#yes the lamb does like presenting as female sometimes

[asmimir]

small comic I made mid storm last night

[calamity-bean]

16 new horror films i’ve watched at random lately just cause i’ve been in the mood for horror

Been thinking about horror today, and fun fact, I’ve actually been fairly DEVOURING horror films of late! Sixteen new ones in the past couple weeks, in fact, according to the little list I’ve been keeping! New to me, that is, though they do all happen to be very recent releases (2016 at earliest). Horror is a genre with which I often like to pull up Netflix or Hulu and just pick at random some film I’ve never heard of and don’t know the first thing about; I feel like it’s a genre that depends so much on personal taste and that encompasses such a wide variety of tropes and approaches that I never entirely know whether I’ll like a particular film until I try it. It’s a gamble, sure, and sometimes it’s a dull or infuriating couple hours... But I love horror in general, and I feel like it’s a genre in which even terrible films often stir my imagination with the potential of their premise if not the brilliance of their execution. And you do find those hidden gems.

Anyway, since I love to hear myself talk, I thought I’d share my quick impressions of the ones I’ve watched lately, in case any of you are also in the mood to stream something new! These are (almost) all currently on Netflix or Hulu, so have at it. No specific spoilers; mostly just whether I liked it or not and why. I added a few content warnings where I remembered any elements that, to me, went beyond genre-standard levels of content or involved specific common triggers, but, I mean, they’re all horror films, so do your due diligence if necessary and do expect some level of violent or disturbing content in all of them. 

The sixteen films in question are: Sweetheart (2019); The Lodge (2019); Mercy Black (2019); What Keeps You Alive (2018); Cold Skin (2017); The Golem (2018); Rattlesnake (2019); We Summon the Darkness (2019); The Wretched (2019); They Come Knocking (2019); Pyewacket (2017); The Other Lamb (2019); The Silence (2019); Body at Brighton Rock (2019); Under the Shadow (2016); and Seven in Heaven (2018).

Brief descriptions and impressions and such under the cut!

Sweetheart: Survival/monster horror about a young woman who, after the boat she and her friends were on goes down in a storm, washes up alone on an uninhabited island… and then realizes she’s not entirely alone. Quite liked this one! Like almost any horror movie, it suffers from the fact that monsters are almost ALWAYS far scarier (and far less cheesy) before you actually see their CGI rendering chasing the protag, but that’s typical, we’re used to that. The protagonist is smart and capable, and the actress (Kiersey Clemons) has to carry so much of the film solo and often with very sparse dialogue. Warning for mutilated and decomposing corpses.

The Lodge: A woman who as a child was the only survivor of a cult winds up stranded with her new fiance’s two children in a remote, snowbound lodge. This one was pretty dark! I love themes of cold, isolation, and losing connection with reality, and I think the whole cast does a great job; the acting and production are overall high quality. Not sure it captured my imagination enough for a rewatch, but I did enjoy watching it. My fellow Barkskins fans will notice a few glimpses of our own Renardette. Warnings for onscreen suicide, pet death, and psychiatric/medical manipulation. 

Mercy Black: A young woman returns home fifteen years after, in her childhood, being involved in a disturbing act of violence inspired by an urban legend called Mercy Black. I like the concept behind this one, in terms of the urban legend, the protagonist’s relationship with it; I liked the overall film okay, but I found certain aspects a bit cliche or thinly sketched. Standard supernatural horror levels of violence and spookiness, imo.

What Keeps You Alive: For their one-year anniversary, a young couple vacation to a remote house in the woods, where the protagonist begins to learn some strange things about her wife. I really enjoyed this one. It might be my favorite on this list, and certainly one of the ones I’m more likely to watch again. It’s well structured, well made, with a strong, compact cast, and it’s gotten the song “Bloodlet” stuck in my head for weeks. However, you will probably not enjoy this one if, as I know is the case for some people, you would rather not consume content that depicts LGBT relationships that are unhealthy or LGBT characters who are villainous. I get where you’re coming from, but it means this one probably isn’t for you. It also isn’t for you if you would rather not see some quite brutal injuries.

Cold Skin: Okay, this is the only one that wasn’t actually on streaming, I checked this out from my local library. Set in 1914, a young man takes a post as a meteorologist on a remote island in the South Atlantic, inhabited only by the unfriendly lighthouse keeper… and the creatures that crawl onto shore at night. Gosh… How do I feel about this one? There are aspects that are cheesy, effects that don’t entirely hold up. But I liked it. I like the idea of it, and I like the themes of isolation and connection, and I like the protagonist and overall I think it’s a solid and interesting narrative. Sort of… The Terror meets Lovecraft. Warning for offscreen (but audible, and almost visible) sexual assault.

The Golem: Set in the late 17th century in a rural Lithuanian shtetl, a woman creates a golem to protect her community from the threats of Christians who blame her people for the plague. Thematically, this one centers largely around motherhood, which I think makes sense with how it’s done here, and I always like the supernatural elements of a horror film to have a very strong, personal thematic link with the protagonist’s emotional character arc. Stars Maman Brigitte from American Gods! Warning for mentions of miscarriage and themes of child death.

Rattlesnake: After a mishap on a remote highway, a woman unknowingly makes a deal with the devil in order to save her young daughter’s life. I liked this one as well; I found the protagonist enjoyable, the overall concept straightforward but engaging, and the hot, arid, rural setting — I think it’s supposed to be around Palo Duro? — an effective backdrop. Not spooky-scary, but nice tension throughout. 

We Summon the Darkness: Set in the 80s, three girls travel to a heavy metal concert despite the string of recent killings apparently committed by a Satanic cult. This one is basically a slasher flick — with a twist, yeah, but essentially the slasher model of teens plus extensive violence — and I think it’s a pretty decent one. And I liked the hair and costumes, ahaha. 

The Wretched: A teenage boy becomes convinced that his new neighbor has been possessed by something evil. I like the narrative and the characters in this one okay, but where I really have to give it props is in the overall visual presentation of the supernatural threats; it’s able to lean into uncanniness and human body horror that work well on film rather than presenting a creature created wholecloth (which, as I mentioned earlier, often doesn’t work super well).

They Come Knocking: On a drive into the middle of nowhere, a father and his two daughters hear something knocking on their caravan at night, asking to be let in. Okay, so… this one is a black-eyed children story (with a setup reminiscent of ye olde Anansi’s Goatman, too, in a way), and I have to admit that black-eyed children are one of those tropes that doesn’t work for me even as a creepypasta, it just strikes me as lame and dumb. And I did find the actual children in this film to be, well, cheesy and dumb-looking. But the human side of the narrative — the characters and their relationships and emotional aspects — is actually pretty well done! So I found it engaging enough in that regard.

Pyewacket: A teenage girl who has a difficult relationship with her mother lashes out by trying to summon a demon to kill her, only to regret the ritual right away. I think this one was well done, too, pretty dark, with a spooky forest setting and some genuinely creepy glimpses of the supernatural threat. I am also delighted to discover that Pyewacket is actually the name of a familiar spirit according to the confession of an accused witch in the 17th century. (Not delighted by the fact that this poor 17th century woman was tortured for being an alleged witch, but delighted that there’s a little historical inspo here.) Warning for a fairly graphic death by burning.

The Other Lamb: This one is not horror as in “scary” but horror as in thematically disturbing and a little eerie. A young girl who’s been raised in a cult — all female except for their leader, to whom all the members are either wives or daughters — begins to question her faith. Slow, quiet, and a bit surreal, with some slightly feral-woman themes that are up my alley; I think I enjoyed it? The cast is quite good, especially the protagonist (Raffey Cassidy) and cult leader (Michiel Huisman with, I gotta say, some truly lovely hair). Warning for onscreen but nongraphic (as in, clothed and not showing anything below the neck) sexual assault of a minor.

The Silence: A deaf teenager and her family struggle to survive amidst an apocalypse of deadly monsters that attack based on sound. No, I’m not talking about A Quiet Place. I do feel a bit sorry for this film, because I know that it was conceived of and began production well before A Quiet Place came out, only to essentially be doomed by its striking similarity to such a successful film… And honestly, it’s not as good as A Quiet Place; it’s cheesier, there are more plot and character holes, the ultimate main threat feels disconnected from the premise, and the core theme/character arcs aren’t as cohesive. But it’s not TERRIBLE. It’s more of a B-movie-esque monster/disaster flick, is all. And I like Stanley Tucci, so at least he’s always fun to watch.

Body at Brighton Rock: An inexperienced parks employee gets lost in the backcountry and has to spend the night watching over a (possibly murdered) body she stumbles across while awaiting rescue. This one… hm. It’s like, I didn’t hate it? But it was frustrating. It reused the same scares / fake-outs multiple times, and even by horror movie standards the protagonist was maddeningly careless. I think it was all the more disappointing because I do like the setting and premise but felt it could’ve been better. 

Under the Shadow: In 1980s Tehran, during the air raids and missile strikes of the War of the Cities, a woman begins to fear something evil is stalking her young daughter through their emptying apartment building. This is another top fave, and I think overall the most well constructed film on this list in an objective sense. Strong narrative, strong characters and acting, a really great atmosphere of claustrophobia and tension and dread, and an interesting and effective setting. Would absolutely watch again.

Seven in Heaven: At a house party, two teenagers enter a closet as part of a kissing game, and they exit into a parallel universe that is similar but different in striking ways. This one was, hm… okay? I felt like it could’ve gone so much farther with the potential of alternate universes, in terms of really making them weird and interesting, and although I don’t expect a film to spell out everything for me, I just thought that the whole underlying mechanism of what was happening was left too unexplained. Also, the background characters looked like they were played by actual high school-age teens while the main characters looked like your standard Hollywood 20-something “teens,” which created kind of a weird dissonance lmao. But it was okay.

Overall, I didn’t HAAATE any of these; most were fine, some I found less engaging or more frustrating than others, and some I really enjoyed. I did start and then not finish a few more as well... I watched about 20 minutes of Black Rock (2012) before deciding I wasn’t in the mood for where it was going, and I just barely started We Are What We Are (2010) but realized I was too tired and distracted by other things to pay enough attention to subtitles at the moment. On a not strictly horror note, but it’s still thriller so we’ll toss it in, I got a ways into The Killing of a Sacred Deer (2017) because that’s a helluva title and I wanted to see Barry Keoghan’s work outside Dunkirk (the only film I’d seen him in), but man, that’s a weird one huh, very slow, very odd style of dialogue. I’ll still likely finish some or all of those at some point, but I just wasn’t in the right headspace when I first tried. 

Anyway, this has been me telling you what movies I’ve been watching! I’m sure you’re enthralled. And please always feel free to talk horror movies to me or send me recs!

[shinidamachu]

Neighbor Crush (The Thread)

Summary: modern AU, anyone? This was heavily inspired by a twitter thread I read a while ago, about a guy who developed a major crush on his neighbor’s voice and, with his roommate’s help, managed to ask him out.

Word Count: 2.015  Genre: fluff  Fandom: InuYasha  Pairing: Inukag  Format: oneshot  AO3 Link: 🌹  Fanfic.Net Link: 🌹

“I’m home!”

The abrupt sound of Miroku throwing his keys and briefcase at the table made InuYasha jump on his sit. It was a rare thing to do, taking him by surprise that way.

Unfortunately, Miroku knew so.

“You’re eavesdropping her again, aren’t you?”

It was hard to say what pissed InuYasha off the most: that Miroku had startled him, that he got caught in the act or the infuriating smugness in the bastard’s tone.

“Mind ya business.”

Ignoring his temper, Miroku went to their refrigerator and returned with a loosened tie and a couple of beers. He handed one to InuYasha and sat beside him on the couch.

“Come on, this is getting ridiculous. You have been obsessing over this girl for what? Three weeks, now? Just go downstairs, knock on her door and ask her out.”

Miroku took a long sip of his Heineken, as if rewarding himself for giving the world’s greatest advice. InuYasha wished he would choke on it.

“I’m not knocking on her door and asking her out, dipshit! We have no idea what the girl looks like!”

“Then do us both a favor and go find out!”

To be totally honest, her appearance was what mattered the least about this girl, although he couldn’t deny his curiosity.

Her voice.

It was her voice that started it all.

For two years he had been sharing this little apartment with Miroku and for two years it had been easy for them to ignore each resident of the building without a second thought. InuYasha was in no way a social guy and even though Miroku had a weak spot for the ladies, he had vowed not to get involved with a neighbor, ever.

“Location, location, location.” InuYasha remembered Miroku explaining once. “It’s simultaneously the best pro and the worst con. I’d rather not risk it, it could get pretty ugly.”

Knowing his tendency to hit and run, it was probably the smartest call.

And life went on as usual.

Until InuYasha heard her voice.

It was exceptionally loud. That was the very first thing he noticed. The second thing was that he incredibly didn’t mind at all. There was a sincerity tone to it that was ever present. Almost as if physically unable to lie. Sweet. Gentle. Smooth. But not in a generic way. He could download it into his GPS and drive forever. Her laughter had over him the same effect of sunbeams reaching out the untouched ground of a frozen forest and when she talks too low, something primal and urgent wakes inside him, letting him dying to know what his name would sound like between her whispers.

Then it became less about how and more about what she talked.

Her name was Kagome. She was in her twenties and had just graduated from pedagogy school. Three weeks ago, she had moved in with the girl who lived precisely in the apartment below theirs to save money as she adapted to the new job of substitute teacher. She had a cat named Buyo, couldn’t swear for the life of her, sang a lot, a bit clumsy, definitely a half full kind of person... Single, as far as he could tell.

Kagome had the most hilarious stories, most of them starring her little brother, her grandpa or her friends. He was especially fond of the ones in which she tried to be nice and it ended up blowing on her face spectacularly. Her heart was too big for her own good.

On the floor below, the girl in question left what InuYasha assumed was her kitchen and walked to the living room, turning the TV on. Even now, when the current conversation was supposed to be his focus, he found himself painfully aware of her moviments.

Miroku didn’t have to know any of that.

“That’s insane.”

“Why? How is that insane?”

“Hi, I’m InuYasha, your upstairs neighbor. You don’t know me, but I’ve been listening to everything you say or sing in your apartment since the day you moved in. Often on purpose, like a creepy person. Anyway, wanna have dinner sometime?”

“Lose the ‘creepy’ part and you’ll be fine.”

“Drop it, it ain’t happening.”

“Well, at least you recognize your obsession. Admitting you have a problem is the first step to recover.”

“You’re my problem,” he mumbled.

“Wrong, my friend. I’m the solution. You just gotta listen to me.”

“Yeah, don’t count on it.” Miroku laughed. “So how was work?”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“Damn straight I am.”

They made small talk and drank for a while, then Miroku pulled out his phone to check his notifications and InuYasha searched Netflix for an action movie they haven’t seen yet. The girl was binge-watching a sitcom. A good one, judging by the way her laughter reached his ears every now and then.

He smiled.

In moments like these, it was crazy tempting to walk down the stairs and go for it, but InuYasha wouldn’t dare. He was perfectly fine just hearing her life from a safe distance so they couldn’t hurt each other, because this is what love inevitably leads to — and that was assuming she wouldn’t reject his advances, in the first place.

Might as well save them both some pain.

“So what do you say? Shall we eat ramen for the third time in a row or order some pizza? InuYasha?”

But he wasn’t listening. In the apartment below, a door opened. Her roommate, Sango, had arrived.

“Hey!”

“Hey!” Replied Kagome. “I hope you’re hungry, ‘cause I just made lasagna.”

“And I hope you’re thirsty, ‘cause I just bought Tequila.”

“Tough day, huh?”

“Tough week.”

“Balcony?”

“You bet.”

The girls turned the blender on.

The balcony was their favorite spot to chat. It was also where the acoustic sounded better. To the point even human ears could catch the words.

One look at InuYasha and Miroku realized what it meant.

“Is she going to the balcony?” He asked, but didn’t wait for an answer.

InuYasha ran, intercepting Miroku just in time. One hand securely covering his friend’s mouth, the other holding him still. They were now in their own balcony.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

There was an attempt to speak, but it came off muttered. Even so, InuYasha refused to budge his hand. Until Miroku licked it. “Ugh!”

“What does it look like?” He questioned while InuYasha compulsively wiped his hand on his jeans. “I’m being your wingman.”

“I don’t need a wingman and will you shut up, already?” His whispered, angry. Miroku was ready to deliver a cunning comeback when the blender stopped and the girls stepped into the balcony.

“So I had to break up with Kuranosuke today.”

“Break up? I thought you guys were friends with benefits or whatever.”

“YES! WE WERE! THANK YOU! Now could you please be a lamb and go tell him that? Maybe I didn’t make myself clear the first four hundred times! Oh, stop laughing!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Go on.”

“It was a nightmare! The whole week he kept sending flowers and Valentine’s Day cards to the precinct. It’s not even february!”

“I’m surprised you didn’t get him arrested.”

“Believe me, I was this close. It’s hard enough getting their respect, you know? Being a female cop and all. He wasn’t helping.”

“I know. But hey! Someday you’ll find the guy for you. Someone who’ll understand how much your job means. I’m serious! You will!”

“Nope. That’s it for me. I’m done with men.”

“Funny, I’m in the opposite vibe.”

“Really? Now that’s interesting.”

“It’s just… I haven’t dated anyone since Koga.”

“Damn, you’re right! I haven’t realized it.”

“You know what? You should set me up with someone.”

Miroku playfully punched InuYasha’s shoulder, getting his attention. “That’s your chance,” he mouthed. The half demon shook his head.

“Hmmm… Wouldn’t Ayumi, Yuka and What’s-Her-Name be a better option for that? I’m usually cuffing most guys I meet.”

“Eri. And no way! They would just set me up with Hojo.”

“Right! And why won’t you date him, again?”

“Because he’s my friend!”

“He is cute.”

“A cute friend.”

“He likes you.”

“Not my fault.”

“Fine. I’ll d—”

“HEY, NEIGHBORS! NEIGHBORS!”

Mortified, InuYasha watched Miroku make a fool of himself. Like in a movie, his body seemed to forget how to react.

“Hi!” Greeted Sango. “I’m sorry. Were we being too loud? We’ll keep it down.”

“No, it’s okay, the walls are really thin. Listen… I have this friend. And he’s really into your friend’s voice. I was wondering if she would be interest in going on a date with him.”

“What?” Kagome let out a shaken giggle.

“Is this for real?”

“Yes! I gotta go, but check his Instagram out. It’s @InuYashaTaisho.”

Apparently very pleased with himself, Miroku walked inside.

“You’re a dead man!”

“What do you think?” Kagome asked, while InuYasha chased Miroku around the apartment.

“It can’t hurt to give a look,” Answered Sango.

“Five years from now, when the two of you get married, you’ll be thanking me for this.” Miroku dodged the pillow InuYasha threw on his direction.

“Don’t ya worry. Imma make sure to write this on your tombstone.”

“Sango!”

“Wha—Wow! This is him? What are you gonna do?”

InuYasha threw another pillow. Miroku caught it in the air. He was cornered on the wall and nothing could save him now.

Bzzt! Bzzzt!

Impertinently, his phone choose that exact minute to vibrate. InuYasha fished it off his back pocket and the notification took his breath away.

Kagome Higurashi started following you.

“Is that her?”

InuYasha ignored him. The only important thing was the dark haired beauty smiling brightly on his screen. Her eyes were big and warm, framed by extremely long black lashes. She had adorable bangs and sharped cheeks. The perfect shape of her lips rivaled those from a greek statue and they seemed to be painted in a natural shade of pink in almost every picture. Except when they were burning red.

He couldn’t have put a better face to the voice if he tried.

Scrolling down her feed, InuYasha continued to connect the features he didn’t know with the names he did. Sango. Her mom. Sota. Buyo. Her grandfather.

“Let me see!” Miroku ran to his side and hang on his shoulder like a parrot, whistling in approval as InuYasha went on. “Woah, wait, wait, wait! Who is that?”

“That’s Sango, the girl you just embarrassed me and yourself in front of.” He followed Kagome back.

“I think I’m in love.”

InuYasha glared at him.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“He followed me back!”

“Oh, it’s going down!” Sango laughed.

“Watch me.” Defied Miroku.

“What the fuck happened to the ‘not dating neighbors’ rule?”

“If four years of law school taught me something was that every rule has its exceptions. In this case, the exception is the absurd level of hotness of said neighbor.”

“On a second thought, go ahead and date her. It’s about time someone put you in jail.”

Miroku smirked.

“Should I say hello?”

“Definitely!” Encouraged Sango. “Don’t schedule anything until I check him for bad precedents, though.”

“You’re such a cop.”

Bzzt! Bzzzt!

Hi!

Hi! I’m sorry about my friend. He thinks ‘boundaries’ is an indie band.

She chuckled.

“Hey!”

“Don’t you have a pizza to order?” InuYasha faced him, eyebrows raised. Miroku narrowed his eyes and left.

“This isn’t over.”

That’s okay. So... you’re a dog demon. I’m assuming this is how you can hear us down here?

Actually I’m half demon, which means I’m only half responsible for invading your privacy. The other half is on you for being so damn loud.

Excuse me?! I thought you liked my loud personality! Wasn’t that the whole point?

To be fair, what I liked was your killer cover of Livin’ On A Prayer.

OH MY GOD! I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU HEARD THAT! Okay. This isn’t fair. You’ve been listening to my voice since I moved in, but I have no idea what yours sound like.

The next text he sent her was his phone number.

A/N: it’s been a while, yes? Tell me if you guys enjoyed this one. Fluff is not really my thing. Let me know if I can interest you in a Part II of them dating and send me sugestions of where they could go, if you want to. If I liked them better than the ideas I have in mind, I might end up writing it (is not a priority, though).

Also, I want to dedicate this piece to @xfangheartx​. Thank you for always being a sweetheart.

[here4theheartbreak]

Stretched to the Breaking Point (Ot7)

AO3 Link Here!

Relationships: Hoseok x Jimin x Jin x Jungkook x Namjoon x Taehyung x Yoongi (ot7) Genre(s): angst, fluff

Written for @btspolyshipbingo

Square Filled: Bed Sharing Tags: angst, fluff, polyamory, ot7, canon compliant, set in 2016, slice of life, miscommunication Summary: Jin’s exhausted after 4 years solid of picking up after/for the absolute loves of his life. He wants to prove he’s useful, but is this really how he’s going to have to do it?

Word Count: ~7.1k

A/N: This fulfills a request a got quite a while ago about Jin being stressed at being the eldest but hiding it. I turned it poly, I hope that’s okay!

‘Please pick up some lamb when you go shopping today, hyung? I’ve been dying for your skewers.’

Jin sighed a little at the text from Taehyung. He shifted the basket in his arm to type a reply when a text from Namjoon came in.

‘Hey I know you’re busy but you could stop by the office and grab my hard drive? It’s the red one, I don’t want to bug manager.’

Jin responded with a simple yes, and went back to typing his response for Taehyung. He had just pocketed his phone and headed in the direction of the meat when his phone buzzed again.

He pulled it out to see a text from Jimin,

‘Hey, can you stop by the pharmacy on your way home? My knees are really aching and we’re all out of painkillers. The heating packs aren’t doing it for me.’

Jin sighed again. He responded to Jimin, telling him to check his bedroom in the desk for painkillers, but decided to pick some up anyway. He continued on his shopping trip, arm beginning to ache from the weight of the basket. It had been a trip just for a few items, but the requests had rolled in as soon as word got out among the group that Jin was going shopping.

It was always like this, from pre-debut to now. Please get this, help with that, save me from this… Jin didn’t mind. He knew he shouldn’t mind, at least. He was the eldest, and these guys relied on him for a lot. But sometimes it was just too much.

He loved each member dearly, no one could question that. Both on the surface, the ways fans saw them, as brothers who would die for one another and friends until the very end of the earth, and behind the scenes, the less publicized affection. The nights spent in one another’s beds and quick kisses shared behind the camera before concerts and stages.

Sometimes Jin wondered if it was the pure unorthodox nature of their relationship that set him so on edge sometimes. He’d always grown up being told he would find some woman to marry - a single, solitary female, that he was meant to fall in love with, marry, and give children.

He knew it was bullshit - he’d never been much into women and the idea of monogamy was dull at best. He loved all six of his band mates and boyfriends. Some he was more intimate with, some more emotionally attached to, and some he’d only ever cuddled and shared a kiss or two. Yoongi and Namjoon were first, followed closely by Taehyung and then Jimin and Hoseok. Jungkook fell quickly into a relationship with Taehyung, but Jin had resisted. He’d worried about Jungkook’s age, and accidental manipulation. But just like with the others, Jungkook had a piece of his heart too big to ignore.

Outside of the relationship though, Jin was still the eldest. Both within the company, within the fan base, and even within the dorm, he was just expected to handle certain things that he’d never been asked to handle on his own before. He didn’t question it, didn’t shy away from it. The six men that held his heart so firmly needed him in these ways, and he would rather die than let them down.

He knew sometimes he should ask for help. He knew they would freely give as much as they took. But the idea of burdening them at all, especially when he was their support... The idea made him sick. So he kept quiet and planted a grin on his face. He cooked and bandaged Jimin’s injuries. He listened to Yoongi’s rough tracks and helped Jungkook do his homework in time for practice. He held Taehyung’s hand when he got scared or cried and watched Hoseok work on dance routines. He stood by Namjoon - his first kiss and their leader - no matter what the situation.

He set aside his worries and woes because that’s what a good eldest does, and what a good boyfriend does.

He wrapped his own injuries in solitude, so the others wouldn’t worry. Locked himself in the shower when things got to be too much and he just needed to cry. Stood at the front and made a fool of himself so the others could relax. Figured out his own homework assignments crammed somewhere between the hours working. Smiled and cooked and cleaned and kept his chin up. Because if he crumbled, what would happen to the rest?

Jin balanced bags in his arms as he walked through the apartment. It had taken two hours longer than planned, but he got everything. Jimin hurried to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Did you remember?”

“Of course, they’re in one of these bags. Give me a minute.”

Jungkook raced down the hall, nearly barreling into Jin as he passed. “Sorry, hyung!” He screamed, darting into the laundry room.

“Wh—“

Taehyung bumped into him, sending one of the smaller bags toppling to the ground. “Sorry!” He shouted, following after Jungkook.

Jin bit back the urge to yell at him. Instead he hurried to the kitchen before any more bags could fall, setting them on the counter. Jimin began to pull items out as he walked back to the main room to gather the fallen items.

“Did you get my harddrive?” Namjoon asked. Jin dug in his pocket, fishing it out and handing it over to him without looking up. Namjoon took it quickly. “Thank you!”

Jin watched his bare feet pad away and duck into the bedroom. He sighed softly, rising with the bag.

“Crap, you’re home already?” Hoseok asked.

“I was gone three hours.”

“I needed another can of cooling spray, I was hoping you could pick it up.”

“Ah...” Jin shrugged. “Lemme put this stuff away and start dinner. I’ll run out and get it.”

“You don’t have to.”

Jin cocked an eyebrow. “How low are you?”

“Ah... I’m out.” Hoseok rubbed the back of his neck as he spoke.

“I’ll get it.”

Hoseok grinned broadly. “Thank you, Jin-hyung. You’re the best.” He pecked Jin’s mouth.

Jin entered the kitchen, his heart sinking when he saw the purchases scattered on the counter. Jimin was nowhere to be found, clearly having found the item he needed in particular. Jin rolled his eyes and chuckled. He set to work putting everything away.

Jin ran to the store once more, gathering the forgotten items. He made dinner and cleaned up, then worked on some of the choreography he’d been struggling with with Hoseok. He fell into bed late in the evening, a little surprised - and a little disappointed - to find it entirely empty.

Jin woke early Monday morning. He padded out to the kitchen to start breakfast, enjoying the few minutes of quiet before the others woke. He opened his laptop and textbook, skimming over his homework assignment as he stirred the food on the stove.

He put it on low, going to dig Jungkook’s backpack out of the closet. Just a few more months and he’d be officially graduated, all the members were ecstatic. He considered what to get Jungkook as a graduation present as he packed him a snack and double checked that his homework and gym clothes were in place.

He’d just turned back to the stove when a loud crash broke the silence. It was followed by a string of profanity that only Namjoon could put together. Jin turned to grab their first aid kit, counting down from five. As soon as he hit one, Namjoon rushed into the kitchen, holding his bleeding hand.

“Jin-hyung!”

“Come here.” Jin held up a bandage. He helped Namjoon wash and clean the cut, making sure it didn’t need medical attention. He bandaged it and pressed a kiss to Namjoon’s lips. “Be more careful.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Breakfast is almost done.”

Namjoon nodded. Jin watched him disappear back down the hall of their bedrooms.

Right on cue, the others began to wake and pile into the kitchen. Jin served each, answering questions and listening to complaints. Jungkook rubbed his eyes, last in line.

“Did you—“

“Backpack is ready.”

“Awesome. Will you give me a lift today? Manager was supposed to but Yoongi-hyung was talking about how he didn’t feel well yesterday. I wanted to let him rest. Since you’re up—“

Jin glanced at his own neglected homework.

“Sure. Hurry and eat then we’ll go.”

Jungkook beamed. He hugged Jin tightly, kissing his cheek. “You’re the best.”

“I know. Come on.”

Jin joined the others already eating, listening to them talk and argue over various things. He couldn’t help but smile fondly as he listened.

After eating he hurried to get Jungkook to his school, mentally making his to do list for the day even as Jungkook rambled about one of his teachers.

Homework that was due today, practice in an hour, a meeting with the office later, more practice, he should make an appearance on social media, he needed to start dinner at some point, pick Jungkook up, not in that order... And—

“Hyung!” Jin looked over, smiling sheepishly.

“Sorry. Up in my head.”

“I can tell... See you after?”

“Sure. Hurry out though, you have vocal practice right after.”

Jungkook nodded. He pressed a kiss to Jin’s mouth quickly, grinning. He snagged his backpack and hurried out of the car before Jin could scold him about getting caught. Jin watched him walk, meeting up with a few other students as they entered the school.

Jin kicked his shoes off and hung his jacket when he returned to the dorm. He entered the kitchen to grab his homework and stopped short. The sink was piled with dirty breakfast dishes, remains of the food not put away. A glance at the table showed it was still a mess as well. Jin’s shoulders sagged. He looked at his textbook and laptop for a moment before closing the lid of the laptop and setting to work cleaning up the breakfast remains.

He finished in record time and settled into a corner of the kitchen to do his homework when Taehyung’s shout echoed through the dorm.

“Fuck you! I know you have it!”

Jin scrambled to his feet and raced through their home.

“Bite me! I didn’t touch the stupid laptop!” Yoongi snapped.

“Whoa, whoa, what’s the problem?” Jin shouted, pushing open the door of one of the bedrooms.

Taehyung and Yoongi were nearly nose to nose. Taehyung’s cheeks were blotchy with strain.

“He stole my laptop!”

“Why would I steal that beat up thing?! I have my own!”

“Guys, breathe.” Jin raised his hands and stepped forward. “Where did you see it last, Taehyung?”

“It was on the couch!”

“Okay... And why do you think Yoongi took it?”

“Because he admitted it!” Taehyung stepped forward to shove Yoongi but Jin farted between them.

“Whoa, stop. He just said he didn’t.”

“I moved it off the fucking couch so no one would sit on it. I put it on the shelf. I don’t know what happened to it after.”

Jin nodded. “Okay, fine. Have you checked the shelf, Tae?”

“Have I checked the shelf?” Taehyung mimicked. “Of course I checked the shelf, I’m not an idiot, Jin-hyung!”

“I’m just saying, it could have been overlooked. There’s no reason for Yoongi to take it.”

“You’re always on his fucking side! Just because he was around first doesn’t mean he’s always right!”

Jin’s face sank. “I’m not always on his side, Taehyung. He just doesn’t have a reason for taking it.”

“To be a dick! And you are always on his side! You never support me when we argue! If you’re not gonna help just go away!” Taehyung planted his hands on Jin’s chest and shoved hard.

Jin stumbled backwards, trying to avoid Yoongi. He tripped over a pair of jeans on the floor and went down, bashing his hip on the sharp corner of the bedside stand. A sharp pain shot through him and he cried out.

“Hyung!” Taehyung cried, surprise clear in his voice.

Jin scrambled up, tears blurring his vision and burning his throat. He could hear Yoongi and Taehyung both calling for him as he rushed to the bathroom.

He slammed the door, locking it and sliding onto the floor. The tears overflowed and he began to cry into his arms, his side aching. He could feel a wetness and knew he’d likely cut himself open, but couldn’t bring himself to care.

It was too much. Things had been building and building for years. He wanted to handle it, he wanted to make his boyfriends proud and happy. He wanted to make his family proud. But nothing was ever enough. Taehyung’s words cut deeper than the physical injury. He tried so hard to be fair. He hated knowing he didn’t do enough.

Admittedly, he never did enough. Hoseok always needed to work longer with him on dances, their vocal coaches longer on songs. He panicked easier in public and was less friendly with the fans. He hated it, and he hated himself.

A knock sounded at the door. “Hyung? Are you okay?” Taehyung’s voice was small.

“I’m fine, just cleaning the cut,” Jin called, trying to make his voice steady.

“Hyung, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it, Taehyungie. I’ll help you look for your laptop as soon as I’m bandaged.”

Jin rose lifting his shirt. The cut wasn’t too bad, thankfully. He cleaned it as well as he could, blinking away his tears and struggling to stabilize his breathing. He could cry tonight. He had too much to do today. Washing his face quickly to hide his tears, he opened the door, coming face to face with a very guilty looking Taehyung and Yoongi.

“Namjoon-hyung texted... He took my laptop by accident to the studio this morning.”

Jin plastered a smile on his face. “Oh great, problem solved.”

“I don’t wanna ask but... Would you go exchange it?” He held up Namjoon’s laptop.

“We have practice in an hour.”

“Yeah, but Namjoon-hyung needs his now.”

Jin bit back his sigh. “Okay.” He took the laptop and headed toward the door.

“Hyung, your shirt!” Yoongi called, pointing to his side. Jin glanced down, seeing the blood from his injury.

“I’ll just wear my coat.” He tugged it on and his shoes, heading out before either could argue.

He arrived at the offic, nodding to a few of the staff as he hurried through to Namjoon’s studio. He knocked once before entering, setting the computer on Namjoon’s desk.

Namjoon smiled. “Hyung, thank you so much. Here.” He passed Jin Taehyung’s laptop. A scowl crossed his face.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Jin said, offering a smile he knew was a tiny bit too strained. Namjoon’s frown deepened.

“What’s the matter?”

Jin’s smile wavered. “Just a lot to do. Gotta go.”

“Hyung!” Namjoon shouted even as Jin hurried out of the office.

Jin got home just in time to hear yet another member shouting bloody murder. This time it was Jimin, hurling obscenities. He rushed in, narrowly missing a book that Jimin had chucked.

“What’s wrong?!” He shouted. Jimin stood up straight. His room was a mess, chair overturned and drawers ripped out.

“Who did this?”

“I did,” Jimin said.

“Why?”

“I can’t find my lyric notebook...”

Jin blinked at him. “The purple and black leather one?”

Jimin nodded, looking close to tears.

“Jimin... You left that in the living room. It’s under the TV with the other notebooks.”

Jimin’s entire body relaxed.

“Oh God, I forgot. Thank you!” He hurried past Jin, bumping into his hurt side as he did. Jin winced. He surveyed the damage done to the room, shaking his head. Hoseok was going to flip out if it wasn’t cleaned.

“Jimin—“

Jin turned just in time to see Jimin darting out of the apartment, notebook in hand.

“Guess not,” he mumbled. He leaned down, picking up a pile of clothes and beginning to fold them.

He finished in time to get to dance practice, at least, rushing in and apologizing to the dance teacher for being a few minutes tardy.

“What took so long?” Hoseok hissed when Jin stood next to him.

“Oh— Mess at the house. Lost track of time.” Jin said. He grimaced as he began to stretch, his side aching. He tuned his focus completely to learning the new choreography, ignoring everything else for the moment.

Afterward, Jin ducked down the hall to meet with a few members of the production team about one of his parts that needed fixing. His side was aching something horrible and panic was beginning to set in with how late he was on his homework. Still he smiled and listened, scheduling a time to re-record a part of the track. He left to pick up Jungkook and pick up lunch for the rest of the group immediately after, keeping a list as they texted him their requests.

The rest of the day flew by, as it always seemed to. Get Jungkook, get their lunches, go back to the office. Sing, dance, work out. He ended up with Jungkook, Jimin, and Yoongi in his car on the way back, the younger two talking a mile a minute in the back seat. Yoongi was sitting sullenly most of the ride home.

“How’s your side?” He finally asked.

“Oh, it’s fine. Just a scratch,” Jin lied, not wanting him to feel worse.

“Would you mind listening to a new beat I’ve been working on? I need another ear.”

“Sure. I have to start dinner, but I can listen while it’s cooking.”

“Thank you. Sorry about getting you involved earlier.”

“Tae’s screaming did that. No harm though, it was all resolved.”

Yoongi nodded. Jin could feel him watching him quietly the rest of the way home, but said nothing. He didn’t want Yoongi to worry; the guy had enough worries as it was.

Jin began dinner almost as soon as they made it back. He opened his textbook again, a vain hope to get work done. “Jungkook!” He called when he saw the other on the couch. “Homework?”

“Just a math sheet.”

“Need help?”

“Probably.”

“Bring it here and start on it.”

“Hyung, can you listen?” Yoongi asked. He was standing near the counter, computer and headphones in hand. Jin nodded. He covered the stew and wiped his hands, taking the headphones. Yoongi started playing the track while Jungkook leaned against the counter, pencil and notebook in hand.

Jin’s brows furrowed as he listened. He didn’t know why Yoongi asked his opinion on this — Namjoon and Hoseok, even Jimin we’re far better, but he knew it was his job to try.

“I like it,” he said when it ended. “I think it needs something else, like... Under the beat? If that makes sense.”

Yoongi’s brows furrowed. He nodded, setting his laptop on the counter as he grabbed a water from the fridge. “That makes sense. You might be right. Thanks, hyung!” He headed out and Jin headed back to the stove.

“Tell me if you have trouble, JK.”

Jungkook nodded, scratching his ear with the pencil as he looked at the worksheet.

Jin smiled fondly, watching him for a moment. He continued to stir dinner as he read over his own textbook.

Jin worked with Jungkook throughout the dinner making process, and again after serving everyone.

He could hear the others wrestling in the living room as he cleaned the dishes, and a worry set in about what they’d make a mess of. His homework had piled much higher than intended with the chaos of the day. He needed to check his side, and he needed to work on his moves for their new choreography.

After cleaning up, he re-bandaged his side, glad the choreography didn’t do too much damage today. He double checked Jungkook’s homework before slipping it into his bag.

The living room quieted down finally, a signal the others had gone to bed or at least to their rooms.

The mess, however, remained. Jin bit back his thousandth sigh of the day, making a mental note to apologize to his parents; he prayed he wasn’t this stressful as a child. It took nearly an hour to clean up and return to his own room to -hopefully- get his own homework finished.

Jin’s vision blurred the second he opened his textbook. His head was pounding and exhaustion hit him like a truck. He tried over and over to read through his chapter, having to stop and reread. He could hear muffled noises from at least two of his boyfriends in another room. The sound made him ache with a sudden, surprising loneliness. He realized, aside from quick pecks on the mouth, he’d not had a moment with anyone in weeks. He’d been so busy running errands and cleaning, balancing their schedules and his own.

His vision blurred for an entirely different reason. He snapped his book shut and rose, padding over to his, once again, empty bed. Anger flushed his cheeks and he grabbed his pillow, flinging it across the room. He shouted into his fist, not wanting to draw attention.

Still overwhelmed, Jin began to beat on his other pillow, hot tears streaking down his cheeks. He collapsed to the floor, his back to the bed. He hugged the pillow he’d beaten, sobbing and yelling into it.

It hurt to cry, it hurt to admit his weakness even to himself. He should be stronger for them - for his family, both chosen and blood. But it also felt good, letting all of the stress and overwhelming emotions drain out.

Jin didn’t know how long he’d been sobbing when the hand landed on his shoulder. He startled, whipping his head up. Namjoon was looking at him wide wide, worried eyes.

“You scared me!” He scolded. Then softer, “What did you need?”

“Why are you crying?”

Jin wiped his eyes. “Nothing, just— Nothing.” He rose and turned, his heart leaping into his throat.

Everyone was in the room. Jungkook was hanging onto Yoongi, concern and fear etched on his pretty features. Yoongi’s eyes were filled with concern. Taehyung looked close to tears, holding Jimin’s hand. Hoseok’s mouth was a thin line, his expression unreadable.

“Wh— What? Why are you all in here?” Jin asked, panic squeezing his throat.

“Yoongi-hyung got us. He came in to ask you about a track... And found you sobbing,” Hoseok said.

“What’s wrong, Jin-hyung?”

“Why did you get everyone?” Jin asked, looking at Yoongi.

“Because you’re not okay. You keep saying you are but... You were crying when you broke up the fight between me and Taehyung.”

“You weren’t okay when you dropped off my computer,” Namjoon added.

“You were distracted all morning and even this evening,” Jungkook said.

“You didn’t tell us you were hurt,” Jimin added, touching his own side.

“I’m fine. I’m just a little stressed, no more than usual,” Jin said. He scrubbed his hands over his face and planted a smile.

“I gotta get up early though, and still have a ton of assignments to do. Sorry for worrying you guys, but I’m okay. You can go back to bed.”

“You haven’t slept with anyone in a month, hyung,” Jimin said softly.

“You’ve all had others to stay with.” Jin said. He slid between the group members and sat down at his desk, opening the textbook again.

“You haven’t made love to... Anyone... In at least as long.”

Jin’s jaw twitched. “You’ve all had others.”

“You make it sound like you’re not welcome to join. Like we’re not all seven.”

“I’ve been kind of busy.”

“Too busy to be with us?” Namjoon scolded.

“Yeah.”

“How?” Taehyung asked.

“Our schedules,” Jin tried.

“We all have the same schedules,” Jungkook said. “And I have school. I still make time for the guys.”

“Fine. Cooking. Breakfast and dinner, getting lunch for everyone. Driving Jungkook to school. Cleaning house over and over. Picking up rooms after members trash them in a fit. Breaking up fights. Taking extra choreography time because I’m not near as good as others. Meetings to fix vocals I’ve messed up. Spending hours at the store shopping for all seven. Being there to bandage your legs and help with homework and listen to tracks. Cleaning the living room after everyone goes to bed so others don’t get in trouble for leaving messes. And then doing my own homework. Is that a full enough schedule to explain my distance?”

Jin’s voice wavered as he spoke, guilt telling him just to shut up, stop making trouble. He looked down at his textbook, surprised to see little circles of wetness. “Please. I have to finish this — It’s due in two hours. I’m sorry I’ve been neglecting you all. I’ll... Tomorrow I’ll be better. I’ll do better going forward, okay? I just... Need you all to leave me alone tonight. I’m so sorry.”

Jin remained still, hating how visibly his shoulders shook as he struggled to keep himself together. He could hear the members leaving one by one, the air becoming thicker and thicker the fewer were around.

He knew he’d ruined it. They probably hated him for snapping. Tears worked their way down his cheeks once more, shame and guilt eating at his stomach. He struggled to focus on his homework, using all two hours available to finish. It was one in the morning when he finally fell into bed, crying himself to sleep. He would try to fix the damage he’d caused in the morning. Four hours of sleep, then he’d work harder, he promised himself.

The next morning, Jin rolled over, scowling at the ceiling. He could hear the members in the hallway, a streak of panic rushing through him. Did he sleep in? He checked his phone, almost more confused when he saw it was right at the time he was supposed to get up.

He rose, pulling on his hoodie. He winced at the injury from the day before but padded out to see what the ruckus was.

He slammed almost directly into Yoongi, who was piling laundry into Hoseok’s arms. He grinned at Jin and stopped for a second, pressing a kiss to Jin’s surprised mouth. “Morning.”

“M— Morning.”

“Do you have any dirty laundry?”

“Uh— y— yeah in the basket.” Jin motioned to the basket in the corner of his room. Yoongi slid past him to grab it. Hoseok smiled softly.

“Did you get your homework done?”

“Mm.. Mhm.”

“Good. Do you have any today?”

Jin nodded again, still bewildered. He turned and padded into the living room, where Namjoon was packing Jungkook’s backpack. The kitchen was full of activity as well, Jungkook and Jimin were making breakfast, laughing and dancing in the small space.

A swell of love and affection filled Jin’s chest as he watched them. Taehyung came out of the laundry room, catching Jin’s gaze. He rushed to grab one of their first aid kits and took Jin’s hand.

“Have you cleaned the cut?”

“Not yet.”

“Lemme help. Then you should go help Jungkookie before he burns down the whole dorm.”

“Hey, I can cook!” Jungkook shouted.

Taehyung ushered Jin into the bathroom, helping him clean the cut. He bandaged it despite Jin’s argument that it was fine.

“Go on.”

“Tae—“

“I’ll do dishes after breakfast, okay? Me and Namjoon-hyung decided to. So you can take Jungkook to school.”

Jin nodded, still unsure what was happening. He padded into the kitchen, taking the spoon from Jungkook. “I got it. Thank you.” Jungkook tilted his head a little, smiling.

“Will you take me to school today?”

Jin nodded, beginning to stir the food the two had made. Out of the corner of his eye, Jin saw Jimin take some of the laundry Hoseok and Yoongi were balancing, heading with them to the laundry room.

Jin served up the group as normal, sitting with them last. They were all eating and talking over one another, seemingly none the wiser than anything was different from normal. It was at that point that Jin wondered if maybe he’d imagined it. Was he hallucinating?

Taehyung rose from the table, gathering plates that were empty even as he laughed over a joke Jimin had told. Jungkook rose and took Jin’s hand.

“Ready? I have a test today, I can’t be late.”

“Is your backpack ready?” Jin asked, rising.

“Books, papers, gym stuff. Good to go,” Namjoon assured him. Jin grabbed his keys, letting Jungkook pull him out of the dorm.

Once in the car, Jungkook set his hand over Jin’s.

“Hyung...”

“What?”

“I’m sorry for being such a bastard. Thank you for being so good to me always.”

Jin smiled softly. He reached out, brushing Jungkook’s hair back.

“You’re not a bastard, JK.”

“I have been.” Jungkook leaned forward, pressing a desperate kiss to Jin’s mouth. “Can I sleep in your bed tonight?”

Jin nodded. “Y— Yeah, of course.”

“Good. Let’s go.” Jungkook buckled up, holding his backpack to his chest and sitting forward. It took Jin a moment to remember he had to start the car to drive.

Jin headed back to the dorm, surprised to find the dishes done, as promised. Taehyung was sitting on the couch, playing on his phone.

“Hyung.”

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry for pushing you yesterday. That was out of line. I hurt you and I shouldn’t have.”

“You were frustrated.”

“But it wasn’t your fault. You’re not always on Yoongi-hyung’s side... You treat us the most fair during fights. I was being a brat.”

Jin shrugged awkwardly, unsure how to respond. Taehyung rose, snuggling himself against Jin. “I love you, hyungie.”

“I know. I love you too.” Jin kissed Taehyung’s forehead.

“Can I sleep with you?”

“Jungkook already asked.”

“I know. We can both share you... If you want.”

Jin smiled. “Of course I do.”

“What are you doing until practice?”

“Hm... Normally I do the dishes and clean up but... That’s done. I should check on the laundry the guys put in earlier.”

“Yoongi’s finishing that. He’s got the timer.”

“Oh. I mean, I guess I’ll do homework...” Jin said.

Taehyung nodded. “If you wanna take a break, I have a new game I got on my phone, I’ll show it to you, you might like it.”

“Sure. Thanks.” Jin cocked his head a little, heading toward his bedroom.

He started in on his homework, a little amazed that there hadn’t been an interruption yet.

He spoke too soon, however, because as soon as he’d fallen into a good rhythm, Jin’s phone buzzed. It was a text from Jimin.

‘Hey, hyung... I wanted to thank you for cleaning my room. It was wrecked and you didn’t have to do that. I would’ve deserved Hobi-hyung’s wrath. Just... thanks. A lot.’

Jin smiled a little. ‘His wrath would have hit all of us with how bad that room was. You’re welcome though. Maybe next time.... Clean up before bolting?’

‘Or just ask you before trashing the place. Thanks for always having my back, even if I don’t always act grateful for it.’

‘It’s ok, Jimin.’

‘Hyung?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Can I sleep in your bed tonight?’

‘You’ll have to share the space with Jk and Tae.’

‘That’s okay.’

‘Then yeah.’

Jin smiled a little as he read over the messages. Jimin responded to his final answer with a photo of himself giving a heart. He was shirtless, sweat pouring down his face. ‘Don’t work out too hard,’ Jin scolded before setting his phone down to get back to work. His mind kept drifting, but in a different way. Maybe they didn’t all hate him. The way Jungkook and Jimin and Taehyung had apologized, the care they put into not overwhelming him this morning… Maybe he didn’t mess things up so badly.

A knock sounded at Jin’s door.

“It’s open,” he called, jotting down another note before looking up. Yoongi was in the doorway, an armful of freshly folded clothes.

“Done.”

“You can just put them on the bed… Thanks for doing that.”

Yoongi did as he was told and went to the desk, leaning his hip on it. He fiddled with his hands, chewing his lip.

“Need something?” Jin asked.

“I was wrong to take advantage of you.”

“What?”

“I’ve been taking advantage of you. You’re always willing to listen and help and I knew that so I used it. I care about you and it was shitty of me to do that.”

“We all do things for ourselves. It’s okay.”

Yoongi reached out and squeezed Jin’s hand. “I wanna sleep with you tonight.”

“Gonna have to move to a bigger bed,” Jin said.

“What?”

“Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook all asked to sleep with me.”

“We’ll push two beds together.”

Jin chuckled. “Alright, if you want to.”

Yoongi nodded. “Will you lemme ride with you to the studio?”

“Sure. I’m going here in a bit, after this assignment, I have to work on some parts I didn’t do right in recording.”

“No problem, I need to talk to Namjoon about something anyway. Call me when you’re ready to go.”

Jin nodded, watching Yoongi walk out. He turned back to his homework.

Jin ducked into Adora’s office as soon as he, Yoongi, and Taehyung arrived at the studios, spending time redoing some parts of songs.

When it was time for lunch, he sent a quick message to the group, asking everyone what they wanted.

Instead of the normal flood of requests, just Hoseok texted back, ‘Just pick up whatever you’re craving - you know what we like, hyung’

Jin’s expression must have been one of pure confusion. “You okay?” Adora asked.

Jin nodded, setting his phone down. “They’re being weird.”

“The guys?”

Jin nodded again.

“Did you guys fight?”

“Last night yeah, but today... I don’t know. I’m just stressed.” Jin grinned at her. “Let’s finish up this part, I gotta get lunch and pick up Jungkookie.”

Jin entered the practice room, arms stacked full of lunches. Jungkook followed after, carrying drinks. The others rushed up, taking containers and passing them out. They scattered on the floor, crouching, sprawled out, kneeling, cross legged, as they began to eat. Hoseok settled next to Jin, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

“Lunch.”

Jin cocked his head. “I always get lunch.”

“And I don’t think I’ve ever said thank you. I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you for… Anything, honestly. In all these years. That was kinda shitty of me, as your team mate… But also as your boyfriend. I’m sorry for that, Jin-hyung.”

Jin smiled softly. He reached out, stroking his thumb over Hoseok’s jaw. “It’s okay. You’re all here for me. That’s what matters.”

Hoseok smiled a little sadly. “I hate… Asking but… Can I have a favor?”

“What’s up?” Jin asked, finally tearing into his food.

“Could I sleep with you tonight?”

“Aw, Hobi… I’d love to say yes, but… I’ve already got four members who’ve asked.”

“I’m skinny.”

Jin smiled softly, shaking his head. “You deal with their bitching then, I won’t say no. If you all can fit, I have no problem with that.”

Hoseok beamed. He leaned against Jin as he ate.

Practice lasted a few more hours before their dance teacher let them go. Jin ended up with the youngest three on his way home. Jungkook was already working on homework, muttering soft threats at the other two who kept interrupting him.

Once inside, Jin immediately started in on dinner, a little surprised to see Namjoon loitering in the kitchen.

“Do you need something?”

“Well… Kinda. You don’t have to make dinner tonight.”

“You wanna deal with a starving Jungkookie?” Jin teased.

“I can order. Let’s just order something.”

“Why?”

Namjoon looked down. “Because I think we all need to have a talk and I’d rather do it now.”

Jin hesitated but nodded. “Okay. Go ahead and order. Or do you want me?”

“I already did. It’ll be here soon… Come into the living room, hyung.”

“This sounds serious… Is this where you break up with me?” Jin half joked. His smile faded when Namjoon didn’t laugh.

He followed him into the living room, seeing the others already grouped around their coffee table. Jin sat on the floor at the head of it, looking around at everyone.

“Guys?”

“Jin-hyung… We’ve been together for years,” Namjoon said. “One way or another. Friends, teammates, lovers… For four years.”

Jin nodded.

“We’ve gone through a lot. We rely on you… A lot more than we realize, I think.”

Jin lowered his head, guilt forming in the pit of his stomach. “I know… I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Yoongi asked.

“I let you guys down, didn’t I? Yesterday… Snapping… The way I’ve been lately…”

“You’ve been taking care of us for four years, Jin-hyung,” Jimin said. “You used to buy us food when we were hungry without ever asking for anything back.”

“You always take me to school,” Jungkook said.

“You support me no matter what, listening to my tracks, offering advice in the most supportive, positive way,” Yoongi said.

“You were the first one to hug me,” Taehyung whispered, ��and to tell me I was cool.”

“You work so hard to impress us, to impress the fans, to prove yourself – harder than half us put together,” Hoseok said.

“You stand by me no matter what city or country we’re in, and support me both as your friend and your leader,” Namjoon said.

“You have never let us down, Seokjin-hyung,” Yoongi said firmly.

“We let you down,” Jimin whispered.

“How?” Jin asked.

“We’ve been taking advantage of you for so long. And how many times have we said thank you?” Namjoon asked. “Over and over… When Yoongi-hyung caught you crying and you yelled… Do you know what we did? We came out here and talked. We talked about what your day was like. About what every day has been like since we met. You work so hard for us, hyung. And you say nothing… You let us walk all over you. Why?”

Jin shrugged, hanging his head.

“Hyung…”

“I just want to feel like I’m useful. Like I give something to the group. I wanted to give you guys a reason to love me… Keep me around,” he whispered.

“We do love you. And we want you around. If you keep working yourself into the ground like this… We won’t have you. You need to let us help. And you need to say no sometimes. You aren’t our maid, or our servant. You’re our lover. You don’t need to do everything… Even if we’re useless.”

“That means maybe I get shouted at by Hobi-hyung for my mess, maybe I learn,” Jimin said.

“Maybe Yoongi-hyung and I fight, we always make up,” Taehyung said.

“Maybe I mess up some homework, or have to go to someone else for help, there’s seven of us,” Jungook said.

“It’s not all on you, hyung,” Hoseok said. “We miss you… The real you, not the exhausted one.”

“Cuddling and laughing and… Other stuff,” Namjoon said, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’re sorry, Jin-hyung… Can you forgive us?”

Jin chuckled a little. “I was never mad... There’s nothing to forgive.”

“Yeah, there is. And tell us when we’re being pushy shits okay? We’re gonna try to help around the house more. We’ll work out a schedule or something,” Namjoon said.

“Just don’t let Namjoonie cook,” Yoongi lamented.

Namjoon chucked one of the throw pillows on the couch at him, smacking him in the face with it. Jin laughed a little despite himself.

Namjoon climbed closer to him and pulled him into a kiss. “We have a lot of fixing to do, but trust us to do it, okay? We’ll get better for you. For us all.”

Jin ran his fingers through Namjoon’s hair. He nodded. “I trust you. All of you. I’m sorry I stayed quiet for so long too.”

“We all fucked up.” Hoseok said. “We can all work to get better.”

Jungkook perked up when the buzzer sounded.

“Food! Taehyungie-hyung, help?” Taehyung rose and followed Jungkook out to get the food.

Namjoon nuzzled Jin’s neck, kissing it gently.

“Hyung?”

“Hm?”

“Can I share your bed tonight?”

“Mind sharing it with five others?”

“Aw, I asked too late?”

“No,”

Yoongi said. “I think... We seven can all fit. We could push a couple beds together. If worse comes to worse, we could drag some mattresses out and just have a floor party.”

Jin laughed a little. “Since when am I so popular?”

“We all miss you,” Jimin admitted. “It’s like a chunk of us has been getting farther and farther. We were just too stubborn to see it was partly our doing until you said it.”

“I’m right here,” Jin assured him.

“We aren’t letting you go,” Hoseok agreed.

The two returned with with food and all seven crowded around the table, sharing the containers and feeding one another. Despite the weight of the conversation they had just finished, they fell into their own comfortable rhythm almost immediately. Taehyung wormed his way into Jin’s lap, kissing over his neck even as Jin shared salt seasoned kisses with Yoongi. As the containers emptied and bellies filled, their casual touches became more intense. The seven piled onto the couch, limbs tangled together. They shifted and moved together, holding and kissing any member in their reach. Though it would be an early morning and they couldn’t do anything, the feeling alone was enough to settle into Jin’s bones. He was more content than he’d been in nearly three months.

Yoongi pried himself out of the pile, enlisting Jimin’s help in fixing the beds.

They returned, tugging up various members until the group got the hint and made their way to the bedroom. They stripped down, all piling into the beds.

Jin found himself in the middle of, and half crushed by, all six of his lovers. Under normal circumstances he’d complain, and he knew he’d get too hot in just a few hours. But their gentle touches and the featherlight brushes of their mouths soothes him deep down in a place he hadn’t even realized was aching.

As everyone drifted off to sleep, Jin couldn’t help but smile. Despite the fights and the stress and the miscommunications— this was exactly where he belonged. This was his family, his shared life. And nothing could take that love away.

[eshithepetty]

wholesome mp100 things:

(Because I really like to ramble about this show and I just thought I'd compile some things I appreciate about it):

Bottling up feelings? Nuh uh, bad idea, better have realistic and well paced development of you opening up more and learning to accept your emotions, kiddo.

Self!! Respect!! Not just learning it in a 'oh, I love myself, flaws and all' way, but the actual process of trying really hard to actually be proud of oneself, even when it's hard to see yourself as anything but terrible. It's all in the gradual changes and small moments of taking your own feelings into account!!

An actual adult? Actually acknowledging?? How actually fucked up all the shit the kids of the show have to go through is??? And going out of their way to lessen their weight of responsibility, and to protect them and offering them comfort, like,,, yes please!!!

'Huh...? You want? World domination?? What a ridiculous concept. What are you even going to do with that? People need other people, dummy. Honestly, you're acting more childish than the actual children here.'

Everyone!! Is!! Equal!! Yes, you may have god-like powers that could literally fling me into the stratosphere and I might be an actual sewer rat incarnate, but as people?? We all still long for the same validation. We all have the same rights. We're all human.

Not?? Sexualising any of the female/kid characters? Tbh, I don't really feel at my best giving points to a show for this, since it shouldn't be that surprising in the first place, but still, and I think this is easily overshadowed by all the thirst Bones has for Reigen, but that's the thing! They're putting all their (tbh not that creepy really and in character) fanservice into one grown man and that's!! Really great! Thank you Reigen for being our sacrifical lamb

On the subject of not sexualizing kids, Tsubomi, Mob's crush, while being portrayed as very pretty, is not sexualized at all either, and Mob's fantasies about her entirely consist of them just,, doing stuff like holding hands and walking home together?? Not even kissing or anything like that??? It's just so innocent and cute, gosh... also the fact that Tsubomi and the rest of the girls aren't stereotypes, but have their own lives that don't revolve around the boys and interesting personalities that are very distinct from each other, even if they don't get as much screentime as the boys :> (also, Tome being a protagonist in the Reigen spin-off manga!!)

Dealing with anxiety and dependency and manipulation/abuse, when you're an adult?? I honestly can't say I've seen too much of anything concerning this anywhere,,, Serizawa is so good

And all the adults for that matter!! All the villains! Their redemption arcs are all about intergrating into society again and learning to have a realistic worldview and all around getting well rounded as people. That's pretty inspiring, imo!

Also, Reigen, an adult, realising that he was being unfair to Mob, a kid, and specifically saying he was 'caging him in', instead of using excuses like 'trying to protect him" and trying his hardest to fix his life and mistakes before confronting him, and when he does, doesn't expect Mob to accept or forgive him or want to be friends with him again?? And tearing up for the first time on the show just from being a called good person by him,,,? That was honestly so tearjerking and pure and that arc made me feel the full range of human emotion.

Speaking of Reigen, the fact that all of his friends, for the longest time, are a bunch of middle schoolers, and that he has basically fathered them all is such a funny, yet heartwarming and also a bit sad and complicated thing, all at once, to think about.

The body improvement club!!!!! Super supportive and protective jocks, the absolute opposite of toxic masculinity. Thank you ONE for bringing us this gift.

The fact that every one of Mob's friends would likely kill, or at least give a very stern lecture to anyone who ever tries hurting him is amazing and sweet. The same goes for Mob, a big pacifist at heart, putting his strict morals on hold and fighting just for the safety of his friends, and sometimes even strangers or enemies. They're all just so protective and I absolutely love it,,,,

By the way!! Mob!!! I love that he's not a stereotypical cinnamon roll protagonist who is always pure. Like, he has his dark moments. He has hurt people. Sometimes, he's geniunely scary. But the fact that he's so aware of his faults and how much damage he could inflict, and thus tries so hard to better himself every day and to always stay on good morals, and always strives to understand and help people above all else, even through all the suffering he's gone through and all the power he posseses, is what truly makes him so kind and lovable. He's just.... grown so much. I'm immensely proud of him <3

Power of friendship, but done right, because they don't use bonds as some convenient power up, but rather primarily as a tool for character development, that, in turn, helps them become better and more stable and capable people ^^

The fact that the protagonist getting stronger in this show doesn't mean them gaining more power or becoming more book smart, but instead entails them learning to better understand people and to let others understand them as well so that confrontation can be as civilized and nonviolent as possible and become a better tool for helping everyone involved improve themselves is such a direct yet nuanced way of presenting how solutions can be made to real world problems and conflicts, and it's just such a different aproach to the usual shonen aesthetic of power being the defining factor on deciding who wins or loses.

In fact, a lot of the time there is no clear 'winner' of a fight. Sure, we certainly get to understand which side is stronger physically, but the impact those factors play into the characters' mental states and development is usually very removed from those results. A character technically winning can result in them plunging into a meltdown full of self loathing. A character losing often brings a very positive change in their life. Those experiences change the characters in different ways than just winning - positive or losing - negative.

The message that you don't need to be special! Everyone is fundimentally equal, so you being more or less special than anyone else is just flawed as a mindset. Reaching for the top is alright as long as you remember that the thing that matters the most is just trying to be kind.

Mob being widely recognized as autistic in the fandom!! A lot of characters having the capability to be seen as neurodivergent, actually. But even if it isn't intentional coding from the creator, all the messages about how people expressing themselves differently doesn't make them any less human or valid, how conventional isn't always the best, how being empathetic can manifest in wildly different ways and also the reoccurring theme of dealing with trauma etc. are still very much there and impact the narrative and characters a whole lot.

How the story was even able to become so popular, despite the nature of ONE's art!! Also, how the anime creators decided to stay faithful, even tho they had the opportunity to change the art style to something more conventional and not go as hard as they did, but nope, they admire and respect the source material and clearly have so much passion for this project, putting all kinds of talent and creativity and effort into every episode!!! They seem like they're having a lot of fun with it, and I'm very glad.

(Feel free to add more!!!)

[creampuffqueen]

Worlds of Fire and Darkness | Chapter Eight (Winnie)

Read this on AO3! (Here) I love receiving asks and comments, don’t be afraid!

Winnie is having dinner with the Inner Circle, but something seems to be upsetting her cousin...

"The meeting of the High Lords is in a week's time, you know." I turned my eyes from my cousins to my Uncle Rhysand, my High Lord, as he spoke. "And I know how you all feel about the meeting. I'm not asking any of you to go, if you don't want to."

From beside me, Cirrus opened his mouth, but was quickly cut off, "That does not include you. As the Heir, you are required to go." Cirrus jokingly stuck his tongue out at his father before turning back to me and Tess.

Forks and knives began to clink as dinner resumed, as did the chatter. I could hear my siblings from all the way across the table. I lounged back in my seat as I chewed, stretching my wings casually behind me. But even the conversation my cousins were pulling me into couldn't drive the incessant chatter of shadows from the back of my mind. I'd discovered the power when I was about three, back when it was a good thing my father's shadows stuck to me as well. I suppose it wasn't bad now, per se, but fairly annoying. I most certainly did not want to hear about the sexual innuendo Cirrus's parents just made to each other. No thanks.

"Winnie, are you going to the meeting?" Pulling me back to the present, Cirrus's blue-gray eyes bored into my own eyes of hazel.

"Cool it with the eye contact, first of all." I snorted, "And yes, I'm going. Not excited about it, but I'm going."

"Same here," Tess said. "I'm going, but I don't plan on enjoying it."

"Then why go at all?" Cirrus inquired. "If you won't enjoy it, which I already know you two don't, why are you going?"

Tess leaned back in her chair and put her hands behind her head. "Simple. Spite and also to not disappoint our parents."

"Spite?"

"Are you stupid?" Tess groaned. "What High Lord's son doesn't know what spite is?"

"I know what spite is-" Cirrus snapped, but I interrupted him before he and Tess could start a brawl. Tess was on edge tonight, I could tell. Why, I couldn't say. And as much as Cirrus, Tess, and I loved each other, you can only stick three adolescent Illyrians in a room together for so long before someone gets antsy and starts a fight.

"As in, we're spiting the other High Lords. They insult us and tell us not to come back, so we go back just to prove them wrong. Were you asleep the whole last meeting?"

"No, I've just tried to block the whole experience from mind." Cirrus muttered. I supposed that was reasonable. Out of all three of us, Cirrus was picked on the most at the meetings. Usually by the same certain High Lords, who I didn't even dare to say aloud lest I summoned them. Utter bastards, they were.

"Well, we're all going." I said. "But when I say all, I mean not Arlen and Larall. Mother doesn't want either of them exposed to the nastiness of the other Courts." Cirrus nodded his agreement and took a sip from his drink.

"Cali's going, which is okay. She's just an even smaller Amren." I had to cover my mouth to stifle a giggle. That was absolutely true. If Caliphe cut her hair shorter and had grayer eyes, she'd look almost exactly like Amren. I hoped the little girl would make the stupid High Lords quake in their boots. It was the least they deserved, as I'd been informed burying them alive was rude.

"Enough about the damn High Lords." Tess groaned. "I'm starving, but you two are going to make me keep talking until I wither away from hunger."

"That was the plan, cousin dear." I purred. Tess snorted and chugged her drink, which I was almost positive was just pure liquor. Tess could hold her alcohol better than any of us, which she claimed came from her father and not a slight drinking problem. I was more into wine myself.

We all started eating, but got distracted again. Cirrus jokingly asked if I could identify all the spices on the roasted lamb chops, and I was knee-deep in one of the strangest competitions ever when we got distracted by commotion further up the table. I glanced back to see Tess all but crawling under the table, wings tucked in close to her body. Another look as to what was going on explained my cousin's unusual actions. It was her mother, my Aunt Nesta, causing the drama.

"I don't want to drink tonight. I'm not in the mood." Nesta snapped at Aunt Mor. Mor narrowed her eyes, not letting go of the wine glass she held in Nesta's face. Nesta looked ready to shove the glass back at Mor, but my Uncle Cassian stepped in.

"Mor, let it go. I'll drink the wine, it won't go to waste."

"Yes, but why don't you want any, you're usually fond of wine." Mor protested. Everyone around them looked like they wanted to be somewhere else. Tess had disappeared, likely winnowed away to spare herself the embarrassment.

"I don't want any, and that's all. I just don't feel like it tonight." Nesta growled. She pushed the glass back to Mor with a glare. The golden-haired female rolled her eyes and downed the drink instead, shooting my Aunt Nesta a look the whole time. Nesta just ignored her and attempted to return to her conversation. With that problem over, I went back to my dinner, and I saw Cirrus doing the same out of the corner of my eye.

Wait. Tess. Where the hell had my cousin disappeared to?

"Cirrus, where's Tess?" I hissed softly, making sure nobody else at the table could hear. We didn't want to cause more drama. Cirrus looked around, confused, like he hadn't realized the person closest in age to him had just disappeared. By the mother, males are stupid.

"Not sure," He said at last. "She probably winnowed somewhere else."

"No shit, she winnowed." I snarled, trying not to shout. "Have you got any other incredible observations? Her name is Tess, she has black hair and wings-"

"I'm not stupid, Winnie." Those blue-gray eyes of his had a dangerous glaze on them, making me realize I was egging him on, which may have not been the best idea.

"Could have fooled me." I said. Cirrus glared back at me with all the might of a High Lord's son. His wings were spreading behind him, as if he was subconsciously trying to threaten me by making himself look bigger. My own wings would have been doing the same, but I'd learned when I was younger how to keep them from appeasing my Illyrian instincts. Cirrus, it seemed, had not.

"Well what do you want me to do about it?" His voice was strained, the pointed tips of his ears red with anger and frustration. Oh, he was pissed. "I can't very well just stand up and announce that she's missing, can I? She left for a reason, Winnie, she'll be back."

"But what if someone notices before she's back?" I tried to make my voice calmer, tried to calm down my cousin a bit so he wouldn't accidentally demolish the House of Wind because of my words. I'd certainly made males break things before, but I didn't want to add my cousin to that list.

"So what?" He asked. "If they notice she's gone, we go on offence and tell them it was because they embarrassed her." It seemed like we'd had this conversation a million times. We'd been covering for each other since we could speak, and I felt like we covered for Tess the most.

"I feel like we should bring her back, though," I argued. "So she's not alone out there with her emotions. Tess isn't good with emotions." If I was being honest, none of us were good with emotions, but whatever blood ran in Tess made her feel more strongly than either of us. I resisted the urge to turn to Aunt Nesta when I thought about Tess's emotional blood.

"Finish dinner. If she's not back, we go find her. There's only so many places she could be."

"Fine." I could live with that. I looked down at my plate, but squabbling with Cirrus about spices on the lamb didn't feel as fun as it had minutes prior. I resigned myself to simply eating, and Cirrus did the same.

The light slowly left the sky, and the true beauty of the Night Court was revealed. From so high up we could see the stars so clearly it felt as though I could touch them. Even after my whole life under those stars, it still awed me every time they came out at night. The little ones grew quiet, and I saw my little brother Larall asleep on my mother's lap, a thumb stuck in his mouth. Looking at my little brother I wished, just a bit, to be that small again. Life as the oldest child wasn't easy.

To my side, I saw Cirrus looking with the same fondness at his own younger sister, who was dozing on her father's lap. I wondered if he ever wished like I did, to be little again. The look was gone again the next second, but I think that sometimes he did.

The arrival of the stars had me distracted, but I soon noticed the absence of my older cousin. Tess was still gone. After all her complaining about being starving, I would have expected her to be back to finish her dinner, but there was no sign of her. I looked to Cirrus, and he nodded. Time to go find Tess.

"Winnie and I are headed back to the house!" My cousin cheerfully called. Before anyone could protest, he grabbed my hand and winnowed us.

I hated winnowing. The feeling of weightlessness wasn't like flying, not at all. It felt like a free-fall in complete darkness, and all I wanted to do was flare my wings and fly back to the light. But the feeling was only for a few heartbeats, because as soon as the feeling was there, it was gone. We were on the roof of the Riverside House, where Cirrus and his family usually lived.

I had expected Tess to be somewhere obscure, but I was wrong about her. I supposed that was the theme of tonight. My cousin was sitting on one of the iron chairs and looking over the Sidra, her wings flared casually behind her. Cirrus tucked his hands into his pockets and walked over to her. Cauldron, he looked so much like Uncle Rhys when he did that. Realizing I was being left behind, I quickly followed him over to our cousin.

Tess said nothing as we claimed the seats beside her. She just kept looking at the river. Her face was splotchy, her eyes were red and puffy. She'd been crying. Now I was confused. Tess hardly ever cried, and although she was embarrassed easily and hated her family making a scene, I'd never seen her cry over it. The argument had hardly lasted three minutes.

"Do you want to be alone or do you want us to stay?" Cirrus asked gently. Cirrus always had a gentler soul than me. I was inclined to start grilling my cousin, why was she crying, why did she leave, what was going on. But here Cirrus was, not getting worked up and offering our cousin space if she needed it. Cirrus was his father, through and through.

"Please stay." Tess's voice was barely a whisper on the night-kissed wind, so soft that only Fae ears could hear. "I want you to stay."

Cirrus nodded and sat back, though he kept his eyes on her. It was so odd to see Tess like this, so openly upset. I'd seen her angry, I'd seen her screaming and slamming her fists, but I'd never, not in my whole life, seen her cry like this. She didn't hide the tears, no, she let them fall, and I watched as one wove a path down her face and dripped off the tip of her nose. When she swallowed, I heard it clearly, and could practically feel the lump in her throat myself. But she took a deep breath, and spoke.

"I'm going to need a drink for this." I cocked my head curiously, but said nothing. Tess shook her head with a chuckle, though I could tell it was forced. Another tear leaked out of her silver-lined eyes.

Cirrus nodded, and snapped his fingers. I could have sworn it echoed over the river. A tall bottle of whiskey appeared on the small table that was next to the chairs. It was unopened, and a moment later three glasses appeared and the bottle popped open.

"How do you do that?" I asked softly as Cirrus poured the drink. My dark-haired cousin shrugged.

"High Lord Heir powers, Winnie dear." I grinned as he handed me a glass. I sipped at it, and could hardly hold back the face I made. By the Mother, that was strong. Cirrus offered Tess a glass, but she ignored him and drank straight from the bottle. She didn't even cringe. Cirrus's eyes nearly bulged out of his head, and I practically had to pick up my jaw from the floor. Tess either pretended not to notice or simply couldn't bring herself to care anymore. When she set the bottle the whole table rattled. My older cousin stared off into space for a bit, long enough that I worried she'd forgotten what she was going to say. But then she took a deep breath.

"My mother is pregnant."

I felt like the floor had dropped out from under me. The sentence Tess had just dropped on us like a sack of potatoes contained world-altering information, at least for me. Pregnancy and my Aunt Nesta were two things I never expected to hear together. It had happened before, duh, but still...

I could hardly believe it. But at the same time I could. All the pieces seemed to fit together right then. Up in the Illyrian camps, I practically lived with Tess. My own family was there, but it was nice to escape that chaos. Aunt Nesta had been ill lately, but I didn't bother to notice it. Or the fact she requested certain meals from Uncle Cassian when she was usually not a picky eater. And tonight, her refusal to drink alcohol. That should have set me off immediately; Aunt Nesta loved a good glass of wine.

But I suppose I was busy with my own things. Too busy to notice the signs that I would soon be having a new little cousin.

I realized I'd been staring. As had Cirrus. Tess's jaw was set, and she grabbed the bottle of whiskey again. The silence was deafening.

Cirrus spoke first, coming to his senses first, as always. "Congratulations. That's a good thing, right?"

"Yes, because I run away crying and drink straight from the bottle when it's a good thing!" Tess shrieked. "No, it's not a good thing, you dimwit!" Tears ran anew down her face and she looked to the sky.

"Why is that not good?" I ventured. Tess was silent. A nagging in the back of my head told the answers, and I fought the urge to yell at the damn shadows. Normally they were less bothersome, but they'd been hounding me more and more lately.

"It's dumb, really." Tess muttered. "I should be happy, I know."

"You don't have to be happy about it." Cirrus murmured. "You have a right to feel whatever you want about it."

"You give me too much credit," Tess sighed. "Because the reason I'm unhappy is a stupid reason."

"Well we can't tell you if you're being dumb or not if you don't tell us." I reasoned. I leaned closer and took her hand. Tess's hazel eyes found my own and she cracked a tiny smile.

"I'm upset because I like being an only child. I've had twenty years being the center of attention, but I don't want to share it. And neither of you count because you don't really live with me." I nodded sagely. Understandable.

"When my mother told me I was getting a baby brother or sister, I threw a huge fit, I'll have you remember." I said. Tess sighed.

"But you were five, Winnie. That's an appropriate response for a five-year-old, not a female who's twenty years old and commands an entire flank of warriors," She shot back.

"So what?" I said. "You're upset, and that's okay. We won't tell anyone, promise." From beside me, Cirrus nodded his agreement.

"You guys are the closest I've always had to siblings." Tess admitted. "But seeing all of your siblings makes me not want any. It's not that I don't like kids and babies, because I do, but..."

"You don't have to say anything else. We understand." Cirrus grinned and grabbed her other hand. "It's not the end of the world, I promise."

"It feels like it, sure, but it's not the end." I pulled Tess into a hug. She must have been surprised, because she was stiff as a board, but she hugged me back a moment later. Cirrus wrapped his arms around us both, and his wings covered our heads. I laughed as I inhaled the scents of my cousins, Tess's whiskey-and-mist, Cirrus's jasmine-and-wind. These were some of my favorite people in the whole world, more favorite than even my own siblings and parents, dare I say. They made my heart swell until I had to pull away or I'd start crying myself.

This time Tess poured herself a glass and sipped it with us, leaving the bottle on the far side of the table. Her eyes were still silver-lined, and her face was still puffy, but she was smiling. That was all that mattered.

Tess held up her glass for a toast, and Cirrus and I raised ours as well.

"It's not the end." She said gently. We clinked, and drank.

"It's not the end." I repeated with a smile.

[thekidultlife]

THE RETURN OF SUPERMAN | Choi Seungcheol

Author’s Note: Anyone who is an avid fan of THE RETURN OF SUPERMAN SERIES? Hahaha. This idea came from a request. This is kinda long BUT IT WAS DEFINITELY WORTH WRITING! I enjoyed it so much. Admin Hyeri is working on that request because it involves her main bias Wonu-ssi. We have this unwritten rule that we won’t write stories about the other’s bias unless the other one can’t really do the story idea). Since Hyeri is not really a big fan of children shows and kids, in particular, she’s gonna kill me for telling on her, we decided that I’d start this one and she’d basically know what to do with Wonwoo’s scenario. 

To whoever requested this, thank you for requesting! Please keep on following and reading our works BECAUSE YOUR FEEDBACK REALLY MEAN A LOT TO US.💘Thank you!

Genre: Fluff!

Word Count: 7,009

P.S. I put in a little backstory to go with this scenario because I honestly didn’t know how to start off with it HAHA. Anyways, this is how I’d imagined Seungcheol’s family life to be like.

INTERVIEW WITH CHOI SEUNGCHEOL, 31:

SEUNGCHEOL: Hello, everyone! My name is Choi Seungcheol, leader of KPop group SEVENTEEN, and the father of two cute babies named Soyoung and Seungjae. Soyoung-ah, Seungjae-ah, please say “Hello!” and bow like we practiced, okay? Come on.

(Soyoung bites her twin brother when he tried to scoot with her into Seungcheol’s lap.)

SEUNGJAE: (Screams bloody murder.) DADDY, SOYOUNG BIT ME!

SOYOUNG: (Leans contentedly into her daddy’s lap and bows.) Hello, everyone.

SEUNGCHEOL: (Laughs sheepishly.) Sorry. (Pulls the kids to his lap and makes them bow to say hello together.)

Q: What does it feel like to have kids of your own now?

SEUNGCHEOL: (Raises his voice a little while trying to calm Seungjae down.) Being a dad to little Soyoung and Seungjae is so much fun. I love taking care of them, spending time with them as much as I could, and I could also say that I’ve never felt more pressured in my life. I mean, I’ve always thought that if I could manage to take care of twelve grown-up guys, I would be able to be as good with these two little tykes. But then it’s like---(Seungjae cries louder, and Seungcheol had to hug him close, all the while laughing at the camera.)

SEUNGCHEOL: I guess you could see what I’m talking about. (Comforts little Seungjae.)

Q: Despite your tight schedule, are you able to bond with them as much as you want?

SEUNGCHEOL: (Thinks about it, then shakes his head sadly, while rocking the two kids back and forth until Seungjae stops crying.) Nowadays, with our upcoming world tour nearing, I really don’t get to spend much time with my kids. Sometimes, our managers in Pledis would make me bring them because they love playing with these two during breaks, but most of the time we are too busy with shoots for upcoming MVs. It’s amazing how my wife manages to both work and take care of Soyoung and Seungjae. I wish I had that time flexibility, but I guess this show is going to make me spend more time with them than I normally would, and that’s all I’m asking for right now.

Q: Are you looking forward to being part of this show?

SEUNGCHEOL: (Smiles happily and kisses Soyoung’s and Seungjae’s heads.) Yes, yes, of course! I really think I’m going to enjoy this show.

Two weeks before the first broadcast

Sunlight streamed through the windows, making Seungcheol sit up on the bed. He rubbed his eyes and checked the alarm clock on the bedtable. 9 a.m., the clock said. Seungcheol’s hand crept to the space beside him and wondered where you were even though he knew that you were making breakfast already by this time.

I’ve got to tell her before she leaves, he thought to himself. Quickly but drowsily, he drew back the covers, padded across the carpeted bedroom floor and into the main hallway of his home. Walking on, he looked to the bedroom on his left. The door was ajar, and he could see that the twin beds, pastel pink and blue (this has nothing to do with SVT’s official color, mind you), were empty. Smiling to himself, his ears caught a happy, off-key rendition of ‘Mary Had A Little Lamb’ somewhere inside the kitchen.

He greeted you with a bear hug from behind and a kiss on the cheek.

“Good morning,” he greeted sweetly as he watched you flip pancakes, all the while holding you close. You smiled back at him and nodded your head over to the direction of two highchairs facing French windows.

“You’d better make them eat their breakfast, babe,” you said, feigned exasperation on your voice. “I honestly do not know what to do with those two.”

Laughing, Seungcheol let you go and looked over at the two little dark-haired angels singing their heart out while brandishing baby spoons filled with cereal. He kissed the top of their foreheads.

“Good morning, Soyoung-ah,” Seungcheol cooed at his cute little two-year-old who inherited her mother’s deep black eyes that were actually brown when you look closer and her pretty smile. “Give daddy a kiss.” The little girl happily complied, and Seungcheol ended up having a wet, cereal-streaked cheek.

He then turned to the little boy who looked exactly like him, save for Y/N’s bright smile. “Good morning, Seung―what the―?!” Seungcheol noticed the pattern of cereal that practically covered the whole table. He picked up his son. “Seungjae-ah,” he said before sighing, “What have you done this time?”

The little boy simply beamed at you and held up his spoon. “Paint,” was what his little mouth said.

Seungcheol then noticed that the splatters of cereal looked suspiciously like little lambs. “Aw, c’mon,” he groaned and watched as Seungjae just giggled at him. This made him laugh, too, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Knowing that lectures wouldn’t be heard, anyway, Seungcheol just took the spoon from Seungjae, ruffled Soyoung’s hair, and went to the kitchen counter where you were now putting pancakes on plates.

“I need a dishcloth, babe,” he announced, all the while carrying ten-pound Seungjae on his arms. “Someone made a ‘painting’ again.” He stifled a laugh. “Out of cereal.”

Horrified, you went to the scene of the crime. Sure enough, the ‘painting’ was there. If it had been put on paper and artfully drawn with any decent coloring material, you would have been proud. But it was drawn---with cereal---at the dinner table. Hands on your hips, you glared at your son.

Seungjae just giggled and gave you a crooked mini-heart (who taught him how to do that?).

You then glared at Seungcheol, who still amused with his son’s escapades, simply shrugged and said, “The boys.”

“Seungjae-ah,” you said with mock sternness, “Haven’t I told you that you weren’t supposed to play with your food?”

Seungjae just looked at you and then he laughed, a bright, cheery laugh that made you forget why you were yelling at him.

“Why does he do that every single time I’m planning to discipline him?” you asked your husband while trying to keep yourself from laughing. But Seungcheol, too, was busy laughing at your son’s antics. “Seriously, are you listening to me? Stop tolerating him, will you?”

Seungcheol grinned at you. “I love you.”

You rolled your eyes and just handed a dishtowel to him. “All I’m saying,” you continued, still gazing at him, “is that you should help me in disciplining him. I’ve put him in at least three different daycares, babe, but he’s still as rambunctious as ever.”

“Y/N,” Seungcheol said, still holding Seungjae, “We need to talk.”

“We need to talk about what?” You sat on one of the barstools and watched as Seungcheol put Seungjae down and wiped off the cereal painting on the dining table. Then he walked across to the sink, where he washed the dishtowel and hung it to dry. Then he sat on the barstool, next to you, and started eating his batch of pancakes.

“You see,” he said while adding syrup to his pancakes, “There’s this show.”

You watched as Seungcheol took his time before continuing what he was saying. Whenever he was like this, you know that he was either nervous about your response to what he was going to say, or he was very serious about the topic he’d broached.

“What’s with this show?” you prodded, taking one of his hands. Out of the corner of your eye, you were watching as Seungjae helped his sister get out of her highchair.

“The management wants me to accept it, but I don’t know what you would think,” Seungcheol said while squeezing your hand. His doe-like eyes stared at you with an intensity. “You know how much your opinion matters to me.”

You suddenly felt scared. “What, is this some kind of show where they’re gonna pair you off with some female pop star?” Jealousy should be beneath you at this stage of your relationship with Seungcheol already since you’re already happily married, settled down and have kids of your own, but you were still afraid of controversial issues. And, you’ve got to admit, you hated seeing Seungcheol getting linked to other women. What would the kids say, right? (Or is this really jealousy? you ask yourself.)

Seungcheol laughed and kissed you briefly, before answering. “No, it’s not one of those shows.” Then he looked over at the twins. “But the show will include them.”

Surprised, your hand flew to your mouth, your eyes wide with disbelief. Seungcheol smiled, amused, taking note of the shock that was evident on your face. “Wait. Is this “The Return of Superman” Show?!”

He smiled wider, but his eyes were not smiling with his lips. Apparently, the idea wasn’t appealing to him. Feeling a little bit of sympathy for your husband, you rubbed his hand comfortingly.

“It’s okay with me,” you said, your voice soft and soothing, the way you would talk to him whenever a negative issue regarding SEVENTEEN was out on social media. “It’s not like the show is going to last forever, you know.” You smiled as little Soyoung approached and presented an empty little pastel pink bowl. Delighted at your approving smile, she skipped off towards the dining table and left the bowl there, before following Seungjae out into the living room.

Seungcheol ran a hand through his face, his smile fading. “I’m just not sure how it would work,” he said, his voice serious. “I mean,” he swallowed hard as he said this, “What if the viewers suddenly decide that I’m not a good dad? What would that make me?” The doubt in his voice was so palpable that you could taste it as each word rolled on his tongue.

“Hey, look at me,” you said in a very loud voice, making him snap into attention. You held his face close to you, making his eyes meet yours. His brows furrowed, and you smiled at him winningly, the way you always did whenever an upcoming concert was making him worry. “You’re a great dad. Sure, you’re busy. You’re almost always away from home. But aren’t most dads like that?” You kissed the tip of his nose. “You’ve always been a worrier. But it’s not right to worry about stuff like this. You’re such a loving, protective, overly sweet human being. The audience will love you, and our kids. I just know it.”

His eyes crinkled into a smile now. “You think?”

You rolled your eyes and sighed. “Yes, babe. I really think they’ll love you.” Before you knew it, he was already pulling you closer, serving you the best treat for breakfast by claiming your mouth and making your senses spiral into a frenzy as he deepened the kiss. He tasted like vanilla and pancakes and boy were you so full when he finally pulled away.

“I love you, I just do,” he whispered as his thumb traced your bottom lip.

“So, when will this show start for you guys?”

“Our manager says the producers of the show are planning to air it by next month, or in three weeks, tops,” Seungcheol said, helping you clear the counter. He took the twins’ empty bowls of cereal and placed it on the sink. Then, as was your routine when Seungcheol was at home, you each took one glove from the pair that was resting by the nearby countertop and started to wash the dishes.

Standing beside your idol husband and doing the dishes with him seemed so funny at times that you could hardly believe it was happening.

“What is it about this house and SVT’s official colors?” Seungcheol jokingly complained as he held up the twins’ bowls and spoons. “Even their beds are color-coordinated with the same color. And so are the sofas. Our bedtables. The music room. The hallway.”

“Are you complaining, SVT leader Choi?” you teased. You washed off the soap that was on the spoons. The sly look on your face made him throw soap suds at you. “Hey, knock it off.”

“I’m not complaining, babe,” he said after wiping off the soap suds on your hair. “I’m just…how do you say this…amazed that you’re so considerate of the group?”

“Hey, before I was your wife, I was a Carat,” you said, laughing as you put away the dishes. “A very, very loud and proud Carat. I, Y/N, am the proudest Carat in the world.”

Seungcheol smiled as he remembered the first time you met, during a fan-signing event at Gangnam. He’d never thought that among the millions of Carats scattered across the world, one of them was going to be his wife, the mother of his children, his world. Shaking his head in wonderment at how his love story progressed, he bear-hugged you, wrapping his broad arms fiercely around your shoulders and waist.

“Cut it out, Choi Seungcheol,” you said, laughing. “The kids will see us.”

“EOMMA!!!”

Soyoung’s scream sent your body on full adrenaline rush. Dumping your sudsy glove on the sink, you ran to the living room.

And you found your twins, your angelic-but-not-so-angelic twins, painted with only God knows what on their faces. Ever-neat Soyoung, who hated dirt and dust and getting dirtied, was screaming her head out. Meanwhile, her brother, Seungjae, was grinning up at his father, who was as aghast as you were.

Turning to your husband, you said with a tired voice, “Before you enter that show, I’m gonna have to teach you some tricks on how to deal with these two.”

One day before the first broadcast

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Y/N!” a beaming staff of the Return of Superman segment looked at you, holding a piece of paper in her hands. “The producers just wanted to ask…is there anything you would like your family to do when you leave them for 48 hours?”

Your mind suddenly began going to work. Hmm. What could Seungcheol and the kids do?

First on the list, of course, was Choi Seungjae’s “proper training”. He must be taught by his father, especially on the matter of manners. Soyoung must be taught not to bite the first person she gets her hands on. And then there was daycare. And the weekly trip to the park. And then there was…

…A list formed in your mind, and you smiled as you handed the staff your final list of instructions and tasks before heading to where your husband and kids were.

“Goodbye for now, babe,” you said as you kissed Seungcheol goodbye. “Take care of the kids for me.”

“I’ll call you,” he said with one of his mysterious looks that seemed to say “Don’t make me do this, Y/N.

You laughed and kissed your twin children goodbye. Cameras swung towards your direction as you exited your house for forty-eight hours of relaxation (if paperwork and overtime at the Embassy could be called “relaxation”).

7:15 A.M.

NARRATOR: *Here we are, at the Choi residence. Let’s take a look inside, shall we? Who could be up at this hour?*

When Seungcheol awoke from the bed, his hands immediately crept around the spot where his wife should have been. Empty. Surprised, thinking he’d find no one beside him, he sat up on the bed and flicked the lampshade open.

Ah. Of course, he thought to himself and smiled as he took note of his forgetfulness. Y/N is away for two days. And in her place, were two small figures who were lying on their backs, soundly asleep, the boy snoring, the girl smiling with her pinkie wrapped around her brother’s.

INTERVIEW WITH CHOI SEUNGCHEOL, 31:

Q: Were you there when the twins were born?

SEUNGCHEOL: Thankfully, yes. SVT was in Seoul at the time. You wouldn’t believe how panicked I was, walking from one side of the waiting room to the other. Y/N, my wife, was inside the delivery room for eight hours. I honestly did not know what to do as each hour passed during that time. At first, the doctors told me I could go inside if I wanted to, but then, I didn’t think I could bear seeing my woman lying there in pain. I would faint, I kept telling myself. So I just kept pacing ang pacing, wringing my hands like this. (Shows the camera how his hands shook.) If the boys weren’t there with me, I wouldn’t have known what to do. Jeonghan kept saying, “Sit down, will you? You’re making me dizzy.” (Laughs softly, while remembering the scenario.) And then the doctors came out of the delivery room with a smile on their faces, and two beautiful newborns in their arms. Y/N was asleep, they told me, and she had gone through the delivery safely. I held my babies for a few wonderful moments. Both of them were crying, and the boys were with me, surrounding us. Mingyu kept saying “Hyung, the boy really looks like you,” and Seungkwan was crying, saying that he’d become an uncle. Everyone kept congratulating me. And me? (Laughs sheepishly.) I was crying, too. I was looking back and forth at my twins and at the delivery room, where my wife was. I was so happy that I couldn’t speak. That memory was just so…beautiful, and I was glad I was there, not on tour, not anywhere else but there. The scene was so perfect.

Seungcheol immediately got up, showered, and hurried to the kitchen to make breakfast. As expected, Y/N had already prepared a bunch of notes stuck on the refrigerator door with cute SVT magnets. Shaking his head in amusement, he took one note from a Dino magnet and read the contents.

“Seungjae and Soyoung’s vitamins are on the cupboard next to the plates. Make them drink it before breakfast. I’ve left you some breakfast choices, babe. Make something for them. I know you can do it! Love, Y/N.”

Smiling, Seungcheol put the note back on the Dino magnet and opened the refrigerator to take out a carton of milk. He then went through the cupboards and found the twins’ vitamins, a pastel pink and a pastel blue plate, some baby spoons. He then took rice from the rice bin and proceeded on making some rice porridge for breakfast. Scanning the kitchen, he spotted the hidden cameras, one by the sink, two by the opposite corners of the room, and one by the counter. A cameraman was hidden in a playhouse by the kitchen door. Waving hello, he continued to make breakfast.

The first one up was Seungjae. Looking cute, with black, wavy hair falling across his forehead, wearing a blue wool shirt and a diaper that was sagging (he’ll check on that later ASAP).

“Daddy,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “G’morning.”

Laughing softly, Seungcheol scooped up his son and peppered him with kisses. “Good morning, Seungjae-ah,” he said.

Seungjae, who was wide awake by now due to Seungcheol’s kisses, sniffed the air. Then he clapped his hands in glee, his gap-toothed grin making Seungcheol kiss him again with amusement.

“Porridge! Porridge!” he chanted. Apparently, Seungcheol had chosen the right menu for breakfast. Seungjae could gobble up two bowls of rice porridge if given the chance.

“Yes, that’s right, Seungjae-ah,” Seungcheol said, chuckling. “It’s your favorite, right?”

Seungjae nodded, delighted with the thought that he will be eating his favorite breakfast. Seungcheol settled him on the highchair and gave him his bowl of porridge. Seungjae happily started dunking his spoon into the thick porridge and began eating. But then, his eye caught the camera that was trained on him. Seungjae’s red lips formed a small “O”, spoon halfway inside. Then he dropped it back to his breakfast bowl.

“Daddyyyyyyyyy,” he said in that adorable, charming little voice. “Dadddyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.” He fidgeted with his shirt.

Seungcheol, who was busy making milk for Seungjae, turned. “Yes, Seungjae-ah?”

“Whasthat?!” Seungjae said excitedly, his hands clasped together as he sat still, staring at the camera.

Seungcheol laughed. “Oh. What do you think it is, huh, Seungjae-ah?”

First lesson for the day: expect the unexpected from Choi Seungjae.

Silence reigned for a few moments. Seungcheol looked down amusingly at his son. But it was probably an honest mistake on Seungcheol’s part to ever expect Seungjae to give him a clear answer. It wasn’t like Seungcheol was expecting Seungjae to say something like “KAMEWWA!” or “Daddy that’s a CAMERAAA!” or probably something like that. No, he wasn’t expecting Seungjae to really know what to call a camera when he sees one. But he didn’t, NEVER IN HIS ENTIRE LIFE, did he expect what his son answered him.

Because Seungjae clicked his tongue and folded his three fingers, leaving only his index finger and thumb, forming a gun. He cocked his head sideways, closing one eye but not removing his stare at the camera.

“Boom boom!” he shouted, in perfect, sing-song fashion, standing up on his highchair, sagging diaper and all, with porridge at the bottom of his lips, all the while making shooting motions with his hands.

“Everyday bumbum! Neo ttaemune bumbum! You gomme like bumbum, bumbum, bumbum bumbum!”

Seungcheol’s face flushed into a beet red. He was aware of the cameramen’s laughter as Seungjae continued “shooting” at the camera. He was aware of the cameras recording his every action. SERIOUSLY, THIS KID, he felt like shouting to the heavens. But he was laughing, laughing so hard as Seungjae continued to sing out SVT’s hit song, “Boom Boom”.

Since then, up until the end of the show, for Choi Seungjae, cameras were called “boom booms”.

INTERVIEW WITH CHOI SEUNGCHEOL, 31:

Q: How does Seungjae know SVT songs so well? Who teaches him?

SEUNGCHEOL: The kids are very close to their “uncles”, which is SEVENTEEN. The boys sometimes visit us, and they really bond. Soyoung is so ladylike, a little princess, and especially loves to play with Hansol-samchon and Seokmin-samchon. But Seungjae is another story. (Groans and laughs in exasperation, thinking of his little boy.) I could go on and on about Seungjae. He’s such an adorable brat. He often goes horsing around with his Soonyoung-samchon, Jeonghan-samchon, Wonwoo-samchon, and the other guys. He teases Dino to death. Anyway, these guys, they probably taught him the songs. There was even one time when Seungjae would shout “SAY THE NAME!” at me whenever I would get home. Soyoung would scold him but he would just laugh. He picks up a lot of things so easily, and he is so hyper. I sometimes pity my wife whenever she would be left with him. It’s really a miracle she can handle him, the BOTH of them. They could be quite a handful.

7:56 A.M.

NARRATOR: *It looks like someone else is awake…And there she is! Look how she gets up. Good morning, little Soyoung-ah!*

It was only four minutes shy of eight a.m. and Seungcheol was already making headway with lessons.

Lesson number two for the day: never leave Soyoung ALONE, especially on mornings.

“APPAAAAA!!!”

Seungcheol’s mind suddenly ran full-power, telling him that something was wrong. As he walked quickly towards the bedroom, with cameras following his every step, he thought to himself, what’s happening? Did she fall from the bed? Did she wet the bed? What am I supposed to do? Did I miss anything from Y/N’s instructions?

When he got inside the room, he immediately sat on the side of the bed to console his daughter, who was crying, her cute little face streaked with tears. Her bangs were sticking to her forehead, and her diaper, too, was sagging (oops).

“Daddy,” she clung to Seungcheol, her chubby arms around his neck. Seungcheol cooed and patted her back until she stopped sobbing. He carried her to the kitchen, where Seungjae was still eating breakfast and eyeing the camera on the counter.

“Why were you crying?” Seungcheol asked her, still holding her close to him.

“I was scared,” she whispered faintly. “Bad dream.”

“Soyoung doesn’t like bad dreams,” Seungjae piped in.

Soyoung put her chubby hands on Seungcheol’s cheeks, and fixed a glare at him. “Don’t leave me again,” she said in a cute but menacing voice.

“Soyoung is mean when you leave her,” Seungjae said to his father, in solemn, two-year-old fashion.

So, Seungcheol mused as he looked at his twins, it is hard to be Superman.

INTERVIEW WITH CHOI SEUNGCHEOL, 31:

Q: Tell us something more about Choi Soyoung.

SEUNGCHEOL: Soyoung was always the serious one of the twins. I don’t know if that has anything to do with the fact that she came out first, but she really is not just your ordinary little princess. She’s very bright, and she loves reading her little storybooks. She has this flaring, fiery temper―I don’t know where she got it, probably a mix of my and Y/N’s―and you know what? She learned how to speak when she was barely seven months old. (Looks at the camera, looking every inch the proud dad.) Seungjae was kind of late, he was already a year old when he spoke. But I remembered being in Paris, then, prepping for our first European concert. Y/N called me to tell me that Soyoung, our Soyoung, has spoken her first word. She was now teaching our daughter how to count. I remember saying, “Soyoung-ah,” and then Soyoung’s little voice, saying, “Appa,”. (Smiles.) I’ve never felt happier. The boys keep saying, “Go home already if you miss your kids so much.” They keep teasing that I’ve really, really, REALLY become “Seungcheol-appa”. (Grins.) I wouldn’t have it any other way, though.

And whenever I look at my daughter…(becomes silent for a moment, then sighs.)…I don’t know. I just keep seeing her mom in her. I was really stuck with the thought that yeah, they’re twins, they came from the same womb, but they look and act so different! Seungjae is me, through and through, but Soyoung is so much like her mom that I sometimes keep staring at her for long moments, amazed. Especially when she smiles or narrows her eyes. I really, really see Y/N in her.

8:30 A.M.

After changing their diapers and lemme tell you that they didn’t smell so good, helping them eat their breakfast properly, and making them take a bath, the twins were finally sparkly clean and primped up for the outdoors. As Seungcheol was getting their things ready, the twins did an exploratory adventure inside the house.

“Seungjae-ah,” Soyoung called. “Come here!”

Seungjae, an obedient younger brother (by seconds), stopped dissembling a poor Hulk figurine and sauntered over to where his sister was.

Soyoung, with all childlike curiosity, pointed at a playhouse situated in the furthermost corner of the living room, right between two massive oak shelves. “Lookathat!”

Seungjae, the first to discover the camera, made the gun gesture at his sister. “That’s a boomboom, Soyoung-ah,” he said in a cheery voice. “Every day boomboom!” He made clicking noises, jumping up and down.

“SHHH!” Soyoung put a finger close to her lips, her eyes wide and afraid *Isn’t she adorable?*. “Look, Seungjae-ah! There’s a man behind the boomboom!”

Seungjae, still within the childhood fantasy of being a cop, pushed his twin sister aside and pointed his “boomboom” at the cameraman, who was trying hard not to laugh.

“Don’t worry, Soyoung-ah,” Seungjae announced solemnly, his doe-like eyes warily watching the camera, “I’ll protect you!”

Having said that, Seungjae raced over to the playhouse and flung open the flap. Making “bang-bang” sounds and singing more “Boom Boom” lines, he tackled the cameraman, all ten pounds of chubby cuteness bearing down on the poor cameraman and his gear.

NARRATOR: *OMO! Anyone, help the poor cameraman get up from Boom-Boom Seungjae!*

Fortunately, Seungcheol arrived just in time to stop Seungjae from the violence if cuteness overload can be considered “violence”.

“Hey, Choi Seungjae, come here!” he pulled out Seungjae from the playhouse (which now had a torn entrance flap). “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry,” he apologized profusely, holding a wiggling Seungjae in his arms.

Soyoung, in her flowery dress, reached up to hold Seungcheol’s hand. “Daddyyy,” she said, her pretty eyes imploring, “Me, too. Me, too.”

She wanted Seungcheol to carry him, too. So Seungcheol offered his free arm and hoisted her up into him. Sighing contentedly, she leaned onto her father’s broad shoulders.

NARRATOR: *Where could the Choi family be headed? Choi-appa, where are you taking the kids?*

INTERVIEW WITH CHOI SEUNGCHEOL, 31:

Q: For your first activity, where do you plan on taking the kids?

SEUNGCHEOL: (Thinks for a moment.) Hmm. During our shoots for the past two months, I was unable to take the kids to school. We’d be around the country, and I would go home on weekends. I didn’t even know that Y/N had to transfer the kids THREE TIMES to THREE DIFFERENT ORINIJIBS (daycare). So I’m planning to take them to the daycare where they’re currently learning stuff, and I’m going to watch over them because education is really important for me. (Claps hands together, remembers something.) Also, today was Parents’ Day, and since my wife will not be around for 48 hours, I will be the one going with the twins to daycare. I am really, really excited.

9:00 A.M.

With all that crap said on that interview, Seungcheol thought, once more doubting himself, I really have to do a good job at watching these two.

Seungcheol, trailed by cameras, entered an inconspicuous yellow gate that led into a small playground with slides, seesaws, and monkey bars (the monkey bars made Seungcheol shudder a little―hazard no. 1 for Seungjae the little tyke). He also spotted another playhouse that had another cameraman inside it, by the entrance of the daycare.

When he got inside, he saw a large, brightly-painted room with English letters and Hangul plastered across the yellow walls. A huge blackboard was written all over with numbers and “Bura Bura” (a nonsense nursery rhyme song that Soyoung loves to sing) was playing in the background. A middle-aged woman greeted them, and the twins bowed respectfully in return. Apparently, this was their “teacher”. Seungcheol greeted Mrs. Lee and asked about the welfare of the kids.

“Little Soyoung is really a good pupil,” Mrs. Lee said, smiling at Seungcheol and the cameras. “Little Seungjae is very sweet, but I needed to make him do extra activities because he finishes so quickly and conjures up a storm whenever he’s done. But now he is well-adjusted to his environment, and already has many friends like his sister.”

NARRATOR: *Good job, our Choi twins! It seems like you’ve already settled into this daycare, after all!*

The class started. Since today was “Parents’ Day”, it was mandatory for parents to go up front and introduce themselves to the other parents. Some of the parents took out their phones, snapping photos of Seungcheol and the twins. Others just smiled as cameras caught them.

Seungcheol befriended some of the parents, including dads who, like him, were the only ones to attend because the moms weren’t available at that time. He watched as Soyoung continued to impress her teacher by counting from one to fifty without breaking a sweat.

Seungcheol clapped proudly, unable to contain his delight. She really inherited her mother’s brains, he thought to himself, thinking of Y/N, whose zest for learning was no joke and no small feat.

Meanwhile, as part of the program for that morning, Seungjae was asked by the teacher to sing a song for the class.

“Omo, omo, omo,” Seungcheol found himself saying as Seungjae stood up amidst the clapping of his fellow classmates and solemnly went to the front of the class. Parents, at the back, gushed in whispers about how good-looking he was.

Seungcheol felt very proud. He had dressed up Seungjae in an adorable navy-blue suit and cream trousers that made him look like a little gentleman. His jet-black curls bounced as looked from one end of the room to the other, looking for his appa. When he finally saw his dad, the cameras recorded him smiling brightly. Then he turned to his teacher, who was patiently waiting. Then, to everyone’s surprise, he brought out a small flower from his pocket.  Then his eyes drifted to the class.

“Jihoon-samchon taught me a song,” he said in a clear, solemn voice, “and he told me that it was about being happy no matter what happens.” He said this so seriously that if you hadn’t known him, you probably would think he was not two years old or was an old soul trapped in a child’s body. But then, he turned to his dad. “Appa, this is for you. I’m really, really happy you’re here.”

Seungcheol almost teared up as he watched Seungjae started to sing.

“geunyang waeinji moreuge gakkeumsshik mundeuk, geureon saenggagi jakkuman deureo yojeum…”

Mrs. Lee, the twins’ classmates, the parents, the staff, the cameras, Soyoung, THE AUDIENCE, EVERYONE especially Seungcheol who was forcing back tears, broke into applause as Seungjae continued singing “Smile Flower” for his dad.

Who could resist loving this cute brat?

Seungjae, still singing, slowly made his way across the people in front and gave the little flower to his dad, who was smiling through his tears then.

INTERVIEW WITH CHOI SEUNGCHEOL, 31:

SEUNGCHEOL: (Holding the sleeping Seungjae close.) Whenever I was away, the kids would always ask Y/N where I was. They would watch the SVT’s previous shows, and Y/N keeps telling me that the twins, especially little Seungjae, would cry himself to sleep whenever I’m not around. (Looks tenderly at the twins, and then back at the camera.) I guess that’s what’s hard to deal with when you’re a celebrity dad. You’d miss certain parts of their lives that may be mundane but is important as part of their growing up. Y/N always keeps tabs on how much taller these two have grown on one post of their bedroom door, and I’d feel kind of depressed whenever I’d see that they’d grown a few inches and I wasn’t there to carve it. I thought to myself at times, what if they don’t become close to me? But then comes the late-night call. Either Soyoung or Seungjae was having a nightmare, and I’d have to comfort them. “Appa,” Soyoung said one night, “Come back here, we miss you.” And that just makes my heart melt. But what could I do? I was somewhere far away. It’s a good thing the boys are with me, and some of them are going through the same things I’m going through, like Woozi, Jeonghan and Wonwoo. I guess this is what it’s like, being a dad. Loving your kids so dearly that you’d tear up whenever you’re not with them and then tear up again when you see them again.

When Seungjae finally finished singing, he darted, all bouncing curls and tearful eyes, to his daddy, who was waiting with open arms at the back of the class, just as the teacher announced a recess. Soyoung, too, followed suit, carefully making her way.

“Wow, you sing so well, my little Seungjae, don’t you?” Seungcheol cooed as he kissed his little boy over and over, unable to contain his delight. “You did great, Choi Seungjae. Appa is very proud of you.” Seungcheol then turned to his little girl, who was smiling sweetly at him, showing an arm that was full of stars. “And wow, my little Soyoung! You are so bright. How did you count all those numbers, huh? Give daddy a kiss. Come here!” Soyoung happily went onto her dad’s lap and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

11:00 A.M.

“Hello, everyone! My name is Choi Seungcheol, and I am the father of Choi Soyoung and Choi Seungjae. My job? Well, I’m part of an idol group. Do you guys know what that is?” Seungcheol smiled as he listened to the kids’ responses. “Yes, that’s right. We sing and we dance and we go to faraway places to make people happy. But that’s not all. You see, we also had to work very hard to be a part of our team. We first had ‘training’. We didn’t know if there would become K-pop members or ‘idols’ as some call us. But, here I am! I made it! That is thanks to a lot of people. And so if anyone of you wishes to become an idol, you’ve got to study hard first, and then train, and then become successful. There is no other way around. Who wants to be an idol someday?”

Several kids raised their hands, including your twins, ever supportive. You laughed and bowed as you made your exit, giving way for the next parent to introduce himself.

Before ending the class, each kid was asked by Mrs. Lee to make something special for their mom or dad who was present. And so the twins, walking together, paper held by both hands, gave that something to their waiting father.

NARRATOR: *What could they be holding? Seungcheol-appa looks very happy.*

And why wouldn’t he be? Because on two pieces of paper, Soyoung and Seungjae made something special for him: a drawing of their family, with different scenarios. Soyoung’s drawing was that of a colorful concert with stick figures (one, he noticed, looked suspiciously like him). He saw little Soyoung, little Seungjae, and their mommy in the picture, cheering on the stick-SVT. Seungjae’s drawing was situated in a park, with four misshapen oblongs with circles inside (Seungjae’s drawing of people was like this) that were close together. A rainbow that was drooping dangerously close to land was at the back.

Seungcheol laughed and rumpled their heads. “Wow! I didn’t know you guys could draw as well.” He looked at the twins’ masterpiece again to please them more. “We’re going to put this up so that your mommy can see them,” he announced.

NARRATOR: *The twins and their dad are now back in the house after a good morning at the daycare. Looks like Seungcheol-appa is making the two sleep.*

After eating out (mental note: do not make Seungjae eat all the meat the next time around), changing their clothes and diapers and giving the two some warm milk, Seungcheol settled down with the twins on the large bed. He checked his watch. It was just past noon. Sighing, he tackled Seungjae, who was trying to escape.

“You’ve got to get some rest,” he urged, pulling Seungjae back beneath the covers. “Let’s get some sleep and then go outside again, maybe walk in the park nearby. What do you think?”

“Will we watch sealions?” Soyoung turned over to you, her bangs brushing over her eyes. “Will we, appa, will we?”

Seungcheol nodded tiredly. Seriously, running around with these two was worse than running after the twelve delinquent “kids” he also had back in the dorm. “Now, get some sleep.”

“Where’s Mommy?” Soyoung asked again, her eyes drooping, her pert little mouth mouthing the question.

Seungcheol hugged her close with one arm and pulled Seungjae once again. “Mommy will be back tomorrow night. She just left for work.”

“Why do you guys leave for work?” Seungjae inquired, his voice tired but still alive. “Don’t you like it at home?”

Seungcheol, eyes half-closed, couldn’t help but chuckle at his son’s question. He hugged the two of them closer. “Of course we do. But we―your mom and I―we have to work because we have to earn money for food.”

“Food? Is food expensive?”

“Yes. And there are more things to buy other than food. So, we need money. So, we work. But we love it here at home.”

“You do? You really, really do?”

“Yes, Seungjae, we do.”

“I love you, Daddy,” Soyoung whispered before her breathing grew heavy and deep, indicating that she had fallen asleep.

“I love you, Daddy,” Seungjae also said, before ducking under the bedcovers, giggling as he said so.

“Shh, your sister’s sleeping.”

“I’ll sleep, too, then.” Seungjae straightened and forced himself to close his eyes. He pretended to snore.

“Seungjae,” Seungcheol said, his eyes closed but aware of his son’s naughtiness, “Sleep. Now.”

When Seungjae was finally silent, and was finally asleep FOR REAL, Seungcheol got up quietly and answered his phone that was vibrating by the dresser.

It was Y/N. His heart skipped a beat, and he became oblivious of the camera that was trained on him as he bit his lip and smiled upon hearing your voice.

“Babe,” he breathed into the phone, the longing in his voice so evident.

You, on the other end of the line, although busy with writing drafts and appeals, was aware of the tiredness in his voice. “How is my Superdad doing?” you teased, nibbling the tip of your pencil.

“This first afternoon was…loaded,” Seungcheol replied, and he proceeded on recounting his experience on being alone with the twins for the first time in months.

You laughed as he told you of the “boom-boom” incident, Soyoung’s serious threat when you left her alone on the bed to deal with nightmares, Seungjae’s clash with the cameraman, and Parents’ Day at the daycare.

“Seriously, these kids,” Seungcheol groaned.

“Believe me, your day’s still boring compared to their escapades when you’re not around..” You laughed as you imagined him scratching his head. “But I miss you, babe,” you said softly. “The hotel room’s kinda empty without you guys. Although I loved the part where they let me shop around with Jihoon’s wife.”

Seungcheol laughed. “I miss you, too, babe,” he whispered. “Come straight home after forty-eight hours, you hear me?”

“Yes, Sir,” you teased before hanging up.

Contented, Seungcheol put down the phone and padded back towards the bed. He then laid down between the twins, and prayed for at least an hour of rest before the dreaded “walk in the park” with these two.

The cameras on the pastel pink and blue bedtables, the camera by the door, and the playhouse beside the oak bureau bore silent witness as father, son and daughter fell asleep for the afternoon.

EPISODES | Ep. 1 | Ep. 2 

- Admin Leanne

[gonewiddershins]

ask meme

tagged by @what-may-be-perceived

A - Tell me something about yourself. 

I am very lazy and I never do anything except at the last possible moment. Today morning I dreamed that I had an exam due in an hour and didn’t even know which exam it was. Dream me was all “sigh that’s out of the ordinary but really I expected you to land int his situation at some point. You little shit.” 

I meant the dream was set on a Monday but I just accepted the fact that I spent an entire weekend wasting time on random bullshit because where is the lie?

B - Favorite non-Latin script?

Mandarin looks so pretty! Like little pictures!

V - Tell me one obscure fact you know, about anything.

The Moray Eel has two jaws, one of which resides within the throat.

G - To what extent are people responsible for their actions?  

It technically depends upon context; external factors, mental condition, intoxication, social structure, age and whatnot. But application is not...straightforward.

I generally start on the assumption that people are responsible for all of their actions and look at any possible victims first- justice for victims is more important than justice for perpetrators. If there are no victims or if any damage done to the victim is negligible or ineffectual, or if the victims have already been dealt with as much as possible, then you turn the compassion towards the perpetrators, and see what can be done to understand them or make their lives easier. 

D - Name one good thing that’s happened.

I got on medication and that made a hell of a lot of difference to literal years of acute anxiety and depression.

É - Name something or someone fictional you’d like to exist. 

Superpowers would me nice, so long as I could have them. Time Freeze or Super Speed are my go to options, because I never have enough hours in the day. 

Ž - Name one thing you were taught by experience. 

Compassion. I was very dismissive of people’s mental states and internal illogical traumas till I had to get through my version of it.

Ż - What do you feel passionate about?

Characters and books? Also arguments featuring insane troll logic. I have been known to have screaming arguments with people in class in full view of mildly traumatized teaching assistants. 

Z - Opinion on global warming.

If this is a roundabout way of asking me if I think it exists, I want every damned person in temperate zones to spend some time in the tropics in the summer, and then tell me if they think this is climate humans can live and work in. 

By which I guess I mean I believe it exists and that I may end up in potentially violent screaming matched with people who do not think it does.   

I - Which is harder: Math or English?

Depends on context. I suppose gravitate towards English over Math, but I can tell you that I found my Geometry and Statistics classes far more interesting and relevant than my English classes. 

Yi - Would you describe yourself as Extra™?

I strive to be as dramatic as I can get away with in every possible circumstance, so yes. 

J - Is recycling necessary?

The garbage pile in the pacific ocean is currently bigger than france+germany+spain, or twice the size of Texas. So yeah I think so.  

K - Are you into “do it yourself” crafts?

Ehhh. Not particularly. I mean, I make pin up boards and paper boxes but that’s less “craft” and more “oh shit i need a board or I’ll forget stuff” and “I have run out of containers and I don’t want to buy more.” Craft projects for crafts’ sake tend to get abandoned pretty early on because I get distracted by a new and shiny book. 

This indifference to crafts did not help me when I was doing architecture, let me tell you. 

L - Are you a people-person? 

I recently locked myself in my room (from the OUTSIDE) while a party was going on outside and sat in the darkness reading by the lights of my mobile phone so people would not find me. So no. 

M - Do you care what others think?

More than I want to, less than I could.     

N - What’s something you want to share with everyone?

Love letters to characters, funny videos, and videos of small and/or cute animals.

O - What are your pronouns? 

She/her. I’m lucky enough to be cis. 

P - How do you relax? 

I read, usually. But right now I'm part of a cutthroat goodreads competition which includes buddy reads, and a lot of the buddy read books are not quite my thing so it’s a bit of a chore. I’m slowly weaning myself off the competitive spirit so I can go back to my purely pleasurable reading. 

Right now, my relaxation times have more to do with casual games than reading. It’s all very weird. 

R - Are you introverted, extroverted, or ambiverted?

Introverted.

S - Do you think before you speak? 

Lol no. I am usually pretty diplomatic by default though, so I don’t tend to get into too much trouble. Unless it’s with family, because 95% of them cannot take anything except grovelling respect.  

T - What’s one thing you’re certain is true?

I don’t know how to answer this one. I’m going to pass on it. 

U - Name one thing you wish was common knowledge.

Sexual activity without consent is bad and should not be done, and there’s nothing funny, forgivable or understandable about groping, sexually charged commentary or judging someone as "asking for it.” 

I have had far too many people in power tell me to behave more properly while shrugging off skeevy or worrisome behavior from the male of the species as “boys will be boys.”

F - Is it important to speak more than one language? 

Yes. It gives you a different perspective on what different cultures find important, and allows you to compare and contrast what’s acceptable, possibly helping you become a more nuanced individual. It works better if you learn two languages from two different families instead of two which are very closely interconnected, though. 

H - Would you say you’re impulsive? 

Sometimes. I get panicked into it if I have to make split second decisions.

W - Name a loan word in your native language, and tell where it’s from.

One of the more interesting Malayalam words I know is sayipp, which is a condescending (I mean, it’s not derogatory as such, but it’s certainly not respectful) term used to refer to a foreign male, usually a caucasian. The origin of it probably from the Hindi word sahib, which is a respectful term used for a highly-ranked male of any race, and was used to refer to Europeans during colonist rule. I find it hilarious that a word which was originally respectful was turned into something with the connotation of a child who needs to be looked after.   

The female version of this transformation is Madam into madamma. Again, respectful to condescending. Because Malayalis condescend to everyone, including each other.   

ŠČ - Are you easily caught off guard?

Note really. I don’t have a baseline for normal, so I tend to shrug off most weird things.   

Ć - Know anybody Jewish?

Yes on the internet. No in real life. 

Č - Have you ever seen or read How To Eat Fried Worms?

I don’t think so, but I could just have forgotten it. 

Š - Does silence freak you out?

I don’t think I really encounter complete silence much. There’s always some sort of background noise. Like the humming of the fan, or something; and I find that situation comforting.

Ye - Ever eaten lamb?

I’ve eaten mutton, but I’m not sure if that’s the same as lamb. 

Ñ - Any plans for tomorrow?

Sleep. Read. Possibly finish some of my five remaining presentations/reports.

Th - Would you care to learn Greek? 

Sure, why not?

Ě - What’s your stance on marriage?

Personally; I view it as more of a social contract than an expression of love, and I am not sure it’s for me.  

Non-personally; I want everyone who wants to get married to be able to get married, but also that the legal age for marriage should be 25 for all people, rather than anything younger. Polygamy or Polyandry should have enthusiastic assent from all partners before being held as okay. Divorce should be available to all consenting parties as easily as possible.     

X - Does anyone in your family have a different native language than you?  

Hooo boy yes. I have relatives by marriage whose native languages are Tamil, Kannada, Assamese, Marathi and Hindi. Technically, my Mom and Dad have different native languages, Tamil and Malayalam respectively, but Mom learned Malayalam as a second language.  

Ç - How often is your name misspelt?

Not that often most of the time, but I’m currently living in an area where the native language (Bengali) does not have the “v” sound. So my name tends to get written as Barsa, instead of Varsha. (I have no idea why the sh turns to sa, but that’s what happens most of the time.) 

[dfroza]

is it done out of Love?

the way we treat others? and the Source of Love is God our Creator, and there is only One. but there are many gods and idols that people on earth choose to believe in, which they have the freedom to do. we all have the freedom to choose our conduct while here in a physical body, for better or for worse. and our lives are being written into a book that will be rightly Judged by Love, and all that is done may only be healed by grace.

hopefully, a grace that humbles our hearts & minds to be more patient & kind.

An issue of the way we treat others was brought up by Paul in Today’s reading of the ancient Letter of First Corinthians with chapter 8:

The question keeps coming up regarding meat that has been offered up to an idol: Should you attend meals where such meat is served, or not? We sometimes tend to think we know all we need to know to answer these kinds of questions—but sometimes our humble hearts can help us more than our proud minds. We never really know enough until we recognize that God alone knows it all.

Some people say, quite rightly, that idols have no actual existence, that there’s nothing to them, that there is no God other than our one God, that no matter how many of these so-called gods are named and worshiped they still don’t add up to anything but a tall story. They say—again, quite rightly—that there is only one God the Father, that everything comes from him, and that he wants us to live for him. Also, they say that there is only one Master—Jesus the Messiah—and that everything is for his sake, including us. Yes. It’s true.

In strict logic, then, nothing happened to the meat when it was offered up to an idol. It’s just like any other meat. I know that, and you know that. But knowing isn’t everything. If it becomes everything, some people end up as know-it-alls who treat others as know-nothings. Real knowledge isn’t that insensitive.

We need to be sensitive to the fact that we’re not all at the same level of understanding in this. Some of you have spent your entire lives eating “idol meat,” and are sure that there’s something bad in the meat that then becomes something bad inside of you. An imagination and conscience shaped under those conditions isn’t going to change overnight.

But fortunately God doesn’t grade us on our diet. We’re neither commended when we clean our plate nor reprimanded when we just can’t stomach it. But God does care when you use your freedom carelessly in a way that leads a fellow believer still vulnerable to those old associations to be thrown off track.

For instance, say you flaunt your freedom by going to a banquet thrown in honor of idols, where the main course is meat sacrificed to idols. Isn’t there great danger if someone still struggling over this issue, someone who looks up to you as knowledgeable and mature, sees you go into that banquet? The danger is that he will become terribly confused—maybe even to the point of getting mixed up himself in what his conscience tells him is wrong.

Christ gave up his life for that person. Wouldn’t you at least be willing to give up going to dinner for him—because, as you say, it doesn’t really make any difference? But it does make a difference if you hurt your friend terribly, risking his eternal ruin! When you hurt your friend, you hurt Christ. A free meal here and there isn’t worth it at the cost of even one of these “weak ones.” So, never go to these idol-tainted meals if there’s any chance it will trip up one of your brothers or sisters.

The Letter of First Corinthians, Chapter 8 (The Message)

and we see God’s promise of a child born to Abraham and Sarah in Today’s paired chapter of Genesis 21:

The Eternal One kept His promise, and Sarah conceived and gave birth to Abraham’s son (in their advanced age) exactly as the Eternal had indicated. Abraham named his child, who was born to Sarah, Isaac; and Abraham circumcised his son Isaac when he was eight days old, just as God had told him to do. Abraham was already one hundred years old when his son Isaac was born.

Sarah: God has graced me with the gift of laughter! To be sure, everyone who hears my story will laugh with me.

Who would ever have said to Abraham that Sarah would one day nurse children? Yet I have given birth to his son at this late stage in his life!

Time went on, and Isaac grew and was weaned from his mother. Abraham prepared a special feast in Isaac’s honor, to celebrate the day he was weaned. But a damper was put on the day when Sarah saw the son Hagar (the Egyptian girl) bore for Abraham laughing and teasing her son. She became jealous and demanded of Abraham:

Sarah: Throw this slave woman and her son out right now! The son of this slave is not going to share the inheritance along with my son, Isaac, if I have anything to do with it!

Sarah’s demand was extremely distressing to Abraham, since Ishmael was also his son. But God assured Abraham.

Eternal One: Don’t worry about the young man and your servant. Go along with whatever Sarah says, for through Isaac your covenant children will be named. As for the son of the slave woman, I will take care of him. I will raise up a nation through him as well because he is also your son.

So Abraham got up early in the morning, took bread and a container of water, and gave them to Hagar. He placed them on her shoulder, gave her the child—his firstborn—and sent her away. She left and wandered in the wilderness near Beersheba. When the water in the container was all gone, in desperation she left the child under the shade of one of the bushes. Then she walked off and sat down opposite him, about a bowshot away.

Hagar: I can’t bear to watch my child die.

As she sat there, she cried loudly. God heard the voice of young Ishmael, and a messenger of God called out to Hagar from heaven.

Messenger: Why are you so upset, Hagar? Don’t be afraid. God has heard the voice of young Ishmael. Come now, lift him up, and take him by the hand. I have plans to make a great nation from his descendants!

Then God opened Hagar’s eyes. She looked up from her grief and saw a well of water not far away. She went over to it, filled the container she carried with water, and gave the young man a drink. God watched over him for the rest of his life. Ishmael grew up, lived in the wilderness, and became an expert archer. So Ishmael went on to live out his life in the wilderness of Paran. When the time was right, his mother obtained a wife for him from her homeland Egypt.

Meanwhile, Abimelech, along with Phicol, the commander of his army, spoke confidentially to Abraham.

Abimelech: God seems to bless everything you do. So swear to me right now on the name of your God that you and your people will be honest with me and never try to deceive me, my children, or my descendants. Promise that you will always treat me and this land where you have resided as a foreigner with kindness and grace, as I have treated you.

Abraham: I swear.

Then Abraham complained to Abimelech about a time when he wasn’t treated so kindly: a well of water Abraham’s men had dug had been seized by Abimelech’s servants.

Abimelech: I don’t know who has done this. You didn’t tell me before; this is the first I have heard about it.

Abraham took sheep and oxen and gave them to Abimelech, and the two men made a covenant-treaty together. Abraham took seven female lambs from the flock and set them aside.

Abimelech (to Abraham): Why have you set these seven female lambs apart from the others?

Abraham: These seven female lambs I am presenting to you represent your personal and public acknowledgment that I am the one who dug this well, and that it belongs to me.

From then on, the place where the well was located was called Beersheba because it was there that the two of them swore this oath together. After they had made the covenant-treaty at Beersheba, Abimelech, along with Phicol, the commander of his army, left and went back to the land which now belongs to the Philistines. And Abraham planted a tamarisk tree in Beersheba at the site, and he used it as yet another place to honor and call upon the name of the Eternal One, the Everlasting God. For many years Abraham lived in peace as a foreigner in what would become the land of the Philistines.

The Book of Genesis, Chapter 21 (The Voice)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for february 17 of 2020 with a paired chapter from each Testament along with Today’s Psalms and Proverbs

[sixteenthbuny]

Fanfiction Questions

Fandom Questions

1. What was the first fandom you got involved in? warrior cats

2. What is your latest fandom? Doctor Who

3. What is the best fandom you’ve ever been involved in? BBC Sherlock

4. Do you regret getting involved in any fandoms? no??? but wc is tough to cope with tbh-

5. Which fandoms have your written fanfiction for? YGO, Assassin’s Creed, Warrior Cats, Naruto, Bleach, Noragami, D. Gray-Man, Supernatural, BBC Sherlock, Doctor Who, Avengers, Hobbit? etc.

6. List your OTP from each fandom you’ve been involved in. YamiYugi, Yullen, Destiel, Sam/Gabriel, Tony/Gabriel, Johnlock, Sheriarty, MinaKushi, NaruSasu, TenRose, human!Smaug/Bilbo (LMAO), KakaObi, KakaNaru, Desmond/Altair

7. List your NoTPs from each fandom you’ve been in. i’ve only felt the NoTP for Sherlolly tbh-

8. How did you get involved in your latest fandom? BBC One

9. What are the best things about your current fandom? the amount of debates on tjlc and theories tbh, it get hilarious and ridiculous, and mofftiss is probably having as much fun as i am watching everyone

10. Is there a fandom you read fic from but don’t write in? no, not really

Ship Questions for your Current Fandom

11. Who is your current OTP? Johnlock, Sheriarty

12. Who is your current OT3? don’t got one but i’d read a good threeway anyday

13. Any NoTPs? SHERLOLLY

14. Go on, who are your BroTPs? tbh, Sherstrade

15. Is there an obscure ship which you love? LMAO MYSTRADE-

16. Are their any popular ships in your fandom which you dislike? S H ERLOCLLY

17. Who was your first OTP and are they still your favourite? Johnlock, and i love them because their chemistry echoes from hell and back in all 200+ SH adaptations

18. What ship have you written the most about? ObiKaka

19. Is there a ship which you wished you could get behind, but you just don’t feel them? i don’t think so

20. Any ships which you surprised yourself by liking? Sheriarty, Mystrade, human!Smaug/Bilbo and Twelara

Author Questions

21. What was the first fanfic you ever wrote? oh god.. idk? warrior cats, definitely :) such old times, i miss those days

22. Is there anything you regret writing? um yuri licking a knife fic lmao

23. Name a fic you’ve written that you’re especially fond of & explain why you like it. i’ve got a few, and one of them is “sherlock in the vignette” because it fits my short attention span and it allowed me to cover a female-genderqueer!Sherlock falling in love with a male!John because i don’t see those often. it’s also tragic in some ways and it gave me stress-free flexibility to allow johnlock biological child happen without any scientific probability complications that fucks me over like it has been for the past four years lmao.

24. What fic do you desperately need to rewrite or edit? Live in the Moment. a plotty naruto mess fic..

25. What’s your most popular fanfic? um. probably Disturbed w/ 44k reads, 120+ favs and 100+ follows, and Ephemeral with ~10k reads, 130+ favs and 190+ follows (both on ff.net)

26. How do you come up with your fanfic titles? sometimes they embody the main plot point or the whole point of the story or a simple characteristic or they’re just punny and random

27. What do you hate more: Coming up with titles or writing summaries? SU MMARIAES SKSJNXBFK

28. If someone were to draw a piece of fanart for your story, which story would it be and what would the picture be of? um.. i’m not sure; either Disturbed, Ephemeral or The One Who Is Bound; they were liked and they would probably be something action-based, or a character?

29. Do you have a beta reader? Why/Why not? no, i usually am the beta reader and i am my own beta reader

30. What inspires you to write? my muse and thoughts and fascination with the concept of fandom

31. What’s the nicest thing someone has ever said about your writing? “it’s brilliant, i love it, you do amazing with your plots and word choices,” kind of complements. they’re really nice and i feel really appreciated and loved when people say those things to me

32. Do you listen to music when you write or does music inspire you? If so, which band or genre of music does it for you? i always listen to music. it’s like an addiction tbh, and i listen to varying things from chilltrap to epic steampunk mixes. doesn’t inspire me for sHIT tho lmaoo

33. Do you write oneshots, multi-chapter fics or huuuuuge epics? all of them on a good muse :) but mostly huge epics because i do not have chapter tolerance

34. What’s the word count on your longest fic? um ??? 50k? or 80k. somewhere in between, but i’ve written up to 100k words before dividing it into two stories that never made it because the decision may or may not have been a bit premature asdjkijhahn

35. Do you write drabbles? If so, what do you normally write them about? no, i usually try but they tend to fail

36. What’s your favourite genre to write? angst, hurt/comfort, family, romance, action, adventure, drama and suspense

37. First person or third person - what do you write in and why? third person present or pst tense, depending on the story. i don’t do first pov unless i’m r e a l l y feeling it lol

38. Do you use established canon characters or do you create OCs? i don’t use ocs as often but they have come across my stories multiple times

39. What is you greatest strength as a writer? i’m not sure. my craftiness for a plot, i guess.

40. What do you struggle the most with in your writing? staying with it. so basically what everyone else suffers from LOL

Fanfiction Questions

41. List and link to 5 fanfics you are currently reading: The Loss of Flesh and Soul on AO3 (Sherlock/Silence of the Lambs) http://archiveofourown.org/works/387339 and that is literally it :(

42. List and link to 5 fanfiction authors who are amazing: @vitruvianwatson tammy hybrid (already tagged) @blackkatmagic @highfunctioninggaybaby i haven’t really got anyone else on my tumblr that i read.. not off the top of my head at least, but they're all so much fun to follow and read!

43. Is there anyone in your fandom who really inspires you? Sherlock and Minato tbh, their minds, priorities and moralities are inspiring

44. What ship do you feel needs more attention? um mystrade lmao especially in canon

45. What is your all time favourite fanfic shit, i’m not sure. i’ve got a lot, but i really like reverse and backslide :) they were so original and golden for me, thanks to kat for blessing fanfiction.net with that lol

46. If someone was to read one of your fanfics, which fic would you recommend to them and why? probably Disturbed, The One Who is Bound, The One Who is Free and maybe Son of Pseudo Gods ??? only two of them are finished tho

47. Archive Of Our Own, Fanfiction.net or Tumblr - where do you prefer to post and why? all three of them, everyone’s stories on here are fantastical whenever i run into them and i need some more on my timeline

48. Do you leave reviews when you read fanfiction? Why/Why not? yes, sometimes. it depends on the amounts of reviews already received/types of criticism. and my energy to actually write one beyond saying (contextually) “I LOVE IT I NEED MORE AAAAA”

49. Do you care if people comment/reblog your writing? Why/why not? DEFINITELY! i would recommend everyone at least give some feedback or love, especially to new authors. criticism is vv important :^)

50. How did you get into reading and/or writing fanfiction? i started by writing my own at the age of 8 thinking “omggggg no one else has EVER DONE THIS! I WILL BE THE FIRST!” and then discovering many other authors..

51. Rant or Gush about one thing you love or hate in the world of fanfiction! Go!

SH I P AWARS A RE OVE R. L E TTHE M BE O VER

and the lack of recognition is kind of ridiculous. i’m talking like professional recognition because i have read fucking. fanficjtions that harare better than actual fucking bookks fjosbfknd

[harrisonkitteridge-blog]

Sherlock Season 4 – TL;DR: The Fanfiction is Better

SPOILERS AND PALATE-CLEANSING FIC RECS FOLLOW

Season 4 of Sherlock was always going to be a tough sell for me, because the moment they revealed “she’s a secret assassin!” I stopped buying the Mary Watson character. It’s what film critic, Mark Kermode, calls the “Meg Ryan is a helicopter pilot/Keanu Reeves is an architect” problem. Amanda Abbington was just not believable to me as a spec ops assassin, and she wasn’t equipped to perform the action convincingly. And all that was before the problems with the story were even revealed. After Mary shot Sherlock, every time she turned up on the screen, my stomach clenched, because, as presented, she was capable of anything – demonstrating profoundly antisocial tendencies: lying, manipulation, self-serving extreme violence, and disregard for human life. Her total rehabilitation was simply not plausible to me and probably wouldn’t have been even if its foundation hadn’t been the unbelievably ludicrous, glib assertion: “That was surgery.” (Not how guns and bullets work!) Watching her subsequent chumminess with Sherlock, whom she shot in the chest and killed (he flatlined), made me feel like I was being gaslighted. In my mind, it wasn’t good enough for her to say, “I only hurt Sherlock because I love John so much I can’t lose him!” Go down to any battered women’s shelter and you’ll hear similar stories of abusers’ rationalisations for beating up the person their property dared to smile at in the grocery store parking lot. Watching Mary joke and laugh with the people she’d victimised so horribly while continuing to marginalise John made much of The Six Thatchers almost unwatchable for me.

I understand that the undercurrent of intimate partner abuse in the Watson family was wholly unintentional, and it reminds me of the criticisms of 50 Shades of Gray. In both cases, two-dimensional characters (“Action Barbie” and “Sexy Troubled Billionaire”) there solely to serve the plot – not function as decision-making protagonists in their own lives – were the problem. (Yes, I just compared Sherlock to 50 Shades of Gray. At least 50 Shades of Gray had the excuse of a novice writer wrangling with the knottiness of a BDSM relationship as an excuse. Moftiss should know better.) Nevertheless, as much as I disliked the Mary Watson character, as much side eye as I gave her and John’s frankly dubious “love story”, I was appalled by Moftiss icing her so Sherlock could figure out he needs to check his ego. She was just there to sacrifice herself for Sherlock after his douchery got a bullet fired at him and to give John something to shake and sob about. The entire storyline of their “strong female character” was essentially a morality play aimed at teaching Sherlock about the dangers of hubris and a fulcrum to lever up the man-tear quotient. Then they turned their BAMF assassin into the benevolent spirit providing emotional instruction via DVD from beyond the veil. *vomiting emoji*

The Lying Detective at least provided relief from all the incoherent punching and shooting and rappelling of The Six Thatchers, even if it brought with it the lazy construct of the hallucinated spouse as an expression of grief (for real, though, the handling of the Mary Watson character and storyline is a masterclass in what not to do – so incredibly misjudged). One of the major issues I have with Moftiss’s writing is their careless, insensitive handling of serious mental health issues. Using auditory and visual hallucinations as shortcuts to say “I’m devastated by the loss of my wife” really rubbed me the wrong way. John wasn’t just talking to Mary in his head or forgetting she was dead, which happens to many people who lose a loved one suddenly. He was seeing her, hearing her – he couldn’t separate her spectre from reality. Those are not manifestations of grief; they are signs of profound psychological disturbance and distress that require urgent medical intervention, maybe even hospitalisation. They could have tied John’s extreme symptoms to sleep-deprivation from having to deal with Rosie at all hours of the night. The sleep-deprivation could have been exacerbated by insomnia brought on by feelings of guilt. But, no. They did it because real grief, presented the way a well-adjusted, middle-aged adult would experience it just wasn’t sexy enough. 

I never found the “high-functioning sociopath” line funny, but thought they might take it to an interesting place. What is sociopathy? How does it manifest itself? How would it manifest itself in Sherlock Holmes? Why does Sherlock label himself this way? Was he misdiagnosed (he’s obviously not a sociopath)? Was he self-diagnosed? I don’t think Moftiss ever genuinely considered how having a personality disorder would affect a character’s behaviour outside of giving him funny quirks and making him a bit rude. “High-functioning sociopath” was just there as a clapback to Anderson then as something gangster to say before Sherlock shot Magnusson in the face. They never thought it all the way through. By way of comparison, Arthur Conan Doyle described Sherlock Holmes as a law unto himself, as the final arbiter. He was also called “masterful” – able to impose his will on others. When he chose, he had “an ingratiating quality” and could easily earn people’s trust. He was also an accomplished actor and master of disguise, who was able to fool even his dear Watson. There is a grandiose, manipulative psychology at work there that is knitted together with a deep sense of fair play and commitment to justice. While sometimes churlish and short-tempered, he could be profoundly empathetic. He also had nervous breakdowns, what we call major depressive episodes today, and used hard drugs to self-medicate. Sherlock Holmes’s psychology is full of fascinating contradictions. Everything Moftiss needed was in the original text, but they never got beneath the surface. So, while they’ve hit on some of these traits, they’ve never been fully integrated into a complete character because I just don’t think they’ve made the effort to understand mental illness and related drug abuse. There’s actually an interview of Steven Moffat describing Sherlock as “clinically insane”. The fundamental misunderstanding of what that means is why The Final Problem ultimately failed.

The appearance of the evil, secret sister telegraphed that we were heading into telenovela territory, and I wasn’t surprised by the contrivance of the Maze of Moral Abyss, all those macabre labours for Sherlock, John and Mycroft to perform – a steroidal re-hash of The Great Game. It was like something out of a 90s action film – The Rock meets Die Hard With a Vengeance, and I watched it as such. I half expected Bruce Willis or some other 90s throwback to come bounding in, armed to the teeth, start flinging grenades and just command them to shoot their way out. Even so, The Final Problem was the best of the three episodes this season – at least them spending nearly the entire episode at Sherrinford meant that it was cohesive tonally. I still don’t quite know what to make of them choosing to ground the entire plot – all those games, all those deaths – in Eurus’s cry for help. It is possible to humanise a psychopath within the constraints of their diagnosis. They have inner lives that aren’t limited to the monstrous, but they’re not like us – the emo play is always a loser – you can only out-manipulate them. They have an internally consistent view of the world, and once you understand the rules they follow, you can predict their behaviour and outflank them (it’s the basis of criminal profiling), but you have to empathise with them. Do you see how understanding all that not only helps with characterisation but buttresses the plotting and would have avoided the anti-climax of the ending? Answering the question: “What does Eurus really want?” then having Sherlock, John and Mycroft connive a way to give it to her would have been much more interesting.

The obvious pop cultural point of connection with The Final Problem is The Silence of the Lambs. We all were drawn to Hannibal Lecter – we couldn’t help liking him and felt conflicted about it. At the end of the film when Clarice says she knows he won’t come after her because he would consider it “rude” – now that’s interesting. What is Eurus’s “That would be rude”? My inability to answer that question gets to the heart of my problem with Sherlock – I don’t feel like I understand any of the characters or what is motivating them. Superimposing the tropes of storytelling onto the episodes and trying to read between the lines is the only way to make sense of them. They’ve been building to this Eurus confrontation for literally half a decade, and it still fell flat. They gave her whole backstory, and I still don’t understand her. By way of comparison, The Silence of the Lambs is 2 hours and 18 minutes long, and Anthony Hopkins appears on screen for only fifteen minutes, yet we all understood exactly who Hannibal Lecter was, what he was capable of, what he wanted and why. I’ll grant that The Silence of the Lambs is an unfairly high bar, but it provided a clear blueprint for the complex, charismatic, psychopathic serial killer pulling the strings. At the end of The Final Problem, Moftiss asks us to believe that the answer to Eurus’s “problem” was the love of her family. She obviously coveted Sherlock’s attention enough to murder poor Victor Trevor and set her elaborate stage, but anyone who understands even the basic contours of her psychology knows her shaking and crying in a burnt out house and needing a hug from her brother isn’t how that story ends.

I seriously wonder how much better Sherlock would have turned out if at some point in the last 5 years Moftiss had just googled Cluster B Personality Disorders and spent a few days boning up. They wouldn’t have made such a hash of Mary, and Eurus wouldn’t have been “Female Moriarty Who Lost Her Bottle in the End” – utterly anticlimactic. Or did they do the research, but they just couldn’t give a woman the minerals to be a proper villain?

To be clear: I wouldn’t have many of the complaints I’ve laid out if I hadn’t constantly been told Sherlock is the cleverest show on television. It’s not. It never was. The plotting of the first two seasons got it pretty close to being included in that conversation, but it’s no The Sopranos, no The Wire, no Mad Men. At this point, I’d say any workmanlike police procedural has it beat, hands down. Remember all those arguments about which was the better show, Elementary or Sherlock? Well, Elementary won. And that unsexy police procedural structure is why. The show has an identity, a solid foundation – it’s consistent. Moftiss can’t seem to decide what Sherlock is about, and that’s why so much of Season 4 felt like lurching in and out of a Jason Statham film, a Masterpiece Theatre offering and a Lifetime movie. At least The Final Problem managed to break that pattern. It was essentially the Sherlock Holmes origin story, and it took us back to the ancestral home, back to the first tragedy. Even just visually, we were clearly in Skyfall, which shows that Ralph Jones picked up exactly what Moftiss were putting down when he called them out on the “James Bonding” of Sherlock. (The literary beef that ensued was entertaining, and Jones bodied Gatiss with “The Second Letter” – the cipher in the cipher was the mortal wound.)

The argument about the Bonding of the franchise was really about a lack of depth – the flash of fight sequences over the substance of watching a precise but troubled mind at work – and Jones clearly made a valid point. Gatiss shooting back that Sherlock being a BAMF is canon didn’t address the heart of the criticism. I think the Daniel Craig Bond films are much better than anything on offer in post-Season 2 Sherlock. Even with all the camp, sneering baddies and always slightly ridiculous plots, they never got anywhere near anything as radioactively, intergalactically idiotic as “That was surgery.” In a Bond film, when someone is shot in the chest at close range, it’s TO SHOOT THEM IN THE CHEST SO THEY STOP EXISTING. If they manage to survive, it’s a bit of a turn-up. Guns and bullets don’t magically become surgical implements. Yet Sherlock used this physics-defying rebuke of basic human anatomy to convince intelligent, educated people to go along with the rehabilitation of Mary Watson (why they chose to make her silly storyline so important is baffling). They then doubled down on that narrative in The Six Thatchers, piling on a barrage of action that was essentially extraneous to the story. All to get us to the moment in the aquarium where Mary dives in front of a bullet to save Sherlock, who for some unfathomable reason decided to talk over any attempts to pacify Norbury and all but commanded her to shoot him. Then Mary was kind of a ghost but not really. Then they introduced a long-lost evil sister and an island prison. Do all that if you want; just don’t insult my intelligence by smugly telling me it’s clever then hide behind Arthur Conan Doyle’s skirts when you get called out on it. If from the beginning Moftiss had just owned up to having wanted to write a glossy, slightly absurd, mainstream actioner with soliloquizing villains, I would have gladly gone along with it. But I’ve continuously been told I’m watching The Usual Suspects or some other complex thriller with a sense of humour when it’s clear I’m watching Bad Boys 2 with British accents. Again: that’s fine in the name of pure entertainment; just know that insisting it’s clever feels like a straight-up troll. At some point all the cognitive dissonance had to become too much to bear.

So what’s the result of all this?

The fanfiction is better.

Even relatively inexperienced fanfic writers with a limited set of tools at least attempted to flesh out the characters and give them backstories and lives, fully formed personalities. It didn’t always work, but the effort was appreciated. The superstars of the genre used the hiatus to write stories that surpassed anything Moftiss gave us in Season 4, particularly in terms of character development. When characters’ motivations drive the plot, the story is not only more cohesive narratively, it’s more engaging and lasting because all the shocks and gasps are earned and move beyond cheap manipulation for the sake of entertainment. At the heart of the narrative success of the top-tier fanfiction is empathy. The writers got inside the characters’ heads and asked, “Who are these people? Where are they from? What experiences shaped them? What do they want? What are they afraid of? Whom do they love?” Moftiss seemed to reverse engineer everyone’s behaviour and emotional reactions by working backwards from the plot – everyone is just there to be manipulated, to be made to speak or act because the plot demands it, so those questions can’t really be answered. That labyrinth Eurus runs Sherlock, John and Mycroft through is a microcosm of the entire franchise. If I didn’t read fanfiction, maybe I could have gone along for the ride with Moftiss, but I knew there were fully realised characters out there whose hurt wasn’t manufactured, whose choices mattered beyond setting up a gag or a plot twist, who were protagonists in their own lives no matter how small their roles were.

Not even Sherlock escapes this poor treatment.

Here’s what exactly none of the plot-driven, post-Season 3 Sherlock fanfiction I’ve read failed to consider: Sherlock dealing with the fallout of having been captured and tortured in Serbia then being shot by Mary. Do you know why they all went there? Because being the victim of that kind of brutal violence tends to affect people psychologically, and those effects ripple into the lives of their friends and family. But in Moftiss Land, Sherlock being chained and beaten at the opening of the third season was just there so we could watch Mycroft crack wise while wearing a fur hat. Mary shooting him was meant to “Red Wedding” us, nothing more. There were no lingering physical or psychological effects from Sherlock having been tortured. It’s never come up again, not even as an aside. Really think about that and what it means about the quality of the writing, about the depth of the characterisation, about the empathy being deployed towards the eponymous hero. Sherlock is obviously the character Moftiss hold in the highest esteem, but Season 3 proved Sherlock is just a prop to them – their most beloved prop but still just a thing, a toy. The only real narrative through lines in Sherlock are the twists, and they’re the only elements that aren’t played right on the surface. Everything else is meant to be taken at face value. There is no subtlety, no subtext. There are Easter eggs and other markers laid down mostly for plot payoffs – a puzzle to solve – but no emotional depth, no narrative consistency. Sherlock is and always has been elementary – there were just too few episodes for most of us to suss it out sooner.

A few people saw through all the flash of Sherlock from the very beginning, and I tip my hat to them for being far more perceptive than I. (If they’re running around being insufferable and shouting, “I told you so!” they’ve more than earned the right.) The first two seasons were a fresh, shiny new take on the somewhat musty image of the great detective, and we all got to watch Benedict Cumberbatch take command and come into his own. But the real reason those early episodes were of such a higher quality was the low budgets: they handcuffed Moftiss. They couldn’t get all the helicopters, Aston Martins and rappelling super soldiers on their juvenile wish list, so the plot twists actually had to be interesting not just turned up to eleven. We all mistakenly assumed that character development that would match the level of the plotting would come later. What those early critics of Sherlock understood (and what has come to pass) was that the reverse would happen: the plotting would sink to meet the level of the poor characterisation. What most of us took for slight faux pas we could overlook, they realised were portents of the slide in quality we’ve all witnessed. They knew Moftiss weren’t to be trusted to dock the ship, and they were absolutely right. Once Moftiss were truly given free rein, the true heart of Sherlock was revealed, and it’s just confused but lacks the self-awareness to realise or do anything about it.

Being “the smart kids” is part of the hardcore Sherlock fandom’s identity, and I don’t see many of them being able to admit that Moftiss bamboozled them. (We all got took, guys.) The capricious characterisation, careening plot and disjointed editing have thus far been interpreted as intentional, as Moftiss hiding the ball, as further evidence of their diabolical cleverness – all the incoherence taken as a collection of hidden clues to be thoroughly investigated. Even though Season 3 made it clear the story was spinning out of control and Season 4 has seen it hurl itself off a cliff (but only just miss smashing its head on the rocks), much of the earnest analysis will likely continue. Many of the casuals are in it for the slick deductions and probably embraced all the high-octane thrills. (There will be an inevitable backlash, though – you can’t fool all the people all the time.) The excellent ratings of Season 4 mean the bean counters will want a Season 5, or at the very least more Christmas Specials. Enough of the audience is probably still on board to justify it financially. I can only hope Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman have enough sense to withhold their participation. The Final Problem wasn’t the unmitigated disaster I was expecting, but everything from Season 3 onwards has made it clear the show can’t live up to its early potential and that the problems with the storytelling are baked in. So, it’s best this latest Sherlock Holmes incarnation just come to a close before it becomes a career-devouring black hole.

Thank goodness the fanfiction provides someplace the characters can live on.

  Fics to Cleanse the Palate

TRUTH MAY VARY by @amalnahurriyeh

Seven years after Sherlock's death, John's life is normal.

And then it isn't.

I don’t usually rec incomplete work, but this is close enough to being done to be satisfying. If Season 3 onward had shown even a fraction of the emotional maturity of this story, we would be in a very different place.

Read on AO3.

 STRAIGHT BOY PAIN by @glenmoresparks

Sherlock is in pain. Billy Kinkaid, the Camden garrotter and best man Sherlock knows, diagnoses it. Ademar Silver, a male prostitute in south London, attempts to treat it. Lestrade, kindly Detective Inspector of New Scotland Yard, doesn’t notice it. Eventually, John Watson, healer and registered medical doctor, cures it.

And a beautician called Penny paints Sherlock’s toenails.

Read on AO3.

 FAN MAIL by @scullyseviltwin

“WatsonChick143 has been rather maniacal in her commenting as of late... she’s left comments on everything you’ve posted John, something so obvious can’t have escaped even your attention."

A fan of John’s blog graduates into stalking.

Read on AO3.

 THE YELLOW POPPIES by @silentauroriamthereal

Sherlock is threatened and assaulted in the hospital immediately after having been shot in the heart, first by Mary, then by Magnussen. As he recovers at Baker Street with John and plans the attack on Appledore with Mycroft, he fights to work through the trauma caused by these two visits. Set during His Last Vow.

Read on AO3.

And in an act of shameless self-promotion:

BEFORE HOLMES MET WATSON by Meeeeeeeeeeeeee!

What does it mean to be a detective with no cases to solve? Sherlock Holmes tries not to ponder this question as he distracts himself from his professional failings with bare-knuckle boxing at an underground fight club and vials of cocaine and morphine. John Watson spends his days in an operating theatre on an Army base in Afghanistan, doing his best to patch up the wounded and failing more often than he'd like. The dark, violent worlds in which both men choose to live complicate their romantic lives and cause them terrible suffering but set them on paths that are destined to cross.

Read on Wattpad or Tablo OR download the Ebook on my website.

I’m always looking for recs, so PLEASE ADD A FIC YOU THINK ISN’T GETTING ENOUGH LOVE.

[darkempressinfinitemind]

Los Angeles Times (http://www.latimes.com/entertainment/movies/la-et-mn-female-filmmakers-lunch-race-debate-20170128-story.html)

Celebration of women filmmakers triggers heated debate among Salma Hayek, Jessica Williams and Shirley MacLaine

by Amy Kaufman        

“Is your coat wool?” Alfre Woodard asked as she sat at a long, flower-filled table draped with purple paisley Italian linen. “I’m allergic to wool. I can never wear anything nice.”

Under the cavernous, vaulted ceiling of a mountain mansion, where the driveway was heated, an indoor stream trickled and a string of faux llamas stood guard on the stone staircase, Woodard sipped a spoonful of vegan cream of vegetable soup served by celebrity chef Cat Cora. Nearby, Marti Noxon, one of the creators of the Lifetime series "Unr​eal," talked about her feature film debut, “To the Bone,” which would sell the next day to Netflix for a reported $8 million.

Here at the home of ChefDance CEO and founder Mimi Kim, Woodard, Shirley MacLaine, Elle Fanning and Jill Soloway were just part of a formidable group gathered during the Sundance Festival for a lunch to celebrate women in film.

Cindi Leive, editor in chief of Glamour, explained how the magazine had partnered with photographer and talk-show host Amanda de Cadenet’s Girlgaze, a digital initiative for women behind the camera. They wanted to explore how they could support women filmmakers through their respective platforms.

But while these types of occasions present plenty of moments for business-card trading and jealousy-inducing Instagram photos, the open discussions usually stick to polite words of encouragement and empowerment stories.

In that spirit, the idea of mentorships for up-and-coming women in the industry was floated by De Cadenet. Director Kimberly Peirce spoke about how it was important not to stray from female pleasure on-screen and told a story about how the MPAA took issue with a female orgasm that lasted too long in her film “Boys Don’t Cry.”

Then the conversation shifted to our new president.

“My feeling,” said Salma Hayek,  “is that we are about to go to war.”

But she had a warning. Hayek, at Sundance with Miguel Arteta’s “Beatriz at Dinner,” agreed that more women need to be hired so that female voices can continue to be recognized by the new administration. “But be careful that we don’t fall into victimization,” she added.

“I don’t want to be hired because I’m a girl. I want them to see I’m fabulous. Don’t give me a job because I’m a girl. It’s condescending.”

Shirley MacLaine, at 82, looking vibrant in purple and pink in honor of Saturday’s Women’s Marches, chimed in, saying that Donald Trump presented a challenge to “each of our inner democracy” and urged everyone at the table to explore their “core identity.”

Just when it seemed that everyone was on the same wavelength, Jessica Williams, the former “Daily Show” correspondent who was at Sundance as the star of Jim Strouse’s “The Incredible Jessica James,” spoke up.

“I have a question for you,” Williams, 27, said to MacLaine. “My question is: What if you are a person of color, or a transgendered person who — just from how you look —  you already are in a conflict?”

“Right, but change your point of view,” MacLaine offered. “Change your point of view of being victimized. I’m saying: Find the democracy inside.”

“I’m sorry,” Hayek said, jumping in. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Williams answered.

“Who are you when you’re not black and you’re not a woman? Who are you and what have you got to give?”

Williams took a deep breath. “A lot. But some days, I’m just black, and I’m just a woman,” she said. “Like, it’s not my choice. I know who I am. I know I’m Jessica, and I’m the hottest bitch on the planet I know.”

“No, no, no,” Hayek said. “Take the time to investigate. That’s the trap! ...There is so much more.”

“Right,” agreed MacClaine. “The more is inside.”

Williams, whose speech at the women’s march at Sundance was praised as one of the most powerful and effective last week, looked down and said she was struggling to articulate herself. Peirce tried to help her, saying that when she goes out in public looking masculine, she causes discomfort in a way Williams might as a black woman.

​​But that wasn’t quite right. So a​f​ter a few moments of reflection, Williams returned to Hayek.

“I think what you’re saying is valid, but I also think that what you’re saying doesn’t apply to all women. I think that’s impossible.”

“What part of it is impossible?” Hayek responded. “You’re giving attention to how the other one feels.”

“Because I have to,” Williams said.

​”If you have to do that, then do that,” Hayek said. “Then that’s your journey. But I want to inspire other people to know it’s a choice.”

This was when “Mudbound” filmmaker ​Dee Rees — who had moments earlier introduced herself as a black, queer director — j​umped in. At this lunch, she said, she didn’t feel like she was posing a threat to anyone. But in line at the bank? Things were different. “I don’t see myself a victim,” she said. “[Jessica] doesn’t see herself as a victim. But it’s how you're read.”

“I also feel like the word ‘victim’ — I feel like it has bothered me,” Williams replied. “When I talk about feminism, sometimes I feel like being a black woman is cast aside. I always feel like I’m warring with my womanhood and wanting the world to be better, and with my blackness — which is the opposite of whiteness.”

Cora, who had been in the kitchen cooking lamb stew and halibut,  wandered over to share that she grew up gay in Mississippi, where she was sexually abused from age 6. No matter an individual’s experience, she said, she just wished all women would have one another’s backs.

It was a somewhat of an abrupt turn, and “Transparent” creator Soloway returned to Williams to ask her to continue speaking.

“With intersectional feminism, it’s our responsibility as white women to recognize that when there are people of color or people who are queer — we need to prioritize your voices and let you speak the loudest and learn from your experience, because we haven’t been listening. So please, Jessica, finish your thoughts.”

Williams, visibly uncomfortable, said she also wanted to encourage all of the women in the room to pay special attention to women of color and LGBT women. “I think we need to not speak over black women,” she said, “not assign them labels.”

“What does this mean, ‘speak over?’” Hayek asked.

“To project your ideas on me,” Williams said. “I think there is a fear that if we present an idea that, ‘Hey, maybe [black women] have it a little bit harder in this country’ — because we do; black women and trans women do — if we’re having it a little bit harder, it doesn’t invalidate your experience. I really am begging you to not take it personally.”

Williams continued, referencing Planned Parenthood to support her argument. While many women may rely on the clinic, she said, four out of five women who use their services are women of color.

“So when you say women of color,” Hayek began. Then she noticed that Williams was not making eye contact with her. “Jessica, do you mind if I look at your eyes?”

Williams barely looked up. Still, the back-and-forth continued, with Hayek questioning whether or not she was considered a woman of color in Williams’ estimation. Nearly everyone in the room responded that Hayek was.

“Wouldn’t it solve it if women just all had each other’s backs in general?” Cora asked suddenly.

“Sure,” Peirce said. “The thing is this, yes, all women can work together, but we have to acknowledge that black women have a different experience. She’s here struggling and we keep shutting her down.”

“I don’t think anybody here shut her down,” Cora said, fighting back.

“Can I interrupt, because I feel misunderstood,” Hayek agreed. “It’s not shutting you up. I feel misunderstood on one point: We should be also curious about our brain. By being the best that you can be. That’s what I was trying to say to you. Let’s not just spend all the time in the anger, but in the investigation.”

“Baby, I’m Mexican and Arab,” she went on, addressing Williams. “I’m from another generation, baby, when this was not even a possibility. My generation, they said, ‘Go back to Mexico. You’ll never be anything other than a maid in this country.’ By the head​s ​of studios! There was no movement. Latino women were not even anywhere near where you guys are. I was the first one. I’m 50 years old. So I understand.”

“You don't understand,” Williams said, shaking her head quietly.

Leive attempted to wrap up the conversation, noting that many had planes to catch. But it was clear to all that despite the moments of palpable discomfort, an important discussion had just occurred. Rarely do prominent women in Hollywood voice such uncensored opinions.

In the days following the record-breaking women’s marches across the country, it’s tempting to view women as a unified force. But there are still thorny discussions to be had before everyone joins hands and starts singing “Kumbaya.”

[petitrangement]

Real psychopaths don’t giggle.

The maniacal laugh: only in the movies. For a more realistic psychopath, look to bolt-gun–wielding Anton Chigurh from No Country for Old Men. He just quietly walks up and it’s ka-chunk, you’re dead.

That’s the diagnosis from forensic psychiatrist Samuel Leistedt, who has interviewed and diagnosed real psychopaths, people who he describes as feeling no empathy for others. “They’re cold-blooded,” he says. “They don’t know what an emotion is.”

Leistedt and his colleague Paul Linkowski spent three years watching 400 movies looking for realistic portrayals of psychopaths. Leistedt says he personally watched all 400, some several times. That means he not only watched Psycho, but sat through Pootie Tang in the name of science.

He first weeded out clearly unrealistic characters, such as those with magic powers or who were invincible or not human (such as ghosts). That whittled it down to 126 films from 1915 to 2010, showing 105 male and 21 female potential psychopaths. A team of about 10 forensic psychiatrists and movie critics watched and weighed in on diagnoses.

They did this to develop tools for teaching psychiatry students, and ended up tracing a social history of how psychopaths have been viewed and understood since the early 20th century. Learning to diagnose a psychopath is not easy, he says. Not only are definitions and traits of psychopathy disputed, but students get limited chances to interview psychopaths.

Psychiatrists and neuroscientists have identified behavioral characteristics of psychopaths and parts of the brain that appear to function differently than in the average person. But much remains unknown; experts still disagree about whether and when there’s a genetic basis for psychopathy. Hollywood images of psychopaths have shifted over time as this understanding has changed, and as real-life cases came to light from serial killer Ed Gein to Ted Bundy and Jeffrey Dahmer.

Overall, portrayals have gotten more realistic over time, Leistedt and Linkowski report in the January Journal of Forensic Sciences. Instead of giggling killers with facial tics, at least a few of today’s portrayals have more depth, giving a “compelling glimpse into the complex human psyche,” they write.

Here are a few of the best and worst potrayals from Leistedt and Linkowski’s paper.

The frighteningly realistic:1. Anton Chigurh,

No Country for Old Men

(2007)

This contract killer hauls around a bolt pistol attached to tank of compressed air, a handy tool both for shooting out door locks and for shooting people in the head. Leistedt says Chigurh is his favorite portrayal of a psychopath. “He does his job and he can sleep without any problems.In my practice I have met a few people like this,” he says. In particular, Chigurh reminds him of two real-life professional hit men who he interviewed. “They were like this: cold, smart, no guilt, no anxiety, no depression.”

Diagnosis*: Primary, classic/idiopathic psychopath

2. Hans Beckert,

M

(1931)

This child-murdering character broke with most portrayals of psychopaths at the time, depicting an outwardly normal man with a compulsion to kill. This is “a substantially more realistic depiction of what would eventually be known today as a sexually violent predator most likely suffering from psychosis,” Leistedt and Linkowski write.

Diagnosis: Secondary, pseudopsychopath, additional diagnosis of psychosis

3. Henry,

Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer

(1991)

In this film about  guy who likes to find new ways to kill people, the researchers write, “the main, interesting theme is the chaos and instability in the life of the psychopath, Henry’s lack of insight, a powerful lack of empathy, emotional poverty, and a well-illustrated failure to plan ahead.”

Diagnosis: Primary, classic/idiopathic psychopath

Scary, but not realistic:1.     Tommy Udo,

Kiss of Death

(1947)

A great example of an early portrayal of a “madman” as psychopath. The Udo character was famous for his creepy chuckle, and legend has it that actor Richard Widmark was later asked repeatedly to record the laugh on blank record albums.

2.     Norman Bates,

Psycho

(1960)

After the 1957 arrest of real-life serial killer Ed Gein, a case involving cannibalism, necrophilia and a troubled relationship with his mother, horror films about serial murder took off. Norman Bates was inspired in part by Gein, launching a genre showing misfits with usually sexual motivations to kill. This kind of behavior became closely linked to psychopathy, but Gein was more likely psychotic, meaning out of touch with reality. Psychosis, which is a completely different diagnosis from psychopathy, often involves delusions and hallucinations.

3.     Hannibal Lecter,

Silence of the Lambs

(1991)

Yes, he scares the bejesus out of me, too. But Lecter’s almost superhuman intelligence and cunning are just not typical among, well, anyone, let alone psychopaths. Lecter is a perfect example of the “elite psychopath” that became popular in the 1980s and 1990s. This calm, in-control character type has sophisticated tastes and manners (think Chianti and jazz),exceptional skill in killing and a vain and “almost catlike demeanor,” the researchers write, adding, “These traits, especially in combination, are generally not present in real psychopaths.”

The new release The Wolf of Wall Street may be part of another movie-psychopath trend, the “successful psychopath.” Leistedt hasn’t seen the film yet, but he says the story of real-life con man Jordan Belfort should make for an interesting portrayal. “These guys are greedy, manipulative, they lie, but they’re not physically aggressive,” Leistedt says. Gordon Gekko in Wall Street is an example of a realistic successful movie psychopath. He’s “probably one of the most interesting, manipulative, psychopathic fictional characters to date,” the researchers write.

Hollywood has lately been fascinated by these successful psychopaths, Leistedt and Linkowski note, in the wake of financial crises and high-profile trials such as Bernard Madoff’s. Apparently, vicious stockbrokers are the new bogeymen. Instead of disemboweling their victims, they gut their bank accounts.

No matter the subtype, one thing is clear: Psychopaths are the people we meet in our nightmares. And sometimes in the boardroom. We’re fascinated and repelled by them, so it’s no surprise that they are the subject of so many of our favorite films.

*The diagnoses of characters in Leistedt and Linkowski’s study are based on classifications outlined by forensic psychologist Hugues Hervé and by psychiatrist Benjamin Karpman. Definitions vary, and the descriptions below are general guidelines.

Primary versus secondary psychopathy: Primary psychopaths are deficient in affect, or emotion, from birth, suggesting a genetic basis. They are often described as more aggressive and impulsive. Secondary psychopaths have been shaped by their environment, may have had an abusive childhood, and are often described as having

more fear and anxiety than primary psychopaths. ‘’

Subtypes:

classic/idiopathic Score the highest on all sections of the widely used Hare Psychopathy Checklist, or PCL-R, showing low fear, lack of inhibition and lack of empathy.

manipulative Tend to be good “talkers” and associated with crimes involving fraud.

macho  Lack the glibness and charm of the above groups but manipulate through force and intimidation.

pseudopsychopaths Also called sociopaths; show antisocial behavior but score lowest among these groups on the PCL-R.   

[phynxrizng]

THE CALL OF THE GODDESS

The Call of the Goddess SOURCE,by SHANN VANDERLEEK on FEBRUARY 13, 2014 Welcome to Transformation Goddess where women come for a soulful, sensual and sacred exploration. Walk in Beauty HERE. The fantastic Mary Elizabeth Coen joins us today with an exquisite guest post. I know you will enjoy The Call of the Goddess. “If you have yet to be called an incorrigible, defiant woman, don’t worry, there is still time” -Clarissa Pinkola Estés Are you ready for the call of the goddess? Are you prepared to have your life and beliefs overturned in order to follow her? If your answer is no, then remain asleep and read no further, for as Carl Jung said “He who looks outside dreams, he who looks inside Even if you choose to ignore her, she may come in a more aggressive form; that of Kali, the creator destroyer goddess, to irrevocably change the landscape of your life. But if you go willingly and take her hand, you will find her compassionate and tender as she guides you like a midwife through the channel of re-birth and metamorphosis. She will not leave or abandon you as you re- enter this world a more powerful woman, though initially vulnerable as a newborn lamb. The call of the goddess is the call to consciousness… to live a life which is congruent with the very essence of your magnificent spirit. You are not here to be a victim or martyr. You are in female form to express the multi faceted nature of the feminine, be it maiden, mother or mad cackling crone with the gift of alchemy. I like to think that the poet Emily Dickinson’s much discussed sexual awakening was an inner calling from the goddess to abandon her white virginal robes and experience the heights of orgasmic ecstasy. Afterwards, Dickinson wrote her best poetry and an intense love affair with nature was Ours is an ever expanding universe, where our lives mirror the cycle of the moon, the different seasons, the cosmos and nature itself. In all of these, change and continuous movement is the norm, yet as human beings we sometimes chose a life which keeps us stuck and does not contribute to either our personal growth or the higher good of Society and the media attempt to brainwash women into believing that as long as our lives look good on the outside, then our own personal happiness is secondary. In some cases we falsely believe we need a man to validate us, otherwise we do not count. Many of us pour our energies into rearing children and pleasing husbands, while others climb the corporate ladder by denying their femininity and playing men at their own game. Like swans, we keep busy looking serene … floating on the water, while paddling furiously beneath the surface. We are congratulated by family, friends and community for doing a good job, while haunted by wild, sometimes erotic fantasies and dreams; all the time fearful that the fragile structure of our lives could one day Sometimes the goddess arrives gently through our sorrow, after the death of a loved one or in circumstances of failing health or redundancy from career. In depression or despair we may seek the help of a counselor who assists in re-connecting us to the buried feminine part of ourselves that demands more than a superficial life of conformity. But more often than not, the goddess niggles us from the inside, yet many turn away from her call to consciousness. It is easy to ignore, since the divine feminine has been repressed for centuries, for fear of its wild untamed power. Spiritual author Caroline Myss, writes that we come into this life with a promise to honour our unique set of sacred contracts. Myss says that when we do not honour a contract, it does not go away but will return again, until such time that we are ready to act. In other words, that which we resist will persist. And as we kick, scream and lash against change, the goddess gets ready to step in and help us abandon what we think we need, but in reality is toxic to our spirit. Living from an unconscious mind brain, we cling by our fingernails to the material things that give us security and status. Most of us were socialized and fed a certain set of beliefs from the time we were very small. Schools, society and religious systems reinforced many of these norms and values along with instilling the emotion of fear into our hearts rather than encouraging the positive emotions of confidence, love, courage and trust. To illustrate a point let me tell you about a woman named Vera who stayed with an abusive husband because she knew divorce would have a devastating effect not only in her life but also in her children’s. As long as there was security, she sacrificed her dreams and endured endless humiliation. It was only when her pain body reached a point where she could take no more that she finally walked out the door. In that final act, she answered the call of the goddess and ended a contract she had been called to end fifteen years earlier. It takes courage to change your life, especially as we get older. As we move from answering the call, the next step is to trust and open ourselves to receiving from the universe, for receptivity is one of the gifts of the goddess. Again for many of us this concept appears counter -intuitive to our left brain thinking, especially if we have been told since childhood that nothing comes easy in life. Do you think you can answer the call and trust all will be well? Ask yourself the following questions: Would you abandon a pensionable job for the dream of being an artist or a healer? Would you leave a toxic relationship even if it meant losing your money& security? Would you have the courage to move house because your heart calls you to live in a cottage by the sea. Can you forgive everyone who has ever hurt you, then thank them (silently) for the lessons and forgive yourself? Can you practice living in the present moment and trust all will be well no matter what your circumstances? If you answer yes to the above, then you are prepared to live an authentic life where you honor your true self and in turn serve the higher good of humanity by living a conscious life. Instead of fearing the call of the Goddess, you will welcome the experience and wisdom she brings for this is the way of the heart. Sure, you may have to undergo another rite of passage; a time of transition and letting go of the old to make space for the new. The way of the goddess is the path of least resistance; a sinuous graceful path of going with the flow. It calls for you to love and trust yourself enough to believe you are perfect, whole and complete exactly as you are. The more you can cast aside old belief systems or unnecessary material goods, the lighter the load you will carry into a future built on positive, loving thoughts entertained in the here and now. And the really good news is that life can get better as you grow older, especially if you fill your heart with gratitude for the blessings you receive. SOURCE, Author Bio – Mary Elizabeth Coen Living in Ireland, Mary Elizabeth Coen is a full-time author and stress management lecturer, while also running a website called Goddess MECA. The acronym is for Mary Elizabeth Coen Assists the Goddess in everywoman through sharing her love of cookery fashion and mythology. Mary brings her experience from teaching, using tools that are practical and easily integrated. REPOSTED BY, PHYNXRIZNG

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La Times: Celebration of women filmmakers triggers heated debate between Salma Hayek, Jessica Williams and Shirley MacLaine

“Is your coat wool?” Alfre Woodard asked as she sat at a long, flower-filled table draped with purple paisley Italian linen. “I’m allergic to wool. I can never wear anything nice.”

Under the cavernous, vaulted ceiling of a mountain mansion, where the driveway was heated, an indoor stream trickled and a string of faux llamas stood guard on the stone staircase, Woodard sipped a spoonful of vegan cream of vegetable soup served by celebrity chef Cat Cora. Nearby, Marti Noxon, one of the creators of the Lifetime series “Unr​eal,” talked about her feature film debut, “To the Bone,” which would sell the next day to Netflix for a reported $8 million.

Here at the home of ChefDance CEO and founder Mimi Kim, Woodard, Shirley MacLaine, Elle Fanning and Jill Soloway were just part of a formidable group gathered during the Sundance Festival for a lunch to celebrate women in film.

Cindi Leive, editor in chief of Glamour, explained how the magazine had partnered with photographer and talk-show host Amanda de Cadenet’s Girlgaze, a digital initiative for women behind the camera. They wanted to explore how they could support women filmmakers through their respective platforms.

FULL COVERAGE: 2017 Sundance Film Festival »

But while these types of occasions present plenty of moments for business-card trading and jealousy-inducing Instagram photos, the open discussions usually stick to polite words of encouragement and empowerment stories.

In that spirit, the idea of mentorships for up-and-coming women in the industry was floated by De Cadenet. Director Kimberly Peirce spoke about how it was important not to stray from female pleasure on-screen and told a story about how the MPAA took issue with a female orgasm that lasted too long in her film “Boys Don’t Cry.” 

Then the conversation shifted to our new president.

“My feeling,” said Salma Hayek,  “is that we are about to go to war.”

But she had a warning. Hayek, at Sundance with Miguel Arteta’s “Beatriz at Dinner,” agreed that more women need to be hired so that female voices can continue to be recognized by the new administration. “But be careful that we don’t fall into victimization,” she added.

“I don’t want to be hired because I’m a girl. I want them to see I’m fabulous. Don’t give me a job because I’m a girl. It’s condescending.”

Shirley MacLaine, at 82, looking vibrant in purple and pink in honor of Saturday’s Women’s Marches, chimed in, saying that Donald Trump presented a challenge to “each of our inner democracy” and urged everyone at the table to explore their “core identity.”

Just when it seemed that everyone was on the same wavelength, Jessica Williams, the former “Daily Show” correspondent who was at Sundance as the star of Jim Strouse’s “The Incredible Jessica James,” spoke up.

“I have a question for you,” Williams, 27, said to MacLaine. “My question is: What if you are a person of color, or a transgendered person who — just from how you look —  you already are in a conflict?”

“Right, but change your point of view,” MacClaine offered. “Change your point of view of being victimized. I’m saying: Find the democracy inside.”

“I’m sorry,” Hayek said, jumping in. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Williams answered.

“Who are you when you’re not black and you’re not a woman? Who are you and what have you got to give?”

Williams took a deep breath. “A lot. But some days, I’m just black, and I’m just a woman,” she said. “Like, it’s not my choice. I know who I am. I know I’m Jessica, and I’m the hottest bitch on the planet I know.”

“No, no, no,” Hayek said. “Take the time to investigate. That’s the trap! …There is so much more.”

“Right,” agreed MacClaine. “The more is inside.”

Williams, whose speech at the women’s march at Sundance was praised as one of the most powerful and effective last week, looked down and said she was struggling to articulate herself. Pierce tried to help her, saying that when she goes out in public looking masculine, she causes discomfort in a way Williams might as a black woman.

​​But that wasn’t quite right. So a​f​ter a few moments of reflection, Williams returned to Hayek.

“I think what you’re saying is valid, but I also think that what you’re saying doesn’t apply to all women. I think that’s impossible.”

“What part of it is impossible?” Hayek responded. “You’re giving attention to how the other one feels.”

“Because I have to,” Williams said.

 ​”If you have to do that, then do that,” Hayek said. “Then that’s your journey. But I want to inspire other people to know it’s a choice.”

This was when “Mudbound” filmmaker ​Dee Rees — who had moments earlier introduced herself as a black, queer director — j​umped in. At this lunch, she said, she didn’t feel like she was posing a threat to anyone. But in line at the bank? Things were different. “I don’t see myself a victim,” she said. “[Jessica] doesn’t see herself as a victim. But it’s how you’re read.”

“I also feel like the word ‘victim’ — I feel like it has bothered me,” Williams replied. “When I talk about feminism, sometimes I feel like being a black woman is cast aside. I always feel like I’m warring with my womanhood and wanting the world to be better, and with my blackness — which is the opposite of whiteness.”

Cora, who had been in the kitchen cooking lamb stew and halibut,  wandered over to share that she grew up gay in Mississippi, where she was sexually abused from age 6. No matter an individual’s experience, she said, she just wished all women would have one another’s backs.

It was a somewhat of an abrupt turn, and “Transparent” creator Soloway returned to Williams to ask her to continue speaking.

“With intersectional feminism, it’s our responsibility as white women to recognize that when there are people of color or people who are queer — we need to prioritize your voices and let you speak the loudest and learn from your experience, because we haven’t been listening. So please, Jessica, finish your thoughts.”

Williams, visibly uncomfortable, said she also wanted to encourage all of the women in the room to pay special attention to women of color and LGBT women. “I think we need to not speak over black women,” she said, “not assign them labels.”

“What does this mean, ‘speak over?’” Hayek asked.

“To project your ideas on me,” Williams said. “I think there is a fear that if we present an idea that, ‘Hey, maybe [black women] have it a little bit harder in this country’ — because we do; black women and trans women do — if we’re having it a little bit harder, it doesn’t invalidate your experience. I really am begging you to not take it personally.”

Williams continued, referencing Planned Parenthood to support her argument. While many women may rely on the clinic, she said, four out of five women who use their services are women of color.

“So when you say women of color,” Hayek began. Then she noticed that Williams was not making eye contact with her. “Jessica, do you mind if I look at your eyes?”

Williams barely looked up. Still, the back-and-forth continued, with Hayek questioning whether or not she was considered a woman of color in Williams’ estimation. Nearly everyone in the room responded that Hayek was.

“Wouldn’t it solve it if women just all had each other’s backs in general?” Cora asked suddenly.

“Sure,” Pierce said. “The thing is this, yes, all women can work together, but we have to acknowledge that black women have a different experience. She’s here struggling and we keep shutting her down.”

“I don’t think anybody here shut her down,” Cora said, fighting back.

“Can I interrupt, because I feel misunderstood,” Hayek agreed. “It’s not shutting you up. I feel misunderstood on one point: We should be also curious about our brain. By being the best that you can be. That’s what I was trying to say to you. Let’s not just spend all the time in the anger, but in the investigation.”

“Baby, I’m Mexican and Arab,” she went on, addressing Williams. “I’m from another generation, baby, when this was not even a possibility. My generation, they said, ‘Go back to Mexico. You’ll never be anything other than a maid in this country.’ By the head​s ​of studios! There was no movement. Latino women were not even anywhere near where you guys are. I was the first one. I’m 50 years old. So I understand.”

“You don’t understand,” Williams said, shaking her head quietly.

Leive attempted to wrap up the conversation, noting that many had planes to catch. But it was clear to all that despite the moments of palpable discomfort, an important discussion had just occurred. Rarely do prominent women in Hollywood voice such uncensored opinions.

In the days following the record-breaking women’s marches across the country, it’s tempting to view women as a unified force. But there are still thorny discussions to be had before everyone joins hands and starts singing “Kumbaya.”

amy.kaufman@latimes.com

Follow me on Twitter @AmyKinLA

ALSO

At Sundance, Hollywood stars rally against Trump: ‘This is a new America’

Mike White and Miguel Arteta serve up Trump-era allegory in ‘Beatriz at Dinner’

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La Times: Celebration of women filmmakers triggers heated debate between Salma Hayek, Jessica Williams and Shirley MacLaine

“Is your coat wool?” Alfre Woodard asked as she sat at a long, flower-filled table draped with purple paisley Italian linen. “I’m allergic to wool. I can never wear anything nice.”

Under the cavernous, vaulted ceiling of a mountain mansion, where the driveway was heated, an indoor stream trickled and a string of faux llamas stood guard on the stone staircase, Woodard sipped a spoonful of vegan cream of vegetable soup served by celebrity chef Cat Cora. Nearby, Marti Noxon, one of the creators of the Lifetime series “Unr​eal,” talked about her feature film debut, “To the Bone,” which would sell the next day to Netflix for a reported $8 million.

Here at the home of ChefDance CEO and founder Mimi Kim, Woodard, Shirley MacLaine, Elle Fanning and Jill Soloway were just part of a formidable group gathered during the Sundance Festival for a lunch to celebrate women in film.

Cindi Leive, editor in chief of Glamour, explained how the magazine had partnered with photographer and talk-show host Amanda de Cadenet’s Girlgaze, a digital initiative for women behind the camera. They wanted to explore how they could support women filmmakers through their respective platforms.

FULL COVERAGE: 2017 Sundance Film Festival »

But while these types of occasions present plenty of moments for business-card trading and jealousy-inducing Instagram photos, the open discussions usually stick to polite words of encouragement and empowerment stories.

In that spirit, the idea of mentorships for up-and-coming women in the industry was floated by De Cadenet. Director Kimberly Peirce spoke about how it was important not to stray from female pleasure on-screen and told a story about how the MPAA took issue with a female orgasm that lasted too long in her film “Boys Don’t Cry.” 

Then the conversation shifted to our new president.

“My feeling,” said Salma Hayek,  “is that we are about to go to war.”

But she had a warning. Hayek, at Sundance with Miguel Arteta’s “Beatriz at Dinner,” agreed that more women need to be hired so that female voices can continue to be recognized by the new administration. “But be careful that we don’t fall into victimization,” she added.

“I don’t want to be hired because I’m a girl. I want them to see I’m fabulous. Don’t give me a job because I’m a girl. It’s condescending.”

Shirley MacLaine, at 82, looking vibrant in purple and pink in honor of Saturday’s Women’s Marches, chimed in, saying that Donald Trump presented a challenge to “each of our inner democracy” and urged everyone at the table to explore their “core identity.”

Just when it seemed that everyone was on the same wavelength, Jessica Williams, the former “Daily Show” correspondent who was at Sundance as the star of Jim Strouse’s “The Incredible Jessica James,” spoke up.

“I have a question for you,” Williams, 27, said to MacLaine. “My question is: What if you are a person of color, or a transgendered person who — just from how you look —  you already are in a conflict?”

“Right, but change your point of view,” MacClaine offered. “Change your point of view of being victimized. I’m saying: Find the democracy inside.”

“I’m sorry,” Hayek said, jumping in. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Williams answered.

“Who are you when you’re not black and you’re not a woman? Who are you and what have you got to give?”

Williams took a deep breath. “A lot. But some days, I’m just black, and I’m just a woman,” she said. “Like, it’s not my choice. I know who I am. I know I’m Jessica, and I’m the hottest bitch on the planet I know.”

“No, no, no,” Hayek said. “Take the time to investigate. That’s the trap! …There is so much more.”

“Right,” agreed MacClaine. “The more is inside.”

Williams, whose speech at the women’s march at Sundance was praised as one of the most powerful and effective last week, looked down and said she was struggling to articulate herself. Pierce tried to help her, saying that when she goes out in public looking masculine, she causes discomfort in a way Williams might as a black woman.

​​But that wasn’t quite right. So a​f​ter a few moments of reflection, Williams returned to Hayek.

“I think what you’re saying is valid, but I also think that what you’re saying doesn’t apply to all women. I think that’s impossible.”

“What part of it is impossible?” Hayek responded. “You’re giving attention to how the other one feels.”

“Because I have to,” Williams said.

 ​”If you have to do that, then do that,” Hayek said. “Then that’s your journey. But I want to inspire other people to know it’s a choice.”

This was when “Mudbound” filmmaker ​Dee Rees — who had moments earlier introduced herself as a black, queer director — j​umped in. At this lunch, she said, she didn’t feel like she was posing a threat to anyone. But in line at the bank? Things were different. “I don’t see myself a victim,” she said. “[Jessica] doesn’t see herself as a victim. But it’s how you’re read.”

“I also feel like the word ‘victim’ — I feel like it has bothered me,” Williams replied. “When I talk about feminism, sometimes I feel like being a black woman is cast aside. I always feel like I’m warring with my womanhood and wanting the world to be better, and with my blackness — which is the opposite of whiteness.”

Cora, who had been in the kitchen cooking lamb stew and halibut,  wandered over to share that she grew up gay in Mississippi, where she was sexually abused from age 6. No matter an individual’s experience, she said, she just wished all women would have one another’s backs.

It was a somewhat of an abrupt turn, and “Transparent” creator Soloway returned to Williams to ask her to continue speaking.

“With intersectional feminism, it’s our responsibility as white women to recognize that when there are people of color or people who are queer — we need to prioritize your voices and let you speak the loudest and learn from your experience, because we haven’t been listening. So please, Jessica, finish your thoughts.”

Williams, visibly uncomfortable, said she also wanted to encourage all of the women in the room to pay special attention to women of color and LGBT women. “I think we need to not speak over black women,” she said, “not assign them labels.”

“What does this mean, ‘speak over?’” Hayek asked.

“To project your ideas on me,” Williams said. “I think there is a fear that if we present an idea that, ‘Hey, maybe [black women] have it a little bit harder in this country’ — because we do; black women and trans women do — if we’re having it a little bit harder, it doesn’t invalidate your experience. I really am begging you to not take it personally.”

Williams continued, referencing Planned Parenthood to support her argument. While many women may rely on the clinic, she said, four out of five women who use their services are women of color.

“So when you say women of color,” Hayek began. Then she noticed that Williams was not making eye contact with her. “Jessica, do you mind if I look at your eyes?”

Williams barely looked up. Still, the back-and-forth continued, with Hayek questioning whether or not she was considered a woman of color in Williams’ estimation. Nearly everyone in the room responded that Hayek was.

“Wouldn’t it solve it if women just all had each other’s backs in general?” Cora asked suddenly.

“Sure,” Pierce said. “The thing is this, yes, all women can work together, but we have to acknowledge that black women have a different experience. She’s here struggling and we keep shutting her down.”

“I don’t think anybody here shut her down,” Cora said, fighting back.

“Can I interrupt, because I feel misunderstood,” Hayek agreed. “It’s not shutting you up. I feel misunderstood on one point: We should be also curious about our brain. By being the best that you can be. That’s what I was trying to say to you. Let’s not just spend all the time in the anger, but in the investigation.”

“Baby, I’m Mexican and Arab,” she went on, addressing Williams. “I’m from another generation, baby, when this was not even a possibility. My generation, they said, ‘Go back to Mexico. You’ll never be anything other than a maid in this country.’ By the head​s ​of studios! There was no movement. Latino women were not even anywhere near where you guys are. I was the first one. I’m 50 years old. So I understand.”

“You don’t understand,” Williams said, shaking her head quietly.

Leive attempted to wrap up the conversation, noting that many had planes to catch. But it was clear to all that despite the moments of palpable discomfort, an important discussion had just occurred. Rarely do prominent women in Hollywood voice such uncensored opinions.

In the days following the record-breaking women’s marches across the country, it’s tempting to view women as a unified force. But there are still thorny discussions to be had before everyone joins hands and starts singing “Kumbaya.”

amy.kaufman@latimes.com

Follow me on Twitter @AmyKinLA

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