#minute or longer discussion about the merits of a text??? and it’s FINE to do with one person but like

[anti-gravity-insanity]

HOW do people survive mentally without school? Like? There’s no multiple classes to focus on?? No assignments? No things to learn presented to me in a variably structured environment???

What do you mean I just go to work? What about discussion questions??? What about readings??? No tests??? No TESTS?!?!?!

[ddagent]

TELEPATHIC BRIENNE!.!

Here it is, Part III! I hope you enjoy.

Tarth. Coffee tomorrow. 7.30am. Good Knight Grind. We can discuss the ‘case’ I have you working on. 

The text from Jaime Lannister had come through later that day after she had begged off with a migraine (from the blow to her head, and the constant stream of thoughts plaguing her). If Brienne didn’t know any better, she would think Lannister was an arsehole determined to torture her over the lie she had constructed to escape working with Renly. She may not know the man, but she did know his thoughts, and his crush on her was overwhelming. 

So much so that, at seven-fifteen, Brienne was standing in the queue and tugging at her shirt collar in the hope of appearing more agreeable to a man she had once considered all that was wrong with the legal profession. 

The door to the Good Knight Grind opened. There she is. Fuck, she’s wearing that blue shirt again. What in the Seven Hells are you trying to do to me, Brienne? Jaime Lannister suddenly came into view, but offered her nothing more than a polite nod. “Morning, Tarth.”

“Good morning, Mister Lannister.” 

More than a few eyes in the coffee shop drifted to him. He looked like he’d stepped off a photo shoot: dark-blonde hair, designer stubble, gold lion cufflinks. Cool, calm, collected. Should I have shaved? Does Brienne like men with stubble? Get yourself together, Jaime, this is a business meeting, not a date. He glanced towards her, briefly, before touching his tie clip: a sword with a lion as its pommel. 

“Oathkeeper,” Brienne said, the corners of her mouth picking up as she recognised the blade, albeit in miniature. 

Jaime lifted the bottom of his tie. “Oh, um, I guess. My assistant picked it out.” She noticed my tie clip; she noticed my tie clip. Should I tell her I’ve got a matching clip of Widow’s Wail?

“You do?” Brienne asked, only for a line to form across her boss’ forehead as she answered a question he had not asked. “Sorry, I misheard.” 

It’s far too loud in here. Should have gone somewhere quieter, but I love the name. Brienne found herself smiling (she, too, loved the name) before quickly adopting a neutral expression. Just because she and Jaime Lannister seemed to share a mutual love of history did not mean she liked him. He was, after all, an arrogant arse who had torpedoed the defence of a senior partner to advance his own career. 

One Northern breakfast tea and one iced chocolate chip mocha with extra whipped cream, Jaime thought beside her, repeating their order multiple times in his head as they approached the front of the line. One Northern breakfast tea and one iced chocolate chip mocha with extra whipped cream. Should I suggest we get breakfast? Those pastries look good. Should I ask if she’s already eaten? I should probably ask what she wants to drink; I don’t want to look like a creep who knows her order off by heart. 

“Next please!”

They stepped forward. Jaime paused, mentally considering the merits of a bacon sandwich. Brienne addressed the barista in his stead: “One Northern breakfast tea with whole milk; one iced chocolate chip mocha with extra whipped cream; two bacon sandwiches.” She turned to her boss. “Anything else?”

“No–no, that’s spot on.” Brienne moved to her jacket pocket to retrieve her purse. Oh, fuck no. You’re not paying for this. With practised ease, Jaime flashed his credit card at the barista. “It’s a business meeting, Tarth. It’s on expenses.” 

“Oh. Thank you.” 

Brienne gave the barista their names, and together they stood off to the side. Jaime leant against the counter, looking like a model amidst the stirrers, napkins, and sachets of sugar. Brienne fiddled with the strap of her satchel and tried not to hum along to the song Jaime was singing in his head. It was catchier than the music playing low in the coffee shop, and better sounding, too. 

“You knew my order,” he said, as the song abruptly cut off. 

“I—” Can read your mind. “—I’ve seen you drink it before. It’s not exactly black coffee.” 

Fuck. I bet Renly drinks black coffee. His mocking tone was clear, even in his head. “And the bacon sandwich?” 

“It’s a breakfast meeting.”

A breakfast meeting. It’s not like she wanted to sit with you for longer. It’s not like she wanted to share a meal with you or anything. “Fine. But check with me first, Tarth; my schedule is built down to the minute; next time, I may not be able to attend a breakfast meeting.”

“I did check,” Brienne fired back; the disparity in Jaime’s thoughts and speech rendering her off-kilter. “I believe your exact words were ‘No, no, that’s spot on’.”  

She’s so hot when she’s angry. “Impeccable memory, Tarth. Is that why Renly has been using you as a dictaphone ever since you started at the firm?” 

“Not any more.” 

“Yes, of course. Not any more. That’s why we’re here, after all. To discuss our case.”

Just then, their names were called by another barista, and they took their drinks and sandwiches to a corner table surrounded by students typing furiously at laptops and high powered executives reading the broadsheets. Brienne poured her tea into the cup provided and stirred in the milk. Jaime angrily sucked his iced mocha through a paper straw. Both took several mouthfuls of their bacon sandwich (plenty of bacon; not enough ketchup) before Brienne broke the tense silence. 

“You didn’t have to cover for me.” 

I know. “I know.” But you deserve better than to be Renly’s gofer. “To be frank, Tarth, I should have done it a long time ago. I believe everyone should carry their weight within the firm, and Renly has allowed you to carry his as well as your own for far too long.” He leant back in his chair. “And he’s a dick.” 

Brienne sighed. “I won’t argue with you.” 

Shame. You could argue a Lannister out of paying a debt. “Can I ask what led to this little change of heart? Last week you were practically licking his boots—”

“—and this week, I want to throw them at his head.” Her teeth toyed with her bottom lip as Brienne thought how best to phrase her epiphany other than I can suddenly read minds and everyone’s a wanker apart from Podrick Payne and you, apparently. “I...overheard some comments he made about me. I won’t be used. I’m better than that.”

Yes, you are. “Yes, you are. Well, I’m glad you’ve finally seen the light. If you overhear anything else—”

“—like colleagues padding expenses, sleeping together on company time and property, and searching for depositions that don’t exist to give themselves breathing room on cases that they’re losing?”

Jaime spluttered around his straw. “I’m sorry, what?” 

Brienne hadn’t intended to spill the secrets of her coworkers, but every thought she mentioned to Jaime had been costing the firm and their clients time and money. By the end of her recitation, her tea had grown cold and Jaime’s green eyes ever wider. It had been a very informative staff meeting. There was only a handful, actually, who weren’t trying to con the firm in one way or another. 

“Fuck,” Jaime exclaimed as she finished. Dad’s going to have a field day with this. “Well, thank you for telling me, Brienne. It’s not always easy to inform on a coworker.” Not that these people have ever been friends of yours. Not that I’ve been, either. Well, if Willem gets the sack, you can have the office nearer to mine. We could get closer, then. Not that you would ever–one thing at a time, Jaime. “Dare I ask how you found all this out?” 

“No one really...sees me. People treat me as if I wasn’t there. I hear things.” 

“Well, for the sake of the firm, I’m glad they do. But I’m sorry that they do.” Jaime sighed. His thumb brushed some whipped cream clinging to the straw. “For the record, Brienne, I know I may not have always shown it, but I...I see you.”

“I know.” 

His gaze rose to meet hers; a half-smile upon his features. And I think you see me, too, now. 

Brienne wasn’t so sure about that. Jaime Lannister was a mess of contradictions; the knowledge of his past and the image of his present collided as often as the softness of his thoughts and the abrasive nature of his words. But maybe – just maybe – she’d like to.

[notquiteaghost]

helo i love yuo

so, you may have seen this post where i ramble at length about the admiral (the best magnus archives character). this is that, but... even longer. 3′000 words long, to be exact

this rambling contains the admiral; jon&georgie friendship; the beholding throwing jon a bone and letting him talk to cats; the admiral: this time he's yelling; georgie/melanie origins; & bad things exclusively happening off-screen. we are on fluff about cats 24/7 lockdown

and it’s also on AO3

jon definitely had cats growing up and is the kind of person whose life feels Wrong if he doesn’t live with any

he says this to georgie offhandedly, one day, when they’re living together in a decent flat (as opposed to the Hell House they lived in the previous year with various other uni friends), and both have decent jobs (jon in a small, independent bookshop and georgie as a copyeditor), and in general their lives are Going Good

and he’s not trying to hint or anything, (or at least not consciously), just, tells a story about the small angry ex-feral his grandmother had who hated everyone, frequently disappeared for days, had to be sedated for basic vet check ups, but would lie on his feet in the evening while he read and purr, so quietly he felt more than heard it

and georgie doesn’t say anything about getting a cat in that moment either, just tells a story about her own childhood cat’s habit of stealing socks and hiding them under cabinets

but then a couple days later jon comes home and on their sofa is a tiny ball of orange fluff

georgie is sat next to him and she grins and says, “this is the admiral”

“where did he… come from?” jon asks, because he knows georgie, and he’s having visions of her breaking into the house on the end of their road and just. grabbing a cat.

(the house is occupied by an older man who cares for his many, many cats just fine, aside from how he won’t spay any of them and it seems like with every passing month another six cats have appeared)

“rebecca — she works at the library, you’ve definitely met — her cat just had a litter. he’s ten weeks, he’s had his first two shots, she gave me a huge bag of kitten food”

“right. and you decided we’re getting a kitten…?” “this morning.” “oh, of course.”

the admiral is very small, and ginger and long-haired, and he really likes to curl up on them — on georgie’s chest while she’s on the sofa, on jon’s lap when he’s reading. his favourite place to sleep very quickly becomes across their shoulders, snug between them and the back of the sofa, like a kitten hood

he’s very vocal, and has many demands, and you will listen to them. he follows jon round the flat shouting in the evening until jon gives in and goes to bed, and then the admiral lies on top of him and purrs up a storm

he’s an indoor cat, because jon and georgie live in a third floor flat, and so one of his other frequent demands is for someone to trail a tie along the floor for him to murder (yes, they have bought him many actual cat toys. yes, these are all incredibly boring and all he wants to chase are georgie’s shoelaces and jon’s ties)

he likes marbles, rubber balls, bottle tops and other small things he can bat around the tile in the kitchen, and he especially likes when someone stands at the other end of the kitchen and bats them back. they call it tennis. he always wins

if either of them do anything in the kitchen he has to be sitting on the counter to supervise. he doesn’t usually care about the actual food (unless it’s chicken) but he Has To Know

in general he just likes to have his people in his line of sight at all times. if they’re in different rooms he’ll alternate between them, sometimes with increasing frequency until he’s getting up every five minutes very pointedly and narrating his journey angrily, which almost always has the desired effect of them giving up and moving

he sits on georgie’s lap more often, because if jon’s sat on the sofa it’s rare he’s arranged in such a way to make a lap. often the admiral will sit sideways on georgie’s lap and reach out a single paw to rest on the closest part of jon. sometimes this is jon’s face

he loves new people. anyone who comes to their flat is obviously here to see him, and he’s very happy to accommodate that. if any visitors sit down he will be on their laps within seconds. why else would they have sat down! he’s lovely and they love him, obviously

he hates the hoover, it’s his sworn mortal enemy and one day he will kill it. this is unfortunate, as he’s long-haired and fluffy and without regular intervention, all the carpet in the flat would be ginger. he can’t be in the room being hoovered, as he pounces on the cable with enough murderous intent to do real damage. and after the hoovering is done he sulks

he sulks for weeks when jon moves out

he is, in fact, the reason jon & georgie remain in contact, because regardless of how vicious the things they said were by the end, the admiral pines. he lies on what was jon’s pillow and looks incredibly mournful, and georgie doesn’t think it’s fair if only she has to feel guilty about it, so she takes a picture and texts it to jon

and jon isn’t any less angry yet, but dammit the admiral is his cat too, so then they have this weird unspoken agreement where they never discuss themselves but georgie sends him frequent admiral updates and every so often jon comes round and lies on the floor so the admiral can sit on his chest and knead his stomach with pointed force while scolding him at length

(eventually they start talking properly again) (you can pry platonic jongeorgie out my cold dead hands) (jon gets distant during s2 but prior to that they go out for coffee every couple weeks) (they text a lot. jon has to come round georgie’s at least once a month or the admiral starts shredding the hoodies of his georgie has permanently stolen)

when georgie starts what the ghost, of course the admiral has to supervise. he likes to curl up in her lap while she records. if she stops petting him he reaches up to headbutt the mic

whenever he isn’t on her lap he sits on top of her script / reference files / any other sheet of paper she could need to look at. he loves to sit on paper, especially paper she doesn’t want him to sit on

the what the ghost twitter account is 30% episode announcements, articles, behind the scenes stuff, etc, and 70% admiral pictures

one tweet in particular has like 50k retweets. it’s a video of georgie getting up mid-recording to get a drink and the admiral, sat on her desk, leaning forward to meow into the mic as if continuing what georgie was saying

jon is campaigning for georgie to make the admiral his own twitter account. georgie knows she’d almost immediately neglect her own twitter account and she kind of needs to keep that up for her job. jon argues that the admiral would reach people who might otherwise not check the podcast out; georgie counters that if he thinks it’s such a good idea why doesn’t he run it; jon points out he doesn’t live with the admiral and also has a job of his own; work/life balance is a well-worn argument topic in of itself so generally then they drop it

and then jon is accused of murder and moves back in with georgie and the admiral is overjoyed, he purrs nonstop for three straight days, he tries to lie on top of jon nonstop for three straight days, he is the single good thing in jon’s life right now and jon tells him this frequently

then after a couple weeks jon starts to hear words, when the admiral meows, which. is a thing. sure is a thing. that is happening.

jon stumbles into the kitchen at 4AM, able but unwilling to sleep, on the hunt for more tea, and hears a concerned voice call “jon? jon are you okay?”, and he calls back “i’m fine i just couldn’t sleep— ” before turning round and seeing stood in the doorway not georgie but the admiral, who meows again, except jon also hears “i will lie on you”, and then he has to sit on the kitchen floor for a minute

the admiral comes over, of course, and sits on his lap, and purrs and headbutts jon’s jaw and kneads his stomach, and says “yes love you” when jon says, “thank you admiral”

so then jon stares into space for a bit, still stroking one of the admiral’s ears, before asking, hesitantly, “have you… always understood me…?”

but the admiral mrrrps in that way of his that means no, and says “since you came back” so, that’s good, at least jon’s cat isn’t walking around with a wealth of blackmail material

because, of course, he’s the kind of loud shouty man you can keep up a conversation with, and jon and georgie both have a habit of talking through their problems with him

and he doesn’t tell georgie, because this is before he comes clean about All Of It and also this is, in his opinion, a touch more batshit than even evil doors or women made of wax. and he talks to the admiral like he’s a person and they’re having a conversation anyway!

but, the thing is, georgie isn’t an idiot, and notices that when jon asks the admiral what he did with his day, he seems to actually listen to the answer, and then knows about things that the admiral saw but jon didn’t

so a couple days after jon finally explains about the eldritch fear beings and how he works for one and some others want to kill him, after georgie insisted they both stay in for a day, no mention of anything remotely supernatural, just rewatching monster factory and eating ben & jerrys, the day after that georgie sits down across from jon at the kitchen table and asks, “so, you know things? that’s the deal, yeah?” and jon nods, not awake enough to be wary about where this could be going, and georgie adds, “things like what the admiral’s saying?”

and jon. freezes. but georgie just rolls her eyes, says, “what, i can accept you’re on a crusade to stop evil mannequins from ending the world, but you talking to the cat is too far?”, and, well, that’s a good point

so then, as well as having very surreal conversations with the admiral about the relative merits of various brands of cat food, and his thoughts on the reasoning behind various human activities (“georgie is trying to befriend the microphone.” “no it's– the microphone isn’t alive.” “georgie knows that?” “she’s recording, so other people can hear what she has to say without being here.” “!!! record me!!! tell everyone to bring chicken!!!”), and why jon is an idiot fool who should never go anywhere alone again (“don’t even have claws, jon. take me, i will bite.” “i appreciate that, but–” “i am very sharp! i bite hard! i draw lots of blood!” “yes, you’re very dangerous, and that’s why i need you here, to keep georgie safe.” “i’m not kitten i know you are manipulating” “i love you very much, and i promise to be more careful, okay?” “hmph.”)

as well as that, jon is also acting as translator for georgie — if jon’s around, the admiral can understand georgie, but georgie can’t understand the admiral (if the world wasn’t ending, jon would find that absolutely fascinating, but alas)

the admiral tells them both he loves them, a lot. after they feed him, when they’re petting him, but also sometimes he’ll wake up from a nap, see jon sat in the other armchair (georgie’s flat has two armchairs, one with big armrests she found in a charity shop that’s the reading chair, one with a very low back that came with her flat and is the admiral’s), say “love you jon” with great contentment, then go back to sleep. it makes jon tear up every single time

he’s VERY upset when jon moves out. he does not agree with jon’s logic at ALL, and he rants to georgie about it at length, but she can’t understand him anymore

georgie knows the gist of it, though, and when, four days after he left, jon stops replying to her texts, or picking up her calls, she does get a touch worried, and turns up at the institute for some answers

she has melanie’s number, of course, but melanie has also been getting worse and worse about actually responding when contacted (because she’s so angry, all the time, and she just wants to hurt something, and georgie wants her to get out the institute, and melanie is worried what might happen if they argue about it again), so she goes in person, and finds basira

basira doesn’t know where jon is, hasn’t seen him in a while but that’s nothing out the ordinary, and the only person who probably would know is elias, and elias isn’t exactly… forth-coming

so georgie leaves without answers, and decides whatever jon’s done now, he didn’t see fit to tell her about it beforehand (even though, after mike crew, she made him promise), so he obviously doesn’t want her help, so fine. fine! she has enough going on, without worrying about an idiot with a death wish who she definitely doesn’t still care about to an alarming degree

she does, also, decide the institute, the– eldritch fear gods, whatever, they don’t get all her friends. she goes back to the institute the next morning, and refuses to leave until melanie talks to her

melanie looks like shit, visibly buzzing with rage but also with an air of deep, deep exhaustion, and she hasn’t even finished asking what the hell georgie wants before georgie has grabbed her arm and is dragging her outside

and melanie — there’s a knife in melanie’s pocket (there’s always a knife in melanie’s pocket), but she doesn’t reach for it, there’s no sudden surge of mindless rage, she lets georgie drag her all the way out the institute, and into a cafe four blocks away, the one that does the pastries martin likes

georgie doesn’t say anything about leaving the institute, or where jon is, or the unknowing. she orders them both drinks (a cinnamon latte for melanie, with extra whip cream, meaning georgie remembers her favourite drink still, which makes something in melanie feel fuzzy), and just immediately launches into a rant about this source she’s trying to track down for a what the ghost episode

and then she keeps doing that, every week, barging her way into the institute and barging back out with melanie in tow until melanie starts replying to her texts and answering her calls and waiting for her outside

the admiral still thinks they should be more worried about jon, but he no longer has any way to tell georgie that, and he likes the sound of melanie

when jon returns from being kidnapped, he doesn’t actually visit georgie, or even reply to her texts. she finds out he’s back from melanie, and then has to, again, turn up at the institute and demand jon come back to the flat in person. she’s incredibly angry, but not actually at jon

the admiral has a LOT to say when he sees jon again, mostly to the tune of “i TOLD YOU” and “georgie doesn’t listen” and “weeks!!! lucky you aren’t dead!!!! not safe alone!!!!!” and “idiot, idiot, love you, most idiot”. jon just sits down on the floor of georgie’s entryway and lets the admiral sit on his chest and yell

he, of course, does not agree with jon’s decision to not only leave the flat but the country. jon is a FOOL who will DIE doesn’t he love the admiral!!! doesn’t he want to stay safe!!!

georgie leans against the wall behind them and nods emphatically the whole time

once jon leaves again, the admiral is, to say the least, Upset

jon calls as regularly as he can, to reassure them both he’s alive, and georgie starts spending more and more time with melanie

the admiral loves melanie. she’s sharp and quick, would be good in a fight (not that he’s ever seen her do any violence, cats can just tell some things), and she makes georgie happy, and she’s good at ear scritches, and she doesn’t know what he’s saying exactly but she’s pretty good at getting the gist

he tries to tell georgie that melanie should move in, but can’t get her to understand the specifics. she does start inviting her round more, though, which is good. sometimes they talk into the microphone together, now

after jon returns to england and actually goes back to the archives he shows everyone who stays still long enough admiral pictures

mostly that means martin. and basira (basira is a cat person, thank you) (she hasn’t met the admiral in person despite georgie offering because she Isn’t Here To Make Friends) (but she’s still very invested in him and his exploits)

martin will come into jon’s office with tea and to check he has actually eaten today and jon will immediately go “look look come look at this” and show the video georgie sent that morning of the admiral trying to attack a fly on the other side of her bedroom window

“he’s such an idiot” jon says fondly, and martin looks at him and thinks i know the feeling

and, also, this means jon and melanie have something to talk about that isn’t a) No, Seriously, What If We Stabbed Elias, b) the circus apocalypse, or c) are you… dating my ex… 

melanie is not dating georgie. melanie is possibly the only person who doesn’t realise she only isn’t dating georgie Yet

melanie would probably realise she’s in the first third of a slowburn friends-to-lovers if not for, y'know, the slaughter. she knows being around georgie makes the anger dissipate, somewhat, but it’s not yet enough to make room for any other feelings

jon asks, of course, once he’s been back a couple weeks, lying on the floor of georgie’s living room with the admiral being a loaf on his chest while georgie sits on the sofa and edits audio

“so,” he says, and georgie hits pause on the audio file and raises an eyebrow, “melanie, huh?”

“we are only talking about that if you admit you have a crush on martin,” georgie fires back, immediately

and, of course, at this point jon has a) spent several hours going On And On about martin to georgie, b) listened to Those Tapes, c) gone gallivanting round the globe and thought ‘oh martin would like that’ approx two hundred times, so he just says, “sure. i have a crush on martin, and once we’ve successfully survived preventing the world from ending, i will probably ask him out. so — melanie?”

georgie lets out a long, low groan, because melanie

she scrunches her nose up when she’s annoyed, and she’s read every goosebumps book, and one time she nearly started a fight with a guy in costa because she overheard him say something shitty about the homeless guy sat outside, and she hums old folk tunes when she’s thinking

and elias really fucked her up with that shit about her dad, and the speed at which she jumps to violence is incredibly worrying, and if georgie doesn’t remind her sometimes she forgets to eat

“once we successfully survive you preventing the world from ending,” georgie says, at length, “i will ask her out.”

jon nods. the admiral says, “been telling her melanie should move in” and then makes his annoyed mrrp noise when the force of jon’s sudden laughter almost dislodges him onto the floor

[zamancollective]

The Constructive Agony of Talking Politics at Shabbat (Or How to Survive a Debate with Your Relatives) 

By Gabriella Kamran  

Illustration by Sophie Levy

I wasn’t yet 20 years old and I had already forgotten what it felt like to join my relatives for Shabbat dinner and eat brisket without a side of political commentary. Was that a new phenomenon? Was I too busy spitting tomatoes into napkins as a child that I didn’t notice the moral axioms being thrown above my head? Regardless, charged conversation after charged conversation gradually emerged from background noise while I chewed to a dynamic that captured my interest and charted the course of my intellectual development. 

It seems accurate to say that I entered the fray around the same time I started buying my own clothes. These were the early teenage years: I was testing the waters of feminism, experimenting with political Facebook posts, and learning that not everything I believe to be true is, in fact, the truth. Every young person has a moment of realization that adults can sometimes be profoundly wrong. Mine took place gradually over a series of weekly dinners, as my male relatives argued and I felt an arsenal of my own opinions weighing in my chest. 

I will say with no qualifiers that it is difficult for a fourteen-year-old girl to wedge herself into a conversation with several adult men. First, there is the issue of a quiet voice, not yet amplified by the support of social affirmation. Then there is the matter of being taken seriously — that is, the unspoken surprise that I was not in the living room talking to my girl cousins about nail polish. 

(The aunts, for their part, either ladled soup in the kitchen or listened at the table, inserting a comment when appropriate. For a long time, I interpreted their disinterest as ignorance or resignation to gender norms, but with maturity one gets better at recognizing weariness. I remember once my jaw dropped when a cousin’s grandmother expressed a political opinion out loud- something about Hillary’s foreign policy. I hated myself for being so shocked that she’d have something to say.) 

I learned quickly that family debate is rocky terrain. The post-meal discussion usually unfolded as follows: 

Man 1: This ObamaCare is going to put doctors out of business, I’m telling you. 

Man 2: Just awful. The liberals are pushing us towards socialism. Aunt: We’re just giving more and more money to the lazy bums. Me: What about the majority of poor people who aren’t lazy and were born into poverty? I don’t think anyone genuinely wants to be on welfare. 

Man 2: Oh, no. We send our kids to the conservative schools and they still get brainwashed by liberals. 

Man 1: Question everything your teachers tell you, Gabs. They have an agenda. An agenda. 

Alternatively, the “elders” card was pulled and the conversation stopped short: 

Me: I don’t think you should call people _____ 

Relative: You can’t speak to me like that. How can you disrespect your family?

The more politically conscious I became, the more these dinners began to wear on my nerves. At school, I was learning so much I could almost feel my mind growing into itself. The classic teenage practice of finding oneself was in full force for me as I wrote school newspaper op-eds in my successive editor positions and defined myself in the lines of my rhetoric. Dinner with relatives sucked this pride out of my chest and pulled the plug on my budding confidence. I oscillated between righteous indignation that prompted me to sit firmly in place when the political debate started during our meal and outright fear that anyone would ask me at any point in the night about something of more import than my week’s activities. Family dinners became a matter of fight or flight.  

I took refuge in journalism and books. They seemed to possess more certainty than my relatives’ armchair sociological analyses. I read Betty Friedan, Ta Nehisi Coates, Ari Shavit… and the fact that I considered these all to be radical texts is indicative of how intimidated I felt in political terms. My progressive ideals were no longer inclinations; I could use words like “neoliberal” and “reactionary” to match my relatives’ rhetorical skill. Vocabulary aside, however, a gulf persisted between me and some of the men in my family.

What was this gulf, exactly? Was it a generational gap? Surely an ideological divide existed between every new crop of cousins, fathers and daughters, uncles and nieces. Common wisdom dictates that naïve youth will always be more progressive and open-minded than their older counterparts. It seemed to me, though, that something more was at play here. These Shabbat dinners meant more than a blasé tidal shift in opinions, but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was. 

The time came for me to go to college, and I was surrounded for the first time by a collection of politically conscious people who had enough intellectual acuity to rigorously critique the elder generation’s values. 

I met friends who told me their grandparents were “hella liberal” and still smoked weed on the weekends, and I beheld these friends in awe. This must have been the diversity they extolled in admissions brochures, the expansion of horizons — but which one of us was living in a bubble? Then there were the students who seemed to have swallowed their relatives’ platitudes like pills, rolling their eyes when they passed a student protest or snickering at T.A.’s requests to state our preferred gender pronouns. These students made me the most uneasy.  

Mostly, though, college brought me a network of friends who shared my experience. By this time we had all developed standby strategies to deal with opinionated table talk: some blocked out the rhetoric and ate their khoresht in peace, and some, like me, often ventured back into the weekly scuffles like moths to a partisan flame.  

But, of course, it was more than righteous indignation that pulled me back into the tides of argument. The supposed radical leftist hegemony on college campuses gave my relatives plenty of dinner table fodder on the nights when I made the ten-minute journey from my dorm to their dining rooms. They particularly liked to raise an issue with my chosen minor, Gender Studies, which they denounced as man-hating. As they prodded me about my professors in order to attack their liberal agendas, I felt the familiar nagging anxiety: Was the leftist haven I found in college making me tone-deaf, insular under the pretense of high-minded morality? I felt obligated to listen to every dismissal of Hillary Clinton, every racial slur, and every condemnation of Islam. This was my internal protest at their accusations of narrow-mindedness. 

I still wondered what was really new in our political conversations. Topics had changed — Obama and McCain became Hillary and Trump, Al Qaeda became ISIS, gay became LGBTQIA+ — but the emotions I had as a young progressive facing several elder conservatives were constant. What were we all feeling during those semi-heated exchanges? We one-upped each other and attacked arguments at weak points, but what was the seed of all this debate? Perhaps it was a sense of familial betrayal. 

We swear to keep family and business separate but there is no such promise when it comes to politics, although we know they are equally divisive. “The personal is political” is also true in reverse — to disparage someone’s worldview is an affront to their world. Political standpoints are currents that run deeper than the surface waters of opinion. Debate is healthy and insult is not, and the line between them is fine. 

One August night before my freshman year of college, one family member reminded me once again to question everything my professors would tell me.  

“These are a different kind of people. Really liberal. They don’t think like us.” 

I wondered briefly what he meant by “us,” considering our often radically divergent opinions. He had been at the dinner table all these years — could it be that he never truly listened to me? 

My cousin leaned toward me, interrupting my thoughts. 

“Or you could come back from college a flaming liberal, and we’ll still love you.”

 I was struck by the resonance of my cousin’s joke, and I still think about it often. By the very merit of calling one another family, we make an implicit promise to stand by one another and love unconditionally – that is, regardless of ideology. When we sit across the dining room table, embroidered white tablecloth stretching between us, and launch attacks intended not to teach, not to strengthen, but to change, there is a sense of combat that doesn’t belong in a family. These mealtime political debates are not a leisurely pastime but a battle driven by an attempt to win, and to win means to vanquish. Hovering over the platters of chicken and tadig is an intention to change one another, and the promise of loyalty feels contingent upon your next comeback.  

Isn’t that what families do, though? We change each other. Any amateur psychologist will tell you that our personalities begin at home. Parents, and to an extent other relatives, are charged with the responsibility of edifying their children. It takes a village, and a large part of this is the admonitions and proverbs of the villagers. Perhaps my relatives feel this weight of social obligation propelling them forward as they critique my beliefs. They crave my confirmation that they are succeeding in their efforts. Maybe when I push back and hold my own, they feel some kind of failure. 

There’s a Jewish parable in which a sage, faced with a crowd of scholars who disagree with his judgment, asks God to determine who is correct. God declines to comment. The wise men debate and eventually move forward with a decision. From heaven, God laughs with joy: “My sons have defeated me!” 

The goal of true mentorship has never been indoctrination. Young people look to their beloved elders to create some kind of safe space to learn to walk, to stumble, to mess up. The goal is that eventually, the pupil becomes the teacher. A student who recites their teachers’ talking points is a student lost.  

Through the ages, a 7 p.m. roundtable over plates of freshly-cooked dinner has been the family’s classroom. The curriculum is set by the routine inquiries of “What did you learn at school today?” and, “How was work?” Some families study in groups of three, and some are lucky enough to learn alongside dozens. I should hope that men in my family take enough interest in my growth to stretch my mind and challenge my thinking. So, too, should they hope I prove them wrong sometimes. 

[pokemagines]

Can I have some headcanons for Colress with a Assistant!S/O?

a/n: so i really like this ask and it’s going to be sorta storybook-esque for the two tropes i’m using as colress’ s/o’s and whatnot lol. kind of like a progression. he gets their job applications and decides to seek them out to see which one is the best fit?? idk. enjoy reading it lmao the second one got way longer than the first but i love them both! signed, mod elesa.

colress stares down at the two job applications, thoughtfully scratching at his chin. just two choices... but which is the best fit? (it’s super long pls brace yourselves)

the headstrong and prideful “snippy tsundere”

the first girl he meets at a science fair, his interest piqued by her research on splicing pokemon dna. for someone straight out of university, she’s surprisingly competent. he discusses her research with her for hours before they exchange information. after their fourth meeting, he asks her if she’d like to become his assistant. she happily obliges. colress’ colleagues call her a “snippy tsundere” when it comes to how she interacts with others around the office, but colress finds her endearing all the same. although a bit headstrong and overconfident, she concedes when she knows she’s wrong (very reluctantly, i might add). 

colress finds her hardworking and prideful nature to be quite amusing. he didn’t expect her to be so boastful about everything she accomplished but he welcomes it, glad she appreciates her hard work. it’s only when he finds her working at 3 a.m. does he realize that he... well, likes her. the way her hair frames her face, the beginnings of dark circles under her eyes, the concentrated frown she gets when she writes -- she’s beautiful, and he’s an idiot for not seeing it sooner.

the first time he sees her flustered is when he asks her to dinner, to which she drops a flask right on her foot before entering panic mode. (thank goodness her foot was safe) but her heart? oh man. she nearly has a heart attack watching colress tend to her foot (a fetish, perhaps) and promises she’ll be more careful. 

their date goes swell, so good that she’s bringing colress back to her place and pushing him down on her bed, her lips never leaving his. he’s never met a woman so sure of what she wants (especially from a rather cryptic guy such as himself) but he’s more than willing to let her take it, basking in the pleasure.

the surprisingly smart but socially awkward crier

the second girl spills coffee on him during their first meeting and she’s a blubbering mess, tears all over her hastily-assembled notes as she apologizes profusely. colress continues to reassure her that it’s fine, that he can wash it when he gets home, and that makes her feel even worse. what a first impression, am i right?

he’s reluctant to meet her again after that but she pleads and manages to get him to come to the lab she’s currently working at. she’s “more comfortable in her element”, according to the texts she sent him at 11 p.m. last night, and colress respects that. the difference in energy is astonishing -- she’s got beakers and flasks of stuff colress can’t even identify simmering over heat, her notebook open as she jots down in shorthand how each thing is reacting to heat. it’s a very different girl than the socially awkward one he met at the coffee shop, and he can’t help but smile as he reads over her notes which (much to his amusement) are filled with doodles. 

she later explains she’s testing how much heat a heatmor can withstand, and that the beakers were but a small part of a larger experiment. obviously she can’t get a heatmor and throw it into the sun, so she settles for manipulating its dna and seeing how much it can withstand before breaking down. although very random, colress indulges her anyways. behind her childish way of talking, colress finds real merit in her work, and bluntly asks her to be his assistant in the middle of her sentence. nearing tears, she accepts, flailing her hands around in an effort to not cry again.

from then on she’s deathly afraid to mess up, only doing what colress says and nothing more. if he needs a coffee, she’ll go get it. he needs a back massage? she’s on it. colress wants 20 pikachus for an experiment? she’ll be back in five minutes with 40. colress never sees her doing her own work anymore, a fact that saddens him. she only has the chance to work after he’s done for the day, which is at 10 p.m. he offers to help her and the two bond over alolan pizza and how the hell she managed to convince 40 pikachus to come to their lab. this becomes a regular occurrence, and soon she just has to ask:

“what are we? i-i mean, like, why do you help me out all the time? we’re not... or, at least i don’t think we’re dating... is this dating? were those dates? oh, god, i’m SO sorry.”

colress shrugs, smiling at her. “i wouldn’t be sacrificing my free time if i didn’t like you as much as i do.”

before she starts crying again, colress’ lips are on hers, bringing her flush against his chest as the chemistry between them heats up. ;-)

[chwrpg]

ZEKE SWEENEY. college sophomore; nineteen. wolfgang novogratz. OPEN.

and, as zack siler once said:

“So, Laney, I was wondering if you wanted to... embarrass me horribly in front of all these people.”

BEFORE THE PARTY;

It was often stated that life wasn’t a popularity contest, but if it was... Zeke Sweeney would be winning, hands down. His parents adored him, every guy wanted to be him, and every girl on campus wanted to be with him. The fact that he had the best hands Rosewood’s football division ever seen, rivaling his older brothers and enough money to buy a small island or two definitely helped, but it wasn’t everything. The people of Rosewood liked him because he actually was a decent human being. Unlike most of those considered Rosewood’s “elite”, Zeke had never gone out of his way to be a menace to others or remind them where they were ranked in Rosewood’s beloved social hierarchy. Sure, for the most part— he was a mainstay amongst the upper echelon of Rosewood but unlike them, he enjoyed the company of Rosewood’s different factions. He found it refreshing to be around people who had things to discuss that didn’t revolve around their new yacht or how much coke they’d bought over the weekend for the next major rager. Zeke, unlike other members of his circle, treated others like he wanted to be treated. The social divide of Rosewood was never something he understood, nor cared to understand. In fact, he tried his damnedest to change the status quo, and he did a pretty good job of it as he was involved in numerous clubs and organizations on Ravenwood’s campus. So if it wasn’t clear already—People loved him and he had two prom king crowns to prove it..

Things only got better for the youngest Sweeney once his brother Ram left, opening up the captain spot on the team he’d been vying for for as long as he could remember and removing him from that shadow. Being a star was one thing, but being known as the top dog was something else entirely. So when he was scouted and invited to hit training camp, one where he’d be looked at by people who could make his path to the NFL easier— he jumped at the opportunity, pouring all his energy into it in a way he never had before. He wanted to leave the summer with opportunities he’d earned on his own merits, not because of his family name. 

When he returned to Ravenwood on a bus with a handful of his teammates who’d spent nearly a month training their asses off in the sultry summer heat, instead of receiving the hero’s welcome he’d expected.... he was dumped. Literally. After showing up nearly a half hour late to pick him up, his girlfriend— well former girlfriend informed him that things weren’t working between them. Despite the near constant stream of texts and calls sent between them up until the last week, she’d made a connection with someone else in his absence. He was the next Jake Paul in the making and apparently she was his Tana, a reference that completely went over Zeke’s head until he remembered the stupid wedding video his younger sister forced him to watch upon her return from boarding school.

The worst part of it all wasn’t the fact the guy popped his head out of her car to ask how much longer things would take, or even the fact that a few of his friends had stuck around to make sure he got the ride he needed, it was that Zeke actually loved her. Sure they had their issues, who didn’t? And, yeah sometimes it’d really annoy him how she treated some of the lesser known kids at school but he’d honestly thought she was the one for him. Or at least the one he’d call his college sweetheart. But not even a week into sophomore year she was dumping him like he was nothing before showing off the tattoo she’d recently gotten to cement her new relationship.

It’d hurt hurt. He was devastated and she was utterly fine. But one look at Stifler’s face made it obvious that if he let it show the guys wouldn’t let it drop for the rest of the season. The only thing worse than what actually happened would be having his friends rub it in his face like it was all some joke. So before he could stop himself Zeke found himself saying what he wished were true. Chandler Solano was replaceable. Zeke could have any girl on campus. This— he knew to be simply fact and now that he was a free man, he was ready to immerse himself in the college experience the way the rest of his friends had been for years. What... he hadn’t expected was the laughter that came from the other boys when he announced such a thing. The taunts that followed were that Chandler wasn’t as replaceable as he liked to think and even if she were, there was no way Zeke could slide into bed with any girl on campus. No one was that smooth. Feeling his own embarrassment rise to the surface, he stepped up to the challenge, telling his friends to pick out any girl they wanted and within three- no, two months he could land in her bed.

After a few minutes of scouting out the quad for the most challenging option, the endless snickering from the boys, let him know that they’d found the one. They pointed Zeke in the direction of one, London Blake.

DURING THE PARTY;

Zeke had been on his way toward that evening’s festivities, knowing that he was going to hear it from the guys as he wouldn’t have London on his arm but he’d take it. As much as he wanted to win the challenge he’d accepted, a part of him knew that what he was doing wasn’t right. So tonight, he’d just have fun and accept whatever bullshit was thrown his way. Because while he might not have had London on his arm, who was to say he’d end the night alone?

But as he stopped at a red light, he’d noticed his phone had begun to blow up with messages from his younger sister. Apparently she needed him to pick her up from some house in the South Side? What his sister was doing on that side of the tracks, he had no idea but he didn’t like the thought of it. So he quickly put the address into his GPS system and made his way over to the other side of town. As he stepped out of his car, he couldn’t help but take in just how different things were once you made your way over those tracks.

It was truly another world.

He’d knocked on the front door of the house, before coming face to face with not only his sister but London’s younger brother. The look of confusion on his face said it all, but it was soon made clear that this was London’s home. But what he didn’t understand was why was he there? Something that was answered to him when his sister let London know to get her ass downstairs. Just as Zeke was about to reprimand her for her language, down came London Blake.

But not the London that he’d ever seen in all their years of sharing spaces together. His mind simply couldn’t compute that this, this was the girl that his friend’s ( as well as him ) had deemed undateable. This was a brand new London and he couldn’t deny the fact that it was a London that he very much wanted to get to know further.

alternate faceclaims and prompts.

[canaryatlaw]

today was somewhat less than great, just because it was busy and long, and I had a bit of a freakout halfway through and never fully recovered, and now I’m having the same chest pains I was having on Sunday that I don’t know what to attribute to, it could be that I still don’t have one of my acid reflux meds but it doesn’t feel like acid reflux, traditionally at least. I just drank a ton of kefir (I’ll explain what that is another time) and I’m really not sure if it helped or not, and I just overall feel like shit right now so that may sour the recap of my day. Anyway. woke up at 11:20 (which, again, I must stress feels SO good and has made such a difference for me versus the nightmare that was this summer, it’s seriously the ultimate self-care for me at the moment) and got ready, headed out at 11:45 and made it to school by 12:35. I had a lot of trouble paying attention in bus orgs, mostly because I hadn’t read the case we were going over, so it would take extra attention to actually grasp the details of it and I just wasn’t up to it. So instead I was looking up child welfare nonprofits and looking at job opportunities, which turned out to be a bad idea because it proceeded my freak out. Basically, I was looking for a fellowship program I thought I had seen on one of the sites but couldn’t find it, so I then remembered a friend posting something about a fellowship she had with equal justice works, so I looked that up, and just started feeling really, really overwhelmed. I felt like there’s no way I’m gonna get a position at a child legal centered nonprofit unless I have some type of fellowship, because I’m just not going to get hired straight out of law school with no “actual” experience (because it’s not like I’ve been in court and handling cases for the past 9 months or anything). But the requirements for the fellowship were really, really daunting, and the submission deadline was september 27th. crap. like, in order to apply you need to have a project idea and have a nonprofit that is partnering with you in it and I’m just sitting there like....there’s no way I can accomplish this in 13 days, especially when I don’t really have any contacts in any of the organizations I’d like to work for. So I just ended up feeling really discouraged about everything, like how am I supposed to get hired if nobody is hiring, and if they are I can’t even get an interview?? I texted my dad about it, and he was somewhat helpful. He just really wants to get me back to New York, so he’s reaching out to contacts there to try and get me a job in the family courts there (basically the equivalent of the office I’ve been in for the past year). and I honestly have such mixed feelings about this. My dad has always, always said it’s not about what you know, it’s about who you know, but I SO wanted this to be something I achieved on my merits, not riding the coattails of my father. but it seems like a contact is necessary to even get considered, and I just don’t have the contacts for the places I’d like to work. I also still have mixed feelings about being back in NY. like, living in the city and working there would be one thing, I would have a separate apartment and life but still be able to have easy access to my family. Living on the island would be a different story entirely. I’ve been absolutely adamant with my parents in any discussions about this that under no circumstances am I moving back in the house with my family because it is so detrimental to my mental health and I refuse to put myself back in that situation. But being so close by would change things. Getting an apartment on LI would be difficult, much less an affordable apartment, and I feel like my family would constantly want me to be at the house and spending time with them, and I just don’t know how much of that I can handle. Like, yes, I decided that I wouldn’t stay in Chicago because I wanted to be closer to my family, and I wanted my (eventual) children to have a real relationship with their grandparents, not one that consisted of seeing each other maybe once a year for no longer than a week. That was the relationship I had with one of my grandparents, and I was nowhere near as close to him as I was to my other two (living) grandparents who lived close to us, and ended up living with us at some point. I’m ranting now though, so I’ll leave it there. After class I went to the apple store for my 3:30 genius bar appointment for my phone. as expected, my battery needed replacing, since it had basically told me that that was the problem anyway. I ended up having to leave it there for a few hours so they could replace the battery and I could pick it back up after class (I didn’t have enough time to get it replaced before I needed to be in class). So I ended up going back to school sans my phone, which I hate lol because I feel so helpless that I’m not able to get information instantly lol and managing public transit without a phone is difficult, because buses are not reliable and you can very easily end up getting stranded. thankfully that was not the case here, and I made it back to school just fine. I sat in the PAD office for a while and did about half of the DV reading for tonight’s class (the reading is interesting, but I know I can get away with not reading it, so that makes it hard to find the motivation to do it). Went up to class when it was time, and thankfully got my signed 711 form back from my professor, so I can deliver that to the administrative office of the courts on Monday (I won’t be downtown tomorrow) and then I can office step up in court on my DV cases, which is gonna really be SUCH a relief, because having to sit there and watch your client stumble through answers and not always being able to get the important information out and knowing you can’t do anything about it is the WORST feeling ever, and I never want to have to feel that again (I was feeling it yesterday to some extent, the hearing did not go in the direction I expected, but we ultimately prevailed so that was a relief. Class was fine, some interesting discussion on different theories of working with victims and such. After class I hopped on the bus back to the apple store, picked up my phone, then ended up waiting like 15 minutes for another bus to show up that I could take home. this one is called the “outer drive express” and has a lot fewer stops, but doesn’t get me quite where I need to be, so I gotta hop on another bus afterwards. Got home, got some food, and watched Smallville. Nothing really remarkable worth recapping (and my eyes are rapidly closing on me) and that was about it for the night. Until tomorrow, then. Goodnight dear followers. Happy Friday. 

[visualnoveldiscourse]

Amnesia: Memories- Kent Route Day 10

We pick up on Day 10 at Kent’s house after we tell him about our scary encounter with the mysterious possible murderer.  

We are off to a great start.  No memories, spirits in our heads, friends that think we’re out to get the targets of their affection, an emotionally constipated boyfriend, and now we might have a serial killer after us.  Good deal. 

 Heeey, if there’s a serial killer aspect to this story, are we going to be rescued by big, scary Kent?  Yes, please~ I have always been a slut for a damsel in distress story.  But what would make me even happier is us rescuing Kent!  0v0

Kent is suspicious of the fact that we say we don’t know the guy that apparently knows both of us.  

Orion suspects that we might have known the scary guy before he lost our memories for us.  I agree that it’s unlikely that we have never seen or met him before.  Kent, ever the diligent man, notes our paleness and asks if we know of any reason anyone would want to hurt us.  Unfortunately, we have no memories and we’ve been hiding that, so we can’t tell him any form of helpful answer.  My answer choice here is “I can’t think of anything,” since we literally know of no reason that anyone would wish us harm.  

I dunno, man.  Maybe I’m pale because a scary guy I don’t know knows my name and your name and was talking about killing me and then you’re like “maybe he’s a serial killer.”  You tell me, would that not elicit at least some concern?  

Of course, Kent immediately follows that up with “He must have been really scary!”  And I’m like no fucking shit.  Before any further conversation can be had, Kent comes closer and looks really freaked out.  

Awh, was he going to hug us and then he realized he was about to touch us and was like “holy shit, better not frighten girlfriend”? Like, I could probably use a hug right about now, maybe chill, Kent.  

“I wasn’t going to do anything outrageous...”  Kent, you’re blushing because you wanted to give us a hug?  Precious.  Or... not.  

Well, I suppose hand holding can also be comforting.  But personally, I’d rather have a hug.  But he doesn’t stop there.  

Kent really worries too much.  We’re dating.  Hand holding and hugs and even sometimes kisses are typical things to expect from romantic relationships.  Having you come closer to me and hold my hand to comfort me is a plus, not scary. This must be because of our rocky relationship and the rocky foundation of it.  

“So you don’t need to be so guarded.”  Is the final part of Kent’s next lines.  Were we making a face?  Like.  Kent is the least threatening person we’ve met the entire game.  I’m pretty sure I could put him up against a kitten and the kitten would be scarier.  

Fortunately, Kent takes our concerns seriously.  He offers to walk with us after dark to make sure we’re safe.  I also love how Kent doesn’t put forth a bunch of blustering bravado to impress us.  He could just as easily have said “I’ll walk you home every night to make sure you’re safe.  I’ll beat him up if he bothers you.” or anything else involving typical macho man bravado.  But instead, he says he might be able to help deal with that man.  Help deal with that man.  Not swoop in as a hero in a cape to save the day.  Not fix the problem for us.  Not to reduce us to a prize in some macho man fight about who gets the girl.  He says he might be able to help us deal with him.  

Another significant choice of words is saying that he might be able to help.  Kent makes no guarantees that he would be able to protect us from any threat.  He humbly acknowledges here that he might not be able to deal with this guy if he seriously is dangerous, but he will do what he can to help us if it came to that.  There is nothing I like more than a guy that is honest with me and himself about his capabilities and the situations we are in.  

We are going to die.  I know I was just harping about how nice it is that Kent is honest with me and that he will help me deal with this scary man, but if the scary man is here right fucking now, I need more than like two seconds to mentally prepare myself for the fight or flight reflex.  If I’m hiding, are you going to shove a shelf against the door or are you gonna be dumb as fuck and open the door for the serial killer?  

Kent, I don’t want to watch your bespectacled ass die in front of me while I hide under your desk and hope I’m not discovered-

Son of a fucking bitch.  Kent.  Ikki.  I’m over here having a panic attack because serial killer and you two have to play your fucking math nerd assassin games?  That’s it.  I’m done.  Play your games like the overgrown children you are.  I’m going h o m e  and there is nothing you can do to stop me.  

Oh.  I can’t leave yet?  Not cool, game.  I’m mad.  Can’t we just leaaave?  No?  Fine.  

Kent apologizes for the interruption that Ikki caused in our discussion. As if that is what merits an apology.  How about giving me a heart attack and knocking twenty years off my life?  

Ikki changes the subject to math puzzles that Kent likes to make and when he discovers that Kent already gave us some of said puzzles, he has the most hilarious reaction.  You fool.  You didn’t even suspect that I love math puzzles.  Maybe soon, I’ll join your stupid play pretend math assassin games.  

Okay.  So I can’t really fault him much for this one.  Although, I am personally offended.  We already know that we met Kent through a basic/beginner’s math course thing, so it’s natural he would consider our math skills elementary at best.  But still to come out an say it in front of your bro and in front of me.  Rude. (This is another rare occasion where Orion and I agree).  

Immediately following Kent’s statement, Ikki takes to his defense... Or so it seems.  “I’m sure he’s a ton of trouble.  He’s not a bad guy though, so try to be patient with him.”  

Kent is suddenly affronted by something Ikki says or does and one thing that I don’t like about this scene is how we don’t know what Ikki is doing until Ikki and Kent describe it.  Would it have been that much more difficult to draw Ikki’s hand reaching over the camera to rub our head?  

Kent is, understandably, upset by this development.  Ikki is taking some liberties here, what with rubbing the head of his best friend’s girlfriend.  

Wow, Ikki.  You’re not even hiding the fact that you’re doing this to make Kent jealous. The tone of voice the actor uses here cements that fact, which I cannot portray to you through text and screenshots.  To Kent’s credit, he keeps his cool, calmly telling Ikki that he has no morals.  

Of course, Kent is getting prety worked up about Ikki touching us.  It’s probably because Kent can’t even bring himself to hold our hand without dramatically working up to it.  Ikki is being pretty insensitive to his best friend.  And Ikki isn’t content to leave it at that, either.  

Before, it could be excused as a little lighthearted teasing, but now Ikki is just being an asshole.  Like, dude, maybe leave Kent and his insecurities alone?  Also, maybe stop rubbing my head, cause like, I don’t remember you asking permission to touch me and I’m sensitive about things like that.  But alas, being a silent protagonist with a spirit running our show, we don’t have the option to punch Ikki for being too familiar and touching us without permission.  

Ikki, seriously?  With friends like you, who needs enemies?  Openly flirting with your best friend’s girlfriend and pushing our boundaries by touching us and making open advances without permission.  Kent is having no more of this.  

He’s clearly getting pissed.  Ikki should call it quits, since it’s obvious that his playful teasing isn’t being well received.  But he doesn’t.  He casts another jab at Kent by brazenly asking for our number right in front of Kent.  

Look, there is nothing wrong with a guy and a girl who are not romantically involved exchanging phone numbers.  Men and women can be friends, after all.  But Ikki’s timing here is awful.  He’s flirted with Kent and insinuated that he would give us more intimate contact and Kent is already suspicious that Ikki intends to seduce us.  It’s just a dick move. 

We, the MC, could definitely do more to discourage Ikki’s advances, but we’re a blank paper bag with little real input into the story.  So, we exchange numbers and Ikki backs off and heads out. 

Alone, Kent approaches us, with a deep blush on his cheeks.  Is he going to ask us for reassurance?  Is he going to attempt to reaffirm that we have feelings for each other?  Is he going to do something sweet? Oh, Kent-

This sets off so many alarm bells in my head.  He’s got his hand balled up in our hair and his expression is the scariest I’ve seen on him.  Kent is so insecure that he would hurt us to prove to himself that he is manly enough to touch us in an intimate way.  

Personally, in real life, this would be a straight up deal breaker for me.  I don’t give a flying fuck how cute you are, how smart you are, how much I like you and am interested in you romantically, the minute you cause me physical harm is the minute your ass is on the curb.  No one, no man and no woman and no one of any gender on the spectrum will be allowed to cause me physical harm of any kind and stay in my life.  Unless it’s completely accidental, like, we ran into each other face first and now we’re laying in the floor groaning about how much our heads hurt.  

You have disappointed me, Kent.  You have disappointed me.  

But you are still, by far, the best boyfriend this game has to offer.  You heard me correctly: there are boyfriends in this game who treat us much worse than this.  Much worse.  I will miss you and your insecure hair pulling when we move on from your route to another.  

Fortunately, we get a chance to talk to Kent about how this hair pulling, rubbing thing feels.  I choose “I don’t dislike it, but it hurts.”  In this scenario, alone with a man bigger than me, who is already holding me by the hair, I wouldn’t want to antagonize him.  Best to pacify him and when I’m no longer in immediate danger, run for the hills.  

I don’t forgive you.  First of all, your hand is still balled up in my hair.  You’re pulling my hair as you apologize to me for pulling my hair and hurting me.  Second of all, you lost control and you hurt me.  You hurt me because you wer insecure and you are intelligent enough to know better.  Not laying a harmful hand on someone you profess to love isn’t difficult.  It’s being a decent human being. 

Well, first of all, he wasn’t pulling my hair and hurting my head.  Second of all, I don’t have a good answer for that, because the protagonist is a blank, passive page and Orion calls almost all of the shots. But we’re hiding this from Kent, so we don’t have a good explanation for him.  But!  Regardless!  You have no right!  To harm me!  No matter if you think someone else was allowed to do it!  

Can we go home yet?  No?  Kent has to angst about how Ikki will make advances on us? You don’t trust me to love you and to choose you over Ikki?  Just what is our shitty relationship based around, anyway?  Why are we even still trying at this point? 

Then get your hand out of my hair, shit fuck.  

“While I hesitate to even hold your hand, your heart could turn towards him...” Hand.  In my hair.  Fuck you.  Also, before this fiasco, I would have said “of course not.  You are being paranoid.  “I’m afraid that he could take you away from me.”  Dude, I don’t even want to see your face right now.  

“It takes all I have just to touch your hair.”  Then stop touching it. It’s not like I’m forcing you.  

Oh, well, since you put it that way- you are not forgiven.  Not that quickly, you asshole.  Prove to me you aren’t gonna abuse me and that that sort of thing will never happen again.  Oh, wait, things like that usually have repeat performances.  

“Could you go home for today?  ...I’ll walk you back.”  

Oh, thank God.  Just the words I was waiting for.  I don’t especially want you to walk me home, but better for you to walk me home than me be axe murdered in the street, I guess.  

Back at our apartment, Orion says “That was a surprise.”  and I’m like, which part?  Kent going crazy and pulling our hair or Ikki violating our personal space or maybe the way that Kent excused his behavior like an abuser would do?  

Which is a major warning sign in my book.  Danger, danger.  That’s not something to be happy about, Orion.  “He might like you more than we expected.”  Bro.  This is a bad thing, not a good thing.  Instead of getting more onto Ikki about this, he let all of his anger out on us.  That’s not cool.  

What a crappy note to end day 10 on.  And our romance was finally starting to get better.  

[mineofilms]

Followers

I have come to the realization of the 936 friends, um, cough, “Followers,” I have on FB that a great many of you, do nothing but bring negativity to my day. Some just outright piss me off. Yeah, I know.

An opinion shouldn’t piss me off if I am fully grounded in my beliefs, and I am. As most of you are allowed to have your own beliefs. I have to question some, many of you, on them. That how did we become friends in the first place?

If you are that far out in right/left/ field or noman's land? Do you believe everything you read, hear from other people? Do you not do your own research to find out if something is factual or not or are you, just, a “Follower???"

I Do Not Know; usually, I would just say, yeah, sure you do, right? But it is clear, from some things that get posted and commented on that the perception of your opinion is, wait for it… LAZY AF…

Seriously. Rehashed Gurged Stuff About Politics, Religion, Sex, Dating, Parenting. I am just, wow... WTF? I value friendship. I value family. I value love, true love. Not the BS we are compatible thing, that is garbage.

I value in #Truth and #TruthEqualsTruth #LoveThySelf but when I question something someone says, and they get all huffy puffy butthurt by it right out of the gates. That just shows you do not feel very confident in those concepts. So why say them to begin with? I Do Not Know, whatever.

  Some of you I have no choice but to unfollow. You make it too easy. I cannot deal with your religious call to arms. Giving a “Pretend Friend for Grownups” all the credit, when in fact it was you that make shit happen.

  Your Nonsensical Political views on the reg. Posting about making money from home. I just can’t see this any longer as something I want to look at on my timeline. I am not sold, not even close.

  Since I have control to do something about it. I shall. I can no longer go back and forth with lack of reasoning, lacking research, lack of creative thinking. No, inside the box thought just Copy/Past/Share that is what most understand. Even fewer don’t even read the article and I am very concerned about how many will read this whole blog from beginning to end, yes, this is a blog. For now, I will just make this a post, but it’s going on my blog…

  SHALL WE BEGIN…

  My Facebook is mine. If you don’t share in my love for the Gym, my supplement line, my thoughts in general and/or support my potential as a professional writer or get my sense of humor. Go, leave now. It’s fine. I am good with this. FB is no longer ONLY about keeping up with friends/family. It’s now used for many things from business to dating to family/friends to discussions.

  This isn’t MySpace. People choose to be here, people choose to open their lives to people, but are terrified to have real-human-connections, in most settings here. The ignoring of messenger also stops… If I take time to write you a PM and you don’t respond, like ever, it’s likely I will either unfollow or remove you from my friend's list.

I will not have full-blown conversations on someone’s wall. That is like sitting at a table with 10 people and you are talking to one person and yet, 3 people keep butting into the conversation. Just because one has the ability to comment/respond, sometimes one should just mind their own goddamn business. Just saying.

Now… Everyone’s story is worth telling. The problem is the person in question believes the lies of the reality they live in that is mostly created by them to begin with. If you trust in the lies and form an opinion based on those lies and that opinion is now put into the facto category of your reality. You will no longer go back and look at those concepts and challenge them to be real or not.

You will assume that data is correct. You made the choice that the lie is real. Many times without looking deep to find out if said lie has any merit. You now live in a reality-based on false perceptions because you choose to trust that lie rather than digging ever deeper to find the real truth behind the lie. A great lie always has some truth to it.

A person’s self-image is based on perceptions they have about their reality. Their reality is formed by them and them alone. However, that reality is based on things you assume are factual. If the factual stuff is not fact but merely a lie. You can see how this will destroy a person’s self-worth, self-image. It can take a person minutes to make that choice and years to undo. It’s no one’s fault. We are taught at a young age to trust and such.

People do not need help. The whole-damned-human-race-requires-help. The book I am writing really opens the doors on these issues and ways to solve them. I just tell it in a fictional, science-fictional way.

  The evidence is there, it’s clear as day. Humanity has lost itself spiritually. We are so heavily dependent on technology now that deep human seeded connections are lost. They are harder to form than ever before in human written history. This isn’t excluded to mother and child or father and child or lovers. It’s my generation that fully adopted this way of thinking and have now passed it onto our children and their children.

  I saw a video on dating and I was amazed at how many people are afraid of confrontation. How men are afraid to physically ask a woman out and how women respond as well. In almost all cases the guy was turned down and the woman acted COI AF about it.

Like, she respected the man less for putting his confidence out there to ask in the first place. She should be showing something heartfelt even if she isn’t interested, especially if she isn’t interested.

It was a social experiment to show how people communicate with each other in the dating scene. In almost all cases people only talk about such things via text, email or social media.

How in the hell are you supposeed to talk about feelings and getting serious when you cannot see the person, interact with them or read their responses to your words? Guys are mostly to blame here. So fragile we have become mentally, emotionally. Just being built, big, strong-looking, money, no longer cuts it.

I have never been one to chase girls too heavily. Especially, in the last year or two. If we are talking and you want to be with me, or explore options. You better speak the FK up. Waiting a week to hear back will not cut it.

Dating friends of mine and then showing interest in me is a good way for me to not care for very long. If you have a lot of kids that need constant attention. Not sure what to say. I don’t wanna be #3 or #4 on the list of who needs attention.

I need a woman that is strong and understands we are a team and it needs to be built together, not when you have time to put into it. Same goes for me. I am busy AF on purpose, for reasons that should be obvious to most. Sell me your reasons I should change anything and then we’ll talk. So far I am not very impressed in the woman’s ability to do that.

People judge me; give me dirty looks all the time. The gym, my church, my fortress of solitude, my haven. I behave/act/train like I am literally the only one there, working. To me, as soon as the preworkout kicks in and the headphones of metal come on. I am completely blind to what is happening around me.

Between sets, I will talk a little. I see women all the time in there and they see me looking all “Pure Evil,” no smile, disdain for humanity in my eyes, but I will take the headphones off, make eye contact and smile. I will introduce myself. Stay upbeat. The goal isn’t seeking a date, but just showing I am human too. I care. I have feelings.

When it’s time to focus and work, it’s time to focus and work. I tell them this. Give them some insight about why I train this way. That I am actually an inspiring writer; and now I will see the same girl(s) and she will always smile, instead of that look of judgment and fear that I might be some crazed out Alpha Dick high on steroids. Not the case.

High, sure, but not on roids, lol. My preworkout does mess with me a little, ha. I expose myself to people all the time. I wouldn’t say I am vulnerable because I made the conscious choice to do this. It was not an accident. There was intention behind it. Molds, yeah that is another topic altogether but I think I will stop here. "Truth = Truth, TRUTH...

At the center of your being, you have the answer; you know who you are and you know what you want." ~Lao Tzu

#mineofilms #mineobuilds #getafterit #selftruth #DoOrDoNotThereIsNoTry #followers #thenoisyalive #monster #ThurSlay #instagood #unlimitedpower #selflove #alifterslife #thegreatchange #superfocus #FutureNYtimesBestSeller #outsidethebox #notyetdiscovered #becausegreatnesscalls #makeyourownreality #pushthelimits #the8thkind #MineoHitTheNailOnTheHead #Blogger #TornadoGates #onespointofveiw #TBT #superposition #hyperfocus #InTylerWeTrust 

Followers By David-Angelo Mineo 3/16/2016 1,572 Words