#admittedly im somewhat ignorant to the specifics

[misty-missdee]

can you even imagine.

Hey, being trans can be hard. be nice to a trans person :)

[fandomfluffandfuck]

S that latest poll answer makes me sad for you. Did that inspire that fic you wrote about Sebastians body image and thr beetle?

related to my tags on this poll & this fic of mine "The Kids Aren't Alright"

This gets personal and kind of intense, so it goes below the cut!

Trigger warning for discussion of general poor mental health, depression, suicidal ideation/self harm, eating disorders, body image issues, etc.

The short answer is an overwhelming yes.

"The Kids Aren't Alright" was very much something that I wrote because it struck a chord in me--Sebastian talking about his experience with body dysmorphia always hits home for me as a guy with body dysmorphic disorder, and the first time I heard Mackie admittedly very affectionately teasing him, saying he got stuck in the VW Beetle, I was a little horrified, I mean, secondhand embarrassement, imagining embarrasment so vividly it was horrible, really. So, naturally, I had to make it into a fic.

Also, I hope you don't mind, sweets, before going on, I'm adding onto your ask with another that I got even more recently:

youre very generous with what you share, so ignore this if im over the line, but its mens mental health month and that suicidal ideation post made me think of your mental health, whats been your experience with it?? i dont have a lot of men in my life who are willing to share with me, so i thought i would ask you 🥰🥰 please delete this if youre uncomfy tho

which is related to this

Both of you are such sweethearts!

Thanks, though, I don't exactly try to share a shit ton 🤷🏻‍♂️ I guess, eh, being somewhat anonymous in this corner of the internet yet being honest in the form of the spectrum of emotion from raw feral angst to private domestic fluff to shameless shut coaxes me into being so forthcoming? Not that I'm, like, super reserved otherwise, lmao.

I'll start with a short answer again before I go into deeper detail, which is just to say: my experience with it has been rough. I, a queer man, grew up in a small, red town with a very traditional family, so... yeah. It was not fun.

Okay, longer answer now because when given the opportunity, I. will. yap.

I think I will start with masculinity here because I feel as though a lot of my experiences with mental health and issues with my body tie directly into my masculinity. I don't have problems with being a man, I love being a man, it's who I am, I just don't love some of the expectations of being a man on a grand societal and interpersonal level, y'know?

Masculinity, to me, was always presented as the thing you have to be or else. Or else my parents were disappointed; or else the other boys wouldn't like me; or else I felt bad about myself: or else there must be something wrong with me; or else I must be gay; or else.

I have older siblings, and my older brother was in Boy Scouts when we were kids. Both of my parents fucking love the outdoors. So, of course, they loved that. My dad, specifically, spent all his time doing Scouts shit with my brother or organizing similar activities just for them when not at work. (I had a traditional western family unit, my dad worked, my mom was a stay-at-home mom.) And while I do enjoy the outdoors and camping and hiking and all that, just in smaller doses, I never wanted to join Scouts. I nearly immediately attached myself to art, so I just didn't have the interest. I can't do art if I'm outside digging in dirt, fighting with sticks, practicing knots, doing target practice, and backpacking (or whatever else the boys in the troop were doing), can I? That meant, if I wanted to draw or do crafts or something creative, I was inside, and my mom was looking after me and my sister while my dad and brother were out.

That did not sit well with my dad. He wanted me outside, joining Boy Scouts and fixing cars, playing mechanics with my brother. I did not want to. He tried very hard to get me to be as interested in more stereotypically manly activities with him and my brother, and it didn't work.

I'm just more artistic. That was always a clear disappointment.

To add on, as I grew up, I was not physically traditionally masculine, either. I've cracked jokes here and there that I'm not too dissimilar to pre-serum Steve before. It's not far off. I'm about 5'6", a little taller, and skinny.

I grew up waiting desperately for puberty, waiting for my muscles and growth spurt and... it didn't happen. My voice dropped way deep (which meant it cracked wildly and super noticeably, and, of course, I got shit for it), and I enjoyed that. I never had a pressing issue with my dick, I mean, I would hazard a guess that anyone with a dick worries about size at some point just because that's something etched deep in social sexuality, but I had more pressing things to obsess over. Like, at first, when body hair started to kick in, I was psyched to see it, and then it kept coming and suddenly guys in the locker room were pointing it out and making fun of me for being a "little guy" with so much body hair. Puberty also did fuck my face up with acne which destroyed a lot of my self-esteem, too. I had to go on Accutane not once, not twice, but three times. I still have a robust routine to keep my skin clear (but it is clear these days and I'm still reeling thinking about it, it took someone telling me I had really nice skin for me to snap out of it and realize I wasn't still covered with acne, actually. And that was recent!).

I didn't have my pre- to post-serum sudden increase in height and muscle moment, so I continued to feel scrawny and weak. Having pectus excavatum, a birth defect where my sterum curves in instead of going down in a straight line, never helped, either--I got made fun of for that, of course. I remember a comment about how one guy in a locker room wasn't going to dare to hit me/slap me on the back because he would clearly just break me... yeah, that didn't help feeling like the odd one out, unmasculine, fragile, and unattractive.

My self-esteem is much better these days, I will gladly say, but I genuinely used to get sick to my stomach just thinking about what I looked like, never mind actually looking in the mirror. I felt horrible that I had to go out in public and subject people to looking at my face. I'm an avid journal-er, and I have old entries where I just go on and on and on and on about how I felt like a monster. Disgusting and hideous.

It doesn't matter that I know, objectively, that I have a fairly masculine and even an attractive face. My jaw is square, I can grow a beard, I have a deep voice, my eyes are green, I've been very lucky to have straight, white teeth without braces and all that. Plus, people seem to like my cheekbones and curly hair. My voice, too, people seem to enjoy my voice and my mouth. So, evidently, others seem to appreciate my face. So many people spread over so many years have no real reason to lie. I'm complimented. I've not had problems when it comes to dating and relationships or whatever. Yet still, it's just not what I see. I say I know objectively what I look like because I know facts about myself, but I...

I don't really know what I look like, if that makes sense? My reflection shifts a lot, over the years I have had a problem with every part of my face, every part of my body, and I know I can't trust what I see in the mirror. I fixate on things, and it consumes my viewing experience.

Part of the consequences of all... that... all those issues above have been my experience with eating disorders. I've had some fun [sarcastic] mix of orthorexia, binge eating disorder, and anorexia over most of my conscious life. From the moment I was aware of myself and my own body, I've had problems fueling my body. It's a cycle over years and years that's been going on since late elementary school (around 10, 11), where I'm fucking sick and tired of feeling weak and useless and not masculine, so I push myself too hard in the gym and kitchen--working out until I'm physcially ill, blacking out, blistering from running and lifting, I've torn a few things that way, while obsessing with healthy foods at the same time to the point that it's unhealthy. That happens for however long I can take it. Then, eventually, I break. And I get into a cycle of binging that destroys my ability to go to the gym, so it's just binging. Cycles of it, uncontrollable. That morphs into feeling too big and disgusted with myself in the opposite way that I started with, so my brain fixates on restricting. What goes up must come down, though, so with enough of that... then I feel too small again and, yeah. It starts over. 🙃

I have worked very hard to break it with the help of friends and a short lived experience with therapy (he was a terrible therapist, then my insurance stopped covering it, so I couldn't afford to go or find a new one), but I've--dare, I say--gotten into some kind of balance more recently.

To end on perhaps a hilariously on-theme note and something happier, what I have found is that sex helps. Therapy and supportive friends and good environment are obviously irreplaceable. But, sex is good, too. When I was in the thick of all that, younger with my mental health challenges way more out of control, I'm sure I was just getting away from the numbness and hurt--endorphins, oxytocin, y'know, all that.

Then, I'm sure it was added to by the fact that suddenly, with sex, women (I am queer but when I started fucking around, I only felt safe enough to be with women, I didn't think I could be out where I was, and now... that's just the way it's worked out. It happens to have been women) were enjoying me. Enjoying what I could give them. Complimenting me explicitly or implicitly. Saying I'm hot or, clearly, if we're having sex, I'm not so disgusting that you don't want to fuck me.

But, sex helps beyond those rudimentary things, too. Finding kinky people and sex-positive people has inadvertently led me to find body positive people and find examples of real bodies--people really actually enjoying themselves. Spending more time naked is beneficial, too, haha. Slowly, I'm learning to appreciate myself more. This is my body. It's the only one I have to live in, I may as well make peace with it. And I will take the pleasure that my body can give others. I appreciate that I can do that. I like making people feel good, I like having their faith put in me to make them feel good and treat them and their bodies well, like they're desired, or not 😏, depending on what they're into. I want to pull that pleasure out of them. I want to make them feel good, bad, whatever. I want them to feel in their body.

Did that answer the question, lmao? I just rambled 💀💀

[memoriashell]

with age comes wisdom ( or at the very least, entirely unneccessary celebrations )

Characters /  Pairing: Fukawa Touko / Naegi Komaru ( focused ), Syo / Komaru, Warriors of Hope

crossposted on ao3

Notes: happy @tokomaruweek week everyone!! i love these funky wlw so i am going to try and have some stuff up this week, but i probably won’t manage to do the whole week / i'll go back to do the ones i miss afterwards? we’ll see.

for today i decided to combine the birthdays + warriors of hope prompts.

i’m also just ignoring canon’s timeline bc god knows i did not want to figure out that bs sorry dr3 ily but i dont love you that much just know it is somewhere post sdr2 / pre dr3 probably?

i also use they/them for syo ( nonbinary hc ) and while there aren’t any specific trauma mentions, given the group of characters this revolves around, there’s refrences to the fact they have shit lives. and some lighthearted murder jokes and self-deprication?

Summary: nothing says happy birthday quite like babysitting her ( favorite ) group of brats

It’s just her luck that this would happen— a coincidence for sure, but that doesn’t make Touko any happier about the whole thing.

This is the situation: they don’t usually see the ( former ) Warriors of Hope much. The kids stay on their side of Towa, and her and Komaru tend to stick closer to the adults. The adults are the ones that need to be kept under supervision, in her opinion. Not that the kids are blameless, but is there much reasoning with brainwashed kids? No. Of course not. Are the adults also practically brainwashed and hard to reason with. Yes. Would this all be easier if Future Foundation was involved? Yes. Yes it would, but for obvious reasons they are not ( they have all agreed to omit some information from public record for the sake of those involved, and right now Naegi’s stunt with the Remnants have Future Foundation’s attention away from them ).

Sometimes Komaru takes some of the things that they get over to the kids because things are rough enough as it is, and Syo will go with her because they can keep the Monokuma off their tracks better. Or you know, because Syo is generally more helpful to Komaru when it comes to things like that. She’s not jealous.

Allegedly— Touko does not know this for a fact herself since she hadn’t been fronting, and only learns this second hand while she is in the middle of typing up a report to send back to the foundation— Kotoko is the one to bring it up, casually handing off some of her share of the cookies Komaru had made for them, to Jataro. An early birthday present, she had said ( pointedly ignoring Nagisa, who’d pointed out she had given Jataro the ones he hated ), before turning to Komaru to ask if they could throw a party. A small one. With no murder, because that would be ‘totally not adorbs’. And no adults, because they stink ( it goes unsaid that Komaru and Touko themselves are the clear exception to this rule, which is some kind of progress, supposedly ).

That seemed like a fairly reasonable request, according to Komaru, who’s only response was to ask when his birthday was. And then accidentally lets it slip that hey, that’s the week that Touko-chan’s birthday is! And that’s how Touko finds out that apparently, she’s having a joint birthday party with the kids because Masaru managed to turn a party into a competition, somehow? Touko has no clue what that actually entails, because Komaru refuses to elaborate.

( Also, at one point before leaving, Komaru had tried asking Jataro if there was anything she could get him; to which he’d remarked, “A new mask?”

...Yeah, Touko can’t blame her for not knowing what to say to that, even if Komaru had spun it as not the most self-deprecating thing he could have said, which was an improvement? She personally disagrees, but whatever )

Here, she should point out the obvious fact that she does not want to really celebrate her birthday, let alone have a party for it. Because those kind of things lean so far into the zone of things Touko doesn’t really know how to handle, that it makes her close to uncomfortable. And if— if she had humored herself in imagining how she would ideally spend her birthday this year; quite frankly, it would be very quiet and boring and only with Komaru. Not with a group of ten year olds. Ten year olds that she might think of rather fondly, but ten year old brats all the same.

( It’s not like she has any alive friends: if Touko acknowledges the other survivors, justifiably they are too busy with more important matters to fuss over a birthday. They aren’t kids anymore. Some of them hadn’t ever really been like normal kids to begin with, but that’s besides the point )

“Look at the bright side,” She starts, and she bites back a snide what bright side and remark about how that’s all Komaru’s good at ( it’s not. She’s more talented than she gives herself credit for ). “None of you probably have really positive memories when it comes to birthdays or parties, so even if it isn’t the greatest, at least the bar to please should be pretty easy to clear!”

Touko thinks she probably gets the point she is trying to make here, but Komaru’s complete and utter lack of tact doesn’t make for the best delivery. “Are you trying to...to make me feel bad? S-So sorry my life was complete sh-shit growing up.”

“No! That’s not what I meant at all!” Komaru pouts at her. “Does that mean you’re not interested in having a party?”

It’s not like she’s so cold-hearted and selfish that she’s going to say no to that. Well, no, that’s not quite true, Touko might be just that; but it doesn’t really matter either way, because Komaru gives her best kicked dog impression, so she says ( a less than enthusiastic ) no, she doesn’t mind, yes you can have a party; even if she thinks she’ll probably regret that choice.

Okay, if you are to be honest with herself, some part of Touko that never got to be a normal child doesn’t entirely mind the thought of a party, even if it’s...not the most ideal scenario, the impractical fantasy situation that lives in her head. But if she says that aloud, Komaru will either take it too seriously, use it as an excuse to celebrate things more often, or something else that probably has consequences that she doesn’t want to think about. And also admittedly because if she says it aloud, she has to acknowledge it, and maybe she doesn't want to get her hopes up over something as stupid as a party.

( There’s also the fact that, deep in her extremely repressed memories of Hope’s Peak before the tragedy, she does remember parties. Birthdays. Celebrating things with her classmates, if somewhat forcibly so. She has no desire to remember those things, so those feelings remain repressed with most of her trauma )

It’s easy to not acknowledge any of that when she has to deal with the sudden onslaught of a headache that is Syo forcing themselves into their shared headspace, hand rubbing at her temples. Not trying to co-front, she can tell they aren’t trying to snatch control from her ( for now ), just forcing her to pay attention to them. It works, even though Touko has told them to not do this specifically because of how irritating it is for her.

I could scare the kids into cooperating? It’ll save us a headache and a half! Syo offers, maybe too eagerly. Their ideas of scare and cooperate are probably different from her own. Still. She also knows Syo is aware of more than they are letting on, given that they had been present when this conversation had occurred, but she doesn’t think she’ll get much out of them in that regard.

No. Touko tells them firmly. It’ll be counterproductive, Komaru won’t let you do that, and they’re all traumatized enough without you adding to that.

Boo, you sure about that? Consider it a birthday gift from me!

No. She repeats herself sternly, and she feels them withdraw a bit after that. Ugh, Syo hasn’t had a chance to front much recently, now that she thinks about it. Since they usually only take over when she’s in danger, and she hasn’t really been in ( as much ) danger now that things are starting to calm down. Well, relatively speaking. Syo is probably just looking for an excuse to be allowed to front, since it’s probably rough going from being very present to rarely getting the chance to be out: akin to going cold turkey on an addiction. That’s not exactly her fault ( or theirs ), but maybe she’ll ask Komaru if she’d be okay with hanging out with Syo more, if only to placate them a little, before they try something more drastic.

“Everything okay? That was Syo, right?” She hears Komaru ask after a few minutes, and Touko rubs her eyes and blinks. “You looked a little frustrated.”

She considers telling her the truth, but no point in getting her concerned over nothing. She’d like to figure out what she wants to negotiate with Syo firstm so she’ll leave that conversation for another time. “Fine. They just...ugh, just wanted to make sure I was okay with it.”

“And you are okay with it, right? You aren’t agreeing just because I asked?” Touko thinks she begged more than she asked, but she’s pretty sure Komaru will only sulk if she brings that up.

“I wouldn’t let you if, if I was really opposed to it.” Probably. She...trusted Komaru, or something like that, so she figures she’d probably be more honest with herself and not mentally torture herself by putting herself through something she has no interest in. “But...what are you even planning on doing to celebrate? I can’t im-imagine we’ve really got much around here that we can use for a party.”

“Ah. Uhm.” Komaru looks a little embarrassed at that. “About that. I was kind of hoping you and Syo might help pitch in. You don’t mind, right?”

You’re hopeless, she wants to mutter, but—

Yeah!!!! Syo wakes right back up upon being mentioned, no sense of self awareness at all, much to your annoyance, but it’s not like you completely disagree with the feeling that is shared between you two.

“You— You really bit off more than you could chew, hm...? Good thing this wasn’t supposed t-t-to be a surprise.” She quips, leaning over to peer at the paper she’d been making her notes on. “We’ll help, just tell us what we...what we need to do.”

“Thank you, Touko-chan! And Syo too!” Komaru sounds somewhere mixed between grateful and relieved, and casually plants a kiss on her cheek as if it’s no big deal—

She said my name last, so the kiss was for me! She knows Syo is intentionally trying to provoke her and get a rise out of her ( yeah, a rising sense of jealousy ), but puts that aside for the time being because Komaru’s blabbering on like nothing happened.

“I know we probably won’t have the whole day to ourselves to do whatever—” Correctomundo, Dekomaru! “— but I’ll make it up to you on your birthday, okay? We’ll do something that you want.”

“You don't...there’s no need for that.” She forces out between gritted teeth, trying to ignore the flustered feeling in the pit of her stomach, chewing around a fingernail ( what an unattractive sight to follow that ). “Because— ugh, don’t repeat th-this, okay? What I want to do is spend time with...with you. That’s all. So don’t go...you don’t need to go out of your way trying to do s-s-something over the top. Stick to being normal.”

“Really? You’re sure?” Komaru sounds a little uncertain, but happy enough to pull her into a hug, despite her grumbled complaint. “Oh, but Syo has their own birthday, don’t they? So I should probably ask them what they want as well, right?”

“Don’t make me repeat m-myself. It’s embarrassing...” Touko huffs, but lets herself be held against her side, just for a moment. It’s nice, though she won’t admit it ( it is better than any real gift that she could receive ). Syo is kind enough to back off long enough to let her have this moment. “You can ask them later— focus on, on what you need to plan.”

By something short of a miracle, they are able to pull together a party that is not a complete disaster, even if Komaru probably has a point when she says the bar to clear is a pretty low standard for all parties involved. The closest she has to an actual concern is the very narrowly avoided fight that almost breaks out when Masaru and Kotoko fight over which one of them should give their present first— which is apparently the competitive aspect of the party? It’s probably meant to be heartwarming, if it were not such a foreign thing to Touko. Which Nagisa is quick to put an end to: because this is how they would treat Monaca, which is not inherently healthy, and she’s glad that at least one of them can recognize that fact now. Jataro spends the entirety of the fight trying to hide behind her long skirt and, relatable kid, and rubs the top of his head while Komaru tries to both scold them for fighting and appease them because they’re, well. Kids. Who still need to learn some things and have time to unlearn things.

So yeah, it’s a good party— for not being on her actual birthday, she’ll consider it one of the better memories Touko has associated with the day. The start of many, she’d like to hope.

[transrightsjimin]

Hi, it really sounds like you need to give yourself a break! In my opinion, the most important way of being on the left is making a conscious effort to be a generally good person. You feel it in your heart and treat people accordingly and are mindful about your actions. You also have no responsibilities beyond what you are able to give.That's how you live ethically. Being politically active in a traditional way is no guarantee at all that someone is a good person improving lives for the better.

ok so i had this ask in my inbox for like, at least half a year, but i’m going through my old asks now bc i’m in a mood to reply. i’ve tried to answer this ask at least once before but then closed the tab on accident or something (which also happened with a more recent ‘tell 5 things abt yourself / tag 10 followers‘ ask).

though i haven’t answered this ask publicly, i’ve often thought of your message throughout this year. seeing leftism as an active effort to continuously self-improve on being a better person really resonates with me. i can’t say this has fully given me a peace of mind, since i still feel like i’m not doing enough, when looking at how my friend is actively talking to others in a leftist organization i do think i could benefit a lot from talking to others like that, but i don’t know how to specifically affiliate with a group and i do tend to feel very ashamed and horrible in a social group after even the smallest struggle or a disagreement in a personal encounter. i deal very poorly with confrontation and tend to cry when it happens so seeking out a political organization / group seems counteractive.

this idea of self-improvement did help me though. i used to have this mindset in which i took everything i knew for granted. i never fully believe myself but i did notice that i put more trust in words of people who didn’t challenge things i already was taught to think (e.g. western ideas of how certain things should be). during the re-surge of BLM protests in recent months i realized just how i didn’t listen enough to Black voices and thinking i knew enough about this in 2016, or even wrote about a discussion on twitter which truly was not within my right to discuss. i think this has diminished a lot over the years, but i’m still finding myself sometimes seeking validation / acknowledgement for doing something good or offering support, as if people should deserve an award for showing basic human decency and respect. so i’m still not anywhere near i want to be, and i don’t think there should be an end goal either way, because to think you can’t improve any further is where you lose a progressive drive (which is quite relevant to the Netherlands, which keeps portraying itself as a progressive country bc of gay marriage, freedom of religion and women’s rights, while falling behind with other EU countries on many aspects such as the environment, social programs, anti-racism and the former three motives). i see old people who call themself leftist, but have decided to reach a point in their lives where they stop empathizing with groups they don’t understand and thus use quite conservsative views. i don’t think millenials, gen z whatnot are excempt from this end result unless we get rid of this idea that someone can at one point be - or already is - politically enlightened enough.

to touch upon the last aspect to this ask and what i was most concerned about, i.e. showing improvement and caring for others at an interpersonal level when something more isn’t possible: you’re absolutely right. i so often feel so stressed and defeated by everything going on in the world and i want to do more, help relieve as much pain as i can, get more inspired and edicated, whatnot. and i do not want to use this as an excuse but the reality is that i really find it hard to connect to other people due to autism and the continuous embarrassment i feel about myself, and only recently i realized i was so depressed 7 years ago after high school exams due to burnout and i never fully recovered from this. i’m in a somewhat better place mentally bc i live with my friend since 2 years now instead of with my parents, but i still feel lethargic and emotionally unstable and i’m not getting much done. ideally, i’d be doing a lot more than spreading information online / trying to unlearn racist, classist, ableist etc ideas / going to only 4 demonstrations within a couple of years, but that’s probably not realistic for now. i really cannot handle confrontation and currently i’m still hoping to get a more structured week schedule and less stress about income so i could hopefully get a better sense of what i could do in the future. admittedly i still feel bad for engaging with my special interests so much every day and often trying to shut out other things but maybe that’s just what i need for the time being. just, man, i thought the world would be inhabitable by 2020-2030 when i was a kid learning about climate change in primary school and i feel so helpless in all of this.

im crying a lot now up to the point where it’s gross / snotty but i’d just like to say thank you for this ask. you might not even read this as the ask was sent ages ago but i’m rly thankful and wanted to let you know i didn’t deliberately ignore your message or not think about it or something. thank you.

[kristen-lockhart-blog]

Book Review of “(Im)Proper Nouns” by Donna Sparrowhawk

https://www.facebook.com/permalink.php?story_fbid=2534067513341256&id=135308913217140&__tn__=K-R

Kristen Lockhart (Im)Proper Nouns By Donna Sparrowhawk Book Review

In the collection of poems, (Im)Proper Nouns, poet Donna Sparrowhawk utilizes an effortless flow and rhythm within and between her poems. Some of my favorite literary tools she uses throughout her poems are imagery and metaphors. Her collection is split into three sections, that are the nouns persons, places, and things. The poems within each section complement each other nicely as well as the three sections to form the whole collection. Sparrowhawk’s themes and imagery gives insight to a well-rounded and fulfilling life so far as well as holds hope for a fulfilling life to come. In the section titled Persons, Sparrowhawk has an array of poems, some dedicated to someone by use of their name, others with a more metaphorical title. The poem “Even Now I Listen,” is a pretty straight forward poem about the speaker’s dad. I really appreciate the glimpse into the speaker’s relationship with her father growing up. She hones in on the relationship between her and her father through her diction and metaphors.

“I know what tone you would use Soft, sliding your words under The door of my pain-induced silence.” I like the imagery that this stanza creates. I imagine a teenage daughter distraught and not wanting to talk to anyone, but her dad is the one who can truly reach her in these times. As if gently whispering through the crack of her door or sliding a letter with some heartbreak advice on it. In the last stanza, the speaker is reminiscing on times when her father could give her advice in person.

“Would you lift your eyes to mine and gently with your Fatherly tenderness, sweep the hair fallen in my eyes Remind me

To lessen fear…love more.”

She is admittedly fearful and doubtful of something throughout this poem. Perhaps, felt she was not ready to take on some things in her life without her father always being right there with her. All she has is these memories and can only imagine the advice that her father could give her now. Because of the vulnerability, I feel like this poem is a lovely and intimate glimpse into the speaker and maybe even the poet’s life. Moreover, in the poem “Not Quite a Sonnet for Susan on Her Sixtieth Birthday,” Sparrowhawk has a very compelling free form as well as great diction to portray the speaker’s feelings towards “Susan.” The poet reflects on her own use of form in which she originally intended a sonnet that actually became a free form poem.

“I tried to write you a sonnet for your birthday… abab cdcd efef gg but the fact of the matter is you are definitely free verse and otherwise and wise.”

She admittedly switches gears from a sonnet form to a free form. Moreover, I like the analogy of comparing her friend, Susan, to a free form poem herself. As well as the wordplay in “…you are definitely free, verse and otherwise, and wise.” Moreover, she utilizes lots of little comments inside of parentheses throughout the poem.

“extraordinarily fun deliciously irreverent outlandishly chi-ful (and I love it that you know what that means)”

The use of her parenthetical inserts creates more intimacy between her and the friend receiving this gift. She adds some fun, witty inside jokes and personality. And the way she describes Susan; the words she uses, “extraordinary, deliciously irreverent.” She is describing a deep admiration of everything that makes Susan the way she is. While keeping few elements of a sonnet throughout the piece, the author iterates that her Susan cannot be described in any one form. She reminisces on the first time they met recalls specific details with her imagery and describes the instant connection the friends had. I love the final line of the poem, comparing Susan to a child, having the same whimsy and wonder as a newly Sixty year old woman. And ending the poem on an ellipse as to say that her and Susan’s friendship and story is far from over. Much like in the poem about her father, the speaker creates an intimacy between not only her and the person the poem is dedicated to, but also her and the reader. She does so through the use of parentheses, her imagery in describing her memories, and her witty metaphors. The first poem in the “Places” section of the book is one of my favorites called, “Musings on a Train.” I find the setting of this poem so refreshing. She truly captures what it is to feel like you are in the story itself with this poem. “I glance out as sheep newly shorn And young, bolt as the train Whistles, and the old ewes lazily graze, Ignoring the fray.”

I am fortunate to have ridden on a train in England as well, especially as someone who lives in Florida with very few, if any, passenger trains. This poem describes to calm whimsy of riding on a train traveling past hills and grassy fields. A quite relatable stanza in this piece, is as follows:

“I doze in strange comfortable discomfort Drifting in and out, nestled against my Ferdinand’s Jacket, crumpled on the table under my head.”

Though, not all readers might have had the experience of riding a train, the images she creates can certainly come to life in the reader’s imagination. I particularly love the phrase, “comfortable discomfort,” to describe falling asleep on a train. Again, maybe not all readers would know this as exactly as described, but I feel like the sensation of trying to fall asleep on a bus or car even, can be a strangely calming scenario in a not quite so comfortable vessel. Especially if you are riding in said vehicle with a loved one. The scene described in this poem is that of a comfortable, daily event that is intimate between the speaker and a loved one. Sparrowhawk’s imagery allows the readers a glimpse into the speaker’s life because of her descriptions of this sweet life. Another one of my absolute favorite pieces is “Ballad of Equeurdreville.” Sparrowhawk’s effortless rhyme scheme creates a hilariously witty and whimsical story in this poem. I love how while reading this poem the reader gets a scene laid out in front of them of this funny banter between a traveling couple.

“My, what a pleasant urban walk! said he As she dodged the biker […] I’m sure my mate said repast was just beyond this hill A lovely place for dinner, in lovely Equeurdreville.

Why, yes, my love! cooed she to he Somewhat loudly over the roar of the passing lorry.”

From the very first line, the setting is being described as “urban” and disruptive with the biker needing to be dodged, as well as the “roar of the passing lorry.” Yet, the positive attitudes of this couple is already creating a humorous build up.

“I fear a restaurant I will never see, said he. Her reply reassuringly whispered, perhaps more a shrill— Do you think we’ll ever bloody find this Equeurdreville?”

“[…] I dare say one can look from here to eternity, said he. But no sign, no hope of food, nor drink—no, nada, nil In this, this, uh…lovely…Equeurdreville.”

The couple have a shift in attitude the longer it takes for them to find this restaurant. I particularly love the last line of that stanza; it makes it seem like a sassy narrator is reading this poem aloud to the reader. “Oh my, said she. Oh my, indeed, said he As they walked and pondered what was the key Don’t know, said she, but make out a Will Next time you suggest to me Equeurdreville!”

The final stanza after the couple had finished their long awaited meal in Equeurdreville, we get the final round of witty commentary. The poem ends on a silly joke as well, adding to the fun nature of the rest of the poem. This poem reminded me of the whimsical ways of rhyming of Dr. Seuss. This poem is different from the other poems in the collection due to its playful theme. Yet it still holds the particular style especially when it comes to Sparrowhawk’s romantic diction and intimacy between characters. The contrast in playfulness from this poem compared to more mature themes in other poems, as well as her consistent rhyming scheme shows how talented and versatile Sparrowhawk is with her writing. Finally, in the section “Things,” there is a poem entitled, “Twilight,” that has just more of that calming scenery that Sparrowhawk paints.

“It’s that time of day again… The light, in its fade Softens… Well, softens Everything.”

This opening stanza creates such a lovely setting with just a few simple phrases, which is magical. I also love the third stanza continues with this serene imagery and the fourth begins to introduce another theme into this poem.

“I wonder if the fox Will make his appearance tonight Now that you, Not I, Are absent.

“I’ve missed you today I should have been with you today, But, painfully I really couldn’t Because we You and I Know how to love.” The speaker is describing beautiful scenery yet is lonely or missing her loved one. Yet, I gather this is the type of missing someone when they are just out for the day, perhaps at work.

“I know you are on your Way back to me now.

Warm soup is waiting And music, and me,

The words can wait.”

The lines of her poetry feel comfortable and familiar. Sparrowhawk has been able to take sorrow in her poems such as this one and spin it around into hope. This entire collection of poems by Donna Sparrowhawk reflects on a life filled with beauty and love for these persons, places, and things. She uses wonderous imagery and metaphors to describe these loved ones and locations in such intimate detail. The warmth, wit and charm in her words are the ties that carry over and connect all her poems in this collection, (Im)Proper Nouns.

[fatebroke]

What’s the worst role playing experience you’ve had?

Salty Munday. X — @scikyo

The worst roleplay experience you’ve had?

BOI, LET ME TELL YOU— Okay, so I’ll be honest and say my time in the general RPC has been . . Blessed? I’ve only ever had one major problem, and I guess thats what I’m going to talk to you about.

My worst roleplay experience was back in the Fire Emblem fandom. You see, this was the first tumblr RP fandom I entered into. And many of its members were kind and helpful and I still know some of them today! However, there was one person in that fandom who turned out to be . . Not so nice.

They were cool enough at first, and though their blog consisted mainly of smut, they were a wonderful writer and were well liked by the community.

Admittedly, they did seem to kind of ignore those people they knew they couldn’t get immediate ships or smut out of but, you do you, roleplay what you want and interact with who you like.

However, they had one rule that really . . Threw me off? And that was, that they wouldn’t interact with / would block any OC that used the same FC’s as them. And this didn’t really matter to me until I stumbled across a very cool series with cute characters that I wanted to icon and use for my OC’s— The only problem was, they used the same Fc’s.

So naturally, it became a problem. And quickly so. The first time, they approached me in private and said I was using the same FC as one of their OC’s and that it made them uncomfortable, and I replied politely with something along the lines of ‘okay, im sorry! Don’t feel obligated to interacting with them if they make you uncomfortable!’ And it was dropped after that.

The second time, ((Considering both they and I had many, many OC’s,)) they were a bit more . . Harsh about it. Coming to me with a sort of exasperated tone to their words, ‘Uhm, you’re kind of using the same FC as one of my OC’s again.’

I, being young, confused, and a peoples pleaser, apologized profusely as they seemed to be very upset with me about it. They then began to offer me alternate suggestions for FCs for MY OC’s . . Not wanting to put up with it, I deleted the OC’s and let it drop.

However, I didn’t understand why this person should get to dictate what FC’s I used— So I remade my OC’s and blocked them on that blog. Everything was fine for a while, and I felt good about it since i hadn’t seemed to upset them. But then began the VAGUING.

They must have found the new blog and began making posts about me and how ‘someone’ was making them uncomfortable, and how they wanted people to look over their rules for that one rule specifically, and how pissed they were about somebody else using the same FC’s.

At that point, I had, had enough and left the fandom for a very long time. I was tired of being vagued about over FC’s by a person who had never given me the time of day beforehand when I tried to reach out to them and solely used these OC’s of theirs for smut. ((Which isn’t a bad thing, but they never tried to make any development with their characters, so it ended up feeling kind of . . Weird?))

They vagued and likely told others about me in private, as people in the fandom began to turn against me, over FC’s. Then in the end, began using the Fc’s of OC’s I had made long prior and blocked my blogs to spite me.

It was petty and left a younger me with a distaste for that particular fandom . . And though they’ve apologized now, after everything that happened it still feels kind of . . Fake?

But I’m not really the type to hold a grudge. I’ve long since let it go. Though I am a bit wary of this person nowadays as they are still somewhat active around the RPC.

[rather-impertinent]

The Girl Next Door Chp. 3

A/N: Hi friends! Here is chapter 3 at last! It’s a long one, so you might want to grab yourself a cup of tea or, in the spirit of this chapter, pour yourself a drink! I hope you enjoy it and I’d love to know what you think! xo

Demelza Poldark 9:09pm

DWIGHT <3

Hurry up!!!

Dwight Enys 9:10pm

I’m ready, I’m just waiting for Caroline. Literally waiting right outside her front door. Maybe she’s ignoring me?

Demelza Poldark 9:10pm

Don’t be ridiculous! You’re handsome and lovely, what’s not to like?! X

Dwight Enys 9:10pm

Haha oh ffs how much have you had to drink?

Demelza Poldark 9:12pm

Oh, A LOT! You’ve got some catching up to do! How amazing is autocorrect btw?! Anyways MOVE YOUR ARSE DON’T MAKE ME COME OVER YOU KNOW I WILL

Dwight sighed loudly. She would definitely come over to drag them both out if they didn’t show up soon. Dwight knocked on Caroline’s door again. “Caroline? Are you ready yet?”

“Just a sec!” She called through the door. Dwight heard clattering behind the door and assumed she was likely still getting ready and would thus be much longer than one second. He genuinely couldn’t believe she had agreed to come in the first place, and, more than that, seemed happy to be invited. That is, before she had smiled at him in her unusual way, as she had won an argument they had not been having.

While Caroline was busy still getting ready, Dwight seized the opportunity to take out his phone to see if he looked semi-presentable. He eyed his stubble and began to feel that he should have probably shaved, but he supposed he still looked fine. He smoothed his hair and double checked that there was nothing in his teeth, which of course there wasn’t as he’d literally brushed them twenty minutes ago and had neither eaten nor drank anything since. His aftershave was a little strong though, maybe. Why was he so fidgety? Probably because he hadn’t seen his friends for a while and didn’t want them to go all parental on him if he looked like shit. Yeah, that was it.

Demelza Poldark 9:18pm

DWIGHT WH Y ARE YOU STILL IN YOUR FLAT I CAN SEE YOU ON SNAPCHAT MAPS I WILL PUT MY JACKET ON IN A MIN I SWEAR TO GOD

Just as Dwight began typing a soothing reply to his distressed, inebriated friend, Caroline’s flat door swung open. She snatched her coat off its hanger and grabbed her bag before stepping onto the landing. “Sorry, sorry! My stupid fucking shower took ages to heat up!”

Dwight simply stared at her, blinking several times, as if unable to believe she was real. Yes, normally she was very pretty, but he had never seen her properly dressed up before. She stood in front of him in a one-shouldered white dress, her hair long and wavy, with a pale pink colour on her lips and a light smoky-eye behind her thick, black eyelashes. “Wow. Um – you – ehm – you look great.” She fought a smile at his compliment and smoothed her white dress. “Thank you,” she replied evenly as she buttoned her coat. She then shrugged and flipped her long curly locks over her shoulder, “I know.” He laughed at her lack of modesty. “You do know we’re only going to the Red Lion around the corner though, and not some red-carpet event?” he taunted cheekily, then immediately prayed it wouldn’t offend her. Caroline gasped quietly and eyed him with surprise, but appreciated the tease. “Well, in the words of Coco Chanel: ‘A woman can be overdressed but never over elegant.’” She sauntered past him and headed down the stairs with as much grace as if she was wearing her fluffy pug slippers, that he’d seen when he attended on her pet, as opposed to heels.

It was then Dwight realised that a small dog, by the name of Horace, was following her closely at her heels. “Um, are you bringing Horace, too? I don’t think the pub allows dogs…” He frowned and bit his lip.

She looked at him as though he was the stupidest person in the world. “Yes, Dr Enys, I thought it would be a great idea to bring my pug to a bar that wouldn’t let him and then chain him to a fence for the night while I get drunk inside,” she replied, her voice dripping with scathing sarcasm. “Do you think I’m an idiot? I’m dropping him off at Mrs Figg’s flat, she loves him.”

“The latter sentence would have sufficed,” Dwight said tightly, not caring for her tone at his simple, reasonable, question.

She knocked on door number 12 of their building and awaited an answer. “Well, not for me!” she replied sweetly, a sardonic smiled on her face. Mrs Figg appeared at her door then, very happy to see Dwight and Caroline, and – above all – Horace; whom she promised to spoil rotten, telling Caroline to enjoy herself and that she could come and collect Horace the next day at any time, or even allow him to stay until Monday, if she so wished.

A little over five minutes later, as the door to their apartment building slammed shut behind them, Caroline asked: “So, how far is it to the pub?”

Dwight made an uncertain noise, as it had been quite a while since he’d gone on a night out, and longer still since he had been to this specific pub. “About a ten to fifteen-minute walk, I’d say. Will you manage it in those shoes?” He motioned to her glossy white heels, which made her an inch taller than him.

Caroline looked down at her shoes and then at Dwight and proceeded to laugh heartily. “Oh, trust me when I say I can walk better in heels than I can in flats!”

He looked at her 5-inch heels, genuinely perplexed. “What? How is that even possible?” His mind went into overdrive as he tried to recall the exact, medical formation of the human foot.

“Well, you’ll remember that I said I did a bit of modelling to you yesterday?” He nodded. “I kind of lied. I actually did a lot of modelling, it was kind of my career. It was nice to wear expensive clothes and have your makeup done by other people but honestly, seven years of being told how thin you should be and how you should wear your hair and how you should dress just got really tiring.” She laughed it off, but Dwight had a feeling that the comment wasn’t as flippant as she’d intended it to be.

He scratched his ear, unsure of what to say next. He coughed, which came out in a puff in the cold, night air. “So, is that why you–“

Dwight’s phoned vibrated and pinged at full volume, not once, but twice. He gritted his teeth together – this better be a spam email from Dominos. “Sorry, hold on, two seconds.” He fished his iPhone out of the pocket of his dark jeans and opened the messages. Caroline distracted herself with her phone, too.

 Ross Poldark 9:27pm

Where are you mate?

Think Dem is about to have a nervous breakdown, if I don’t fucking kill her first for being a pain in the arse! Move it!!!

Dwight Enys 9:27pm

OMG IM FUCKING COMING IM LITERALLY AROUND THE CORNER

Ross Poldark 9:27pm

Alright keep your cock on! See you in a min. Want a beer?

Dwight Enys 9:28pm

Yeah please. Heineken

Ross Poldark 9:28pm

Well then hurry up and get here so you can order yourself one ;)

Dwight Enys 9:28pm

Why am I friends with you? Can’t believe I fell for that

Ross Poldark 9:28pm

You should know better by now Enys. We saved you and your lady friend a seat btw ;)

Dwight Enys 9:29pm

Oh don’t fucking start she’s not my lady friend

Ross Poldark 9:29pm

She is a lady is she not? And your friend?? Or are you lying to us and bringing a bloke? If this is your way of coming out Dwight it’s a bit extra but we accept and love you no matter what

Dwight Enys 9:30pm

Omg Ross

I’m gonna kill you before the end of the night I can feel it

If you fucking say anything embarrassing about me to Caroline I will never speak to you again. I will literally unstitch the scar on your face and let you slowly bleed to death

Ross Poldark 9:30pm

:(

Now now Dwight we mustn’t fight, you don’t want to upset your lady friend x

And with that, Dwight firmly locked his phone and let out an exasperated groan. Caroline, who had been watching Horace on her phone via the PugCam she had given to Mrs Figg, looked up at Dwight with furrowed brows. “What’s wrong?” she asked as they continued their way down the narrow streets, Caroline’s heels echoing loudly.

Dwight wiped his face. “My friends…” He sighed. “They are lovely people. Really, truly, the best people ever. But please, please, don’t listen to anything they say about me tonight, they are determined to ruin my life.” He chuckled, but his eyes held a serious, somewhat nervous, gaze.

Caroline placed her phone into her coat pocket as the sign of the Red Lion came into view. “But that’s the best part about having friends, Dr Enys!” she cried in amusement, smiling in victory as Dwight sighed and held the door open for her.

Ross Poldark chuckled as he placed his phone back in his pocket. “Well, I’ve managed to wind Dwight up nicely, so let’s see how flustered we can make him when he gets here,” he announced to the table, rubbing his hands together like a cartoon villain. Francis and George laughed in agreement, but all of the women looked at Ross, appalled. They were very defensive of their ‘little brother’ friend, even though he happened to be almost 4 years older than Demelza and was only 2 months older than Elizabeth.

Demelza slapped Ross on his, admittedly large, bicep. “Enough, Ross. When was the last time Dwight even talked to a girl that wasn’t any of us? He must genuinely like her – even if it is just as a friend – so don’t ruin it for him, please.” She placed her hand on top of his which rested on his thigh. He moved to place his hand on top and shook hers gently before interlacing their fingers, a gesture which Demelza knew meant that he had agreed to her terms.

“Yes, Ross, please don’t ruin it for him,” Elizabeth begged from the top of the table, before whispering aside to her husband: “Francis, darling, please make sure Ross doesn’t do anything stupid.” She placed a hand on his shoulder and brought out her largest doe eyes.

Francis took a gulp of his beer and whined internally at her ability to make him do anything. “I promise I will try, my dear. But you do know that no one can actually stop Ross from doing something stupid, I think it’s part of his DNA at this point!”

Elizabeth chuckled and leaned in to place a kiss on his cheek before wiping away the stain of her red lipstick. “Well, I’m definitely glad it’s not part of your DNA.”

Her phone buzzed, and she snatched it quickly, causing Francis to raise his eyebrows. “Who’s that?”

“No one,” she lied, concealing her phone from her husband’s view as smile spread over her face.

“Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth sighed. “Okay, fine! It’s Emma, I was just making sure that everything was OK.” She showed Francis a picture of Geoffrey Charles and Julia watching what appeared to be Finding Nemo.

“That’s a sweet photo but you’ve got to loosen the reins, darling, he’ll be starting school next year. He’ll be fine.”

“I know. I just miss him, that’s all,” she said glumly, leaning into her husband. He rubbed the side of her arm in comfort and discreetly pushed her fifth glass of red wine further away from her grasp.

George tapped Francis on the shoulder. “Is Elizabeth alright?” he whispered, his brows furrowed in concern.

Francis waved a hand dismissively and pointed at her glass of wine, a small smirk on his face. “Yeah, she’s fine, just missing GC.”

George nodded and continued his conversation with Verity, Andrew and Sam. “So, Sam, why didn’t you stay at home with Emma?”

Sam sat up stiffly, having spent most of the night thus far silently and contentedly listening to the conversations around him. “Well, ye see, she insisted that I go out ‘cause I’ve not seen you guys for a while. Plus, she ain’t feeling too well and was happy to babysit since it’s kind of her job anyways.” Sam smiled, beaming with pride that his soon-to-be wife was the friendliest nursery teacher in all of Cornwall. Resolutely sober on account of his strong Christian faith, he was all too happy to ensure his friends were able to get home safely at the end of, what would undoubtedly be, a long night of drinking.

Demelza and Ross were discussing plans for Julia’s third birthday when Demelza’s phone pinged.

Dwight Enys 9:38pm

We’re here. Where are you guys? Can’t see you, it’s weirdly busy in here tonight wtf

Demelza squealed and leaped out of her chair. “Dwight’s here!” She informed the rest of the table over her shoulder as she pushed through the groups of people, making her way to the front door.

Dwight glanced around the crowd of people in the pub – searching for his friends – before shrugging his shoulders in defeat and looking at Caroline, “Can I get you something to drink?” He had to shout slightly due to the amount of people drunkenly chatting as well as the rather loud jukebox music.

She smiled. “Yes, please, I’ll have a–“

“–Dwight!” Shrieked Demelza, stealing the end of Caroline’s sentence, before flinging her arms around her friend, nearly crushing his bones with the tightness of her hug. Although, it had been about three weeks since they’d last seen each other, and so Dwight wasn’t complaining. In fact, he was quite glad that one of his best friends seemed to miss him just as much as he’d missed her.

“Demelza,” he greeted, trying to smile and breathe. Demelza realised him from her grasp and looked curiously at the beautiful blonde woman who accompanied him.

“Demelza, this is Caroline. Caroline, my friend Demelza.”

Caroline extended her smooth, porcelain hand. “Hi. How do you–“

Demelza ignored her proffered hand and enveloped the stranger in a tight hug instead. “Hi, Caroline! It’s so nice to meet you!” She grinned widely at her, and Caroline couldn’t help but returning the redhead’s infectious, genuine smile. “Come meet everyone!” Demelza insisted, taking her arm and pulling her along.

“Demelza,” Dwight hissed, but it was too late, and they’d already began approaching the table, so he quickly followed like the obedient puppy he was.

The three of them made their way through the crowded pub to their table, which just so happened to be right at the other side of the building but was conveniently located next to the bar. “Excuse us, sorry, pardon me, sorry, excuse me, sorry, can I just get by one second?”

They arrived at the large table to a chorus of “Hey, Dwight!” followed immediately by not-so-subtle staring at the woman who accompanied him.

“Hi, guys!” He cleared his throat. “This is my new neighbour, and friend, Caroline.”

Caroline smiled, confidently waved and said: “Hello! Pleased to meet you all.”

Dwight again cleared his throat, glad that the introduction was over and that he had escaped unscathed. “So, what’s everyone drinking? My round.” George knocked back the remainder of his beer and tried to conceal a burp afterwards. “I’ll have a Becks, please.” “Red wine, please, Dwight,” Elizabeth slurred slightly, a happy smile on her warm face. “Same for me, please,” chimed Verity, her head resting on her husband’s shoulder.

Francis scratched his stubble in contemplation. “Err, I think I’ll go for a rum and coke this time, please.” Ross simply held up his glass, which proudly displayed the Jameson logo, staring at Dwight as though he was questioning the bonds of their friendship. Demelza rolled her eyes at Ross’s inability to simply ask for a drink. “I’ll have a gin and tonic, please, Dwight. Thanks.” She patted his shoulder and sat back down in her seat next to her husband. Dwight nodded at Demelza and turned his attention to Caroline. “What about you, Caroline?” “Do they have any Moët?” she asked as she removed her coat and sat down on the last seat of the booth, peering past his form to studying the drinks behind the bar. Everyone exchanged eyebrow-risen glances at her request. Dwight shook his head slowly. “Um, I’m not sure. But even if they did I’m afraid I don’t really have the budget to pay about £35 for a glass of wine,” he laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. Caroline’s eyes widened; she did not know it cost so much for a single glass, and it happened to be her favourite drink. “Oh, of course not. Sorry. Um, do they have cocktails?” she inquired coolly, trying to read the menu behind him.

Again, Dwight shook his head. “Unfortunately, not. This is kind of a shithole pub, you see. But we’re all very fond of it. Great memories and all that!” Everyone else hummed in agreement.

Caroline’s face fell. What the fuck was she going to drink? She couldn’t bear cheap wine after all the fine wines she’s drank throughout her life, prosecco would be a struggle too – as would cheap gin – she knew she did not like rum… Dwight noticed her struggle and the pretty pink flush creeping up on her cheeks. “How about a vodka lemonade?” he suggested lightly. She smiled in relief at her saviour. “Um, yes. Sure,” she replied brightly. “Thank you!” She called at his turned back as he approached the bar. “Oh, shit,” Dwight muttered as he got to the bar, realising he had just accidentally been rude. “Sam, Andrew, do you guys want a coke or something?” he shouted over the playing jukebox, which had been turned up when The Arctic Monkeys came on. “No, thank you,” the designated drivers called in unison. Caroline examined her nail varnish and tried to make herself feel at ease without Dwight being there. She didn’t even know anything about these people, she only knew Demelza’s name, how does one even start a conversation? Demelza sensed her hesitation and opened her mouth to speak before Elizabeth’s excited shriek pierced everyone in the vicinity’s ears.

Elizabeth repeatedly slapped her hand against the wooden table, and off her husband’s arm before pointing to the bar. “Guys, look! Rosina is talking to Dwight!” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Everyone’s heads snapped around and the boys began to wolf whistle, which Demelza reprimanded them for. “Stop it! Rosina is a nice girl, don’t embarrass her!”

Ross insisted: “We’re not trying to embarrass her, love, we’re trying to embarrass Dwight!”

Caroline examined Rosina from her seat. She was a young – late teens or early twenties – pretty, blonde girl, with a curvy figure, full lips and chubby cheeks. In other words, serious competition. Not that Caroline was in competition with anyone for Dwight, of course. He could talk to any girl he liked, she didn’t care. Besides, even if she was interested in Dwight – which she wasn’t – there wouldn’t be any competition. Wrapping men around her little finger is what Caroline had always done best, and could do with Dwight, if necessary. But it wouldn’t be. Satisfied, she relaxed in her seat and tried to catch everyone’s names as they spoke.

Dwight soon returned with drinks and without Rosina. He placed the tray of alcohol on the table and dispensed the drinks to his friends before sitting down.

Elizabeth stared at him, her glance then shifting around the pub. “Where’s Rosina?”

Dwight’s brows furrowed as he took a sip of his Heineken. “What do you mean? She’s over there somewhere,” he pointed vaguely to the other side of the room, “She came out with Ruth.”

“All the more reason to have invited her to join us,” Elizabeth insisited, “Ruth has fancied George since she was about eleven years old! Then George could’ve had a lady friend, too!” Elizabeth smiled, oblivious to the fact that she was the lady friend that George desired.

George physically shivered. “Ugh, she’s so annoying, though! And she’s like half my age!” George protested to Francis before laughing into the rim of his beer bottle.

Ross’s spine straightened. “Actually, George, she’s only nine years younger than you. Demelza is nine years younger than me, is there something you’re trying to say?” He inquired seriously, his narrowed eyes fixed on George’s form as the grip on his glass of whisky tightened.

Demelza placed a hand on her husband’s chest. “Ross,” she warned quietly, trying to push him back against his chair.

Francis, too, placed a hand on George’s shoulder; he had definitely had enough to drink that he would not hesitate to fight Ross if he suggested it. George felt the firm grasp of his friend’s hand and relaxed. “Of course not, Ross,” he said, painfully cordially before taking a sip of his beer. “Not everything is about you, dickhead,” he muttered under his breath.

“What did you just say?” Ross demanded, his voice rising. “Fucking say it again, I dare you!” He stood up, his index finger pointing at George, his nostrils flaring. Demelza grasped at his arm, willing him to calm down, her brows furrowed.

Dwight and Verity groaned. But Dwight merely took another sip of his drink.

“Guys, enough! Stop it!” Elizabeth cried in distress. She hated violence and was having a good night up until now and did not want it to be ruined by a silly fight.

“’Love one another with brotherly affection. Outdo one another in showing honour,’” Sam preached, hoping to diffuse the tension.

Francis stood up beside George and grabbed his arm. “Yes, I agree. Stop it. Both of you. Come on George, we’ll go outside for a cigarette until you calm down.” He hauled him from the table by his arm and thence out of the fire exit into the night air.

Caroline tapped Dwight on the shoulder and motioned for him to lean in. “What was all that about?” she whispered, her eyes alight with intrigue.

“Oh, yeah,” Dwight whispered, realising he’d forgotten to explain the politics of his friend group to her, “Ross and George hate each other, they have done since school. No one can remember why, not even them. But George is best friends with Francis, who is Ross’s cousin and who is also married to Elizabeth, the pretty, drunk brunette over there,” He pointed to her and she offered a drunken smile and small wave. “So, they try tolerate each other for the sake of the rest of us.” He then pointed to Verity in the corner. “That’s Verity, Francis’s older sister and Ross’s cousin, obviously. She’s married to Andrew, he’s really nice. He’s in the Navy so we don’t get to see him often. Beside him is Sam, who is training to be a minister and he’s getting married to our other friend, Emma, pretty soon. You know Demelza, and she’s married to Ross, for sins she committed in a past life,” he concluded with a smile.

Caroline sipped her drink through the two little black straws in her glass as she glanced around the table; everyone now engaged in pleasant conversation once again. “They seem nice.”

He smiled thoughtfully. “They are. You should talk to them,” he encouraged, “don’t be scared!”

“OK, I will,” she quipped, accepting his challenge. “Demelza,” she called across the table with confidence, causing everyone else’s conversations to halt, “is that your natural hair colour?”

Demelza twisted a long, copper curl nervously around her index finger. “Uh, yeah, why?”

“It’s amazing! Do you know how many people would die to have hair that colour in the fashion industry?”

Demelza jumped out of her chair and rushed over to give Caroline another hug. “Oh, thank you, Caroline!” She beamed at the pretty blonde. “Dwight, I love this woman! You can stay!” she told Caroline, patting her hand while making Sam move up so she could sit next to her new friend.

Dwight and Ross exchanged amused glances. “So, Ross, how’s work?”

Ross groaned, and sipped his whisky. “Shite, and you?”

“Shite,” Dwight agreed with a strained sigh.

“Nice.” They clinked their drinks together and took large gulps, illogically hoping that the burning sensations in their throats would somehow alleviate the stress of their respectable professions.

Demelza noticed this and sighed in sympathy. Caroline looked at her quizzically and so Demelza motioned to the two drinking men in front of them. “I think they’re both having a bad time at work right now. They’re both exhausted, you can tell, but they won’t ask for help or any time off. Ross works for Shell, and he’s pretty high up in the company,” she paused to smile proudly, “but as the oil industry is a little on the fence right now, he’s been having a hard time. And Dwight… Well, Dwight is just Dwight. His entire life is his job – and he’s worked hard for it – but I just wish he’d spend more time with other people, doing normal things. This is the first time he’s been out for about a month and last time he didn’t even drink because he was working a nightshift the next day! A nightshift!” She raised her arms in exasperation and Caroline laughed at her animation. It was clear that Demelza cared deeply for Dwight, as she no doubt cared for all her friends, thought Caroline. It would be nice to have a friend like her.

Caroline took another sip of her drink, finding – to her own surprise – that she liked it very much. “Yes, Dwight does work a lot. I hear him go to work every day, sometimes I see him leave or come in if I’m walking Horace.”

Demelza’s face lit up. “Is Horace your dog?”

Caroline smiled and immediately pulled out her phone to show Demelza a picture of him. “Yes, I love him so much. He’s my baby.”

“Awww,” cooed Demelza, also pulling out her phone from her handbag. “This is my dog Garrick, he’s getting old which makes me sad but he’s the sweetest dog in the world. This is him with my daughter Julia, she’s nearly three, I can’t believe it!”

“Oh, what a sweet photo! Horace doesn’t like children. Or people in general, really. He hates Dwight!” Caroline began to laugh as she recalled how Horace had growled every time Dwight had touched – or attempted to touch – him.

“Who hates me?” Dwight inquired, his ears turning hot at the mention of his name.

“My dog,” replied Caroline, her eyes dancing with mirth, “And me!” she added, her pink lips pursed cheekily.

Dwight chuckled quietly and took another gulp of his beer, which was now empty. “Aha, see, you clearly don’t hate me; if you did, you wouldn’t have come with me tonight.” He crossed his arms across his chest and smiled in victory at her.

Caroline flipped her hair over her shoulder and narrowed her eyes at him, resenting the implication that she was interested in him. “Goodness, are all men so odiously conceited, Dr Enys? Or is it just you?” Ross whooped at her comeback, thinking there was no way his shy friend could retaliate.

He smiled tightly before replying in a light tone: “Demelza, could you look in Caroline’s glass? I thought I asked the barman to put in some lime cordial, but it seems he put in the Oxford Dictionary of English instead.”

This time Ross whooped so loud the table beside theirs turned around to see what was going on; Ross slapped Dwight hard on the back and began to roar with laughter. “Oh-ho, Dwight! Good one, mate! I didn’t think you had it in you!”

“Neither did I,” Caroline commented as she continued to stare at him, her eyes still narrowed. Though Dwight thought she somehow looked… impressed?

Before he had time to contemplate this further, he started as he felt a hand on his left shoulder. “Hi, Dwight!” sang an absolutely inebriated Rosina, running her hand down his arm without hesitation.

Dwight’s cheeks instantly inflamed. “Uh, hi, Rosina,” he said quietly.

Caroline cleared her throat, waiting to be introduced to this pretty blonde, but Dwight took no notice of her as Rosina pulled up a chair beside him. “How’s your leg?” he asked her.

She pulled her dress further up her thigh as if he would somehow be able to see her cured knee ligaments better. “So much better! All thanks to you!” She placed an arm on his shoulder and smiled sweetly.

Dwight laughed uneasily and wished he hadn’t already finished his drink. “You’re welcome.”

The two of them then became engaged in light conversation, which Caroline watched with slightly narrowed eyes. Why wasn’t he paying attention to her? And who was Rosina? And why did she even care? Caroline went to take another drink from her glass but realised it was empty. Perhaps she could win Dwight’s attention over with a kind gesture. “How about we do some shots?” Caroline loudly asked the table, “My treat!” Everyone else agreed immediately and Caroline felt proud of her brilliant idea and went to order twenty-odd Jägerbombs.

A little over 3 hours later, Caroline began to think that her idea wasn’t so brilliant after all, as she sat crouched over the toilet, her sick everywhere except from the actual toilet bowl. Through the incessant ringing in her ears, she thought she could hear banging on the door behind her. It vaguely sounded like Demelza, but she could not make out what she was saying. Her face felt numb, as did her hands and the rest of her body, and the room span so violently she felt like she was on the teacup ride at the fair.

“Caroline! Are you alright? Can you open the door, please?” Demelza heard no reply and began to worry her bottom lip.

Verity came in then, looking for Demelza, very tipsy but not quite drunk. “My dear,” she said, placing her hand on Demelza’s shoulder, “Ross is looking for you. He told me to tell you that he loves you with all his heart and that he misses you and wants you to come back to your seat so he can admire you,” she snickered, “He is so sentimental when he’s–“

The worried look on the redhead’s face made Verity stop speaking. “Demelza? What is it?”

“It’s Caroline, she’s been sick, and now she’s not answerin’! I think I’m going to have to climb over the stall and get her. Will you hold my shoes?” Demelza did not wait for a reply and removed her black heels and placed them in Verity’s arms before climbing onto the toilet cistern and then over the cubicle wall. She landed with a thud but was unhurt. “Shit, she’s been sick everywhere. We’re going to have to take her home. Verity, will you go tell Dwight that we’re going to get Caroline a taxi?” Demelza called through the locked door of the bathroom stall.

“Yes, of course! I’ll just leave your shoes by the sink!” Verity replied, as she went off in search of Dwight.

Six minutes later, having waded her way through the various groups of people, Verity tapped Dwight on the shoulder. He turned to look at her, his eyes slightly glazed over. “Dwight, we’re going to walk Caroline to the taxi rank, she really needs to go home.”

Dwight’s neck craned past Verity, looking for Caroline, his pulse growing faster. “What? Where is she? Is she alright? And you can’t mean the one on Hilton Street? That’s far too dangerous for you guys at this time of night! I’ll take Caroline home, she is my neighbour after all.” He excused himself from Rosina’s company and went to find Caroline, but was halted in his search by one of Ruth Teague’s sisters as he tried to enter the ladies’ toilet.

“Eh, what do you think you’re doing? This is the girls’ toilets; the men’s is over there!” She pointed behind him and crossed her arms in feminist defiance.

Dwight sighed and danced impatiently on the spot. “Look, Tracey, I’m not a creep, you know I’m not a creep.” Weird start, Enys. “I’m just looking for my friend Caroline, is she in there?”

Tracey snorted: “Is she the gorgeous blonde who’s spewed all over one of the cubicles? I think Demelza is looking after her, pretty sure she’s slumped on the floor.”

Oh, fuck. Not good. He would have to pull out the ‘I am a doctor’ card. He willed himself not to slur and said, in his best professional tone: “Yep, that’s her. Could you please let me by? I need to make sure she doesn’t have alcohol poisoning.”

Tracey, mercifully, stood aside and let him enter without another word. Sure enough, Caroline was slumped on the floor, Demelza’s arm around her, trying to coax her into drinking some water.

Demelza breathed a sigh of relief as soon she saw Dwight. “Oh, Dwight! Thank God! Caroline is fucked, I think she’s asleep.”

“I’m… not… asleep…,” mumbled Caroline against Demelza’s shoulder. “I want my bed,” she moaned. “Want my bed.”

Dwight kneeled in front of them on the floor next to the sinks, his jeans becoming wet. Considering the amount of stick men get for being unhygienic, Dwight would wager that the ladies’ toilets were far more disgusting than the men’s. “Caroline? Can you hear me? Do you want me to take you home?”

Caroline made an effort to lift her head, though it felt very heavy. A handsome man’s blurry features can into her view. “Dwight?” she asked weakly. “Yes… please take me home.”

With the combined strength of Dwight and Demelza, they managed to get Caroline on her feet and walking – or rather, stumbling. Their arms were wrapped around her back, holding her up. As they exited the toilet and entered the bar area again, they were met by Rosina. “Oh, Dwight! There you are!” she smiled and ran her fingers through her curly hair. “Elizabeth said you’d gone to find Caroline and take her home. Could you drop me off, too?” She fluttered her eyelashes at him.

“I think we’re going to walk, it will be a nightmare trying to get a taxi at this hour,” he deflected calmly.

His deflection was unsuccessful. “Oh, that’s fine! I only live about 5 minutes away anyways! I’ll just grab my coat.”

Dwight sighed and carefully let go of Caroline, leaning her on Demelza. “I’ll go grab our jackets, too, Dem, one second.”

He returned to their table to find Ross and Francis preaching about the disarray of the government – Verity, Andrew and Sam all ready to leave. Elizabeth was asleep on George, who did not seem to mind one bit. Dwight grabbed his and Caroline’s coats and tried to sneak away without being noticed.

Sam ruined his plan. “Dwight! Do you want a lift, mate?” Everyone looked at him expectantly, except Elizabeth, who snored quietly in the corner.

“No, thanks, Sam. I have to walk Rosina and Caroline home.”

Francis’s mouth fell open before an amused smile stretched across his face. “Rosina and Caroline? My, my, my friend! This is a change!” He raised a suggestive eyebrow.

Before Dwight could tell him to fuck off, Ross grasped his best friend’s hand. “I’m so proud, Dwight,” he slurred, wiping away a mock tear of pride. Everyone else laughed.

“Fuck you all,” Dwight sang, releasing himself from Ross’s grip and making to leave, “Goodnight, dickheads. Love you.”

A chorus of affection rang out as he left the table, shaking his head and smiling. They were the closest thing he had to a family and he loved them all dearly, even if he did – occasionally – want to hit them.

When he returned to where Demelza and Caroline were standing, he was pleased to see that Caroline was finally drinking the water Demelza had been trying to feed her for the past 15 minutes. “This is her third glass of water,” Demelza told Dwight, “she said she was thirsty and hasn’t stopped drinking since you left.”

Dwight smiled slightly. “That’s good. Feeling any better, Caroline?”

She nodded slightly and continued to glug the cooling elixir of life until the glass was empty. “A bit. Can we go home now?” She pouted prettily at him and Dwight could not help but think how much she looked like Horace in that moment.

“Yes, we’re going. We’re just waiting for Rosina.”

“Rosina?” Was all Caroline could say. She refrained from commenting further.

“Yes?” Rosina asked as she appeared behind Dwight, wearing a pretty pink and white gingham coat.

He started when she spoke from behind him. “Nothing. I was just explaining to Caroline that we were waiting for you.” He then turned to Demelza and kissed her on the cheek as he enveloped her in a hug, “Bye, Dem! Give Julia a kiss from me.”

She held her friend tightly. “I will! Bye Dwight. Come over for dinner next Sunday and see her if you’re free, she misses you!”

“That’s perfect, I’m off next Sunday. I’d love to.”

While the two best friends said their goodbyes, the two blondes had engaged in a stare off, which Caroline lost when Demelza bid her goodbye and gave her a friendly hug.

Several minutes later, Dwight, Caroline and Rosina made their way through the dimly lit streets of Cornwall, the old brick townhouses appearing slightly menacing in the dark. Their breaths came out in icy puffs and Caroline shivered, wishing she had worn her wool coat instead. The stars above them glistened steadfastly, and a crescent moon cast some semblance of light as they made their way down a narrow side street to Rosina’s flat. Her flat was luckily one of the first few, though only accessible by a daunting number of steps. Caroline almost whimpered at the sight.

“Caroline, you stay here. I’ll just walk Rosina to her door and then we can go home.” Dwight quickly made his way up the steps, Rosina on his arm, and Caroline sat down heavily on a concrete step. So, he was really going to leave her here, drunk and out in the cold, while he shagged Rosina. She couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t believe she thought that he was a gentleman, a true gentleman, not like the actual gentleman she had met, who were all ridiculously arrogant and pompous. A hand on her shoulder nearly ceased the function of her heart. She gasped out loud.

“Ready to go?” Dwight asked. Feeling her jump, he frowned at her. “Caroline? Is something wrong?”

She pulled herself up by the carefully crafted railing. “Oh, no. It’s just… that was quick!”

He frowned at her, again. “I said I was just going to walk her to her door,” he laughed slightly, and offered Caroline his arm.

She took it and walked down the three steps. “Oh, yeah. Of course.”

It took them ten minutes to walk back to their apartment building, and they did so in silence, both lost in their own drunken thoughts.

Caroline made to fetch her keys from her small handbag, realising she had left it in the toilet of the pub. Her heart rate quickened. “Oh, shit! I left my bag at the pub!” She stared at Dwight in panic.

He pulled out his own keys and opened the entrance door. “Don’t worry, no one will steal it. You can get it tomorrow.” He held the door open for her and she stumbled inside, holding the wall until she reached the stairs, where she then hung onto the railing. They began their way up the staircase to their landing.

“No, but it’s got my keys in it!” she whined. She then clutched her chest, and swallowed, before beginning to pant. “Dwight, I think I’m going to be sick again. I hate being sick. I don’t want to be sick again,” she whimpered in a mumble, pushing her blonde curls out of her face.

“Ok, it’s alright. You can just stay at mine tonight,” he tried to say casually, “and we can go and get your bag tomorrow. It’s way too late and cold to go all the way back to the pub, and it’ll probably be shut now anyways. That is, if you don’t mind staying over.” He was glad he was two steps in front of her now because his cheeks burned furiously. He recognised the implications of his offer but at that particular moment, his only concern was that she would choke on her sick or something.

Caroline considered his offer for a minute. “No, I don’t mind. Thank you,” she said gently, before clearing her throat and raising an eyebrow at him. “Did you not want to go back to Rosina’s or something, though?” She managed to slur this remarkably innocently considering the bitter jealousy that stirred within her, which she convinced herself was merely the cheap vodka swirling around her unprepared stomach.

Dwight laughed a little and shook his head as he searched for his keys for the one to his flat, which he had still not colour coded. “No. Rosina is a lovely girl, but I think she’d be lovely for someone else,” he said thoughtfully, a gentle smile on his face. Caroline’s intoxicated state meant that she could not smother a grin at this news. As Dwight fell asleep that night, he convinced himself that he had imagined her reaction. The door to his flat finally opened, he entered, immediately turned on the light and unbuttoned his coat. He was quickly followed by Caroline, whose white heel caught on the door frame. She swore and stumbled clumsily, before falling right into Dwight’s arms.

[cineriia]

The evens B)

oh HELL YEAH 

2. do you prefer spending your holidays in your country or travel abroad? 

never been abroad so i just automatically prefer staying in scotland, i wanna go up into the highlands this summer tho

4. favourite dish specific for your country?

STOVIES please if u ever come to scotland just ignore the haggis go straight for the fucking stovies or even just neeps and tatties those r so good as a side for scotch pies MMMMMMM

6. most hated song in your native language?

its a love hate thing

8. do you get confused with other nationalities? if so, which ones and by whom?

i still have friends think im irish, a lot of people think i just have a really weird english accent (idk either) and a couple people have thought i was australian......idk man

10. most enjoyable swear word in your native language?

bawbag

12. what do you think about English translations of your favourite native prose/poem?

OH DONT GET ME STARTED like listen if i hear someone sing auld lang syne OR EVEN FLOWER OF SCOTLAND without the pronunciation or if someone tries to “””translate””” any robert burns poems then im gonna be dead inside even more than i already am 

14. do you enjoy your country’s cinema and/or TV?

our movies are complete shit (except trainspotting which is a cinematic masterpiece) but our tv shows r fuckign hilarious i love them go watch still game

16. which stereotype about your country you hate the most and which one you somewhat agree with?

theres a lot.......admittedly our stereotypes are more annoying that harmful to how people see us but if i get one more person asking me if i have a kilt and bagpipes im gonna scream

idk about ones i agree with.....a lot of people see us as aggressive and i can agree BUT only partly...........like we’re aggressive when we fight for something we believe in, not in a physical bar fight kinda way if that makes sense???

18. do you speak with a dialect of your native language?

yea i speak lowland(?) scots (tho a lot of people dont class it as anything other than regional slang)

20. which sport is The Sport in your country?

football probably, our national team is terrible but we still like to give it a go n just have a laugh (but we take our games against england very seriously...........last time they had a game n we scored i deadass heard my entire street start cheering)

22. what makes you proud about your country? what makes you ashamed?

im a very proud person when it comes to my country......but we do like to play the victim too much, yknow??? like im proud that we stood against people who literally wanted to wipe us out and we fought for what we believed in in the past, and modern day we’re working towards making scotland a much more accepting and welcoming country.

BUT as much as we like to play the accepting and lovely scots that we want to be, we’re fucking dickheads like just 1 of many examples in our history look up the highland clearances that was literally scots vs scots and then modern day??? i cant speak for other areas but where i live its fucking full of racist pricks who still feel the need to get angry if they see something they dont like or dont accept 

idk the scottish media likes to portray us as a sweet and beautiful country and sure some areas are absolutely lovely and are full of welcoming and accepting people, but they always seem to avoid showing the more poverty stricken areas where harmful attitudes are too common???? the lower class just gets brushed to the side in favour of showing all these trendy areas in edinburgh or glasgow or hell even the city center in dundee where i live its just annoying

24. what other nation is joked about most often in your country?

we take the absolute piss out of america and england, then i feel like we have a mutual piss taking contest w ireland

26. does your nationality get portrayed in Hollywood/American media? what do you think about the portrayal?

not really?? the few scottish actors in hollywood end up changing their accent to fit in w the movie (james mcavoy in xmen, karen gillan in the mcu are the first i think of) and then we always get shown as the drunk comic relief who usually dies early on 

28. does your country have a lot of lakes, mountains, rivers? do you have favourites?

do i even need to answer this scotlands like 99% mountains lakes and rivers 

30. do you have people of different nationalities in your family?

not that i know of, i mean theres probably some irish relatives that we dont know about but thats probably it lmao

so can u tell i love being scottish