#just once I wanted something good to happen with no stipulations or unexpected changes

[aworldofjune]

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[thedistantdusk]

Arcadia, Chapter 2

Here we gooooo :) Thanks again to @secretkeeper13, @accio-broom, @ginisbetterthanfirewhiskey, @remedialpotions, @not-steve42, @jamezbot, @gryffindorhealer, and the majority of the HG server for their help <3

If you’ve just arriving, here is Chapter 1. :)

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D A Y  +  T W O 

He’s driving her mad. Absolutely fucking mad.

Ginny grips the hose in an attempt to water the rose bush outside their window, but her eyes are unfocused, unseeing.

This entire thing was such a terrible idea.

She should’ve insisted on another Auror as backup on her first solo mission. Someone less attractive. Someone she hadn’t shagged up one side of the Burrow and down the next.

But the request was difficult to grant in the first place. It took Ginny a full year of documentation to prove this was a necessary use of resources. Attica (and Unspeakables in general) don’t tend to be well-liked by the older Aurors, which made Harry the best fit. The only fit. Everyone— from Kingsley to Attica to even Hermione— agreed. And even aside from the sheer convenience of it all, Ginny’s years of experience with the Thought Chamber and Harry’s ability to sniff out trouble like a niffler after gold made them a brilliant combination to tackle… this.

It’s just a pity, then, that she still finds him so bloody attractive. Even though he’s become a bit of a brooding, sarcastic mess.

Ginny blinks down at the bright pink petals, their leathery flesh beaded with water droplets. Maybe the problem’s that she hasn’t spent much time around him since then. He still comes around for Sunday roast, of course, when his work schedule permits. In spite of what Mum went through, she’d never allow Harry to feel unwelcome. It’s his house as much as theirs— and yes, Ginny still lives at home. It’s the least she can do to maintain a degree of normalcy, even though everything irrevocably changed when It happened.

Ginny’s hands begin to shake around the hose; her brain starts to spiral. The Burrow is less welcoming now. Their hugs are more forced. Their family more distant. And although everyone functions on a basic human level, Ginny knows in her gut that the remaining Weasley siblings — Harry most certainly included — are still going through the motions to cope.

And maybe it’s because she really hadn’t had a libido in nearly five years, but fuck, it hasn’t taken much to come rushing back. Her thighs press together as her head fills with another series of intrusive thoughts instead. But she can’t suppress the memory of Harry emerging from the shower this morning, his top-half dripping, his bottom-half toweled. Not that it matters much, not when she knows every fucking inch of—

“I think that bush is good now!”

Ginny jumps, a string of swears springing to her lips. “I— fuck.” She turns to the unexpected voice. “Sorry! Let me—”

But Oliver from last night merely leans over to turn off the hose. “You’ll quickly learn that sort of language isn’t great for Arcadia, Jen,” he intones, finger wagging.

Years of training allow Ginny to blush in chagrin. To shove aside the telling-off she’d have provided a long, long time ago. “Sorry.” She winces. “It’s just a habit, leftover from—”

“—London, right,” he finishes, his eyes never leaving hers. “Anyway. Listen. Sharon and I would be honored if you joined us for dinner tonight.”

“Did I hear something about dinner?” Harry strolls out of the house, the door shutting behind him with a satisfying thump. “Goodie! As my wife knows, dinner is my favorite word.” He rests his chin on her head, sliding his thumbs through the belt loops of her jeans. Ginny’s heart clenches in familiarity even as her face remains placid. They agreed to all of these terms beforehand… to feign public affection. To seem utterly smitten. It’s just funny how they’ve both relied on old habits.

Ginny reckons that makes sense, though. After all, it worked for them once.

She turns towards Harry with a pout. “But Pookie Pie, I thought your favorite word was snuggles! We certainly did enough of that last night.”

Harry’s chuckle rings out with false bravado as he tucks her hair behind her ears. “We did something, all right. Not sure if snuggling is the right word for it. What do you think, Oliver?” Harry whips around to face him. “What’s your favorite word for… marital relations?” His eyebrows waggle suggestively above his glasses; Ginny stomps on his foot to keep herself from laughing.

Oliver, however, does not find them delightful. “I think this is for you. From Mike.” He points to a box that he apparently rested on the ground while Ginny was drowning the roses.

Harry bends over to pick it up. This does nothing to distract her.

“Couldn’t Mike erm…” Ginny shakes her head to clear it. “Sorry. Couldn’t he bring it over himself? He lives just—”

“Out of town on business, I’m afraid.” Oliver’s voice turns cold as he peers at Ginny again. “He won’t be back for weeks. Months, maybe.”

Ginny makes a noise of concern and rests a fist on her hip. “Huh! That’s funny. What out-of-town business could a primary school teacher possibly have?”

Oliver’s eyes narrow, but his grin remains. “Teacher business, I guess.”

“When can we speak to someone about the trampoline?” Harry blurts, slicing the tension. “I’m missing my exercise, Ollie. It’s how I stay fit. You won’t like me when I’m not exercising!”

With that, Oliver’s grin finally fades. “Well, you can ask Mr. Gogolak, but I don’t think anything will come of it. He’s available tonight from 5 o’clock to 6:13, on the dot. He lives just up there, on the corner. Anyway, I’ll be off.” He gives a parting wave and turns to walk up the drive, but Harry isn’t done.

“Not sure how we’ll manage to make that and dinner, though,” he calls. “Don’t we have to be indoors by six?”

But it seems Oliver is absolutely intent on being elsewhere, because he opts to walk backwards and yell from the street. “Of course not!” he shouts. “Six is only the move-in deadline.” Then he barks out a cruel laugh, throwing his hands in the air. “Any idiot knows that dinner starts at 7!” With that, he sends them a final glare before lumbering away, his brown loafers crunching on the pavement.

Harry and Ginny snort in unison; if Oliver hears them, he doesn’t engage.

“See you later!” Ginny confirms, ensuring it’s loud enough for him to hear. Then she drops her voice to a stage-whisper and cups her hand into a regal wave. “Hope Sharon removes that stick from your arse before dinner tonight, you miserable sack of shit. Suck my dick!”

Harry laughs. “As much as I appreciate the support, Muffin Cakes, that’s one insult that just doesn’t work when you say it.”

And Ginny doesn’t know what comes over her next… she really, really doesn’t.

Because in the blink of an eye, she’s pushed Harry against the front door with a petulant pout. The pulsing between her legs returns with humiliating swiftness; it’s a blessing, really, that Harry’s dreadful at flirting and picking up on cues. They’re in public, but this is the furthest thing from acting.

Nonetheless, Harry’s Adam’s apple bobs as her arms drape around his neck. She watches, rapt, as his eyes darken. Apart from that one slip-up last night, he’s excelled at his job… and as she leans into his hard chest, she realizes how she really feels: she's jealous. Dreadfully jealous.

How dare he be better at this? What in hell gave him the right to soak her knickers with a single look? She’s had years of professional training and a lifetime of practice, but it comes naturally to him— this pretending shit.

And for fuck’s sake… he’s a lot better at it.

“But it’s been ages since you’ve been in my knickers, Baby Bear,” she croons, batting her eyelashes. “How would you know?”

She intends it playfully. A gentle way to put him in his place. But to her surprise, something stinging and sober crosses Harry’s face.

The moment’s over… absolutely over.

In a flash, he pushes her away and gestures at the door. After you. She nods, still turned on but now confused. The whole thing reminds her of ancient history, where she waited for him after each quidditch practice and thought, wished, prayed that he’d touch her… all while hoping to God he wouldn’t.

It takes until they’re inside for her to figure out why he’s upset.

He locks the door behind them with a wave of his wand— and when he whips around, his face is twisted into such a brooding scowl that it pins her on the spot. Shit.

“It goes without saying,” Harry mutters, voice dangerously low, “that there are some things a bloke just doesn’t forget.” He lets out a deep breath, his eyelashes fluttering. “Ok?”

Oh.

Ginny’s cheeks flush as it all comes rushing back. She’s honestly forgotten how… attached he was to that ability. How much he prided himself on being able to please her. How he worshipped her body with such respectful, hushed reverence that it still features in her fantasies.

It seems there’s a limit to his acting skills, after all. A line that he just won’t cross. She should be chuffed that she got what she wanted. Instead, her stomach throbs with guilt.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, biting her lip. “I didn’t mean—”

“Forget it.” He waves his hand over his shoulder and trudges upstairs, leaving her in hollow silence.

Right.

_________________________________

Mr. Gogolak crosses his left leg over his right and swirls his brandy tumbler. Between the ruddy patches on his cheeks and the way his words slip over each other, it’s not his first of the evening. Harry’s reminded of Slughorn. In the worst possible way.

“Anyway.” Gogolak waves at the massive tabbed binder to his left. “As the rules clearly stipulate, a trampoline would lead to other things. Unsavory things.” He raises his eyebrows and takes a sip.

Harry’s eyes flit around the room, trying to take it all in. The decor is… nice, he supposes, if you want every guest to be aware — beyond a shadow of a doubt— that You’ve Been Abroad, thanks. Multi-colored felt flower vases dot the floating shelves above Gogolak’s head, each a pop of color in a room that’s otherwise painfully beige. Scrolls hand-painted with renditions of Buddha and Lokta hang on the far wall. And above them… Harry cocks his head, puzzled, and tries to place where he’s seen that particular mask before.

“Of course,” Ginny agrees with a fervent nod. “We understand the need for decorum and cooperation, don’t we, Hen?”

“Where‘s that mask from?” Harry blurts, nudging his chin up.

Ginny rubs her temples in frustration, but if anything, Gogolak seems flattered.

“Oh! That.” His face flushes with pride as he takes another drink. “That’s a wrathful Mahakala mask. From Tibet! I bought it cheap off a street orphan during my last trip. Can’t say he had much need for it, what with being starving and living in the street.” His laugh booms over the sitting room.

Harry tries to focus. He’s there for Ginny. He’s there for Ginny. He’s only backup. But ah, bugger, after the other shit today it’s too much, and—

“Ha!” Harry returns his humorless laugh. “Isn’t poverty hilarious, Jen?”

There’s an anxious pause.

Ginny ends it with a fake giggle of her own. “As you can see, Mr. Gogolak, my husband is growing a bit testy without his exercise!” She nudges Harry in the ribs— hard enough to make her point, but not hard enough to hurt. “So if we could only have the trampoline, then—”

“‘Fraid not,” Gogolak slurs, peering down at his brandy again. “See, there’s a reason Arcadia has been named Best Village for so long: People simply love to live here!”

“Oh?” Ginny returns her teacup to the table. “Everyone loves to live here?” She rests her elbows on her knees, her voice dropping to a discreet whisper. “What about the people who’ve gone missing, then?”

At first, Gogolak is unperturbed. Then his smile deepens, his eyes traveling from Ginny’s face down to her chest. For fuck’s sake. This arsehole can’t be serious! Harry’s gut swirls with something visceral and protective. He wraps his arm around her shoulders as his hand inches for the wand in his back pocket. Ginny catches his hand on the way and interlaces their fingers with an almost imperceptible, “Shh.”

“Well, well, well,” Gogolak drawls, leaning back to full-on leer at her. “You’re a feisty one, aren’t you? Should’ve known. You’re a ginger, after all.”

Wrong answer.

“Not sure what the color of her hair has to do with her question,” Harry says stiffly. It’s the politest thing he can manage. Ginny squeezes his thigh.

Gogolak faces Harry instead, his face a mask of delighted malice. “Your wife is very beautiful, Mr. Petri,” he drawls. “You must forgive an old man for noticing.”

“Pee-tri,” Harry grouses.

Is it possible to accidentally Avada Kedavra someone with your eyes? Surely he’d be forgiven for that, yeah? He counts five deep breaths, his face burning, as he waits for Ginny to take the lead.

He’s still a bit taken aback at how quickly things changed. He thought he was irritated with her earlier, but now he realizes that frustrated is a better word. They haven’t been together in ages, but she has to know what she still does to him. It wasn’t like she’d grown less beautiful. And while he’s not proud of how things ended, he’s spent the last five years taking pride in knowing her. In being her first, as primitive and knuckle-dragging as that sounds. Because no matter how bad things were, he was always able to make her…

Yeah.

He bites the inside of his cheek. Had he deluded himself into thinking it was as good for her as it was for him?

Ginny clears her throat again. “But what of the people?” she prompts. “The missing people? Like Eric Highland, who lived in our house until last August, when—”

“Oh, him!” Gogolak booms out another uncomfortable laugh and drains the rest of his tumbler. “Well, don’t tell anyone I told you this, but—” He makes a slitting motion across his throat and pours himself another drink. “Committed suicide. Quite a mess.”

Then Gogolak stills, his eyes widening; for the first time this evening, he looks vaguely embarrassed. “Oh, but not in your home, of course!” He waves his hand dismissively. “We’d never, you know, let someone move in after that. Would affect property values, you see.”

Harry’s heart pounds in his ears as Ginny clenches his hand, for once. He wonders if he’s ever given less of a shit about property values.

Another span of uncomfortable silence stretches between them… but this one grows more furious and heated with every second. The version of her he knew before would have Bat Bogeyed this wanker before she took a breath. But everything’s different now.

“That’s… not the preferred term,” Ginny finally manages, her voice strained. Harry grips her hand more tightly; that odd rush of pride returns. He knew she’d say something. There’s not a single version of her that would let that go.

Gogolak’s brow furrows. “What do you—”

“—Took his life,” Ginny interjects, her voice ringing with the righteousness Harry only dimly recognizes from the woman he knew before. “Or died by suicide. Or had terminal depression.”

He holds her hand even tighter as she draws a deep breath, shifting in her seat. Get him, Gin. Get the bastard. Whatever you need, I’m there.

“Committed is a word that… implies a crime,” Ginny finishes. But her words sound careful now. “It just adds to the stigma that people with mental illness are problematic. Words mean things. So.”

Gogolak presses his lips into a thin line. “Forget I brought it up.”

“I will,” Ginny says coolly.

Ginny hadn’t thought much could be worse than the meeting with Mr. Gogolak. Unfortunately, dinner with Sharon and Oliver is proving her wrong.

“This is free-range chicken, of course,” Oliver drawls, gesturing towards their plates. “Got them at the organic market. Anything for health!”

They’d already been treated to iceberg lettuce salads and glasses of generic Merlot. Perhaps she should have anticipated chicken breast and rice as the thrilling main course.

Harry cuts his chicken breast with a sigh. “That’s a pity, Oliver. We all know that caged chickens are tastier!”

Ginny muffles a snort with a cough and reaches for her glass of wine.

Sharon pauses, fork mid-way to her mouth, to peer at Harry, bleary-eyed and confused. Oh, for fuck’s sake; what was it about suburbia that removed one’s ability to recognize a joke?

Oliver changes the subject before Ginny gets the chance. “Where did you two meet, anyway?” he grunts. “And how long have you been married?”

Ginny smiles, preparing the canned response they practiced for months. They met in uni through mutual friends. They both work in computers, and last year, they finally realized it was time to leave the big city.

Harry shatters all of that with three words.

“Magic camp, actually!” he announces, throwing an arm around Ginny’s shoulders.

Fuck. She analyzes her chicken with newfound intensity and tries to imagine something sad.

“Huh,” Oliver says flatly. “Wouldn’t have taken either of you for magicians.”

Sharon has the grace to act embarrassed. “Now now, love,” she chides, reaching for the breadbasket, “I’m sure people have loads of hobbies that aren’t always obvious to everyone!”

“Exactly!” Harry grins and reaches for a piece of baguette. “Besides, it’s mostly Jenny who’s mad for it. Card tricks, pulling bunnies from hats, sawing women in half. Even—” he pauses for a dramatic gasp— “magic wands! You name it, she loves it.”

“Well!” Sharon raises her eyebrows; it’s clear she’s feigning being impressed. “If I’m ever in need of disappearing something, I’ll know who to call!”

Aha! The perfect opening!

“Speaking of disappearing,” Ginny starts, as casually as possible, “we checked with Saint Julian’s Primary. It’s not true Mike left on business.”

Sharon’s smile freezes and melts with such speed that Ginny feels a pang of sympathy. Poor Sharon. She’s really just doing her best to be a pleasant hostess. It’s Oliver who has the clear ulterior motive.

The man in question takes another sip of wine, unfazed. “And why did you have interest in contacting a primary school in the first place? Bit weird for a grown adult, that.”

Harry releases another fake chuckle. “Oh, Oliver, you’re such a prankster!” He bites off some bread. “Surely you’re not turning the tables on my wife and accusing her of being the weird one. After all, all she did was ask about the whereabouts of a lovely member of our community. Right?”

He gives Oliver such an exaggerated wink that even Ginny almost believes him. “And besides…” Harry’s hand wraps around her shoulder again. “Do you reckon we should tell them?” he murmurs, voice laden with his expectation.

Ginny rolls her eyes, fully intent on a thin-lipped, silent warning about making shit up… but Harry’s earnest expression stops her. His green eyes blink behind his glasses, the corners of his mouth slightly upturned. Before she knows what’s happening, one of his warm hands cups her chin while the other comes to rest on her stomach.

Oh. She sucks in a breath, her heart pounding— because for a moment, she forgets where she is. She forgets they’re faking. She forgets they split up and chose separate paths, that they weren’t looking through a portal of what could have been, should have been, before their lives turned to shit.

“Not yet, of course,” Harry murmurs, appearing for all the world like he’s drinking her in as his fingers tap at her stomach. “But soon. We hope.”

And with that, he abruptly clears his throat and turns back to the Skinners. “Anyway, that’s why we called Saint Julian’s,” Harry adds, nonchalantly as you please. “Always good to be prepared, eh?”

“Oh, how exciting!” Sharon cries, clasping her hands together. “And yes, I agree— preparedness is key.”

“Knew you’d be happy for us,” Harry says with another wink. “Quite an exciting time, I’m sure you understand.”

It’s then that Ginny finds her voice. “So. Erm,” she starts, trying to focus. “They hadn’t heard from him. Mike. The school, I mean.” She takes another sip of wine to get her bearings back. “Any idea where he could’ve gone? You understand why we’re a bit worried, especially if we’re planning to—”

“No,” Oliver snaps, nostrils flaring. Sharon’s fork clatters to her plate; if swearing were allowed in this house, Ginny’s confident she would’ve let one slip. “I don’t understand, and you’ll find that snooping isn’t a past-time I appreciate,” Oliver finishes, drawing himself up taller to puff out his chest.

Ginny lets out an incredulous chuckle. “But Oliver… this is a matter of safety. We’re worried about our neighbor.”

“Yeah, Ollie-O!” Harry clucks his tongue, relaxing further into his chair. “Perhaps Arcadia isn’t as perfect as we were led to believe.”

Oliver just fixes them both with a stern glare. “Nope,” he says flatly. The p pops. “You’re wrong. Per usual.”

For six seconds, the four of them sit in painful, frigid silence. Ginny feels Harry’s hand reach behind him… inching closer to his wand...

“Jenny!” Sharon finally chirps, her voice a falsetto. Oh, thank fuck. “I need to walk the dog. Would you join me?”

___________________________

Captain Bone’s toenails tick on the pavement as Sharon holds his lead. Ginny peers at him with unexpected affection as he prances beneath the street lights. Dogs are too high-maintenance for her to even consider, but something about this one is undeniably appealing. As if he hears her, Captain Bone turns to Ginny with a slobbery grin.

Sharon laughs. “He likes you. He’s a sucker for a pretty girl.”

Ginny scratches beneath the thick leather collar with Captain Bone emblazoned on a bronze plate. He throws his head back for more access. Poor Captain Bone. The whole collar looked horribly uncomfortable. “I like him too,” Ginny agrees as he flounces away. “I’m afraid work keeps me too busy for a dog, though.”

Sharon waves this away. “Nah. I’ve seen the way Henry stares at you.” She flashes a knowing smile as they continue strolling, side-by-side. “I reckon if you really wanted a dog, he’d oblige.”

Captain Bone halts, mid-step, and picks up his leg. Sharon removes a waste bag from her pocket.

“You’re probably right,” Ginny mutters. She’s not sure why that feels like admitting to a scandal.

Sharon sighs. “The way he looks at you. The way he touches you. Like he’s holding the whole world in his hands.” Her voice grows wistful, distant; Ginny has a feeling she’s not actually talking about Harry at all.

“Well, we are newlyweds.” Ginny mashes her kitten heel — a clothing acquisition specific to this assignment — into the pavement. “I’m erm. Sure that’ll change.”

But Sharon just stares at Captain Bone as he does his business. “Maybe,” she says softly. “But I don’t reckon Oliver ever looked at me quite like that.”

Ginny blinks at Sharon beneath the streetlight, the fluorescent throwing her features into sharp relief. Wrinkles fold the corners of her eyes. Bits of gray sprout at her scalp beneath the warm chestnut color. Her smile may have been natural once, but now it’s forced. Uneasy. Ginny grimaces. This poor woman… imagine thinking you couldn’t do better than a wanker like Oliver.

“Shit!” Sharon swears, ripping Ginny from her reverie— and soon, she sees why. Captain Bone charges down the street, his lead scraping the ground like a limp noodle. “I wasn’t holding him tightly enough,” she whispers, horrified. “I’ll have to—”

“No,” Ginny says, taking off her heels and thrusting them into Sharon’s arms. “Let me!” And with that, she’s off, bare feet slapping the pavement.

“Don’t blame you for trying to get away,” Ginny mutters, rounding a corner. “The place is bloody creepy. But next time, Captain Bone, could you do this in broad daylight? Nighttime ‘round here is—”

Wait.

Ginny stops, dead in her tracks. A weird sensation creeps over her, crawling against her skin. All the street noise vanishes. Crickets stop chirping; wind stops whistling. She looks around, panic rising in her throat, but nothing looks amiss. She can’t shake it, though… their eerie, numb ringing that fills her head, and—

Like a thunderclap, it all comes back. The faint wind returns. Bugs resume their buzzing. The electric lamppost makes a dull crackling just above her.

Weird. Very fucking weird.

Luckily, Ginny specializes in weird; in the aftermath of whatever the hell that was, she’s more confused than frightened. She takes a few more shaky steps, making every observation she can (temperature, cloud pattern, weather conditions, insect movement)... and that’s when she spies something glinting to her left. Something golden and stuffed in a storm drain.

No. Ginny’s heart pounds as she rushes over, sinking to her knees. It can’t be…

But the closer she gets, the clearer it is: Mike’s chain necklace… the medallion of Saint Julian. Right beside Captain Bone’s pretentious leather collar. For the first time, fear floods her stomach. She surreptitiously reaches for the wand tucked into her waistband. “Accio necklace.” It soars through the gate and into her hand just as Sharon’s footsteps round the corner.

Ginny shoves the necklace into her bra— and it’s only then she realizes that there must’ve been something strange and slimy hanging from it, because whatever the fuck that was is now pressed to her right nipple.

Blech. It takes every bit of her willpower not to shudder and gag. She manages to school her features into innocent concern as Sharon finally catches up.

“Well,” pants Sharon, hands on her thighs, “did you find him?”

“No,” Ginny laments, genuinely upset. She gestures towards the storm drain. “But for some reason, his collar’s down there.”

Even beneath the streetlamps, Sharon’s face turns white.

______________________________

Harry’s back muscles contract in agony as he hunches over the laptop. This whole assignment is a painful reminder that he’s not as young as he used to be. How many hours did he spend snoozing on the lawn at Hogwarts without so much as an ache? But a single bloody night on these shit couches, and he’s popping Paracetamol like sweets. He shifts in place; must be time for another dose.

“Hear anything?” Ginny emerges from the walk-in closet in a towel turban and fluffy white dressing gown, two evidence bags in her hands.

Harry glares at the laptop screen and tries very hard not to remember that one of those bags contains a lacy black bra— one he definitely hasn’t seen before. For the past hour, he’s been in an envious haze of wondering if she bought it for the mission or bought it to wear for someone else.

Either way, it consoles him that deep down, she’s still Ginny; she took this necklace and shoved it into her bra without letting on that something vile and gross was pressed to her ti—

He shakes his head to clear it, but that hurts his neck. For once, though, he embraces the pain. Anything to shift his focus.

“From the props department? No.” Harry sighs and retrieves the medicine bottle from his luggage. “I swear, I have no idea who they got to make the moving boxes and pick the couches, but I’m fairly sure Victoire could do better.”

Ginny scoffs at this. “Well, of course Vic could do better. She’s the most perfect, adorable human alive,” she says fondly, tossing the evidence bags in the transporter box.

It’s plain cardboard, easily disguised as a standard moving box. But with three taps of her wand, the bags evaporate, presumably materializing in a Ministry lab somewhere. Not that Harry cares about the specifics. This is a key example of the sort of detail that’s less and less intriguing the longer he holds this job.

“But I was actually asking if you’d heard anything about Mike and — hey, what are you doing?”

“Paracetamol,” Harry mutters, popping open the bottle. “I’m getting old, Ginny,” he warns, rising to his feet with an exaggerated grimace. “Dunno why you thought it would be a good idea to go on a mission with an old man.”

She rolls her eyes and walks into the bathroom. “You don’t need to be so bloody noble. Please join me on the bed. We could make it longer, even, if you—”

He clears his throat to cut her off. That would be a terrible idea on all counts. Silence on the other side of the door tells him that Ginny either realizes this or chooses not to press the issue. Good...

“Erm. There’s no hits on Mike,” Harry calls into the bathroom. “I reckon he’s dead, Ginny. Credit cards and car haven’t been touched.”

The tap turned on behind the door. “Can’t say I’m shocked,” Ginny admits, voice muffled, “but— holy hell, who taught you how to squeeze toothpaste?”

Harry smirks and returns to the computer. “Myself, probably.”

Ginny lets out another irritated groan. “And the toilet seat’s up!” She strides out of the bathroom. “Strike two!”

Harry hears the distinctive sound of clothing hitting the floor beside her bed but wills himself not to turn around, not to turn around, not to—

“Well.” Ginny sucks her teeth as the bedding rustles. “I suppose I should take all of that as a good sign, really. You clearly don’t have girls in and out of your flat.”

Oh?

Harry’s heart thunders in his ears, his stomach flipping in hope. She takes that as a good sign? Really? He glimpses over his shoulder before remembering he’s not supposed to look.

And just as quickly, he regrets it.

Because Ginny’s sprawled back against the bed, her face so white that she nearly blends into the linens, but his eyes aren’t too focused on her face. They’re drawn down, down, down… down to her creamy chest, dotted with chocolate freckles. Down to her breasts, which he definitely still knows every inch of, even as they rest beneath a black lace vest he hasn’t seen before. Down to the shorts that hug her hips and graze the tips of her thighs… the same thighs he spread open and dipped his head between as she tugged on his hair, her cries breathy and panting in the garden’s evening mist.

Ah, fuck. That one does it. Harry adjusts his basketball shorts as discreetly as possible, but another glimpse at her face tells him he didn’t need to worry.

“I can’t believe I said that,” she whispers, eyes filled with horror.

Harry clears his throat. He honestly forgot she said anything. Now he just feels guilty for eyeing her up while she spiraled.

“I’m so… fuck. This is so unprofessional.” She sinks her head into her hands. “Please, Harry, forget that I said anything. I’m so sorry. That was—”

“It’s forgotten,” he rumbles, his voice deeper than he realized. “Legitimately. I’ve already forgotten it.”

She shoots him a weak smile through the slits of her hands. “I know you haven’t. But thanks for saying it.”

Harry offers his best expression of bafflement as he picks up a pillow from the end of her bed. “Haven’t a clue what you mean, Unspeakable GW. See you at 0-700 hours.” He stops halfway out the door and gives her a military salute. “Unless, of course, you decide to start a bit later,” he adds seriously, “in which case I’ll see you… erm. 0-whenever-the-hell-you-wake-up-hours.”

Ginny giggles, settling against the pillows again.

“Thanks,” she says after a moment, peering at her cuticles. “For… everything. And especially for forgetting—” She makes a vague hand gesture as her cheeks flush the most fascinating shade of pink.

Harry stills, one hand on the doorknob.

He wants to make her feel better… but really, it’s more than that. He wants to tell her that his heart still jumps into his throat when he hears about an Unspeakable being injured on the job. He wants to admit that he avoids Sundays at the Burrow not because he stopped caring, but because he cares too much. He wants to confess, in a rush of passion, that she wasn’t just his first: she’s his only. That he reckons she’ll always be his only. That exchanging work for Them was the stupidest thing he ever agreed to, regardless of the circumstances.

Oh, and of course, that he still fucking loves her. Harry rubs his forehead, frustration gnawing at his stomach. Why in hell did he admit that to himself? You never admit that to yourself. What an idiot.

Still, they have a mission… a moronic, suburban mission filled with every literal and metaphorical breed of Karen imaginable. But as worthless as Harry considers this whole assignment, her neck is on the line if they come up empty-handed. And she values her assignment— and her neck, he reckons— quite a bit.

So he makes the choice to both reassure her. And to be foolishly honest.

“Erm… for what it’s worth?” Harry croaks, staring down the dark corridor to avoid meeting her eyes. “You’re the only girl I’ve ever wanted in my bedroom, anyway.”

Before she can reply, he closes the door and walks away. His cheeks burn as he pads downstairs, but Harry knows it’s best to leave it, really. To save them both the awkwardness.

Even if it means sleeping on this shit couch forever.

[teamhook]

Happy Birthday Fic:: Always, Always a Bridesmaid

Hello all! Okay, before I go on. Please, don't give me (this post) that look. I know, I know I have multiple WIPs going but I had to add one more to the list. It's out of love. This story is for @ultraluckycatnd because she is the sweetest thing ever. She Betas for me and that is no easy job. She is quick to volunteer to help whenever  anyone needs help.

I humbly gift her with this story. It's one of her fave movies and it's her birthday so yes I'm adding a WIP for her.

Happy Birthday!! Hope you like your present.

Thanks to @demisexualemmaswan , @snowbellewells​ for Beta services and @veryverynotgoodwrites​ ,  @the-darkdragonfly​ for looking this over when I was feeling unsure.

Killian Jones, the New York Journal's most popular wedding announcement writer, was the world's biggest cynic when it came to love. That is, until he met Emma Swan, the perpetual bridesmaid. Will their different views on weddings cause them to lose out on what's in front of them, or can they open themselves up to the possibility of love?

FFN

AO3

Emma Swan grew up loved but that wasn't always the case. As a baby, she was found on the side of the road wrapped in a blanket with her name on it. She was taken to Child Protective Services and soon after was adopted by the Swans, a family unable to have children of their own. Three years later a miracle happened in the shape of a baby of their own, and they found themselves overwhelmed and decided to return Emma.

Emma was soon after adopted by Midas Goldman and his beloved wife Rosalind. They fell in love with precocious Emma. A few years after finding Emma the stork paid them a visit in the form of a little girl Kathryn. Happiness filled the Goldman household until the unexpected loss of the matron of the family saddened the home.

Emma's adoptive family had embraced her as one of them easily. Not long after her adoptive mother Rosalind passed away. Emma took it upon herself to be strong and help her father care for her younger sister Kathryn. Seeing her father's broken heart over his late wife's death and his trouble functioning after her loss, Emma took it upon herself to care for her family.

Emma had loved weddings since the very first wedding she had attended. It had been a beautiful day at the old church with an enchanting garden. It was the first family outing after the loss of Rosalind. The cathedral was full of close friends and family. It was the day a distant cousin's nuptials were to take place. After helping her cousin fix an unfortunate accident with her dress Emma was asked to carry the wedding gown train, and that moment she realized she had helped someone on the most important day of their life. That was when she fell in love with weddings. The very idea of finding one's happy ending and pledging to be with them forever was perfect in her eyes. She felt it was her calling to help the ones she loved to find their happy endings.

Emma stood in front of a long mirror wearing a beautiful wedding dress. She twirled and smiled wide at the reflection staring back at her.

"Oh my god, Emma you look so beautiful!" Johanna, the seamstress, said while putting the finishing touches on the dress.

"The bride is on the phone for you, Emma."

"Oh, thank you. Hello, Mary Margaret. Yes, they hemmed the dress and it's done. We're lucky we are the same size. I'll be on my way. Don't worry about anything. It's your day." Emma turned to Johanna and her assistant, and said with a smile. "Thank you."

Emma rushed out of the bridal shop to get to the church.

"Ems, wait for me," Ruby said as she caught up with Emma.

Emma smiled at her friend. "Hey, Ruby. Come on before MM freaks out."

"I know, I know." Ruby grinned wolfishly. "Ems, before we get in there I get dibs on the hottest groomsman."

Emma rolls her eyes. "Can't you keep it in your pants, just for once?"

"Nope, why else would I agree to wear this ridiculous dress, but to have someone take it off with his teeth?"

"It's not that bad, Ruby," Emma scoffed.

"I know, I know. You can shorten them and wear them again." Ruby put an arm around Emma's shoulder and giggled as they entered the church.

Mary Margaret stood in front of the mirror wearing her princess-like dress. She was about to marry her Prince Charming in a couple of minutes and everything was perfect thanks to her maid of honor and close friend: her savior, Emma.

Lamentably, the day was going to be a long one for Emma. Her friends had decided to get married on the same day. Helping them both have their perfect wedding and thanks to her inability to say no, she would have to split her time between MM's wedding and Jasmine's.

During MM's nuptials, Emma kept glancing down to check the time on her watch. She had to leave soon if she wanted to make it to Jasmine's wedding ceremony on time. She put on her biggest smile and hoped she would make it on time. The moment the ceremony ended, she ran out of the door. She didn't even notice that she had caught the attention of one of the guests.

In an effort to make her night easier she caught a taxi outside and made a deal with him: $300 flat for the whole night: but with one stipulation no peeking or she deducts. The taxi driver quickly accepts but is unable to control himself and loses $20 within five minutes of agreeing to the deal.

Unfortunately, her efforts didn't go unnoticed by the guest staring at the back of the cab, who got an eyeful and smirked appreciatively at the sight.

After fulfilling her duties at Jasmine and Al's wedding she returned to MM and David's reception. As the night reached its inevitable end, Emma was among the rest of the single ladies as they lined up for the bouquet toss. MM noticed Emma's place and the forever romantic bride decided to throw the bouquet to her bridesmaid savior.

Emma was pushed out of the way by an overly excited redheaded relative in hopes to catch the bouquet for herself. Emma hit her head as she was falling, lost consciousness, and fell to the floor. The woman who had pushed her triumphantly jumped up and down with her trophy in hand.

Countless people had rushed to Emma's prone body on the floor but one man ushered people away. "Everybody please calm down, give the lass some room to breathe." The bride and groom caught his eye as Emma started moving. "The lass is alright, she's coming to. Someone get me some water."

Mary Margaret and David walked away to get him some water for Emma.

"Love, do you know your name?" The stranger asked.

Emma groggily opened her eyes. "My name is Emma. Are you a doctor?"

"Emma, I'm afraid not. My name is Killian Jones." Killian turned to the crowd, "She's fine. It was just a little bump on the head." He smiled at her and gently helped her to her feet.

She groaned as she stumbled a bit. He quickly put his hand on her lower back to help give her some support.

"Love, perhaps it's time to get a taxi and get you home."

Emma stiffened for a second but realized the night had caught up with her but agreed.

They walked outside and Killian was about to hail a cab when her cabbie for the night got out and went to open the door for them. Emma walked towards her cab. Killian didn't hesitate and follows her lead. Once inside the cab, Emma gave the driver her address. Killian noticed that there was another dress and a pair of shoes. He smirked, "Ah, yes. How could I forget such a sight? I loved your thong by the way. Very sexy," he added with a wink.

Emma looked at him confused.

"I saw you changing gowns earlier." He waggled his eyebrows. "The back window of the taxi gave away quite the view."

Emma rolled her eyes and turned away to hide her blush. She looked out the window as they passed the countless buildings.

Killian leaned towards Emma, "Tell me love, why two weddings in one day, isn't one bad enough?"

Emma sighed, "Isn't it obvious? I love weddings and they're both really good friends. I couldn't say no."

"Ah, let me guess you love the forced merriment? Or is it perhaps the horrid music or is it the delectable food?" He said mockingly.

Emma stared him down. "Oh look at that! What a surprise, a man who doesn't believe in marriage. Oh, goodie what a treat."

He rolled his eyes, "Love is patient. Love is kind.

Love is slowly losing your mind."

"What is it you do again?" Emma asked with a raised eyebrow.

He smiled. "I'm a writer, love."

The cab came to a sudden stop.

She turned to him gasping, "Oh look at that, that's my building. Thanks for the help, bye now!" She rushed to grab her things and get out of the cab.

Killian followed her out and was about to pull out his wallet when Emma stopped him, "No, I got it." She leaned over to hand the cab driver his fare for the night and whispered with a scolding tone, "You know what you did."

Killian doesn't think twice to follow her.

Emma stopped dead in her tracks. "Oh no, what are you doing?"

"I'm escorting you home, it's what a gentleman does." Killian smiled.

Emma rolled her eyes. "So now you're a gentleman. I don't need you to escort me home. I'm fine." She hurried back to the cab as he was about to drive away, "Wait, he is coming back, one second." She smiled and walked back to where Killian was waiting. "He is waiting for you."

Killian looked back to the cab and turned back to see her putting more distance between them. He sighed in defeat walking to the cab and yelled, "Love, will you be at any weddings next week?" There was no answer.

"Sir, are you in or out?" the cab driver yelled out.

Killian took one last glance in the direction Emma had disappeared and climbed aboard the cab.

Killian sighed as they took off. His eyes caught sight of what appeared to be a notebook underneath the seat. He pulled it out and pondered asking the driver to go back. A wide smile broke out on his face.

The next day Emma woke up refreshed. She had so much fun at both weddings, but what she was really excited about was the Sunday newspaper. She was looking for something specific, the wedding announcements in the Commitment section. She loved the way James Rogers, the writer spun the stories. His wedding write-ups/articles have always been her favorite.

Monday morning, Emma was waiting for Ruby outside of their work. Ruby strutted towards her wearing a man's shirt and pants smirking.

Emma studied her friend and shook her head in disapproval.

Ruby rolled her eyes. "What? I wasn't going to wear my bridesmaid dress to work. I improvised." She winked at Emma.

Emma laughed, "You must be so proud! The two-day walk of shame outfit."

"Alright, Ems, just because you refuse to have some fun doesn't mean we all have to."

Emma rolled her eyes. She was looking for more than just a roll in the hay.

Killian was walking down the busy New York street to work with a little pep in his walk. His friend Victor was waiting for him with a cup of coffee.

Killian smiled widely. "Good morning, mate. What a lovely day!"

Victor stared at him. "Jones, did you get lucky?"

Killian took a sip of his offered drink. "Not in the way you think. I have an idea for a story that will get me out of writing stuff like 'The bride wore a gown that sparkled like the groom's eyes…'"

"Seriously? I still can't believe you are not getting laid. Damn it, Killian. Commitments is the gold standard of wedding announcements. Brides would do just about anything to get in there. If you know what I mean."

Killian scrunched his face. "Victor, do you have an idea what you're saying?"

Victor Whale was a new kind of dog. He smiled wickedly at Killian. "Think about it. They won't call you. They won't bother you. They will pretend they never even met you.

You can't beat that."

"It doesn't matter. This my friend." Killian took out a beat-up planner. "This is my ticket out of Commitments."

"I wouldn't bet on it. Cora likes you where you are," Victor mocked.

"Go away, you prat." Killian ushered Victor away.

Emma was at her job looking frantically for her planner. She walked to Ruby's office. "Hey, did I leave my planner here?"

Ruby quirked a brow. "I haven't seen it. Ems, don't worry it will show up."

Emma bit her bottom lip. "I hope so."

Ruby bumped Emma's shoulder, "Hey, what happened to you at the wedding? Where did you disappear to? Wait did you meet someone? Please tell me you got lucky." Ruby jumped up and down in excitement.

"No, nothing like that. I was around," Emma muttered, biting her lower lip distractedly. She needed to find her Filofax.

"Oh, yeah. I forgot, what a ridiculous thought." Ruby rolled her eyes.

Emma scoffed, "Alright, I'm going to get the catalog pages for Graham from production."

Ruby sighed.

Killian knocked on his boss's door. "Cora, I have the perfect idea for a story." He gave her his most charming smile.

Cora stared him down. "Your pretty face gets you a lot but not wasting my time. Out with it, what is this great idea?" she asked, unamused.

"I swear you will love it." He handed her the planner. "This woman has been in seven weddings-"

"So?" She rolled her eyes as she thumbed through the planner.

"That's seven weddings just this year. She was in two on Saturday alone," Killian insisted.

Killian could tell his boss was still not sold on the idea. "But it will not be just about her. I will offer an insightful look at how the wedding industry has altered what should be a rite of passage into nothing more than a golden egg. In a fun upbeat cheerful way."

He sighed. "Cora, I'm dying in Commitments. I cannot write another sentence about love at first sight. I want to write a real story. I will quit if you don't start giving me feature stories."

"That's what you're good at. Killian, it's not my fault you have a silver tongue."

"One chance. That's all I want. If you don't like it, I will go back to Commitments for the rest of my life with a big smile on my devilishly handsome face."

"Deal." She smiled.

Emma was still looking for her planner like a madwoman. She couldn't find it anywhere. If she lost it... she shuddered at the thought.

Ruby peeked inside Emma's office. "Are you still looking for your planner?"

"Yeah," Emma sighed. "I'm sure it's somewhere. So do you think Graham will like these photos for the fall catalog?"

Ruby sighs dramatically, "Oh yes, Graham is going to love them and they will cause him to call you into his office to make sweet love to you all day long."

Emma glared at her friend. "Ruby, shhh!"

"Emma, please tell me that crush is not the reason you overwork yourself? If he hasn't noticed how amazing you are by now I don't know if ever will."

Emma turned away from her friend, she breathed as she contemplated Ruby's words.

"I have flowers for Emma Swan," A delivery guy spoke up.

Emma and Ruby's eyes met.

"That's me," Emma said.

The guy handed the flowers to Emma and she signed for them.

Emma's smile was giddy as she searched for a card. "There's no card."

"Wow, this is great. I spent the weekend in bed with a guy and you're the one who gets flowers. Nice," Ruby says playfully. "Ems, you don't really think they're from your dream guy. Do you?"

"Rubes, shhh," Emma scolded her, looking around to see if anyone was paying attention to the conversation.

"Everyone knows except for Graham," Ruby said, annoyed.

Emma blinks rapidly as she blushes and is then attacked by a beautiful husky coming running in barking its excitement.

Emma hugged him as he slobbered all over her face. "Hi boy, I missed you too."

"Hunter, stop slobbering all over Emma," a voice came from behind.

Emma turned around to see her boss standing there with a warm smile on his face.

"Hey, so how was the climb?" Emma asked as she scratched behind Hunter's ears.

"It was good. I beat my old record," h said as he got closer.

"Wow! Isn't that the eighth time you climbed Mount Whitney?" she marveled.

He laughed, "How do you remember that?" He shook his head. "So what do we have for today?"

"Oh, let's see. We got these from marketing but they don't seem right."

He grinned. "I agree, they look-" He turned to Emma. "too put together."

"Like they're models," they said at the same time.

Emma added, "Oh, before I forget. The 92nd Street Y called to confirm that you'll be attending their benefit."

He nodded. "Will I need to make a speech?"

"Yeah, a few words about ecologically responsible business practices. Maybe something light and fun. I guess I will need a date for that. The only thing in my life you don't need to take care of. I don't know what I would do without you. Who would finish my sentences?"

Ruby was gagging behind them.

Emma glared at Ruby.

Graham entered his office only to exit right out. "Emma, did you leave me a breakfast burrito?"

Emma grinned. "I thought you would be hungry."

"Thank you, that's why I love you," he said as he reentered his office.

Emma whispered, "I love you too."

Ruby heard her friend's soft voice because of her wolf-like hearing, rolled her eyes and walked to Emma, and slapped her.

"Ouch, Ruby," Emma hissed. "I guess, I needed it."

"You think? Emma, do something about it. Just march in there and tell him how you feel," Ruby said, with a raised brow.

Emma just stared at her friend and ignored her suggestion. "I have a lot of work to do."

As everyone was leaving for the day, another soon to be bride, thanked Emma for her help planning her wedding.

"Okay, everybody. I hope to see you all at my engagement party tonight," Tamara said as she left the room.

Emma met Ruby at the front doors of the building to leave.

Ruby nudged Emma on the shoulder. "Hey, do you wanna come over to my place before the party? The guys from shipping are coming over my place for a drink and to have some fun."

Emma groaned, "I can't Ruby, I'm picking up Kathryn from the airport."

"Ems, I'm sorry but aren't you aware of the services taxis provide?"

"She's my baby sister and I have no problem picking her up. She needs me." Emma said with a smile on her face.

"Ems, she is an adult. I get that but she could get a ride to your place. You need to have some fun," Ruby insisted.

"Rubes, I'll be at the party. See you there," Emma said as she walked away.

tagging:

@rumdrum91 @itsfabianadocarmo @xsajx @hookedonapirate @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @seriouslyhooked @profdanglaisstuff @let-it-raines @revanmeetra87 @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @kymbersmith-90 @branlovestowrite @thejollyroger-writer @shireness-says @ilovemesomekillianjones @thisonesatellite @thesschesthair @winterbythesea @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @superchocovian @lfh1226-linda @artistic-writer @thislassishooked @shardminds @winterbaby89 @xhookswenchx @ultraluckycatnd @gingerchangeling @laschatzi @wellhellotragic @xemmaloveskillianx @courtorderedcake @pirateherokillian @optomisticgirl @darkcolinodonorgasm @sherlockianwhovian @andiirivera  @djlbg @nikkiemms @jennjenn615 @scientificapricot @officerrogers @imlaxdris71 @therealstartraveller776 @kday426 @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713   @donteattheappleshook @spacekrulesbians @lassluna @carpedzem @captainodonoghue @killian-will-do @jarienn972 @tehgreeneyes  @demisexualemmaswan @queen-serena88 @swanslieutenant @tiganasummertree @whimsicallyenchantedrose @bethacaciakay @ohmakemeahercules @jrob64 @klynn-stormz @mariakov81 @sals86 @elizabeethan @brooke-to-broch @hookedonhiddles @onceratheart18 @the-darkdragonfly @veryverynotgoodwrites @jonesfandomfanatic @wefoundloveunderthelight

[mclegibilist]

Inadequate Definientia

I'd like to attempt to clear-up the bundle of "anti-inductive", "inadequate equilibria", and the implied "adequate equilibria" all at once. I think they're all part of the same confusing knot, for which specific kinds of teleological blindnesses are to blame.

"Inadequate Equilibria" is a termed coined by Eliezer Yudkowsky in the book of the same name. It describes situations in which a certain part of a system has reached an "equilibrium"—used casually to specify a stationary state that is difficult to escape from under certain assumptions, similar to a stable equilibrium—that EY feels are "inadequate". I think the definition of inadequate here is very vague, and digging hard to pretend that it's coherent seems a bit silly. However, what I think EY is pointing at is that the games certain people claim to be playing, e.g. the Bank of Japan claiming to try to be regulating Japan's economy for maximum profit and health, are often not the games they're actually playing. This is an extremely broad set of phenomena, but EY restricts himself to games where the players are kinda sort playing the game you think they're playing but with some caveats/extra rules/unexpected incentives.

I enjoyed the book and I think it's a decent intro to spotting "the games people are actually playing and when you should trust their claims", but the main issue is that EY doesn't seem to have any criteria for what makes the equilibria inadequate vs. the people telling you the rules just straight-up lying. Clearly both happen.

To make this worse, EY conflates the fact that certain games don't have the incentives you would want them to have (if you really wanted them to complete their stated goal) with the fact that certain games don't have the right conditions to make solution finding highly efficient, e.g. because one party has a monopoly.

Let's clear this up.

The latter case, when a game is currently blocked by something within the game that could be changed without breaking the rules or changing the game is the definition of market inefficiency. Let's just call it "inefficiency" because people get fussy about what counts as a market.

The former case, where you could redistribute or inject resources into the game, but the game isn't setup to incentivize what you—the protagonist of Reality—want from it is the definition of surrogation, i.e. "you're optimizing one thing and dreaming that it correlates with another".

Easy peasy.

If you think "surrogation" is often subjective, because not everyone will agree on what a game is "for" you're right! But if you think "efficiency" is objective, you're wrong: real systems are way more complex than most toy examples of efficient markets and we never really know "how good this game is at finding solutions" in comparison to the best possible game. Thus, "adequate equilibria" are judgement calls.

Sidenote: Despite my immense respect for LessWrong and the Rationalist community more broadly for incentivizing open, critical discourse and the construction of new and useful vocabulary, a lot of this vocabulary ends-up secretly being about "what I think system X should be/claims to be/is about vs. what it really is". There's often lots of interrogation of "what it really is" but relatively little of "maybe it's complicated how to define what something is for and most names/descriptions are just short-hand or for convenience?" I call this "the teleological lens". Everybody tends to fall into it, because communication is naturally about what you want from people, but literalists tend to think themselves immune because they define things so clearly. Most rationalists have at least a literalist streak, because it is what starting from first principles demands. Literalists are always in danger of taking other people's words too much at face value and completely missing the point, a complementary error to most people's inability to see literal meaning.

Finally, we reach "anti-inductive" which, in the article people tend to point to, seems to be something along the lines of "games where common knowledge is priced in". While this is a perfectly reasonable definition to inspire discussion, I think it's difficult to assess for many reasons, two of which are: (i) how do we agree what's common knowledge at time T? (ii) how the hell do we know it's priced in?

I propose the following definition for anti-inductive play:

anti-inductive (adj) — describing a property of certain kinds of game play where moves, on average, (i) leak information about your strategy and (ii) knowing such leaked information allows for the creation of counter-strategies.

In other words, anti-inductive plays are "scoopable", not just because effective counter-strategies exist (ii) but because their construction is a function of observing other strategies at play (i). Without both stipulations, pure randomness might be the winning strategy, in order to ensure eventually hitting on an effective counter-strategy.

Usually equilibria are sustained by anti-inductive play, in which different parties are constantly developing counter strategies and counter counter strategies, keeping the system locked onto some other fundamental factor, e.g. the actual overhead of a service during a price war. Adequate equilibria are ones where the byproduct of the game matches the in-game score well enough and is optimized quickly enough that the person saying "adequate" is happy with it. This is usually a result of anti-inductive play (e.g. web browser features that are useful spreading to all browsers) but not always (e.g. playing the cooperative game Hanabi when everyone is invested in doing well). Inadequate equilibria simply describe situations in which the system is "stuck" from the point of view of the speaker.

This might seem like "ruining the magic" of the term: "What do you mean it's all just about whether people like stuff?" I remember being struck by the "aha!" feeling of EY's description of inefficient and misaligned systems, and I don't think this at all changes his guide to spotting inefficiencies and misalignments from one's own point of view. It does require use to ask "inadequate to what?" and to answer with how you imagine the current system could be (i) more efficient (ii) better aligned. This seems like a low-bar, and it's one EY certainly passes, but which a lot of people referencing the concept eschew. Real systems are complex and we can almost only make relative judgements, efficiency and alignment give us axes to make these relative judgements comparable to each other. Anti-inductivity gives a sketch of the most common mechanism used for keeping efficiency and alignment stable.

The video game industry is at an equilibria where it is inadequate to create as many story rich games as I would like, since investing more in narrative design doesn't yield linear (or even predictable) returns. Anti-inductive play forces us to ask: why hasn't someone scooped up the free energy from my willingness to buy such games?

[subaruthegamer]

About My OCs (Colby and Jack)

This is my fantasy, so bear with me here.

Colby Roberts

“Colby... I can’t do this...” - me, a few weeks after we have an argument

“I still want you anyway... because I’m madly in love with you...” - Colby

For those who don’t know, Colby is Jack’s son, so if you wonder where he gets those looks from, here’s my answer. 

Colby was born to a extremely wealthy heiress, who’s father was practically unknown because, he just vanished off the face of the earth, and since he was born to a wealthy family, it didn’t take long before he starting falling into the wrong crowd... with his drug habits starting to catch up at his adult years. His drug habit, oddly enough, didn’t affect him as much as the doctors thought - because they were thinking, surely, he’d have either died from an overdose, or somehow turned into a vegetable. But yet, that didn’t happen. And there was nothing conclusive with his bloodwork. Since he was filed on charges, they gave him two options (which, as far as I can tell, seem to be the mother’s choices) - either rot in prison for possession, or go into the military.

You can pretty much tell which option he went for.

Colby enlisted at the military, which at 18... he had plenty of time to start shaping his body - and he was a genius too. His scores were practically almost record breaking - considering the record was from 16 years ago! Colby is an expert tactician, and when you added hand-to-hand combat training plus all the muscle he gained from training... he was practically a Spartan.

During his time, he met Randy when, by chance, he was a captain - and Randal was a second lieutenant. In fact, Colby and Randal felt something between them. In fact, at one point, Colby once told me that if you put him and Randal in a room all alone at some point during the night, you might be able to hear Randy’s pleasuring at taking Colby on. However, it wasn’t just at a relationship level - they really were an unstoppable force.

Rather disappointingly, Colby resigned from the military after serving 8 years - and ended up heading back to Riverview... and somehow, relapsing again.

A year later, Colby ended up in my care as I was his sober companion after his relapse, and to be honest, when I met the guy, he was honestly more intimidating than I ever imagined. Sort of like the Hulk, but scaled down, and human.

To be completely honest, the first 2 weeks, he had been avoiding me since he insisted he didn’t need my help - but I stayed - because I wanted to get him to open up about himself. But - when you live with a 230+ lb man, you’d kind of want to stay out of his way when he simply won’t budge. Didn’t stop me from trying though. Sure enough, I gradually got him to be able to quietly strum his six-string guitar on the occasional night.

Our relationship took a little bit of an unexpected leap, because one night, Colby was invited to the family dinner, and this being a part where the father walked out on him... it lead to them being quite verbally abusive to him about it. Of course, we walked out and headed home with them still being pretty abusive... and hearing his mental health shattering into a million pieces. By that time though, I’d been his companion for what was stipulated, but because I didn’t want to leave him in that state, tried to renew the contract.

The lawyer said... no. So I ended up lying much to the bemusement of my therapist. 

I was wondering if I was going to get away with it when I still accompanied him to his musical composition job (guitars and pianos are his favourite) but I had to remind him at the end of the day that I still was his sober companion.

“Like hell you are.” Colby shouted. “You sure as hell haven’t been for at least a few weeks.” Much to my shock, I thought I had had it for a moment.

A sigh came from him shortly after. “I knew you lied when I called her lawyer the next day after you said he had extended the contract.”

I tried to figure out what I was going to say next. “Colby, I...” 

“I’m not angry over this.” Colby inched forward towards me to corner me between him and a wall. “I’m actually quite touched... since you saw the state that I was in after that... so for a while after that I adopted a more... aggressive mood.”

I was actually frozen stiff because he had cornered me between him and the wall with both bulging arms at the side of me.

“Until I found out you had been lying last week, I started to pull you along a little to see if you would realise that I was fine and moved on... but instead... you stayed. Didn’t occur to me that at the same time you were also having feelings for me... and I was still in denial until I gave into your feelings...”

Colby gradually moved his left hand off the wall and started feeling my back down.

“So... I want to offer you something... you stay with me... and we’ll see where our feelings for each other go... sound good?” Colby whispered.

At this point, I could hardly control myself, and Colby knew I was begging to be given the treatment that I’ve sorely needed. I was still gay at that time, but my love life had gone nowhere... and I was fidgeting a little because this was practically a dream come true for me.

“I’ll take that as a yes...” Colby later leaned in and gave me a rather sloppy lick on my face. And the next thing I knew he had leaned even closer to start making out with me.

“Why did you think I was this aggressive with you... you are so damn cute...”

After work, we gradually continued to have feelings for each other much to the disgust from my classmates with that lick.

So, we dated, we laughed, we cuddled, we had our idea of hunter and prey... which I have to say, was one of the very sexual relieving moments we’ve had together. When that happened, Colby flew up the ladder to being a hit movie director, and I wasn’t trailing far behind with my (slightly stalled) career in journalism as I was being promoted, and transferred to Lucky Palms.

Sounds perfect, you might think. Actually, in a way, it wasn’t. Because Randy showed up asking for Colby. More on that in his side of the story.

Jack Winter

“I wasn’t expecting myself to be this... swept away with you.” - Jack, slowly leaning into me for a spot where he has the advantage on me

“Yet... here you are, wanting me as much as everyone else we know.” - me, trying to find a way for him to stop but realising I’m going to be doomed

With Jack, complications turn into one story, so trying to analyse him is almost easier said than done - simply because: he’s a pure-bred demon. 

How demons work in my world, is that demons are in a world separate to ours - they have their own world much like fantasies. How they go into human bodies is through the sort of capsule that is a remote link to a human body. Some demons don’t use the bodies at all because they’re more nature demons, but the human demons - those are a different story. Jack is the latter, and one of the more emotionally manipulative kind. It works like this: he takes a body - steps on anyone’s toes and makes them make terrible decisions or suffer a embarrassing (but not fatal - he’s not that cruel) fate. All targets are random, so one day, a wealthy bachelor might suffer an a problem one day, and then the next, it could be someone like me. 

When Jack just “appeared�� (what Randy and I joke about how he was created), he was one hell of a rollercoaster to deal with - he was having a hellva lot of fun slowly manipulating people into doing stuff they couldn’t realise. A hell of a time for him, after all, with all the powers he had access to, the fun was going to keep rolling like a Bugatti Chiron with an endless supply of fuel. You wouldn’t run out of it, you’d keep going.

That changed when Jack met Colby’s mother - when Jack was about to ensnare his powers on her, for some reason, she fell in love with her. Why that happened, we may never know, but the next morning, she saw a gorgeous hunk of a man sitting at her desk - which took some explaining on Jack’s part (that old charmer) to what was going on. Thankfully, she decided to not alert anyone, and allowed him to stay in her house - and getting to know that mysterious man who had suddenly appeared. Over that time, they both got together, had long walks, and spent a few days being intimate with each other - and satisfying each other as well. The only people who knew the truth about Jack were; Colby’s mother, the staff at the house, and a lawyer handling her estate. The romance didn’t last as long as she hoped - because one day, Jack was summoned to go back into the demon world, much to her sadness (the one time she was in complete love, according to Jack). Until she was unwell one morning and found out she was pregnant - and decided to keep the baby.

So 30 plus years later, when she died, he came back hoping to continue everything... instead, she died of an untreatable cancer tumor... with a son that had grown up to be living in Lucky Palms after moving from Riverview. The lawyer had a moment alone and discussed what had happened in those 30 years - her death, and her son... as well as some last letters to him about getting him to “finish what she started.” With that said, Jack had no idea what to do on the day he knocked on the Lucky Palms door - at that time, we were just engaged, and I was quite shocked when Jack said he was Colby’s father even though he looked quite young.

Obviously, it wasn’t without it’s shortcomings. Since Colby practically had so many questions, it really did beg the question... who was this person who looked, in age, practically close to a point where it wouldn’t make any sense?

So, at dinner, the three of us (in a rather tense manner) had dinner that I had decided to cook. While we were discussing it, we started to notice a few similarities in habits and preferences. Except on Jack’s side, they were much more prominent when he managed to somehow tempt me to get close to him. 

When he was planning on spending the night in Randy’s old room (which was empty since at the time, Deacon and Randy were experimenting with sleeping together), Jack started to tempt himself with me. He started to get closer and closer, and before we knew it, Jack had me pinned on the bed and began his near identical and significantly rougher (sloppier kisses, sloppier licks and so on) but then, he also backed off thankfully 10 seconds before Colby walked in. Before you asked, I did tell Colby about the similar interactions he did in that one move, but obviously, we were still skeptical. So, with Jack’s permission, we managed to withdraw blood from him and using Adam’s futuristic DNA sequencer, managed to get a father-son match with Jack and Colby.

Before you asked how the two finally settled their differences (and have Colby get all the questions he needed), Deacon suggested we put them in a rage room to settle it. Sure enough, I had to pay for damages, because, well, they did put a “few” holes in the wall when they were done. And a new set of clothes.

[zephyrthejester]

Three Years Blog Anniversary!

Well, would you look at that. In the blink of an eye, an entire year has gone by! It has now been a grand total of three years since I started up this liveblog, and ever since, it's been a whirlwind of an adventure that has introduced me to amazing shows, amazing games, and above all, amazing people! As has become tradition, it's time for us to gather 'round by the fire, bundle up in blankets, sip some hot cocoa, and reminisce about the shenanigans we got up to in the year 2019.

You know the drill! Click "Keep Reading" to see the rest! Let's go!

January kicked off with the closing episodes to Steven Universe's fifth season, and what a finale it was! In true SU nature, it managed to be wholesome, funny, terrifying, and sad all at once! Not to mention the finale episode specifically, which was rife with both fan service and a breath-taking final confrontation. It even prompted me to type up three whole Addendum posts just so I could get all my thoughts out there. Intermingling with these episodes were some rather poignant and touching episodes of RWBY's 6th Volume, which saw some great plot advancements for some of my favorite characters. And of course, there was one liveblog session early on dedicated to Fate/Stay Night, a series I began back in 2018. And that would end up being the last I'd liveblog about it. Following the technical difficulties of the Visual Novel crashing at an important moment, I lost much of my motivation to keep going at it, putting Fate/Stay Night on the bench... For now. But more on Fate/Stay Night later.

Then came February! Where I proceeded to do absolutely nothing at all. For 42 days, I fell into a pretty bad funk that I called depression, at the time. Well! I must be in a better mental space right now, because until it came time to make this post, I forgot all about it! Moving past the shame I felt for wordlessly abandoning my blog and discord community for over a month, come March I pressed right into a brand new liveblog: Kill la Kill! A frenetic, frantic, freaky series that serves as the spiritual sequel to what was, once upon a time, my favorite anime ever: Gurren Lagann. I was immediately charmed by it's absurdist humor and over-the-top everything. However, it wasn't long before I succumbed to my greatest flaw. I'm exceptionally picky about what I liveblog, and sadly, Kill la Kill didn't tick the boxes that needed to be ticked for me to stick with it. I eventually dropped the series after only three episodes.

Needless to say, I was getting desperate to reinvigorate my lost momentum. It was then and there, at the tail end of March, that I introduced the most significant change to my brand ever: Liveblogging itself was being benched in favor of a fanciful second attempt at running my video game focused Youtube Channel! While I would certainly continue to liveblog new episodes of shows I had previously caught up with, my efforts would be redoubled and focused upon something I hoped would shake things up for me. I put in the effort of buying a new, fancy, high-tech microphone, and set about to new projects!

First up was a tense and troublesome self-imposed-challenge: A playthrough of Resident Evil 2 Remake on its hardest difficulty, with the added stipulation that I can never access the item storage box! My knowledge and skills of that game were put to the test as I skirted by the dangerous zombies and mutants while carrying only the bare essentials on my person. That series lasted 7 videos, plus a Highlight Reel, over about a week. My new microphone really brought out my screams of terror. Yes.

Immediately following the conclusion of the REmake 2 challenge run in early April, a new series debuted: A blind let's play of Subnautica! A simply incredible sci-fi survival game set on a planet that's nearly entirely an ocean... But much to my surprise, it was secretly a horror game all along. Spanning 18 episodes + a highlight reel between April 5th and May 23rd, we descended ever deeper into the abyss, deciphered alien riddles, fled from toothy leviathan-class predators, established a lovely home base, and had a great ol' time overall. A truly remarkable game with a surprisingly good story, for its genre, and it left me eagerly looking forward to making a Let's Play of its sequel: Below Zero.

Simultaneously, beginning on April 10th, I embarked upon yet another adventure that was of such a large scope, I made my channel's primary time slot dedicated to it. The Phoenix Wright Trilogy! A collection of the first three Visual Novels in a wonderful, wonderful series about the titular attorney at law. It wasn't long before I fell in love with this series, big time. It had everything! Immensely satisfying mysteries for me to solve, memorable and lovable characters, great pacing, and it knew how to keep things fresh and interesting. Although I started out the Let's Play by saying I wouldn't read everything aloud, that proved to be a lie. As of now, the series is a whopping 78 videos long (I do expect it to reach 100 before all is said and done), and I have given voice to roughly 50 unique characters so far. The series really helped awaken my Let's Play chops by improving my speech, vocal clarity, and focus. Swapping between my first video ever (for Legend of Grimrock II) and the most recent Phoenix Wright video is a real night-and-day difference! Overall, it's very safe to say that the series has stolen my heart. Unmatched hype, dizzying plot twists, and delightful shenanigans burst from the seams, truly. The Let's Play is currently ongoing, though the end is within sight...

As the Let's Plays of Subnautica and Phoenix Wright Trilogy progressed, so too did the production quality of my videos. I got a better grip on editing, improving the design of my video thumbnails and taking more care to edit out needless and dull moments of gameplay. I even introduced a brief and stylish video intro, which was my avatar appearing over a dark background before it faded off into gameplay. That would be the image up above! However, as we move into 2020, I’ve begun to feel that it could do with a slight improvement... Wink wink!

Following the end of Subnautica came a new Let's Play involving yet another sci-fi horror game: Prey! Spanning 25 videos + a highlight reel between June 3rd and November 19th, it immediately gripped me with its stunning attention to detail, marvelously crafted environments, and boundlessly creative gameplay. It was a pleasure to explore the varied regions of the Talos One space station, blasting aliens, uncovering secrets, untangling the connections between the employees there, and making some seriously difficult moral choices. A truly impressive video game that's just begging for a second playthrough on my own time at some point.

July 20th saw the beginning of new activity on my blog. In a spur-of-the-moment decision that I didn't think out too well, I brazenly announced out of nowhere that I would be doing a re-watch of Steven Universe! I proceeded to liveblog the first 11 episodes of Steven Universe over a week, lovingly looking back at the series' origins, calling out moments of foreshadowing, and analyzing everything with the lens of all my knowledge about the show. And then... Nothing! Just as soon as it began, the project was dropped. I had hoped it would rekindle my interest in Liveblogging (outside of new episodes of SU and RWBY), but I had no such luck. You know I'm burnt out when even Steven Universe, my favorite thing ever, can't help...

By September 3rd, the Steven Universe Movie had finally released! Over a hype-as-hell two days, I liveblogged the entire film. It truly was Steven Universe at its absolute best! Touching, sincere, unexpected, and rife with some stellar songs that are STILL stuck in my head. It proved that the Crewniverse hadn't lost its spark since the conclusion of the original series.

November 5th was my 25th birthday! My family celebrated by all going out for an amazing sushi dinner. Good times! Sometimes, it's really hard for me to grasp that I'm actually 25... I'm a kid at heart, really! Or maybe it's that I'm a social recluse who enjoys watching anime a little too much. Regardless, I feel no shame!

November 10th saw the debut of RWBY Volume 7, and so far it has been an exceptionally strong season. I've long maintained the opinion that the show gets better and better every season, and Volume 7 has given me no reason to doubt that. One episode in particular became my second favorite in the series, right behind a certain one from Volume 6! I'm really enjoying how the characters, new and old, are playing off each other this go around, and the fights and art direction have been no slouch either. This season's a looker! I'm really looking forward to seeing how it ends.

Hot on the heels of the ending Let's Play of Prey, I immediately started up a new series on November 20th... Chrono Trigger! A legendary and widely loved JRPG from the SNES era of gaming that I had somehow gone all my life without playing. Better late than never to fix a mistake like that! I eagerly dived in and nearly immediately understood why it's heralded as an all-time great. The series is currently 13 episodes long, and each one is an endless stream of me being hyped and giddy. I’m already excited to record more!

December 8th saw the debut of Steven Universe Future, a very special epilogue series that's sure to tie a nice bow on the franchise as a whole. As of this post, I have liveblogged the first 8 episodes, and it's fair to say that while it's not holding back in giving the audience exactly what it wants, it's also doing something very unexpected and very, very interesting with Steven himself. Only time will tell how it all ends and whether every remaining mystery will be answered, but so far I have been more than satisfied with it.

And that brings us to the present! Wow, it felt like a lot less happened this year than you would think, huh? No, it's been jam packed with new adventures! I think I am very content with how the year has gone, and I hope you are as well. We'll be striding into the year 2020 with more Steven Universe, more RWBY, more Phoenix Wright, and more Chrono Trigger! Plus, it may very well be that we'll see the return of Made in Abyss and Madoka Magica, both of which (I believe) are getting continuation movies in 2020. I may or may not be entirely wrong about this. Forgive me if I am...

In the near future, the Phoenix Wright Trilogy will be followed up by a Let's Play of Fate/Stay Night! Indeed, the canceled Liveblog will be reborn in youtube video form! And following Chrono Trigger, well... It's mostly up in the air, though I do have a few good ideas. In particular, I recently got a Virtual Reality system set up... Wink wink!

So that's really all there is to it! Cheers, lads! Cheers to a good year, and cheers to the next year being even better! To our good health, our unbreakable friendships, and all the stupid bullshit we’ll get into together! 2020 has arrived!

[dorigvbcorvis]

THE FRENCH HORN

A Second Season Glee Story

SUMMERY Dalton takes a special interest in their new mid-session transfer student: Kurt Hummel, after he out performs nearly everyone who has ever taken their entrance exam.  Dalton wants to fast-track their student using an holistic approach and by making Kurt see a counselor, making him take more exams, and asking him to add more CVs.  While Kurt agrees on Dalton’s French Club, where he really wants to shine is in theater and the only Performing Arts Club  around is the one located at Crawford Country Day School for Girls.

NOTES: Story picks up right after Schue comes to see Kurt for gift advice for Sue in S2E10 A Very Glee Christmas Prompt: Kurt’s French Horn tee-shirt.  Kurt wore this shirt twice and I wondered if he ever played the horn.  Then wondered why he stopped,  This story answers both

CHAPTER 1: An Unexpected Visit 

Kurt sat back down in the common room - he propped his head up by planting his elbow firmly on the solid oak desk - Chuffed with himself he then let out long bashful sigh.  Kurt couldn’t believe what just he did…but just like that he did what he did.  In the most candid-as-a-matter-of-fact way possible Kurt admitted to his former teacher that he was in love.  But for as bold and progressive a move this was for Kurt, Mr. Schue didn’t stay long enough to hear the boy’s name or how impressively the boy could sing.  -NO-  Mr. Schuester only came to Dalton for gift advice …and as soon as Kurt said winter tracksuit and where to find one …Schue was turning for the exit.  Kurt convince himself not to dwell on how things had always been kept short between Kurt and his former teacher… He knew he wasn’t Schue’s favorite.  Hell, just showing up at Dalton was more than Kurt could bring himself to expect from the man.   The difference was rather than dwell on how things were - Kurt now had a growing list of things he could better occupy his mind with- Like his duet with Blaine for one.  

Kurt found he could also amuse himself on how in the most extraordinary change of fortunes he had left a school that didn’t much challenge him; not in the least! - and exchanged this for a school that did challenged him almost in every sense of the word.  The beauty of Dalton was the rewards kept coming.  Gone were the days of dumpster tosses, slushy facials, and Korosfski’s threats - Replaced now with guys who didn’t hate him for “destroying the curve” when he did well on tests.  Kurt also felt he had landed in a school where he could ‘be out’ at being both gay and an atheist and he wouldn’t hear the stray derogatory comment come at him from behind his back, but the crème de la crème above all these new found things was that he liked a boy and there were good odds the boy felt the same way back “…Oh crap!!!” Kurt suddenly blurted out.  An all together different thought occurred to him.  The skeptic in him made him wondered if he was simply imagining the flirting during the duet? There was flirting wasn’t there? Kurt sighed even deeper - He wasn’t sure anymore and yet for the first time in the 17 years of his young life he wanted this to be real and reciprocated.  

Maybe it was just that with his growing doubt what also came was the sobering reason why he was still in the common room, alone, and at this late hour - AND this wasn’t to dream about a boy -OR- take a running inventory of changes to his life. - NO - It was instead to play catch up with his classes and this meant he really did not have the time for the beautiful tenor with the hazel eyes.

Kurt’s mid session transfer to an academic prep school meant all but one of his classes were now AP; and these AP classes were not only harder but he also had to start from three modules behind and play catch-up…and then until he caught up he was to remain under 'Academic Suspension’.  Kurt didn’t like this last stipulation because it meant he was off limits to certain of Dalton’s perks - Like off campus privileges and The Library that he had only seen once while on his tour of Dalton.  The library was to remain off limits until his academic suspension was lifted.  At McKinley libraries were the safe zone where the Korosfski’s of the world never dared enter …and it was here Kurt became an avid reader devouring whole reading lists at any given chance …so if Kurt wanted into the library at Dalton - the only answer he had was to work hard at changing this status.

Currently it was Unit 3 of AP World History. History had always been one of Kurt’s better subjects and he would be all caught if not for how Charlemagne was proving dull and tedious.

Kurt cracked his book open to find where he had last left off when he heard his name spoken aloud. Kurt immediately looked up half hoping it would be Blaine asking again for another duet for which Kurt would gladly crater to - It however was Wes Seong.  

Wes was a tall good looking Asian senior.  The young man’s strong level-headedness meant he was entrusted with the task of being a liaison between the students and the faculty. Kurt addressed Wes only as “Head Warbler” - Kurt would have been just as correct to call Wes in some Harry Potteresque nod  'The Class Prefect’.

Kurt watched as Wes stood there in front of his make-shift work desk looking back-and-forth between the main doorway and then back at him - That was until Wes finally spoke up:  "Was that the Director of The New Directions who just left?“ Wes asked with the kind already known assurance that negated an answer.  And for Kurt the way Wes asked also left him feeling as if he had broken one of Dalton’s Cardinal rules regarding after hours guests and worse he did so with a rival of The Warblers - And now he was going to hear for it…about both probably.  

"Mr. Schuester? Kurt uttered, with a voice that was both wavering and elevated; there was no escape Kurt knew he had been caught.  "He just stopped by to say hello and ask about gift advice - I-I did not ask him to come.” - The way Kurt stammered and the way his eyes flashed showed his fear. He didn’t want to screw up so soon - And especially not while academic suspension was being held over his head.

“Relax Kurt. It’s okay.  Besides it’s Christmas time…The powers that be here are a lot more relaxed with guest rules.”

“So it’s okay?” Kurt now asked timidly.

Wes smiled - “Yes,”  He affirmed.  "I only asked because I thought he was the same man who shook my hands at Sectionals.  I am actually here on another matter,“ Wes said, shifting his focus to look at Kurt more directly.

The worry in Kurt’s stomach remained like a weighted balloon.

"Yeah,” Wes said, admitting there was this other thing. “I just had a conference with many of your instructors….they wanted to know how you were doing - They wanted to ask me if I thought being a Warbler was too much for you to handle.”

“What did you tell them?” Kurt asked alarmed that the next words spoken would be asking for him to quit.

“Only that you are as good student as you are a welcome addition to The Warblers.”

“I don’t think I understand,  Why ask?” Kurt stated with a frown.  "Did any of my teachers think I should quit?“ Kurt asked now visibly hurt.

Wes shook his head no.  "Most of your teachers said they enjoy having you as a student - And they also said how impressed they were at how you were nearly caught up in all your classes.

"What then? What would make them ask that question?”

“I think they only worry that you might burn yourself out”

“I am okay-  I can pace myself”

“I believe that.  But they did asked for me to check up on you - I would have said no but I also sort of see their point.” Wes suddenly paused, and his shoulders dropped with a sigh.   “Blaine as you might know came here under similar circumstances he had to repeat his first year here…he would be a junior same as you…but things happen.”

“Yes, Blaine told me about what happened; and what some guys at his last school did to him.”

Wes winced; he didn’t want to think about what it was like for either boy to be bashed and threatened.  Wes instead pulled out a business card and handed it to Kurt

Kurt read the name on the card: “Richard Thompson PsyD” he saw M-F hours listed on the back of the card.

“Kurt, Dr. Thompson is one of the onsight counselors here - He wanted me to let you know he’s available if you need to talk. He said No hurry just swing by when you get a chance but do stop by.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Nothing that I know about - I think Thompson just wants to let you know Dalton is here for you.”

“You would tell me if there was something else”

“It might be about what happened at your other school,  it might also be..,”  Wes stopped abruptly and didn’t finish.

“Might be what exactly?” Kurt now demanded.

“As you know Dalton Academy is designed to prepare you for college.  Right?”  

Kurt half nodded this well known fact

“The way your instructors were talking about you, they said you could just about name your college - Dalton has been known to fast-track students into Ivy League or other colleges with prestige.  I think Dalton lives for boasting rights or something.  But if this is what they want - Dr. Thompson would be the man to see about that.

"Ivy League?  Me?”  Kurt said shaking his head no.  Kurt’s heart was set on Julliard, he wasn’t sure what help Dalton could do there.  Kurt flipped the business card to look at both sides.  

Wes shrugged his shoulders.  "It could only be that he wants to see you as a guidance counselor - he was mine last year.“

"I thought Mr. Allen was my guidance counselor?”

“Allen is good - If it’s about setting up what classes to take and what programs to follow - But Thompson might be a better fit, considering why you are here and everything.”

Kurt now let out groan recalling how…  "The last time I was asked to see the guidance counselor it was because Miss Pillsbury saw me with one of her pamphlets on suicide prevention.“  

Kurt’s confession caused Wes’s eyes to widened - He had no idea how bad it must have been if killing one self was ever a consideration- Watching Kurt then laugh it off was just as disturbing.

[with a giggle] "I spent the next several weeks in her office trying to convince her I would never have gone through with it, and how I especially would never have done anything like that to my dad.”

“I think you should make an appointment.  Trauma is nothing to mess with.  When we moved here from San Francisco it was because my mom was car-jacked - it took moving halfway across the country and three years of therapy for her to get enough nerve to leave the house.  I think you should at least see Dr. Thompson - See what he wants.”

Kurt silently fumed feeling like whatever the reason he wasn’t really being given an option in any case.  He flipped the business card over again to look at the hours listed - concluding that he would go - but only so he could later say he went.

“Are you about finished in here? Wes asked, changing the subject completely. "It’s my turn to lock up.”

Kurt nodded and gathered up his books - For as much work he still had left to do in World History…he no longer was in the mood for studying.

Some how Wes understood the turmoil that was going off in Kurt’s head.  "I wouldn’t sweat it Kurt,“ Wes said with a sympathetic smile. "With what I heard from your teachers - And then I think Miss Perron your French teacher…is itching for you to join the French Club as soon as you can.”

“They’ll have to lift my academic suspension first.”

“Maybe that’s why Thompson wants to see you.”

Kurt left the common room and he headed for the dorms hopeful this was indeed the reason this guy Thompson wanted to see him.

***

END NOTES: I could not find a credible source for “Montgomery” as last name for Wes.  In my story Wes’ last name is Seong.  He is a Senior his DOB year is 1993.  His family is originally from San Francisco - Wes has attended Dalton since his Freshman year. Blaine Anderson DOB year in my story is 1994 (not 1995 as stated in The Glee Wiki) He transferred to Dalton in his Sophomore year but the events leading to his transfer to Dalton and its aftermath with his dad proved to be too much him for him to handle and he had to repeat his Sophomore year.  I have his DOB as April 8, 1994 Kurt Hummel whose DOB is May 27, 1993 means he started school late or at some point he stayed back a year. In all of my Glee FanFictions Kurt repeated the third grade with the reason that the death of his mother caused him to miss school and fall behind.  He stayed back a year also in part to his dad thinking Kurt was too small for his age.

[newtshirtcom]

Jane Austen I put the lit in literature vintage shirt

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Why We Keep Doing Things That Are Bad for Us

As you’re reading this, you may be checking your phone or social media, slouching in your chair, or snacking without thinking. Perhaps you’re reading this right before bedtime even though you know that the light from your electronics can negatively impact your sleep pattern.[1]

We are all guilty of some of these things from time to time.

We know they’re bad for us, but we love them too much.

Having bad habits doesn’t mean that you are a bad person— even if you are aware that your behavior could have a negative impact on your health or well-being. If you are having trouble making a change, you’re likely telling yourself one of two things:

I’ve been [insert habit here] for such a long time, and it doesn’t seem to be affecting my life that much. It would take too much effort to quit, and I don’t think it’s necessary.

I’ve been doing this for so long that I don’t know any other way to function. I don’t think that I can quit.

Your habits have become so ingrained in your everyday behavior that it is bound to be tough to change them. These routines are such a part of you that even knowing the potential negative impacts might not be enough to change them.[2]

For example, a stressful phone call at work could be a trigger for you. The stress might make you want to eat an entire bag of chips. That bag of chips gave you some level of satisfaction.

The reward is happening on a chemical and hormonal level in your body. Even though you know that snacking excessively is unhealthy, your body may crave junk food whenever you are under stress.[3]

Before you know it, for good or for ill, you’ve initiated the process of habit-formation.[4] Oftentimes, our version of autopilot is a form of escape.

Maybe you smoke because you feel that it helps to relieve your stress. Perhaps you slouch chronically because you are fatigued, and it seems easier to slump over than sit up straight. Even our bad habits provide us with some form of comfort, which can make them tough to break.

We know how bad the consequences can be, but we don’t care about the future.

Imagine I had two offers for you, the first offer was giving you 100 dollars today, and the second offer was giving you 1000 dollars but only 7 years later. Which offer would you take?

Even though you know that you can get more money if you wait, you’re likely to take the first offer because we simply don’t like to delay the reward. We want the reward, and we want it now.

Instant gratification has always been our greatest enemy when it comes to breaking bad habits. It can be said that it is root of all evils. When you are trying to break a bad habits, your struggle is not an intellectual one. Knowing something can have a negative effect is not enough to make you quit. Your bad habits exist because they are actually making you feel good.

Getting over the urge for instant pleasure isn’t easy, but here’re 3 proven steps:

1. Take your mind away.

After you’ve made up your mind to quit, and you’ve found your alternative, commit to quitting your bad habits by going mindless every time a bad habit trigger appears.[5] Committing to change means that you can’t make excuses and you can’t give yourself any room to convince yourself why you can just skip it once. Don’t think whether you should do the bad habit or not, just don’t do it no matter what.

For example, if you want to eliminate your incessant slouching at work, you have to tell yourself that you aren’t going to slouch while you’re working no matter what. Just stick to sitting up straight, no excuses on why you can slouch for a while.

2. Be super aware whether you have done the bad habit every day.

Write down how things are going with your commitment.[6] It’s easy to lose track of progress if you don’t make a note of your behaviors.

You are bound to slip up when you are turning over a new leaf. Writing down your behaviors might reveal patterns related to these moments of weakness. If you can spot the pattern, you may be able to disrupt it.

3. Have a strict reward and punishment system.

Reward yourself when you stick with your commitment. Maybe you will allow yourself to take a five-minute dance break or eat a cookie with your lunch in exchange for not mindlessly chomping on snacks at your desk. Your reward doesn’t have to be costly, but it should be valuable to you. The only stipulation is that you can’t reward your good behavior with the bad habit.

Designate a consequence for engaging in the negative habit. The consequence doesn’t need to be emotionally damaging. It just needs to cause enough discomfort or inconvenience to make you think twice about falling into old patterns.

People have been doing this for decades with the “swear jar.”[7] Every time they say a bad word, they have to sacrifice money to the jar. You could come up with your own version of the swear jar or find some other consequence that will motivate you to stay on the proper path. Maybe every day that you snack on candy at your desk, you have to take your friend out to a healthy lunch. Having to incur this extra cost and effort will keep you accountable.

Your system of rewards and consequences are transactions that can help you eliminate your bad habits and automate the good ones.

Ultimately, instant pleasure is nothing but your defeated enemy.

You’ll want to train yourself to do the right things the way that Pavlov’s dogs salivated automatically when they heard a bell ring.[8] The dogs salivated (their routine) without thinking because they had been classically conditioned to associate the sound of the bell ringing (a trigger) with food (their reward).

Don’t let a fear of failure stand in your way. Even if you have been engaged in a bad habit for years, it is still possible to eliminate the unhealthy behavior. Know that it may not be easy at first, but eventually the good habit will become your natural response to the trigger. The commitment to break bad habits could lead you to a healthier and more successful future. The change can start today.

Featured photo credit: Stocksnap via stocksnap.io

Reference

[1]^Live Science: How Blue LEDs Affect Sleep[2]^Medical Daily: How Habits Are Formed and Why They’re So Hard to Change[3]^Harvard Health Publications: Why stress causes people to overeat[4]^NPR: Habits: How They Form and How to Break Them[5]^Bustle: 7 Tips On How To Break A Bad Habit And Replace It With A Good One[6]^HuffPost: 5 Unexpected Ways To Break A Bad Habit[7]^Lifehacker: Top Ten Ways To Break Bad Habits[8]^Simply Psychology: Pavlov’s Dogs

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The post Why We Keep Doing Things That Are Bad for Us appeared first on Lifehack.

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[trendingnewsb]

Why We Keep Doing Things That Are Bad for Us

As you’re reading this, you may be checking your phone or social media, slouching in your chair, or snacking without thinking. Perhaps you’re reading this right before bedtime even though you know that the light from your electronics can negatively impact your sleep pattern.[1]

We are all guilty of some of these things from time to time.

We know they’re bad for us, but we love them too much.

Having bad habits doesn’t mean that you are a bad person— even if you are aware that your behavior could have a negative impact on your health or well-being. If you are having trouble making a change, you’re likely telling yourself one of two things:

I’ve been [insert habit here] for such a long time, and it doesn’t seem to be affecting my life that much. It would take too much effort to quit, and I don’t think it’s necessary.

I’ve been doing this for so long that I don’t know any other way to function. I don’t think that I can quit.

Your habits have become so ingrained in your everyday behavior that it is bound to be tough to change them. These routines are such a part of you that even knowing the potential negative impacts might not be enough to change them.[2]

For example, a stressful phone call at work could be a trigger for you. The stress might make you want to eat an entire bag of chips. That bag of chips gave you some level of satisfaction.

The reward is happening on a chemical and hormonal level in your body. Even though you know that snacking excessively is unhealthy, your body may crave junk food whenever you are under stress.[3]

Before you know it, for good or for ill, you’ve initiated the process of habit-formation.[4] Oftentimes, our version of autopilot is a form of escape.

Maybe you smoke because you feel that it helps to relieve your stress. Perhaps you slouch chronically because you are fatigued, and it seems easier to slump over than sit up straight. Even our bad habits provide us with some form of comfort, which can make them tough to break.

We know how bad the consequences can be, but we don’t care about the future.

Imagine I had two offers for you, the first offer was giving you 100 dollars today, and the second offer was giving you 1000 dollars but only 7 years later. Which offer would you take?

Even though you know that you can get more money if you wait, you’re likely to take the first offer because we simply don’t like to delay the reward. We want the reward, and we want it now.

Instant gratification has always been our greatest enemy when it comes to breaking bad habits. It can be said that it is root of all evils. When you are trying to break a bad habits, your struggle is not an intellectual one. Knowing something can have a negative effect is not enough to make you quit. Your bad habits exist because they are actually making you feel good.

Getting over the urge for instant pleasure isn’t easy, but here’re 3 proven steps:

1. Take your mind away.

After you’ve made up your mind to quit, and you’ve found your alternative, commit to quitting your bad habits by going mindless every time a bad habit trigger appears.[5] Committing to change means that you can’t make excuses and you can’t give yourself any room to convince yourself why you can just skip it once. Don’t think whether you should do the bad habit or not, just don’t do it no matter what.

For example, if you want to eliminate your incessant slouching at work, you have to tell yourself that you aren’t going to slouch while you’re working no matter what. Just stick to sitting up straight, no excuses on why you can slouch for a while.

2. Be super aware whether you have done the bad habit every day.

Write down how things are going with your commitment.[6] It’s easy to lose track of progress if you don’t make a note of your behaviors.

You are bound to slip up when you are turning over a new leaf. Writing down your behaviors might reveal patterns related to these moments of weakness. If you can spot the pattern, you may be able to disrupt it.

3. Have a strict reward and punishment system.

Reward yourself when you stick with your commitment. Maybe you will allow yourself to take a five-minute dance break or eat a cookie with your lunch in exchange for not mindlessly chomping on snacks at your desk. Your reward doesn’t have to be costly, but it should be valuable to you. The only stipulation is that you can’t reward your good behavior with the bad habit.

Designate a consequence for engaging in the negative habit. The consequence doesn’t need to be emotionally damaging. It just needs to cause enough discomfort or inconvenience to make you think twice about falling into old patterns.

People have been doing this for decades with the “swear jar.”[7] Every time they say a bad word, they have to sacrifice money to the jar. You could come up with your own version of the swear jar or find some other consequence that will motivate you to stay on the proper path. Maybe every day that you snack on candy at your desk, you have to take your friend out to a healthy lunch. Having to incur this extra cost and effort will keep you accountable.

Your system of rewards and consequences are transactions that can help you eliminate your bad habits and automate the good ones.

Ultimately, instant pleasure is nothing but your defeated enemy.

You’ll want to train yourself to do the right things the way that Pavlov’s dogs salivated automatically when they heard a bell ring.[8] The dogs salivated (their routine) without thinking because they had been classically conditioned to associate the sound of the bell ringing (a trigger) with food (their reward).

Don’t let a fear of failure stand in your way. Even if you have been engaged in a bad habit for years, it is still possible to eliminate the unhealthy behavior. Know that it may not be easy at first, but eventually the good habit will become your natural response to the trigger. The commitment to break bad habits could lead you to a healthier and more successful future. The change can start today.

Featured photo credit: Stocksnap via stocksnap.io

Reference

[1]^Live Science: How Blue LEDs Affect Sleep[2]^Medical Daily: How Habits Are Formed and Why They’re So Hard to Change[3]^Harvard Health Publications: Why stress causes people to overeat[4]^NPR: Habits: How They Form and How to Break Them[5]^Bustle: 7 Tips On How To Break A Bad Habit And Replace It With A Good One[6]^HuffPost: 5 Unexpected Ways To Break A Bad Habit[7]^Lifehacker: Top Ten Ways To Break Bad Habits[8]^Simply Psychology: Pavlov’s Dogs

function footnote_expand_reference_container() { jQuery(“#footnote_references_container”).show(); jQuery(“#footnote_reference_container_collapse_button”).text(“-“); } function footnote_collapse_reference_container() { jQuery(“#footnote_references_container”).hide(); jQuery(“#footnote_reference_container_collapse_button”).text(“+”); } function footnote_expand_collapse_reference_container() { if (jQuery(“#footnote_references_container”).is(“:hidden”)) { footnote_expand_reference_container(); } else { footnote_collapse_reference_container(); } } function footnote_moveToAnchor(p_str_TargetID) { footnote_expand_reference_container(); var l_obj_Target = jQuery(“#” + p_str_TargetID); if(l_obj_Target.length) { jQuery(‘html, body’).animate({ scrollTop: l_obj_Target.offset().top – window.innerHeight/2 }, 1000); } }

The post Why We Keep Doing Things That Are Bad for Us appeared first on Lifehack.

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