore, the sadness, if given a chance try to make it all better, and walk right out the other side.” Let me expand on this old soldier’s excellent model of the sheep, wolves, and sheepdogs. We know that the sheep live in denial; that is what makes them sheep. They do not want to believe that there is evil in the world. They can accept the fact that fires can happen, which is why they want fire extinguishers, fire sprinklers, fire alarms and fire exits throughout their kids’ schools. But many of them are outraged at the idea of putting an armed police officer in their kid’s school. Our children are dozens of times more likely to be killed, and thousands of times more likely to be seriously injured, by school violence than by school fires, but the sheep’s only response to the possibility of violence is denial. The idea of someone coming to kill or harm their children is just too hard, so they choose the path of denial. The sheep generally do not like the sheepdog. He looks a lot like the wolf. He has fangs and the capacity for violence. The difference, though, is that the sheepdog must not, cannot and will not ever harm the sheep. Any sheepdog who intentionally harms the lowliest little lamb will be punished and removed. The world cannot work any other way, at least not in a representative democracy or a republic such as ours. Still, the sheepdog disturbs the sheep. He is a constant reminder that there are wolves in the land. They would prefer that he didn’t tell them where to go, or give them traffic tickets, or stand at the ready in our airports in camouflage fatigues holding an M-16. The sheep would much rather have the sheepdog cash in his fangs, spray paint himself white, and go, “Baa.” Until the wolf shows up. Then the entire flock tries desperately to hide behind one lonely sheepdog. As Kipling said in his poem about “Tommy” the British soldier:

While it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ “Tommy, fall be'ind,” But it’s “Please to walk in front, sir,” when there’s trouble in the wind, There’s trouble in the wind, my boys, there’s trouble in the wind, O it’s “Please to walk in front, sir,” when there’s trouble in the wind.

The students, the victims, at Columbine High School were big, tough high school students, and under ordinary circumstances they would not have had the time of day for a police officer. They were not bad kids; they just had nothing to say to a cop. When the school was under attack, however, and SWAT teams were clearing the rooms and hallways, the officers had to physically peel those clinging, sobbing kids off of them. This is how the little lambs feel about their sheepdog when the wolf is at the door. Look at what happened after September 11, 2001, when the wolf pounded hard on the door. Remember how America, more than ever before, felt differently about their law enforcement officers and military personnel? Remember how many times you heard the word hero? Understand that there is nothing morally superior about being a sheepdog; it is just what you choose to be. Also understand that a sheepdog is a funny critter: He is always sniffing around out on the perimeter, checking the breeze, barking at things that go bump in the night, and yearning for a righteous battle. That is, the young sheepdogs yearn for a righteous battle. The old sheepdogs are a little older and wiser, but they move to the sound of the guns when needed right along with the young ones. Here is how the sheep and the sheepdog think differently. The sheep pretend the wolf will never come, but the sheepdog lives for that day. After the attacks on September 11, 2001, most of the sheep, that is, most citizens in America said, “Thank God I wasn’t on one of those planes.” The sheepdogs, the warriors, said, “Dear God, I wish I could have been on one of those planes. Maybe I could have made a difference.” When you are truly transformed into a warrior and have truly invested yourself into warriorhood, you want to be there. You want to be able to make a difference. While there is nothing morally superior about the sheepdog, the warrior, he does have one real advantage. Only one. He is able to survive and thrive in an environment that destroys 98 percent of the population. There was research conducted a few years ago with individuals convicted of violent crimes. These cons were in prison for serious, predatory acts of violence: assaults, murders and killing law enforcement officers. The vast majority said that they specifically targeted victims by body language: slumped walk, passive behavior and lack of awareness. They chose their victims like big cats do in Africa, when they select one out of the herd that is least able to protect itself. However, when there were cues given by potential victims that indicated they would not go easily, the cons said that they would walk away. If the cons sensed that the target was a “counter-predator,” that is, a sheepdog, they would leave him alone unless there was no other choice but to engage. One police officer told me that he rode a commuter train to work each day. One day, as was his usual, he was standing in the crowded car, dressed in blue jeans, T-shirt and jacket, holding onto a pole and reading a paperback. At one of the stops, two street toughs boarded, shouting and cursing and doing every obnoxious thing possible to intimidate the other riders. The officer continued to read his book, though he kept a watchful eye on the two punks as they strolled along the aisle making comments to female passengers, and banging shoulders with men as they passed. As they approached the officer, he lowered his novel and made eye contact with them. “You got a problem, man?” one of the IQ-challenged punks asked. “You think you’re tough, or somethin’?” the other asked, obviously offended that this one was not shirking away from them. “As a matter of fact, I am tough,” the officer said, calmly and with a steady gaze. The two looked at him for a long moment, and then without saying a word, turned and moved back down the aisle to continue their taunting of the other passengers, the sheep. Some people may be destined to be sheep and others might be genetically primed to be wolves or sheepdogs. But I believe that most people can choose which one they want to be, and I’m proud to say that more and more Americans are choosing to become sheepdogs. Seven months after the attack on September 11, 2001, Todd Beamer was honored in his hometown of Cranbury, New Jersey. Todd, as you recall, was the man on Flight 93 over Pennsylvania who called on his cell phone to alert an operator from United Airlines about the hijacking. When he learned of the other three passenger planes that had been used as weapons, Todd dropped his phone and uttered the words, “Let’s roll,” which authorities believe was a signal to the other passengers to confront the terrorist hijackers. In one hour, a transformation occurred among the passengers–athletes, business people and parents–from sheep to sheepdogs and together they fought the wolves, ultimately saving an unknown number of lives on the ground. “Do you have any idea how hard it would be to live with yourself after that?”

“There is no safety for honest men except by believing all possible evil of evil men.” - Edmund Burke Reflections on the Revolution in France

Here is the point I like to emphasize, especially to the thousands of police officers and soldiers I speak to each year. In nature the sheep, real sheep, are born as sheep. Sheepdogs are born that way, and so are wolves. They didn’t have a choice. But you are not a critter. As a human being, you can be whatever you want to be. It is a conscious, moral decision.

If you want to be a sheep, then you can be a sheep and that is okay, but you must understand the price you pay. When the wolf comes, you and your loved ones are going to die if there is not a sheepdog there to protect you. If you want to be a wolf, you can be one, but the sheepdogs are going to hunt you down and you will never have rest, safety, trust or love. But if you want to be a sheepdog and walk the warrior’s path, then you must make a conscious and moral decision every day to dedicate, equip and prepare yourself to thrive in that toxic, corrosive moment when the wolf comes knocking at the door. For example, many officers carry their weapons in church. They are well concealed in ankle holsters, shoulder holsters or inside-the-belt holsters tucked into the small of their backs. Anytime you go to some form of religious service, there is a very good chance that a police officer in your congregation is carrying. You will never know if there is such an individual in your place of worship, until the wolf appears to slaughter you and your loved ones. I was training a group of police officers in Texas, and during the break, one officer asked his friend if he carried his weapon in church. The other cop replied, “I will never be caught without my gun in church.” I asked why he felt so strongly about this, and he told me about a police officer he knew who was at a church massacre in Ft. Worth, Texas, in 1999. In that incident, a mentally deranged individual came into the church and opened fire, gunning down 14 people. He said that officer believed he could have saved every life that day if he had been carrying his gun. His own son was shot, and all he could do was throw himself on the boy’s body and wait to die. That cop looked me in the eye and said, “Do you have any idea how hard it would be to live with yourself after that?” Some individuals would be horrified if they knew this police officer was carrying a weapon in church. They might call him paranoid and would probably scorn him. Yet these same individuals would be enraged and would call for “heads to roll” if they found out that the airbags in their cars were defective, or that the fire extinguisher and fire sprinklers in their kids’ school did not work. They can accept the fact that fires and traffic accidents can happen and that there must be safeguards against them. Their only response to the wolf, though, is denial, and all too often their response to the sheepdog is scorn and disdain. But the sheepdog quietly asks himself, “Do you have any idea how hard it would be to live with yourself if your loved ones were attacked and killed, and you had to stand there helplessly because you were unprepared for that day?” The warrior must cleanse denial from his thinking. Coach Bob Lindsey, a renowned law enforcement trainer, says that warriors must practice “when/then” thinking, not “if/when.” Instead of saying,“If it happens then I will take action,” the warrior says, “When it happens then I will be ready.” It is denial that turns people into sheep. Sheep are psychologically destroyed by combat because their only defense is denial, which is counterproductive and destructive, resulting in fear, helplessness and horror when the wolf shows up. Denial kills you twice. It kills you once, at your moment of truth when you are not physically prepared: You didn’t bring your gun; you didn’t train. Your only defense was wishful thinking. Hope is not a strategy. Denial kills you a second time because even if you do physically survive, you are psychologically shattered by fear, helplessness, horror and shame at your moment of truth. Chuck Yeager, the famous test pilot and first man to fly faster than the speed of sound, says that he knew he could die. There was no denial for him. He did not allow himself the luxury of denial. This acceptance of reality can cause fear, but it is a healthy, controlled fear that will keep you alive:

“I was always afraid of dying. Always. It was my fear that made me learn everything I could about my airplane and my emergency equipment, and kept me flying respectful of my machine and always alert in the cockpit.” - Brigadier General Chuck Yeager Yeager, An Autobiography

Gavin de Becker puts it like this in Fear Less, his superb post-9/11 book, which should be required reading for anyone trying to come to terms with our current world situation:

“..denial can be seductive, but it has an insidious side effect. For all the peace of mind deniers think they get by saying it isn’t so, the fall they take when faced with new violence is all the more unsettling. Denial is a save-now-pay-later scheme, a contract written entirely in small print, for in the long run, the denying person knows the truth on some level.”

And so the warrior must strive to confront denial in all aspects of his life, and prepare himself for the day when evil comes. If you are a warrior who is legally authorized to carry a weapon and you step outside without that weapon, then you become a sheep, pretending that the bad man will not come today. No one can be “on” 24/7 for a lifetime. Everyone needs down time. But if you are authorized to carry a weapon, and you walk outside without it, just take a deep breath, and say this to yourself… “Baa.” This business of being a sheep or a sheepdog is not a yes-no dichotomy. It is not an all-or-nothing, either-or choice. It is a matter of degrees, a continuum. On one end is an abject, head-in-the-grass sheep and on the other end is the ultimate warrior. Few people exist completely on one end or the other. Most of us live somewhere in between. Since 9-11 almost everyone in America took a step up that continuum, away from denial. The sheep took a few steps toward accepting and appreciating their warriors, and the warriors started taking their job more seriously. The degree to which you move up that continuum, away from sheephood and denial, is the degree to which you and your loved ones will survive, physically and psychologically at your moment of truth.”

[toongrrl-blog]

Bridget Jones: In Company with Beckys and Karens

We can start with unpacking your luggage Bridget, you are gonna need the help but pull your weight into it. 

Hi Bridget, looking good as always. Long time, huh? I guess it has been awkward after I have given your husband Mark a beat down and sent roses to his first ex-wife and your ex supervisor Perpetua. I think it’s time we talk. I understand life hasn’t been easy for you: your mother is nutty and a misogynistic racist, your father is friends with pervs and found it astounding you had a real boyfriend (Colin Jones won’t escape my ire), your friends are trash frankly especially the smug marrieds, you are insecure over a body that actually isn’t really a outlier to the dominant white patriarchal standard of cis female beauty (by the way, have you heard butt implants exist now?), your jerk husband is very negging and in the original novel he “compliments” you by pulling “Not like other girls” on you and all your other boyfriends see you as a piece of ass and don’t respect you, your uncle gropes your ass for how long and his wife pesters you about your body and past singleness. 

But let’s be real Bridget: those wilderness years where you feared becoming a sad spinster were endured in a spacious apartment where your bedroom was separate from the kitchen AND the living room without a roommate (hope I get this lucky), you haven’t wanted for nothing growing up in a affluent and safe town in a single-income family (your dad was also a accountant), you were given blonde hair and blue eyes (traits that have been considered desirable for multiple millenniums), your body was always curvier than you’d like but you had no problem finding a lot of clothes in your size and didn’t have a doctor fat shame you (now smoking and drinking...), I learned from Jameela Jamil that actually Britain of your teens and twenties was a racist time, you got to go to college (granted it was in the University of Wales, which wasn’t “prestigious” enough for Daniel Cleaver) and you got a stable office job at a publishing company that you often fudged (most WOC can’t fuck up like you and thrive in this culture), and you never been in most situations where you didn’t have to look in the media or in the room and find yourself out of place. 

Well now it’s 2020, have you heard of Black Lives Matter? This shitstorm of a year has been forcing us to confront issues regarding the patriarchy, capitalism, white supremacy, putting people of privilege to question their own involvement in prejudice, and a highly militarized law enforcement. Has Mark spoke of this to you? I haven’t heard a peep from you and Helen Fielding. I must say, I was glad not to hear either you or Helen say anything transphobic (fuck off JK Rowling). I think you heard of these memes going around called “the Karen” and “the Becky”, you must be wondering what the difference between the two are and was at a loss to counsel your smug married friends or your racist ass mother crying over being called Karens. Here is the trouble, I think you are likely a Becky and have the potential to turn into a Karen, after all you dream of weaponizing your mother’s embarrassing casual racism and thin privilege against Perpetua and Mark Darcy, and you dabbled in the White Savior trope for a hot minute in Thailand (oh and playing an idealized Ivanka Trump to your mother in the 3rd film?). Also let’s face it, you are compared to every confident, capable woman in your universe (surprise they are all bitches) or the non-Anglo British or non-British conquests of Daniel or Mark’s ex wife. 

Let’s talk about the traits of a Karen and Becky and how they are related, Bridget.

Karen

Ah the Karen, or as Tv Tropes called her the “Obnoxious Entitled Housewife”. 

Here is a bullet point of traits the Karen possesses according to The Take:

She’s an entitled, middle-aged, upper or middle class, often White woman.

She mistreats those “beneath her” like wait staff and customer service, classism at it’s most in-your-face and irritating.

She follows the rules, except the part about expired coupons.

She sticks to the hierarchy, using it to prop herself up. 

Often passive-aggressive and judgmental.

She puts up the image of the perfect fragile woman, even if she instigated a crime.

Narcissistic behavior. 

She considers herself the policewoman of human behavior.

She often lacks a understanding of different races and classes.

She projects her own misery on those who cannot fight back against her.

She is often a Know Nothing Know It All.

This probably hits home Bridget, they describe your mother, Auntie Una, and smug married friends. When you look at the news from my country, you tell yourself every time they wonder about your marital status or when you will have children, you are likely keeping them from calling the police on a black kid selling cups of water. But Karen is merely the more outwardly mature version of a trope you definitely fit and her name is....

Becky

Hey Bridget, your hair may not be as shiny as you like but according to a White Supremacist structure, you have “good hair”. You dealt with your literal Beckys Bridget (hi book version Rebecca Gillies), but what “Becky” refers to is to a often ditzy, somewhat entitled, young, white woman who lacks real racial understanding. It refers to how our society props up an image of idealized white femininity, sometimes it bleeds into women not considered “ideal” themselves. 

By the way, the redhead featured is Joan Holloway. She isn’t ditzy like a Becky but her Queen Bee behaviors, her reliance on her pretty privilege, lack of racial understanding, and her adherence to femininity and social climbing make her a modern-day Becky Sharp (also an earlier Becky). 

Remember when you contemplated introducing Mark as “a middle-aged prick who was lefty by his cruel raced ex-wife”? Wasn’t that kind of racist of your Bridget? Not so different from your mother? Here are a few traits:

Becky can be oblivious to her surroundings (and the feelings of others less advantaged than she).

She usually gets away with trouble due to her idealized Anglo looks.

Willfully naïve.

Conventionally feminine.

Often spoiled. 

She and her interests are basic and mainstream (sounds like milk tray, Colin Firth binge fests, shopping, numerous garden parties).

She is often cushioned against disappointment (in the 3rd film we were all supposed to be on your side while your bitchy boss fired you for very good reasons).

Unaware of other’s needs because she is so used to things going her way.

Her ignorance can be just as frustrating and harmful as a Karen’s maliciousness.

Becky is given real growth in fiction, to learn to be better. 

The thing is Bridget....where is your character development? It seems you hardly achieve much confidence, intellect, or maturity. In the 3rd film, I was shocked you were in your forties, I thought I was looking at a overgrown teenager. Perhaps you are a victim of Flanderization?

Karen and Becky

Now we look at how bad things could get if you don’t check your privilege soon enough Bridget, yes a lot of Beckys run the risk of becoming Karens. This is Mother-Daughter pair, Nancy (daughter) and Karen (Mother) Wheeler, I put them because of the connection but they don’t fit the stereotype (despite one of them having the name) but they are privileged white women talking about their shared experiences with misogyny. And most Beckys and Karens had to deal with misogyny, both outside and internalized, the issue being they don’t see how other people had to suffer due to prejudice.

Now Bridget, with your mother, you are a Becky while she was always a Karen. That is you are ignorant about your white privilege while your mother runs on casual racism, ignorance, and Tory politics. Ask her or Mark about the race riots, ask her  and Mark about Enoch Powell. And yes Julie Bindel, a fellow compatriot of yours, complained about the Karen label but honestly it’s scary about how some of your peers chortled over racist jokes or your mother’s antics but get up in arms when people of color in service jobs call ya’ll out. But there are some Karen traits you show already, you will weaponize your place in the pecking order to beat down on another woman, like with Perpetua and Mark’s first ex-wife. 

What does this say about you?

I will be the first to admit, I would’ve jumped up and cheered if I woke up in your body. You are conventionally prettier, but lately I recognized my own points and one of them is flair and the ability to read folks. Believe it or not Bridget, you are seen as a role model and a relatable figure to folks (and your last film ran on Millennial bashing, hating on younger women is not a good look). Maybe these Zoomer teens were on to something? Bridge, they will save us, we need to do the work. 

Now maybe you can take a cue from Dr. Rawlings on how to support and critique women Bridget? In the meantime, I think if I run into you, I’ll run if I see your mother. 

Not all is lost, I see you are a reader, maybe put down the self-help books and do some self-improvement by learning how to be a better white ally. I would like to read Hood Feminism (Mikki Kendall is a delight on Twitter). Meanwhile, if you do release a 4th movie in the future: don’t release it during a U.S. election year (I have had enough right wing presidents to last my teens and twenties).  

[mypokepal]

Hi! I would like to ask for a partner ^^ My name is Marina, but my friends call me Ruru. I like the ocean or anything related to water. Right now I'm working on being a voice actress, while also studying Social Integration. I'm taurus, a hufflepuff and a INFP. I really like cute things, spending time playing videogames with my friends or reading. Thank u so much for doing this!

SOMETHING NEW: I’m going to be adding a short little story (I guess you can call it that) on how you meet your partner! If you want to request a story instead of a partner request, I’d be happy to do that too. EX: “Can you do a story on how me and my Bulbasaur become partners?”  but you tell me what you like, what things you’re interested in and I’ll try to piece everything together. 

I have the perfect partner for you! Let me introduce you to...

Brionne! I think Brionne would be perfect for you because...

(1) If you like cute things, I think you’re going to love Brionne. This Pokemon embodies everything that is both charming and adorable. Adorning Brionne with jewelry and cute outfits will really make your heart as well as others explode. You two will be the talk of your town because of your delightful personalities and matching outfits. Like you, Brionne is a very social Pokemon and makes creating new friendships look effortless. Pokemon and people naturally gravitate towards Brionne because it’s just so warm and welcoming. This Pokemon harbours no judgement or malice in its heart and exists purely to spread joy. Your friends and family will love having the two of you around as you guys light up every room you walk into and make the atmosphere lively and fun!

(2) Being creative and working in the entertainment business can be quite draining and mental blocks unfortunately come way too often. Fortunately for you however, Brionne is like a battery pack and will keep you charged and motivated constantly. Brionne loves anything that is art and easily expresses itself with dance and bubbles. When you’re feeling stuck, just watch Brionne play and you’ll instantly be filled with inspiration. Its Pokedex even states: “It cares deeply for its companions. When its Trainer is feeling down, it performs a cheery dance to try and help.” Brionne is a master at utilizing its environment to create the most amazing performance. I think you two should combine your guys’ creative powers and participate in Pokemon contests! I wouldn’t be surprised at all if you become a household name after only participating for such a short time.

(3) Peace and unity is important to you and a wonderful subject that you’re currently studying. Brionne is a Pokemon that thrives when everyone is working together and does not do well when there is conflict. It tires itself out to mend situations and bring people together. Though its last evolution carries the fairy type, that typing still runs through Brionne’s veins and is shown through its empathy, care and love towards everyone it meets. You two will be a guiding light for everyone in your life as well as each other. Unconditional love is not an overestimation when it comes to your guys’ bond for sure. Your passion and Brionne’s openness will really make a great impact on this world!

HOW YOU AND BRIONNE WILL MEET: 

You will meet Brionne in Alola! Your love for the ocean will mean that you will definitely be living in a house by the water. Every morning you are awaken as the sun is rising by a beautiful voice. It’s come to the point where you don’t even need an alarm clock anymore! You scan the ocean every morning to see whose voice it belongs to and always come out with a 0% success rate. 

There’s an audition coming up and you’re going for this character who the producer envisions to have a higher pitched voice. They’re expecting you to be able to sing as this character as well. It’s going to be tough but you want this role so, so badly. The audition’s in a few days and you’ve got to practice as much as you can. The evening is the best time to practice as your errands are all done and you can work without distraction. You keep your windows open and the sea breeze alongside the sound of the ocean is incredibly calming. You begin with voice exercises and silently apologize to your neighbours for all the noise. Once the exercises are complete, you begin to wonder how to approach this character. Figuring out the pitch, volume and how this character would deliver a line was hard but you did it. Now comes the singing. It only took one practice run of the song for you to realize how difficult this was going to be. It’s hard to reach all the notes in this voice that you’ve chosen to do. You try to sing again and cringe at how horrible it comes out. This was only day 1 and you’re wondering how you’re going to perfect this role in time. A voice you only hear in the morning enters your room and you run towards your window only for the sight of the ocean to greet you. The sound of the waves reassures you and you try to sing again after a few minutes only for your voice to crack. Frustrated, you bury your face into your hands and groan. Almost on cue, the voice returns and sings in the same note you’ve been trying to hit. You immediately raise your head and scour the ocean. A theory pops into your head and you let out the same note, failing again of course, only for the note to be returned perfectly. Every time the voice sings back, you try your best to mimic how it sings and little by little, you improve. Hours go by and before you know it, it’s time for bed. 



“Thank you!” you yell out into the ocean. 

As you get ready for bed, you notice a hair clip in the shape of a Starmie that you haven’t worn in a very long time. The word “crazy” was no longer a part of your vocabulary once you started taking singing lessons from whatever voice belonged to. Gripping the hair clip in your hand, you approach your window again and laugh at how insane you might seem. 

“Please take this gift!” you yell and chuck the hair clip as hard as you can into the ocean, not even knowing if the voice actually came from there. 

The next few days follow that eventful night almost perfectly. You sing, the voice sings back, you follow how the voice sings and then throw a small gift into the ocean for it. The only thing that’s different is your improvement. With all the practice you got, you finally feel ready at your audition. 

All good things unfortunately come to an end. You didn’t get the role. The sea doesn’t feel that comforting anymore and you stare blankly ahead as the sun sets. You worked so hard and for what? They say that rejection is something you need to get use to and quick in this career but it never gets easier. As you sulk, what appears to be a bubble pops in front of your face and reels you back into reality. Before you could process what just happened, more colourful bubbles appear in front of your face. One particular bubble catches your eye as it’s headed right towards you with a Starmie hair clip inside. You catch the bubble and it pops with the hair clip landing on your palm. As you’re studying the hair clip, a voice calls out to you. What you see  knocks you onto the ground. A Brionne was dancing and bouncing around a gigantic bubble that it had encapsulated itself in. Before you could get yourself back onto your feet, Brionne had popped its bubble and jumped into your room, laughing the entire time. You notice that Brionne was wearing all the little trinkets you had thrown into the ocean and it finally clicked. 



“Are you the one that’s been helping me this entire time?” you ask. 

 And Brionne replies with a familiar song. 

Other Pokemon considered: N/A