#I try to be everyone else’s anchor but my own type bitch

[kyngsnake]

get emotionally neglected idiot

[enderspawn]

Has a jrwi pokemon au been thought up. I need to give this thought to my sister so she can come up w their teams for me she's very good at it but I still wanna know if it's been done before

there hasnt been one to my knowledge, BUTTTTT i did actually. come up w some jrwi teams myself a few months back or so in early july but never shared them. ill put them under a cut for Myself to brag/ramble abt my decisions and thoughts

but also anon: even if there was one pre-established, who cares, yknow? you can make your own either way, thats kinda the fun of it. god knows i love to Make AUs then do nothing w them, bc brainstorming them is the fun for me. even if someone else already did it, you can do it too!

SO. i Attempted 6 person teams for the riptide crew and im p settled w everyones But chip's (i also Attempted to make them feel around the same power level?? you can decide how successful that was)

ALSO,

1. the first pokemon listed is the person's "starter" and 2. everyone other than riptide PCs listed will have teams of 3 bc they're much easier

GILLION ---

shellos: pretzel! she's his starter and also a pikachu situation where she refuses to evolve bc shes Perfect As She Is (and she is right)

altaria: apple! blue bird :]]]]

aegislash: sword and shield for being a paladin! specifically aegislash due to it having defensive shield unlike the previous evolutions, as well as it being either high defense or kinda glass canon feeling fitting

lumineon: by god that is a Fish! thats it

malamar: "oh its a octopus is this pretzel again?" WRONG this is dugon. dark and fucked up aquatic animal time.

cubchoo: ice representation! also being a baby to show his Caring Side as well as teh fact his ice powers are still new/developing since he learned them from caspian (likely in universe got cubchoo as an egg from caspian)

JAY ---

dartrix: jay's starter! its an archer bird, plus i feel like her having an actual Starter Pokemon as a starter is like a privilege thing from her upbringing. i chose dartrix both for balance and bc i think its just a lil cuter

zorua: hey remember the zorua line's Whole Bit. damn thats weird. anyway. zorua chosen over zoroark for balance and Personal Preference man zorua is just cute okay imagine her holding it

fletchinder: represents the ferin family crest! damn those ferins sure can be fire and bird themed

kingdra: i imagine this was Given to her by the navy? like for protection, heres your Max Evolution Water Type. also, kingdra association w hierarchy and "king" and shit.

meowstic: part balancing the team, part Someone here needs the braincells (psychic type). meowstic female chosen not only bc "haha female pc" but also bc female meowstic has a more attack-based movepool where male is support based.

skarmory: Can You Tell Jay's Bird Themed Yet. also, literally made of armor to show being protective and kinda closed off for her Own Safety thing

CHIP ---

mimikyu: chip's starter. both ghost type to represent how hes Haunted but also a poor imitation of pikachu that just wants to be loved and. :)

wingull: he's a sailor man he needs a water type. but also he sucks so its a wingull. like not even a pelipper. cringe.

absol: absol is known to forewarn disasters but bc of that is often associated w Causing Disasters and bad luck and listen i just rlly like chip as my little trauma boy. also absol cool as hell.

ampharos: ampharos is known in universe to act as a lighthouse for sailors! also chip's obligatory Full Evolution to try and balance him out w the others

dhelmise: It's A Sunken Ship Ghost Anchor can i make myself clearer

nidoran: i just think chip has a think for weak little bitch ass pokemon. like i was so tempted to give him so many Shitty Bug Types or whatever. BUT, instead as compromise i gave him a little bastard stubborn baby pokemon... who also has the potential to grow into a Fucking Beast (at least in gen 1) if you give it the time to grow and stick it out.

again, chip's is the one i feel is weakest as a team, but now onto NPCs smile.

OLLIE ---

stufful: they hate him for his Normal Boy swag. also grows into MASSIVE fucking bear w even bigger strength

poliwag: baby boy. small. water type bc they're fucking pirates. (also, can evolve to be a fighting type later)

bonsly: baby boy! again! he's just baby. but like this one cries :(

OLD MAN EARL ---

tropius: haha its the Fruit Pokemon get it

relicanth: obligatory water type plus they're both Old As Shit

swadloon: fucking look at it. they're grumpy friends. they bitch to each other. swag.

GRYFFON ---

pangoro: this is just gryffon sorry.

bisharp: looks the most "bounty hunter"-y, also dark and steel fits his general Aesthetic n vibes

gliscor: actually all of his pokemon were chosen for their power and being Strong and Highly Competent

EDYN ---

mareanie: 1. it looks Like Her in color pallete, 2. its the baby form bc i specifically wanted it to be unassuming and "weak, and 3. it being poison type could be a fun twist depending on how canon goes

goodra: just a Strong fucking dragon type, i wanted the rest of her team to kinda "shock" you w hidden strong pokemon since you'd likely only see mareanie. also haha goo.

jellicent: decent strength water type + ominous ghost typing

MARSHALL JOHN ---

primeape: hes just a fighting type guy to me (i considered the timburr line), plus primeape having the broken shackles around its wrists to symbolize john breaking out of the navy

corphish: this one's like half vibes he just has a little Crab Guy okay <trust me

lairon: strong as FUCK and also tanky, plus steel type in general makes me think of navy and/or combat? it Fits

CASPIAN ---

alolan ninetails: ice type but also design just FUCKS and looks like caspian.

frogadier: this frog is cool as hell and you know it. doesn't he deserve a cool ass chill frog.

shellos: SPECIFICALLY the blue one in a parallel to gillion's shellos! tho i imagine later on it does become a gastrodon.

CAPTAIN LIZZIE ---

salazzle: s-sexy lizard. :]. ALSO bc i feel fire and poison both work as general typings for lizzie, and salazzle being female only is haha girl power

dragonair: i goof'd it in the first one, but in general i wanted a sleek cool look for her team to show how she appears effortless and cool herself.

cubone: naughty blackrose survivors get a Trauma Pokemon for their crimes. anyway remember how cubone is the orphan pokemon? also this is specifically cubone and not marowak to show like the inner child of the trauma

NIKLAUS ---

giratina: niklaus can have a universe controlling god-like being of power. as a treat. mainly i wanted him to be MEGA intimidating, such as the only one w a legendary, as well as the fact giratina (despite its terrifying appearance + power to create dimensions) is technically there to keep balance is a nice nod to how niklaus isn't inherently some Evil Force but instead a neutral party playing both sides.

mega absol: what if i was your "this pokemon causes doom and destruction" theme but Stronger.

espeon: yknow how niklaus kinda comes off as that cat-stroking monologuing villian? this is that cat.

BONUS: PRIME DEFENDERS

DAKOTA ---

hitmonlee: he be fucking KICKIN!!!!

cranidos: headstrong as hell, plus a fossil pokemon (much like bino is part dino!)

monferno: fire type time!! it just Fits Him, plus fire/fighting! i considered combusken instead, since blaziken Kicks but i went w monferno instead bc heehee Monkey (and bobo!!)

VYNCENT ---

morpeko: ignore how this site doesnt have gen 8, morpeko has a Duality feature n shifts forms! also just fuckin look at him

honedge: me when i have a sword and i Fucking Get You. first stage pokemon to represent how untrained the PD are

fraxure: if i didnt give him a dragon id die on the spot. gen 5 just Feels right, as well as a middle evolution since they're kinda the "awkward teen phase" of pokemon

WILLIAM ---

lampent: lichrally ghost fire what do you WANT FROM ME!!!

umbreon: its his emotional support dog. also dark type bc hee hee spooky and its Popular w fans just like william is w fans

abra: psychic type w potential to become very powerful, but rn can only run away or Fucking Die

ASHE ---

spiritomb: ghost spirit tied to a specific item, technically multiple spirits in one item, can be highly dangerous and malicious at times. teehee.

absol: Listen I Just Really Fucking Like Absol's Theming Okay.

alolan ninetails: similarly, this pokemon design just fucks. also i can imagine vulpix as his actual ""starter"" until he found and got stuck w spiritomb and absol started hanging out around him (/threat).

[goddessofthundathighs]

VIII. CONFESSIONS

The dull morning sky was soon cloaked in light as the sun made her grand appearance. Blankets of orange and pink illuminated the sky, casting an ethereal glow through the large bay window of O’Shea’s bedroom. The soft, sensual sound of Ari Lennox’s voice could be heard faintly in the background, the perfect soundtrack to the lovemaking that was taking place. O’Shea panted softly as Erik lazily thrust into her, slowly and deliberately, making sure she felt each stroke. Her hair was a messy halo around her face as she gazed up at him, eyes blown in pleasure. Her vocal cords had been silenced some time after Erik choked her and told her that she was his and his only. One of his hands was currently fisted in her coils while the other gripped her headboard, anchoring his position above her. Her nails dug deep into the skin of his back, a sting that hurt so good as Erik’s hips snapped into her, grazing her g-spot with deadly precision.

“What’s my name, Princess?” he whispered against the shell of her ear before pulling on her earlobe softly with his teeth. She choked out a soft whimper as her walls repeatedly clenched and released around him.

“You cummin’ again, ma? You ‘bout to coat Daddy’s dick with that sweet cream again?” Her nails dug deeper into his back as she felt that familiar tingle building in the pit of her belly.

“Give it to me, baby,” he groaned, prolonging his release until she came undone again. She chewed her bottom lip, opening her eyes to finally look up at him. The sight took her breath away. His dreads were a mess atop his head and his bottom lip was between his teeth revealing his golden canines. The sunlight gave him a golden glow, one that made him look more like a God than a man. The sight brought tears to her eyes.

“What’s my name, Princess? You doing more whimpering than talking. Tell me who owns this pussy. Tell me who Daddy is..”

The theme song to Game of Thrones pulled O’Shea from her slumber.

“Son of a bitch!” she screamed as she rolled out of bed and stomped angrily to her alter, muttering nonsense as she lit her goddess candle. The black and gold statue of Bast stared back at her, almost teasingly as she lit her white sage and cleansed her bedroom as well as herself.

“If you’re not gonna manifest him as my man, keep him out of my dreams,” she spat before praying and asking for forgiveness for her foolish words. She knew better than to disrespect her goddess and set out some honey and chocolate as peace offerings. Once she finished her morning prayer ritual, she showered and headed to the shop. Today was the day Erik was to return home and she needed to get through her day as quickly as possible if she wanted to see him. Per his request, she had refrained from calling or texting him and in her opinion had done well in not thinking about him in general until two nights ago. That’s when he began manifesting in her dreams, each time they were either having sex or he was professing his love to her. She took those as positive signs, but currently their situation was still very much one-sided. She wondered what he’d have for her when they were finally face to face. Would this meeting end in goodbye? Had she gone through this whole come to Jesus meeting for nothing? She shook her head softly to rid herself of negative thoughts. It had been a long week and no matter how things would play out on the relationship front, she missed her friend and was happy that he was back.

**

“I got the grant!” Skylar screamed happily from her office chair, causing O’Shea to jump from the sudden squeal.

“What grant?” O’Shea asked quizzically, meeting Sky in the doorway of her office.

“Recently I’ve been looking into surrogate partner therapy and its effects on the female orgasm and I just got the funds to begin independent research and practice!”

“What in the world is surrogate partner therapy?” “It’s what the name says it is. The therapist of a single client will implement a surrogate partner to help said client in their sexual dysfunction.”

“So basically a prostitute for the sake of mental and sexual health?” “Yes and no. The difference between prostitution and SPT is that prostitution focuses solely on sexual gratitude. With SPT, sexual and sensual touch is rarely involved. It mainly focuses on helping clients build social and physical self-awareness, consciousness, and skills in the areas of physical and emotional intimacy.”

“Interesting. So how much funds were we given for said research?” “Eight figure funds,” Skylar cheesed, still unable to contain her excitement. “We should go out to celebrate! Everything on me,” she exclaimed.

“Hell yes, we should. Who knows, you might get yourself a freak for the night,” O’Shea teased, causing Skylar to turn her nose up playfully. 

“Well if you must know, I already have my eye on someone.” “That little light bright that came in here the other day? What was her name? Oya?” Skylar smiled softly at the thought of her latest potential conquest.

“Yes, Oya.” “Do you and Erik make moves on all of your patients?” O’Shea teased, which caused Skylar to clutch her imaginary pearls.

“If you must know, you and Oya are both special cases. I’ve been too hung up on Monica and Erik was a stickler for keeping his business and personal lives separate.

“I was only teasing. You and her would be cute together though and we already know she’s a lesbian so there’s a plus there.”

“You’re right, but I’ve gotta take things slow. It’s very much illegal and unethical for us to engage in any type of intercourse while she’s my client so I’ll have to tread lightly in that area.”

“So like you could lose your license?”

”If things went sour and the board found out, yes. The difference between Erik and I is, he’s using himself as the surrogate and on paper, I’m listed as your therapist. A loophole so to speak.” “But Erik and I haven’t had sex.” “No, but you’ve explored other methods of intimacy and other sensual practices, correct?” O’Shea was quiet as she thought about the time she and Erik had spent outside of his office. There were many instances in which lines were crossed, but she had no idea they held such severe consequences. Sky noticed the worried look in her eye and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“Calm down, kid. Everything’s going to be fine.” “But you just said --”

“I know what I said and I also know Erik Stevens. If everything plays out the way we want, everyone will get their happily ever after and the board will be none the wiser.” O’Shea nodded, trusting her friend. Her mind couldn’t help but dwell on the words ‘happily ever after’. Did this mean that she and Erik shared similar feelings? She smiled to herself as she walked back to the design table, stealing a glance at the time. She wanted to text him, but stopped herself.

“Only a few more hours to go.”

**

Skylar’s deep wavy locs blew in the wind as she made her way to The Grove. She and Oya had agreed to meet at Blue Ribbon Sushi Bar to discuss how the toys she’d suggested had worked out. She also wanted to apologize for the way their last meeting had abruptly ended thanks to Monica. The Grove was one of her favorite places to go for lunch because of its open concept. It was springtime and the last thing she wanted was to be cooped up inside while the weather was so nice out. She smiled softly as Oya’s curly blonde fro came into view. As she stepped closer she saw that she was wearing a black cropped top, ripped blue jeans and open-toe sandals.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” she said with a smile as Oya pulled her in for a hug. 

“Hello yourself, Dr. Greene. You look amazing,” Oya replies looking her up and down. Though her outfit was simple, a red and yellow top that said ‘ Honey’, some blue jean shorts and matching Vans, Oya watched her as though she were otherworldly. After exchanging hugs and hellos, the pair sat down and began looking over the menu.

“Before we discuss the toys, I want to apologize about how our initial meeting ended.” “No need, I didn’t feel offended. If anything, I wanted to pop ole girl for the way she barged into your shop. Is she always like that?” “Yes and no. She has her days, but you need not worry about that anymore. Now, down to business, how did the toys work for you?”

“They worked surprisingly well for a minute, but I think I need something…. More.”

“Explain.”

“I enjoyed being able to time the toy and the thrill of trying to make myself cum, but edging is so much more fun when you have someone else setting your limits, you know?” Oya explained with a sly smirk.

“So you like being told what to do and when to do it?” “Oh I love it, almost as much as I love not doing what I’m told.” “So you’re a brat?” Oya’s answer wasn’t verbal, but her smirk said it all. “Have you been in a domme/sub relationship before, Ms. Ramirez?” “Yes, but my last domme wasn’t what I needed. She was good at playing scenes, but it was hard to pull herself out of the dominant role and she never gave me any aftercare.” “So she was an emotionally abusive bitch that got off on your pain?” “Pretty much.” “Terrible.” “But, when I spoke to Dr. Stevens, he said that you could possibly help me. I get domme energy from you.” “Domme energy?” Skylar asks with a chuckle. It was true that she and Monica had done a few scenes during their relationship, but she hardly considered herself a domme. 

“Yeah, domme energy. You command attention when you step in the room and I feel that if you snapped your fingers, every man and woman here would kiss the ground you walk on. You might not see it, but you have serious big dick energy.” Skylar laughed then, because Oya wasn’t the first to tell her that.

“Are you asking me to be your domme, Ms. Ramirez?” “I’m asking you to treat me and if that treatment involves me being your submissive, I wouldn’t be opposed,” Oya replied smoothly. Skylar nods as the waitress comes over to take their order.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

**

Megan Thee Stallion’s voice filtered the club as Cash Shit thumped through the speakers. Behind the velvet rope of the VIP section, Skylar and O’Shea sat with Erik and a few other colleagues as three cocktail waitresses came by with 3 bottles of Ace of Spades topped with sparklers.

“Congratulations to my best friend on securing the bag for her research,” Erik toasted as he poured Sky another glass.

“Thank you bestie, glad you could make it.” “Now you know I wouldn’t miss this night for the world, no matter how jetlagged I am,” he said with a wide smile, cutting his eyes at O’Shea every now and then. He had been watching her intently since he stepped foot in the section, admiring how well the gold long sleeved dress accentuated her curves and complimented her skin. She looked like a trophy and he was ready to have her on his arm officially, but he had to tread lightly. He didn’t want to be too forward and scare her away, but he also didn’t want to move too slow and push her into the arms of someone else. He was still fighting an internal battle that was pulling him in different directions. 

“This shit is smoother than I thought,” O’Shea quipped as she finished her third D’usse Sidecar.

“That means you’ll be drunk before you know it,” Skylar noted, picking up on how relaxed and loose Shea appeared. “Ready to take it in?” Shea nodded swiftly, stumbling slightly as she stood from her spot on the couch.

“Guess it’s a good thing you drove,” Erik stated to Sky as he lead O’Shea out of the club by her hand.

“Yep, I already knew how this would go. I’m gonna take our Princess home and I’ll call you once I make it in.” “Sounds like a plan. Night Princess,” Erik gestured to O’Shea as he walked back to his NSX.

“Night Daddy,” O’Shea slurred slightly as she slid into the passenger seat of Skylar’s Maserati. Erik stopped, turning to chance one last glance at O’Shea as Skylar guided her into the passenger seat. He contemplated jogging back over to her, using the fact that they needed to have another session as a means to linger in her presence, but he resisted. He decided to wait until they were both completely sober, that way they could both clearly articulate whatever it was that they were feeling. He opted to follow Skylar, using the fact that he wanted to make sure O’Shea got home safely as an excuse before closing the door to his NSX and revving the engine. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Skylar, he just needed to see O’Shea one last time before he called it a night.

The ride back to O’Shea’s was quiet. Skylar chuckled softly as she glanced over at the sleeping beauty, her head nestled between the glass of the window and the passenger seat. She snored softly, a sign that she’d partied a little too hard. Skylar helped her out of the car before fishing the house key out of her bag and guiding her inside to her bedroom.

“Do you need me to stay with you?” “No, I’ll be fine,” O’Shea’s soft voice called from the bathroom. Though she was drunk, she was still coherent enough to remove her makeup and finish her other night time rituals before climbing into bed. No sooner had her head hit the pillow did her mind drift back to Erik. He looked and smelled amazing with the all black sequin tux and his dreads braided to the back. He had purchased another set of fronts while he was away in Wakanda, this one being white gold with diamond settings and the sight of it shining in the low lights of the club had O’Shea itching for the chance to feel them against the sensitive skin of her vagina. The memory alone had her clenching her thighs. It had been months since the banquet where he'd had her wrapped around his fingers, literally. She wanted her thighs wrapped around his neck. It would have to happen sometime soon. Her hands found the inside of her thighs as she laid on her side. In her mind his fronts gleamed as he smiled, that professionally distant but slightly lustful look in his eye. Her thoughts faded.

Once Skylar was back in her car and on the road, Erik facetimed her. She had something to say and she'd been waiting all night, he could tell. He looked over at her face in the low light of the car. 

“So how was the trip?” she asked as she weaved through traffic back to her condo.

“I was cool. I hadn’t realized how much I missed my family until I saw them, T’Challa included.”

“Well that’s good. Have you had time to think about your current situation?” There it was. That’s the question that Erik had both been dreading and waiting for. 

“I have and I think I’m ready to make a move.” “You want to be with her?” Erik didn’t answer verbally, he just nodded.

Their conversation was interrupted by an incoming text message on Erik’s end. He waited until he came to a stop light to open the message, chuckling softly once he realized who it was from.

Shea smiled sleepily before placing her phone back on the nightstand. Her Daddy had missed her just as much as she missed him and hopefully he would give her one of the orgasms she’d been missing for the last few months. That thought alone was enough to lull her to sleep.

“What’s so funny and why you got me paused?” Skylar’s voice rang from the phone screen.

“My fault, ma, I got a message.” “Mmm. The little drunk baby misses her Daddy, huh?” “Man, chill on me. But if you must know, yes it was Shea.” “Oh I know. You two were eyefucking each other all damn night. Somebody needs to put on their big girl or big boy undies and say something.” “I got it, Sky. I set up an appointment for her tomorrow.” “That soon?” “I know me, I can’t put this off too much longer.” “Well whatever you decide, I’m behind you. You know that.”

“I know and I appreciate you for everything, ma. Have you met with Oya yet?” “I have. Her symptoms are almost like Shea’s but I think she’s more interested in hardcore BDSM and I haven’t dabbled in that in a while.” “Oooh, Oya about to meet Mistress Sky,” Erik teased with a wide grin.

“Nigga shut up!” Sky giggled. “Mistress Sky has long since hung up her whip and fishnets.” “”Mmhm, you saying that now. I think Ms. Ramirez might give you a run for your money.”

“We’ll see as time goes on. For now, I’m going to coax her into trying my methods on the partners she has now and if that doesn’t work, then we’ll try the SPT. I think she’ll take well to vabbing.” “Vabbing? You mean pussy juice perfume?” Skylar’s shoulders bounced as she laughed.

“I swear you get on my nerves.” “But that’s what it is! Rubbing pussy juice on ya neck for perfume.” “It’s more than that, asshole! The pheromones attract potential suitors. I was gonna have O’Shea try it too.”

“Aye! She don’t need to be tryna attract nobody else. Her suitor is right here.” “Oooh, somebody’s spicy,” Sky teased with a smirk.

“Mhm, keep playing, Nola."

**

O’Shea’s heels clicked happily against the marble floor of Erik’s office. She’d been excited all day at work, impatiently waiting for the 5:00 hour so that she could be back in Erik’s presence. She bounced happily in the seat across from his desk, waiting for him to finish a conference call before acknowledging him. 

“You look beautiful,” he finally smiled, hanging up to take in her full appearance. She felt like she was glowing under his gaze. 

"Thank you, Dr. Daddy," she grinned, hands clasped excitedly on her knees. "You look very handsome today."

"You think so," he teased resting his elbows on his desk. His hands folded under his chin as he leaned forward. "You had a long night. How's my Buttercup feeling today?"

"Buttercup misses you terribly," she pouted fussing with the hem of her skirt. Erik held his arms out, gesturing for her to come nearer until she was close enough for him to gently tug her arm. Pushing from the desk in his rolling leather chair, he pulled O'Shea into his lap, both of her legs turned to hang over the side of the chair while she clung to his shoulder. 

He trailed his index down the smooth skin of her arm. The alluring scent of her perfume cradled his nose. 

"I missed you too, Buttercup.. I missed all of you." O’Shea melted, allowing the feel of his body to warm her to the core. She inhaled, letting his signature Coach cologne dance throughout her senses.

"Speaking of.. we've been putting off this discussion. How do you feel about extending sessions indefinitely?"

“Indefinitely?”

“Yes. I picked up some new methods I’d like to try with you, but only if you’re ready to move forward.” O’Shea pondered a bit before nodding her agreeance.

“So how was your trip?” O’Shea asked as she curled up into a ball in his lap, much like a baby kitten. She watched his lips intensely as he licked them before beginning his explanation. He told her of the great palace and his royal lineage and of the delicious foods Wakanda has to offer, more specifically, the ice cream.

“Y’all have ube?”

“Mmhm and taro too,” he replies, noting how wide her eyes got. He learned of her obsession with the purple goodness on one of his random ice cream pop ups to the shop while she and Skylar were working.

“Is there Disney in Wakanda?”

“Not yet, but my little cousin is working on it,” he replies with a chuckle, brushing a curl behind her ear. “How were things around here while I was gone?”

“Quiet and a little boring, however, Skylar did get me into ganja yoga which is surprisingly really fun.” “Weed and yoga? Yeah, that sounds like a pretty good time,” Erik remarks as he stared down into her brown orbs. He’d forgotten how easy it was to get lost in them and for a second he was stuck staring. That was until her smile stretched into a sly smirk.

“What’s so funny?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“You. You do this thing where you just stare at me and it used to make me think I had something on my face, but then Skylar told me that that’s what you do when you really like someone.” It was his turn to smile now, more so from embarrassment that his own best friend had revealed part of his secret.

“Wooow, it really be your own people,” he says, burying his nose in her hair. 

“So you do like me,” she exclaims, sitting up so that their eyes meet one another. Erik rubs his neck nervously before lifting his head to match her gaze.

“It’s complicated.” “Explain.” “It’s a long story.”

“I got time.”

“How did I know you would say that?”

“Because aside from Skylar, I’m the most difficult person in your life yet you trust me with your most guarded secrets.” “You sound pretty confident, Ms. Powell,” he says, growling her name lowly as a means of throwing her off her game. It worked briefly, but she quickly regained her resolve and moved to sit in front of him atop his desk while he explained his answer.” “Spill it, Stevens.” He watched her intently as she crossed her arms over her chest and waited for him to continue. He watched her eyes and the rest of her body language waiting for a change, any indication that she wasn’t being genuine in wanting to know about his past, but there was none.

“I’ve only ever felt this strongly about two women in my life. The first was a girl I grew up with back in Wakanda. Her name as Lynda. She was the daughter of one of the merchant tribesmen and at the time, the center of my universe. We did everything together and had planned to marry one another. Our families approved, so in my eyes, things were good. Well, of course, I chose to go to college here in the states and we didn’t talk as often, but I still had it made up in my mind that we were gonna be together.” O’Shea listened intently as he continued his story.

 “So fast forward to Christmas break of my freshman year. I’m excited to see her again so I’m calling and texting her, but I’m not getting any response. I chunked it up to her being busy because Christmas is a big deal in Wakanda. When I got there, however, I found out that she’s married to a member of another tribe and she’s pregnant with his child. I was crushed and for a while, I ain’t gonna lie, I was a dog ass nigga. I wanted to make other women feel the way Lynda made me feel. Looking back, I know I was trash as fuck for that, but that’s how I felt in the moment. After that I stopped going home and a few months later I got a call from my aunt saying that she had passed away giving birth to her daughter, which she named Ericka.”

“I’m so sorry, Erik.”

“Don’t be, shit happens. I said all of that to say this, yes, I feel very strongly towards you and I want to give us a shot to see if we’d work out, but I’m also extremely apprehensive because of past experiences as well as the parameters of practice. I'm sure you see where I'm going with this.. Anyway, I'm not comparing you to Lynds and I'm not saying that you’d do the same, but I don’t want to make myself that vulnerable again only to have the same thing happen, you know?”

“I understand that completely,” O’Shea says with a nod as she gazes into Erik’s eyes. The sincerity and vulnerability in his eyes was something she hadn’t seen before and she was happy that he felt comfortable enough to reveal that side of him to her.

“One question?”

“Yes ma’am?”

“You said she named the child Ericka. Is she..?”

“I’d asked, but her father was adamant that she wasn’t. I’ve seen pictures and in my personal opinion, she’s the splitting image of her mother.” “Did you ask for a DNA test?” “The merchant tribe doesn’t believe in them. My aunt watches over her, though. Just in case she is one of us. Now, your turn. How do you feel?” O’Shea was taken aback at how quickly he changed the subject, but answered anyway.

“I feel a lot of things, to be honest. Having someone to acknowledge my little personalities and cater to each of their individual needs is something I’ve never experienced in a relationship and I’m happy that you were the first to not only accept them, but nurture them as well. I realize that it’s your job as a therapist, but it means a lot to me. On the same hand, I’m also apprehensive. Skylar said that you could get in trouble if the board found out about us.” Erik sighed softly. It was something he’d been considering ever since he realized that his feelings for O’Shea were more than professional and weren’t going away.

“I’ve thought about that and I have a solution. I’d stop being your therapist.” “But what about my treatment?” “You’d still be getting it, just not from me. Well not from me on paper.” “So you’d list Skylar as my therapist?”

“Yes, and she’d do the same for Oya if the two of them became serious. Small loopholes to ensure happiness,” he said with a wide grin which O’Shea happily returned.

“So what happens now?” she asked, sliding back into his lap.

“How about some ice cream?”

"As soon as I ask you ten more questions. So, you sound unsure of whether or not you're the father. Is that it? Or will you stay close?" 

"Partially, yes. However, I won’t continue to impede on their culture. As I said, my family does keep an eye on her in the event that she is mine.”

"Did you ever wish she was yours? Do you want children?" O'Shea asked. Erik sighed, thinking before he spoke. It was a complex question.

"Yes, when I was still in love with Lynda. Yes, when I was bitter. I wanted her to be mine out of spite, although I know that was childish. I actually wouldn't mind having kids and if something happened to her father, the merchant, I'd probably try again to see about having her tested. But that's really neither here nor there. She has a father."

O'Shea hesitated trying to think of another question as Erik waited patiently.

"No more questions?" He asked. O'Shea looked deeply into his eyes before standing from his lap.

"One more. Can we make it Coldstones?"

TAG LIST:

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[eldritch-keys]

College Au part 2

Surprise!!! @doctorcurrent I finished this second round of headcanons. I hope you like them! I made them a little longer and more detailed. Here they are down below!

Every week on Sunday, Alastair, Isabeau, Lafayette, Galahad, Percival, and Nikola all play dungeons and dragons. Their adventures exactly mirror the events of the game. The reason why ‘Percival’ was ‘killed’ in-game was that he had a back injury resulting in being unable to play on Sundays for the past weeks he had to heal. As for Alastair being ‘killed’ as well was because he had advanced finals and required all of his time in order to pass.

Though Lakshmi, Isabeau, and Saoirse have mostly the same classes they all have at least different extracurricular activities

Lakshmi is part of the debate club and works at a part-time Indian cuisine place. Isabeau, Galahad, Saoirse all get discounts. Everyone else suffers.

Isabeau has a chess club and likes gymnastics. It’s also fun to note she is known to work at an independent art house cinema called The Attic. Again, discounts for friends but everyone else suffers

Saoirse is a chemist enthusiast, and 100% a bookworm. She’s either reading on the job at the college bookstore, or in the library nonstop. The books she prefers are classics, about math, maybe poetry and horror.

Isi likes to take trains to places. It’s the only way she’s ever relaxed and in a calm state of mind.

The college has a couple of rival colleges. One of them being the college in Ferelden and Saoirse happens to know the head of the school class president Danae Lavellan.

Every time any special moon happens, Saoirse will call on her godfather, who is not only a powerful half breed but also the head of a non-profits biker gang that is full of half breeds but more wiser and more kinder. They come whenever any types of moons (blood moon, harvest moon, eclipse moon the big stuff) so to patrol the grounds in case any rabid half breeds under the influence of the moons (Alastair is no exception, SUFFER BITCH!!) get out of control and wreak havoc. They’re older and have exceptional willpower due to extended years of practice when dealing with these special moons

Speaking of special moons, Alastair will wig the FUCK OUT on any special moon. Seriously no joke it takes huge anchor chains to keep this motherfucker chained in order to keep him contained. Unlike normal half breeds, he’s a pure one. And pure ones lose it worse than the normal. Everything is on hyper-drive. Ever had that one leg cramp (or two) in the middle of the night all of sudden? It’s like that but WORSE. It can happen at any time in the day, hence why when any special moon occurs, so he always takes the day off in school.

Saoirse is concerned that something is up, but never brings it up. However, she’s usually the one making all the puppy jokes much to Alastair’s disdain. Secretly though, he likes it. If only she truly knew...

The college also has its own little hangout area, with an independent band called Mordred and the Wolfmen. They do covers of songs and have their own variation of Rochester New York garbage plate, called the Rubbish dish. It’s also where the infamous pole dancing Alastair incident occurred. XD

The rubbish dish is a dish that while having similarities to the Garbage plate over in America but with British ingredients (if requested I’ll try and write a fictional variation, but I should warn you, I’ve never had a garbage plate). It’s very cheap and very affordable, as well as containing a lot of calories. It’s also Alastair’s favorite, though he’ll deny it due to having to be a ‘proper gentleman’. But hey, being a half breed, especially an elder does have its cons and not does a high metabolism come with that but as well. So...Big Wolf means big stomach which means big food.

The college used to have an interspecies program consisting of Vampires and Lycans however, due to the revelation of Hastings and his subsequent death, the number of half breed enrollment has been limited as a result. It’s only because there is the possibility that the killer is still at large and that other half breed students could be at risk so as a reference, during when Hastings was alive he killed four human women off campus but Hasting’s killer has killed at least 5 half breeds that have been confirmed. One has gone missing. (O.o) 

And on a lighter note, Alastair does visit Saoirse in the hopes of asking her out on a date whenever he purchases a book. Unfortunately, he’s only successful in purchasing a book because he’s too nervous

That’s all I’ve got. It’s been too long since the last one. This has been sitting on my computer for too long. Sorry for that, but school and ACT have been occupying my life as though I had been sent to hell. I’ll make no promises as to when the next one will come. Hopefully long. Now if you’ll excuse me, I gotta get my outline for the one-shot I got planned based on these headcanons for the Russian community over on vk.  See you in a few.

[thisweeksroommates]

Backpacker Brain: Cuba Flight

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So here I sit on my Cuba flight. I discovered upon a google search just 10 minutes prior to boarding that they may not have ATMs at the airport, and even if they do, US cards may not be accepted. I have 9 euros to my name as far as cash goes, but hey - it’ll work out, right? Or not? Can’t be fucked to care to be honest. There’s technically no where I need to be at all.

This flight is chasing the sun so no darkness will come, which I find aggressively agitating. What’s a flight without getting wasted and watching shit films on a tiny screen and some uncomfortable dangly neck naps in the dark? But all the same, I indulge in my favorite pastime here with a tiny bottle of grey goose in tow, which just so happened to be cheaper than the Johnny Walker I was eyeing at the Duty Free. On top on that, I’ve ordered a tiny bottle of prosecco with olives - it was a combo deal, so how was I to resist? The question is, how do I pour some vodka into this glass of prosecco without unearthing myself as a melancholic borderline alcoholic with a deeply unrefined palette? 

Egal.

Anyway, it’s in moments like this that I have the fun realization that probably I will end up alone. I often compare myself to other figures, and no matter how different we are, I ogle their depravity and simply assume I will meet their bar or anchor in below it.

I mean, for fuck’s sake - we’re on a flight to Cuba. No one is going alone, save for me and the sweet German woman beside me. It’s not her first time in Cuba, and how voluminously she describes the phenomena that is a friendly, overweight local woman chugging on cigars through a yellow smile. “It’s another world,” she says, in German, “it’s my world.” I smile and say to her reciprocally, in my best German accent, “then you must buy a house and live there.” She smiles and looks around the plane. “It’s not so full, there are empty rows.” I scan the surroundings and consider scooting into a row upon which I could sprawl out comfortably, though I know this would probably offend my new temporary best friend, so I decide against it. She intervenes, “are you flying alone?”

Her question makes me feel a bit on edge, but as a choke back a tangy circumference I am feeling in the mood to practice my German for what may be the last time in a while.

“Sure. I often travel alone,” I say, gasping out sour speckles of bubbles through an unintended click from my throat.

“Me too. I like it to be alone.”

I echo her sentiment, “Yes, it’s nice to meet new people - to have freedom.”

And shit. As I write this my current fix has run dry. And the sinking realization that traveling alone for me was probably always a means of escaping a disconnected reality in order to find common threads is pulling at my throat like a wire weapon. 

Traveling alone is so fucking easy. Being considerate and collective is what’s exhaustive. I hate being told I am brave for going it by my lonesome. Being alone is legitimately the most convenient thing you can do for yourself. To be completely honest, three years ago I was so confusedly and unjustly heartbroken over some Brazilian concert pianist whose name hasn’t expelled off my tongue in what feels like lifetimes that I hit a point where I just didn’t give a shit which way the winds blew. So when I walk home alone in the dodgy side of town or drunkenly put my thumb up for a hitchhike experience that I almost never seem to achieve, or strike up conversations with strangers at stations - it’s not purely because I am this vivacious little gem of a human, though it’s not not because of that. Really, I just lost my inhibitions. But the reality is, that is not at all a pleasant platform on which to dance and tousle for long.

I look up for a moment to form the opinion, “Jesus Christ Ricky and the Flash is a full-blown horror of a film”. Good thing there are at least 20 other relatively terrible films to choose from. I begin to scan the assortment. Anyways…

My half-hearted notions for the stellar romanticized experience of traveling solo are interrupted by visions of a handful of hot dudes with girlfriends. Everyone looks so happy and normal whilst they make their way to their destination. I remember crawling into the tiny pseudo, plastic bed with Matti on the overnight bus in Vietnam. He insisted I wouldn’t fit in this coffin, but I was insatiable in my quest to cuddle. I jetted over like a flying squirrel and nestled in just perfectly. I think that’s the memory I look back on most often with Matti, because he was laughing his velvety laugh with his cheerful squinty eyes, and I could feel his chest convulse with each release as I pressed into him while he threw his head back in laughter like fucking Chewbacca. I was so, so joyful in that moment and so proud, and I could feel it so authentically that our happiness was in a state of powerful exchange - not of give and take, not of push and pull, just cycling through in such a handsome, enthralling sense. But only just then, really. Just that one time probably… maybe another time somewhere. But let’s try to mute that.

And as I mean to mute it I realize, how that fuck could I ever feel that way again? I scoff to myself. I am beginning to hate the past. I glimpse out the airplane window and my blood boils at seeing a sunny sky still. These are nighttime thoughts. I anticipated the upset of the clouds remaining illuminated, but confronting it over and over is dragging sandpapers over my crawling skin. 

I pour the remaining grey goose into my empty prosecco cup. I try to be subtle, but I’m certain that everyone and their uncle sees, but not the sweet solo lady next to me. It’s her judgement I’d like most to go undiscerned. Yes, indeed, I am both classy and cool, and not at all a glisten of tragedy in any dexterous movement of mine. My eyes are welling up a bit as I type, as it’s been a while since i considered any of the lovely moments with that stupid bitchboy. I have blood scabs under my skin from playing the drums, I am picking at them incessantly out of nervousness as I deflect these adorable, ugly feelings. 

Girl On The Train, that seems like a more appropriate choice for viewing. 10 minutes in and I’m thinking of shower sex.                   

And shower sex in Hong Kong, at the backpackers. We were so drunk and insatiable, but was he only reflecting my character and complexes and concealing his own? Was I so different before him? I don’t think so, not much. I know he was different for me, but it was probably just temporary. I wonder if he still does all the cute things I found so endearing, prisms and mirrors of tendencies I probably initiated myself, voices of my own that he mimicked, cute phrases we’d drummed up together in half English and half German. I hate that idea. I hate so much the idea that he could be how he was with me with anyone else. But I also hate the idea of him being unchanged by me, or disinterested in being his best, with or without me. I think I hate that most. Or maybe I just hate all of it. I even hate thinking of it.

That’s it, dammit. I am so riddled with these vivid memories and thoughts up to the brim of the barrel, how could I possible find vacancy for anything else? I imagine myself in 20 years and have a disgusting notion that I will be this woman beside me, a lone wolf with anxiety about not being able to smoke for 11 and a half hours. She complains often about having to sit still, about how shallow the leg room is despite the fact that she too is petite like me. She orders too many processed snacks and drinks coffee before sinking into a nap. I imagine her in Cuba, too excited and too confident in her independence with an underlying emptiness all the same for not being able to share these visions and moments with another witness. It reminds me of me. She’s dozing off, but gripping onto the little tray table like it’s her confidant, she eyes the digital flight plan with the CGI airplane ominously scooting over the ocean and blinks infrequently. I can’t tell actually whether or not she’s asleep.

She is friendly with kind sunken eyes, but I don’t want to be her, nor do I want to be my other friend in Austin who is in her 30’s and revels in her colorful escapades with men from the era of her 20’s, but has ended up with so many troubles and unrealized diet goals that all she has to showcase in the present are pictures of her very ordinary dog and the occasional over-amplified story of a flirtation which never seems to materialize. Nor do I want to be the friend who is in her 40’s who resigned to end up alone only to meet her ‘person’, yet she was nearly unfaithful to him no less than a month ago. She confided in me about it and it fucked me up. She was my idol in a lot of ways, I thought that to end up like her would be a lovely finish to an overcomplicated but colorful life. Could I become all these things I don’t like due unto an undying aggression to savor more experiences and tap into every possibility that unfolds itself? Does it ever end? The questioning? The seeing? I see myself in every ugly trait I’ve ever seen in another person. I see my heartbreak in every expression of love that ever was. I see my pain in every happiness I realize. I hope that stops! Boy wouldn’t that be fun and fine. Change that plane of thinking. Get it? I made a plane pun from the sky, guy.

I still have a few quick swigs left from the mini grey goose bottle, but she’s awake now - my neighbor. And watching this bitch on Girl On The Train getting tanked is making me jealous and unsettled. AND PHEOBE FROM FRIENDS IS THERE! I’m ecstatic. So excited, in fact, that I’ve dropped my dumb plastic cup on the floor, and leaning over to grab it makes my favorite necklace sound off like a dog collar, waking up anyone who has ever craved rest in this world. People are standing around, I’ve never seen anything like it on a flight. I discretely (at least in my mind) pour the vodka into my sweet, now favorite plastic cup. We’ve been through so much together. The liquor looks like water and I am deeply pleased. I smile, even.

Somehow I have a ticker in my brain that reads ‘Matti matti matti’ - imagine that. Thinking of Matti? I never! Welp, Matti, I wanted you, really. But in retrospect, I may have just wanted to prove to myself that I could have it all, that I could tame and control something in a sphere of my reality that was chaotic and free and exuberant. I could have EVERYTHING I wanted, because I knew what to want, right? That didn’t work. Now I know not at all what I want, and thus can have nothing. That doesn’t work. I audibly chuckle to myself, shaking my head, rolling my eyes so far back you can see the whites. Well, not you specifically, as you are not the German lady next to me who is now letting her eyes widen as she scans the horizon as if she’s disoriented and disassociated. We make contact and I smirk at her weakly but genuinely, hopeful that she asserts that my eyes are watering due to a particularly traumatizing scene in this film rather than the process of excavating the hardened textures of the paintings in my mind which is currently underway. I break my glance and though I cannot hear it, I can see from my peripherals that she has let out a sigh and sets her head against the plastic wall. I feel warm inside as if my humanity soothed her for a moment and helped her to relax into rest.

Back to my head gallery. I think I want one person forever, but I don’t know if that’s in the cards for tiny little me. Maybe I’m being type-casted into the lives of these lovers, and once they’re over the spontaneity and crave stability I’ll always be tossed out to the curb with my dumb rucksack that can fit all the things I own, envying the roots planted through peoples feet around me as I think to myself, I too am a tree and I’d like very much to be planted, thanks. I tap on my former love’s glass window and say, “hey wait.. I can be planted.. just.. just dig a hole.. I’m small and it doesn’t need to be that wide or deep.. just enough to cast soil over my small person shoes.”

A stewardess passes by and brushes her hand against my shoulder as another stewardess approaches to bring water - a Godsend. It’s the closest thing I’ve had to intimacy since I hooked up my friend Dimitri in Switzerland on fucking Valentines Day, a session which ended in a complete disregard of what had happened, a session which I would hardly describe as intimate at all. And as I consider the physicality of what transpired, it’s undoubtedly decided that the stewardess is my closest ally after all.

I sit with my knees pressed against my chest on this sky death vessel shared with an endless array of strangers to cast eyes upon, and none of them know me just as I’m starting to think I know not myself. I tick the alert button over my seat as I’m craving more olives. Only olives of course. But that combo deal is a steal so best get them with a side of a tiny prosecco bottle and queue up a dark comedy, ideally a British one.

[news-mashable-yahoopartner-blog]

Why so many people type 'lol' with a straight face: An investigation

There's a deceitful act I've been engaging in for years—lol—but it wasn't until recently, while texting a massive rant to a friend, that I became aware of just how bad it is. 

I'd just sent an exhaustive recap of my nightmarish day when a mysteriously placed "lol" caught my eye. Not a single part of me had felt like laughing when I typed the message, yet I'd ended my massive paragraph with the words, "I'm so stressed lol."

I had zero recollection of typing the three letters, but there they were, just chilling at the end of my thought in place of a punctuation mark. I hadn't found anything funny, so why were they there? Unclear! I scrolled through my conversations and noticed "lol" at the end of nearly every message I’d sent — funny or not. That's when I realized how frequently and insincerely I use the initialism in messages. I was on auto-lol.

SEE ALSO: Crush Twitter proves that sometimes subtweets can be good

The next day, I arrived to work with a heightened sense of lol awareness and took note of my colleagues' behavior on Slack. They too, overused "lol" in conversation. Chrissy Teigen tweeted about the family hamster again? "Lol." Someone's selling a jean diaper? "Lol." Steve Buscemi's name autocorrected to Steph Buscemi? "Lol."

It was ubiquitous. And though some made audible chuckles at their desks throughout the day, the newsroom remained relatively silent. People were not laughing out loud whenever they said they were. It was all a sham!

As I'm sure is true with everyone, there are times when I'll type "lol" and smile, chuckle, or genuinely laugh out loud. But I'm also notoriously capable of assembling the three letters without moving a facial muscle.

Curious to know why so many of us insist on typing "lol" when we aren't laughing, I turned to some experts.

Why so serious? Lol.

Lisa Davidson, Chair of NYU's Department of Linguistics, specializes in phonetics, but she's also a self-proclaimed "prolific user" of "lol" in texts. When I approached Davidson in hopes of uncovering why the acronym comes out of people like laugh vomit, she helpfully offered to analyze her own messaging patterns.

On its surface, Davidson suspects "the written and sound structure" of "lol" is pleasing, and the symmetry of how it's typed or said likely adds to that appeal. The 'l' and 'o' are also right next to each other on a keyboard, she notes, which makes for "a very efficient acronym." In taking a deeper look, however, she recognized several other reasons one might overdo it with the initialism.

Davidson often sees "lol" used in conjunction with self-deprecating humor, or to poke fun at someone in a bad situation, like "if someone says they're stuck on the subway, and you text back 'lol, have fun with that.'" And in certain cases, she notes, "lol" can be included "to play down aggressiveness, especially if used in conjunction with something that might come across as critical or demanding."

"For example, if you're working on a project with a co-worker, and they save a file to the wrong place in a shared Drive, you [might] say something like, 'Hey, you put that file in the Presentations folder, lol. Next time can you save it to Drafts?'" 

Extremely relatable.

Admitting we have a problem

After hearing from Davidson, I set out to analyze a few of my own text messages. I found several of her interpretations applicable and even discovered a few specific to my personal texting habits.

When telling my friend about my stressful day, for instance, I realized I'd included the lol that anchored my message for comfort, like a nervous giggle. In my mind, it meant I was keeping things light, which must mean everything's OK. In many cases, I also add "lol" to a message to make it sound less abrasive. Without it, I fear a message comes across as cold or incomplete.

On occasion, I'll send single "lol" texts to acknowledge I've received a message, but have nothing else to add to the conversation. And as much as it pains me to admit, the lol is sometimes there as a result of laziness. I experience moments of pure emotional exhaustion in which I'd rather opt for a short and sweet response than fully articulate my thoughts. In those cases, "lol" almost always delivers.

A poor soul removing his "lol" mask after a long day of pretending to laugh.

Image: bob al-greene / mashable

The realization that "lol" has become a sort of a conversational crutch for me is somewhat disturbing, but I can take a shred of solace knowing I'm not alone. As previously noted, many of my colleagues are also on auto-lol. (If you need some proof, 3,662 results popped up when I searched the term in Mashable Slack, and those are just the lols visible to me.)

When I brought up the topic of lol addiction in the office, offenders quickly came forward in an attempt to explain their personal behavior. Some said they use it as a buffer word to fill awkward silences, while others revealed they consider it a kinder alternative to the dreaded "k."

Several people admitted they call upon "lol" in times when they feel like being sarcastic or passive aggressive, whereas others use it to avoid confrontation, claiming it "lessens the blow of what we say." 

"I've also noticed a lot with my friends that if they say something that creates a sense of vulnerability they'll use 'lol' or 'haha' to diminish its importance," another colleague noted.

While there are a slew of deeper meanings behind "lol," sometimes the lack of audible laughter simply comes down to self-control. You can use the term to communicate you genuinely think something's funny, but you might not be in a physical position to laugh about it — kind of how people type "I'M SCREAMING" and do not scream.

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Understanding the auto-lol epidemic

Nearly everyone I spoke to believed the auto-lol epidemic is real. But how exactly we as a society arrived at this place of subconscious laughter remains a mystery.

Though "lol" reportedly predates the internet, a man named Wayne Pearson claims to have invented the shorthand in the '80s as a way to express laughter online. As instant messaging and texting became more popular, so did "lol," and at some point, its purpose pivoted from solely signifying laughter to acting as a universal text response.

Caroline Tagg, a lecturer in Applied Linguistic and English Language at Open University in the UK, favors emoji over "lol," but as the author of several books about digital communication — including Discourse of Text Messaging: Analysis of SMS Communication — she's very familiar with the inclusion of laughter in text.

"Over time, its use has shifted, and it has come to take on other meanings — whether that's to indicate a general mood of lightheartedness or signal irony," Tagg confirms. "These different meanings emerge over time and through repeated exposure to the acronym."

In some cases, the decision to include "lol" in a message might be stylistic — "an attempt to come across in a particular way, to perform a particular persona, or to adopt a particular style." 

Ultimately, Tagg believes everyone perceives "lol" in text differently, and makes the conscious decision to use the initialism for various reasons, which are usually influenced by "conversational demands."

As for the increase in frequency over time, she noted that if you engage in conversation with someone who's a fan of saying "lol," you could wind up using the term more often. "Generally speaking ... people who are in regular contact with each other do usually develop shared norms of communication and converge around shared uses," she said. 

Think of it like a vicious cycle of contagious text laughter.

Embarking on an lol detox

Now that I'm aware of my deep-seated lol dependency, I'm trying my best to change it. I encourage anyone who thinks they might be stuck in an lol rut to do the same.

The way I see it we have two options: Type lol less, or laugh out loud more. The latter sounds pretty good, but if you're committed to keeping your Resting Text Face, here are some tips.

Try to gradually wean yourself off your reliance on lol by ending messages with punctuation marks instead, using a more specific emoji in place of your laughter, or making an effort to better articulate yourself. Instead "lol," maybe, "omg that's hilarious," for example. 

At the very least, try changing up your default laugh setting once in a while. Different digital laughs carry different connotations. If you're ever in doubt about which to use, you can reference this helpful guide:

LOL/HAHA — I really think this thing is hilarious as shown by my caps!

Lol — Bitch, please OR I have nothing to say.

lollllllllll — Yo, that's pretty funny.

el oh el — So unfunny I feel the need to type like this.

haha — Funny but not worth much of my time.

hahahaha — Funny and worth my time!

hah/ha — This is not amusing at all and I want to make that known.

HA — Yes! Finally!

Lmao/Lmfao — When something evokes more comedic joy than "lol" does.

LMAO/LMFAO — Genuine, impassioned laughter, so strong you feel as though your rear end could detach from your body.

Hehehe — You are softly giggling, were just caught doing something semi-suspicious or sexting, or are a small child or a serial killer. This one really varies.

heh — Sure! Bare minimum funny, I guess! Whatever!

In very special cases, consider clarifying that you are literally laughing out loud. As someone who's received a few "Actually just laughed out loud" messages in my lifetime, I can confirm that they make me feel much better than regular lol messages.

One of the major reasons we rely so heavily on representations like "lol" in digital interactions is because we're desperately searching for ways to convey emotions and expressions that can easily be picked up on in face-to-face conversations. It works well when done properly, but we've abused lol's polysemy over the years. After all the term has done for us, it deserves a break.

If we make the conscious effort to scale back, we might be able to prevent "lol" from losing its intended meaning entirely.

WATCH: How scientists are working to prevent your body from being 'hacked'

[theartificialdane]

Galactica, part 237

In this Violet thinks, Courtney goes for a run, Fame get’s a text and we go to a special concert!

Thank you @veronicasanders @samrull and @toriibelledarling <3

“Good girl.” Violet smiled as she gently wiped Frida’s paws in a soft towel, the damp november earth sticking to her puppy. It was early morning, the sun barely up and Violet and Frida had just returned from their walk, Sutan most likely still in bed. Violet opened the door to the house, slowly creepy inside with Frida in her arms, making her way upstairs to the bedroom where her boyfriend was snoring away, Violet laughing quietly, even though she was still slightly annoyed from the day before, but Sutan sleeping like that was always a treat. She had tried to tell Sutan many times that he always snored whenever he got drunk, but he never believed her. Violet considered filming him for a moment, but decided not to as she put Frida down, the little dog happily finding the basket they had brought up for her. Violet slipped back into bed as well, crawling underneath Sutan’s arm, silently deciding to herself that he properly hadn’t meant anything by it the day before. She was an adult, she could stand up to herself, she didn’t need his help. Violet ran a hand over Sutan’s arm, the tattoos there so familiar to her, like old friends.

“What are you doing?” Violet could sense Sutan waking up, his voice low and deep with sleep.

“Nothing…”

“Doesn’t feel like nothing.”

Violet’s hand was still touching her boyfriend’s skin as she still reeled from the day before and how Sutan had taken her opportunity to stand up for herself away from her just like that. “Are you excited about Shane’s concert?”

“Very excited.” Sutan smiled and brushed a little of Violet’s hair away, the girl looking up. “You’re cold.. Were you outside?”

“Make love to me.” The words spilled out, Violet not expecting them at all, both of them staring at each other.

They stared at each other, Violet blushing, shame washing over her, and then, he laughed, a warm, kind sound, the man pulling her into a lazy, wonderful kiss, Sutan manhandling her like she weighed nothing at all, Violet soon laying on her back, her hands above her head, Sutan smiling like the chesire cat as he leaned down, their lips almost touching.

“Your wish is my command my lady.”

The glint in Sutan’s eyes made Violet smile, the tenderness in his expression, the careful way he pushed up her dress, his hot breath in her ear, his warm body, the heavy comforter creating a world where it was only them and no one else, their bodies rocking together, their tongues dancing, Sutan’s hand in her hair anchoring her as Sutan came, his seed filling her, satisfying her, the physical mark calming her mind in a way nothing else could. She was still sad, still upset that Sutan so clearly didn’t believe in her abilities, and her will to make her own way in the world, that she didn’t need someone asking for favours on her behalf and protection her, but they would work on it. They had to, because that’s what you do when you love someone.

***

Courtney could feel her calf muscles burning as she jogged down the block, sweat dripping down her back, picking up speed in a futile attempt to clear her mind. Fat raindrops began to fall, hitting her face and hair. She lowered her head and continued, unable to get rid of the nagging thoughts that had been plaguing her.

She knew, when she moved in with Bianca in January, that it was setting up a very specific power dynamic. She’d gone willingly, gladly, into that dynamic. But then as the months wore on, as their relationship evolved and grew more serious, she’d found herself feeling more and more regretful about the way things started. Because at first, she really thought that they’d be able to grow together, into something more egalitarian, and eventually Bianca would respect her as an equal partner.

But as time went on, she found herself doubting that more and more. Thinking that not only was Bianca unable to ever see her as an equal, but maybe she didn’t want to. And where did that leave her? Sure, she could go on the way they were now. She’d be loved and cherished and taken care of, for as long as Bianca wanted her, which could very well be forever…but would this anxiety ever go away? This feeling that she was, ultimately, a very expensive and prized possession?

As the rain came down harder, pounding down onto her back and shoulders, drenching her hair, she bit her lip and tried to shake the thoughts out of her mind once more. The thoughts that she wished would just go away, so that she could return to the bliss she used to feel, the hopeful, happy, wondrous bliss before it all started to get so fucking complicated.

***

“Did you break something last night?”

Ruby looked at the breakfast spread that had been put out in front of her on the bed, Max sitting with Ruth in his lap, the cat purring happily.

“Should I?” Max smiled as he picked up the teapot he had forced Ruby to buy weeks before at an antique store in Brooklyn that Max had made her go to as he was searching for graffiti

“No one has ever made me breakfast in bed before…” Ruby picked a cup and held it up, Max pouring for her. Ruby still didn’t like tea very much, but it had become so associated in her mind with Max that the bitter mudwater wasn’t all that bad. “Are you sure you’re not apologizing for something?”

Max laughed, the man getting underneath the covers with her, Ruth running off, offended that Max had dared to move away. “I promise.”

“You’re too perfect elfman. Way too perfect.”

***

Bianca sat at her parents’ kitchen table, arms crossed, tapping her feet restlessly, staring at the two phones in front of her. She hated, fucking HATED, when Courtney went out running without taking her phone. And today she was in an unfamiliar city. And it was raining. And what if she got lost or forgot their address, or got HURT? Did she have cash on her? Bianca let out an aggravated groan and stood up so quickly that she nearly toppled the chair.

“She’ll be fine, Bianca. Chill out,” Vanessa said blandly.

Bianca walked to the door for the 80th time, staring out the window, her breath fogging up the glass. “Maybe I should take dad’s car out…”

“Maybe you should date a grown-up,” Liz snarked, pouring herself a glass of orange juice.

“Maybe you should shut the fuck up!” Bianca snapped back at her, whipping around.

“Bianca!” Aida exclaimed. “Watch your mouth!”

“Ugh!” Bianca stalked out of the room, flopping into the couch beside her dad, brother and Vanessa’s husband, Carlos, who were watching some sports bullshit on the TV. Bianca had no idea what, and she didn’t care, but she needed to get away from the oppressive, judgmental energy of her sisters. She clutched a throw pillow in her lap, fingers digging into it tightly, trying to quell her strong desire to punch Elizabeth right in the face.

She leapt up in relief at the sound of the front door opening, grabbing a blanket from the back of the couch and rushing to the foyer.

Courtney was dripping wet from head to toe, obviously having been caught in the storm mid run. “Oh my god, baby, are you okay?!” Bianca exclaimed. “I was worried sick!” She tried to wrap the blanket around Courtney’s shoulders, but the blonde pushed her away slightly.

“She’s not kidding,” Liz added, appearing in the kitchen doorway. “She’s been stomping around her for the better part of an hour worrying about you getting lost and melting away or some shit.”

“I’m fine,” Courtney said. “I just need a shower.”

“You forgot your phone–” Bianca started, following her.

Courtney whirled around. “Yeah, and I survived! People lived without cell phones for thousands of years! I’m not an idiot, I know how to hail a cab!”

“I’m just saying, maybe you should go running in an unfamiliar city without–”

“I’m not gonna stop exercising because it makes you uncomfortable! And it really doesn’t help when you treat me like a fucking child.” Courtney started to climb the stairs.

Bianca glanced over at Liz, who was still in the doorway, an infuriating smirk on her face. “Shut the fuck up, Elizabeth,” she said.

“Hey B, if you want her to stop exercising, just marry her,” said Carlos, earning laughs and high-fives from the other guys.

Bianca shook her head. If only it were that easy…

*** Fame had picked up her phone the moment she stepped inside her house, Sutan’s words from the night before still ringing in her ears. Raja and Raven had dropped her off, her friend giving her a sweet kiss and Fame knew she had looked utterly devastated since Raven didn’t even react, the faint ghost of Raja’s lips against her own still clinging to her skin as she poured herself a glass of wine. That had been hours ago, and here she was, sitting on her couch, an empty bottle of wine on the table in front of her, and just like the bottle, Fame felt empty, like she’d never be full again. She knew she was being a bitch, knew she was pushing everyone in her life away, knew that Raja was growing tired, that Bianca didn’t need or want her, that her assistant absolutely hated her, and normally none of that would matter since she had Patrick, her husband that was always there at the end of the day, but now, she had nothing. Fame didn’t even feel the tears until she was crying. She felt the phone buzz in her hand and looked down, trying to figure out what it meant.

PATRICK: I hope you had a good Thanksgiving. It feels strange to be here without you. I’m sorry that things are so…I’m just sorry. I should probably not be sending this but you know how heavily I drink when I’m with my brothers. Anyway. Have a good night, Fame.

Her pulse quickened. It was the kindest word she’d heard from since before he’d left, and she couldn’t help but have a glimmer of hope. She began to type out a reply, but her fingers shook. As she drowned the rest of her wine, the liquid sticky on her tongue, she looked up at the empty wine bottle, deciding that she needed something stronger.

Fame walked over to the bar and poured a generous amount of bourbon into one of Patrick’s highball glasses. She attempted to slug it down quickly, wincing as it burned her throat. How dare Patrick send her that text, as if all they were having but a minor disagreement, and not a divorce she didn’t ask for?! By the time she’d managed to choke down all of the liquor, her cheeks were red and her head was feeling slightly fuzzy. She stumbled back to her phone on the sofa, calling Patrick quickly before she lost her nerve.

“Hello?”

“Wh-?” Fame had just been about to give Patrick a piece of her mind, to tell him what she was really thinking, how angry and betrayed and furious she was with the fact that he had left her, how much she missed his stupid, sorry ass, but the voice on the phone didn’t belong to her husband at all. “Who is this?”

“Fame! How lovely to hear your voice. We missed you dreadfully at dinner yesterday.” Fame felt her stomach sink, by some cruel luck of fate she had gotten Patrick’s mom on the phone, the woman not finding it weird at all that she had answered her adult son’s phone.

“Oh…yes, hello, Joan. How are you?” Fame tried to sound normal, choking back her tears, over-enunciating her words so as not to slur.

“And how are you coping, dear? You know, with everything??”

“… What…um…do you…?”

“Now, now, we’ve known each other a long time, Fame. Let’s not pretend. We know all about the divorce. I have friends in New York, too, you know.”

Fame could feel her heart leap into her throat.

“We’re going to make sure Patrick sues you for everything, you know.”

“… Excuse me?”

“That silly little fashion house of yours. We both know you would have never gotten it off the ground without Patrick’s help.”

“That company is my life’s work.” Fame stood up, beginning to pace the floor, anger rushing through her.

“Of course, dear heart, he won’t leave you destitute! He’s not a monster! But the days of private jets all over the world and and a bottomless hedge fund are over for you, I’m afraid. So it might be wise for you to remember where you came from, and exactly who you have to thank for your illustrious career. Goodnight, Fame. And you’d do well to leave Patrick to enjoy the rest of the holiday in peace.”

With that, silence. Fame stared at the phone, tears coursing down her cheeks. She’d always known that Patrick’s mother was capable of being cold and ruthless, but it hadn’t ever been turned on her, not like that. She tried to breathe deeply, lying down on the sofa. Charles walked over to lick her cheeks, and somehow that made everything so much worse, grief settling deep into her bones. How the fuck was she supposed to survive this?

***

COURTNEY: Ben, you know I love you, but can you please stop wearing my clothes to gigs? You’re ruining them. They don’t fit you.

BEN: Are you calling me FAT?

COURTNEY: YOU ARE A SIX FOOT TALL MAN

BEN: You rude bitch. For that I’m stealing this little silver frock with the open back…it looks better on me anyway, your chest is too flat.

COURTNEY: Ben. I’m not in the fucking mood for this.

BEN: Uh oh. Meeting the in-laws didn’t go so well?

COURTNEY: We’re on the way to the airport. I’ll tell you all about it when we get home.

BEN: That good?

COURTNEY: Have booze and chocolate ready.

BEN: #YIKES

*

ADORE: So did my sisters destroy your relationship?

COURTNEY: Funny

ADORE: Seriously. You alright?

COURTNEY: Well, let’s see. I’m apparently a gold-digging slut who’s not special enough for Bianca, not old enough to be taken seriously, and not smart enough to remember an address.

ADORE: Okay but other than that, was it fun?

COURTNEY: Super fun

ADORE: Maddie says that her classmates are gonna be soooooooo jealous. Her snap story is off the chain.

COURTNEY: I’m a big hit with the under 10 crowd.

ADORE: Know your demographics!

COURTNEY: Can we please go dancing like, the second I land?

ADORE: Sure thing, boo

***

The bar was way, way too classy.

No, calling it a bar didn’t feel right. It was a club, an exclusive jazz club in Manhattan and before going backstage, Shane already saw some people wearing actual suits, ordering 30 dollar glasses of whisky. He clutched his violin tighter in his hand, accepting any comfort he could get, but honestly wanting to just lie down and count cracks in the ceiling or obsessively wonder if the shirt he was wearing was appropriate for the setting. The worst thing was, the stage was being set for them; they were just supposed to walk out and, like professional musicians they obviously weren’t, find their way around in seconds and just start playing.

“I think this is the nicest place we’ve ever played.” Raga offered Shane a beer with a wide grin on his face. At least he was in a good mood, the words “anxiety” and “stress” being foreign to him tonight since he was way too excited by his girlfriend being back from her Japan holiday and finally supporting him during the show. Shane had expected the bar to be emptier so soon after Thanksgiving, but he hadn’t been right at all.

“It is, isn’t it? I miss Brooklyn though.” Ruby fluffed her hair up, for some mysterious reason drinking water instead of her usual beer.

There was nothing to do but sit down and wait, so Shane did, gulping down his beer and wishing it could take the edge off at least a tiny bit. He was mentally going over all the notes he was going to play when the door opened and a tall, fair haired man peeked in, smiling timidly and looking straight at Ruby.

“Max!” The girl grinned brightly, getting up in a flash and running to the boy to hang herself around his neck for a hug. “You came!”

“I asked you if I could myself, don’t you remember?” Max kissed the top of Ruby’s hair, keeping her tucked against his side as he greeted Shane and Raga. “Good luck tonight, guys. The club is already packed.

“You know I’ll only be looking at you, right?” Ruby looked up at Max with starry eyes, reaching out to run a hand against the side of his face.

“Ugh, you guys are so sickly sweet I’ll have to check my blood for diabetes tomorrow.” Raga quipped, making Ruby turn to glare at him.

“Says a guy with Evah’s lipstick all over his face.” Raga rolled his eyes, clearly not falling for Ruby’s taunting. He had only just sent his girlfriend out of the backstage area.

“Oh fuck. Are you kidding me? A little help here, guys?”

The stage call came before Shane was ready. Would he ever have been ready? Probably not.

***

“Come on, Betty, we’re gonna be late!” Violet didn’t whine, but Betty was pretty sure the woman had basically just done that, no matter how much she would later deny it.

“I have no idea why I ever said yes to going with you, it’s like the rule of the universe that it’s physically impossible to be on time when going with you!” Betty tried to avoid the mud while Violet nearly dragged her towards the entrance, their steps turning into leaps.

“You’re the one who wanted to stop for coffee.”

Betty looked down at the Starbucks cup in her hands and tossed it in the nearest trashcan, getting rid of the evidence. “And you’re the one who had me help you with your Marie Claire shit.”

“You volunteered.”

“Shut up. I can’t believe I’m going to miss the first number. Shane must be freaking out.”

Violet pulled the door to the bar open, holding it for Betty while they slipped in, looking for familiar faces around or a free table they could occupy. Betty rolling her eyes when she saw Max and Sutan sitting at a table, but they had saved a place for her, and that was all that mattered, Violet giving her boyfriend a hug and a kiss like she hadn’t seen him in months, even though Betty knew that had just driven down from Long Island together.

“Is everyone ready to get their drink on or what?”

[mylifeasevelyn]

Baby steps

I settled down a twisted up frown disguised as a smile, well, you would have never known. I had it all but not what I wanted 'cause hope for me was a place uncharted and overgrown. You'd make your way in, I'd resist you just like this. You can't tell me to feel. The truth never set me free. So, I did it myself... You can't be too careful anymore when all that is waiting for you won't come any closer. You've got to reach out a little more, more, more... Open your eyes like I opened mine, it's only the real world. A life you will never know. Shifting your weight to throw off the pain. Well, you can ignore it but only for so long. You look like I did, you resist me just like this. You can't tell me to heal. And it hurts remembering how it felt to shut down... You can't be too careful anymore when all that is waiting for you won't come any closer. You've got to reach out a little more, more, more...

The truth never set me free The truth never set me free The truth never set me free So, I'll do it myself...

Hello dear stranger, it’s me, Evelyn. First off, happy new year to you, reading this post. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to type ‘cause… well, I’m not the most decisive person out there, you know? Part of me wanted to type about the fucked up stuff that’s been happening in the background, but! After careful consideration, I’ll focus on what “normal” Evelyn would type. In other words, I don’t want the things (people really) that hurt me to be ever so present on this post in particular. So! Without further ado, here it goes…

As of now, I find myself lost in my roots, so to speak… without any poetic decoration, I’m at my parents, doing my duty of daughter. And if you haven’t guessed by now, dear stranger, I’m quite the loner. I was unintentionally raised that way, so much that now I can’t really stand being with people who I barely have something in common other that shared DNA. Man, I sound like a bitch, but that’s the way it is with my family. Cold and distant. A civilized relationship at best… *pain starts crippling in*… I set myself up in order to come here and not dwell on traumatic events. It’s not easy, but! It’s possible. Throughout the years I’ve learned about the things that trigger my anxiety and I try my best to distract myself as quick as I can. For example, as I’m typing this, I’ve got my headphones on and I’m listening to 976-evil by Deftones. For every ship, there has to be an anchor, and mine’s always been music or someone who inspires me to be better. But yeah, it’s mostly music. And this “he” individual I mentioned in The mask has left the picture now and I’m way better off without him.

I’m sorry about the rant but I honestly didn’t know how to truly start this post. Now that I warmed up (it’s been a while since my last post, I know, I know), let me tell you about all these good things that I want to focus on.

2017 was a year of growth. Little did I know that in order for me to move on from the many things and people who were/are hurting me, I basically needed to grow up. Whoooaaa oh shit. You see, most of the traumatic events I went through happened when I was a child. And, in a way, most of my fears come from my inner child. I truly needed to set apart “my child self” from the mature woman I am now. And that, my dear stranger, was the thing that made me heal the most these past twelve months. I had to grow up and become the woman I am now in order to see things differently. Holy shit, who would’ve known? Even though I’m in a much better place now, the one thing that still haunts me are my nightmares… I hate them. They catch me off guard every time… but they are rare, so it’s not that bad anymore.

Today I stumbled upon a thought: “if only I’d grown up in a different place or with a different family… man, I’d be this mellow person that I know I am deep down. No trauma. No pain. Just this peace of mind that I’m now starting to find.” But hey, the past is done with me. I’m stronger than ever now and I’ve learnt a lot. I guess that’s what happens when you’re born backwards, you live all the hard stuff first and then you’re out there living life feeling empowered af. Right? Whatever.

As I’ve said on previous posts, I’m more in tune with my dark side and that’s helped me tremendously. Rejecting this part of me that carries all the bad memories was never gonna work. By accepting and understanding this part of me made all the difference in the world. Again, another sign of maturity. Oh shiiit. Who’s dat girl? Lala lala lala lala lalalalala🎵

Another good thing that I did for myself this past year was art. Yes. I focused a bit more on my artistic side. For as long as I can remember, I always enjoyed painting and drawing and doing all sorts of artistic stuff. And, I’ve never really done art as a thing, you know what I mean? So yeah, this year I was determined to have my art in some gallery out there. And I did. Man, that was one of the most rewarding moments of my life. I created something that I was very proud of and I got the best feedback I could’ve ask for. The response to what I created blew me away. A lot of people were intrigued and wanted to know more about the creative process and I gladly talked everyone through the entire process. It was fuuun, to say the least.

Oh, shit! Another thing I almost forgot to mention. Yoga. Yes! For so many years I didn’t do yoga because of my back injuries, but when I heard about Rachel Brathen’s story about yoga and her own back problems, I was inspired to give it a shot, and I did. So worth it. Yoga has definitely strengthen my mind and my body. Most importantly, yoga is one of those activities that are most definitely in tune with my soul. I’m a peaceful being regardless of my anxiety. So, hooray!

Ok, there’s plenty of other things that I did that filled me with both joy and pride, but I don’t wanna pinpoint anything else. I guess that the point of this post is to remind myself and everyone reading this that it’s okay to live your truth, your dreams, anything that brings you peace, no matter what. If you wanna grab a boat and go live on a fucking island, do it. If you wanna leave the city and move to a cottage in the woods, then fucking go for it. Fear isn’t an excuse. Hell, excuses aren’t an option. That’s it. All it takes is one decision, a lot of guts, a little vision to wave your worries and cares, goodbye. ‘Til next time, dear stranger.

Never give up, always fight.

Love,

Evelyn

[jillwheeler]

Backpacker Brain: Cuba Flight Feb 2017

So here I sit on my Cuba flight. I discovered upon a google search just 10 minutes prior to boarding that they may not have ATMs at the airport, and even if they do, US cards may not be accepted. I have 9 euros to my name as far as cash goes, but hey - it’ll work out, right? Or not? Can’t be fucked to care to be honest. There’s technically no where I need to be at all.

This flight is chasing the sun so no darkness will come, which I find aggressively agitating. What’s a flight without getting wasted and watching shit films on a tiny screen and some uncomfortable dangly neck naps in the dark? But all the same, I indulge in my favorite pastime here with a tiny bottle of grey goose in tow, which just so happened to be cheaper than the Johnny Walker I was eyeing at the Duty Free. On top on that, I’ve ordered a tiny bottle of prosecco with olives - it was a combo deal, so how was I to resist? The question is, how do I pour some vodka into this glass of prosecco without unearthing myself as a melancholic borderline alcoholic with a deeply unrefined palette?

Egal.

Anyway, it’s in moments like this that I have the fun realization that probably I will end up alone. I often compare myself to other figures, and no matter how different we are, I ogle their depravity and simply assume I will meet their bar or anchor in below it.

I mean, for fuck’s sake - we’re on a flight to Cuba. No one is going alone, save for me and the sweet German woman beside me. It’s not her first time in Cuba, and how voluminously she describes the phenomena that is a friendly, overweight local woman chugging on cigars through a yellow smile. “It’s another world,” she says, in German, “it’s my world.” I smile and say to her reciprocally, in my best German accent, “then you must buy a house and live there.” She smiles and looks around the plane. “It’s not so full, there are empty rows.” I scan the surroundings and consider scooting into a row upon which I could sprawl out comfortably, though I know this would probably offend my new temporary best friend, so I decide against it. She intervenes, “are you flying alone?”

Her question makes me feel a bit on edge, but as a choke back a tangy circumference I am feeling in the mood to practice my German for what may be the last time in a while.

“Sure. I often travel alone,” I say, gasping out sour speckles of bubbles through an unintended click from my throat.

“Me too. I like it to be alone.”

I echo her sentiment, “Yes, it’s nice to meet new people - to have freedom.”

And shit. As I write this my current fix has run dry. And the sinking realization that traveling alone for me was probably always a means of escaping a disconnected reality in order to find common threads is pulling at my throat like a wire weapon.

Traveling alone is so fucking easy. Being considerate and collective is what’s exhaustive. I hate being told I am brave for going it by my lonesome. Being alone is legitimately the most convenient thing you can do for yourself. To be completely honest, three years ago I was so confusedly and unjustly heartbroken over some Brazilian concert pianist whose name hasn’t expelled off my tongue in what feels like lifetimes that I hit a point where I just didn’t give a shit which way the winds blew. So when I walk home alone in the dodgy side of town or drunkenly put my thumb up for a hitchhike experience that I almost never seem to achieve, or strike up conversations with strangers at stations - it’s not purely because I am this vivacious little gem of a human, though it’s not not because of that. Really, I just lost my inhibitions. But the reality is, that is not at all a pleasant platform on which to dance and tousle for long.

I look up for a moment to form the opinion, “Jesus Christ Ricky and the Flash is a full-blown horror of a film”. Good thing there are at least 20 other relatively terrible films to choose from. I begin to scan the assortment. Anyways…

My half-hearted notions for the stellar romanticized experience of traveling solo are interrupted by visions of a handful of hot dudes with girlfriends. Everyone looks so happy and normal whilst they make their way to their destination. I remember crawling into the tiny pseudo, plastic bed with Matti on the overnight bus in Vietnam. He insisted I wouldn’t fit in this coffin, but I was insatiable in my quest to cuddle. I jetted over like a flying squirrel and nestled in just perfectly. I think that’s the memory I look back on most often with Matti, because he was laughing his velvety laugh with his cheerful squinty eyes, and I could feel his chest convulse with each release as I pressed into him while he threw his head back in laughter like fucking Chewbacca. I was so, so joyful in that moment and so proud, and I could feel it so authentically that our happiness was in a state of powerful exchange - not of give and take, not of push and pull, just cycling through in such a handsome, enthralling sense. But only just then, really. Just that one time probably… maybe another time somewhere. But let’s try to mute that.

And as I mean to mute it I realize, how that fuck could I ever feel that way again? I scoff to myself. I am beginning to hate the past. I glimpse out the airplane window and my blood boils at seeing a sunny sky still. These are nighttime thoughts. I anticipated the upset of the clouds remaining illuminated, but confronting it over and over is dragging sandpapers over my crawling skin.

I pour the remaining grey goose into my empty prosecco cup. I try to be subtle, but I’m certain that everyone and their uncle sees, but not the sweet solo lady next to me. It’s her judgement I’d like most to go undiscerned. Yes, indeed, I am both classy and cool, and not at all a glisten of tragedy in any dexterous movement of mine. My eyes are welling up a bit as I type, as it’s been a while since i considered any of the lovely moments with that stupid bitchboy. I have blood scabs under my skin from playing the drums, I am picking at them incessantly out of nervousness as I deflect these adorable, ugly feelings.

Girl On The Train, that seems like a more appropriate choice for viewing. 10 minutes in and I’m thinking of shower sex.                  

And shower sex in Hong Kong, at the backpackers. We were so drunk and insatiable, but was he only reflecting my character and complexes and concealing his own? Was I so different before him? I don’t think so, not much. I know he was different for me, but it was probably just temporary. I wonder if he still does all the cute things I found so endearing, prisms and mirrors of tendencies I probably initiated myself, voices of my own that he mimicked, cute phrases we’d drummed up together in half English and half German. I hate that idea. I hate so much the idea that he could be how he was with me with anyone else. But I also hate the idea of him being unchanged by me, or disinterested in being his best, with or without me. I think I hate that most. Or maybe I just hate all of it. I even hate thinking of it.

That’s it, dammit. I am so riddled with these vivid memories and thoughts up to the brim of the barrel, how could I possible find vacancy for anything else? I imagine myself in 20 years and have a disgusting notion that I will be this woman beside me, a lone wolf with anxiety about not being able to smoke for 11 and a half hours. She complains often about having to sit still, about how shallow the leg room is despite the fact that she too is petite like me. She orders too many processed snacks and drinks coffee before sinking into a nap. I imagine her in Cuba, too excited and too confident in her independence with an underlying emptiness all the same for not being able to share these visions and moments with another witness. It reminds me of me. She’s dozing off, but gripping onto the little tray table like it’s her confidant, she eyes the digital flight plan with the CGI airplane ominously scooting over the ocean and blinks infrequently. I can’t tell actually whether or not she’s asleep.

She is friendly with kind sunken eyes, but I don’t want to be her, nor do I want to be my other friend in Austin who is in her 30’s and revels in her colorful escapades with men from the era of her 20’s, but has ended up with so many troubles and unrealized diet goals that all she has to showcase in the present are pictures of her very ordinary dog and the occasional over-amplified story of a flirtation which never seems to materialize. Nor do I want to be the friend who is in her 40’s who resigned to end up alone only to meet her ‘person’, yet she was nearly unfaithful to him no less than a month ago. She confided in me about it and it fucked me up. She was my idol in a lot of ways, I thought that to end up like her would be a lovely finish to an overcomplicated but colorful life. Could I become all these things I don’t like due unto an undying aggression to savor more experiences and tap into every possibility that unfolds itself? Does it ever end? The questioning? The seeing? I see myself in every ugly trait I’ve ever seen in another person. I see my heartbreak in every expression of love that ever was. I see my pain in every happiness I realize. I hope that stops! Boy wouldn’t that be fun and fine. Change that plane of thinking. Get it? I made a plane pun from the sky, guy.

I still have a few quick swigs left from the mini grey goose bottle, but she’s awake now - my neighbor. And watching this bitch on Girl On The Train getting tanked is making me jealous and unsettled. AND PHEOBE FROM FRIENDS IS THERE! I’m ecstatic. So excited, in fact, that I’ve dropped my dumb plastic cup on the floor, and leaning over to grab it makes my favorite necklace sound off like a dog collar, waking up anyone who has ever craved rest in this world. People are standing around, I’ve never seen anything like it on a flight. I discretely (at least in my mind) pour the vodka into my sweet, now favorite plastic cup. We’ve been through so much together. The liquor looks like water and I am deeply pleased. I smile, even.

Somehow I have a ticker in my brain that reads ‘Matti matti matti’ - imagine that. Thinking of Matti? I never! Welp, Matti, I wanted you, really. But in retrospect, I may have just wanted to prove to myself that I could have it all, that I could tame and control something in a sphere of my reality that was chaotic and free and exuberant. I could have EVERYTHING I wanted, because I knew what to want, right? That didn’t work. Now I know not at all what I want, and thus can have nothing. That doesn’t work. I audibly chuckle to myself, shaking my head, rolling my eyes so far back you can see the whites. Well, not you specifically, as you are not the German lady next to me who is now letting her eyes widen as she scans the horizon as if she’s disoriented and disassociated. We make contact and I smirk at her weakly but genuinely, hopeful that she asserts that my eyes are watering due to a particularly traumatizing scene in this film rather than the process of excavating the hardened textures of the paintings in my mind which is currently underway. I break my glance and though I cannot hear it, I can see from my peripherals that she has let out a sigh and sets her head against the plastic wall. I feel warm inside as if my humanity soothed her for a moment and helped her to relax into rest.

Back to my head gallery. I think I want one person forever, but I don’t know if that’s in the cards for tiny little me. Maybe I’m being type-casted into the lives of these lovers, and once they’re over the spontaneity and crave stability I’ll always be tossed out to the curb with my dumb rucksack that can fit all the things I own, envying the roots planted through peoples feet around me as I think to myself, I too am a tree and I’d like very much to be planted, thanks. I tap on my former love’s glass window and say, “hey wait.. I can be planted.. just.. just dig a hole.. I’m small and it doesn’t need to be that wide or deep.. just enough to cast soil over my small person shoes.”

A stewardess passes by and brushes her hand against my shoulder as another stewardess approaches to bring water - a Godsend. It’s the closest thing I’ve had to intimacy since I hooked up my friend Dimitri in Switzerland on fucking Valentines Day, a session which ended in a complete disregard of what had happened, a session which I would hardly describe as intimate at all. And as I consider the physicality of what transpired, it’s undoubtedly decided that the stewardess is my closest ally after all.

I sit with my knees pressed against my chest on this sky death vessel shared with an endless array of strangers to cast eyes upon, and none of them know me just as I’m starting to think I know not myself. I tick the alert button over my seat as I’m craving more olives. Only olives of course. But that combo deal is a steal so best get them with a side of a tiny prosecco bottle and queue up a dark comedy, ideally a British one.