#I'm normally bored on Wednesdays so don't judge me

[selormohene]

day 36 (tuesday, august 8th 2023)

(Posting this late on Wednesday)

Saw another one of those "if you don't enjoy small talk there's something wrong with you" posts and figured I might as well write up why I don't like small talk, because I've had the ideas floating around in my head for a while and figured I might as well write them up.

I've never felt like a particularly gifted conversationalist. I think I'm pretty interesting to talk to when I'm in my element, and that I can be funny and even have a peculiar charm around people I know well and connect to, but for various reasons (including my personality, and past experience, and the fact that the inhibitory, self-conscious part of my brain is always on, etc., etc.) it's still not something that comes as naturally to me as I'd like. Moreover, I feel like I can't help but put effort into conversations — into listening to what people say, taking it seriously, and trying to respond with something that will repay the effort I'd hope they were putting into the conversation in turn — and I don’t like being judged for being boring or awkward or charmless. And I feel like the default situation of most casual conversation — when you're talking to someone you don't know very well, don't know how much you have in common with, and presumably want to like you — raises both the difficulty in and the stakes of being interesting in a way that just doesn't come easily to me, given the nature of casual conversation.

Over time I've learned to become relatively comfortable with not being a small talker, or at least relatively comfortable with the discomfort that attends not being a small talker. I've learned that I don't have to bend over backwards to seem interesting, that it's okay to stay quiet when I don't have much to say, and that I haven't done anyone wrong if I don't have anything to say. Obviously I'm also working on opening up and relating to people in situations where I actually do want to relate to them (as opposed to situations in which I feel compelled to perform), but still. But I think that because I've had to deal with awkwardness all my life, I've developed a relative immunity to it that other people haven't. And as I've learned from experience, normal people really hate you for making things awkward. As far as they're concerned making a situation awkward seems to be just as bad as insulting a close relative, or something, and awkward people are to be avoided just as ardently as serial killers or something. In fact I've often heard comparisons along those lines made, where it's suggested that the sort of social inexpertness that makes someone bad at small talk or unable to engage in it is supposedly meant to be an indicator of some sort of sinister personality, an "inability to follow social norms" or whatever.

The problem is that a lot of people's idea of "small talk" is saying low-effort things about the weather or whatever, or asking insincere questions to which you're supposed to give scripted answers. These are costly to put effort into listening to, and yet you're expected to take them seriously, or at least to appear to do so, and to give engaged, interesting responses. But it takes me a lot of effort to not only listen and respond, but to pretend to be engaged and to give a response that will engage them. It’s the fakery, and in particular the enforced fakery with social penalties for not engaging, or not wanting to engage, or verbalising not wanting to engage, that I don’t like. I don't enjoy having to say "yeah, totally!" to "We should get lunch soon, it's been a while," or "I'm okay" to "how have you been?" when people have no intention of actually seeing me again or don't care how I've really been, especially now that we live in an increasingly isolated world where what most of us need is in fact people who want to have lunch with you and who care how you're really doing. But I especially despise the insinuation that these constant performances of ritualised insincerity are actually manifestations of a prosocial orientation and not being willing to play along indicates that there's something wrong with you. I also despise the idea that you would somehow be bad and stupid to do something as ridiculous as responding sincerely to these things.

People who defend the necessity of small talk often say that its "point” is to test boundaries, or to build trust, or to show that you're capable of going on in polite society, or whatever. But that doesn't really make much sense to me. First of all, why should the implication therefore be that we should enjoy it? Why on earth would a ritual whose supposed purpose is having to make sure the other person won't kill you be enjoyable, rather than a regrettable necessity? Second of all, it strikes me as rather strange that people genuinely believe that trust is built from being able to make inane conversation about the weather or whatever. The idea is supposed to be that we're just making meaningless sounds at each other while we're furtively monitoring other people's demeanour, body language, etc., etc. But the problem is of course that this penalises people who are otherwise perfectly okay but aren't very good at the game of making meaningless sounds, which is only a proxy for prosociality (as the defenders of this interpretation themselves admit). But it also rewards people who are good at the proxy but not what it measures for. For me, personally, given that I'm someone with a nonstandard social presentation (and having encountered many people who were socially efficient but actually terrible people, the fact that someone is able to navigate glib surface-level conversations does not in fact make me trust them more, precisely because there’s nothing to glib surface-level conversation. Which is not of course to say that people who are capable of navigating deep conversation aren’t capable of showing you, just that small talk is not somehow a better indicator because it shows that you’re capable of navigating social norms. It’s an instance of werey dey disguise in fact; it selects for normal well-adjusted people and terrible people who are slick enough to disguise how bad they are.

I'd rather say that the capacity to engage in deep conversation *and* respect boundaries at the same time is probably a far more robust indicator of quality of character, but I get the impression that some of the small-talk defenders equate the depth of conversation with the erosion of boundaries. This is another reason, I think, why people don't like it when you don't like small talk; they don't have a strong enough sense of their own boundaries or the ability to enforce them. So if you're sincere about something, or you ask them about something they don't want to talk about, then they get triggered and take it out on you. Whereas for me I prefer to just get to talking about what one wants to talk about, instead of pretending to be interested in things I’m not interested in, but part of what allows me to do that is that I have learned how to say “I'm not comfortable talking about that” or “That's personal” or even "I don't feel like we're close enough that I'd be comfortable sharing that" and so on. But again this is something which hurts people's egos to hear, even though everyone has things they're not comfortable sharing with certain people and they will let you know in any other way but saying so explicitly. You're just not supposed to say it or else you're the bad guy. People associate small talk with a removal of obligation to be confessional, but don't realise that it also imposes an obligation not to be honest about certain things.

Moreover, I feel as though the "small talk actually serves an ulterior purpose" defense is self-defeating. The moment you have that self-conscious view of a social ritual, the moment two people enter a conversation with that mutual understanding of what they're doing as “you have to navigate this elaborate performance where we’re faking interest in the object-level conversation for the sake of this meta-level figuring out each other,” the conversation sours. The interesting thing is that the people who are best at small talk are almost always those who are not self-consciously using it as a tool for ulterior motives, but who appear to generally enjoy talking about light stuff, and who have a way of doing it in such a way that you will enjoy it as well. Those people almost never give off the vibe that they’re using it to slowly build trust or test boundaries; people who approach small talk that way give off "wounded animals warily circling each other” vibes. Incidentally it strikes me that the sort of defense of small talk I've been arguing against often comes from people who are former oversharers or autists who were burned by people who trod on their emotional boundaries, and who are now rediscovering or reinventing normie social norms, but they’re reverse-engineering those norms with ridiculous self-conscious explanations instead of being naturally attuned to them, which has the annoying side-effect that they can’t see the limits of those norms. So they come off as sanctimoniously enforcing what was previously a spontaneous social norm. I’ve never met a conscious advocate for small talk because of the ulterior purpose it serves who was any good at it, because very often these people aren’t good at actually communicating their social-emotional needs, they just expect you to play along with whatever game they’ve decided in their heads is necessary to satisfy those needs, and if you don’t they beat you over the head for it.

[direwombat]

That anon again. Thank you for listening to my rambling. And if it matters any, Joseph gets plenty of chances to Suffer during my dep's canon. Because we're (plural because this is all from an RP verse my best friend and I have where she plays Joseph and a 'John fucker' GFH while I play my dep and John) bitches like that and can't let the Seed boys get away with being the worst without suffering for it. (1/?)

A major theme of Joe and Dep's relationship is 'be careful what you wish for' since he spends a good early portion of things wanting to change her to fit his whims (for her 'own good' of course), but oops, he gets attached to who she is but by the time he realizes it, his actions are already responsible for her having begun to change for the worse. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes, Joseph. Now suffer. And I'm rambling again, but I had another question to ask. Two actually.

First: how did you first get comfortable with sharing Syb with the rest of tumblr? I ask because part of me is tempted to do this with my Dep, but the other part of me is scared of being perceived and judged for my dep, my interpretations of characters, etc. Two: With Augustine becoming Faith, did Joseph specifically pull this to punish Syb? Because I'm getting big 'you took my family member, now I take yours' vibes. And it sounds about right and petty and fucked up enough for Joe. (3/3)

f;lakdjfaldfkj that's TOTALLY FAIR i sure as hell don't let jacob off easy either fal;dfjkadf

and OOF well...to answer question 1: i've been shouting about my ocs into the void of the internet for the past several years (got started in the dragon age fandom, moved to the general dnd fandom, and ended up here) having friends already on tumblr/in the fandom space to share ideas and bounce off of certainly helps. it's for sure scary!, but tbh? the more you talk about them the more curious people will get. at least that's been my experience. and then of course, engaging with other people who have their own ocs, rb-ing their art/fic/sending asks for ask games and prompt lists are a great way to kind of find your place in the fandom/community and make friends! And to address your fear of being judged for your dep/interpretations of characters, i'll just say this: fandom would be boring if everyone had the exact same interpretation of the characters and it's ok to disagree with an interpretation as long as you're not a dick about it, yk? And, just like people irl, everyone's deputy is different and adds to the fandom!

my advice: do whatever you feel most comfortable doing. make your characters in picrews and do those uquizes! I normally open tag, so if you see one from me that you like! tag me! this includes wip wednesdays/whenevers too if you ever feel brave enough to share any writing you have! BUT MOST IMPORTANTLY, you are your oc's number one fan! if (god forbid, and i've never seen this happen personally) someone doesn't like them and has the gall, the sheer audacity to say that to your face? block them. have fun with your oc is what i'm getting at. they're your little barbie/bratz/whatever doll that inspires the most nostalgia for you. we're all just playing little games, telling little stories and dressing up our personal blorbos however we want. :)

as for question 2:

ahh.. poor sweet Augustine. So, Augustine is a park ranger who was on duty at the Whitetails Ranger Station the night of the Reaping and was injured in a pretty nasty fall. One of his coworkers (another oc, Shaw) is one of Jacob's Chosen (who spent a lot of time undercover as a civilian), and after hearing that the Deputy escaped, he essentially lets Jacob know that they have a piece of leverage against her. He's sent to Joseph to heal, where he's very subtley and slowly indoctrinated into the cult. He keeps Augustine hidden from Syb and he also keeps it secret that Syb is the one causing misery to the Cult/newfound family Augustine has found himself welcomed into (as much as he and syb love each other, they're not perfect and uh...there are some abandonment issues there). anyway, i'm still kind of ironing out the details of it all, but essentially, after john and faith are neutralized (john dead and faith/rachel safe and getting clean) jacob and joseph are like, "alright, time to use our secret weapon." Syb knows they have Augustine at this point, but she's under the impression that he's a prisoner, not a member of the cult.

So they meet up on neutral ground (i'm thinking tanami island) only instead of a loving and wholesome reunion, Syb finds out that her brother drank the kool-aid and Augustine finds out that his sister is the one causing the "unnecessary" violence plaguing the Project (which also, Joseph is very careful to shield Augustine from the actual violence, and paints the Project as a much more peaceful organization than it actually is). Anyway, cult tactics win over in Augustine's head and he turns against Syb, and given the power vacuum in the Henbane and his *ahem* closeness to Joseph, he's offered the mantle of Herald/Brother Faith. And. Yeah. It's definitely a method to punish/break Syb, and it's also a way to reward Augustine for his loyalty. Even she wouldn't kill or arrest her own brother. That reunion with her brother is the beginning of Syb's breaking point, and everything after that is just her slipping into misery, helplessness, and despair. everything about this is exploitative as hell :)

[risithecheetah]

Ask The Canadian Cheetah Wednesday! A stupid idea I have. Where others have it on Tuesday, or Monday, I decided to have on an odd day. Ask me anything about Canada, myself, or a topic you read or whatever! It gets me more involved in this community and adds some fun mixed in instead of just drawing

[devdevlin]

!!!!!! Chem and Bio Finals DONE!!! Summer term DONE!! I hope you're doing well (and your bunny too)! I'm sending a prompt-ish thingy, but I don't know if you want any right now. If not, seriously please ignore me (whether too busy or it's uninspiring - etc). Either way I wish happiness upon you! Tom or Volmione + cat(s) + sweets + creepy Tom or Voldemort (not that he isn't usually creepy). ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Don't take or do or change. Love your writing, friendlycelery xoxo

I'M SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG TO GET TO! But please know that when you sent this, it absolutely made my day, you're the absolute sweetest!! I am always happy to take prompts even though I am slow! Also please accept my sincerest congratulations on finishing the Chem and Bio, those are two huge ones!! I really wanted to do a good job of this for you, so I hope it meets expectations!

For context, to fill your prompt, I've chosen to write a canon-divergent lil drabble that squeezes between OOTP and HBP

The summer holidays before Hermione's sixth year at Hogwarts were the worst ones she'd experienced yet.

She'd returned home from King's Cross with her parents long enough for them to collect their things and leave. From there, they'd headed to the Leaky Cauldron to spend the time first few weeks of the break, reasoning it was safer than out in the muggle suburbs of outer London.

But even with the safety of numbers in Diagon Alley, it didn't stop Hermione from purchasing a foe-glass and checking that they weren't being watched or followed by Death Eaters everywhere they visited.

Yet, even still, her own safety wasn't weighing as heavily on her mind as Harry was. The weight of knowing of the prophecy and losing whatever it may have said was bad enough, but losing Sirius, too...

It had only been a week since they'd parted at end of term, yet she longed to go and visit Harry. She yearned to fetch Ron and Fred and George and together whisk Harry away from his awful aunt and uncle, but knew full well that Dumbledore had his reasons, and it was best not to interfere.

This left Hermione with the task of distracting herself, one which she easily decided to answer with the bookshop. Her favourite thing about Flourish and Blott's was that it never disappointed her. On every visit, she managed to find something she hadn't seen before, to the point where she wondered if there was an intricate charm cast over the shop to assist the customers in finding what they were after.

She ventured there every day, and on that Wednesday evening, Hermione was cradling her latest loot against her chest, humming to herself as she wandered back along the cobbled main street of Diagon Alley toward the Leaky Cauldron, Crookshanks trotting happily alongside her. But as she passed the same alleyway she passed each day, an odd, rainbow-coloured sign caught her eye.

Rab and Rod's Sweet Shoppe

She blinked. She didn't remember ever having seen that sign before. She'd walked the main street of Diagon Alley too many times with Ron and the rest of the Weasleys to have missed a sign to a sweet shop.

Then again, it was pointed toward the entrance to Knockturn Alley, so she supposed Mrs Weasley wouldn't have let any of her children down there regardless. But still... one of the Weasleys would've commented on it, so she surmised the shop must've been a new one.

After a quick snort, Hermione carried on her way, not tempted in the slightest by the prospect of rotting her teeth.

She didn't see the woman tucked behind the corner, watching under a heavy, black cloak as she passed.

*

The next day, satisfied after hours worth of reading about the history of the use of unicorn hairs in potionmaking, Hermione again passed the alleyway.

It was an evening like any other. It could've almost been described as a boring one, but then, almost as if he'd decided she'd been having it too easy, Crookshanks ran. If it hadn't have been for his bell, she wouldn't have noticed when he darted off down the alley without notice, his puff of tail disappearing behind the stone corner.

"C-Crookshanks!" she yelled, breaking out into a run after him.

She dashed down the thin alley without consideration for where it led and followed his bushy tail down another one on the right. She lost sight of him then, and gambled that upon reaching the fork in the paths, he'd taken the better-lit alley to the left.

"Crook—" she started, but upon the sight of a small puddle of dark liquid on the stone, Hermione froze. "...Crookshanks?"

Her heart sped up, and with it, she broke into a sprint. She raced to the end of the alley and rounded the corner, and–  

"Ahh!" Her heart fell out of her chest as she skidded to a halt to avoid running into the darkly cloaked boy.

After a few blinks, she had to correct herself. The boy she'd almost run into wasn't a boy at all, but a young man. He was an attractive one, too, not that her panic allowed her to register that fact right away.

"I'm sorry," the man said with a hand reaching out to stabilise her and a voice like music. "Did I scare you?"

After a deep, calming breath, Hermione shook herself. "No. No that's quite all right, I was just—have you seen a cat? He's quite big and ginger, and he's got this flat sort of face. He ran off this way and he can be really quick when he wants to be, and I just... lost him..."

She trailed off seeing him watching her, an odd sort of glint in his eye.

"Actually," he said after a moment. "I think I did see one, just a few moments ago. With a big brushy tail?"

"Yes! Yes, that's—"

"It ran off this way," the man said, stepping in the direction he gestured in. "Come, I'll help you."

She hurriedly followed him. "Thank you. Thank you so much. He doesn't normally carry on like this, but something must've spooked him, I think, or he might've spotted a rat—he quite likes rats..."

The man's long legs allowed him to cross the same distance as her in far less steps, and when they reached the next fork in the alleyways, he made it there first.

"I think I saw him dart around this corner," the man said, leading her on down a wider alley to the right. It curved around a bend, and as it went on, the pathway grew narrower.

It went on and on until it took a sudden left turn, and then—

It was a dead end.

"A-are you sure about this?" she asked, suddenly as wary of the stranger she'd run off with as she should have been from the start.

He didn't look at her. Instead he pointed down the alley, toward a pile of boxes at what must've been the back entrance to a shop, with couple of old looking brooms propped up against the wall next to it.

"Is that your cat?" asked the man.

Hermione followed the direction of his pointed arm up to the very top of the pile of boxes, taller than he himself, and there, in one piece and sitting atop the highest box with his chest fluffed out like royalty, was Crookshanks.

"Crookshanks!" she shrieked at once, and at the sound, Crookshanks craned his neck.

After a momentary glance in her direction, he meowed once and came bounding down from the pile of boxes toward her.

Hermione swept him up the instant he made it to the ground and hugged him tightly against her chest. "Oh! Never, ever do that again!" she said, pressing her lips to the cat's forehead. "What was that about?! You know better, Crookshanks, never run away in a public pla—"

Hermione broke off seeing her companion watching her with a rather amused expression. "Sorry," she said quickly, laughing nervously as she felt her cheeks heat up. "I don't— I was just really worried. He never does this, honestly. Thank you again for your help."

"That's quite all right, Hermione," he said. "But we've made it quite far from Diagon Alley... would you like me to walk you back?"

Hermione didn't immediately answer having frozen solid.

"I... how do you know my name?"

The man blinked at her. "You introduced yourself. Don't you remember?"

"No..." she said, stepping backwards. "No, actually, I don't remember introducing myself because I didn't introduce myself," she said resolutely. "Who are you?"

"Me? I'm Tom."

"Tom," she repeated aloud, testing the name for a taste of familiarity. The only Tom she knew was Tom the barkeep, and she was positive that this was not him. "How do you know who I am?"

Tom's brow twitched, a perfect sign of confusion. "Everyone knows who you are. You're Harry Potter's best friend. You've been in all the papers."

It was more than perfect, but Hermione didn't buy it. "Who are you?"

Tom laughed. "You don't need to be quite so defensive. I told you." He shrugged. "I'm Tom."

Her eyes grew narrower. "All right... Tom. Crookshanks and I will just be going then, if you don't mind."

Tom looked quite amused and pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, but he didn't say anything. Not wishing to remain anywhere near him any longer, Hermione turned on her heel the way she'd come and hurried off.

But when she turned the corner from where they'd come, two men cut her off.

They stopped directly in her path, preventing her from passing, and unlike Tom, they looked familiar. So familiar, that it only took her a moment to decide that she knew exactly who they were.

Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange.

Rab and Rod.

Several things all suddenly made a lot more sense to Hermione.

The sign out in Diagon Alley had been theirs. They must have been attempting to lure someone—likely a young person such as herself judging by the 'sweet shoppe'. It had been there for weeks, yet she hadn't fallen for it, and so they must've tried another route.

Which meant—

Crookshanks running hadn't been an accident.

No, they'd made him run, and she, Harry Potter's best friend, had been baited, and now, she'd been trapped.

Hermione spun back around, finding Tom behind her, and tightened her hold around Crookshanks.

Tom was grinning.

"You'll find that I in fact do mind, Miss Granger. I mind very much."

With her arms around Crookshanks, she couldn't reach her wand—not subtly, at least. She would have to let him go. But, fortunately, she knew very well that Crookshanks didn't like to be touched on his belly. She knew even better, that if she were to pull on that fur, she'd get a violent response.

She just needed a little bit of time to adjust her grip.

"Who are you?" she repeated firmly, bringing her hand under Crookshanks' stomach.

Tom's teeth became visible in the corner of his mouth. "Haven't you figured it out yet? I heard you were a bright one. Brightest of your age, even."

As he spoke, her fingers caught onto a thick lock of Crookshanks' hair.

And then she tugged.

Crookshanks hissed and bolted faster than she'd anticipated, the action taking the men behind her off guard. Her arm burned as Crookshanks' claws ripped into her skin as he won his freedom, but Hermione didn't let herself feel it. As the sound of one of the brothers yelling rang from behind her, she whipped her wand out of her back pocket and directed it rapidly. She went to cast—

Her wand was out of her hand faster than she'd managed to snatch it up to begin with, and she hadn't even seen anyone move.

Stunned, she glanced at her empty hand as if by staring at it, she'd make it reappear. But then, she was swept up. From behind her, each of her arms was taken up tightly, pulling at her joints painfully.

She thrashed and kicked against the brothers, but was unable to free herself.

Tongue behind his teeth, Tom clicked in disapproval. "Now, Miss Granger," he said, stepping closer and bending to pick up her wand. "Is that any way to greet your betters?"

Hermione tugged to free her arm and managed to land a kick on a solid shin, but Rabastan didn't let go. "If I happen to see any of my betters, I'll be sure to act accordingly," she snapped.

From the shadows, came an intake of breath that resembled a hiss.

"Miss Muddy-Mudblood, missing her manners," the voice chimed, and out of the shadows, Bellatrix swept.

The shrillness of her voice had a line of thin hairs rising down Hermione's spine. Tom, however, didn't show any sign that he'd heard nor seen Bellatrix. He continued to stare, eyes only for Hermione and she had the distinct sensation of her stomach sinking.

Bellatrix circled around where Hermione was held. "Maybe you can help her find those, too, My Lord," Bellatrix said, tipping her head back as she laughed.

At her shrill cackle, Tom didn't so much as flinch and Hermione's stomach was well and truly free falling now.

"Have you gotten there yet, Miss Granger?" asked Tom after a pause. "Or would you like me to show you?"

The next breath Hermione took in was shaky, and then Tom's features began to morph and shift, his hair shooting back in his skull, the skin of his face paling, stretching and becoming gaunt.

His features contorted as if the process was painful, and when he eventually opened his eyes, they were red. Piercing. Snakelike.

And before her was Lord Voldemort, in the flesh.

"I've heard many fascinating tales of you, Miss Granger." His voice had changed too; higher, calmer. It was almost pleasant and sounded as if in the right circumstances, it would've been soothing. "How I've so been looking forward to meeting you."

Beside him, Bellatrix rounded to circle him, running her claws along the line of his shoulder. "Do you really think Potter will come, My Lord, so soon after Black?"

"Oh." Still, Voldemort's eyes didn't leave Hermione's. "For this one, I know he will. It will only be a matter of when."

Hermione fought against Rodolphus and Rabastan, the action drawing Voldemort to step closer. She ceased her struggling as he advanced, and when he reached out for her, she shrinked back against the Lestranges.

"Fear not, Miss Granger," he said, almost a whisper, raising her chin with a cold, slim finger. "Potter is nothing if not predictable. I don't expect you'll be with us for very long."

His nail dug sharply into her skin, and though she tried her best to smother it, an odd sort of squeak left her throat.

And this time when Voldemort grinned, it was monstrous.