#being good at things means you don't need help or to be taught certain things like *how* to learn

[girlbob-boypants]

"it's weird growing up being told you're just naturally smart and then being told it's a moral failing that you're getting bad grades when you stop being able to memorize stuff cause the complexity went up"

[bredforloyalty]

ok going back soon to the regularly scheduled posting. nothing changed it's just that the sun is up and i feel braver being a girlwreck so we're back to that not so sweet spot where i just don't care. just don't care. so what if i don't hand in anything or hand it in a week later and get a bad mark and have to apologize profusely and everyone's disappointed and they think i'll never amount to anything. what about it. what are they gonna do, kill me? better make it count. better make it hurt. because otherwise, well i do not care

[fursasaida]

Hi! Just wanted to ask. How can I give my students assignments that are chat-gpt proof? Or that they won't just copy the answer without at least doing some editing?

Hi! So, I don't think anything is ChatGPT-proof. You fundamentally cannot stop people from using it to take a shortcut. You can't even stop them from copying the answer without editing it. However, I think you can work with this reality. So, you can do three things:

Don't be a cop about it.

If you make your objective "stop the children from using the thing to cheat," you are focusing on the wrong thing. You will be constantly scrutinizing every submission with suspicion, you will be accusing people of cheating--and some of them will not have cheated, and they will remember this forever--and you will be aiming at enforcement (which is trying to hold back the sea) instead of on inviting and supporting learning whenever and wherever possible. (I'll come back to this under item 2.)

Regarding why enforcement is holding back the sea: It is fundamentally rational for them to do this. We, who "love learning" (i.e. are good at what our academic system sees as learning, for various reasons have built our lives around that, happen to enjoy these activities), see everything they might cheat themselves of by doing it, because we know what we got out of doing this type of work. Many students, however--especially at the kind of school I teach at--are there to get the piece of paper that might, if they're lucky, allow them access to a relatively livable and stable income. The things that are wrong with this fact are structural and nothing to do with students' failings as people, or (tfuh) laziness, or whatever. We cannot make this not true (we can certainly try to push against it in certain ways, but that only goes so far). More pragmatically, chatgpt and similar are going to keep getting better, and detecting them is going to get harder, and your relationships with your students will be further and further damaged as you are forced to hound them more, suspect them more, falsely accuse more people, while also looking like an idiot because plenty of them will get away with it. A productive classroom requires trust. The trust goes both ways. Being a cop about this will destroy it in both directions.

So the first thing you have to do is really, truly accept that some of them are going to use it and you are not always going to know when they do. And when I say accept this, I mean you actually need to be ok with it. I find it helps to remember that the fact that a bot can produce writing to a standard that makes teachers worry means we have been teaching people to be shitty writers. I don't know that so much is lost if we devalue the 5-paragraph SAT essay and its brethren.

So the reason my policy is to say it's ok to use chatgpt or similar as long as you tell me so and give me some thinking about what you got from using it is that a) I am dropping the charade that we don't all know what's going on and thereby making it (pedagogical term) chill; b) I am modeling/suggesting that if you use it, it's a good idea to be critical about what it tells you (which I desperately want everyone to know in general, not just my students in a classroom); c) I am providing an invitation to learn from using chatgpt, rather than avoid learning by using it. Plenty of them won't take me up on that. That's fine (see item 3 below).

So ok, we have at least established the goal of coming at it from acceptance. Then what do you do at that point?

Think about what is unique to your class and your students and build assignments around that.

Assignments, of course, don't have to be simply "what did Author mean by Term" or "list the significant thingies." A prof I used to TA under gave students the option of interviewing a family member or friend about their experiences with public housing in the week we taught public housing. Someone I know who teaches a college biology class has an illustration-based assignment to draw in the artsier students who are in her class against their will. I used to have an extra-credit question that asked them to pick anything in the city that they thought might be some kind of clue about the past in that place, do some research about it, and tell me what they found out and how. (And that's how I learned how Canal St. got its name! Learning something you didn't know from a student's work is one of the greatest feelings there is.) One prompt I intend to use in this class will be something to the effect of, "Do you own anything--a t-shirt, a mug, a phone case--that has the outline of your city, state, or country on it? Why? How did you get it, and what does having this item with this symbol on it mean to you? Whether you personally have one or not, why do you think so many people own items like this?" (This is for political geography week, if anyone's wondering.)

These are all things that target students' personal interests and capabilities, the environments they live in, and their relationships within their communities. Chatgpt can fake that stuff, but not very well. My advisor intends to use prompts that refer directly to things he said in class or conversations that were had in class, rather than to a given reading, in hopes that that will also make it harder for chatgpt to fake well because it won't have the context. The more your class is designed around the specific institution you teach at and student body you serve, the easier that is to do. (Obviously, how possible that is is going to vary based on what you're teaching. When I taught Urban Studies using the city we all lived in as the example all through the semester, it was so easy to make everything very tailored to the students I had in that class that semester. That's not the same--or it doesn't work the same way--if you're teaching Shakespeare. But I know someone who performs monologues from the plays in class and has his students direct him and give him notes as a way of drawing them into the speech and its niceties of meaning. Chatgpt is never going to know what stage directions were given in that room. There are possibilities.) This is all, I guess, a long way of saying that you'll have a better time constructing assignments chatgpt will be bad at if you view your class as a particular situation, occurring only once (these people, this year), which is a situation that has the purpose of encouraging thought--rather than as an information-transfer mechanism. Of course information transfer happens, but that is not what I and my students are doing together here.

Now, they absolutely can plug this type of prompt into chatgpt. I've tried it myself. I asked it to give me a personal essay about the political geography prompt and a critical personal essay about the same thing. (I recommend doing this with your own prospective assignments! See what they'd get and whether it's something you'd grade highly. If it is, then change either the goal of the assignment or at least the prompt.) Both of them were decent if you are grading the miserable 5-paragraph essay. Both of them were garbage if you are looking for evidence of a person turning their attention for the first time to something they have taken for granted all their lives. Chatgpt has neither personality nor experiences, so it makes incredibly vague, general statements in the first person that are dull as dishwater and simply do not engage with what the prompt is really asking for. I already graded on "tell me what you think of this/how this relates to your life" in addition to "did you understand the reading," because what I care about is whether they're thinking. So students absolutely can and will plug that prompt into chatgpt and simply c/p the output. They just won't get high marks for it.

If they're fine with not getting high marks, then okay. For a lot of them this is an elective they're taking essentially at random to get that piece of paper; I'm not gonna knock the hustle, and (see item 1) I couldn't stop them if I wanted to. What I can do is try to make class time engaging, build relationships with them that make them feel good about telling me their thoughts, and present them with a variety of assignments that create opportunities for different strengths, points of interest, and ways into the material, in hopes of hooking as many different people in as many different ways as I can.

This brings me back to what I said about inviting learning. Because I have never yet in my life taught a course that was for people majoring in the subject, I long ago accepted that I cannot get everyone to engage with every concept, subject, or idea (or even most of them). All I can do is invite them to get interested in the thing at hand in every class, in every assignment, in every choice of reading, in every question I ask them. How frequently each person accepts these invitations (and which ones) is going to vary hugely. But I also accept that people often need to be invited more than once, and even if they don't want to go through the door I'm holding open for them right now, the fact that they were invited this time might make it more likely for them to go through it the next time it comes up, or the time after that. I'll never know what will come of all of these invitations, and that's great, actually. I don't want to make them care about everything I care about, or know everything I know. All I want is to offer them new ways to be curious.

Therefore: if they use chatgpt to refuse an invitation this week, fine. That would probably have happened anyway in a lot of cases even without chatgpt. But, just as before, I can snag some of those people's attention on one part of this module in class tomorrow. Some of them I'll get next time with a different type of assignment. Some of them I'll hook for a moment with a joke. I don't take the times that doesn't happen as failures. But the times that it does are all wins that are not diminished by the times it doesn't.

Actually try to think of ways to use chatgpt to promote learning.

I DREAM of the day I'm teaching something where it makes sense to have students edit an AI-written text. Editing is an incredible way to get better at writing. I could generate one in class and we could do it all together. I could give them a prompt, ask them to feed it into chatgpt, and ask them to turn in both what they got and some notes on how they think it could be better. I could give them a pretty traditional "In Text, Author says Thing. What did Author mean by that?" prompt, have them get an answer from chatgpt, and then ask them to fact-check it. Etc. All of these get them thinking about written communication and, incidentally, demonstrate the tool's limitations.

I'm sure there are and will be tons of much more creative ideas for how to incorporate chatgpt rather than fight it. (Once upon a time, the idea of letting students use calculators in math class was also scandalous to many teachers.) I have some geography-specific ideas for how to use image generation as well. When it comes specifically to teaching, I think it's a waste of time for us to be handwringing instead of applying ourselves to this question. I am well aware of the political and ethical problems with chatgpt, and that's something to discuss with, probably, more advanced students in a seminar setting. But we won't (per item 1) get very far simply insisting that Thing Bad and Thing Stupid. So how do we use it to invite learning? That's the question I'm interested in.

Finally, because tangential to your question: I think there's nothing wrong with bringing back more in-class writing and even oral exams (along with take-home assignments that appeal to strengths and interests other than expository writing as mentioned above). These assessments play to different strengths than written take-homes. For some students, that means they'll be harder or scarier; by the same token, for other students they'll be easier and more confidence-building. (Plus, "being able to think on your feet" is also a very good ~real-world skill~ to teach.) In the spirit of trying to offer as many ways in as possible, I think that kind of diversification in assignments is a perfectly good idea.

[lanawinterscigarettes]

hi aeron!! how are you sweetheart?? soo (for kinktober) could you do likee grinding with jen check x f!reader??

I'm doing great! I'm really excited getting everything ready for kinktober hehe

absolutely I can! you're the first person to request for kinktober 🥰 hope you like it!

Kinktober 2024 Day 1: grinding with Jennifer Check x fem reader

Warnings: smut/nsfw content, grinding/clothed sex, the reader is mentioned to be pretty inexperienced (Jen obviously is not so she helps them through it), bottom soft dom Jen + top kinda subby reader, slight overstimulation (reader receiving), Jen is probably a bit out of character because I wrote her as being more gentle and sweet instead of snarky and mean (I regret nothing)

Jennifer was such a good friend, always teaching you new things. She taught you how to perfectly paint your nails, she taught you what facemasks and skincare products gave you the softest skin, and now she was teaching you how to get off with another person in a way that didn't involve making a huge mess.

Her arms were wrapped around your neck as she laid underneath you, her head tilted back to expose the delicate skin of her neck to you. The sight alone was enough to get you wet, and that was even without the intense makeout session you'd had a mere few minutes beforehand.

"Just like that, baby, there you go," she gently coaxed you into grinding down against her, your movements a little out of sync as this was your first time doing something like this.

"I- I don't think I'm very good at this," you admitted in a shaky tone as you hid your face in the crook of her neck, pressing the occasional sweet kiss to the area. It was hard for you to think properly when your underwear was soaked.

"You're doing fine. You just need to relax a little, okay?" Her words dripped into your ears like fresh honey, and you nodded your head in understanding, trying to relax your body so you wouldn't feel so stiff moving against her.

"O- Okay," you mumble while trying to find a rhythym to the way you were rolling your hips into hers, hoping you were doing a good job. You weren't sure how much she could feel through the layers of fabric from the clothes you were both still wearing, and you wanted this to be good for her, too. "Like- like this?"

The soft moan that was drawn from her mouth a moment later was confirmation that you were doing at least a somewhat decent job, her legs spreading apart a bit more from muscle memory. "Mm, yes, baby, just like that-"

Her nails dug into your back through your shirt as she clung to you, and you felt her body arch upwards in a desperate attempt for more contact. Your hands gripped onto the bedsheets beneath you, unable to stop the few whimpers that escaped when you felt your throbbing clit brush against the tight material of your jeans, the perfect combination of both too much friction and delicious relief.

"J- Jen, I- I don't know if I can take this anymore-" You admitted in a shaky voice, the needy thrusts you were giving her clothed heat starting to become sloppy. You were fairly certain you'd already reached your peak a couple of minutes ago, but you were determined to ignore the jolts of overstimulation that were currently wracking your body.

"I know you are, it's okay." Hearing her sultry tone and feeling her hot breath against the side of your face was definitely not helping matters.

Shaking your head, you kept going despite starting to feel the muscles in your thighs cramp. "N- No, I- I wanna make you feel good, too..." Your voice died down as you started to lose your breath, choosing to focus less on speaking and more on her. Her pleasure, her sounds, her body- it was all about Jennifer in that moment.

Usually she would be all for having someone put all their energy into pleasing her, into making her feel good while completely ignoring their own pleasure, but if there was one person she couldn't stand to see overexerting themself it was you.

"Honey, I know you want to make me feel good, but you're going to end up collapsing on top of me if you keep going," she murmured lovingly, leaning up to pepper gentle kisses along your jawline as she spoke. "You can stop if you want to, it's okay."

"Are- are you sure?" You looked down at her, searching her face for a sign of confirmation that it was truly okay for you to stop.

"Yeah, I'm sure." She moved her hands down to your hips in an effort to stop your movements, knowing you were going to keep going if she didn't properly intervene. You could still feel your arousal pooling between your legs, quite certain it had started to leak through into your jeans by now.

"If you insist," you muttered as you let go of where you'd been gripping onto the sheets, carefully rolling off her and onto your back. "I- I just didn't want to leave you hanging. I'm sorry."

"It's okay, baby, I promise," she reassured you in a low and soothing voice, leaning in to give your cheek an affectionate kiss. "I knew you'd get overwhelmed pretty easily since you've never done this before. It's alright."

You let out a quiet sigh of relief at her words, nodding your head. "Thank you for being so understanding. I love you."

She smiled while kissing you again, on the lips this time. "Love you, too."

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[furiousgoldfish]

One thing that helped me to stop seeking for approval of others, was realizing how people utilize approval for their own benefit.

There isn't an all-approved system of who gets the approval, and who doesn't, according to all humanity; people are selective with their approval, and a lot of people will give you approval only and specifically if your actions benefit them personally. For instance, your neighbour will approve if you do chores for them, if you spend your time taking care of their needs, if you give them emotional support, and never ask for anything. Because that's their agenda, right, having others do things for them, in return for, well, possibly nothing. Most people will be approving if you're directly benefiting them, and disapprove if you do anything that inconveniences them, or clashes with their beliefs or traditions.

Some of conservative people save their approval only for those who fit the narrow definition of how they believe people should be; and there's not any space for diversity. You can't be openly mentally ill, or homosexual, or nonconforming to traditional roles of what people should be and do. Sometimes you also have to be a certain race and nationality, or even a certain gender to be approved of; it's not something you have any control over, not something you can do to deserve to be good enough in their eyes. And if you don't happen to fall into the small group of people who check those boxes, you better put your head down and shut up about anything you think or feel, because these people don't believe you should have a voice. So there's no sense in seeking their approval, they should be categorized as enemies. But sometimes these people are your parents, so you're naturally inclined to want their approval despite it being both bad for you, and unreachable.

Then there's also rigorously religious people, who save their approval only for the agenda of the religion; you can have the approval if you're following their religion in the way they feel is 'correct', or if you're willing to convert. Anything else, you're disapproved of, you're sorted into the box of 'sinners'. Sometimes these people are in a religious cult, and want you to join. Sometimes their judgment comes from what they've been taught by leaders who only had their own benefit in mind.

Predators will have endless approval for you, as long as you're willing to be violated by them whenever they feel like they can get away with it. Especially devastating for children who don't yet realize they're being violated at all, and who'll do anything for a bit of that approval.

I've met people who approved of me for the things I least liked about myself, and had the least control of; my politeness, my eagerness to fawn and please them, my fear of disappointing them, my silence when I wasn't feeling okay. I would be disapproved as soon as I tried to breach out; if I spoke out my feelings, disapproval, if I attempted to prioritize my own needs, disapproval. It's an easy way to control a person who is sensitive to rejection and perceives disapproval as rejection. It means causing pain to someone when they don't do as you wish.

And the thing is when you're abused and starved for approval, sometimes you're ready to fit other people's agenda just to get a little glimpse of it. You're ready to please people endlessly, maybe to join a religion or a political group, you're ready to believe their ideals, tolerate a predator or an abuser, because then they'll smile at you, tell you that you're doing good, praise you, make you feel like you belong for a second. Sometimes we're not even aware we're doing so much for just so little, and we're not aware that the ideals we're following are not in our benefit, are not something we should support at all. That we'll come out on the other side traumatized, with them not being affected at all, or caring about the mountains of effort and sacrifice we put into that relationship.

One thing that is almost never approved in society is being open about things people don't want to think about, or talk about. What happens in abusive families, what is done to children who are left alone with sadistic, manipulative adults who believe they have the right to hurt and control any child they had, how often are children exposed to pedophiles or even sexually abused by their own family members, what are the consequences of that for the child, what difficulties they face later in life. There's nothing bad in discussing this; in fact, having it out in the open gives people a chance to condemn child abuse, to turn against child abusers and predators, to predict where future abuse could occur and prevent it, to help children be more safe. But it's uncomfortable to accept the problem of abuse in their own community, so people will disapprove anyone even attempting it.

The system of approval is not universal, you'll have people approve and disapprove different things on you regardless of what you do and how you do it, but if you think about why they're doing it, it becomes clear what their agenda and intentions are. They're trying to build a world where they want to live in, (or keep up an illusion of it) and sometimes, it's not a world that you want to live in. These are not people who know how it is to be you, or how much it takes to live your life. They don't know or understand what you've been trough, they're looking at you only in the manner of how they could shape you to be what they want. Their approval is not for your own benefit. It's for theirs.

So you can do it to them too. You can decide what is good and what isn't, because you have an understanding of your own life, better than anyone else has, and you can see what in the world you want, and what your own agenda is. You can disapprove of people who try to stand in your way, or who would keep you in pain and silence just to have their illusions untouched. You can tell them you have no interest in helping their agenda because it only furthers the amount of suffering on earth.

And if they act like your opinion doesn't have a value, or you 'haven't lived long enough to have a correct opinion', then they'll never hold you on equal ground. Notice they never come up with that stuff when your opinion is the same as theirs, only when it differs, then you're not smart enough to speak. It's senseless to argue with people who look down on you for speaking out, without ever engaging with your argument, without being willing to see things from your perspective for even a second, especially after you've indulged with theirs. Them looking down on you doesn't mean you're wrong. It means they're not willing to hear you out.

Once you establish your own values and morals that you want to pursue, you can live your life according to them, and then you can approve of yourself. If you know what traits are important to you, and you have them, and you live according to them, you can evaluate yourself, and figure that you're okay. Other people can disagree, but without a significant insight in your life, your goals and your struggles, their opinions hold no weight. It's likely their disapproval comes from you not fitting perfectly into their agenda, rather than you failing at anything personally. You can decide you're good enough. Your evaluation is more important than theirs.

[zerokurokawa]

Daughter From Another Lifetime, Part Two (Bonten!Rindou x Reader)

(part one)

After the conversation with his you, the mother of his child, Rindou did everything he could to make up seventeen years worth of lost time with his daughter. He picked her up from school in his nice car, took her out to eat, took her shopping, and even taught her how to drive like a father should. Other than spending time with d/n, he had other things on his agenda was well. 

He couldn't help but to notice how great you looked to be in your early thirties. Both of you looked amazing. You, with your e/c, h/c and h/l, and overall beautiful physique, were as stunning as the day he had met you. Truth be told, he had never fallen out of love with you and thought of you often. He craved you, needed, and wanted you. Hell, he even thought to himself about having a second child with you if it wasn't too late. He enjoyed being a father after all. 

One night, after taking d/n out to eat, he brought her home on time as promised. You and Rindou had a set schedule when it came to your daughter. He would pick her up from school, take her out on certain days, and drop her back off at home before or at nine. Only this time, Rindou had invited himself inside to talk more. 

As d/n went to her room, he sat himself at the counter once more, making himself at home in your humble apartment. 

"I think I should buy you a house." He stated, out of the blue. 

"I don't need your help with that, I've got plenty in savings and we're doing just fine here." You sounded cold. 

"It would be my gift to you, y/n... I want you to live comfortably and never have to work again." He said, taking a sip of the wine you had poured him. He was still wearing his suit, which was neatly pressed, from work. His lilac and purple hair cascaded down his shoulders as he watched you intently. 

"You would really go that far, huh?" You were leaning against the counter now, cleavage out. He was obviously trying not to stare, but what could a man do? He wanted you, badly. He wanted you back so bad that he even told his brother about your return and the fact that he was a father. Needless to say, Ran was surprised that he was an uncle and couldn't wait to meet his niece. 

"Yeah, I would. I would do anything for you both." He said, leaning in across the counter and propping his arms on the edge. He wanted to get closer to you, but the damn counter was in the way as you were standing opposite of him. You stayed silent while he spoke up again. 

"I want you both to live happily, without worry. I've kept my promise by putting her first. I've been leaving work early and picking her up. I've spent time with her. I've gotten to know her likes and dislikes and she's just like me!" He rambled, a wide grin creeping upon his face. He was trying to win you back. 

"I'm glad, Rindou." You smiled at the thought of your daughter finally having her father in her life. You had seen how happy it made d/n to be around her dad. She even came home one day and told you all about the awesome shopping trip he took her on and how she got everything she ever dreamed of, including the newest iPhone. 

"So why don't you give me a chance to prove myself even further?" He smiled, taking his hand and placing on top of yours. He got up from the counter and walked around to where you were standing. He towered over you, his eyes gazing into yours. 

"What do you mean?" You asked, tilting your head to the side. You wanted him, but not all that he came with. You knew he was in a very illegal, dangerous line of work and you didn't want that to affect your relationship any further than it already has. You caught yourself thinking about the Tenjiku days and how often Rindou would come home with wads of money from seemingly nowhere. That's when you knew he was up to no good. 

"I mean... me and you. Let's give us another chance." He started to wrap his arm around your waist. You let him, for a split moment, as you were lost in his gaze. The next thing you knew, you two were inches apart and he was leaning in further. Right when he was about to kiss you, or so you thought, he tilted his head while brushing back a piece of hair behind your ear. 

"I think... we can make it work this time." He whispered gently into your ear, his breath grazing your skin, causing you to shiver. You stayed silent; lost in a daze of confusion and thoughts as he leaned back, arm still wrapped around your waist. 

"I need time to think about this, Rin..." You trailed off. You wanted him, badly. You were scared though. You were terrified of numerous things. What if he brings work home and someone comes after you and your daughter? What if he gets caught and gets sentenced to prison? What if... he gets killed? 

He backed away, trying not to upset you. He could see the look on your face. As he turned to leave, he asked one more question. 

"Promise me, you'll think about it?" 

You nodded your head in response, still in a daze of thinking. He left without a single word. 

(Tagging: @rukiasluver @merrymerrykiss @burndownyourparade) <333 <333 <333

[writingforatwistedworld]

just thought of something random — shower thoughts. So, you know how even if you score 0 on twistunes it still counts as “clearing it”? Imagine you doing that with a self aware au. to make it funny, how about riddle, Vil, and Sebek

Self-aware au

I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, self-destructive behavior, violence, abusive behavior, unhealthy lifestyle, murder, religion, obsessive themes

Riddle Rosehearts/Vil Schoenheit/Sebek Zigvolt-Scoring 0 whilst playing Twistunes

Here you are, our (perhaps) determined twistunes player, usually (or maybe not) trying your best

And that is fine and dandy and lalala happy happy

The TWST cast, however, doesn't see the twistunes as rhythm mini games though

For them, you are guiding them in some sort of task, not hearing the huge orchestra that appeared out of nowhere

There is always your guiding hand, reassuring that things go right even when a certain feline (*cough* not looking at you Grim*cough*) decides to act all high and mighty

Until, one day, there you are not helping anymore

Another splendid day to do your most splendid bidding... in the form of baking a cake

Yeah, I know, what daunting task you have layed upon him!

But he know he doesn't need to worry. After all, you are there to help him (not like his magic could do that for him in one second I mean come on there has to be a spell to crack some eggs and spill some milk ISN'T SLEEPING BEAUTY CANON OVER THERE??!)

He picks up the whisk... and nothing

Ok... maybe you just weren't looking! So he puts it down and then picks it up again

Nothing… Aren't you funny! Messing with him like that… (No pls help he is dying on the inside has he broken a rule? He followed rule 199 perfectly, wear blue if you need to whisk eggs)

One second later and he is panicking

This is a test, right?

If you could look through the coding on the other side you would see a panicking riddle who is this close to setting the kitchen on fire

At least that is the case until Trey finally steps in and decides to help his childhood friend out

After everything is finally over, Riddle is panicking

He has lost your favor, you didn't help him with this mighty task: shoving dough into an oven

Riddle will without any question learn how to bake cakes

Heartslabyul will eat salty snacks after dinner for a while but ok, unlike other things Riddle has done in your name this is rather tame

That does not mean he is kind to himself though

He will deprive himself of anything that makes him happy. Whether that is cake or his precious time with his friends

Sooner than later he is once more the red tyrant on his throne, “chopping” heads off all the time once more.

But everything but imperfection for you

Vil was just practicing dancing for that competition again

He took great pride in being guided by you

After all, who could say they were being taught dancing by the personification of perfection itself? (Although he was surprised that you knew modern dances, most of the time you were pictured in more traditional and old-fashioned settings)

Until suddenly you didn't guide him anymore

And thus, the floor and Vils face became very good acquaintances (You could hear Rook screaming from somewhere "Pas le visage!")

On that day Vil learned that your guidance had one up and downside

The up was, he always danced perfectly. The down, he forgot how to do it on his own

Now, we are talking about mister I-have-at-least-500-Thaumarks-on-my-face-in-makeup

So of course he is going overboard immediately

"Oh how nice, Vil Schoenheit is practicing"- No. This guy has gotten a warning from his doctor that he needs to stop because otherwise his legs could sustain damage from so much training

Epel? Well Epel is living in hell right now. Poor little apple gets the full brunt of his frustration

Overall, Vil gets toxic, and I don't mean just toxic but toxic toxic, but what about his more private life?

Well, he is just miserable, and horrible to himself, but most of all miserable

He turns back to his self before his overblot, being unnervingly perfect, having absolutely no chill when it's about being his best self

But there has to be a reason why you have abandoned him. You are his muse, the reason why he forced Epel into a routine that can only be described with "uh... help?"

But enough excuses! He had his salad and now he needs to train. His doctor? Well his doctor doesn't want to achieve being close to you so what does he know

(He got send into the hospital with a broken leg later that day. Talk about self-destructive behavior)

(ouch, my ears)

Let's assume that Sebek gets a twistune in which he practices his skills with the sword

He thought you were proud of him, you helping him to become stronger so he could fulfill your bidding (well-seasoned yandere readers what I mean)

Then, he felt your guidance slipping like the sword now sticking dangerously close to his foot in the ground

Many screams, one description: panic

When Lilia heard the not so crocodile-y crocodile scream bloody murder on the outside he thought that someone just didn't speak fondly enough for Sebek about Malleus

So wannabe Batman was more than surprised when he learned that you just “abandoned” his student

This leads to now, Sebek sitting in front of the small altar he has in his room (a trademark of Valley of Roses students)

Seek isn't Malleus (I know, shockers) so there isn't gold

But what if there is something different he can offer you? You left him when he was using his sword so could you want… (No Sebek, no, stop it)

Suddenly disappearances happen all over the school

Weirdly, they seem mostly from Sunset Savanna or the Shaftlands… the two places where you are least seen as an alrighty ruler/God and more as an inspiration

Such a shame that the officer hired to look into this was also from the Shaftlands. Guess that adds to the pile of disappearances

All whilst this is happening Sebek is busy cleaning his clothing and sword. Can't be dirty when he prays to you

With hope in his voice he tells you about his deeds but why aren't you coming back? Is it not enough? It's not.. enough…

This world is filthy, he says. This world needs to be cleaned of the pests that don't show you the loyalty and respect, he says.

But what do you say? Exactly. Nothing.

[indecenthoney]

The To-Do-List

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

Okay! Wait! Stop right there. Listen.

What if... What if I gave her a To-Do-List? The reward for completing these chores or goals is that she gets to be rubbed for a certain duration.

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

Drink water = 10 Seconds

Daily Affirmations = 5 Seconds

Finish a book = 2 Minutes

Go to the gym = 3 Minutes

Clean her room = 1 Minutes

Eat food = 15 Seconds

Finish an assignment/work = 1 Minute

Do a hobby = 3 Minutes

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

You get the idea! Just customize and edit to your liking! Does she have low self-esteem? Well, I added daily affirmations to the list! She's girl rotting? Well maybe you should add a little walk around the neighborhood. A little breather doesn't hurt anybody.

At the end of the day, when she's tired and pent up, she can claim those minutes!

"Mhm... I'm so proud of you, hun... You did quite a lot this week... Hey now... You don't have to do a single thing... I just want you to relax and let me handle this... Woah there... Bucking your hips... Someone's close? Aw, you poor thing... Already? Hahaha...You always get so leaky with this toy... I'm starting to get a little jealous... Oh? Only because I'm the one holding it... Is that right? Well, aren't you a smooth talker... Hm? You want me to fuck you? So vulgar... I'm kidding... You know what to do... Hahaha... Please... You can do better than that... Speak up... Whimpering isn't going to help you here, sweetheart... C'mon let's try that one more time... Gooooood jobbb... Well, aren't you pretty when you beg... Alright... So needy... I'm sorry to keep you waiting, hun... Fuck... So tight... What? Miss me? Wow... Really? C'mon, where are your manners? I taught you better... You're supposed to say thank you when you get your reward... Mhm Mhm... That's better..."

I guess the only downside is having her cum over and over until her time is completed. Imagine her being done but there's still 30 minutes on the clock. We can't have that go to waste, can we? As someone they put complete faith in, we need to honor our time even if means they become braindead overstimulated mess.

"Hm? But there's still 30 minutes on the clock, hun... We can't just stop now... What am I? A liar? Sweetie... Shhhhhh it's okay... Mhm you can take it... I know you can... Just breathe, okay? Mhm mhm... God you're so fucking wet.... Hahahah bucking your hips? Again? Yes yes... You can cum... Cum as much as you want, princess... Hahahah good girl..."

[junedenim]

2005

beneath the boardwalk, part 3 (series masterlist)

mardy bum

warnings: fluff, angst, fuzzy behavior, lil smutty, robert, etc.

word count: 15.1k

We experienced the cruelest case of January, but in sheltered boxes covered in ice, it was the greatest winter of my life. In that teenage love haze, I had fallen deeply into that frozen-over lake and never had a chance to break out of it.

On my winter break, Alex and I had kept to ourselves. There wasn't much point in going out. Permanently wearing jumpers and trapped under copious amounts of blankets, winter felt warm. We had resumed much of our behavior that had taken place before my departure. Hidden away in his room, we spent most of my winter recess there. We ate dinners with his parents and went to parties we probably left too early.

In those cavities, we found a way to occupy them easily. Sex was always there but we'd grown wary of doing it with his parents around now that they knew we were together together. Writing sometimes occurred but silence was hard between the two of us. Talking, talking, talking always.

At times, it felt like a tween-aged slumber party. Alex painted my nails once. Toes & fingers. He did a decent job with steady hands and shaky breath. I taught him how to braid my hair. You know that thing where people shake hands with someone or they kiss their cheeks and vow to never wash that part of their body again? I kept those braids in my hair for far too long. They were never particularly good looking but the way my hair, looking black against my pale skin and the white snow, fell out of those twists seemed to frame my face just right and placed this prideful beam on Alex's face that makes you giddy. I couldn't bear to withdraw his creation.

"Could you ever see yourself living in London?" I asked him one night. We were on opposite ends of his bed, each propped up to look at the other on the further end. Our intimacy lacked in touch but ran deep enough to create faults in conversation.

"Yeah." He smiled, knowing what I was hinting at. Could you ever see yourself living in London with me?

"It would be smart for the band." I tried to play off like that was my concern for him.

His eyes knew otherwise. "Yeah. For the band."

The band consistently had gigs about once a week and they had never been bigger. Jumping around at their gigs helped keep your body heat up. I dragged friends to them, never Joanie, that chapter had finally closed, and she vowed—a vow she kept for far longer than any of us imagined: forever—to never get back together with Matt. AB and Claire became good company and they remained steady through university. Unlike Alex and I, they were both at Aston together.

In Peter & Debora's living room (two people I have yet to meet, despite occupying their living room), I spent my last night up north at the Monkeys gig. It was quite funny, probably the last small venue I ever watched the band in. There must have been several dozen of us packed into this living room. I sat on the arm of Peter & Debora's couch. A drink in my hand, something fruity. Alex got it for me.

He was edgy before gigs, even ones small, especially small ones. The majority of the room was people we personally knew and I think that always heightened his nerves, feeling the need to impress them in some fashion. He was extra quiet; didn't even speak to me unless I asked him. He was touchier and stood beside me, resting his hand on my knee.

Then, he went up and played and was the cockiest son of a bitch you'd ever heard. "What tunes do you know?"

"Choo Choo."

"No, no, can't do that." I think of the immense amount of pleasure he got from this. Being some god to hold power over his subjects and not play "Choo Choo" at this gig, but also, never again.

I don't mean to bore you down with the repetition of things but our nights were often the same. A setlist with a rough version of "I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor" and a concluding "A Certain Romance." Most of these nights blended together with enough alcohol to flood a house.

Peter & Debora's had a somber tone to it. Most of its attendees would be going back to school and the most important one (me, obviously!) would be long away unable to facilitate as a muse. Alex and I didn't talk about those things. For many years, to our detriment, we didn't address these departures. We didn't even make promises to visit one another, which could have lent itself to an easy break-up, but somehow didn't.

I think we were comfortable with the idea of slipping away from one another. Looking into the future, it felt natural for that to be the case at our age. Alex would be off on some tour and I would be god knows where. I saw 3 paths: teacher, be my mother, or—hidden in my bunker-shielded wildest dreams—a writer. I hated the first 2 options but the second seemed likely, especially as I sipped away at another drink and had started accumulating a drug collection to put a pharmacy to shame. The extent of that collection was hidden from the Yorkshire folks, even Alex. None of it seemed coated in optimism.

I naturally slipped into hazes and that would be the only point I'd imagine a world Alex and I made it past 2005. On New Year's, we kissed, awkwardly slobbering drunk, I tugged on his shirt and slurred, "I've got you for 1 more year, at least, swear it." He reached down and lifted my hand and between our chests, he pinky sweared it.

Claire scooted next to be on the couch in between songs. We had kept in touch, more than Joanie and I. Over the winter, we had spent countless nights like the good old days, but much like Alex and me, we made no plans for the future. Summer seemed like the general assumption.

"I'm gonna miss you, baby." Claire kissed my cheek, ever affectionate, ever wasted. I thought about the lives we used to have where she'd place her arm around my waist and I'd lean into her and it felt like the ultimate comfort. She had been my haven for so long but I think by that time we both accepted that we didn't need much of each other anymore. We had faded with school, boyfriends, and apathy. It hurts my heart more now than it did then.

After their performance, Alex took Claire's seat beside me. He was sweaty and gross and probably tasted sweet. "How'd we do, Janie Lanie?" He had been doing that a lot lately, calling me something rhyming with Janie, like a version of The Name Game, typically a few drinks in. I thought he might fall backward onto the couch with how wobbly he was.

"A solid performance."

He shook his head. "Nah, uh, uh, uh. I'd like details please." His eyes were hazy and he propped his head onto my shoulder. He was so small then and I'd like the idea that he was only ever this small and soft with me. Even in the future, when he met the love of his life he would grow jaded and less willing to display this delicate quality, I would have the knowledge that I was the only girl who ever got to experience him like this. I had these thoughts often. Gazing off into the far future, I was desperate to still be on Alex's mind, though in every scenario we weren't together. I guess I didn't have that much belief that anyone would stick around with me. I had fallen deeply for him by that point but there was no need for me to fool myself into thinking it would be forever, despite how much that remaining naivety in me wished for it.

"You had quite the ego tonight," I told him.

He lifted his head, sure to be spinning. He talked with his hands, flinging them around with each word. "Well, you know, I had to please the people. Give them what they wanted."

"What about what I want?"

He leaned close, breathing the same breaths as me. "I only aim to please, Jane C."

I leaned away from him, back to the wall, getting the full look of him. "Is that so, hmm?"

"Why don't we go back home? I'll show ya." Home, collective usage. I allowed myself the fantasy that it was our home we were going back to. We'd ride in the car after Alex drank and I would allow him to fiddle with the radio and my hands. Other nights, he'd drive and I would drift in and out of sleep but my fingers would play with his hair. A house would be a home. I never grew up with the feeling mine was. It was a big thing and the only thing that felt warm to me was my room. I long to go back to that bedroom sometimes. Sure, memories with Alex, but a thing is only the sum of its parts and most of those parts were childhood afflictions of loneliness that turned into art. Those cherished stories, ones I would whisper to Alex, and write about in my diary, then write to publish, took place in those four walls. House, home. It all felt far off.

We did go back home, my parents'. I smoked a cigarette on the way, which annoyed Alex because I had rolled down the window to do so and the cold rushed in, burning a chill through him. The radio hummed in the back and he didn't bother to play with it. Through the drunk state, we both recognized the somber mood.

"Claire told me Will dropped out of uni."

Alex languidly chuckled. "Only a matter of time."

"Shocked he even bothered."

He shrugged. "You always knew him more than me."

I shook my head. "Probably not. Will came off how he appeared."

"You got any plans with Georgia when you get back?"

"Not yet. She stayed over break so I'm sure she's got something planned."

"What about Robert?"

I hummed. I was slightly confused by Alex's mention of him. I hadn't spoken to Robert over break. Maybe brought him up once in a story I told.

"Any plans with him?" Alex asked further.

I laughed. "Robert isn't someone you make plans with."

"Okay." We didn't talk the rest of the way. I hated every minute of it. I hated the fact that he got drunk and he knew I couldn't get drunk because I had to drive. Mostly, I hated the fact that we were out of sync. No longer were we occupied with talking, endless bouts of talking. Alex didn't even bother to fiddle with the radio. He just stared out the window. I blamed it on me leaving and that's what it was mostly about. Mostly.

When we had sex that night it felt forced. I hated feeling stiff with him but he was drunk and didn't have much care other than the need for release. It felt sticky.

He fell asleep quickly and I prayed he would have a headache the next day.

Instead, I woke up with a kiss on my nose. Gentle and enough sweetness to never starve again. "Why are you waking me up?" I moaned and stretched. "Why are you up?"

I felt his hand on my side, wrapped around me, keeping me to him. "I have to say this now."

"What?" Deep stretch, toes curling.

He tapped my side. "Come on, this is serious."

I was going to ridicule him. Waking me up was not a way to grab my attention. It was a way to piss me off. But his tone indicated something to me that I needed to know further. "Okay."

He didn't speak right away. Looked over my face and I felt like it was the first time I was speaking to him again. I realized he was trying to memorize me. His hand came up and cradled my cheek, soft against calloused. "I, uh, fuck, Jane."

Alex sounded raw and it worried me. It made me hate myself for all those feelings of anger I felt the night before because he didn't rub my clit. "What?"

"I'm just gonna miss you so fucking much. I know we don't do this mushy crap. You don't like that kind of thing but give me a pass."

I absolved him. "You're forgiven." My lips cracked a smile and I bordered on a giggle.

"I just love you and I wish you were here all the time but your happiness being in London weighs all that out and I just can't—I'm so proud of you. I shouldn't feel this desperate for you but I just can't help it. Oh, fuck, I sound stupid." He ducked his face into his hands. It is the cutest thing I have ever seen.

"No," I insisted. A few beats passed in waiting for him to lift his head, which he didn't. "I always found I love you to be stupid but I suppose I'm a mushy fucking idiot." He lifted his head and I hugged my arms around him. I couldn't bear to look him in the eye when I said. "I love you too." Muffled away in his shoulder. It was the most awkward we had ever been and will ever be. Any stiffness dissolved after that. Alex and I would fight again; we would even break up, but something in that morning shifted and we were never awkward gangly teenagers like that again. Steady ever since.

When we pulled away, he kissed me. "I have something to tell ya."

I giggled. "Other than that?"

"Well, I love you and you'll love this." Cheeseballs, us two. "We've got this gig on February 18th."

In November, I vowed to myself that when Alex dropped hints of gigs, he wanted me to go to them. He wouldn't inconvenience you with an invite, you just had to assume he wanted you there. "I'll go."

He let out a small laugh. "You better because it's in London."

My face went dead. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, which means we can do Valentine's Day together and make fun of it the whole fucking time but actually enjoy every minute of it." He knew me too well. It was almost annoying if it wasn't the most endearing thing that had ever happened in my life. Him getting to know me. Him knowing me.

I cracked completely in two. Wide smile, bright eyes, full view of my teeth. "I love it. I love it all." I kissed his lips, then his cheeks, then his nose, then his eye (left then right), then his ear (right then left), temple, forehead, nose again, chin, lips again.

"Quite the display, Janie, you're gonna have us get a fine."

"From who? The police in here?"

"I know your mum runs a tight ship."

"My mum is only the police of martinis around here." He stole that line from me. Plagiarist.

His hand sketched my back, got to know my shoulder blades, became acquaintances with my spine, made love to my butt cheeks. Ass man, for sure. Then, he kissed my boobs. Boobs man, for sure.

I'm a sternum woman, for sure.

*

In the first week of February, I kissed Robert. It was in the bathroom of his house at a shindig he was having (shindig is the only way to describe it). He was doing a line and I was smoking a joint. 

"Gimme some," Robert urged me. He had a habit of mixing substances. Alcohol with coke was a given, then anything else he could get his hands on.

I held the burning paper close to my chest like it was my child threatening to be taken from me. "No! Get your own."

I inhaled from it when he grabbed my face and sucked the smoke out of me. He manhandled me and I took it. I'm the one who initiated the kissing part to convince myself it was some point of passion. He grabbed my boob tight like he was trying to force something out of it. I reciprocated by squeezing his dick through those stupidly tight ripped jeans. He squealed like a pig and I laughed, easing my struggle with another spliff.

I never told Alex about it, partially because it wasn't my fault. The other part was that I was flattered by it. I feared I lacked desirability at times and I was a girl ashamed to admit that cheating on my boyfriend didn't make me feel guilty. I'm not dumb either. I know he wasn't innocent either. One night over winter break, when Matt and I were talking at a party—Alex was off in the bathroom—he enthusiastically told me a story about a night out after a gig. Halfway through he said, "Alex was otherwisedly occupied." Matt's drunkenness left me unable to investigate further but I assumed Alex snogged someone. I wasn't annoyed by it for some reason. Probably (definitely) my parents.

My head hurt after the whole thing and I focused on the bathtub's drain for too long after. "Would you finger a girl?" I asked.

He inspected himself in the mirror now, dragging his cheeks down to reveal the red pockets of his eyes. "You?" I saw his reflection smirk at me.

I shook my head. "No. I just wondered if you were the type of guy to finger a girl."

He turned his head back at me and wiggled his eyebrows. If it was anyone else I think I'd laugh at the act. Robert made things seem stale. He licked his lips like a dog would. "You should know, love, I would do anything."

I laughed at his instability as he wobbled back and forth and darted his eyes around the tiles. "Would you let me peg you?"

He pulled down his jeans, his belt clashing with the ceramic sink. He turned around, bent over, and spread his ass cheeks. "Come and get it, baby."

I laughed hard, hitting my head on the window, sputtering a peal of painful laughter out my lips. "All types of diseases live in there. I'm sure of it."

The bathroom door opened, revealing Georgia. Neither Robert nor I made a point to move because Georgia wouldn't care. "Jane, do you have a fag I can borrow?" I rifled through my purse and tossed my pack at her. She plucked one and then threw it back to me. She left without another word.

Robert stood up and turned around full-frontal nudity, but my eyes kept focused on his eyes. "Would you fuck me?"

"Me?" I pointed to myself quizzically.

"I'd fuck you right now. In that skirt." Red velvet, as tasteful as the cake. I ran my hand over the fabric. My blouse, white and ruffly, plus sheer black stockings made me look like a librarian. Guys like Robert got off on that kind of thing. "The Literary Type." I think the only thing that would have turned him on more is if I wore pigtails in my hair and called him "daddy."

"Men would fuck a cat if it let them." The weed mellowed the situation more and I knew Robert wouldn't hurt me so I felt fine teasing him.

"I only like one kind of pussy," he hit back.

I let out a hint of a chuckle. "Nice one."

"Come on, love." He gestured to his cock, which I still hadn't made eye contact with. "I would let your boyfriend fuck me in the ass if it meant I could fuck you."

I took a puff and if I closed my eyes for long enough I was outside a pub in Sheffield talking to Alex. I sometimes fingered myself to that thought. Conversation with Alex was probably why the sex was so good. I would think back on a funny thing he said and I would orgasm from it.

"Have you ever seen 2 Fast 2 Furious?" Every time I smoked since that night I felt Alex's arms wrap around me.

"Movies like that signal the downfall of society. What pointless piece of shit?" Robert was one of those people.

I scoffed, "Not everything can be A Clockwork Orange."

"Why shouldn't it be? Shall we do a little droog behavior?" He shook his dick at me and the insinuation of raping me was what finally made me move.

"I'm going to go home now."

I walked by him and he didn't protest. He pulled his underwear back on but took his jeans off. "Hey, Jane!" He shouted as I walked down the hallway to his living room. "Think of me when you do it." His fingers spread and he wagged his tongue in between them.

I gave Georgia a kiss on the cheek and went home, thinking about that conversation, replaying it. I blamed it on my high. I didn't masturbate for a month.

*

Alex came to London on the eve of Valentine's Day. He had come from a gig in Manchester the night before and his dedication wasn't unnoticed. He made a point of those things after the previous November. Silent confirmations. I had never felt like a worse person.

I buried within myself. I wore a freshly bought vintage coat when picking him up at the train station. He fiddled with the ends of the pointed fur collar and picked at the buttons of its double-breastedness. I bought it because I liked it but I wore it because I knew he would. Alex has a weird thing for clothes. More appealed by what a woman uses to cover up than reveal.

It was late when he got in but earlier than I thought he would be. He placed a hand on the small of my back and kept it there until we arrived back at my place. It was an affection we had never done for one another, publically. Everything felt weird. Publically.

We ate dinner on the floor, Chinese from Tai Won Mein, and talked like no time had passed. We talked about nothing, the entertaining nothing. Except it had turned into the lying nothing. I felt we both were keeping things from one another but I was too ashamed of the pleasure I had from flirtatious acts with Robert to ask whether Alex had slept with someone. I knew he hadn't. Because that would be "cheating." Snogging, especially drunken snogging, was excusable. I figured that anything I did high with Robert would be excusable too.

"The gang is going to come to the gig," I told him.

He raised his eyebrows and chewed away at his Kung Pao chicken. "Who's the gang?" He sounded like my father. It felt unnerving.

"Mhm," I sounded, "Georgia, mainly. You know, that whole crowd. They liked some of the music they heard from MySpace." I plucked away at my rice. Focused on the grains, not him.

He snorted. "Georgia & Co. don't seem like the type to be on MySpace."

I shrugged. 1 grain, 2 grain, 3 grain... "We're all full of surprises."

He waited. I waited. His eyes stared at me for long enough to draw them away from the rice. When I met his gaze, his eyes ducked back down to his carton. "What about Robert?" Rice, 1 grain, 2 grain, 3 grain, 4.

"Hm, yeah."

Alex chuckled at some thought in his head. Before I could ask, he told me, "I think Jamie and Robert would get along."

Robert would eat Jamie alive. Probably induced by some coke high, something would possess him to unhinge his jaw and eat Cookie. "Yeah, maybe."

*

That night, when my head was on his sternum I told him, "I want a turtle."

He snickered into his hand. I tilted my head, looking at him through his chin. "What kind of turtle?" He asked. "A snapping one? It would fit you."

My nail poked at the skin under his chin, picking away at some non-existent thing. "How pleasant you are?" I sighed and rolled onto my back, his arm pinned around but he never voiced a complaint. "Maybe a box turtle. They're the kind they have in Central Park."

"Ah, New York." Alex grinned. It seemed from genuine emotion but it was faked by how wide it was. "You'd look good in New York."

I groaned dramatically and rolled back onto his chest with a slap. It could be seen as fitful tossing and turning or some form of theatrics. I picked at the bottom of his chin again. "I'd only live in New York if you lived in New York."

He grabbed my hand away, the picking annoying him, but he held my wrist in his grip and rested the conjoinment on his chest. "I'd try New York."

I giggled and sat up on my elbows onto his chest. "We'd be Americans."

He chuckled and shook his head. "I don't think I'd ever get away with being an American with my fucking accent. You'd be fine. Could pass for British royalty."

"Does that make you my Wesley?"

"'As you wish.'"

I fell beside him again, lying on my side, and rested my head on the neighboring pillow. He placed both his hands on his chest, I hadn't trapped an arm this time. "Did you have pets growing up?"

He shook his head. "No, I don't think so."

"You must have had the loneliest childhood. No siblings, no pets. Did you play with rocks to pass the time?"

"Very funny. I had friends, you know."

I mocked a look of shock. "Really?"

"Hush now," he willed. "What did you have growing up? A pet alligator named Bartholomew."

"Very funny." I curled my arm under my pillow. "We only ever had a goldfish."

Alex smiled. I'm not sure at what. "Really?"

"You know how goldfish live like a week before they die?" He nodded. I excitedly drew closer to him. "Ours, Lady Penelope—"

His laugh cut through my words. "Like Thunderbirds?"

I bulged my eyes, duh! I continued, "She lived like 5 years. Tommy won her at a fair and they had her in a little plastic bag with barely any water. She didn't get a bowl until the next day but she was strong. Harper really wanted a cat but Tommy was all like 'That wouldn't be fair to Lady Penelope.'"

"Tommy sounds sweet." I hadn't realized that this was the first story I ever told Alex about Tom. My memories of him are short, affected by the wills of time. Much of his life has been reframed in my mind, infected by my grief and rose-colored views I had as a child meeting the harsh black & white light.

I was lit up by memories of him and Lady Penelope. The joyous times of my youth. "He cared for her more than most people care for their children. He wasn't usually like this. He played rugby and used to wrestle Greg in our backyard until he cried. Something about that fish. I don't know." I smiled thoughtfully at the ceiling. I felt an ache inside that I hadn't felt in years. I'm not sure if it was from Tom or some longing for that innocent time when monsters under my bed were the scariest things I could imagine.

I felt flush all of a sudden, pale in the face. "'That damn fish won't die.'"

Alex chuckled. "Your mum say that?" The Russian-American-pretending-to-be-British inflection in my voice clued him into who I was reciting from.

I repeated the phrase twice. "We went on vacation, came back and that fish was still swimming."

"Lady Penelope had a strong spirit."

I felt stuck in a loop, staring at the ceiling, mouthing the words, "'That damn fish won't die.'" My mouth kept doing it. My brain kept repeating my mother's voice. "When Tommy died...my mum, well, I don't know. We were all shells of ourselves but my mum." I felt tears in my eyes but I couldn't stop staring at my ceiling. "You know, she wasn't always like this? It's hard to believe. I can't. When we came back from Tommy's funeral she kept saying that. Repeated it for days. 'That damn fish won't die.'"

"How'd she die?" Alex asked.

I almost didn't have the heart to tell him. The devastation I had felt at 10 felt too strong for Alex at 19. "A few days after the funeral, my mum flushed her down the toilet alive. I'd like to think she's swimming in the pipes still."

Alex lacked follow-up questions after that. I turned away from him and he made no moves to change my position. He dropped a hand to my shoulder and squeezed it but we didn't talk and I cried at some point in the early morning but I think they went silent and unnoticed. I started to realize these things after moving away. I was a wishing well that was now overflowing.

*

We didn't do anything special for Valentine's Day. Alex didn't get me flowers and I didn't get him chocolates. We spent the early morning together, blanketed from the cold. I left for class around noon. Alex said he just walked through the city during that time. "Exploring."

That night, we went to dinner, but neither of us had money to do anything quite expensive. (I could've but buying Valentine's Day dinner with my parents' money felt wrong). We went to a pub around the corner from where my last class was. Alex got a beer and I drank about half of it but he didn't complain that I should've ordered my own.

"So." I smiled at him. Too brightly it made him raise his eyebrows in a questioning manner. "I probably won't go on whatever vacation my parents have planned for this summer. I finally have the uni excuse and though I hate to leave Stacey alone with them, I'm not subjecting myself to a month on a booze cruise."

He smiled over his beer. "Where are you going to go?"

I stared intently at him with a grin, biting my bottom lip. "Well, I was kind of going to ask you that."

"Oh." His face sank. His finger skimmed over the circle of his glass. "I guess I didn't give you our whole schedule for the summer. I kind of figured you'd be away for most of it. I was gonna tell you." He seemed eager to reassure me. "I told you we were planning a tour and since things have gotten bigger that's just gotten bigger so most of the summer we'll be on the road and we're recording the album and I don't know if we'll really have time to go away somewhere."

I placed my chin on top of my joined hands and smiled. "That's fine. I kind of thought, I mean, if you wouldn't mind an extra person shoved in your van."

His eyes shot open and then squinted. His brows furrowed. "You mean, like joining us on tour?"

"If you wouldn't mind."

He shook his head with a giant grin. "I'd love that. You—you could write your stories on the road. I mean, it can get loud—we can get loud and uncomfortable but with the downtime, you could write. You could be our roadie."

I sighed. "I don't know how much writing I'll be doing—"

"Stop," he urged. "I'll make you write every day. I love your writing."

I bashfully looked down at the table while my cheeks flushed. "I always thought I was more of your groupie than roadie."

"Oh, so now you're a groupie. You took offense to that name before you found out the other alternative was hard labour."

I pouted my lips at him. "I'm a petite little girl. How am I supposed to lift one of your large amps?"

"We gotta get you to a gym, Janie."

We left the pub around 10 and had sex in my little twin bed, which wasn't bad considering we were used to Alex's bed of the same size. We were too cold to even take our shirts off. We cuddled after for warmth, necessity, need, and want.

The next day, we bought discounted chocolate at Tesco.

*

Jamie and Robert didn't get along. If I remember correctly, they never spoke. After the show, we managed a few drinks before the force from my gang was leaning toward heading back to Robert's place. His flat was revered by them as if it was an infamous club that they were lucky to even stand in line for.

"Robert's place has got everything under the sun," Georgia raved. "It's like the British Empire, the sun never sets on it."

I snorted. "A more apt descriptor would be the sun never shines on it."

"Fair enough, pet." She kissed my cheek. It was a weird name but Georgia viewed the way she bestowed out nicknames as a gift to the receiver no matter the complexities of the name. Robert was Burns, after the poet. She called Alex—never to his face—"Shrub" because of his stature.

I squeezed Alex's hand, which was somehow in mine. I don't remember how that happened. I leaned over to the guys so it was just the 5 of us in some semi-circle. "It's got a lot of pubs 'round it so if you want to ditch, plenty around it."

"Fuck that, I want to see what's at Robert's," Matt cheered.

It felt like Barnsley all over again but with a new set of people. We were scattered around drinking bits of things. Everyone seemed calm compared to prior nights and compliments about the show were sputtered out by people, albeit not the sweetest.

"Honestly," Tisha slurred, "I didn't believe it when Jane had a boyfriend. I thought she was, you know, gay like the rest of us."

"At least bi like Burns." The Monkeys didn't know who Burns was.

I sipped on white wine out of a red solo cup and Alex sat next to me sipping a beer. We were both on the floor, the rest of the Monkeys on the couch. Matt hung on Georgia's words, Jamie's hand was being drawn on by Yaayaa, and Andy looked like he was a sip away from falling asleep.

"Well, it's very sweet. Aren't they sweet?" Tisha continued.

Alex was stiff.

Robert didn't help things. He walked into the living room and tossed his bottle of Adderall at me. Alex looked curiously but didn't ask what it was. I tucked it away.

"Jane!" Robert sang. "Time to reciprocate. Should start calling her Mary Jane, you know." He looked over at Alex and it made my skin burn. The idea of getting high wasn't crazy. Robert talking to Alex was something I didn't enjoy and I wanted to go home.

Georgia squinted. "Don't you have something, Burns?"

"Not yet, Georgie."

Adam generously gave out some from his collection. He'd probably ask for repayments when we were sober, except me. Adam gave me weed for free because we smoked together while watching Wife Swap.

Alex and I shared a joint between us. I thought about blowing smoke into his mouth but it felt like I would be exposing my secret. I felt icky about the whole thing.

My eyes fluttered and laid my chin on top of Alex's shoulder. His eyes peered down at me and a giddy smile ran across his face. He pushed a chunk of my hair behind my ear. It was a tender comfort that I had never felt before and knew I would never feel again. The act of him being the first person to ever comb his way through me. He was determined to take hold of me and never let go.

I couldn't bear the thought of losing Alex. That night, for the first time, I realized that all that indifference I had exhibited at the idea of Alex and I breaking up was fake. It was a shield to defend my well-being so that I wouldn't come off as a fool in love. I mocked my friends for so long when they told me at 16 that their boyfriend was The One. As I neared 19, I thought, why couldn't it be Alex? No one had cared for me that way. Listened to me, held me, asked questions, shared their secrets, shared my secrets, knew me, loved me, pushed my hair behind my ear.

"What are you thinking, Janie Wanie?" He was letting out a high-induced giggle.

I didn't say anything. I dropped my head into the crook of his neck and wrapped my arm around his middle. His arm hugged around my back with a soft tug closer into him. He kissed the top of my head. We just sat there.

I, unbelievably so, fell asleep at some point amongst the rowdiness. A light shake awoke me, barely conscious, Alex whispered, "You ready to go home?" Home. We're going back to our 3 bedroom brownstone where we have 2 cats and a goldfish that's lived for 10 years. (The insanity of kids popped into my mind but I was still high).

I nodded into him and we stood up individually before reconnecting to lay my tired head on his shoulder. His arm pulled around me. "We're gonna go," Alex announced, mainly to just Andy, Matt, and Jamie.

Robert came from behind. "Eh! No need, Janie, can just sleep here." Robert didn't usually call me Janie. I told him once that only Alex called me that. I was unsure of how I felt that Robert was trying to get under Alex's skin. Shamefully, part of myself felt pride that I was desirable enough to want to rile up my boyfriend.

"We're gonna go, Rob," I countered. Robert hated being called Rob.

"Hey, I'll let Alex stay here too. Free of charge." He said it like it was some generous offer. That the next move Alex should make would be to bow at Robert's feet and thank him for the opportunity to sleep on his pull-out.

"They just want to leave so they can go fuck," Matt joked.

The vulgarity of it startled me. Times like this, this weird confrontation, I wish that Alex and I were hidden again. I grew stiff by Matt's words, even if they were just playful. I was weird about that stuff, especially with Alex. The idea of other people assuming my sexual business, true or not, felt invasive. Matt being this way when we were back up North felt fine. Matt being this way in Robert's apartment felt uncomfortable.

Alex turned his head back at Matt and said harshly, "Hey." Matt understood the impression quickly and ducked his head down, going back to talking with Tish.

"We could always do that threesome we talked about, Janie. You know, Alex could fuck me in the ass." Robert's smile was calculated. I felt like my skin had fallen off and was going through a meat grinder.

His comment had caught the attention of everyone in the room and I could picture the way Matt's jaw probably fell open and Jamie's scowled squinting. "Robert!" Georgia scolded from across the room.

I couldn't think of anything to say. My head felt foggy and any zany comeback I could have had was lost in the smoke. Alex felt the same way, so taken aback by the comment, that a smart response had been lost in the shock. "Okay, man, we're gonna go," Alex said.

We were silent the whole walk out of Robert's building. My heart pounded and I worried about the way Alex would react. I felt lightheaded, maybe from the adrenaline, maybe from the weed. We made our way down the stairs, attached. The moment we left the building, Alex pulled away from me. He threw his head back laughing, clutching his chest.

"What?" I questioned with an infected giggle.

Alex shook his head, took a deep breath, and pulled me back into him. "Whatever that was about me fucking Robert in the ass." He broke out into laughter again and I did too. Crackled in the snow-covered pavement. I felt warm.

On the train ride back, I fell asleep again. Nestled in that nook. In bed that night, I fell asleep in that nook and we didn't have sex. I was too tired and too swayed by everyone imagining that we were—that I was—having sex.

*

In March, Georgia and I go to Paris for a weekend. We end up staying for a week. I email Alex about the whole trip.

Who do you love more? Georgia or me?

*

In April, I received a CD from Alex in the mail. It was much like the first CD, artwork done by Matt, the CD that had "Jane C." written on it and a note wedge in between.

Don't be offended. I like you a lot, mardy bum.

*

The night after our last classes, I get blackout drunk and sleep on Robert's pullout with Georgia. I was woken by a call from Alex, who will be playing at The Dublin Castle that night. Hungover, hungover, hungover.

"We've arrived!" Since when was Alex this cheery?

"'Kay."

I heard a chuckle. "Take some painkillers, Janie."

"'Kay."

I took some pills on an empty stomach and Robert made us Blood Marys citing them as "the only true cure for a hangover."

I was worried for tonight. I was prepared for a redo of their previous London concert, which went fine but I was hungover from a massive binge that involved more than just alcohol. Everyone would also be going again. Everyone. The plans afterward would likely not change much. People tended to want to go to Robert's for free will, a good bathroom for blow, and a good bed for fucking. It was disgusting but I felt like a luxury for a bunch of 18-year-olds away from their parents for the first time.

Tonight, I felt like a closing of the chapter, temporarily, but necessary for all of our health.

"I like Alex," Georgia tells me on the train back to my dorm, Defoe.

I felt hazy like I had lost a lot of blood. Georgia let me rest my head on her shoulder. "Me too."

"It'll be good for you to be with him for a while. Get away from all of us." She sounded sorry like she regretted ever introducing me to her friends. I wondered what had happened last night.

"I'll miss you."

"Yeah. Miss ya too."

*

I met Alex backstage, dressed in bell-bottom jeans with a white tee, and a black wool jumper thrown over to combat that cold, early spring weather. I had boots on that clunked the ground and echoed so loudly you could hear it across the building.

His head turned at the sound of it. I don't know if he recognized it to be me or if they were really just that loud. "As I live and breathe, Jane C."

He was dressed in a similar fashion as me: black jeans, black jumper, longer hair. "You matching me?"

I still hadn't made my way to him when he whistled and said, "Looking good, baby."

"Ew, never do that again."

He pecked my lips quickly before hugging me close. It felt like I was just greeting him after coming home from work, not after a 2-month separation. "Your hair's longer." He fiddled with the ends of it. It hadn't been cut since December.

I scruffed the top of his head. "Back at you, Cousin Itt." His hair couldn't have been longer than a handful of inches, however, if I brushed mine in front of my face I'd be the girl from The Ring.

He took a handful of my side. "You've gotten thin." 

"Thanks." He didn't mean it as complimentary. I knew it then too but many of the unhealthy ways I treated myself in uni were willfully ignored at all costs.

I felt like throwing up then. Not from the pills on an empty stomach or the Blood Marys but from the way he looked at me. At first, it looked like concern, then like he was victimizing me. But the swish in stomach came when he said, "Who are you?" He said it as a joke but I felt like clawing into him and saying, It's me, it's the same me. Don't leave. Because the truth was it was the same me. I hadn't changed much in school as everyone said I did. Physically, maybe. The way I acted was the same. I just had access to more and, other than maybe Georgia, I had no one to keep me in check, and Georgia had a hard enough time keeping herself upright.

After the show, we went to a pub and sat in a booth with too many people squeezed in. I felt like if I had another sip of alcohol I would die but if I didn't have another sip I would die. Everyone was rowdy, loud, and annoying. It banged my head up.

I'm not sure what they were talking about. My eyes rested on the tabletop. Alex was louder than usual. I dramatically laid my head on the table. Tish yelled out, "Jane needs a reboot!"

I raised my head and announced, "I'm gonna go for a smoke." I grabbed Alex's hand. I didn't care if he was in the midst of a discussion on world peace, he was coming with me.

He accepted it and as we stood, Robert said, "Hey, I'll come with ya."

I wanted to bash my head in.

Outside the pub, I stood against the wall with Alex at my side and Robert in front of us. "I really liked the show, man."

"Oh, thank you, thank you." Alex looked like he had a hard time believing the compliment.

"You're becoming big. You know, at the start of the year, I thought this is just a girl raving about her boyfriend's shitty band, but now NME is raving about ya."

"Arguably we're still shitty." Alex made us all chuckle. If you didn't know us it would seem chummy. To me, it felt like we were all putting on a play.

"Janie told me she's joining you on tour," Robert said.

"Yeah, just around the UK, but it should be fun."

"I should start a band. Have Janie be my groupie." Robert had the persona of a drugged-out rocker. His band would likely sound worse than The Shags. He was trying to get a rise out of Alex. It was shocking to me how much Robert cared what Alex thought.

"Don't call me a groupie, Rob," I called back. It was a nickname wrestling competition.

He exhaled dramatically. "Groupies run the world, Janie. You should know that. I gave you my copy of I'm With the Band. Besides, I'm sure Alex knows a thing or two about groupies."

Alex's calm persona made Robert's skin itch and it turned me on with delight. "Your implication is lost on me."

"I'm sure you get girls all the time—"

I interrupted him, "Right now you sound like a groupie."

"Shall I get on my knees then?"

I pushed his shoulder. "Fuck off and go inside." Robert chuckled, scuffed out his cigarette against the wall, and listened to my command.

I wanted Alex to laugh like last time. He just looked annoyed and turned away. His back was against the wall and his eyes were elsewhere.

"Robert's so full of shit," I commented.

Alex nodded. "Why do you hang out with him?"

Deja vu.

"He's a cool guy. He's not always like this. We discuss things."

"Things?"

"Literature, art, I don't know." Robert was interested conversationally but he was more of a parasitic drug dealer to me at that point than a friend. It's hard for people to understand my friendship with Robert, but it just made sense.

"Okay." It felt like he was questioning me. My answer wasn't good enough. He didn't believe me. I'm not sure if it was paranoia or the truth.

*

My mother thought of the idea of inviting Alex to dinner. I had been home for a month. The band would be playing a gig at The Boardwalk at the end of May and I would then join him for the remainder of the summer tour. My family would be headed to Hong Kong and Macau for a month and my mother had begun to wear Mandarin dresses and say vaguely racist things with the excuse that they were going to be vacationing there so it was okay.

The dinner was considered a last supper of sorts and my mother had acted the dramatics out for it with weak guilt-tripping tools that I was abandoning the family for my boyfriend. This continued into dinner where, in spite of it being a "last supper" and my parents' first dinner with Alex (the wedding definitely didn't count), my father's co-worker, Bill, and his wife, Stephanie, were there along with their son, Billy, who was a year older than me.

"Billy is going into his last year at Oxford, right?" My mother gushed.

Billy seemed shy about the whole thing and uncomfortable to even be here in the first place. He was dressed in a blue button-down that he spilled water on within the first minute of dinner. He was geeky cute with glasses and a habit of bad posture. "Yes, ma'am." He had a practice of short answers and I gained pleasure every time he called my mother "ma'am," something she despised more than anything.

"And Alex, you're not doing school." She didn't say it like a question. It was a statement letting everyone know, like, "Just so you know, he isn't at Oxford like Billy." I found it funny that my mother felt the need to brag about someone else's kid rather than her own. I don't even think my mother knew what I was studying at school. Also, most obviously, my mother didn't go to university.

"The band is doing pretty good, so it makes sense to continue with that." He was nervous. His leg bounced enough to shake the floor and played with his food to occupy himself. I wasn't much help in comforting him. I was having my own panic attack and wishing I had argued with my mother about having Alex over for a humiliation ritual. Maybe this was his Illuminati induction ceremony.

"Makes sense," my mother mocked. She sipped her wine and looked toward my father at the opposite end of the table.

My father sipped his whiskey. "Well, I wish my Janie was in Macau with us. She's always been my good luck charm."

"What about me?" Stacey, poor Stacey, said. Like most things, Alex and I laughed, and her comment was ignored by my parents. I wished I could take her on the tour, even if she would be annoying and get in the way. I feared the boredom she'd have on vacation, or worse, actually having to hang out with my parents.

"Has Janie told you that story, Alex?" My father asked.

Alex, having no clue what story my father was talking about, shook his head.

"When Janie was born, I went to the casino and put a grand on 5 red in roulette because she was born on the 5th." Alex nodded because he called me on my birthday and got me a present (he apologized for his lack of budget but the stack of notebooks, mostly blank, besides 5 pages of his own delicately sweet writing). My parents sent a birthday card that came a week late, which means they forgot until Stacey reminded them. "I won, not one, not two, but three times."

My father's need to highlight the fact that the day I was born he went to a casino with little care was alarming if not predictable. His failure to mention that he lost that money the same day wasn't surprising either.

My father exhaled loudly. "I suppose you'll have the good luck charm this summer, Alex. God knows you'll probably need it."

We both ignored the dig. I wanted to disappear into my soup. Alex placed his hand on my thigh and it was the first time I recognized how reassuring his touch could be. It often quickened my heartbeat. This time, it slowed it.

Billy piped up and said softly, "I really like your music." He was as darling as you can imagine.

Alex made eye contact with Billy, shocked by the praise and unsure if it was directed at him. "Thanks, Billy," Alex said.

I grinned into my spoon. My mother sipped her wine.

*

In Glasgow, in the late hours of the night, the touring bands, their associates, and I sat on the tour bus drinking, smoking, and playing video games.

Alex had grown close to Miles Kane of—during that time—Little Flames' fame. I had grown close with their lead singer, Eva. She wasn't that much older than me, but she felt like a big sister. She was the only other girl on the tour, so we bonded and made fun of all the boys. A week before, when we first met, Eva pressed her cheek to mine and told Alex, "She's coming home with me."

While the band sound-checked and did all their boring concert preparatory things, I explored the cities. We had only been to Leicester and Edinburgh prior to Glasgow but I was aiming to take advantage of every city we were in, even if Al couldn't.

When I arrived at the venues, about a half hour before the shows, I'd sit beside Alex on a couch backstage, and recount my day. In Glasgow, I told him how I went to the Kelvingrove Art Gallery, the city's cathedral, and the botanic gardens. "And then I went to the Necropolis."

"What's a necropolis?" Alex asked. This is a very rare moment. Alex was a dork who read through the dictionary. He was also a dork who would not admit when he was wrong. He would rather flounder in unknowingness than say he doesn't understand something. Then, May 30, 2005, in Glasgow came around and I think he understood from that point on that I was always right.

"It's like a cemetery but they're ancient and the architecture is beautiful. The word itself means 'city of the dead' because they are so large."

He nudged my shoulder. "And you thought that Latin class would never come in handy."

I had a digital camera—a baby blue Canon Powershot—and we'd scroll through the images one by one. I always felt bad that Alex couldn't experience these cities like I did, too wrapped up in work, but I realized that Alex favoured cities more through the perspective of aftershow drinks than walking miles around a city. I preferred the walking.

On that bus's couch, I sat squeezed between Alex and Eva. The bus was loud and I was 4 drinks in and hanging off Al's shoulder. "Do you have to play FIFA again?" I moaned. FIFA Football 2005 is still the bane of my existence. Sometimes at night, I dream about it. Those little avatars roaming around the field. I can hear Jamie screaming about Matt cheating and then Matt screaming that he wasn't and then Jamie insisting that he was and then Matt insisting he wasn't and then Andy saying that Matt definitely was and then Matt whining that he wasn't and then Andy saying that maybe Matt wasn't and then Jamie getting pissed that Andy had flip-flopped and then Jamie demanding a rematch and then another rematch and then another rematch and on, and on, and on. I still hear it. Blah blah blah!

"We gotta finish the tournament!" Matt insisted.

I stood up. The room was spinning but I was determined to make it to the bed. The narrow one Alex and I shared. I fell on it and sprawled out like a dead rat might do. I was still dressed in jeans and determined to not sleep in them. I moaned out like someone could hear me. Packed away in the other room and they were screaming at one another about their stupid video game. It made me vomit.

No, like, seriously, I was vomiting. It had overcome me and with Miles occupying the bathroom for the last 10 minutes, I had nowhere to go and I vomited on the floor. It was so gross that it made me vomit again. I was disgusted with myself. A pile of vomit at my feet. (I was becoming my mother).

I felt steadier with much of the alcohol out of my system now and traveled to get paper towels from the kitchenette. I walked in front of the TV, which triggered yelling from the couch potatoes. I felt if I opened my mouth again I would projectile vomit on them so I remained sealed as I walked back.

Unknowingly, Eva had followed me to the beds. Behind me, I heard, "Aw, baby girl" as she spotted my rejection on the floor. "Are you okay?"

I nodded.

"Do you want me to get Alex to clean that up for you? Because I'm definitely not."

I chuckled at the idea but shook my head. She handed me the trash can and a bottle of water before disappearing back into the main cabin.

I finished my cleaning duties and crashed. Alex came in somewhere around 3:30 AM. I didn't want to fight, even if I was mad.

The following night, Eva made a joke about the vomit and Alex's head snapped unaware. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"FIFA," I answered shortly.

*

I did write. Not as much as the idealized version Alex had in his head but I wrote on slips of paper and on the nights when we went to bed at the same time, he made an effort to read them. They weren't very long. Kind of glorified diary entries but he raved about them like I was Joan Didion or something. One evening, somewhere on the road between Bristol and Cardiff, I wrote the following entry. Alex never read it.

We are on the road once again. I don't know how I feel about all this movement. At least I don't have to drive. Alex is sleeping right now. Everyone, but Mike [the driver], is sleeping. And me, obviously. I like these early hours on the bus when it is quiet and no sign of life. There's too much noise sometimes. I want to be still for a couple of days. I think I'm mad at Alex but I can't decide. I think I had a fantasy that we would be together and it would click. It does, but every few steps we get misaligned. I think it's the lack of stillness. We're not 2 kids in his room, in Sheffield, in Wakefield, in Barnsley for months & months. I think I'm not used to this version of him. I wonder if he's not used to this version of me. We're silent too much. I think I need to get more friends or a job or something. I think my life is too wrapped around him. I wish I kidnapped Stacey so I'd have someone to argue with. I'm going to watch TV now. No FIFA.

I never quite got used to all the moving we did. I never asked Alex about it either. It was weird how much two people could talk and also have an issue with communication. For about a month straight we zapped around the country before stopping in London.

"You're gonna be on the BBC this is so cool!" I cheered while tugging on Alex's arm. 

"We've been on the BBC before," Alex downplayed.

We had just entered the hotel room we would be staying in. Solo.

I rolled my eyes. Alex sat on the edge of the bed with a sigh. "You've never played on the BBC before and I get to brag about you so it's a win-win."

"Yeah?" Alex looked up at me with a smug smirk. His eyes traced their way around me. His hand reached out to mine and I accepted it. He tugged me to sit beside him on the bed. "You brag about me, Janie?"

"Well, I take pride in you, you know. To see something built from the ground up. I was at your first gig, I was at gigs nobody was at, I was at gigs everybody was at." He chuckled boyishly at my excitement. "I know I haven't been there for the last year but even hearing about everything. You signing with Domino and Five Minutes with Arctic Monkeys, which I've been meaning to tell you is not 5 minutes you know that, right?"

"You're so cute when you get all worked up over clerical errors."

"It's not a clerical error. I know you have time management issues but 6 minutes is not 5 minutes."

"Well, I take long when I do things." He wiggled his eyebrows.

"Now your sexual innuendos."

"Hey, I take pride in my lasting time and as my girlfriend, you should too."

"The last time I took pride in you, you switched the topic. You're too bashful to accept a compliment."

"I don't know." He shrugged and turned away from me with a shade of pink. "I'm just as proud of you."

I laughed. "Pft, what have I done?"

"All this is 'cause of you."

"You wrote the songs, you play them. I'm just the muse."

"You're a hell of a lot more than a muse, Jane."

*

That night, we walked around London and talked. Properly, no FIFA, no Monkeys. Maybe it's because I enjoyed showing him around pockets of London, but I think being just with him felt right. The closest we'd come to privacy in the past weeks had been in a bunk bed with Matt only 3 feet above us. 

It felt odd to walk around London in the warmth. Of course, it wasn't a blazing heat, nonetheless, we felt little need to wear anything heavier than a zip-up hoodie. We sat at Regent's Park and while it was no replacement for Charlton Brook, the flowers felt like something out of Wonderland. 

"I like it here," Alex whispered to me as if it was a secret he wanted me to keep.

"It's beautiful," I commented.

He nodded. His eyes slowly glanced over at me. A smile cracked across his lips. "Yeah. I like being here with you."

"Ditto," I replied. We weren't touching but it felt like gravity was pushing us closer together and soon enough we'd be in each other's arms. 

His hand brushed my back and I couldn't tell if it was intentional or not but he seemed to focus on his hand for quite some time. "I know you're not having the best time."

I shook my head. "I'm having a great time."

He moved his head slowly. I was unsure if he was nodding or trying to shake his thoughts out of himself. "Okay." He thought for some time, then said, "It's not your fabulous adventure though. I'm sorry."

I scowled. "I mean, I'm not staying at the Ritz but I never wanted that anyway." I had many doubts about ourselves, but it never occurred to me that Alex felt that in himself.

"I just want you to have fun."

I giggled. "I am having fun. It's impossible not to have fun when watching you give Miles lap dances."

He pushed on my back. "Oh, stop it. You're just jealous."

"Well, yeah, I mean, come on. I haven't had sex with you in weeks."

Alex furrowed his brows. His cheeks flushed pink and he giggled nervously saying it allowed. "Didn't I finger you in the bunk last night?" Although he was shy, he neared me with a certain predatory look that was typically reserved right before eating your prey.

I rolled my eyes. "Sex. S-E-X. Where the penis goes in the vagina."

Alex leaned back on the bench, insisting, "It has not been weeks."

"Yes, it has!" I countered.

Alex placed his arm behind me on the bench. "I fucked you in that pub bathroom in Manchester last week."

My lips parted as the drunk memory refloated in my mind. "Oh, right." It wasn't very glamorous. The pub's bathroom was as gross as you could imagine and I refused to touch any surface in the place so Alex had to manage fucking me from behind without pushing me into anything while we were both wildly drunk. Not either of our finest performances.

"Are you forgetting about sex with me, Janie?" Alex teased. He bent closer to me.

I shrugged. My perception of time had been thrown off a little. Some days were long, some days felt an hour short. "Nonetheless, it's been long enough. Why are we at a park anyway?"

"You want to fuck in one of the bushes?"

I laughed and tucked my feet up behind me on the bench. I leaned my side against the bench's backing and touched my shoulder with his. "In broad daylight?"

"We could find a big one."

I pushed him away with my shoulder but tugged him back with my hand on his other shoulder. "Let's just go back to the hotel."

I stood up and dragged him along with me. He put on a Queen's English accent and asked, "For what purpose exactly, Miss Cavendish?"

I returned with my horrible Princess Di impression, "I am dreadfully tired and must go to bed at once."

"Oh, I'll take ya to bed, Miss Cavendish."

*

At the end of August, I returned to Wakefield. The band continued touring in various English cities while I accepted spending the remainder of the summer at home, mainly for Stacey and her birthday on the 24th. The house was still as if nobody lived in it. Maybe because I had been moving around for such a long time, it felt odd to remain still.

I had left the Monkeys & Friends in Dublin. It was a concert that made me feel rather grown-up, I think solely because we had to present our passports for the journey. It was the first international show, even if it was just across the Irish Sea. Matt exclusively drank Guinness for 2 days straight and Andy kept trying to get Jamie to dress up as a leprechaun because he "fit the part."

Before the gig, Alex had Tim rent a car (you can't rent a car until you're 21 in Ireland) and we stole it and drove out to Wicklow Mountains early in the morning. It had rained the night before, the grass still smelled dewy and the birds had begun to start chirping after the storm. 

We parked and walked through Ballinastoe Woods, up crickety makeshift wooden steps. The woods looked like something written by Henry David Thoreau. Rain licked off by leaves and our steps rustled the ground beneath us.

"I'd like to live in a place like this," I told him. I think I might have said this in every city but I truthfully meant it in Wicklow.

Alex glanced over smiling at me. "You're a country girl at heart."

I shook my head and stuffed my hands in my hoodie's pockets. "I love the city. I'm definitely a city girl."

He shook his head, always knowing me better than I knew myself. "You're a country girl, Janie. You love nature. I'm shocked you haven't talked about having a farm and riding horses."

I beamed. "I'd like a horse."

He pointed a finger at me. "See."

I shook my head again, insisting, "Just because I appreciate nature doesn't mean I'm a country girl. I love the bustling of London. Never knowing what you're going to get up to in a night. I adore it."

He laughed at my word choice. "'Adore,'" he imitated. "All I'm saying is in 10 years when you're on a farm riding your pet horse, Buttercup, I'm definitely going to be telling you 'I told you so.'"

"Whatever you say, Al."

(I have a horse. Not named Buttercup).

"Are you a country boy?" I asked.

He shrugged. His hood was annoyingly over his head, hair in eyes, covering much of his face. He said he was cold. I didn't—and don't—believe him. "I like aspects of it. The quietness. The sun shining. I'm always happy when the sun's out."

I giggled at his bright face. He was smiling as the sun peeked out from the clouds. If I could, I would be the Sun. I rubbed his cheek with the back of my hand. "You're adorable."

He looked down at his feet as we walked on the dirt path. "I look a mess." He was self-deprecating and refused a compliment. Humble and insecure.

I came close to his side and bumped his hip. "You're the cutest guy I know."

"Stop it, you." He kicked a stone with his knackered Converses.

"Are you doubting my tastes?" I questioned, raising my eyebrows. A light threat on my part.

He laughed in an attempt to detract from the topic of the conversation. "I ain't no Hugh Grant."

"You better not be. Is the sequel to 'Scummy' you soliciting a prostitute while you're with Elizabeth Hurley?"

"Does this make you Elizabeth Hurley?"

I batted my lashes at him. "Well, aren't I as pretty as Elizabeth Hurley?"

"Prettier." Doubtful, Elizabeth Hurley in the Versace pin dress is the epitome of beautiful women everywhere, but I'll believe his lie for my ego and sake of argument at that moment.

"Believe me, you are way better looking than Hugh Grant. You're my little monkey, Alexander." I caressed my fingers against his chin. A weird habit I have, sure, but he has a fascinating chin.

He smiled down at me. "Thank you." It was odd. An emotional sincerity that we hadn't ever had. Usually, it was me being all insecure and feelings-obsessed. Alex buried things so deeply and I wore my heart on my sleeve, both to a fault. We were too in our heads about everything, especially during the time of the tour. We made the effort to make up for lost time but became obsessed with how that should be done rather than doing it. In short spurts of time—Regent's Park & Wicklow—it felt like we could just be. I was terrified by his changing personality that it didn't occur to me until the end of the tour that I could get to know this new him. He wasn't much different from the old him, all the qualities were the same, just new feelings and perspectives. It fascinated me to no end. It felt like getting to know him all over again and I loved that. I love cracking Alex open and discovering a new embellishment to his yolk every time. He has a new rivet in his mind, an unknown one or a new one. It's why I want to hang on to him forever. I hated myself for not realizing this sooner but I was smart enough not to punish myself for it in the moment. I focused on him.

I kissed his cheek. It felt adorably sweet like something out of I Love Lucy or something. I was flooded with so much emotion from kissing his cheek that I decided to kiss his other cheek. I stepped down from my toes and he was grinning down upon me. I kissed his nose with delight. Before I could go for his chin, he kissed my cheek and then my lips. It was a saccharine beat. 

I pulled away from him and continued to walk ahead of him on the path. Following his earlier directions of "Lead the way, madame." He was only a few steps behind me when he did something rare. He reached up and tapped my hand. I looked back but he didn't make eye contact with me. His eyes focused on my right hand. He reached up with his left hand and intertwined our hands. I didn't say anything. He didn't say anything. We held hands up the rest of the incline. No words were spoken.

On the drive back, all I remember is laughter. I asked Alex recently what we talked about on that drive back. My memory lacks that moment of what caused the uncontrollable nature of that laughter. He had no clue either. He only remembers nearly hitting a deer halfway through the drive, which led to more undiagnosable laughter.

Upon returning to Wakefield, I wrote in my diary, It is harmful to live through pictures but I long to return to Wicklow, atop that hill. Below the entry, I left a space to tape in a photo I took of Alex at the end of the trail. I never did print the photo out and the SD card is yet another thing to add to the list of lost items. (I promise that isn't the case in later years, but I was 19 and had the procrastination level to never get things done. Most of my belongings from that age were lost when my parents moved or sold in the auction before the move. "Excuses, excuses, Janie" was quipped when Alex read this passage).

At Stacey's birthday dinner, we ate at home at the dinner table per her request. Stacey still holds onto the belief that we can operate like a normal family. I think she's the only reason why we still make an effort. 

Shockingly, the dinner itself was enjoyable coated with something my family rarely had—laughter. Harper, Greg, and their spouses had both come into town, a rare thing when it came to birthdays. In a stunning act of resistance and resilience, no fights occurred between Greg and Harper.

We ate lobster for dinner. My mother abhors seafood and the smell of it, but she caved for Stacey. Maybe because she's the baby of the family or some gene—the mother gene—reactivated in Macau. Like she won it at a slot machine.

Halfway through the dinner, Harper asked me about the tour. Stacey squealed with excitement, "I want alllllllllll the details."

We laughed at her cuteness. I didn't quite know how to answer it. My instinct was to be quick and keep it vague. My parents didn't have much interest in my whereabouts or activities, especially with Alex. I don't think they had any clue how big they were getting. They pictured Arctic Monkeys playing in their neighbor's garages and not for the BBC. I think if they knew the BBC liked them, they'd condemn the BBC before they would praise the band.

I answered, "It was good. I liked seeing all these little corners of the UK and Ireland. Very beautiful."

Ian, Harper's husband, asked me, "Which city was your favourite?"

I shrugged. "Maybe Dublin, but that was only a couple of days ago. Recency bias probably."

"Harp told me they're playing Reading & Leeds," Ian said.

I nodded. "This weekend."

Stacey exclaimed, "I want to go soooooo badly. Please, please!"

My mother ruled, "No." She pointed her eyes at me. "We're barely letting you go."

Stacey whined, "Aren't I old enough now?!"

"You'll never be old enough," my father told her.

"What if we all went?" Stacey suggested.

I nearly choked on my own breath. The suggestion sent a buzz up my spine that could have the power to paralyze me. My lungs had popped like balloons and deflated completely into my stomach.

My mother began to laugh. Stacey's frown grew deep. "Never, sweetie, never."

Stacey sat disappointed but was later cheered up by my mother promising to take her shopping this weekend instead. She came back with diamond stud earrings. I think she preferred shopping.

*

At the Reading half of the weekend, Alex seemed in a completely different headspace. In every conversation, he was checked out, his mind elsewhere. I understood why.

The other boys didn't look calm either. Matt was pacing and jumping around. Jamie was on the phone with his mum. Andy was staring at the floor. Alex and I had snuck off the path from the group. Not completely out of their sight, but shielded from Andy's muttering and Matt's exclaims that he claimed to be from excitement and totally not from nervousness.

I grabbed his hand and his pulse was beating so hard it jumpstarted mine. We sat in some chairs behind the tent they were playing in. The weather was muggy and the sun was usually bright. They were set to go on in a half hour. Alex was sweating. I wasn't helping matters.

"Are you excited?" I was cheery, which definitely pissed him off.

He nodded rapidly, not a good sign. "Yeah, yeah, of course. Yeah, yeah."

"Then, you have Leeds tomorrow!"

He squeezed my hand. "Alright, Janie, let's talk about something else."

"Right, right. Well, after these shows, you'll be back in Sheffield and me in Wakefield—"

"Like the good ol' days," Alex quipped.

I rolled my eyes. "If those are the good ol' days then kill me now."

"Oh, come on. I couldn't have been that bad. I happen to think I was really cute a year ago."

"You've only gotten cuter, Al, you should know that. It's what makes all the girls scream."

He tossed his head away from my gaze in exasperation. He returned to my eyes with a grin. "Will you be screaming?"

I furrowed my brows. "No, I'm not a fool."

Alex boyishly giggled. He squeezed my hand tighter as if trying to communicate something in Morse Code.

"Shall we talk about your second year at Greenwich?" He asked it with enthusiasm. Always the proudest of me, even if I was dreading school starting up again.

I shelved my head on his shoulder. He looked down at me, eyes small. He looked sleepy. "I'll miss you."

"Good."

I sat up and punched his arm. "No love lost from you."

He clutched his upper arm. "Eh! You watch it." He wrapped his arm around my shoulders, tugging me close. If we were to show any more affection, we might have hugged one another. "We'll be down at the end of September."

I beamed up at him and exaggerated my words as I teasingly said, "For M. T. V." He rolled his eyes, trying to seem humble and uncaring toward the performance. "MTV is a huge deal, Al." I shook his hand that I was holding. "Come on."

He exhaled loudly. "It's going quick. The single in October and everything." We never talked about this rushing fame and the effects it had on him. We celebrated it but didn't dissect it, at least not in that first year where everything changed in the blink of an eye. The year before we were smoking a cigarette outside The Boardwalk and now we were at Reading & Leeds talking about MTV.

I tried to turn his mind away from the thoughts that were contributing to that nervous look on his face. Heavy breathing, empty eyes, and shaky hands. "Do you think you could get me on Pimp My Ride?"

He looked up at me and laughed. "For your little Beetle?" I nodded. "Why would you ever want to change a thing about that car?"

"I want to get mine done like that Ford Capri that had a thousand Swarovski crystals decorated on it," I recounted.

Alex stuck his tongue out and gagged. "Awfully tacky."

"Exactly! Then, every time we ride in the car we can complain about how horrible it looks and feels but we can do it together. Then, maybe my dad will buy me a new one or something."

Alex shook his head. "I like the Beetle. Never get rid of the Beetle."

I shrugged. "I don't use it in London. I barely used it this summer. It's just sitting in my parents' garage. My mum is probably trying to get rid of it anyway."

"Don't let her. I like that car."

I sighed. "Okay."

We soon got up and I walked with him to the side of the stage. They all looked jittery. You could hear the noise from the crowd only growing louder and louder. "Jane, we need you to look," Matt told me.

"Huh?"

"You get the first look. How bad is it? Step out and tell us," he advised me. He grabbed my shoulders and pushed me from behind to look out. I peeked my eyes out of the curtain at the endless sea of people. They were flooding out of the tent. It suddenly made me nervous but then I remembered this wasn't the Year 4 spelling bee and I calmed down. 

I looked at them, nervous and waiting for my answer. "It's an amazing turn-out."

They grunted like that was the worst thing imaginable. "I didn't want people to actually turn up," Matt whined.

"You wanted to play to an empty crowd?" I questioned.

Matt beat his drumsticks on his leg. "No, no. I'm just nervous, fuck, Jane." He turned his attention to his bandmates. "There must be a million people out there if she's saying it's an amazing turn-out."

There was no time to comfort, even though I wasn't sure anything I said would reassure Matt or the group. The stagehand came by and lifted the curtain, directing them out onto the stage for thunderous cheering. Their set was great. The following one at Leeds was just as out-of-this-world. 

When we returned to home base and Alex came over to my house, Stacey asked him how it was. He told her that he couldn't remember a single thing.

*

In the fall, a little over a week before "I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor" was released, the Monkeys played the Astoria in London, which seated about 2,000. It was the largest venue I had ever seen them at. Except for "Riot Van," they had played the first album in full and I naturally exaggerate things but it felt like every single person was singing. I brought just Georgia with me.

The band would leave for Portsmouth the next morning but managed to hang around for the night. Alex stayed with me at Defoe, instead of the tour bus. He was sweaty and as talkative as ever when he left the stage. I had thought of wrapping myself around him in a prideful sense but he had sweated through his Little Flames red T-shirt and I decided to wait until he put his hoodie on and we were out in the cold October air.

He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and I wrapped my arm around his waist with the thought this is what adults do. I once again imagined we were heading to our home after an evening of fun—the ones you have after a long week of work. 

A diary entry from the following night read:

Sometimes I pray to be older and settled with Alex. A push-and-pull on my heart is too hard. I'd only speak these words to myself, but I've never felt so whole. A part of me goes where he goes. He's gone for so long. I only feel whole for a day. But that day is worth everything.

As we walked from Astoria to the train station, Alex kissed me. It was a hard kiss, the kind implanted on my lips still. He whispered in my ear, "I love you." We were going home.

I kissed his cheek, soft and serene. I had fallen in love with doing that in Wicklow and have never stopped loving it. "You were fucking amazing tonight. A proper rockstar."

He shrugged and kissed me again. "I missed you."

I squeezed his side, longing to feel his skin under his chunk of clothes. "I like it when you slag off the crowd. It always makes me giggle." The thought of him stopping mid-"Still Take You Home" to yell at can-throwers in the crowd made me bite my tongue to prevent bursting into more giggles.

He pulled me closer as if in retaliation for pinching his side. He dropped his head down to look me directly in the eye with wide brown puppy-dog eyes. "Did you miss me?"

I wrinkled my nose up completely and stuck my tongue at him. "Nope." I blew a raspberry at him.

Alex stood up and clutched his chest. "You are brutal, Janie."

I looked up at him. His eyes were ahead as he acted like he couldn't even make eye contact with me. Medusa fit me well. "I missed you and I love you, as Stacey would say, soooooooooooooo much."

He nodded pleased. "Good."

When we arrived at my dorm, we had sex. It was quick and, from my memory, gross. I believe this was the occasion where Alex sneezed on me mid-coitus and I got snot in my eye. Would his cum have been better? He came after that like it was some sequential release.

"I'm going to kill you," I promised him.

He was out of breath and nearly collapsed on me until I shoved him off of me and forced him to get toilet paper for me because I had no tissues in my room. He wiped it off of me like it was chivalrous affection. 

When he went to throw the paper away I asked, "When will I see you again?"

He sighed. The topic was always one we sighed at. He crawled back into bed and said, "There's that party we're having for the single release. You know, just at a pub and things."

I placed my cold hands on his warm shoulders. "I have this exam coming up soon." I bite my bottom lip. "Would you hate me if I missed it?"

He smiled at me. It reminded me of how I looked when he got off stage. "Course not. It's not that big. I'll write you about it."

I chuckled. "You'll write me about it?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

A week later, he wrote me:

Matt hammered. I hammered. Write more later.

The following week they had the #1 hit in the country. I held silent pride. I didn't rave about it to everybody. That day, Robert made some dumb joke about it, Georgia told me to congratulate them, and Tish played the song off her iPod. Later that night, I went out with a new set of friends from my Short Story Writing class. We went clubbing. Something my Beatnik group of friends wouldn't be caught dead doing. I loved it.

I danced with strangers and felt free. It wasn't dancing at some ratty pub or someone's house. I held the freedom of barely knowing anyone there. I chased it. "Dancefloor" came on right before I was about to leave the dancefloor for another drink. I was definitely drunk but I grabbed the hand of the girl I had been dancing with and said, "This is my boyfriend's song!"

She cheered and danced with me to it. I never saw her again and I think she didn't even hear what I said but I felt desperate to tell everyone that that song we just danced to was my boyfriend's. My new friends were amused by it but also thought I was psycho until they did eventually find out that I was, in fact, not telling a drunk lie.

The following day, Alex emailed and wrote:

Assuming you heard. Mad, right? Wish you were here to celebrate but we will do some more when the album goes #1, right? I'm saying "right?" too much. Repetition can be favourable to getting your point across, right? Right? Right? Right? I'm going mad. 

Love, Al

p.s. Jools Holland on the 28th. See you then, Jane C.

*

"No fair. You get to go to Amsterdam before me," I whined in Alex's ear. 

He chuckled back. "I think you have me beat on countries visited."

It was the eve of Halloween. The following day the band was kicking off a European leg of their tour. Alex and I were held up in my dorm. 

On Friday, they played Jools Holland. I was both their band's loyal groupie and bitter spokesperson. "Yes, he is cute, but I hear his girlfriend is even cuter" that kind of thing. Of course, I was saying this to Tim so their reputations weren't damaged much. 

As much as the Monkeys shunned the press in those early days and it was a rare time for Alex and me, London is—and this might shock you—a major city with many journalists. On Saturday, Alex did some press talking to The Guardian. Later that night, he walked into my dorm as one might come home to their wife after work. I was becoming a romantic nutjob.

On Sunday—Halloween Eve—Alex and I huddled under blankets. It was somewhere around 2 in the afternoon but you could tell me otherwise and I'd believe you. He'd be in Amsterdam tomorrow, then Sint-Joost-ten-Node in Belgium (Alex butchered the pronunciation every time), they would zap around Europe before their first U.S. shows and a Tokyo show, therefore, god knows when the next time we would be in the same time zone would be. I'd see him in December. I'd also be in my childhood bedroom.

"After this tour, you'll have me beat," I told him. I tapped his chin in a rhythmic pattern. His chin was my personal kick drum.

He was proud of this knowledge knowing he'd have more experience in something than me. Then, something else tugged his smile. He cuddled me closer. "Why don't you come with?"

I furrowed my brows, unsure but also completely sure of what he was saying. "What?"

"Maybe come to America with us or something." His grin gave me hope for something. Life called, unfortunately, and fortunately. 

"I'll have finals, Al." I giggled. It would soften the blow. I'm not sure if the blow was hitting me or him. I hoped neither of us.

He chuckled and nodded. "I know." He kissed me. "Someday." My daydreams in Prose Fiction in Context would be taken away by this.

I nodded. "A little shoebox."

"I hope we'll be richer than that." He hushed his voice as if he didn't want the zero other people in the room to hear us. "We do have the #1 song in the country."

I elbowed him. "Fine, then I want a pool please!"

"A pool for Jane C. it is then."

"And maybe a hot tub too."

"I'm not made out of money, Janie Yanie."

*

a/n: do i write too much for this series? maybe, but i can't help it. it calls upon me.

[xiexiecaptain]

The biggest thing I've learned to help manage my ADHD in regards to getting things done is to Follow Those Impulses

(I'm not saying this will work for or is even a good strategy for everyone, but in my own situation it's helped me.)

I'm like allergic to consistency in schedule and cannot enforce one on myself so all it leads to is self-loathing and failure. Trust me, I've been attempting to will-power, shame-fuel my way through it since I was a preteen (I'm currently almost 30.) It does not work for me.

Obviously medication can give me a huge leg up on stuff. But beyond a certain point my brain is simply not wired for long-term sustained consistency.

As in many of my issues, I've found that working with myself gets better results than fighting myself.

When I follow those sudden impulses of interest and motivation, I get things done.

To the outside, I look absolutely haphazard. I'll pause a show I'm watching mid-sentence, stand up, and go empty the dishwasher because my mood/brain/chemicals *ping*ed that it was suddenly do-able and not a huge overwhelming task. Or I'll be putting away laundry and that *ping* will go off and I'll spend three hours re-organizing my closet.

To a neurotypical, this looks like distracted and disorganized behavior.

To me, it's following the way my brain naturally works in order to accomplish tasks.

My ADHD manifests in that I experience very small and unsustainable windows of motivation and interest. So when I feel that window crack open, doing the Thing right then (when the situation enables me to) can mean the Thing actually happens. Even if it's not the thing I'm "supposed" to be doing.

With a neurotypical in that situation, they might be putting away clothes and think: "Oh, I should organize my closet. I have time this weekend, I'll do it then," finish putting away their clothes, and then organize the closet when they had free time that weekend.

I used to try to do things that way too. Because it was how I was taught that "responsible, real people" did it, and had "finish one thing before you start another" drilled into my head. But I'm literally not wired to work that way. And I've been working on undoing that internalized ableism of believing one way of doing things is better and I need to change to adhere to it. I don't and shouldn't be expected to to my own detriment.

For me with the closet example, the weekend would come and I would spend 5 hours screaming at myself to stop working on whatever did have my interest in order to go organize the closet. Sometimes I might ended up doing it. More often, I would not be able get myself to do it even after all that. I would just sit there, yelling at myself, hating myself despite my brain literally not having the chemicals to initiate the activity (let alone follow through) and nothing would get done. Not even the thing I wanted to focus on instead.

The only thing I did accomplish was hating myself for not being able to do "simple" things like other people (read: neurotypicals.)

This is basically how I spent the majority of my schooling; doing simple tasks felt like running in sand. And I internalized all the messages that told me it was my own fault I couldn't run as fast and in as straight a line as those running on pavement.

The past few years, I've been trying to follow impulses more. And its honestly been really helpful.

I get more done even if it isn't a "consistent" amount or I can't always count on having a specific thing done by a certain date.

But the big thing is that I spend less time hating myself for not doing what I "should" be and more time actually doing things when I have the motivation for them. More shit happens, I'm undoing some of that self-loathing.

tl;dr: My advice for fellow adult ADHD-ers is:

Try to learn what your natural rhythms are and, where possible, try leaning into them. Without judgement, try working with your natural tendencies rather than battling them at every moment. See how it feels, see what you accomplish (and not just in the capitalistic "productivity" way--spending 3 hours hyperfocusing on researching the history of wheat germ counts!) See how your brain and body feel.

Your brain is wired different, let yourself operate different.

[pokemonshelterstories]

Even after reading your FAQ and a bunch of asks you've answered, I'm still not sure if a shelter blog is the best place to ask this, so do feel free to delete this (or tell me privately that you won't post it, but only if you have the time and energy), but I can't think of anyone else, and if you do post it, you or some of your followers might have some interesting thoughts, so here goes:

How would you feel about using Pokeballs to catch Pokémon you're planning to eat?

For context, I and my siblings grew up in a small, mostly off-grid community, and while most details aren't relevant, we did hunt for food occasionally. We never used pokeballs, but instead bow and arrow, fishing rods, nets and traps.

These days I live closer to a big city, sharing a house with my brother, his husband, and their teenage son (my other nibling, their older child, has moved out a while ago, so they're not part of this story).

Last month, we visited the community my brother and I grew up in, and during our two week stay, I took my nephew on a hunting trip. He was decently enthusiastic to train his archery, but he asked why we don't just use pokeballs. Wouldn't it be easier? I didn't have an answer for him then, only that we'd been taught this way and that I'd never considered using pokeballs.

But I've been thinking about it. It would be easier, but wouldn't it also be more cruel? After all, by catching it in a pokeball, you're giving the pokemon false hope of a nice life with a trainer, only to then kill it. I feel like killing it quickly while it's still in the wild and doesn't know any better is more, like, honest maybe?

What do you or your followers think?

(If any angry vegans find this post, don't even waste your energy on a mean response or lecture, because most likely I have you blocked already, and if I don't, I'll correct that when I see you being rude to me)

oooh, this is an interesting ask to get...

i think this is really more of a matter of personal comfort with the idea of eating a pokemon that's been caught in a ball, but as long as it's done properly, i don't see anything wrong with it. after all, pokemon for the most part don't really have any concept of what's going to happen to them in the future.

as someone who hunts, you (i assume) understand our duty to give the pokemon we eat as painless of a death as possible. then, as trainers, we have a duty to maintain the 5 freedoms for our pokemon, which includes freedom from psychological stress. provided you meet those requirements, i think it's ok to catch a pokemon in a pokeball for the sake of eating it. it's more humane than certain types of traps that leave the pokemon struggling until the hunter comes to check them, and pokemon tend to relax in pokeballs, since they mimic the way pokemon curl up when healing. when the pokemon is released from its ball, you then just need to humanely slaughter it. there are some pokemon that i wouldn't do this with, since they don't immediately take well to being caught in a ball; buneary is a good example. but many common game pokemon do just fine.

i've actually used a different tool to help out with culling food pokemon- my styler! there are a lot of farms out near artazon, and rangers do sometimes get asked to help with keeping livestock mons calm in the moments leading up to slaughter. i've met rangers who aren't comfortable taking on those cases, and i've definitely gotten fussed at by my share of pokemon rights activists, but i think pokemon raised as food deserve as calm of an environment as possible. so, no, i dont think using pokeballs to trap game is cruel as long as you know what you're doing and don't stress the pokemon out. but if you're used to the way you already do things, don't feel like you have to change it up either.

[artmunstudios]

Lies of P Character Analysis: P and Carlo

Spoilers for the ending of the game lie ahead under the cut!

I have been seeing a lot of people refer to P as Carlo, specifically in the Rise of P ending, and I think it is very important to think about this fact, because it kind of goes hand in hand with the themes of the game overall. And on top of that, it's important for when making theories too!

P isn’t Carlo—he never was, and won’t ever be no matter what ending you get. Not even the Nameless Puppet is really Carlo. (His corpse maybe which is,,,,, so fucked)

I'm kinda driving this home, because I think it is really important to understand the difference between P and Carlo, because despite Geppetto claiming that P inherited his personality instead of the memories, they clearly are very different people, and that is solely because of their environments.

He’s much more like a reflection of Carlo, if he was raised in a more loving/nurturing environment. P is a Carlo that isn’t solely filled with nothing but spite and anger towards his father that literally abandoned and clearly even resented him. Compare this to the people around P at the home he knew, Hotel Krat.

Sofia— Never once really says a bad word to P. Not even in the bad ending. She is that gentle guide that, despite claiming to have awakened P for selfish reasons, acts entirely selfless and is willing for her freedom to be put on hold to help P in aiding in lessening the damage in Krat. She compliments him, gives encouraging words, and I would even dare to say she teaches P the value of life.

Antonia— Grandma. Of. The Year. Can we please give this classy lady of all sass and glory more than a peaceful death? Like???? I dunno, sneak her a bottle of that good wine, Tipple Lady seemed to really dig it. If she wasn't so sick I am more than certain that she would have been doting on P more than just verbally. I'm talking that kind of grandma, and you know exactly what I mean. This lady would somehow find a way for there to be ingredients for cookies because goddammit, she may be classy but I bet you any money she makes the best goddamn peanut butter cookies and YOU CANNOT TELL ME OTHERWISE. Every time P would come back all dirty, he would get the scolding of a lifetime because how many times does she have to tell him to leave that dirty coat and boots at the entry and let Polendina get them for a wash— And finally, if she were well enough you know damn well P would have been even more classy than he already was with those outfits. She would spend an entire day going through wardrobes and having P try each outfit on to see what looks good, because no grandson of hers is going out in drabs she will not have it— Ahem. Er. ANywayyy...that grandma. she would be that grandma. And still kind of is, she just couldn't do much being so ill. And, kind of on the flipside, I think Antonia in a way taught P the importance of death, and how it can be drawing near, but you can still be full of hope like she was.

Polendina and Pulcinella — These two taught P a very important lesson, and even taught it to him fairly early on! Puppets are not inherently evil; in fact, they can be just as alive as any human. They both love the ones they take care of, and provide that sense of kinship that P really needed. In a way, P is biracial (racial....or...????bispecies???? I????? I don't know what to call it?????) so seeing both sides of each half in him is such a great influence, and helps him realize that he may be different to both, he can belong in both worlds.

Eugenie— Sweetie. Babygirl. Bestie. She was thrown into the position of big sister so fast she didn't even realize it until like. The end of the game, I think. That conversation about her big brother seemed to make her realize that she was a big sister to P in a way, I think. Which is why the realization about her own older sibling made things much harder, I think.

Lorenzini— An eccentric, but genuinely kind hearted man. A human, that despite everything, still treats the puppets as family. Hell, he doesn't even convinced that they are the villains, and he is the one to actually initiate the whole path to when the group discovers that Geppetto is the one behind the frenzy. 1000/10, coolest uncle; he probably will buy P so many ridiculous things the moment things have calmed down in Krat. What's that? Oh, yes you need a place to stay--HAVE A HOUSE. DO YOU WANT THE BLOCK I CAN BUY YOU A BLOCK-- (Pulcinella has to withhold finances because Lorenzini will NOT stop buying P shit, and the poor lad doesn't really have a concept of money so of course he's gonna accept it all and just say yes!) .... (The realization of P not really having a concept of currency suddenly startles me. WHAT IS HE GONNA DO WHEN KRAT IS RESTORED??? POLENDINA WHY DID YOU RESET HE NEEDS FUCKIN HELP— )

Geppetto— Ah. Yes. Rat bastard (derogatory). Deadbeat dad. Control freak. YOU. I will. Give him this, and I do genuinely mean this; despite everything he has done, and how manipulative he is, he, ironically, gave P exactly what he needed from a father in some ways. Specifically, Geppetto always reminded P that he was precious and important to him, and that he genuinely did not like sending him out into dangerous situations. Even though, it was for different reasons, and the majority of us were suspicious from the start, we have to think about it from P's perspective. Think about all the things he said to him, until the end at least. P had legitimately no reason to suspect Geppetto. In many ways, as far as P could tell, he was perfect. Encouraging, gentle, he made sure P was always in tip-top shape, and he told him that he was proud to see him fight the King of Puppets (yes it's fucked up knowing it was Romeo, Carlo's possible only friend, but again, P doesn't know that until the very end). In a way, he taught P his own worth, to the point that he valued his own individuality, and refused to give up his sense of self. And in the very end, I think Geppetto realized that P was not Carlo, but he loved him like a father, despite everything.

Gemini (I FORGOT GEMINI AND HAD TO EDIT TO ADD HIM IN CAST ME INTO THE FUCKIN FIRE I AM A FAKE PINOCCHIO LORE FANATIC) - Gemini, in my opinion, in this iteration is less of a conscious and more of a??? He's kinda like Romeo's replacement, in a way; he's P's best friend. He kinda also teaches P humor as well, which is honestly a take on the talking Cricket that is so unique. He's like that awkward teacher that is young but still a little out of touch with the generation he's teaching that it's like the equivalent of hearing your 30 something professor tell a fucking dad pun. Speaking of teaching, he teaches P a lot! Especially history, and cultural stuff for Krat; and I think that's also really important for development! And it is really sweet how he still, despite Krat being in disarray, tries to kinda give the city that sense of wonder and joy for P that maybe other tourists would have.

Now, contrast that with Carlo's life:

His father drops him off randomly at a place he doesn't know (a fucking orphanage dude, you couldn't even be fucked to ship him to a proper private school at least Geppetto?) at we can assume age 10-12, without even bothering to tell him when or if he would come back, based on that first memory we see. How many more sleeps until daddy comes back? Geppetto couldn't even be bothered to see his graduation, and he claims that he would not care if he just dropped over dead. And, I'm gonna be real, just based on the line delivery, as well as some personal experiences (get into that a little later with some dissection) I fully believe he means it. I'm gonna be real, the people who say stuff like that, specifically older kids edging adulthood, most of the time they really mean that shit. And, to make matters worse, it's not even just Geppetto that brushes him off, even people that you could argue are supposed to be mentor figures, brush him off. But we don't know enough yet about the Stalker Woman, so I won't go too deep into that. Right to his death (which we have to assume was homicide) it seemed like the entire world, but Romeo, rejected him.

In a way, it makes sense that the Nameless Puppet is just a rage-filled, calculating, killing machine when it gets P's heart. It doesn't inherit the personality, just the memories. And that, with the kind of life Carlo lived, makes for a very dangerous being.

Let's also think about what Giangio said, too. He calls P a new kind of human. P doesn't just magically get human guts and whatnot. He's not human, he's a cyborg, I suppose, but even that doesn't seem entirely right. It's just kinda as Giangio calls him; a new kind of human. I guess, if we want to get cheeky, P is a Legion Human. Carlo was human, and that's just how it was. Carlo never comes back, but the memory of him does seem to live on in P. He's like??? He starts off as a reflection, and ends up becoming a legacy to Carlo, in a way.

But there is one huge indicator yet that shows that P and Carlo are separate people.

I'm gonna be honest, and say potentially a bold take, but I genuinely don't think Carlo would have cried if he were there when Geppetto dies, I really don't. Just speaking from personal experience (yet again), I have an absentee parent that, the older I get, I kind of realized was never really in my life. Similar to Geppetto in a way, too, in the concept of wanting more of a concept rather than actually being a parent. So, just speaking from that perspective, if my absentee father who never bothered to get to know me or even cared about who I was as a person died in such a way (lowkey from his own hubris) I can't say it's realistic to think that someone with that kind of relationship would cry for that parent. Feel sad? Absolutely, it's not like you are heartless and just lose all sense of apathy for that person. But it's hard to really mourn for a stranger at worst, and a associate at best.

However, P does cry. More than that, when you see him curl over Geppetto's body in the true end, that right there, is fucking despair. Again, just kind of speaking from experience, your body does some weird shit to cope when you are upset over a death. You kinda revert back to that state of being a kid, wanting to coddle your precious thing because when you were at that age, you believed that things could be fixed with stuff like a hug, or cradling, etc. It's not a conscious thought, but that is part of the reflex. P holds Geppetto, the man that he genuinely sees as his father, close; because it's the only thing he knows what to do in that moment. If we think about Carlo and Geppetto's relationship, can we really see Carlo holding his father close like that?

TLDR: P and Carlo are two entirely different people; and it is almost solely because of the environments they were in.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

my personal pet peeves in HP is whole second book, and medicine. especially medicine

starting with the sewers that Salazar invented about half a millennium before the Muggles and beyond. but these things have almost no effect on the overall effect, but hospitals do. the school infirmary and St. Mungus. it feels like jkr came up with Saint Mongoose only for book 5, because before when students suffered serious injuries (Basilisk and cat hair for polyjuice, I mean you) they were treated at school. the students literally waited half a year for the mandrakes to ripen! but for some reason the teachers are transferred to Mungos (McGonagall did not stay at the school after 4 spells).

either these are plot holes or I don't understand something

Like with many things in HP, you can read it as a plot hole, or you can read it as Dumbledore's manipulations at it again (which is what I always do).

If we're talking specifically about year 2, we know Dumbledore knows what the Chamber is and what the monster is. He was a professor the first time around 50 years ago when Myrtle died. He knew it was Tom back then so it's not that he has no clue.

I think he doesn't know for certain who Tom is possessing at first or how, and he lets it play out to both:

Learn more about Voldy

Test & teach Harry

Additionally, even if petrification isn't serious enough to be sent to St Mongos (playing devil's advocate a little), I refuse to believe mandrake leaves can't be imported year-round. I mean, they are a common enough potion ingredient and are used in sleeping potions and healing potions. So there must be a supplier for potioners from where they buy the specific parts of the mandrake they need.

So, I think there was a wee bit of a coverup going on so Harry could be the one to figure it out and face Voldemort. Like in first year:

“No, it isn’t,” said Harry thoughtfully. “He’s a funny man, Dumbledore. I think he sort of wanted to give me a chance. I think he knows more or less everything that goes on here, you know. I reckon he had a pretty good idea we were going to try, and instead of stopping us, he just taught us enough to help. I don’t think it was an accident he let me find out how the mirror worked. It’s almost like he thought I had the right to face Voldemort if I could. ...” “Yeah, Dumbledore’s off his rocker, all right,” said Ron proudly.

(PS)

“You see what you expect to see, Severus,” said Dumbledore, without raising his eyes from a copy of Transfiguration Today. “Other teachers report that the boy is modest, likable, and reasonably talented. Personally, I find him an engaging child.” Dumbledore turned a page, and said, without looking up, “Keep an eye on Quirrell, won’t you?”

(DH)

Dumbledore is testing Harry in his first 3 years. The first time Dumbledore isn't fully in on what's going on at Hogwarts and isn't aware of all of it is 4th year (and even then I'm pretty certain he knew Moody was an imposter, but I digress).

In general, I think, 2nd year is just another example of Dumbledore endangering students and sacrificing their education (by hiring Lockhart) to teach Harry a lesson and test if Harry is truly a Horcrux, which he suspected before:

“Couldn’t you do something about it, Dumbledore?” “Even if I could, I wouldn’t. Scars can come in handy...”

(PS) - when talking to McGonagall about Harry's lightning scar.

“I guessed, fifteen years ago,” said Dumbledore, “when I saw the scar upon your forehead, what it might mean. I guessed that it might be the sign of a connection forged between you and Voldemort.” “You’ve told me this before, Professor,” said Harry bluntly. He did not care about being rude. He did not care about anything very much anymore. “Yes,” said Dumbledore apologetically. “Yes, but you see — it is necessary to start with your scar. For it became apparent, shortly after you rejoined the magical world, that I was correct, and that your scar was giving you warnings when Voldemort was close to you, or else feeling powerful emotion.”

(OotP)

But second-year proved it to him:

“You can speak Parseltongue, Harry,” said Dumbledore calmly, “because Lord Voldemort — who is the last remaining descendant of Salazar Slytherin — can speak Parseltongue. Unless I’m much mistaken, he transferred some of his own powers to you the night he gave you that scar. Not something he intended to do, I’m sure. . . .”

(CoS)

It allowed him to test his Horcruxes theory (the diary) and also test Harry. It accomplished a lot of things Dumbledore needed anyway, so he probably thanked Lucius in his head as he let it all play out.

I mean, we see how little concern Dumbledore shows over Katie and Ron who got hurt by Draco trying to kill him:

“You gave me your word, Severus. And while we are talking about services you owe me, I thought you agreed to keep a close eye on our young Slytherin friend?” Snape looked angry, mutinous. Dumbledore sighed.

(DH) - this is all Dumbledore really says about Draco endangering students.

“You have had a busy time while I have been away,” Dumbledore said. “I believe you witnessed Katie’s accident.” “Yes, sir. How is she?” “Still very unwell, although she was relatively lucky. She appears to have brushed the necklace with the smallest possible amount of skin: There was a tiny hole in her glove. Had she put it on, had she even held it in her ungloved hand, she would have died, perhaps instantly.

(HBP) - even when talking to Harry he is incredibly cold about it.

And in book 2, the board of governors did get involved and removed Dumbledore from the school because they, quite reasonably, were concerned he wasn't dealing with the danger seriously. Like, I know it was Lucius Malfoy who engineered it and he's not supposed to be in the right, but he kinda accidentally was in this case. Dumbledore probably hid a lot of information from the board and was weird about the whole deal, I mean, Lucius can bribe to his heart's content but I don't think the board would remove Dumbledore so readily unless Dumbledore's behavior supported what Lucius was saying in some capacity.

We know Dumbledore is incredibly cold and calculated and we know it's not out of character for Dumbledore to endanger students if it advances his goals and doesn't hurt anyone too much by his standards. What's a few petrifications if it means he can be sure he can kill Voldemort and learn more about his connection to Harry?

(Regarding Hermione and the Polyjuice in year 2 is even easier. Because I don't believe Hermione told her parents and Hogwarts wouldn't tell muggles about what's going on at school, so it would be quite easy to hush down for the sake of the grander plan. Also, it protects her, Harry, and Ron since what they did is kinda illegal, so Dumbledore not sending Hermione to St Mongos protects them from punishment, which works well for them and him in this case)

[genderqueerdykes]

Do you have any tips for cooking @ home? I'm trying to eat a more healthy diet but cooking at home is one of the bigger hurdles for myself to handle, especially since I've never been taught how to cook and I worry about wasting food.

Maybe ARFID isn't really the right word since I'm not diagnosed anyway, but 90% of the time I prefer crunchy things, but when it's something like a vegetable I can't really handle the taste and I'm not sure how to cook them in ways that they keep their crunch.

i like this question a lot!

i've had to adjust my diet bit by bit over the past 2 years due to my digestive issues. i've had to learn how to cook a wider variety of things in order to not eat something that will immediately make me sick. people can have aversions to a variety of foods for different reasons, it's alright to take the time to learn what you can and can't eat and work with those things first

depending on your personal tastes, there are ways to lightly steam or even eat that vegetable raw that is more suited to your tastes. i mean it when i say that a good sauce can really make the difference in what you're preparing! sometimes dressings or marinades are needed as well, it's important to consider what you can add to the dish that doesn't require tons of prep, or even for the items to be cooked

there are certain vegetables i really can't stand raw, carrots being one of them. they're too sweet. on the other hand there are vegetables i prefer raw like broccoli. certain vegetables lose certain nutritional values such as their fiber content breaking down during the cooking process, and so on. if there are certain veggies that you can safely consume raw that's not necessarily an issue

what i'd say is work with staples that you know you can eat and add new things from there. you can literally start with just rice, pasta, bread, soups, whatever you know you can for sure eat. i make miso soup at home to ease my stomach pain and help get my body and mind ready to think about food. i struggle with feeling motivated to eat, so i find eating very small amounts of food before a big meal can help you figure out what you want before you get into it

depending on what foods you want to stay crunchy you may be able to find recipes for those specific things and be able to incorporate their texture into your current diet. certain vegetables like water chestnuts and lotus root stay very crunchy after being cooked. it's not impossible to keep some of the texture for certain foods. even if you have to google something like "carrot recipes" or "recipes that use broccoli" you can use that as an idea to work from

i google a lot of my meal ideas to get a better concept on how to prepare it. i look up a few recipes before i start cooking so i can try to gauge what i'm getting myself into, if i have the proper ingredients, if i need to try different recipes, etc. looking up recipes can be fun too because you may discover something new that's easy to make and would suit your tastes better. i'd say if you can be open to recipes from other cultures, there may be dishes that will suit your tastes better that you're not personally familiar with for the time being

i use to think i wasn't a fan of brown rice but i really enjoy it. it has a different texture and flavor profile that i love, it's worth waiting the long cooking time. whenever i have spare money i'd like to get a rice cooker to make it even easier. rice can easily be cooked with some seasonings in the water to make it more flavorful as well! grains, pasta, and breads can be simple meals themselves, too. i find it easy to eat lightly seasoned brown rice & miso soup when i can't think of anything else

cut out foods that aren't working for you slowly too, you don't want to give up things that you currently like because they're not 'healthy' or anything like that. give yourself time to adjust, especially as you learn to cook new things. cooking takes a lot of practice. i don't have a microwave or toaster, i've learned to make everything with my oven and stove and i enjoy it. it lets me customize things and the texture comes out better. being able to personalize your food is really important

i don't eat prepared foods much anymore, i generally get staple ingredients from the food bank and make my own versions. it's easier to weed out foods that are bad for you if you can control what goes into your food. i don't have eggs, so there aren't any eggs hiding in my food. i don't have meat so there's no meat, lard, or other animal products hiding in there, nor dairy, etc. i get vegan cheese and butter alternatives from the food bank as well, so it's getting easier with just using staple ingredients, but learning new recipes and how to prepare them does take time

please let me know if you have more specific questions i'd love to help! this is important to me because people need to be able to eat foods that don't make them feel like shit, or don't taste or feel awful to eat. when we eat the way we interpret taste and texture is very important on gauging whether or not we're eating foods that are right for our bodies or not. it's okay to like crunchy foods. it's been postulated that this is an indicator of low iron. you may also just like them! either way it's good to listen to your body. it's okay if you seek these patterns, it's your diet, your tastes, etc. you're allowed to define what is good for your tastes and your body

take care! good luck, cooking is a skill that's learned slowly over time, i hope things get easier for you soon!

[1d10tch1ld]

Being Winterqueer should be the norm

(Message me if you need, I am not going to attack anyone over this subject even though it does frustrate me.)

Like how Queer Activism is the norm because guess what? Making assumptions that all white people or white passing people could not be going through severe trauma or could not be gaslighted into thinking their a bad horrible person because of their race or adding to their pre-existing trauma is not funny.

Racism is Taught, Not a Biological "gift."

Save your opinion for after you've heard me out, I know I am like the only white person affected by this but I am also autistic and have a hard time being sure on certain tones.

Most of my trauma stems from TikTok, but the thing is I don't view my trauma as that much connected to it since that'd be avoiding responsible that the creators should be taking with over 1Billion people I think the person/people should be held accountable.

I can't force someone into my opinion but I hate being spoken over, I don't mean to trigger anyone but if you are then please scroll past this post.

Racism hurts everyone, including the relationships and friendships someone can have so even if the racism is not explicitly aimed at a white person it can still hurt them because majority of people hate seeing the ones they love in pain.

2. Calling someone a colonizer for being white passing or having white genes is just as bad as calling a German person a Nzi for being originally from Germany, years after the holocaust ended many Germans were hated for being German whom did not even support Nzi's (such as children who were born after the event, It's not the childs fault for their parent including if someone has a parent who is a murderer, the child had no choice in who their parent is such as with their ancestry.)

3. I support everyones right to talk about their experiences whether they are white or not, but putting one over the other or any kind of forced ethnocentrism is wrong and gross. (as in claiming stuff that didn't originate from their country as originating from their country is wrong.)

4. the conflation between feeling good about being white and being a white supremacist is gross, I don't support stuff like the KKK or NeoNzi's. But I want people to feel good about being white since someone who is proud of their heritage may be less likely in certain situations to be against racism especially fi the person was taught to be racism because they thought or were taught into thinking that all Black people for example hated them or would steal from them (which is a huge lie but someone already told to think that when they were searching for researchs to feel good about their race from their insecurity can fall into the pipeline of becoming a NeoNzi).

5. I think it should be taught in schools or universities for people looking to become psychologists that emotional manipulation can be helpful or can provide a good tool to make people avoid becoming racist or even if it's given into someone's selfish point of view they should still use it but not to gaslight them into hating themselves. such as an interaction like this:

"I hate xyz people"

"Why do you hate xyz people?"

"Explain here or something."

:0 Then the therapist can gain knowledge on how to redirect the persons thought process to avoid any hatred against people of "xyz" race. but that should be the norm of what is used in therapy to negate those feelings of shame or doubt in someones feelings towards being or towards people of "xyz" race.

I love how black activists act like white people are the problem when for years majority of them don't care about Black men, or cared about George Flloyd yet did nothing to actually change laws or change things for Black men like putting a better system in place for them? If George Flloyd lived today he'd still have been klled which to me prove as a society we did nothing. we are the society, traditional is not mainstream society so stop conflating traditional with society.

Like the same for White people, majority of racism that would come from a white person is likely feeling threatened by POC people so it's good to teach that out of them but somehow POC people took that to mean making fun of their trauma or paranoia! Making fun of someone with Paranoia about something no matter what is ableist and I will not stand for it but purposely inducing Paranoia into someone is also ableist.

I would argue that black men are often dispositioned into roles where they are more likely thought to be dumber or less-human then black women. the whole George Flloyd thing did not get to the root of the issue which is the Police System --- since no one thought to take it to the Police Department / Head of the police to have honest discussions on what to change to make sure its less likely to happen since it'd influence the training style or it'd still make a remembrance day or something??? Like guys words aren't all you need to make a change.

(NO!) No, more gaslighting someone into not being able to talk about their experiences, some people act like therapists are just robots pre-programmed with automatically knowing how to make someone better yet these lies from POC people (not all POC people but like a lot of POC activists) do reach therapists yet a white person can't say they feel gaslighted or they feel like their trauma is not taken serious for being white --- or other white people shut the white person down, not wanting them to label their trauma as racism when it technically is.

Like the whole argument over, "white racism does not exist" so what am I to tell my therapist if the therapist thinks like that? It does not prove anything to them, it just makes it harder for a lot of people to access therapy as they may refuse or think the therapist is weak because they are basing their opinion on "empathy" and not every feels empathy.

No one is arguing that white racism is as bad as any other types of racism but yet people want to know why so many people go from being White at birth to go identifying as Trace like??? I don't want people to have to identify as Trace because it's just been adding to the trauma I have because I want people to be able to work through their trauma and what I mean by that is not the current gaslighting therapy style we have now. So please stop the way you talk or act about race, you don't need to be an activist based on the colour of your skin.

That goes to everyone, you can be an activist if you genuinely want but know this It doesn't change if you are morally right or wrong as long as you hear people out then its fine but if your not willing to on any issue then you can't really get your own activism across to them.

[empresskadia]

Blue Team [Master Chief | John-117 + Fred-104] relationship headcanons

Didn't realize that Tumblr now has a character limit, so Kelly and Linda's will be on another post.

Kelly + Linda

It took less than a week into your relationship to realize John's love language is doing acts of service. He's great at listening and if he hears you're having a problem and he can fix it, you bet your ass the Master Chief will go out of his way to help. You're hungry? John will disappear for ten minutes and bring you back a plate of food with too much on it. John sees that you're struggling to carry something, this man will appear at your side and take it from you. Is someone bothering you? Not anymore.

Maybe not immediately, but John will eventually abuse his position for you, whether it's to keep you safe, or reroute orders to have you on his team to simply seeing the joy on your face receiving something you've wanted, he has no shame. John's had too much taken from him, and he's not abusing his power to hurt anyone so it's okay in his mind.

Kelly just stares at him with her mouth slightly agape when she witnesses him do something like this for the first time. She was certainly not expecting it but also John says it's okay, so it's okay.

Firstly when the rest of Blue team find out John's in a relationship, Fred drops whatever he's holding, Kelly calls bullshit and Linda is the one to stop Kelly from approaching his partner and grilling them for answers. Once the surprise dims down, they're all pretty supportive and protective of his partner. You're something good that's happened in his life and they respect that, especially once they find out you asked John out.

They want to know everything, so they can tease the hell out of the Master Chief. Especially Kelly, Fred's here for the ride and Linda will simply find out one way or another.

Patience is a key virtue when in a relationship with any Spartan, more so, the lls and llls. They were taught to be soldiers and get missions done, regardless of the sacrifice. Interacting with anyone outside their Spartan families was almost frowned upon. This being said positive reinforcement and communication with John is a must. He doesn't know what he's doing, this is all new for the spartan, so please talk with him. And he'll do his best to work on his communication with you if something is bothering him.

John is awful at telling you he's uncomfortable with certain things, whether it's something he doesn't understand or with how fast things could be proceeding. He won't say anything but when he tenses up, that is his dead giveaway. So you'll need to ask him what's wrong or tell him you know something bothering him.

After a certain point, you'll be able to recognize meaning in his movements, not fully understand Spartan gestures unless they teach you but you can tell when he's annoyed about something or when he's excited to see you and visa versa, John's able to tell what kind of mood you're in from across the room.

Unless you're adamantly against it, be ready to learn how to defend yourself if you don't already. John makes it his personal mission to teach you how to use different weapons and how to spar, hell even if you know how to defend yourself John will be teaching his partner new ways of sparing and pointing out mistakes you're making. He knows the training you received, if any, wasn't like his but he can help you improve.

John is also one who will gladly go on morning runs with you, yes he is faster, but he doesn't mind slowing down his pace to stay with his partner.

There isn't any doubt that John's protective by nature, if he has to pull rank to get you to listen, he will, especially if you're injured. John knows you can take care of yourself but he can't help it, he's lost too many.

You'll notice that John will stand closer to you after the relationship is first established. He does it subconsciously like he's ready to jump in front of you to protect his partner at a moment's notice.

There is an unspoken agreement among the Spartans to watch out for each other's significant others if they have one, so you can bet if you get into a fight with anyone, Kelly will be the first to jump in.

In the beginning, you'll need to instigate most things until he gets comfortable enough to do, more often than not behind closed doors.  However, when he needs to reassure himself you're safe and there, the only thing he'll do is gently grab your hand and give it a squeeze before letting go if you happen to be in public.

The man might never admit to your face, but Fred likes hugs, specifically your hugs, and everyone on Blue team knows it. As do you. It's really not a secret even though he refuses to talk about it. He just likes holding you, or when you hold him, Fred isn't picky. He's lost alot of people and when you're in his arms, he feels like he can protect his partner from the realities of the world. The first time you asked to hug him, the lieutenant tensed up so visibly that you thought you offended him. Fred was so confused and might've short-circuited, don't mind him, he's just being our confused puppy.

Kelly did in fact tease him about how quickly he melted into your embrace and how it took him a full minute to mirror your actions. She likes telling him, 'Don't freeze this time.' whenever you show up. Linda had also boarded the 'tease Fred over this' train and you bet your ass she will tell John when they see him next.

The first time you kissed Fred's cheek, completely flabbergasted, he didn't know what to do with himself and just said 'thanks?' after a few minutes of staring at you. He makes you swear to never tell the others.

Never let him live this down. The Ferrets heard about it and now make fun of him for it [in a very loving way for Spartans]. Anytime he does anything for them, they just say 'thanks?' and he's confused before he hears one of them snicker softly. You have witnessed Mark of all people doing this to him while off his smoother, to say you almost died laughing is an understatement. tbh Mark is really proud of himself for this.

Also if you ever kiss Fred on his helmet in front of the Ferrets, Olivia will gasp and say "What about me?" then pretend to be offended. You hugged her once and she hella tensed up before forcing herself to relax and after a minute remarked, "This is nice."

Fred only starts understanding how touch-starved he is when you come skipping along into his life. Like, he didn't believe that was a thing until recently because he will take every chance to hug you when in private. He gets genuinely happy to have your attention at any given second as it makes him feel validated, and if you voice that you like his hugs or attention, he feels like he's doing great and could conquer the world.

Please tell him he's doing good in the relationship. We all know Fred's got some anxiety, so positive validation is important to him, whether he realizes it or not. He stresses when he hasn't seen you in awhile because he thinks you might be upset but you knew what you were signing up for when getting into a relationship with him. Tell Fred, he's fine and that yes, you still love him and will continue to love him, regardless of the distance.

Sit with him while he does paperwork, Fred enjoys your company and likes sitting next to his partner when working.

On the unspoken agreement to watch a Spartan's S/o's back, Olivia has stood behind you getting ready to jump into a fight about to throw down between you and an ODST. She's not going to stop you simply out of respect nor get Fred but you bet she's gonna help and if Ash or Mark find out, you got the gammas rolling up their sleeves.

This stresses Veta out when the ferrets disappear to have your back, only to find them celebrating their win and the only defense they have is "it's the spartan agreement."

Some Retirement! Blue Team headcanons next anyone?