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uniarycode · 4 years ago

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Takari Week, Day 1 - Confession

Takeru has spent weeks trying to confess to Hikari but somehow he can never actually get it out. Hikari has a different interpretation on how they’ve been spending their time. Done as part of @takariweek 2020

Today was the day. Today everything would change for better or for worse. Today marked the first sentence of a new chapter of his life. Today was the day he was going to confess to Hikari.

Unlike all those other sentences he had to re-write.

This was not the first day this month Takeru had planned to confess. However, he was a romantic at heart, and no matter how much resolve he had beforehand somehow the moment never felt right. He would always be able to tell their grandkids about how they met, but he wanted to be proud or the story of how he first asked her out. And none of the opportunities so far fit his taste.

It was either that or he was afraid.

Even if his confession was successful, it would still mean a fundamental change would occur in his and Hikari’s relationship. And Takeru had a mixed relationship with change. Change meant the loss of his father and brother. Change meant the introduction of a strange world filled with monsters. Even the first time Patamon had changed into a new form had led to one of the most traumatic events in his life.

But change also led him to meet Patamon in the first place, something he wouldn’t trade for all the riches in the world. Change meant moving to the same school as Hikari, and meeting Miyako, Iori, Daisuke and Ken. Change meant that one day society might accept Digimon as a whole.

And whether he liked it or not, change was coming.

It was still surreal to him; his brother and Taichi had always seemed so close. They had never been part of the same cliques, and they spent almost as much time fighting as hanging out. But their friendship always eclipsed everything else, social standings, heated disputes, none of it mattered; they were best friends, through and through.

Then college happened. Now the legendary duo’s primary means of communication was via their siblings. Hikari would learn some new fact of her brother’s life, tell Takeru during the course of casual conversation, and Takeru would update his brother of the going-ons later that week.

It wasn’t just them. Even Mimi, who had an incessant talent for attaching herself onto someone and refusing to let them go, seemed much further from the rest of the chosen then she’d even been while she lived in America.

Takeru knew their bond was strong, that what the eight of them had done could not be forgotten or replaced. But even if distance could not destroy the bridge holding them together, it could certainly increase the hassle of travelling back and forth.

The last thing Takeru wanted was for that distance to appear between himself and Hikari. This was their final year in highschool, if he didn’t at least try now he might not ever get the opportunity again. He needed to try, despite the inherent risks.

Besides, Hikari had rejected Daisuke dozens of times, and they were still friends, right?

Gathering his courage, Takeru had asked Hikari if they could have a day to themselves, ‘just the two of them’. He’d suggested Wednesday, when neither club duties nor pressing assignments devoured too significant portions of their time.

Ever the romantic, he had it all planned out: First, karaoke. A good, private way to judge the mood, and get Hikari to let her hair down. Next, they had tickets to a movie, the new Disney flick that Hikari had been dying to see but never gotten around to (and without someone pressing, likely would not until it became available on dvd.) Finally, a romantic stroll on the boardwalk at sunset.

The boardwalk overlooking the bay.

The bay where they fought Ordienmon.

The bay where they’d been forced to kill one of their friends.

It was only after beginning his long-rehearsed spiel that Takeru had this epiphany, and, fearful that his date may have been quicker on the uptake than himself, he scrambled for a plan B.

Salvation came in the form of a nearby cat café, he knew as soon as he suggested it that Hikari would lose herself in the felines, paying more attention to the four-legged critters than she did to him, but it was worth it to avert potential catastrophe.

Fate still deigned to mock him however, from the instant he sat down a maine-coon attached to him, refusing to move from his side, or to let the memories of past failures escape.

All cats attached to Hikari, she merely shared them with the other customers as she saw fit. There was no doubt she enjoyed herself, but the moment had been well and truly ruined.

Takeru had managed to obtain an opportunity of redemption. ‘Same time next week’ had been the agreement, and he had near instantly resumed planning. Whatever he came up this time had to top what he’d just done, or else he might have to explain away his mistake.

But even the most perfect plan does not survive contact with the enemy, and the enemy presented itself as an ill-timed phone call from his father. One of his coworker’s households had apparently been graced by the appearance of a small white blob with a voracious appetite, and Hiroaki was wondering if his son could stop by after school and help calm the panicking mother, perhaps also giving tips for digital care.

Hikari would not allow him to say no, and insisted on tagging along. But the TV station itself held a lot of painful memories for the girl, every year she returned with an offering of flowers and incense for Wizardmon’s grave.

It was far from a total waste since an idol Hikari had been following was also present. Somehow the idol had overheard their arrival, and considered themselves interested in the pro-digimon cause. In fact, the idol had been downright helpful, asking questions of him and Hikari that the coworker was likely to embarrassed or too naïve to think of. Hiroaki ended up taking them all out for dinner, and they chatted for hours, finally assuaging the fear of a parent whose daughter now had a dog-head as a life partner.

By that point, he had to take Hikari home, with no real opportunity to confess, even if Wizardmon wasn’t on her mind.

The third attempt was a no go from the beginning, Hikari had been sent into a rare, foul state. All she wanted to do was eat ice-cream and rant, so they went to a dairy-bar overlooking the beach.

He’d let her vent when she wanted to vent, and when she was done he did what he did best: deflecting the conversation to some odd antics of Daisuke or his brother, anything to get her happy and cheerful again. Even after her mood had recovered, steering the conversation towards a confession felt like he might be taking advantage of her, or putting her on the spot somehow.

Cheering her up was reward enough, even as he paid for the forty-flavor super-jumbo, bottomless Sunday that they’d managed to make a liar out of.

(He’d eaten perhaps an eighth of it, there was no doubt in his mind that Hikari could have eaten the whole thing; but she at least wanted the plausible deniability to claim that he’d consumed half the calories.)

The fourth attempt was similarly doomed, he’d been too sick for school that day, and while Hikari had dropped by, he was too delirious to form a real confession, or for her to take any confession seriously.

The feel of her hand stroking his hear as she tended to him had been so heavenly though. He couldn’t regret the experience.

By this point Takeru was convinced their Wednesday gatherings were cursed. There was little reason Hikari would even see them as special. And while he always enjoyed spending time with her, especially just the two of them, he was worried that regularity may dampen the splendor he’d initially been going for.

This week he requested to move their weekly hang out session to Saturday. It would allow more time for them to be out at night, and thus more time for him to enact his perfect confession. Hikari’s father was away on business, and her mother had already agreed to be rather lax on her daughter’s curfew.

His mother had not, but she would not punish him if he told her he was out on his first date, nor would she punish him after getting rejected, yet another reason he needed to actually spit it out today.

And it seemed all the stars were aligning, on top of her father being out of town: a photography exhibition at a local gallery was going for half price, and her favorite indie group were headlining a public concert at the beach until sundown. Finally, there was a forecast for a clear, bright moon, and a local botanical garden was advertising a moonlit stroll through their flowers.

Hikari had agreed on one condition: they could wade through the shallows, but not do any real swimming at the beach. It had seemed odd to Takeru at first, but the beach had been more about the free concert than seeing her in her swimsuit.

***

When Takeru arrived at the Yagami apartment he was stunned by the vision of beauty that graced him. Hikari was wearing a strapless dress, black with accents of pink and white, that he’d never seen her in before. Based on how high her head was coming up his body, she had to be wearing quite daring heels as well.

And her makeup had been done with so much precision and effort he had to wonder if perhaps Mimi had come back to town to help her.

“T-Takeru?” she asked, and he realized he must have been staring.

“I’m sorry, have you seen Hikari? Brown hair, about yea tall,” he held his hand about three feet off the floor, “may have a family of ducklings following her around.”

“That was one time.” She scolded.

Takeru stood on his tip toes and moved one hand to sit above his eyes, like a visor. “Hikari? Is that you? Are you trapped behind this radiant goddess in front of me?”

A tell-tale pink infiltrated her cheeks as she turned around. “It’s too much isn’t it? I could still maybe change and-”

His hand shot out and grabbed her arm before she could escape. “You look perfect.” He said sincerely, pulling her in for a hug. “Besides, people at the exhibit will be expecting beauty and art. They just may not be expecting the source.”

“You’re just saying that.” She deflected.

He wasn’t.

Takeru was not the same connoisseur of photography Hikari was. When push comes to shove, he wasn’t sure anyone was the same connoisseur of photography Hikari was. That said, he enjoyed exhibits well enough. He liked to look at the pictures, and soak them in. Try and memorize every detail to regurgitate later.

Or occasionally, he would find a particular picture, and write a story in his head. How had they gotten here, to this moment, what did picture mean to the squirrel which was the focus? What was he doing immediately before? How did this moment change his life?

Such joys eluded him today, instead his focus was solely on the brunette accompanying him. The pictures only mattered in how they changed the expression on her face as she examined them.

After exiting the gallery, there was still about an hour before the band started playing at the beach, they stopped for a bite to eat, and Takeru did his best to fake his way though her questions on the exhibition.

What was his favorite photo? He named one on the left wall of the one she stared at for ten minutes, that had framed her head the whole time. Why? He made up some impromptu story he’d concocted about the scenery involved. It won him a laugh from her as he turned the questions around.

When they got to the beach, Hikari replaced her heels with flat sandals she kept in her purse. Takeru noted that he at least recognized the heels this time, unlike her dress, but he’d still never seen her wear them before.

Despite her insistence they not swim, (something Takeru now realized had to do with the amount of time she’d spent on her makeup,) hikari had instantly dragged him towards the water, to wade in the shallows. They didn’t go much more than ankle deep, anymore and they risked getting hikari’s dress and his shorts wet, but it had been romantic nonetheless.

When the main act began to play, they collected their shoes and moved towards the stage, communications dampening as the speakers drowned out all sounds but the band on stage.

Takeru didn’t need words, the sight of Hikari, framed by the sunset, losing herself in the moment was more than enough for him.

It was twilight when the band’s ‘second encore’ had concluded and the crowd began to peter out. There was a small ice-cream sack on the beach, and Hikari rarely turned down an opportunity for more of the frozen delight.

They talked about the concert, the waves on the beach, of everything and nothing all at once, until the residual light from the sun faded and the moon came in full force. In the city like this, there was always a glow of artificial light, but it did not diminish Tsukuyomi’s splendor.

Meandering towards the botanical gardens, continuing their chatter about daily life. Just outside Hikari stopped him, finding a bench to switch back from flats to heels, insisting it was more ‘proper’. Takeru didn’t let her get away unscathed, suggesting that if she wanted to feel taller, stilts would be more appropriate. She responded by playfully warning him that he may ‘wake up one day, two feet shorter’.

Neither comment had nearly as much effect as when the woman at the counter remarked on ‘What a beautiful date this would make’ and how she ‘wished her boyfriend had been so romantic at that age.’

Hikari’s face could be mistaken for a tomato, and Takeru adopted an uncharacteristic stutter as he paid their admission and ushered Hikari outside.

The woman’s words had a chilling effect, the natural conversation had all but dried up, replaced with subtle pleasantries and tepid remarks about the moonlit flowers. Before long Hikari had her camera out, taking pictures of the various plant life, abandoning most conversation all together.

Was this it, had such a small, well-meaning action already cursed him? Everything was going so well. Was he a modern Sysphus? Doomed to forever push himself up the hill of a relationship with Hikari only to fall down at the pinnacle and start all over?

“Takeru?” Hikari asked, snapping him out of his monologue, “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” Takeru replied “Just thinking.”

She grabbed his arm, pulling him towards a nearby bench. “Come on, let’s take a break, these shoes are killing me.”

“The price of fashion.” Takeru said sagely.

After they reached the bench, and Hikari had relieved herself of her footwear, they paused, focusing on some hydrangeas flow in the wind, accented by moon light. A weight appeared on Takeru’s shoulder, where Hikari began to rest her head.

“Right now.” She said “This moment just feels so…perfect.”

Takeru took a deep breath. He had the most wonderful girl on his arm, after spending nearly eight hours with her. “Yeah, perfect.”

A perfect moment.

It was unlikely a better opportunity would present itself.

“Hikari.” He said suddenly, just as she chimed in with his name. “Sorry,” they said in unison.

Her head pulled off his arm, quite disappointingly in his opinion, as she turned to face him.

“Ladies first.” Takeru said “I insist.” She gave him a soft look, knowing that he wouldn’t let her win this one.

“Okay.” She started “This last month, has just been so wonderful, so amazing. I know I’m not the most experienced with this, and I know we haven’t really put a name on it, but it’s still been like something out of a novel. I guess I should expect that from you.”

She had begun to look down, rummaging through her purse, as takeru tried to sort out exactly what she was talking about. Had it already been a month since they started these ‘friend-dates?’

Hikari continued obliviously, “It’s not much, especially since you seem to do all the planning, but I thought you’d like it.” She pulled out a tightly-wrapped box. “Happy one-month anniversary.”

Ani-what?

Dates rolled back in his head as he began to piece things together; the dress, the makeup, the heels, those were all for him? Had she always been considering these less friend-dates and more dates-dates?

And he, in a move of pure coincidence, had moved this week’s date to Saturday, one month to the day of that first date, and even asked her mother for permission to stay out late.

Takeru did the only thing he could think of in the moment.

He laughed.

“Tak-Takeru?” she asked, and he could already sense fear and hesitation begin to well up within her as she saw her (boyfriend?) laugh at her anniversary gift. He grabbed her and pulled her into a hug to dissuade any doubts.

“Happy anniversary,” he said when his hysterics died down. “One month, I’ve been trying to confess for a month, and you hit me with that.”

“Wait, confess?” Hiakri said, begging a laugh of his own that quickly spread to Takeru. “All this time and you didn’t even think we were dating? You completely stopped flirting with everyone else. Did you really think I didn’t…”

“We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?” Takeru teased in response.

“Yeah,” Hikari agreed. “Well, if you finally managed to confess after all that, maybe I can do something I’ve been too scared to do for the last month.”

Takeru looked down at her, “What would that be?” he asked leaning in close.

“This.” She pressed her lips against his.

#takari #takeru takaishi #hikari yagami #digimon #its still the 16th here so it counts #takari week

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sprnklersplashes · 4 years ago

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heart of stone (7/?)

AO3

Unlike most of his peers, Damian isn’t excited at all about moving out. There’s a lot he loves about living at home-having a mom who cooks him his own meals, not having to pay bills, living withing walking distance of his best friends and a not having to do his own laundry. All those little conveniences are things he’ll miss sorely when that day comes, but the biggest reason has nothing to do with any of that. No, the reason he dreads moving out is because he’s not sure if he’ll be able to find a roommate that will put up with his constant singing around the house. Especially around audition time.

Which is why now, he’s practicing his rendition of Dressing Them Up in his bedroom, his mom being incredibly cool about the whole thing downstairs and Janis on Facetime, earbuds in and bopping along with him and giving him more enthusiasm than the actual audience probably will.

“You sound great.” She’s sitting cross legged on her hospital bed in a sweater and leggings, her face more bare than it was yesterday, but her eyes still bright and laugh lines creased around her eyes and mouth. She’s still her.

It was tough, seeing her for the first time, but weirdly, it wasn’t nearly as tough as he thought it would be. Once he got past the strangeness of the hospital environment and the little emotional hiccup she had with Cady, he knew she’s still her. Hard situation, uncomfortable new world, but still his Janis.

“You think so?” he says. “I don’t know about this song. All the forums say it’s a really good song to audition for the Emcee with.”

“And it’s your party piece,” she tells him. “Remember freshman year, you sang it for my grandpa?”

“I miss your grandpa,” he sighs.

“I’ll let him know. He calls me weekly now.” She shifts on the bed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Before he even realises what she’s doing, he checks her arm. No IV in there. Why does that make him feel better? “So do you think you’re going to change it?”

“Should I?” he asks, looking through his music. “The audition’s tomorrow. I don’t know if I can research and learn a new song by tomorrow.”

“Then don’t,” she tells him. “You’re overthinking it.”

“You’re telling me off for overthinking,” he says rather indignantly, raising an eyebrow at her. “This is the same girl who texted me at 2 in the morning for my opinion on a dog meme to send to Cady.”

“I needed a second opinion,” she says.

“Thought you didn’t need opinions,” he teases.

“Maybe I need yours,” she says softly, the grin on her face lighting up the screen. “Dick.”

“Don’t even love you,” he replies, blowing a kiss softly to the screen. Janis giggles, hiding her face behind her hand.

“Okay, you have the scene worked out as well?”

“I think so.” He picks up the extract from his bed. He’s done it for everyone, Janis, his mom, Janis’ mom, Cady, even the plastics. He learned that day that Gretchen is amazing at giving weirdly specific compliments and also knows more about theatre than he’d have guessed. Maybe in another life she’d be a drama geek like him. “It’s just an audition anyway. They’re not looking for the finished product. Just potential.”

“And you my good man are 6’2” of raw mother fucking potential.”

“Janis, language!”

“Raw mother freaking potential. Sorry, mom.” Somewhere behind the phone, Janis’ mom says something and Janis chuckles, rolling her eyes. “I’m not allowed to cuss in here. Since this is a ‘children’s ward’.” She quotes the word with her fingers. “Which is apparently where I belong.”

“You are a children,” he reminds her.

“I am older than you!” she spits back, laughter shaking her voice. She leans back on the bed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. The joke slips from her face, leaving soft sincerity in its place. “Are you nervous?”

“I don’t get nervous.” She raises her eyebrow at him, of course. By now she can see into his brain like there’s a little window on his forehead. It’s why he can’t bullshit with her, and conversely, why she can’t with him. “A little. I just really want a good role, you know. It’s our last show.”

“Which is why you’re going to ace that audition so hard,” she tells him. “Just don’t drink dairy in the morning and do your breathing before you go in. And stay away from the candy!”

“Pity you’re not here to remind me,” he says.

“True, but I did take the liberty of passing on all the info to Cady,” she tells him. “She knows what to do.”

“You’re a hero, babe.”

“Don’t I just know it,” she says. “Are you going to do the whole ‘dress for the part you want’?”

“Of course.” He runs over to his wardrobe and shows her the outfit he’d picked out for tomorrow, black silk waistcoat and black skinny jeans, his dance shoes in his bag. “What do we think?”

“Oh, that’s so sexy,” she tells him. “We need to bring waistcoats back to the collective again. I miss them.” Before he can answer, she looks beyond the camera, nodding along to a conversation he can’t hear. She casts an anxious glance at him, so quickly that he would have missed it if he blinked. “Okay. Okay, yeah fine, I know. Okay fine.” She turns back to him, letting out a long exhale that makes the hair on his arms stand up. He can’t help it; he has built-in parental instincts and they’ve been heightened ever since Janis went to hospital. So much so that even when she flashes up a peace sign and grins, it’s hard for him to grin back. “I have to bounce. Go get a good night’s sleep, ace it tomorrow, and tell the drama club that my services are still available.”

“I’ll let them know,” he says. He sits on the bed, tucking one leg under his body. He’s reluctant to let her go, their time together so precious now. “I love you, honey pot.”

“Love you more, bitch.” Her face freezes and then she’s gone. Not gone, he corrects himself. Just… not around for him right now.

“Okay,” he exhales, giving himself a shake. She’s fine. She said she was fine, she looked fine, she is fine. And she will be fine. She even said that she might be well enough to come see him in the show, all things going smoothly. The thought alone is enough to make him smile. Of course she will. The show won’t be for months anyway. He just has to get through this first. So he picks up his music and bounces down the stairs, ready to treat his mom and sisters to yet another rendition.

*****

It’s just after second period when the nerves do start to kick in. He’s not scared or intimidated, he can’t be he approaches auditions the way Cady would a calculus test, as a thrilling challenge to be overcome and a way to improve, whatever the outcome. But like he said to Janis, it’s his last year. He’s not gotten parts before but would be different. He wouldn’t throw a fit or leave the show if he didn’t get it, those types of divas make him cringe so much it hurts. But he can’t shake the idea that it wouldn’t be as special if he were in the ensemble in his last year. Besides, this is his part. Always has been.

“Hey.” He jumps off the floor, so wrapped up in his own thoughts he’d barely noticed the person sliding up beside him. He’s even more surprised when he sees who it is; Regina, wearing a lacrosse jersey over her white dress and a smile that’s uncharacteristically apprehensive. Since when did Regina George doubts? More to the point, since when did Regina talk to him? He wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t even know his name until Cady told him. He just assumed he was ‘Janis’ gay friend’ to her, nothing more. The same way she’s nothing more than ‘asshole Queen Bee I’d punch given the chance’ to him.

“Hi,” he says flatly. Her smile falters at his tone, and he has to hide his own smirk behind his locker door. Someone clearly isn’t used to not being given the golden treatment.

“So… how’s Janis doing?”

And the surprises keep on coming.

“You care?” he snorts.

“Yeah, I do.” Her tone is more defensive this time, the familiar anger that’s become her trademark making an appearance. Somehow, she sounds more natural this way. She shakes her head and tosses her dark hair over her shoulder. “You’ve talked to her recently, I’m guessing.”

“Of course I have. She’s my best friend,” he fires back, suddenly finding himself on the defence. Heat prickles on his skin and he wants nothing more than to get out of this conversation.

“I just… wanted to know how she’s doing,” she says, her voice quiet and her arms crossed over her chest. He closes the locker door and looks at her, trying to find some semblance of the ruthless predator he knows rather than the timid, vulnerable creature before him. It’s unsettling, seeing her like this, and he’s almost certain it’s a trap. “So how is she?”

“She’s great.” He slams the locker door closed and now it’s her turn to jump. “Janis is doing great. And she’s being let out for a week on Friday. So, she’s great.”

“O-okay,” she replies. She picks at her nails, her eyes growing wide. It’s only when she takes a step back that he can breathe again. She gives an attempted smile and it doesn’t look right on her face. “That’s cool. That’s good to hear.”

“Yeah.” He puts his bag on his shoulder and pushes past her. Admittedly, he does feel a little guilty here. Regina’s a horrible person, but she’s still a person, right? Maybe she is worried about Janis, that there’s some sincerity beneath the make-up.

No. Of course not. And if Regina wanted his respect, she should have started back in middle school. And in any case, why is he even thinking about Regina? He’s got way bigger things to worry about today than her.

He checks his phone at lunch, finding nothing from Janis. Which is normal these days. Normal re-adjusted pretty quickly and she’s just finished another round right about now, so she’s probably resting from that. Besides, no news is good news, as his mom likes to say.

“Damian. Damian!”

“Woah, yeah, I’m here.” He shakes his head, grabbing the side of the table. He really needs to tune back in today. Cady is sitting beside him, her hand on his shoulder and her eyes big with concern.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I am,” he says, patting her hand. “Just daydreaming, kid.”

“Okay.” Silence settles over them, tight and uncomfortable. It hurts. Janis’ absence hasn’t rocked their friendship at all, but at the same time it’s felt like there’s been something missing since the start of the year. And that there’s constantly something going unsaid with them. “When’s your audition?”

“T minus four hours,” he tells her. “They’re after school.”

“Speaking of I see you’ve broken out the two-litre bottle of water.”

“Are you kidding me?” he asks. “Honey, I am a professional.”

“A professional drama queen,” she teases. “You think you’re ready?”

“As I can be. My mom and sisters all gave me a standing ovation,” he says proudly. “And I think my cat liked it.”

“I mean that’s all the validation you need,” she says. “When you go into your first Broadway audition, all you need to tell them is how highly your cat recommends you.” They burst into laughter as Karen and a forlorn-looking Gretchen sit down next to them, Karen holding the other girl’s hand and looking helplessly at Cady and Damian.

“Hey, what’s up, Gretch?” Cady asks. Without a word, Gretchen slides a crumpled sheet of math questions over the table and lets out a huff. Despite trying not to look, Damian can’t help noticing the score at the top, and the “see me” written at the bottom. Cady’s face falls instantly as she takes in a sharp breath. “Well, it’s just the second week. And it’s one homework.”

“Oh, what’s the use,” Gretchen sighs. “I’m never going to get it. It’s all so complicated. I wish I had a brain like yours, Cady. You’re super great at math.”

“Well you’re good at stuff too,” Cady responds.

“Yeah,” Karen agrees. “Like you’re super good at English. And at picking out clothes.”

“I don’t think Ms Gardner will appreciate me picking out clothes,” she says glumly. “Besides, I need to get better at math this year. For one thing, my dad will totally kill me if I get another C.”

“Well… hey why don’t I tutor you?” Cady offers, changing Gretchen’s entire demeanour in an instant. She sits up and gasps, a smile breaking out across her face and lighting up the cafeteria.

“You would? Really?” she squeaks.

“Of course! I mean, I did all this stuff last year, so I know it well. What do you say?”

“Oh, thank you so much!” She reaches out the table and grabs Cady’s hand, and judging by Cady’s face, it’s stronger than you might think for Gretchen’s slight frame. “This makes me feel so much better.”

“What does?” Regina sits down beside her, looking from Cady to Gretchen and funnily enough, avoiding Damian entirely.

“Oh, Cady’s going to tutor me in math,” Gretchen explains.

“Oh, cool,” Regina says. “You know that’ll look great on a college application.”

“Yeah. I mean of course that’s not the only reason I’m doing it,” Cady replies, smiling at Gretchen. “But I know. All I’ve heard since we got back is ‘college applications’.”

“Me too,” Damian sighs. “And I am not looking forward to telling Miss Meyer I want to do theatre.” He rolls his eyes and mimics shooting his head.

“Oh, hey Damian, Cady?” Karen asks. “Can I ask you something.”

“Um… sure?”

“What kind of muffins does Janis like?” The four of them all fall quiet, Damian looking to a confused Cady before back at Karen, who seems to be the only one who sees the sense here.

“Muffins?” he echoes.

“Mm-hm. Well, I want to bake her muffins to cheer her up, and since you two are her besties, I thought you’d know,” she explains. “Trust me, there’s nothing worse than bringing someone the wrong muffins. One time my cousin brought my other cousin muffins that weren’t her favourite and I was so, so ashamed for her.”

“Oh, okay,” he says. Karen nods severely, apparently taking the muffins incredibly seriously. “Um… she really likes raspberries I guess. Oh, and white chocolate. That’s one of her favourite combos.”

“Perfect!” she chirps. “I’ll start shopping for those tomorrow. I told my mom about her and she said she might like something sweet.”

“That’s… really nice,” he says. Life with the former-Plastics is a surprise even after spending the summer with them. He isn’t sure how ‘former’ he’d consider them, especially Regina, but they’re softer than they were a year ago. Gretchen more caring, Karen more kind. Or maybe they were always like that and he simply didn’t notice.

As they get up to leave, he takes out his phone and checks it. Still nothing from her.

He walks Cady to her next class, the two of them being on the same floor.

“Should I wait for you until your audition’s done?” she asks him.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” he says, patting her on the back. “Go live your life, little one.”

“Okay, but…” She rests her head on his shoulder and warmth sparks in his fingers and a stupid grin crosses his face. “Would you like me to wait until after your audition? We can go to the donut place after?”

“Did Janis tell you to do that?” Grabbing donuts after auditions to unwind has been their tradition since middle school.

“Well, yeah,” she says, shrugging innocently. “Just thought it would be cool. It’s what you always do, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah of course, totally. That’d be awesome.” They stop outside her history classroom. “Okay, I will see you later.”

“I’ll be in the library,” she explains. “You can meet me there?”

“Awesome blossom.” They have a quick high-five before he sets off down the hall to American Literature. As he goes, he finds a small but fierce sense of anxiety sparking in his chest and he can’t work out what it’s for. Probably the audition. After all, no amount of experience can chase away the terror of this process. Waiting around, learning and re-learning lines, sitting by his computer waiting for an email and fighting through crowds to see the cast list. He puts up a confident face, but that will never stop shaking him.

He takes out his phone again, just to check the time and location again. There’s nothing from Janis again, which is fine. Completely.

“Damian Hubbard.” He halts and looks up at the face of his Literature teacher, Mr Bock. He’s not great, but he’s not awful either. Once upon a time he may have actually liked kids. “Is that phone meant to be out during school hours?”

“No, sir,” he replies, sliding it back into his pocket and hoping for the best.

“Well come on, you’re in my class next and I won’t have anyone being tardy.”

“No, sir,” he repeats, doubling his pace and making it into the classroom, looking up at the clock as he does so. Just three more hours to go.

*****

He spends the time waiting for his slot breathing and doing small vocal warm-ups, enough to get him ready but not enough to irritate anyone else. As well as consoling a fearful looking little freshman kid. There are few things in the world that warm his heart quite as much as seeing new faces in auditions and watching them bloom during the show. He always makes sure to build connections with each and every one of them, taking up the role he wished someone had done for him. By the time Damian’s name is called, the freshman is grinning and his hands are nearly steady and he even whispers ‘good luck’ before he goes in.

“Afternoon all,” he greets the panel; Miss Petersen, the director/oldest drama teacher, and the perky little new one, fresh out of teaching college and rearing to go, as well as the choreographer and head of the drama club. Three familiar faces and one new, all smiling back at him. Something he tells every freshman; they want to cast you. He hands the sheet music to the girl at the piano and takes his spot, always remembering to smile and compliment her.

“Hi Damian, how are you?” Petersen asks.

“I’m great,” he replies. He clears his throat slightly, not having realised how tight it was. Did he not warm up enough? “Ready to go.”

“Okay so what song have you picked for us today?” the new teacher asks. Miss Hadsell, someone said her name is. She’s cute, with wide dark eyes and blonde hair in a messy braid. He wonders if she also takes art, he hasn’t seen her around the art room.

Then he remembers he hasn’t been in the art room this year.

��I have picked Dressing Them Up from Kiss of the Spider Woman,” he says brightly, bringing himself back. Here and now, that’s what matters.

“Good choice,” Miss Petersen says. “And you’ll be reading for the part of the Emcee?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Okay.” She grins at him, although it doesn’t really do anything to bring his focus back. What is wrong with him today?

He takes two deep breaths, and then another, and quickly shakes out his hands before nodding to the pianist. Once the song starts, he’ll be fine. Lost in the music, laser focussed. And he is. After missing the first note. He’s never missed a note before. Still, he manages to pick up the rest of it and keep going, throwing everything into it.

But it doesn’t feel enough. Like something is holding him back. Every time he’s sang this song before it’s come as naturally as breathing, the movements coming from him, not a character or persona. Now nothing feels right. Like he’s on a string and someone else is moving his limbs and every gesture is artificial.

By the time he finishes, it’s almost a relief. And he’s never thought that about performing.

“That was great!” Miss Hadsell says. “You must love that song a lot.”

“It’s an old favourite of mine,” he agrees. He can still bring this back. Maybe it was better than he thought.

He reads through two scenes for them before he’s asked to leave. At least those are stronger, partially because he knows them like the back of his hand. He feels more himself in them, or rather he feels more like the character. Even if his mind’s still a little fuzzy, it clicks for him. If only it could have happened earlier.

Rather than running right to the library and Cady afterwards, he sinks down onto a bench in an empty corridor, wringing his hands together. He doesn’t remember ever feeling that nervous or having an audition like that. Not even when he was a kid. Being in drama clubs since he could walk chased away the strong jitters that could affect him like that. So what happened in there?”

You know a voice in his head whispers. He goes to wave it off, but he can’t quite do it. Because what if there’s some truth in it. He’s worried about Janis, he’s only human. But he has it under control. She’s getting what she needs and she’ll be back with him by Christmas, and they’ll move forward like nothing ever happened. He presses his fist into his palm and bites his cheek. He’s handling it, and his own issues have never affected his performances before. Why would they now?

There’s no point in worrying now, he tells himself. It’s over, so just go home, tell everyone it was fine and whatever happens, happens.

It’s with that mantra that he gets up and heads to the library to pick up Cady.

*****

The next day is Wednesday and when he wakes up he’s suddenly immensely excited and won’t pretend he doesn’t know why. As his mom likes to say, ‘Wednesday is halfway to the weekend’. Which is enough of a reason to be happy in itself, but this means something more. It means it’s two days until Janis gets out of hospital and three days until they hang out again. They arranged it a few days ago; a movie night in her place, just like always, with blankets and pillows and junk food and an equal balance of musicals and old sci-fi and horror. So he can’t not be excited, so much so that it’s enough for him to block out the memories of his audition yesterday.

So when he half-walks, half-dances into the kitchen, it’s justified, and what’s more, his mom picks up on it.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” she remarks.

“Sun’s shining, birds chirping,” he replies as he puts on the coffee pot and pops bread into the toaster.

“Did you talk to Janis at all last night?”

“A bit.” He pours himself a cup and one for his mom. All the milk in his and one sugar for him, black and two sugars for his mom.

“How’s she doing?”

“She’s fine,” he says. “You know her. Tough as hell, fighting anything.” His phone vibrates in his pocket and it brings an instant smile to his face. “As a matter of fact that’s her now… oh…”

Janis’ message is a picture of the medical student, Jackson, fiddling with her IV, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Below is the caption ‘forgot to send you this yesterday. Thought you might enjoy’. And a winking face, of all the emojis.

‘Appreciated, thank you,’ he texts back. ‘Though I am debating the ethical ramifications of this.’

He probably won’t get an answer for a while. She tends to sleep in in the mornings.

“Her poor mother,” his mom sighs, seemingly to herself. He looks up at her, her hands tight around the hug and her head shaking. “I mean, poor Janis as well of course. No one deserves to go through that. But if anything like that were to happen to you…” She runs a hand through his hair, a fond smile along with her sad features. “God knows what I’d do.” There’s a small moment, a sigh, and then she kisses his head.

“Mom, you’re so mushy,” he sighs, not meaning any of it. Mushy is a well-established Hubbard trait passed from mother to son and he’s not ashamed of it, not at all. It’s that exact mushy-ness that gives him the capacity to love his friends the way he does and let them feel it every chance he can. He’d never trade it for anything. “I have to get ready. Don’t want to be late. Love you!”

When he gets into homeroom, Cady is bent over her notebook with her pens out, which strikes him as odd. Surely the study bee Cady Heron isn’t catching up on homework already. He’s not even catching up on homework yet.

“Hey.” He pulls on her ponytail, a far more amusing way of getting her attention that tapping her shoulder. She grins and looks up at him, stretching out her arms. “What are you working on?”

“Trying to make a schedule for tutoring,” she explains, handing it over to him. The page is divided into seven days and those into hour long slots, and true to form, everything is colour-coded. School is green, Mathletes is blue, and so-called ‘Janis time’ is purple. Her name is written in silver glitter pen rather than black ballpoint, and there’s a little star doodled in the corner. It’s nothing short of adorable, and Cady’s cheeks go pink as he knowingly catches her eye. “Gretchen says she can’t do weekdays, so I might squeeze her in on Saturday mornings.” She takes the page and tilts it, scrunching up her face. “Wonder how many more I can fit in.”

“How much tutoring does she need exactly?” he asks.

“It’s not just Gretchen,” she says, shrugging. “I just thought, well, why not expand it. See who else needs tutoring? I could make some money off of it. And it looks great on-”

“The college applications,” he finishes, earning an eyeroll from her. Still, they both smile. “I think that’s a great idea little slice. As long as no-one’s faking stupid to score a date with you.”

“Oh hush,” she chides, swatting at him playfully. “Besides, no one would dare. Half our grade is kind of terrified of Janis.”

“We all know she could still kick their collective asses.”

“Even hopped up on chemo, she could.”

“Yeah, completely.” Something shifts inside him, and suddenly his smile feels more plastered on that natural. Keep it together, he tells himself. “So has anyone gotten back to you about tutoring?”

“I haven’t put the word out yet,” she says. “Although I did make this!” She reaches into her bag and hands another page to him, this time with a photo of her in the centre and “Tutoring Services-Math and Science, specialising in calculus” printed below it, and her phone number and email address in a different, cursive font below. And true to form, she decorated it with little ClipArt lions and tigers. “What?”

“Nothing.” He hands her it back. “It’s just very you. And if I needed help with math, I’d call you in an instant.”

“You flatter me,” she jokes, putting it back in her backpack and dropping it on the floor. It catches his eye and he doesn’t understand why it would for a second, but then he remembers. She bought this backpack the day they went to the mall. She picked the white one with the little frogs. Janis had laughed at it, affectionately calling her a ‘permanent child’. That was the day Janis had passed out. The day she had overslept. The day before she had gotten that doctor’s appointment. And all the while, none of them knew the truth. None of them had put the pieces together.

“Damian?”

“Oh, yeah.” He nods quickly. “Yes, you should definitely do that.” Across from him, Cady’s eyebrows are shot up, her mouth half open. He’s blown it. Whatever ‘it’ is.

“Okay,” she sighs. “Um… are you okay?”

“Of course I’m okay.” He leans back in his chair and tosses his head. “Look at me, I’m the King of Okay, baby girl.”

“I know a bad Doctor Who reference when I hear one,” she tells him. She taps her pencil on the desk. If she knows a Doctor Who reference, then he can recognise a tell. She’s building up to something. “Look, it’s okay if you’re not okay. I mean what’s going on right now with Janis… it’s rough. It’s okay if you’re a little out of it. I am too.”

“Well that’s fine, but I’m not.”

The words shock him as soon as they leave his mouth. He wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t said them at all, rather someone behind him, and he wishes that were the case. He’s not like that. Those words are sharp and he’s rarely ever sharp. He made himself a promise never to be sharp or cruel or nasty unless absolutely necessary. He’s put in so much work over the years building up his cheerful, warm persona and it took a while for it to become fully natural. Apparently, he still needs work, because Cady’s face is falling at his outburst and she’s turning around him her chair and his gut is twisting and churning with guilt.

“Caddy, wait.” He reaches out and grabs her shoulder. “I’m-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to come out like that. It’s just-I’m so sorry, Caddy.”

“Hey.” Cady takes his hand and wraps her own around it, giving it a comforting squeeze. “It’s okay. Everything’s a lot right now.” Is it? Well, it is anyone can see that. But he’s coping, he’s sure of it. He woke up today so full of happiness he may have burst. How did he go from that to this in the space of an hour?

“Yeah,” he simply says. He runs his thumb over Cady’s knuckles, still shaken from what he said. He grips her hand tighter as if that can make sense of it. “I’m sorry.”

Despite Cady telling him it’s okay, a bad feeling follows him around all day, guilt combined with something else he can’t figure out. It leaves him feeling nauseous and uneasy all through his classes and even during lunch with his friends. It sits there all day, right in the pit of his stomach and wearing him out. By the time his first class after lunch starts, all he wants to do it go home. That very last bell is music to his ears and he barely remembers to bid goodbye to his friends before bolting out the door.

His hands are cold and unsteady as he pulls books out of his locker, his heart beating quickly and faintly beneath his shirt. He checks his phone, his messages empty, and makes a mental note to text Cady later before closing his locker and heading to the front gate. Hopefully by the time he gets home he’ll have come back to himself.

“Damian!”

Oh god, he thinks, suppressing a sigh. Ms Towers slips out in front of him, a file held close to her chest and her glasses perched on her head. She’s the school guidance counsellor, someone he’s never really interacted with. All of his issues were either fixed or in the process of that by the time he reached high school. She sure had her work cut out for her when the Burn Book was released though.

“Um, hi,” he says.

“Could I grab a quick word with you?” she asks.

No you cannot is what he wants to say. The school bell has gone, I’m free now.

“Sure,” is what he says instead, and his body follows her into her little office and even takes the seat she offers. It’s only when she sits down that he turns off autopilot. “Is this going to take long? Only I’ve got a lot of homework.”

“Not long at all,” she replies. She clears her throat, pretends to fix some papers on her desk, and leans forwards on the desk, her hands clasped beneath her. “Damian, what you’re going through is very difficult.”

“That’s indeed one word for it.”

“And the schoolboard is fully aware of any challenges you might be facing this year,” she goes on. “You probably know your teachers are all aware of the toll this may take on your schoolwork.” He hadn’t actually thought of that before. “But there are many support systems in place outside of the classroom. I want you to know that if you need any of them, we would be more than happy to schedule something for you. You could talk to me, or one of my colleagues on the care team, during one of your free periods maybe once or twice a week? Or if you want, our pastoral care team would be more than willing to talk to you in the school chapel-”

The image of Damian sitting in a church sitting on a pew talking to a priest about anything is so ludicrous to him that he actually bursts out laughing in her face.

He’s really being the resident asshole today, isn’t he?

“Sorry,” he replies, making a show of clearing his throat. “Something caught in my throat. You know how it is.”

“Oh, of course. I can get you some water if you like.” He shakes his head, taking his own bottle out of his bag, and gives her a gesture to keep talking. “Just if you want to avail of any of these services, they’re here. We’re all here for you Damian. So… do you think you might?”

“I appreciate the offer,” he says. His hand wraps tightly around his knee. “I really do. But I’m fine. I don’t need any school therapy or anything like that.”

“I don’t mean therapy,” she says. “Well, I could. But just if you needed a quick chat. This is a hugely stressful situation.”

“I know,” he snaps. He takes a deep breath in. He feels as though his insides are shaking, like a town caught in an earthquake. “I know. But I’m fine. I’m coping. And I have my own people anyway. I’ve got my friends; I’ve got my mom.” He stands on sore and unsteady legs and puts his bag on his back. “Besides, everything’s fine. Janis is coming home this weekend and we’re going to have a movie night and it will be exactly like it always has been. So we’re all good here.”

He lets her nod before bolting out the door. He doesn’t let anyone slow him down this time as he runs outside, down the front path and out the school gates, only starting to slow down when he’s off that street.

All the while, he doesn’t let himself think about Ms Towers’ offer, because doesn’t need it. He’s good. He’ll make himself good if he has to. He’s had enough practice at that after all.

*****

Saturday night takes forever to come around. The clocks on the wall tick by too slowly no matter where he is. Janis must get home late on Friday, because at some time after nine she posts a video of her dog cuddling her on her bed with the caption ‘I missed this boosh so much’. While Maxie takes up half the screen, he can see the smile in her cheeks. She looks good, healthy, happy, and that’s the main thing.

But finally the time comes, and he’s standing on her doorstep with a rucksack full of treats, DVDs, and the sleepover essentials. Butterflies flutter in his stomach, something he hasn’t felt since the early teens, and he has to hold back his arm lest he press the doorbell again.

“Hubbard!”

“Sarkisian!”

The moment he’s in her house, he envelopes her in a hug, letting her head rest in his shoulder and his hand rubbing up and down her back. His knees buckle in relief once she’s back with him, back hugging him. Sure he’s seen her before back in the hospital, but that was too alien. This is home. This is real.

“Missed you, dork,” she whispers.

“Missed you more,” he replies. When they finally let each other go, he sees her dressed down, blue and green galaxy leggings and a deep purple sweatshirt with a cartoon dinosaur on the front. Sleepover wear.

In the living room, Laura is setting up a bowl of popcorn and a try of tortilla chips, as well as a litre bottle of water and one of lemonade. She brightens up at the sight of him, hugging him lightly like you would a family member.

“Nice to see you, kid,” she tells him. “Hey how were the auditions? Janis told me they were this week.”

“Oh yeah,” he replies. It’s an effort not to wince. “They were fine. You know.”

“Well, we’ll be expecting front row tickets,” she tells him. “And a discount.”

“Sorry Laura no can do. Janis knows the importance of providing funds for the drama club.” Behind her mom, Janis nods as she fiddles with the DVD player.

“Oh, Janis, hon, let me do that.”

“It’s fine,” she replies, force behind the words. “I’ve got it. Besides you’re the one always asking me how to work it.”

“Fair enough,” she mutters. “Well, you two enjoy your night. I’m just down the hall if you need anything.”

“Cool. Thanks Mom.”

“Do you want me to take the dog out?”

“We can keep him. I think he’s missed Damian anyway.”

“And I’ve missed him,” Damian adds in. Maxie is pawing at Damian’s legs, his head rubbing against his legs and his tail wagging.

“Okay, just make sure you keep him calm. Otherwise he won’t let you sleep.”

“We’ll keep him calm,” Janis promises. “He’s a good boy.”

Laura mutters something to the contrary as she leaves, the door clicking shut behind her. Janis rolls her eyes at her.

“She’s so mean to the baby,” she says, patting the ground. “Come here Maxie-boy. Isn’t mama just the meanest and nastiest to the poor baby boy?”

“Should I leave you two alone?” he asks, only half-joking. Janis looks up from where she was making kissy faces at her dog and chuckles.

“I missed him,” she says. “Can you blame me? Imagine not letting your dog into the hospital with you.”

“It’s lunacy all right.” He kneels down beside her, opening up his rucksack. “Okay, I brought chocolate peanuts, I brought mini pretzels, I brought sour gummies. And to top it off, I brought your faves… crispy NemNems!” He holds up the box of M&Ms, wiggling them in her face. She bats them away, grinning.

“Perfection. Okay, what do we watch first?”

“You pick. That’s the rule after all, remember?” he reminds her. “Your house, your rules.”

“Okay. Then I pick…” She holds up the DVD to him; A Nightmare On Elm Street and wiggles her eyebrows. One of her favourites, which just so happens to be one of his least favourites. He’s not a horror fan. It’s one of the few disagreements they have.

“Deal. But I may have to hide behind your hair.”

They settle themselves on the couch, a pair of blankets resting on the heater behind them and Maxie plopped on top of them for extra warmth. His little head is on Janis’ lap, demanding pets, and she is only too happy to oblige. He snuggles further into her with his paws up on his legs and whimpering whenever she so much as shifts.

“Someone missed you.”

“Yeah he did,” she replies, her voice fond. “You know when I came into the kitchen last night he peed himself because he was so excited.” She leans down to the dog and starts speaking in what they call her ‘Maxie-voice’. “Didn’t you to a peepee on the floor and Daddy had to mop it up?”

“Awww. Also ewww.” Janis digs him the ribs even as she laughs. Maxie is oblivious to this, his ears pricking up as he looks between the two of them. Damian cracks open the snacks, already commandeering the tortilla chips (what can he say, he’s a carb lover) and placing the rest of them delicately between them before opening the M&Ms and handing them to Janis.

“Oh, thanks…” She picks a few out of the bag while holding the dog down with the other hand, lest he eat something he shouldn’t.

When he looks back in the bag, it’s like no-one took anything. Sure enough, there’s probably only three or four in her hand right now. And they’re one of her favourite things in the world, ever. She’s hidden them under pillows at sleepovers before. Before he can stop, she notices him looking and gives him a shrug.

“I’m just not that hungry,” she explains, taking a sip of the water. “It’s fine.”

It’s fine. There you go. She said it’s fine, so it’s fine.

Despite that reassurance, and against his better judgement, he doesn’t stop taking peeks at her as the movie goes on. It’s probably a good thing he doesn’t like this movie. She picks at the food she would normally be fighting him for, eating a pretzel here and there and nothing else, only long, slow drinks of water. The hair on the back of his neck pricks up at it, his instincts once again kicking in.

Maybe instead of instincts, he thinks he might just be paranoid. Janis said that she hadn’t had much of an appetite recently. It’s just a side effect of the medicine. Nothing to be worried about, surely, especially with the way her eyes are wide and her grin is excited and bright, the way she jumps at scares she’s seen ten times over and ‘ooh’s at Freddy coming down the hall. She even calls him a ‘magnificent bastard’. Why should he focus on what she’s eating when she’s still her and is in good spirits? With that in mind, he turns his attention to the movie, properly this time, accompanied by Janis’ rantings and commentary.

When he does lose focus on Freddy Kruger again, it’s nothing to do with Janis or ‘instincts’, but rather nature calling, courtesy of a half-empty lemonade bottle on the floor. He stretches his stiff legs and turns to let her know, probably having to tap her to pull her out of the movie… only to find her curled in on herself, eyes closed, lips slightly parted. Her hand rests limply on Maxie and her chest rises and falls slowly. How long has she been like that, he wonders.

“Janis?” he whispers. Nothing. “Janis.” She doesn’t move, doesn’t even flinch. That’s her for the night.

She looks younger in sleep, especially without make-up. And a lot less tough. It’s easier to see her as the little girl he met crying in a bathroom all those years ago. But she was tough even then, and she’s even stronger now. He rises slowly, careful not to wake her. Maxie is still awake, but antsy at sitting down for too long.

“Come here, kid,” he says quietly to him. He lifts Janis’ hand a little and coaxes him off her, patting his knees until he reluctantly climbs down. He settles beside her instead, sitting beside the couch like a little guard dog. “Good boy.” Next he takes the blanket from the heater and throws it over her, making sure to tuck it over her shoulders. That’s what moves her, and for a second he panics, but she only murmurs something and burrows into it. His heart swells in that moment, and he presses a swift kiss to her head.

“Good night, kid,” he whispers, even if it’s still light outside.

He doesn’t go home after that. He sticks around all night, despite Janis’ mother asking if he wants to go home. Neither one of her parents are surprised she fell asleep, telling him she’s tired a lot in the hospital. Her dad heaves a sigh before telling him that’s how they know it’s working. Damian nods, unsure of what else to say, and heads back to the living room. The idea of leaving her alone in there unsettles him for whatever reason.

He slides Cabaret into the DVD player, the volume at 2 and the subtitles on. At least if Janis does wake up, it’ll be to something she likes. For now he bounces between watching the movie and watching her until he gives up entirely. He changes spreads himself on the couch next to him, the light from his phone the only light on in the room. As he does start to doze off, a mere four hours after Janis, he starts thinking about what her dad said. If this is how they know everything’s working, then he can take it. Because it means she’ll be okay at the end.

#mean girls fanfic #mean girls broadway #mean girls the musical #damian hubbard #janis sarkisian #cadnis #cadnis ff #mean girls ff #despite that cadnis is barely in this chapter ....#fic: heart of stone #look its a damian pov!

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blogbypratz · 4 years ago

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1. How they differ from their competitors

2. What keywords they target

3. Which social media sites they use

4. How many followers do they have?

5. Where they spend money on advertising

6. How to get customers to engage with them

Do Something that Your Competitors Won’t Do

At the height of Nike's first growth explosion, they tried without fear what other companies would not do. They failed. In the 1980s, they tried to enter the casual footwear market. And it made them fall behind the Briton Reebok, the American leader in sneakers.

But Nike didn't let itself be stopped. In the 1970s and early 1980s, they used a marketing tactic unknown at the time, and sometimes mocked: the recommendations of celebrity athletes.

Romanian tennis player Ilie Nastase, affectionately known as "Bucharester Buffoon" for his online antiques, was Nike's first sporting celebrity in 1972. He was world number one in 1973 and 1974. Steve Prefontaine, a middle-track star, was another key signing in the mid-1970s. In 1980, this strategy catapulted Nike's IPO and sales growth to $270 million.

... And then, in 1985, they convinced someone called "Michael Jeffrey Jordan" to support their shoes. What is fascinating is that Jordan was a life lover of Adidas. But Adidas did not offer him an agreement. At the time of signing, he was not a superstar. But in 1990, Nike's sales reached $2.2 billion. And last year, it provided $32.4 billion.

Today, Adidas is about 1/3 the size of Nike. And Reebok about 1/45.

Google My Business

The ranking of your Google My Business list is one of the most powerful things you can do for your business. If you run a local business that is aimed at local customers, this is the strongest strategy available to you.

If you can rank your Google My Business ad in the top 3 search results, you may need to shoot in a large number of highly qualified prospects day by day without having to spend a penny on ads. Google My Business combines all your different Google platforms in one place with Google Maps profile, Google reviews, access to data on Google Analytics and Google Insights and more.

If you have a unique brand name, you can even get a big screen like this to show when people are looking for that name. Google My Business immediately gives the credibility and visibility of your business, and if you run a local business, it should be #1 on your priority list.

And the best of all, the ranking of their Google My Business list is really not that difficult. You simply need to optimize your profile and then collect feedback and quotes.

Automate as Much as Possible

Automation of marketing can save you a lot of time and money while you work to achieve your goals. If you try to do everything yourself, you may end up running out of deadlines or not sticking with your intentions.

There are tons of good marketing mail providers, including companies such as AWeber and Constant Contact. You can use them to create email sequences, send them to your subscribers, or hire someone to create them for you.

Using automation to monitor your mentions on social networks and post them on Facebook, Twitter and other social media sites. You need to set up and plan contributions, but the beauty of this approach is that it means you don't have to worry about when to post something. Automation will do it for you.

You can also consider setting up automatic responses on your Facebook page. Many companies use robots to deal with customer issues and increase their engagement - and you should also think about it.

Market to Your Existing Customers

In the early 1990s, Pepsi and Coke dominated the beverage market. Both have spent more than 100 million dollars to promote one of their brands. At the same time, milk consumption in California was declining.

And what was so special about milk in the first place? It was white. You're welcome. That's boring. There is not much to say about milk. So things didn't look good for California dairy farmers.

Nevertheless, the National Dairy Board and the California Advisory Board had to try something with their tiny 23-million-dollar advertising budget. Eventually, they approached the advertising agency Goodby, Silverstein and Partners (GS & P).

Previous campaigns have tried to attract people who did not drink milk. But GS & P's search has led him to believe that it would work to advertise current milk fans. Through discussion groups, they have found that consumers only drink milk with something else. Besides, they never think about it until they are exhausted.

Field Marketing Agency in Mumbai doesn't necessarily need to find a brand new audience to increase the sale of products. You can also increase the demand among your loyal fans.

Final Thoughts -

While only half of them are probably worth thinking about your unique business, I think at least four of them fit in perfectly, and as I said at the beginning of the article, one of these channels has the potential to increase your growth next year.

Marketing is not an exact science, but if you do these things, you can reorient your marketing strategy with your main business goals, while increasing their profits and helping you attract new customers.

Marketing goals will help you define what you want to achieve through your marketing activities. Your goals should be SMART: specific, measurable, achievable, relevant and time-based.

#marketing #Marketing Practices #Ways in which Marketing can be done better #What are the ways in which Marketing can be done better?#marketing agency in mumbai #fulcrum resources

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skylersummer · 6 years ago

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My Secret Phobia

Until I was eighteen years old, I kept a secret from every single person in my life. I didn’t tell a soul. Had I been brave enough to take to the internet and read about my secret, I would have realised that what I was dealing with on a day to day basis was nothing to be ashamed of or embarrassed about, in fact it’s fairly common.

My secret? I suffer from emetophobia.

Emetophobia is the fear of vomit; either physically being sick, seeing, hearing or smelling sick will send me in to a panic attack. Anxiety UK claims that 6-7% of women and 1.7 - 3.1% men will experience emetophobia in their lifetime. Had I known earlier that this anxiety disorder existed outside of my own personal life, let alone amongst thousands of people, I am certain I would have confided in someone about my fear. There’s only a handful of information on the internet (that I’m not too scared to read) about this disorder I’ve grown up with, so I would like to share my own personal experience in the hopes that it helps those suffering in silence realise that they are not alone and to help those who don’t have it, understand the complexities of the condition. I want to keep this as trigger-free as possible, as a lot of sources I have found on the internet I’ve found far too graphic to be of any help to actual sufferers of emetophobia, but bare in mind I will be continuously using the word vomit (a word which would make me flinch and feel physically sick until recent years.)

I am not aware of any one trigger for my emetophobia, there was no obvious experience that set off this whole disorder, all I know is that I have had it for as long as I can remember, from around the age of four.

Here’s something I want to make clear now, to those who don’t have emetophobia. It is a phobia of vomit. When I’ve told people in recent years, I’ve had some laugh at me, Of course you don’t like sick, no one likes being sick. Emetophobics don’t just ‘not like’ vomit, or being sick. Of course, it’s not pleasant for anyone and no one particularly enjoys the experience, however this is a fear. We fear it on a daily basis.

When I was younger, and suffered with more severe symptoms of anxiety, the sound of someone nearby coughing would be enough to set me off into a panic attack. I avoided school trips for fear of anyone getting travel sick on coaches and I avoided places I couldn’t easily exit in case someone did vomit. For these reasons I found school, in particular, very troublesome as there were rules and regulations - you couldn’t just leave lessons whenever you felt worried.

No one could work out exactly why I was so scared of school trips, or wanted to sit by the door in assembly or in class. Age 11 I had my first counselling session with the NHS Child and Adolescent Mental Health Services (CAMHS). I quickly came up with a lie, telling my psychologists that I had claustrophobia (ironically a phobia I actually gave myself), an excuse I deemed socially acceptable and far less embarrassing than the truth. I discharged myself within 6 weeks.

The fact that no one understand the root of why I was so scared of seemingly normal situations meant that no one could properly help give me the therapy that I needed, and I don’t want this to appear as a critique of CAMHS, or school, or my family who I know tried to do what they could, given the information they had.

As I joined secondary school my anxiety and panic attacks became more and more frequent. I would have to leave lessons almost every day, and would avoid the school toilets where possible.

Unfortunately one of the main symptoms that my emetophobia causes is nausea, and naturally this makes me worry even more that I will be sick. It becomes a vicious cycle.

Throughout my adolescent years I was in and out of doctors and hospitals multiple times as healthcare professionals tried to find the cause of my stomach pain and nausea. I had blood tests upon blood tests, I tried cutting out dairy, cutting out gluten, but nothing worked for me long term. The daily nausea persisted: from the moment I got out of bed to the moment I fell asleep at night.

During some of my worse periods I feared leaving the house entirely, in case I somehow became sick outside the safety of my home or in case I came into contact with someone else who was sick. I refused to go to school on a daily basis; until the age of 16 I would be dragged into school crying and screaming by my parents. By the time I was 17 and on study leave for my AS levels my school attendance had dropped below 50% and I was very depressed. My claustrophobia had turned into agoraphobia and being home alone during study leave had me spiralling into periods of psychosis, imagining voices and seeing imaginary figures around my house.

My parents and sisters tried desperately to find the source of what we all knew was just pure anxiety. I persevered with CAMHS until an unfortunate misdiagnosis of my emetophobia as anorexia. Only recently have I started to realise how much the emetophobia affects the way I treat food. I’ve always been naturally slim but, I think, during my school years I was subconsciously eating very little, for fear of feeling too full in case it made me feel sick. Between the ages of 16-18 I had an average BMI of 13.5 which, upon discovering, doctors believed was caused by anorexia. I’ve read recently of emetophobics who’ve become hospitalised; their fear of vomiting making them too scared to eat anything at all. I only wish that the mental health professionals I dealt with at 17 had known about other atypical eating disorders instead of quickly trying to label me with anorexia, which ultimately led me never to return to them (I did a full on running-out-of-the-CAMHS-building and never looked back).

By the time I was 18 I thought I’d exhausted every way of getting better. I had heard the phrase ‘fight or flight’ in reference to my panic attacks (if you know, you know) too many times to count and I was begging for someone, anyone to figure it out, so I didn’t have to tell them. I legitimately thought my daily panic attacks were normal, and that this giant secret that was gnawing away at my insides was going to be something I dealt with my whole adult life. The thought of being stuck like this made me even more depressed and my body was struggling to keep me healthy at such a low weight - I had severe (and recurring) bronchitis during my final year of school which led to me getting post-viral fatigue; I was completely exhausted. I was so tired of being tired all the time, I really felt close to giving up.

Whilst my friends were out experiencing their adolescence as they rightly should, I was instead being picked up from parties at 9pm, too scared to drink alcohol in case it made me sick, too scared of someone else being sick from over-drinking as was so common at teenage parties - unfortunately something I couldn’t always avoid. I wouldn’t touch cigarettes as I’d heard so many people say they’d been sick after trying their first one. I couldn’t, and still can’t, go to the cinema for fear of an unexpected and graphic vomit scene, or go to fairgrounds or theme parks. I’m still petrified of flying in case myself or anyone around me is sick. I couldn’t enjoy anything a normal teenager was supposed to and I became somewhat of a recluse.

During my final year of school I was attending a private therapist with my mother and sister (I was too anxious to be alone with strangers by this point.) It was around then that I started to crack, and they began to notice how I reacted when the word ‘vomit’ was mentioned - I would immediately leave the room, crying in panic. They’d always known I didn’t like being sick, but I don’t think anyone really knew the extent of the phobia, how it dominated my life each day.

At age 18, I was finally put on Citalopram to target my anxiety and panic disorder as well as the depression. I know that antidepressants do not work for everyone, but personally it changed my life. I’d been a shell of a person for the past 5 years, and I honestly think I would have just vanished had it not been for the medication. Alongside the relief of being honest with my family (and eventually friends) I dramatically became a fuller, happier version of myself. I finished school with three A Levels (something I am not sure anyone expected to happen only a year before) and even managed to go on holiday with my friends for a week (taking an aeroplane and even a dreaded coach!) Without the structure and pressure of school I really was a new person.

I started my Art Foundation at Oxford Brooke’s University in September 2015, and my exposure to lots of student drinking and therefore vomiting (other people’s as well as my own) dramatically helped me begin to overcome this phobia which has stolen half my life.

I’m in my final year of university now and living in London, and it hasn't been a completely smooth ride. I’ve had to switch medication twice now and I still struggle daily with public transport and the thought of being sick in public, but it’s definitely an improvement on where I was only 4 years ago, barely even living.

I still haven’t received any professional help or treatment besides my medication, for my emetophobia and that’s something I really want to do in the future, but I’m just trying to take small steps at the moment whilst I finish my degree. The thought of potentially having children (morning sickness, general kid sickness etc.) seems completely unattainable and terrifying to me, but one day I’d like to be brave enough to have the option.

I’m still recovering and I do have set backs, I’m still only just figuring out the extent of how much this phobia affects my daily life, but I do want to say that it is possible to get better. Age 11 I would have never dreamed of even telling someone about my phobia let alone be writing a public post on the internet like this, ten years later, but I think that’s probably why it’s so important that I do this. It’s not going to be easy, and I know the most obvious way forward for me is to get proper exposure therapy (gently exposing myself to sounds, television shows and movies featuring vomit etc.) but I do know for sure that I am going to beat this, one day, whatever it takes.

#emetophobia #emeto tw #emetophobic #mental health #mental disorder #positive mental attitude #tw ed

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brolikeidkman · 6 years ago

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An ex friend of mine tried to reach out to me and this will be a post about why I will not speak to her (TRIGGER WARNING:SELF HARM, REFERENCES TO RAPE CULTURE, GENERAL INSURGENT HOMOPHOBIA)

So she reached out to me and I have severe reasons why I completely cut her out of my life. The stories will be numbered. the first one is the longest the rest are pretty short.

#1. The Birthday party.

First, she was always giving off a bad vibe. Not just being a generally grumpy person because I can( and have) dealt with that kind of thing before. She had a ton of drama that came with her because, to be honest, she is a damaged person (None of which was her fault or was a problem for the most part).

The problems that came with her problems was that she created them. Her mental issues caused her to act out in a desperate plea for attention. Now, im a very caring person and I can say that with pride because I have worked hard to be one and I don’t say it lightly. Despite how caring I am I can no longer bring myself to help her because of the way she treated the people around her and me.

First, im going to tell you about my thirteenth birthday party. This is kind of in the middle of all the stuff she did but ill try and keeps all the other events in order so you can see the build up.

So the birthday party was big for me as it was a sleepover and the first birthday party I was having with friends since the first grade. Now as I said, this was a sleepover, so I told all six of my friends that my house didn't have enough room for no one to sleep on the floor and if need be I would sleep in my bed or two people could sleep in my bed and we all discussed how the sleeping arrangements and we figured out where and how everyone would be sleeping. She had volunteered to sleep on the floor. When she got to my house she showed up with no sleep clothes, no blanket, and no pillows. So a bad start. Now I wasn’t going to get upset about it because it wasn't a big deal, but the problems didn't stop there. One of my friends I invited has a very severe allergy to milk so we ordered her her own pizza without cheese. So why did this have anything to do with ex-friend? Because she would not stop commenting on how much of a burden it was. She said we should have just ordered it half cheese and half no cheese(despite the fact that this could have hospitalized my friend) or how she should have brought her own food. (who the fuck does that.)

Then came the presents.

Two of my friends didn't get me a gift because I made it very clear if you don't know what to get me or don't think you can you don't have to get me a gift (the actual wording was “company preferred than presents”). She, however, thought present should be mandatory. My dairy allergic friend got me a stuffed animal that I still have to this day, my ex-friend that has an allergy to sawdust (which comes in later) got me a ten dollar target gift card. My artist friend gave me a drawing (which I think I still have somewhere). Now, my friend that has an allergy to sawdust (which comes in later), She got me this HUGE multicolored crayon. WHICH I LOVED! I had a really close friend in my childhood who used to make them and it was such a fond memory. this friend actually felt really bad about the gift because she thought I wouldn't like it. As I was about to tell her about just why it was so awesome the ex-friend interrupted and said that she could have given me the receipt. Which she had. The ex-friend made comments to the two that didn't bring presents that hey should have. One of them was a friend of mine for five years before (it would have been longer but I had only known her since the moment I moved in you know.) Not only had this friend already gotten me a present she was also waiting for my actual birthday to give me another present (my birthday is in the summer so it was easier to have a birthday party a month early so I could keep contact for plans inside school) so I was pretty mad but I didn't say anything to the ex-friend because I knew she would start a fight. My old friend is very understanding about this when I tell her this.

The cake went well and there wasn't a problem because we had gotten my dairy allergic friend sherbert ( think this what its called its basically shaved ice sold like ice cream).

Then we had downtime. We played Guitar hero, played Jenga and some suggested we go outside before my art friend had to leave because she couldn't spend the night. Which was good except for two of them. The first was you-know-who and the other was my friend who is allergic to sawdust. She asked if we had done any work on our house and I said no, but that our neighbors had recently sawed down a tree.

I pointed out where it was to her and it isn't close to my house it's on the opposite side of their yard so she said it was okay and I told her to let me know if something was wrong. Now my ex-friend. Not to step on any toes here but I don't believe Ouija boards work. That being said, if someone else believes that they do work im not going to tell them otherwise. She believed they worked but she's an idiot. She told me she couldn't go outside because demons will kill her because she left a bord without saying goodbye and she was alone.(aren't those basic rules?) So we said she didn't have to go outside (which honestly was rude but we needed a break from her at this point). And then she went outside. And pretending she was possessed by demons. Which you know isn't that bad but then she had fits of crying and screaming. And then she did something that is the main reason I bringing this story up. She went to my neighbors' yard and grabbed a handful of the sawdust. AND STARTED CHASING MY FRIEND WITH IT. My friends' sawdust allergy as far from mild she would break out in hives and she had asthma. She also can’t run well because one of her legs is significantly shorter than the other. My ex-friend knew all of these things. So I tackled her. Which went better than I thought it would because she blamed it on the demons so I sent her inside to wash her hands and told my mom to make sure she did and to let me know when she did so we could go back in. My artist friends mom picked her up and then we watched a few movies, played some Minecraft and more guitar hero. Ex-friends mom picked her up at four am.

#2. You cant be that because I said so ... (warning: insurgent homophobia)

This was the year gay marriage was passed. When my friend told me about it it was a slap in the face because I hadn't known being gay was even an option. I welcomed it with warm arms and I got to know a lot of my friends closer through it and I learned a ton from them and learned a lot about my parents' views (which aren't good). Now my ex-friend (let's just call her X) decided that she wanted to explore her sexuality more and identified, in this order, as: Lesbian, genderfluid, bisexual, lesbian, trans, gay, genderfluid, no longer trans, lesbian, pansexual, bisexual.

All of this was fine with me, and though I thought it was odd she kept jumping labels so much and so rapidly I was still there for her because I knew sexuality is a hard thing to pin down.

During this time, however, she did many things I will never tolerate:

X told one of my friends he could not be gay because she wanted to have sexual relations with him.

Said that a questioning genderfluid couldn't be genderfluid because he didn’t feel it the same way she does. (He figured out he just really loves drag and now identifies with his birth gender wholely as well as being bisexual)

X Said that a girl was ugly because she refused to send naked photos

Stated genderfluid people don't exist (only after she decided she wasn't)

Called the cops on my friends' mom saying she was a heroin addict.

X Told a teacher she would call the cops and tell them he asked for photos if he didn't put in the grade for an assignment she didn't do (I hated that teacher but this was days after X asked the girl for photos so I talked to the guidance counselor who got the cops involved and the teacher let them look into his messages and emails and they couldn't find a trace of interaction with her besides asking her to turn in a big assignment. I found out what happened a year later after the guidance counselor retired when she thanked me for stopping a potential problem and for never causing one. I thanked her for not involving me as a witness for the police.)

X said multiple times that she willingly had sex with an older male (which worried us to all hell and we told the new guidance counselor this many times. He was later fired without a public reason)

Then X decided that she would be the one to pick which sexuality suited me best.

I don't think there is anything wrong with helping someone find an identity that suits them but not when it's unwanted and isn't helping them work it out themselves by picking the actual label themselves. She was just labeling me as she thought I should be.

She decided that I am asexual. This was very offensive to me NOT because I think badly of ANY sexuality but because:

A: I am not asexual

B: I did not ask her for advice she just came up to me and said it.

C: Said she knew an asexual when she saw one.

D: Continued to tell people I was.

I now identify as Polyamorous Aromantic.

I also was told by a friend that X was telling people that I had sex with X and that she “helped me figure out I am asexual because I didn't like it”, I could never confirm this was spread by her, but Its highly possible as she had said something similar to me about another girl. (I am to this day a virgin btw)

She told multiple people they had been faking their sexualities to go with a new trend.

#3: The Biggest reason. (WARNING: Non-graphic self-harm main topic)

After all that happened in #2 I had stopped being friends with X but this is why I completely cut her out of my life before she got expelled.

During this time I had severe depression and my family couldn't afford to get me help. I had one friend that I was really close to and he had severe mental issues including depression, bipolar disorder and he also was being physically abused by his grandfather and was mentally abused by his mom which he hid from his dad who he only saw every other weekend.

Unfortunately, he was also a cutter. He has scars now on his arms and legs and he confessed to me that he had tried to kill himself on a few occasions. He was my closest friend and he is much better nowadays. This is the questioning genderfluid friend I talked about in #2 that X said was wrong.

Honestly, I could have gotten over every other reason that I will not talk to her except this one.

Heres what happened.

She drew cut marks on her arms and legs and said: “Hey look I’m (Cutter Friend)!”

There is a big difference between kids being mean and people who you think are your friends calling you out.

After that happened most of my friends stopped talking to her completely and if she sat at our table we would leave.

She decided she should start to actually cut herself and blame us and say we told her to do so.

Then one day she tripped me in the hall. (To be honest, I don't know why she tripped me to this day) She started doing things like this all the time she told the counselor I was cutting myself and smoking cigarettes (which led to my stuff getting searched and her getting detention when they asked me why she would say that I had them).

When she relised she couldnt target me without getting in trouble she decided to start targeting my friend.

By this time he was doing so much better. His grandfaather had died, he told his dad about his mom, and he had mostly stopped cutting unless something triggered it.

Triggered like when someone asked about it. Or when someone called him a slur.

So X decided to go up to him, grab his wrists, push up his sleeves, rake her acrilic nails down his scars and ask “What are the best brand of razors to use? Mine never cut deep enough. Should we swallow some?”

He tried to kill himself when he got home. He had to be rescued by his dad and emts after he overdosed and tried to drown himself in his bathtub. He he kept his clothes on so his dad didn’t have to see him dead and naked. He was in the hospital for a week. That was when I started cutting.

Its my worst memory.

She eventually was expelled after she threatened multiple teachers.

When we got to Highschool she got expelled after two months for drug use, dealing, bringing alcholol into the building and eventually threatening a shooting.

She now is saying shes coming back to my school and I refuse to respond.

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austinpanda · 3 years ago

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Dad Letter 062621

Scheduled for delivery 8:00 AM EST Sunday

27 June, 2021

Dear Dad--

Summer has reached Old Town, and we’re having highs in the 80s on some days! Still love it here. The days are still 20 hours long, which is driving me nuts a bit--it gets light before 4:00 a.m. now--but the days will get shorter now that the solstice has occurred and summer has officially started. It’s still disconcerting to wake up and see broad daylight and it’s still only 5:00 a.m.

This morning was spent going to the grocery store to get the things we forgot during yesterday’s big trip to the grocery store. We shopped together yesterday, something we don’t do very often since Covid, and I spent about a hundo ($100) on groceries, only to get home and find out we’d forgotten all the dairy; we were out of milk and half and half. That felt kind of stupid. And, to increase the stupid quotient, Zach feels like he’s getting sick, so this morning’s (FUCK MY LIFE I FORGOT TRASH BAGS) trip was solo, and fortunately, it went without incident. Except for the goddamn trash bags. If I go again, it’ll be four trips to the store in four days. (Curses! I hate inefficiency!)

Obviously, if that’s the biggest thing I have to tell you about, it hasn’t been an eventful week. I had another short work week, during a time when I wish the work week were longer, and did an unimpressive job trying to learn and execute the new audit I’m learning. The good news is, as of the last day I was there, I finally got to finish making the notes I need to get through the audit. Now I believe it will be easier. I believe my boss fell victim to one of the classic smart people blunders: Smart people sometimes suck at knowing which things are confusing to a new person, or else, as is more the case with me, someone who is new to the process. I don’t think he wanted me to make such comprehensive notes, for fear it would only make things more time-consuming and confusing. That makes logical sense, but it’s exactly wrong, because: kangaroo. Remember the movie Arrival?

She wants to use a white board to communicate with the aliens, but the army guy thinks it’ll take longer to learn to speak with the aliens if she involves reading and writing too, but she says, “Kangaroo.” And the point is, she tells the story of Captain So-and-so who, in 17 hundred and whatever, landed in Australia. He led a party into the country, and they found the aboriginal people, and asked what were those animals that hop around and keep their babies in pouches? And the aborigines said, “Kangaroo.” It wasn’t until later that the sailors learned “kangaroo” means “I don’t understand.” Her point was that she needed the white board to avoid misinterpretations, otherwise everything would take longer. And that’s what I did with my notes at work. They’re long, and comprehensive, and it took a while to make them, but with them, you can do the audit by yourself. Otherwise, it’s just too complex and confusing for a new person to do alone. I win, damnit.

So I’m looking forward to going back to work tomorrow for another unfortunately short work week, in part because I now have the tools I need to do the job, and also because I’ve decided to listen to my boss, who said I really don’t need to take so much work home with me. He actually doesn’t like how much time I’m spending in my off hours obsessing about this stupid new complicated audit. I’m not always sure how to respond to that, the accusation that I’m needlessly worrying too much about something. I like to think I do the exact right amount of worrying about everything. But he seems firm in his conviction that I need to lighten the hell up, so I’m considering actually trying to. I’m going to cease obsessing about this stupid audit, I’ll just keep doing it as well as I can until I’ve mastered it, and I’ll try not to let it make me frustrated to the point where I want to kick my computer all the way into the sun.

I’ve learned a new casino term! It’s a term for a certain type of bad behavior that the casino will generally want to keep its eye on, something called fast feeding. Fast feeding is a way of laundering money. You feed a bunch of “dirty” cash into a slot machine, gamble for five minutes, and tell the machine to give you a voucher for the extra money you fed into the machine. Then you take the voucher to the casino’s cage (its bank) and ask them to cash it out. And just like that, you turned your pile of dirty money into a pile of their clean money. The problem with that is, it’s really, really easy to spot. You don’t even need people, your computers can alert you, “Hey, this potential asshole just fast-fed a bunch of cash into a slot machine, played for eight minutes, and then requested a voucher to cash out. Malfeasance!” (I assume the part where it shouts, “Malfeasance!” is equally as necessary as all the other steps.) So that’s fast feeding. As casino revenue auditors, we are officially against that.

Zach’s mom got us this decorative garden thing that’s like a little wooden tray you can fill up with wild critter chow, and now we’ve become an epicenter of little critter activity in our neighborhood. We fill this thing with a wild mammal mix of sunflower seeds and peanuts and dried corn kernels, and all kinds of cute little furry shits come up to eat from it. This has created one problem, which is that all this is occurring in the grassy space where I keep my car parked. And when I worked for Progressive, I set up a lot of claims for, “Rodents made a nest in my car’s wiring, chewed the wiring to pieces, and now the car is a paperweight.” So I don’t want any adorable little critters setting up house in the vital organs of my car. Also, there’s the concern that we’re going to drive over something cute and squash it. So now whenever we get into the car, we slam the door a couple of times, and kick the sides lightly, just to flush out any animals that might be taking a nap in the shade of my engine. And for God’s sake, don’t come inside; that’s where murder by kittycat awaits.

On the subject of animals, I just learned something that blew my mind about bats, so now it will be your misfortune to have to learn something about bats. It’s one of those, “Behold, the power of evolution/God,” kinda things. There are these bats called mustache bats. I will include a picture. They are not cute, and they don’t have a mustache, which left me feeling a bit screwed, but there you have it. Anyway, bats use echolocation to find food. And one way to look for lots of food at once is to scan lots of frequencies, by sending out a “cheep” that starts low, and goes up in pitch. That brings back lots of echo information, but it brings back too much echo information. What if bats could just use one frequency of “cheep” and just be really good at hearing that one frequency?

Well, these little shits can do that. They send out a cheep in one frequency, and they have just the right bone structure in the ear to make them super good at hearing the echoes that come back at that frequency. “But,” you may ask, “What about the doppler shift? These are sound waves. As the bat’s flying, and its speed changes, the cheeps that come back are going to be constantly changing in frequency because of the doppler shift, and it won’t hear them.” Well, the little shits apparently thought of that, too. What researchers figured out was that the bats just change the pitch of their cheeps to compensate for changes in how fast they’re flying. That blew my damn mind. The bats are great at hearing a certain frequency to catch food, but when they fly faster or slower, the sound leaves that sweet spot frequency, so they just adjust the frequency of the cheeps to compensate. *mind explodes*

And how did they figure this out? They put the bats on a little swing and gave them a push. Then they simply made a graph of the bat’s speed, and superimposed over it a graph showing the bat’s chirp frequency, the two mirror each other perfectly. Bat speeds up, and the frequency of its cheeps reduces. Bat slows down, cheeps go higher. (Except for the part when the swing goes backwards. Then, the cheeps don’t correspond with diddly poo, because bats don’t ever fly backwards, so the whole thing doesn’t work when they’re going backwards.)

Isn’t science just grand? Little bat swings. I’ll have more news next Sunday, and all my love to you both!

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eloquentdrivil · 7 years ago

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sqokscreams reblogged your post and added:

so i noticed that when you mentioned me(here v) i noticed you pretty much say the same stuff here so im sort of gonna reply to both @veganfacts said “Meat eaters abuse their pets every day and literally pay for animals to be abused and murdered” which somehow made you feel as if they’re rude and feel morally superior and not all vegans have the same views. but the thing is, that’s not just an opinion or anything. it’s the truth that every vegan knows and agrees with. a vegan stating facts doesn’t mean they think they’re better than you fam, we’re just trying to educate. like for instance, we all know that an animal has to be killed in order to make meat, right? and major industries depend on supply and demand to exist. so if many people demand meat products, more animals will be killed, and the opposite will happen if there is less demand...

@sqokscreams

(I will touch on your major points, but I wanted to condense space by replying like this.)

I don’t need or expect you to go through the other comments and replies I’ve made on and about that post, but if you wanted to confirm what I’m about to say, you will see the evidence of this at every turn; conceptually speaking, I’m pro-vegan.

Veganism can do a lot of good things, and I always make sure I acknowledge that, because, if I’m arguing with someone, my issues never come down to the practice of, or the incentives behind veganism. Besides just animal welfare, veganism could heavily cut back our environmental impact, so even if I didn’t care about rampant animal exploitation in the meat and dairy industry, veganism would still be a quantifiably good choice.

My problem with veganfacts, and the problem I’m addressing with you now in an effort to explain, is the inflammatory language they used.

It was not a fact, it was hyperbole, and right off the bat, the framing they used showed they do not care about context. The act of stripping context and defamiliarizing a nominal task makes their own point superficial, acting as nothing more than a way to flaunt their moral superiority over people who “pay for animals to be abused.”

In that same breath, it could be said that vegans “pay people to enslave and abuse children,” because of the rampant human rights abuses the produce industry is guilty for.

But neither you, nor veganfacts are guilty of endorsing child/forced labor just because the companies that distribute your food to you are guilty of using it.

But if that had been my responding claim to the shot at non-vegans, and then proceeded to push such a claim to undermine everything else you said thereafter, would you think me a good, thoughtful, or kind person?

That framing injects violence and hate into the consumer that just doesn’t exist. It makes a rabid monster out of regular people and twists this entire issue into a moral battle between vegans and non-vegans, and takes the ultimate blame off the companies that commit these atrocities.

And in their effort to do so, it shows just how little care veganfacts has in reaching out to and educating non-vegans. There is no education to be had there. A non-vegan gleans nothing from that statement other than, “Vegans hate non-vegans. Rabidly so.”

Because that’s what you would understand in that statement if the roles were reversed. That is a hateful statement. It’s divisive and stands only to show how little regard that person has for anyone not already living a vegan lifestyle, and they do not represent a majority of vegans.

To claim that that sentiment is universal is a bastardization of what the vegan movement is trying to accomplish.

Vegans want stricter regulations and higher sanctions against those who break them. In all sectors. They do not ostracize potential future vegans by furthering a rhetoric that sees people in a grocery store as the same level of evil and complicit as dog-fighters.

On top of that, it’s ignorant and shows just how little that person cares about understanding or overcoming the roadblocks currently standing in the way of amassing more people to the movement.

You said this in your last reply:

i’m kind of confused about the links you posted, because most of them don’t affect the accessibility of plant foods. for example, hunger doesn’t affect what kinds of foods stores carry. of course the cost of the food effects what poor people would be able to buy, but you can easily buy cheap plant foods. unless you mean hunger caused by food deserts or something? but anyway, i agree that veganism would be extremely difficult in food deserts, though there are many cheap junk foods that are “accidentally vegan” such as oreos and potato chips. i of course don’t blame anyone in that situation for depending on takeout and mcdonalds and stuff, though. however, i doubt someone in that kind of situation would have time to complain about veganism when they’re in a stressful environment and need to constantly worry about getting food on the table. if you could spare enough time writing that long post, i’m pretty sure you also have time to think about making different food choices. . .

Now, I don’t know your situation, I’m not going to claim I understand what you have and haven’t faced in your lifetime, but this (and the rest of that section thereafter), does shed light on what seems to be a disjointed understanding of what poverty and restricted food choice actually looks like.

First, while looking through food statistics in the US for those links, there is no statistical data on produce availability, outside of the data they have on food deserts. And not just that I couldn’t find it; there is an actual acknowledged lack of quantifiable data. People have tried, and there’s just no way to account for or normalize any sort of hard figure on these problems from an availability standpoint.

Second, “cheap” is subjective. Your idea of cheap may not be the same as mine if we have different amounts of disposable income after bills. But when it comes to cost vs. calories, non-vegan is always less expensive. Healthy foods are up-sold at a higher price because there’s a internalized notion in capitalistic culture that says “quality” justifies a higher price. It’s worth more, so it costs more, with worth describing a physical necessity, in this case.

To someone without financial security, the question becomes, “what can I buy that will stretch the length of time until my next paycheck?”

That kind of financial insecurity isn’t so stark when you look at who it’s affecting. Imagine a scenario like a family of four in a white suburban neighborhood who can feed all four of them for a days on a boneless ham at a dollar per pound, which is a whole hell of a lot less expensive that a nutritionally comparable plant-based substitute.

Veganism isn’t cost effective, and even if someone can afford the vegan options one week, they are not guaranteed that same outcome the next, so it’s not sustainable.

For you, yeah, maybe it is, but for a majority of Americans, veganism is money and food lost. It’s getting your paycheck and attempting to cut even more room out for the added expense, without even the benefit of gaining you more food per dollar spent, and while also gambling that you’ll have the wiggle room every week to do so. What happens when that one bad week comes and the choice comes down to not being able to feed yourself for the whole week, or having to get sick when you force re-acclimation to meat-based products that’ll at least last until your next paycheck?

That’s an irresponsible risk, and that risk exists entirely because corporations stand to profit off an ideology that makes healthier lifestyle choices like veganism more expensive.

Which makes arguments like this ignorant, at best, and elitist worst:

like the entertainment thing. i know that not everyone can go vegan, but a majority of the people in the world can, so if someone chooses to eat meat when there are millions of other options, then they are doing it for their enjoyment, or as you can also say, entertainment. of course you don’t get entertainment out of what happens to the animals in factory farms, but you are still buying the meat because you enjoy how they taste. the treatment of the animals is just a factor that plays into it.

Removing this to a world-wide argument makes it even worse; 1 in 9 people in the world suffers from chronic undernourishment. And that statistic just accounts for people going hungry. 80% of the world’s population lives on less than $10 a day. That’s ten dollars spread across bills and other expenses beyond just food.

The necessity of meat-based products in most people’s lives is just that; a necessity. So long as veganism remains more expensive than the alternative, that necessity remains.

In both of their replies, veganfacts pushed an unrepentant “us vs them, and they kill animals for fun” kind of ideology. They hold themselves so high above the issue, they, again, twisted the purchase of meat products from a store to sit on par with active animal slaughter.

And the original post was just about bunnies being a good alternative for vegans trying to figure out how to find balance between their pets dietary needs and their own ethics!

They stepped into a post completely unrelated to the point they wanted to push - a point not counter-intuitive to their own ideology - with the express purpose of demonizing non-vegans.

They’re condescending and ignorant. They don’t care about facilitating the vegan movement, because if they did, they’d look at the inaccessibility of the lifestyle and fight for that instead of vilifying non-vegans for “paying people to kill animals.”

They believe veganism makes vegans inherently morally righteous in all their pursuits to non-vegans. That’s the only reason their mind would’ve gone to that reply upon reading my original post. And that is not how veganism should be exemplified.

Doing so frames veganism as an elitist movement that cares more about mocking non-vegans than it does about making sure it has the populous support to take on the animal cruelty in the animal food industry that it currently doesn’t have.

More vegans means more power against the people committing these crimes, but the more vegans there are, the less impact that “non-vegans pay people to kill animals for them to enjoy” kind of rhetoric actually has.

That’s a rhetoric veganfacts pushes. That’s why they jump down the throats of people discussing vegans as morally level with non-vegans. They were defending their own moral righteousness, not a movement that seeks to foster education toward better lives for the people they vilify.

Other vegans are doing that though. They educate. They facilitate and they’re tackling the issue of food availability, and they are honestly working their asses off to make a real change in the world.

And you’ll recognize those people when you start looking for the pattern. They’re the ones who acknowledge and understand why the vegan movement stalls the way it does. They’re the ones building community vegetable gardens and making sure people have food on their table before they even begin worrying about making sure that food is cruelty free.

They don’t use divisive or inflammatory language, and the word carnist is the last thing they’d think to call someone because they know that word mocks basic human needs and makes monsters out of people just so they can justify the claim that that’s what’s wrong with the world.

Veganfacts is not how veganism should look. Their rhetoric is not universal, and they do not deserve to be exemplified.

Veganism is good.

That person is not.

#sqokscreams #veganism #vegan

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