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Because a lot of this has come up before, and a lot of you don't know me as anything more than "Adam's mun" I thought I should address some general things about how I RP. Normally I'd post this on my LJ, but I think that it's best if people who may not have that journal friended see it as well.
( Me and RP )
Mar. 27th, 2008
He hasn't officially even asked her to stay, to turn a weekend, a week, a month into something more indefinite. He certainly hasn't suggested that they make it permanent beyond even indefiniteness. So the fact that he's considering the question in the first place, without all of the rest of the foundation laid is likely an issue that should be addressed more than the daydream of what could be, maybe, if he doesn't blow it.
But after so long without any dreams, or dreams only of destruction and desolation, it's almost nice to consider something softer, something more pleasant, something that is a dream of life, not death.
For some reason, he pictures girls. He's never had girls, only boys. But when he thinks of Rachel, when he thinks of the future, he can almost see her. Her mother's bright smile. Blue eyes, like his, though if she had her mother's green ones, he obviously wouldn't care. Just, maybe, it would be nice to have something of his mother, his siblings, there in his child. A reminder. But Rachel's smile. Her nose, not his.
It's very Hallmark card in his head--a fact he won't admit to the therapist, even. A park, on a sunny day. A little girl with strawberry blonde pigtails--a mingling of both of them there in her hair. She flashes Rachel's smile with mischief in his eyes and...He likes to think of carousels and swings.
And ducks. They'd have a picnic by the water and toss the leftover bread to the ducks. And maybe she would chase the pigeons, or geese, or whatever other birds were flocked around, giggling and running as fast as her little legs could carry her, while the two of them watch her, stretched out on a blanket on the grass. Sometimes there's more than one, or he likes to think of how beautiful Rachel would look, pregnant, glowing. He can almost see it, almost hear the laughter, the softly murmured conversations, the tiny bundle and the first smile...
And then he shakes back to reality and thinks that maybe he should ask if she'd consider moving to San Francisco at all, first.
And wonders, ruefully, what those who know what he'd tried to do just months before would think if they were close enough to read his mind now.
But after so long without any dreams, or dreams only of destruction and desolation, it's almost nice to consider something softer, something more pleasant, something that is a dream of life, not death.
For some reason, he pictures girls. He's never had girls, only boys. But when he thinks of Rachel, when he thinks of the future, he can almost see her. Her mother's bright smile. Blue eyes, like his, though if she had her mother's green ones, he obviously wouldn't care. Just, maybe, it would be nice to have something of his mother, his siblings, there in his child. A reminder. But Rachel's smile. Her nose, not his.
It's very Hallmark card in his head--a fact he won't admit to the therapist, even. A park, on a sunny day. A little girl with strawberry blonde pigtails--a mingling of both of them there in her hair. She flashes Rachel's smile with mischief in his eyes and...He likes to think of carousels and swings.
And ducks. They'd have a picnic by the water and toss the leftover bread to the ducks. And maybe she would chase the pigeons, or geese, or whatever other birds were flocked around, giggling and running as fast as her little legs could carry her, while the two of them watch her, stretched out on a blanket on the grass. Sometimes there's more than one, or he likes to think of how beautiful Rachel would look, pregnant, glowing. He can almost see it, almost hear the laughter, the softly murmured conversations, the tiny bundle and the first smile...
And then he shakes back to reality and thinks that maybe he should ask if she'd consider moving to San Francisco at all, first.
And wonders, ruefully, what those who know what he'd tried to do just months before would think if they were close enough to read his mind now.
[Couples] 5.1 and 5.2 Lies and Trust
Mar. 27th, 2008 02:18 pmPatient: Adam Monroe
Patient's Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 460
Partner: Peter Petrelli [![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
its_myturn, Eden 'verse]
Adam sits, staring at the therapist through unreadable eyes. He shouldn't be here. Doesn't need to be here. Has a world to run, after all, and all sorts of busy things that go along with this. Sitting across from someone who doesn't really know him talking about a relationship that doesn't even...isn't even...He glares.
"Why don't we talk about Peter?" Her smile is just a bit too encouraging.
He's not allowed to randomly shoot people, even though he wants to.
"There's nothing to talk about," Adam says, forcing a smile in return. "Peter and I are just friends."
"Mmhmm..." She glances down at her notes, and he grinds his teeth behind his smile. "Some of what you've said indicates you might want it to be more."
Adam counts to ten. Then twenty. "It doesn't matter what I might want. It isn't going to happen," he finally says, quietly.
"Why not?"
Why not? Is she insane? The look he gives her implies that she must be. "Because it...I could never...you do realize it would be built on lies. I could never tell him the truth."
"Don't you basically do that with most people?" she asks, and he contemplates shooting her again.
"They're mortal," he grinds out. "Peter...at that level of intimacy...I wouldn't be able to keep him out of my head, forever. I would drop my guard sometime, someway, think that we were...he'd read my mind, eventually. Maybe not this year, this decade, this century, but eventually he would find out the truth."
"Why can't you just tell him?"
She gets another look that questions her sanity. "Because he would either kill me, or leave, or both."
"So you don't trust him? Don't trust in your friendship?"
Adam snorts. "I trust him to be Peter. Idealistic. Adorable. A hero, with all the blindness that those raised on the ideas of good and evil seem to have. I trust him to be there for me, so long as he thinks I'm like him. I trust him to protect me, so long as he thinks I'm worth protecting. I trust him to stand by me, to help me rebuild the world, so long as he doesn't know I broke it. I trust him not to betray me, because he is Peter, and he doesn't lie, he doesn't deceive...it's not in him."
"But you don't trust him with the truth?"
"I trust him to be Peter," Adam reiterates, looking down and trying to fight back the wave of despair at the scenario her words evoke in his head. "And so I have to keep my distance. I can't tell him how I feel. I have to lie."
Patient's Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 460
Partner: Peter Petrelli [
its_myturn, Eden 'verse]Adam sits, staring at the therapist through unreadable eyes. He shouldn't be here. Doesn't need to be here. Has a world to run, after all, and all sorts of busy things that go along with this. Sitting across from someone who doesn't really know him talking about a relationship that doesn't even...isn't even...He glares.
"Why don't we talk about Peter?" Her smile is just a bit too encouraging.
He's not allowed to randomly shoot people, even though he wants to.
"There's nothing to talk about," Adam says, forcing a smile in return. "Peter and I are just friends."
"Mmhmm..." She glances down at her notes, and he grinds his teeth behind his smile. "Some of what you've said indicates you might want it to be more."
Adam counts to ten. Then twenty. "It doesn't matter what I might want. It isn't going to happen," he finally says, quietly.
"Why not?"
Why not? Is she insane? The look he gives her implies that she must be. "Because it...I could never...you do realize it would be built on lies. I could never tell him the truth."
"Don't you basically do that with most people?" she asks, and he contemplates shooting her again.
"They're mortal," he grinds out. "Peter...at that level of intimacy...I wouldn't be able to keep him out of my head, forever. I would drop my guard sometime, someway, think that we were...he'd read my mind, eventually. Maybe not this year, this decade, this century, but eventually he would find out the truth."
"Why can't you just tell him?"
She gets another look that questions her sanity. "Because he would either kill me, or leave, or both."
"So you don't trust him? Don't trust in your friendship?"
Adam snorts. "I trust him to be Peter. Idealistic. Adorable. A hero, with all the blindness that those raised on the ideas of good and evil seem to have. I trust him to be there for me, so long as he thinks I'm like him. I trust him to protect me, so long as he thinks I'm worth protecting. I trust him to stand by me, to help me rebuild the world, so long as he doesn't know I broke it. I trust him not to betray me, because he is Peter, and he doesn't lie, he doesn't deceive...it's not in him."
"But you don't trust him with the truth?"
"I trust him to be Peter," Adam reiterates, looking down and trying to fight back the wave of despair at the scenario her words evoke in his head. "And so I have to keep my distance. I can't tell him how I feel. I have to lie."
I don't define it any one way in particular. I have been, and am capable of being, completely and utterly monogamous, and I have been involved in various forms of polyamory.
No, I take that back. I define being faithful as being honest about the terms of the relationship. As keeping faith with the promises you have made to your partners, whatever they may be.
If I am involved with more than one person, I tell my partners. I may not tell them every detail, may not tell them about the other person, because the other person rarely truly impacts us, but I will tell them there is someone else.
If someone asks me to be monogamous, and promises it in return, then if I promise they are the only one--they are the only one. I have never "cheated" on a partner, never committed that sort of a betrayal. I have made mistakes, yes. I'm not claiming to be perfect in relationships or anywhere else. In fact, in a lot of aspects, I fully admit that I am very bad at being someone's partner.
But when it comes to faithfulness...I have a deep desire to find out how we define it between us, myself and my partner(s), and keep to it. If it is emotional faithfulness--that we both may have other lovers, but no one that we truly love, all right. If it is a traditional definition of faithfulness, that there is no one else, emotionally or physically, for us, then all right. If we agree to be poly, that we love each other but acknowledge that we each love others as well, so be it.
That's not to say that I am always fine with any of those three options, or any other variation, all the time, or that it's whatever my partner wants. Sometimes I want more than the person I am involved with. There have been times in my life when I have been involved in relationships that fit each of the models. There have been times when I was the one asked for a commitment, and other times when I have asked for it, when I have wanted it to be just the two of us.
Ideally...that is where I am happiest. Male or female, but just two, no one else in the way, physically or emotionally. Call me a traditionalist.
But if all parties agree and are informed, I do not think that other forms of relationships mean someone is unfaithful. Faithfulness is keeping faith--keeping the promises one has made to someone else. And the only way to truly define it beyond that is between the people involved with each other. To do more would be to impose outside strictures on an intimate relationship, and I don't think anyone has the right to do that.
No, I take that back. I define being faithful as being honest about the terms of the relationship. As keeping faith with the promises you have made to your partners, whatever they may be.
If I am involved with more than one person, I tell my partners. I may not tell them every detail, may not tell them about the other person, because the other person rarely truly impacts us, but I will tell them there is someone else.
If someone asks me to be monogamous, and promises it in return, then if I promise they are the only one--they are the only one. I have never "cheated" on a partner, never committed that sort of a betrayal. I have made mistakes, yes. I'm not claiming to be perfect in relationships or anywhere else. In fact, in a lot of aspects, I fully admit that I am very bad at being someone's partner.
But when it comes to faithfulness...I have a deep desire to find out how we define it between us, myself and my partner(s), and keep to it. If it is emotional faithfulness--that we both may have other lovers, but no one that we truly love, all right. If it is a traditional definition of faithfulness, that there is no one else, emotionally or physically, for us, then all right. If we agree to be poly, that we love each other but acknowledge that we each love others as well, so be it.
That's not to say that I am always fine with any of those three options, or any other variation, all the time, or that it's whatever my partner wants. Sometimes I want more than the person I am involved with. There have been times in my life when I have been involved in relationships that fit each of the models. There have been times when I was the one asked for a commitment, and other times when I have asked for it, when I have wanted it to be just the two of us.
Ideally...that is where I am happiest. Male or female, but just two, no one else in the way, physically or emotionally. Call me a traditionalist.
But if all parties agree and are informed, I do not think that other forms of relationships mean someone is unfaithful. Faithfulness is keeping faith--keeping the promises one has made to someone else. And the only way to truly define it beyond that is between the people involved with each other. To do more would be to impose outside strictures on an intimate relationship, and I don't think anyone has the right to do that.
a big fat No
you're the fifth drink before a long drive home
you're the thing to avoid
the bars to my cage
you're all I think about everyday
you've got that thing
that my wildest dreams are made of
you set my world on fire
He used to watch her when she walked past his window, all tight skirts and low cut tops, hips swaying because she knew he--and every red blooded male in range--was watching. That spark of a smile, the way her teeth caught her lower lip, the sound of her giggle that could become a pout in a heartbeat, or something darker, more dangerous. She'd lean in his doorway, and he would watch the electricity arc between her fingers, smell the singe of it in the air, like a storm on the horizon, and the small room didn't bother him so much. His body reacted, pure and visceral, and it was a game to make her yield, to twist her around until she'd defy her Daddy.
Then the game became something more, two caged animals, dangerous and deadly, becoming dependent. At least he did. Dependent on that scent in the air that said she was near. Dependent on the flash of it, the sizzle across his skin, that wasn't pure pain, but just enough pleasure to remind him he was alive. Dependent on the gleam in her eyes that echoed the ones he'd seen three decades before. Dependent on the adoration, the willingness to follow where he led. Dependent on the way she blossomed under his approval, moving with more confidence through the halls.
It wasn't smart, he knew. It was desperation, and she wasn't to be trusted, more than the rest of them. As easily as he'd turned her, it was possible they'd turn her back, and when the sound of lightning crackled across the air and hit him, it might not stop until he'd begged, writhed, promised anything just so she turned it off again. He remembered that, too, nights haunted by a child's laugh, a glee that still hid in the depths of blue eyes that never looked truly innocent.
But she was all he had, the only hope, the only comfort, the only pleasure in a world that teetered between boredom and agony, depending on the mood of his captors that day, week, month, year. It was a bad idea, he knew, every time she walked through the door, every time her lips met his, every time his hand slid under her clothes, pulled her to the bed, ignored the cameras. He could taste the danger on her lips, feel it in the fire she sent along his nerves. He shouldn't need her, shouldn't let himself depend on her, not for anything.
He did, anyway.
[ooc: Not RP or 'verse specific, not binding on any Elle muse 'less her mun wants it to be, just back story in my head of his thoughts from his "caved" comment.]