#i know we want to keep bill perpetually young (and I understand believe me)

[redrobin-detective]

I realized I’ve talked big game about Billy and Jason coexisting as a young Captain Marvel and Robin Jason but never really explained it. I swear it’s not just because I think Jay and Bill would be the absolute best friends ever and deserve each other. So! Captain Marvel started off with Fawcett Comics in 1939 and was eventually absorbed by DC comics sometime in the mid 70s before becoming more prevalent in the 80-90s. Jason was introduced in 1983 so Jason and Billy’s introductions to the DCU are much closer together than the other Robins. So on that front I like the continuity but it’s also deeper than that.

Despite being created alongside the Golden heroes like Superman, Batman and Wonder Woman, I really like the idea of Captain Marvel coming into play after that first wave and with the second. It’s kind of mentioned in First Thunder that the Wizard saw that a great era of heroes was dawning and wanted his champion to be there to help with any threats, magical or otherwise, that may result. By the time Billy is granted his powers, the Justice League is well established and its main heroes considered to be the shining example of heroics. Hell, in this timeline Billy was probably born around the time these heroes first became active. 

The JLA is in many ways considered and run like a business, especially as it expanded beyond the original seven and required more care and coordination. The League is in this weird time where it’s starting to expand but doesn’t quite have all the kinks worked out like they will later and thus it’s the perfect time for Cap to be able to keep his identity under wraps. But also the idea of people looking up to the original heroes who paved the way, there’s some metaphors there not only of Billy growing and coming into himself through their example but in many ways exemplifying the ideal they may stray from. I really like the idea of initial tension between Supes and Marvel because, for all his kindness and goodness, Clark can be flawed. I can see him being nervous around a magical version of himself with seemingly no weaknesses. As the League gets bigger, gets involved more on social/political issues, having Billy/Marvel to serve as a reminder of what they stand for, it’s something I like. 

This period of transition extends also to Robin Jay. We had the first wave of superheroes and their sidekicks but now those sidekicks are growing up. Nightwing is with the Titans and then his own solo, Wally has assumed the mantle of the Flash from Barry, Speedy was struggling with addiction. Jason (to my mind don’t jump down my throat) was one of the first times a legacy character was properly replaced by a new character (Dick Robin -> Jason Robin). There’s a realization there that there will be heroes beyond the originals and their first set of sidekicks, that time is moving on and change in inevitable. To me and their respective origins and places in the larger DCU, Jason and Billy are symbols of change. 

This rant is getting away from me so I’ll wrap it up. Basically I think the second wave of heroes is the perfect era to slot in Billy Batson with him eventually becoming friends with newly inducted Robin Jason Todd. This, of course, later leads to tragedy with Jason’s death which poor Bill doesn’t deserve but also opens avenues on how Bill would interact with the League as it, and himself, grew up. I like most have trouble imagining Billy past 13 but imagine him giving advice and reminiscing with Tim Drake about Jay when they’re about the same age. Imagine Bill as an older teen on the cusp of adulthood when he learns his best friend has come back from the dead as a criminal. Imagine young adult Billy, trying to make his way in the world now as a proper adult having to deal with Damian’s attitude and arrogance. 

We all love perpetually baby Billy but there is a certain poetry in slotting him in a young, still getting itself together, Justice League. A Justice League that is, in itself, in its awkward preteens and trying to find it’s footing and place in the world. It puts him elbow to elbow with Superman who is struggling to find himself in his new role as the Man of Steel and is now confronted with a godlike being who absolutely could kill him and also with Jason, a street rat like him working to make a difference for the little people. I will always feel its the best place for Billy to find himself alongside a heroics organization which is looking to do the same.

#billy batson #i did not explain myself well here so i hope you can at least appreciate the vibe #i know we want to keep bill perpetually young (and I understand believe me) #but slotting him into present day DC just feels... wrong #bats supes wondey and co have been operating by this time for like 20 years #they're older in their 40s and even early 50s (if DC wasn't cowardly enough to admit it) #it just feels awkward to throw in 10ish y/o Bill who really wont have a connection #compared to an early 30s crowd who Really are feeling the pressures of being literal superheroes and adults in a way #theres a better connection there especially as theyre trying to really get the JLA up and running as it expands #theres themes of growing up and periods of transition of different perspectives that I just like #there's something about watching Bill grow up with the League #aging into an adult as it does #of losing his best friend as a child only for said friend to come back as a murderous adult #i could talk about it forver but my words arent working so I'll shut up #but please ask me about it ahha

[londonfog-chan]

Noriaki Kakyoin x Reader: Glitter Freeze Part 3

A bit more plot wise, but hey, that’s what we are here for.

It’s the best feeling in the entire world…

Outside, it’s freezing. Like the Arctic tundra. You can almost hear the roar of the wind and feel the harsh flakes obliterate the land, but inside your blanket it’s nice and toasty warm. Let the wind howl, you think, you can’t remember the last time you’ve been this warm. A cool hand strokes your forehead. You’re cuddled on someone’s lap like a cat, head cushioned by soft silky skirts and the plush of her thighs as your caretaker continues to pet you. Even though you’re highly aware of being in a dream, everything feels so real... As if this is a routine, predictable…

“Are you still cold?” she asks.

Her voice is so soft. So kind…

“I’m ok…” you coo. “Is it time to get up?”

She chuckles, smoothing your locks down as soft snowflakes kiss your cheeks.

“You don’t have to get up if you don’t want to.” She assures. “Just rest.”

The kiss she places on the bridge of your nose is so warm… So familiar… You murmur softly, a name you’ve heard only in vague snippets of whispers. A smile is apparent in your caretaker’s voice as she sings you a soft lullaby, one that makes you feel as though you are in another place and time with the way she speaks so fancifully.

“Just rest darling… nothing will harm you so long as I am near you.”

“Mmm… gra-…”

“HOLLY! WHERE ARE MY CLOTHES?!”

… God fucking dammit.

“HOLLY!”

Your eyes snap open when you hear your grandpa’s booming voice echoing throughout the whole fucking house. Mama is a firm believer in simplicity she says, but you know better. Your deadbeat father doesn’t give her enough money to treat herself nicely, therefore the expanse of the house that your grandpa bought for her is sparse, and the acoustics makes his screaming sound like he’s in a fucking cave. There’s no choice but to get up. No chance of rolling over in your empty bed and ignoring him, it’s already too late. Even your mother has decided to get up, you notice the side of the bed she was sleeping on is tucked in at the edges.

“HOLLY! I CAN’T WEAR JOTARO’S PANTS EVEN IF THEY FIT ME, WHERE DID YOU PUT THE REST OF MY CLOTHES?!”

Jesus jumped up Christ… You reluctantly open your screen door leading to the outside, squinting in the bright sunlight. Grandpa is lumbering around, looking for your mother in every room that has an open door. Fuck… your family and their negligence in opening doors. Son of a bitch… Before you go after grandpa you have to pull the duvet from your bed and wrap it around your shoulders. You’re still so fucking cold, as if the warmth never happened and your Stand was still breathing down your neck. You can hear your grandpa muttering angrily to himself, looking every which way in confusion.

“Wait… Is she still wanting to be called that Japanese name…? Is that the only way I can get her to come out? What was that name… Sa… Sade? No… I gave her a beautiful name, and that was all by myself. HOLLY!”

“Stop screaming!”

Grandpa jumps nearly ten feet when you croak out your reproach. Your throat is still a little sore, and you look positively disheveled in your pajamas as you rub your eyes.

“Grandpa…” you hiss in your weirdly accented English, “It’s unholy hours of the morning.”

“Honey it’s already eight-…”

“Unholy… HOURS. Stop fucking screaming!”

“You watch your mouth young lady! I’ve had enough of you and your brother acting like wild animals. You don’t talk that way in front of your grandpa. And what are you doing out of bed?!”

You’re not in the mood to be babied and you hiss like a cat at your grandpa, pulling out of his strong grip and waving him away as your face scrunches in a positively grumpy scowl. No matter how much you protest or complain that you’re fine it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t back off, and he keeps griping for you to get back into bed with the threat of carrying you back there himself.

“Please stop it Papa!” you whine like a baby, and it’s the tone of voice that makes him soften. “I’m fine. I don’t want to be babied.”

“Honey this is serious. I need you to get back into bed. Please? For your Papa?”

“No… I can’t think of laying there rotting in my room for another minute. I’m starting to get sore.”

“Bedsores?”

“Yeah. I’ve got a whole spot on the side of my body, look.”

That’s not a lie. You show him the bruises and red marks of developing bed sores from huddling under the covers trying not to freeze to death, and it does seem to bring some understanding the more you open up to him.

“Alright baby…” he finally concedes. “You don’t have to get back into bed, but you need to get cleaned up. Do you want me to help you?”

“I’ll be fine, besides it looks like you need more help than I do. I took your suitcase Grandpa.” You lead him by his warm hand to another part of the house.

“Where’d you put it baby?”

“I woke up last night and I couldn’t sleep. Figured you’d get tired of rooming with me so I put everything in the guest room.”

“I think your Papa is going to stick with you, at least your futon is comfortable. Why doesn’t your mother want any real beds in the house?”

You have to think of a good lie and think of it fast. If you let on now, your mother will be distraught. Of all the secrets you kept from your grandparents this one was the worst. Your mother often begs you not to say anything to them if they ask. Just tell them everything is fine, she insists, we’ll be ok honey. Your daddy will get a big break and send us more money soon. But he never gives anything so much as a second thought. All three of you live in poverty compared to your multi-millionaire grandparents. The bills get paid solely because your father doesn’t want to ever come home to a non-functioning house, cheap asshole doesn’t like paying for hotels in Japan, and he only sends money for food when he remembers he has two kids to feed. Other than that, you all are on your own, and your mother has to keep everything hush hush.

Otherwise… Well… You’ve figured it out by now. Grandpa can make it look like an accident if he finds out.

“I don’t know.” You groan, and the second you say it you quickly save yourself, “She thinks it’s the Japanese way to sleep on the floor, and I told her that’s only if you’re dirt poor. I hate sleeping on the floor. I’m too delicate, even cats sleep on beds.”

While you’re walking with your grandpa passed the hall leading to the front door, you hear a gruff voice calling out “going to school, don’t bother with-“only to be cut short when you pass by with your grandpa.

“She’s not here to kiss you, so if you’re leaving just get on with it!” you snap in Japanese.

Jotaro turns to look at you, and there’s an unreadable look on his face as you stare him down. Thank the good Lord that grandpa never learned a word of Japanese (he insists that you, Holly and Jotaro speak only English to him), otherwise you know you’d be in a world of trouble if he could understand the harsh words that you tell your brother.

“Are you heading to school Jotaro?”

He nods vaguely, eyes trained on you as you glare him down. You won’t forgive him for this. You can’t... The past few weeks echo like a nightmare in your head and no matter what, you can’t let it go.

“Go on and get out.” You tell him in Japanese.

He doesn’t move an inch. Scoffing, you skulk off away from both your grandfather and your brother, the former calling out your name while the latter just stares after you.

“I’m going to take a shower.” You call back to your grandfather. “Jotaro, see you later.”

“That’s not how you say goodbye baby!” Joseph responds. “Come here and kiss your brother goodbye!”

You turn around and your scowl chokes up your grandpa’s words.

“He’s a grown ass man.” You snarl, this time in English. “He got sent to big boy jail I heard because he’s so big, so he’s grown. He doesn’t need anything from me.”

You have to leave. You can’t even look at your brother anymore. It’s too painful… Not when your grandpa is only going to try and pry more because of your anti Jotaro sentiments and possibly make you blab now that you’re left feeling raw and exposed. Last night when you were talking with Kakyoin he’d asked you the same thing, how come you were screaming at Jotaro for leaving you? And you simply told him you thought he was the world, and then you found out it was a lie. Why keep up a lie perpetuated by everyone else? You were content with being lonely if you had to.

“What difference does it make anyways?” you had asked Kakyoin before you left. “Everyone has someone they say, but that’s a damn lie. Nobody has anybody because at the end of the night when you’re laying there alone in that bed like me, absolutely sick and only getting worse, no one comes to get you. It’s just you there alone with your thoughts… And no one would ever understand what those thoughts do to you…”

“Good morning Miss Kujo, how are you feeling today?”

You look up, hearing a rather diplomatic accent address you. It’s Grandpa’s friend, one Mr. Avdol, and instantly you feel yourself perk up just the tiniest bit. He’d introduced himself before and told you briefly of the string of events connecting everyone together. For some reason you decided in the night that you really like him, maybe it’s his warmth that draws you in, like a fire in a hearth beckoning in a snowstorm. Whatever it is, your cheeks turn pink and you smile for the first time this morning.

“Hiya Mr. Avdol!” you grin, and you’re excited to see him smile warmly. “I’m alright. A little cold, but I think that’s just left over from being sick. Look, I don’t have ice anymore!”

Proudly you hold out your hands to him, but you’re too excited to berate yourself for the childish action you’re performing. You want someone to be proud of you for keeping your ice lady under control, and you can feel her happiness fluttering in your heart alongside your heartbeat. Now that she’s no longer perceiving anything as a threat, it feels like she was always meant to be there with you.

“Very good.” He praises, and his nod makes your heart skip a beat. “In fact that’s just what I wanted to talk to you about. You thought about what I told you about Stands, yes?”

“Why do you have to call it that?” you whine like a petulant child. “That’s literally the most uninspired name I’ve ever heard, like really? It stands next to you, so you call it a Stand? Why can’t you call it something else?”

He chuckles in that deep brooding voice and you have to break the pout to smile.

“I was coming to that, seeing as your lady can manifest into a physical form, and has inexplicably tied you to this string of fate, I’d like to give her a name.”

Avdol reaches into the many folds of his clothes and begins to shuffle a very old looking deck, well worn, and he’s even able to do that really cool casino shuffle Grandpa Joseph does whenever you watch him play cards. You’re captivated, like a five year old, but it suddenly doesn’t seem very fair that he wants to give a name to the lady living in your soul.

“How come I can’t do that myself?” you cock your head. “She’s my Stand isn’t she? I thought maybe I’d call her Jareth the Goblin King.”

“I’m afraid that’s not how it works, can you imagine if everyone had free reign to name their own Stands?” he shakes his head when you huff indignantly, handing his cards out to you face down so that you cannot see what you are getting from the large hand.

“Pick a card from this deck.” Avdol instructs you.

“What’s it supposed to do?”

“The card you pick will determine your place in this web of fate, and will decide your Stand’s name and ability. No peeking, and don’t worry about trying to pick the best of the bunch. Just let your hand rest on the first one that feels right.”

You try not to think about it, but your fingers still tingle uncertainly when you reach out to the proffered deck and ghost your fingers over the cards. It seems like it should be something to think of for days, but he did say not to worry about it. Yet how could you help but worry anyways? That’s just who you are, too many secrets rest inside you to even allow you to have no thoughts. Constantly you are deep in contemplation, hell even now you’re starting to worry that you cannot even do something as simple as pick a fucking card.

But your body reacts automatically, settling down on a card and drawing it towards you to see.

“What’s this one?” you ask, frowning at the card.

Avdol looks down, taking the deck back up together and studying the card with a slight frown.

“Interesting…” he murmurs.

“What’s so interesting about this lady on the chair?” you ask.

“That lady is called Queen of Swords, an air element and the most masculine of the tarot queens.” He says, more to himself than anyone else.

“She sits high on a throne in the clouds, that no one may trick or fool her. In her left hand she holds her sword as if to strike, while her right hand extends outward as if in offering. She offers the gift of judgement in determining every day decisions, as well as the flexibility and strength to take in knowledge from others. But if you look here, you will see she’s reversed.”

“Huh?”

“The card you have drawn is upside down. The reversed queen can often be seen as coldhearted, resentful… Most certainly familiar, don’t you think?” Avdol told you, flipping it right side up and back again to show you the distinction.

“Is… Is that why she can make ice?” you ask.

He nods gravely, taking the card from your hand and looking it over, and then looking back at you for quite some time to think.

“You think too much with your heart, and the situations at hand will manipulate your emotions, clouding your judgement and making you act brashly. You’ve been doing that so much, it’s beginning to deteriorate both your physical and mental wellbeing.”

This whole thing is starting to sound scarily familiar. So much so that you begin to deny it to yourself. The cold was a cold, the Stand was… The Stand was…

Is there even an explanation for it?

“If I may little one,” he says, taking the card from you gently and laying his hand upon yours, a warmth exudes, and you swear you see another hand engulfed in flames appear. You didn’t know when the ice came back, only could feel the cold dread of anxiety when you realized Avdol could read you like a fucking best seller, “If you wish to have complete control over your Stand you need to start thinking more objectively. Use your head, not your heart, emotions will always lead you astray and cause misunderstandings. You’re strong, but you must learn to use that strength to your advantage. Otherwise you might find yourself impaled on your own sword.”

The flames lap at the ice, dripping water down to the hardwood floors as you avoid looking up at the stranger. Once he realizes you’re not going to respond, too busy trying to process everything said to you, he leaves you without a goodbye.

You stand in the hallway trembling, wondering, contemplating your place in this abysmal fantasy…

And then you hear Avdol scream your mother’s name.

…

“If I could, I would marry someone like her. She calms everyone around her, a shelter from the storm...”

Great. Now turn the knife counter clockwise in your chest.

You can’t even bring yourself to go to your mother. Not now… Not when you’ll just get hit with those whammies every five seconds if you let yourself be exposed to them. Kakyoin has shown his true colors… Avdol found your mother collapsed and said she had a Stand too, except this one was slowly killing her instead of manifesting like yours or Jotaro’s… You can’t breathe, banished outside of your mother’s room, the ice skips the crawling and straight up freezes your limbs in a vice. Letting it take you is tempting. Maybe there was a good reason that your Stand wanted to keep you isolated from everyone.

It takes a lot of effort to go back to your room. When you finally push the door closed, rushing and shaking to get under your blanket, you can’t even think clearly. Your mind is swimming with irrational thoughts. Maybe it’s easier to give up, you think as the tears dribbling down your cheeks begin to freeze. Possibly you would find that the pain would end if you just surrendered yourself to the cold. It’s creeping further and further towards your heart and you think maybe this will be easier. Let it take you… Just let it take completely over… Let you go into the storm of the cold…

“Ora, ora…”

You can’t open your eyes, they’re frozen over with tears. A very warm pair of arms wraps around you, the breath of the one holding you tightly begins to emulate the breathing technique Avdol coached you through. You don’t want to breathe. You want the cold to just take you over and let you go, let you go with Mama into that dark void. The only parent you’ve known is dying and you want to go with her. You barely survived when Jotaro shunned you, you don’t even have a friend in Kakyoin who probably thinks you’re a fucking animal. Even Avdol told you, you were dying at one point, but it had been all your own fault because you couldn’t control yourself. And Grandpa... Grandpa hadn’t done anything to you but care, but the thing with him is that he will always go back to New York with Grandma, the visits where they shower you with affection always have an expiration date, and they don’t even have the decency to take you away from all this suffering… The only one you had… That was Holly…

You cannot imagine what life will be like without your mother. She was the one constant in your life. Never did you ever question where your deadbeat father was or when he would come home and love you. Not when she was there being both parents at the same time. All the times you didn’t mean to take her for granted came flooding back to make your stomach hurt, but deep down you knew she was the pillar holding you up. What will it be like to not have her there anymore? If she is no longer there to hold you, no more soft lipstick kisses, no more fussing over you to make sure you’re eating properly, no more laying your head in her lap while she ran her fingers through your hair… is life worth living without your mommy?

“Ora…”

Who the hell… You don’t know… You just don’t know anymore. It seems whoever is holding you wants you to breathe, to fight back the cold. Take control back, if not for your sake for… for whose sake?

Someone wants you to keep living. You don’t know how you feel it, but you do.

“Please…” you whine, “Please let me go.”

“Ora.”

“Stop it. Just stop it, I don’t… I don’t want to… Not… Not my mommy… First my Bubba and now my mommy… I can’t… Please!”

It won’t let up. You’re forced through chattering teeth to take a breath in, then exhale. Your breath is like a snowy cloud when you exhale, only stopping once you’ve got the repetition down to four seconds breathe in, four seconds hold, and finally four seconds exhale. You can feel your Stand’s hand caress your arm, bringing down the ice from your elbows back down to your fingertips. There’s another soft lull of “ora ora” as the one holding you rocks you gently, your Stand whines by your side.

You want to let go, but it seems you cannot escape this vice grip no matter how hard you to try to.

#Noriaki Kakyoin #noriaki kakyoin x reader #Muhammad Avdol #Joseph Joestar #Holly Kujo #Jotaro Kujo #reader is a joestar #jjba reader insert #jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure stardust crusaders #jojo's bizarre adventure #jjba x reader #jjba sdc #tw sucidal thoughts #queen of swords #stand oc #jjba stand oc #jjba oc

[teaveetamer]

My Issues With TFioS (and Other Elements of John Green)

Alright I’m just going to preface this with two things.

It’s been about six years since I’ve read the entire thing through, so my points are probably not going to be as detailed or precise as they were when I first read it.

If you enjoyed the book, identify with the fanbase, or like John Green in any capacity... Great! You might want to skip this one. This is definitely not the post for you. I’m going to put all of my more controversial thoughts under the cut so if you don’t want to see them you can just move on.

I brought up the book in that other post because I felt it had relevance to the discussion of “authors using characters as a mouthpiece”, but that’s only a small part of my issue with the book itself. I suppose I could have used a fanfiction example, since there’s more than enough fodder there, but I brought up The Fault in our Stars specifically because I feel comfortable criticizing a book in a way that I don’t feel comfortable criticizing fan works. John Green is a public figure that produced a paid product, made money, and does this professionally, while most fanfic authors are amateurs that provide free entertainment and just do it for fun.

Now with that said, we move on to the meat of the post.

Some Background

Perhaps this is not a little known fact, but I absolutely adore love stories. I don’t have incredibly high standards for them by any means, and in fact I actively enjoy them even when they aren’t the deepest, most thought provoking pieces. Someone got me a copy of Red, White, and Royal Blue for my birthday this year and I read the entire thing cover to cover in a day (and I seriously recommend if you’re looking for a pretty easy read with a lot of gay).

The only thing I love more than love stories? Tragic love stories, of course. If anyone has followed my fanfiction or main blog for any amount of time then you know that I love a little bit of tragedy. Usually with a happy ending, but not always. So when one of my friends shoved (and I mean literally shoved) The Fault in Our Stars  into my hands and billed it as a “tragic but heartwarming love story” I thought it would be perfect for me.

I was sixteen at the time, the target age demographic, and I was always looking for books with smart, well written teen characters. At this point in my life I’d never heard of John Green or his fanbase before. I tell you this because I disliked the book as I read it, but I think John Green and his fanbase are a major factor in why I disliked it so much I’m willing to sit down and write a blog post about it six years later. Granted, that’s not all on the book, but it is a factor.

Needless to say, I was not all that impressed by it. At some points I was downright infuriated, really.

My Issues With the Book

In summary, it feels very meh and overly pretentious. After about two chapters I just wanted to put it down, and the only reason I pushed through is because my friend insisted that it got better. She said it was funny, relatable, and intelligent, but I found it to be none of these things.

The impression I got was that the author, whoever he was, fancied himself terribly clever and he wanted everyone to know it. You know the type, the kinds of people that go around and assure everyone of how smart they are? It feels like it was made for haughty teens to brag about how intelligent they were because they read a “deep” book.  The book itself, despite being a surface level of “witty”, didn’t really have anything to say. In the end it reads like a thirty-something year old man bragging about how smart he is and waxing philosophical about the nature of life (and... Breakfast food..?) and using a fictional teenage girl to do it.

That’s why I brought up the “mouthpiece” thing. I didn’t want to read a book about a thirty-something dressing up his thoughts as a teenage girl. I wanted to read a book about a teenage girl.

Speaking of Hazel Grace… I don’t know if this is a common experience, but can anyone else tell when a man writes a female character? I find that I usually can. Men have a particular voice when they write, and especially when they write women. Every single page hammered me over the head with the fact that this was a man who was trying (and, in my opinion, failing miserably) to write a relatable teenage girl. And, in my opinion, he parroted a lot of very upsetting, dangerous mentalities for young women.

There were quite a few “I’m not like other girls, and not just because of the cancer!” moments (a mentality that I find wholly problematic coming from other women, let alone a man writing for a woman) that just had me rolling my eyes straight out of their sockets. She doesn’t care about shoes, see! She reads books! Isn’t that awesome and unique? Because, apparently, women are not allowed to do both.

These problematic mentalities extend into the book’s romance plot, too. Augustus is, frankly, one of the creepiest motherfuckers I’ve ever had the displeasure to read about. Not only is his aggressive creepiness portrayed as romantic, but Hazel reacts exactly how men wish women would react to their advances. Unfortunately I don’t have a copy of the book in front of me so you won’t get much in the way of direct quotes, but some examples include:

He stares at her, completely unblinking, for the duration of their cancer kids support group meeting… before they’ve even so much as spoken a word to each other. Which also features this gem of a quote: "A nonhot boy stares at you relentlessly and it is, at best, awkward and, at worst, a form of assault. But a hot boy . . . well." which just perpetuates the disgusting misconception that women are okay with being creeped on as long as a guy is attractive. Spoiler alert: We fucking aren’t.

He repeatedly refers to Hazel as “Hazel Grace”, despite her introducing herself as “Hazel” and asking him to just call her “Hazel”. And not only does he ask for her full name, he demands she give it to him. This rings all kinds of alarm bells for me, because you know who else does that kind of shit? Christian Grey. And it’s manipulative, disrespectful, and downright rude. It is essentially saying “I hear your desires, but I would prefer to address you how I want to address you, not how you would like to be addressed, because my ego is more important than your comfort”.

Hazel is perfectly fine with getting into a complete stranger’s car and spending time at his house mere minutes after meeting with him and after all of the questionable shit he just pulled.

Continuing this book’s litany of problems with women, let’s talk about Isaac’s (ex)girlfriend. The book treats their breakup as this massive betrayal, then even goes on to justify vandalizing her property because of it.

I’m sorry, but no.

You, as an autonomous human being, have the right to end a relationship with someone else whenever, wherever, and for whatever reasons you designate, regardless of previously expressed emotions or promises. How and when she did it was not the most ideal, but she’s an emotionally immature teenager, and there’s never going to be a good time to do something like this. What was she supposed to do, keep pity dating him because she felt sorry for him? Wait until someone invented technology to cure blindness? Assuming she did actually break up with him because of his disability… Are her reasons shitty? Sure. But she’s allowed to have them.

And you know what? He’s allowed to be mad about it. His anger might be completely understandable, if not totally justified. But you know what else? That does not give him the right to take revenge on her by vandalizing her property.

I would have no problem with this scene if it were honest about what it was: a bunch of teenagers with under-developed frontal lobes that are angry and feeling vindictive. But it’s not that. It’s depicted as not only completely justified, but heroic. I’m sorry, no. You are never heroic for harassing another human being.

And Augustus’s dumb little speech to her mom is such garbage. You really expect me to believe that a grown woman was so pwned by some jerk teenager’s super witty justification for destroying her property that she just went inside and, idk, watched TV? Didn’t call the police to report the crime that he and his friends were actively committing against her? Bullshit.

Speaking of bullshit, that scene is pretty egregious, but that doesn’t even begin to cover my issues with this book’s pretentious dialogue. If you told me that they ran every word in this book through Thesaurus.com then I would believe you without hesitation. The one hook, the draw, the thing that kept me reading was supposed to be the relatable characters, but they just aren’t relatable. They’re not realistic in the slightest. Seriously, go read any line of this book out loud and tell me how ridiculous you feel. I kept expecting Augustus to pull off his skinsuit and reveal that he was secretly a robot trying to imitate human speech the entire time.

I’m not sure how far I can go into this point without giving you direct quotes, but half the stuff that comes out of these characters mouths is pseudo-intellectual nonsense. “Put the killing thing between your teeth so it can’t kill you”?

It’s not a metaphor.

Putting an unlit cigarette in your mouth is still stupid. I guess it won’t give you lung cancer, but really? It’s still not a great idea.

Augustus has to go buy these cigarettes, which means he’s actively going out and giving money to an industry that has been funding pseudoscience and suppressing health initiatives that would prevent people from suffering what he did (i.e. fucking cancer).

Here’s a clue: Tobacco companies don’t actually care about what you do with the cigarettes. Their transaction stops as soon as you put the money in their hands. I could purchase a hundred packs and throw them in the garbage, and the only thing they know is that they got about $600 from me. Way to “stick it to the man”, asshole. You’re not clever.

With the exception of the Isaac’s-girlfriend thing, all of that is in chapters 1-4, by the way. This book turned me off so thoroughly that early.

So by the time the Amsterdam trip rolled around I was already not enjoying this book, but then this thing happened and it was just the final nail in the coffin for me. You probably know what I’m talking about already, but if you don’t… The Anne Frank Museum kiss.

I honestly cannot even articulate how incredibly tasteless and disrespectful I find the entire thing, and not only does that happen, but it’s followed by an r/ThatHappened “and then everybody stood up and clapped!” Seriously?

There are smarter, more well-versed people than me that have covered this topic, so I’ll leave the analysis for why that’s all kinds of wrong to them.

Those are really my big gripes, though there’s a few smaller ones (like Augustus throwing a pre-funeral like are you a psychopath? Why would you put the people you love through that???) that I’m not going to touch on because they weren’t all that instrumental in putting me off. Instead I’ll move on to the external factors.

The Fanbase

So I finished the book, a little miffed at having just wasted my time, and immediately told my friend that I didn’t like it much, and that I would be returning her copy the next day. Feeling pretty meh-to-slightly-negative about it, but whatever, it happens.

I was essentially met with “wow I can’t believe you didn’t get it.” and “Oh well maybe you’ll finally understand how deep it is when you’re older” from my friend. Which is really just one step away from the wow can’t you read?! BS that I’ve been seeing more and more frequently these days. So immediately I was pissed. All that aside, I was sixteen, the target age demographic? If I didn’t ‘get it’ then John Green was doing a pretty piss poor job of conveying what it is.

So I went online seeking something. Either validation that I wasn’t wrong and that I didn’t miss the point, the book just wasn’t great, or an explanation of what this it was that I’d missed. And let me tell you... Spotting a negative opinion of this book was like looking for a unicorn. There were a few, and many of them were met with the same kind of thing I had experienced. Vitriol, insistence that they were stupid or that they didn’t get it (again, with no explanation of what it was), and, apparently, a lot of harassment and threats.

I discovered that John Green’s target audience had a tendency to be… A bit obsessive. Lots of young, impressionable teenagers that were willing to jump on an opposing opinion with zealous outrage. If I had any interest in pursuing any of John Green’s other works or John Green as an internet personality any further, then it died in that moment. Absolutely nothing turns me off like a rabid, spiteful fanbase.

Now by this point I was already in the rabbit hole, and I began encountering a lot of criticisms of John Green and the things he’s said and done in the past. I did not like what I found.

John Green Himself

To be extremely blunt, the guy put such a bad taste in my mouth that it retroactively soured my opinion of The Fault in Our Stars even more. Since this is a post about my opinions on the book, I’m only going to be discussing things that affected my view at the time I read it. These are all things that happened six years ago, and I have no idea what this man has been up to or what he’s said about any of these topics since.

Let’s just get this out of the way… John Green writes the same book over and over. There’s always a quirky, nerdy white boy that is invariably cisgendered, and almost always straight. He is always an outcast with only a few friends, though apparently never directly bullied. He always meets an edgy girl that he falls in love with the idea of. Usually there is a road trip somewhere in there too.

The Fault in our Stars admittedly doesn’t follow the exact same framework, but it’s close enough in a lot of ways. Instead of the Quirky, Too-Smart-For-His-Own-Good cisboi being the PoV character, it’s the love interest (Hazel also fits this description, albeit a female version). Hazel and Augustus are both still outcasts. Hazel is attracted to Augustus because he’s Deep and Edgy and A Little Larger Than Life. The road trip is a flight to Amsterdam.

Looking at the man... Yeah the entire premise starts to come off as some weird self-insert fanfiction. I can feel the “I was a quirky, bullied teen and I wish this is how my high school life had been!” energy coming through absolutely every pore and every molecule of ink. Every character reads like John Green. John Green has written book after book and the main character always appears to be John Green in a slightly different teenage skinsuit.

And that’s fine, I guess. A little lazy, but I guess it’s working for him since he’s making hella bank? It’s certainly not enough to put me off the guy, just not something I’m interested in reading, and not something I find compelling.

What put me off for good were some of his comments. Dude skeeves me the fuck out. I’ll just go over some of the highlights I found at the time, and why they upset me so much when I heard them.

“Nerd girls are the world's most underutilized romantic resource.”

As a nerdy girl that has been stalked and harassed by men because I’m “good girlfriend material” (aka I like video games and traditionally masculine stuff and I’m pretty! I must be a unicorn!), this statement is disgusting.

I don’t care if it was a joke. I don’t care if he wasn’t being serious. This is the kind of shit that men think is a compliment because they think it makes “quirky” girls feel “unique” and “special”, but that “complement” is also an insult. You know why? Because it makes female interests all about how men perceive their sexual or romantic viability.

John Green’s penchant for writing “special” and “unique” girls (while simultaneously shaming “typical” girls, but I’ll get to that in the next point) and depicting them as the ideal woman just reaffirms my feelings about this quote. I think, on some level, John Green has no idea why this is such a bad take. And that’s not even getting into the fact that he called human beings resources. Women are not objects that exist to be a plot device or for your gratification. Fuck right off with that shit.

“She was incredibly hot, in that popular-girl-with-bleached-teeth-and-anorexia kind of way, which was Colin’s least favourite way of being hot”

This is just one quote of many that shames people with eating disorders and weight problems (on both ends of the spectrum, “too fat” and “too skinny”. Another fun one being: “there’s the weird culturally-constructed definition of hot, which means ‘that individual is malnourished, and has probably had plastic bags inserted into her breasts.’")

Know what this line is? It’s called “negging”, and it’s a popular tactic of incels because it works. You make someone seek your approval by intentionally giving them backhanded compliments to undermine their self esteem. The idea is that the more you insult them, the harder they’ll work to try and impress you. It doesn’t work on everyone, but you know who it does tend to work on? Insecure younger people (usually girls). You know who John Green’s target audience is? Insecure teenage girls.

As for the actual substance of the quote… I hate it. He’s shaming a woman for the choices she makes over her appearance. Which are, fun fact, none of his damn business. Also the idea that “skinny” and “anorexic” somehow need to go hand in hand is just wrong, insulting women for a mental health disorder they have no control over is offensive, and using a serious mental health disorder (did you know that anorexia is the most deadly mental health condition?) as an insult is disgusting.

Coming back to my earlier point about shaming “normal” girls, this quote is just the tip of the iceberg. He repeatedly shames women in his books for looking or behaving “typically”, while quirky girls are lauded as the ideal. Quirky girls are “weird and interesting” and normal girls are “boring”. If this was intended as a compliment, it’s a shitty one. If you have to shame one group to make another feel better, it is not a compliment. You are lowering all women when you pull that shit. You teach them that in order to feel good about themselves another group has to be made to feel worse.

And hey, maybe the pretty girl likes her teeth bleached because it makes her feel confident? Why can’t bleached teeth girl and anime t-shirt girl both be beautiful and unique and confident in their own right? Why is it “powerful” for anime t-shirt girl to wear her nerdy clothes, but scorn-worthy for bleached teeth girl to like bleaching her teeth?

What John Green is doing is simply replacing one ideal (skinny pretty girl) with another (quirky cute girl), and then he pretends like his version is somehow “woke” because it’s not based on physical appearance (though all of the women in his books are also physically attractive. Hmmm. Guess “nerd girls” are only “viable resources” when they aren’t hard to look at?).

And trust me, I’ve been down this path. I’ve been taken in by guys who try to make me feel ~special~ by putting down other women, and it leads to absolutely nothing good. It doesn’t make you feel better. It just makes you feel angry and resentful, and that’s not a place you want to be in. In fact, this was a mentality I had recently escaped from around the time I picked up this book. Seeing someone with as much influence as John Green parroting this specific brand of toxic shit to exactly the audience that would be most likely to feed into it? I was never going to be able to like the guy, sorry.

I know some people are able to “separate the art from the artist”, and I might have been willing to do that had the book actually been good… but it wasn’t. So in the end the book just looked worse for all of the author’s shortcomings.

So yeah, in summary: The book was mediocre at best, the author pushed all of my angry feminist buttons, and elements of the fanbase were annoying, condescending, and spiteful. I didn’t like the book in the first place due to the myriad of problems plaguing it, but everything else just made it look so much worse in hindsight.

Anyways, this probably got kind of ranty, but it was cathartic and I did make this blog to vent about dumb stuff. I think this qualifies.

#Personal stuff #TFioS Opinion Piece #Sorry it took so long #I had a lot to say #A little ranty

[dwarven-beard-spores]

26 from the quote ask thingy with nanny Crowley and gardener Aziraphale because I neeeeeeed

Why thank you! I feel as though this one got a bit out of hand, but I made it to the smooches eventually, and I think it all works out.

The rest of the series, can be found together as Make A Life Worth Living on AO3

Every Thursday morning, before the sun was up, Brother Francis would step out into the Dowling’s garden, nod as though he’d done something, and leave a note to remind the rest of the staff that it was his day off. For some reason, no one could ever remember his schedule. He would leave through the front gate and walk quietly down the road to the bus stop, a mile or so away. It was time to think, he said, on the rare occasion when someone offered him a lift. He just wanted to walk through the sunrise and think.

About an hour later, every Thursday, Nanny Ashtoreth would wake inside the house, check on sleeping Warlock, and hiss quiet advice to Ms. Dowling as to how the child had been getting on. Then she would pick up her umbrella and carpetbag and walk out the front gate and down the road away from town, in the opposite direction of the bus stop. She was an ominous blot on the vaguely pastoral, somewhat developed area, and her shoes clacked loudly whether she was walking on concrete, or a dirt road, or on the grass. In the year and a half she’d been with the family, no one had managed to find out where she went. No one had felt inclined to try very hard. 

By this time, Brother Francis would be standing beside the bus stop, waving away each of the two busses that came by at this time on a Thursday. He entertained himself by doing small acts of kindness for the driver and the passengers, because that was the sort of person he was, and small acts of malice, because Nanny Ashtoreth rarely encountered anyone on such mornings and it was good to keep things balanced.

About half an hour after Nanny Ashtoreth had left the Dowling’s house, an old black Bentley drove past the front drive. It shone like new despite having spent the past week hidden in a conveniently large shrub, and no one knew who it belonged to. Not that they’d tried very hard to find out.

Ten minutes after that, the Bentley pulled up to the bus stop, the passenger door cracked open, and Crowley said “get in, Angel,” as Aziraphale said “good morning, Dear.”

This particular Thursday happened to be in early of August, and it was already uncomfortably warm. Aziraphale wiped a bead of sweat off his neck. He preferred to sweat, on principle, though if the summer kept on the way it had been going he would be sorely tempted to change his mind. Crowley did not sweat, and Aziraphale was unsure if that was because she chose not to, or it hadn’t occurred to her, or perhaps, being a serpent, she was physically unable to. He didn’t ask.

“Breakfast?” Crowley asked, as always. As always, the answer was yes, and Crowley adjusted course for an outdoor café that served marvelous scones.

“Have you noticed anything, you know, occult about the boy?” Aziraphale asked, thinking it better to get the worst out of the way first. As always, the answer was no.

For all its features, the one thing the Bentley didn’t have was a strong air conditioning system. Aziraphale rolled down the window partway, but had to roll it up again when Crowley picked up speed. He miracled the air around him a few degrees cooler and turned slightly to watch Crowley as she drove. Everything about her was sort of desperately severe, from the tight bun of her hair to the furrow in her forehead to the purse of her mouth and the tight stillness of her hands on the steering wheel. He thought about putting one of his hands over hers, for comfort or to reassure himself of… something, but wasn’t sure if she’d allow it. She’d been particularly aloof recently.

Accounts of Warlock’s weekly developments carried them the rest of the way to the café and halfway through breakfast, with both beings trying to focus so that they might spend the afternoon and evening really enjoying themselves. 

Then, “we’re going to the zoo on Tuesday,” Crowley said, pushing things forward a bit. She sipped her tea primly. The cup gave a sharp clink when she set it back in its saucer. “You ought to meet us there.” 

Aziraphale ate a scone. “Why the zoo?” he asked, though he was distracted by the subtle way Crowley rolled her shoulders and winced. 

For millennia, Crowley’s spine had naturally assumed a snakey, almost boneless quality that, when she was relaxed, manifested in all manner of slouching, slinking, and draping herself over furniture. Now, Crowley normally held it to nearly human standards until it was time to get comfortable, but Nanny Ashtoreth was perpetually rigid as though she’d been built around a ruler. It looked… uncomfortable.

“It’s the sort of thing one does with children,” Crowley said. “Mr. Dowling is hosting a luncheon for some very important people, and it has been suggested that Warlock and I make ourselves scarce.” The lift of her eyebrows indicated that it was a bit more than a suggestion, and also that she found the whole thing rather ridiculous. “I don’t know what he’s worried about. He hardly sees either of us as it is, and children make excellent conversation pieces.”

“Mmm,” said Aziraphale. He ate another scone and decided now was not the time to address Crowley’s issues with the Dowlings’ parenting strategy. He was not particularly partial to zoos, but it would be nice to get out for the day, and having the particulars of his work schedule slip people’s minds was very easy indeed. “Shall I meet you at the bus stop, then?”

“I don’t think so,” Crowley said. “You’d better meet us there. By the giraffes, perhaps? They’d be a bad example for the boy. They’re selfish and malicious, you can see it in their eyes.”

“That’s hardly true, Dear. They’re kind and—”

“And absurd.”

“Ineffable,” Aziraphale said, holding back his smile until Crowley scoffed. “But what do you mean I ought to meet you there? We’re coming from the same place, aren’t we? The Dowlings won’t be any the wiser, and it’s not as though Warlock will mind. He’s quite fond of me you know.”

Meeting at the bus stop on their days off had been Crowley’s idea, because she didn’t fancy the Dowlings thinking that Nanny Ashtoreth and Brother Francis were working together, or being intimate together, or even knew each other beyond the limits of their jobs. Aziraphale had agreed because it was more practical to play it safe than to alter the family’s memories if they got upset, and because it reminded him, in a way, of the care they’d taken in the days when the Arrangement was young and seemed far riskier than it had turned out to be.

“It’s not about what he minds,” Crowley said. “It’s about what he thinks. And Ms. Ashtoreth is not the sort of woman who picks up male company in secret. She might accept chance companionship during an outing, though, which is why you’ve got to meet us there and pretend you knew nothing about it.”

Aziraphale mulled over this as he finished his tea. “But surely,” he said. “Warlock won’t know the difference.”

“You can’t be sure of that,” Crowley said. “And at any rate, I will. Ms. Ashtoreth is not a reckless woman. Nor is she a friendly one.”

“No,” Aziraphale agreed.

“She carries the secret sadness of family estrangement and heartbreak, which have made her bitter,” Crowley explained, sounding more and more like Ms. Ashtoreth with every word. “She trusts only herself to protect and corrupt the child in her care. It doesn’t matter if she thinks Francis is resoundingly homosexual, she doesn’t trust him enough to scoop him off the side of the road.”

“Dear, it’s really just you and me,” Aziraphale said weakly, wondering when that had stopped being true.

“It’s just you,” Crowley corrected, her voice sharp, brittle, and suddenly her own again. “You always manage to just be yourself, but with roses instead of books and disappearing around the side of the house instead of closing your shop, and they believe you.”

“That’s not entirely accurate,” Aziraphale protested, this being easier to address then the vague unease Crowley’s plan had sparked in him. “I’ve spent rather a lot of effort on the details of appearing human, the hobbies and the sweat and so forth. I just don’t bother to completely change my character every time.”

“You see, that wouldn’t work for me,” Crowley said. “And it’s too late to change it now, anyway.” 

They finished their breakfast in silence. Crowley was very stiff and controlled, and Aziraphale felt as though she were very far away. Without warning, she stood and placed a neatly folded stack of money on the table to pay their bill. Aziraphale tucked the last scone in his pocket then followed her to the car. 

Before she opened the door, Aziraphale finally chanced it and put a hand on her shoulder. Crowley stiffened, then let out a breath. A small amount of her tension went with it, and she placed her own hand over Aziraphale’s.

“Crowley,” he said. “I can play along. But I wonder if you’re…. getting lost, rather.”

“I can let it down with you,” she said. “Sort of. But around any of them, even Warlock, especially Warlock… I can’t.”

“You’ve barely let it down today at all,” Aziraphale pointed out. “Hardly for the past month.”

“Oh,” said Crowley. She licked her lips in a very Crowley way, forked tongue and everything.

“I think I understand if it’s easier that way,” Aziraphale said. “Pretending you don’t know me. Especially if Ashtoreth doesn’t know about, well, you know, but, er.”

“Angel.”

“You’re the one who talked me into this, after all, and if you must stay in character, then perhaps we could at least—”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, turning to face him. She hesitated a moment. “Just shut up and kiss me.”

“Ah,” said Aziraphale, surprised. “Are you sure?”

Crowley nodded, so he did.

Crowley’s lips were tense and tasted like lavender tea and Aziraphale kissed them gently once, twice, again, before Crowley stuck her hand in his hair and pulled him into something deeper with a lot more tongue. There was something desperate in the way she kissed, both delighted and frantic. It had been a long time since they’d kissed like this, but both of them remembered the way.

Aziraphale’s hands drifted to her back, holding her close as her rigid posture relaxed into a curve that used every one of her many vertebrae. He continued to hold her as they broke out of the kiss and she rested her forehead on his shoulder.

Aziraphale couldn’t hold back his smile. “I thought Ms. Ashtoreth wasn’t the sort who did things like that,” he murmured.

Crowley sighed into his shoulder. “That wasn’t her.”

Aziraphale chuckled and ran his hands down her back. “Good morning, my dear.”

He held her a moment longer, before Crowley stepped away and leaned back on the car, crossing her arms and looking very much not a proper nanny. “I’m glad we got to do that again before. Ah. You know.”

“Ah. Yes. Quite.” Aziraphale found he had nothing to do with his hands, and also that they were sweaty. He wiped them on his trousers.

For several minutes, nobody did anything. Aziraphale turned over thoughts about potentially kissing Crowley again, before he decided it was too soon to ask.

“I’ll meet you at the zoo,” he said at last. “No trouble, really. By the giraffes, you said?”

“Tuesday,” Crowley agreed. She stood up and opened the Bentley door. “Where was it you wanted to go today? Art gallery?”

“Anywhere besides the zoo,” Aziraphale said as he climbed in the other side of the car. 

When Crowley pulled away, only one hand was tight around the wheel. Aziraphale was holding the other.

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #make a life worth living #my writings #fanfiction #ask games #cyberneticbanshee #nanny ashtoreth #brother francis

[imaginitiveescapism]

Talk Less, Smile Less

Summary: Abusive Hamburr, endgame healthy Jamilton. Quiet is not a word anyone would use to describe Alexander Hamilton, yet that’s exactly what he’s been lately. Thomas Jefferson wouldn’t want to admit it, but he’s worried about his favorite frenemy. What’s going on with Hamilton?

Tw: Abuse, thought it’s mostly off-screen.

Thomas wouldn’t admit it to anyone, for appearance’s sake, but he was worried about Alexander Hamilton. So many people thought he hated the younger senator, and he was willing to let them believe that because it was abundantly clear to Thomas that Hamilton hated him. But, in a way, Thomas loved Hamilton because Thomas loved a challenge. There was no one else in politics who could stand up to him the way Hamilton could. Which was why the other man’s reservedness recently disturbed him as much as it did. It was out of character, and frankly it was making Thomas’s life boring.

Everyone else seemed relieved. They took it as Hamilton mellowing and maturing. After all, it wasn’t as if the senator was suddenly slacking. He was just as passionate, witty, and sharp as he had ever been in meetings and on the senate floor. And he still worked at a breakneck pace that would be considered absolutely insane by anyone else. But on the off hours, even just around the office, Hamilton never spoke anymore. The change was chilling to Thomas.

Thomas decided to fix it the only way he knew how. Start shit with Hamilton. He cornered the other man in the break room, leaning casually against the doorframe while Hamilton made coffee. “Hamilton.”

Hamilton looked up at him, shoulders tense, but continued preparing his coffee. “Jefferson.”

“You were off your game today, Hamilton,” Thomas taunted, pushing off the doorframe and stalking closer to his rival. “Bring the big guns next time or your immigration bill won’t make it past me. Not that it will anyway. The thing is a mess.”

Hamilton jerked up, looking ready to fight back, ready to show the person Thomas knew was in there, but instead he took a breath and hunched in on himself. “I guess we’ll see when it makes it to the floor.”

Frustrated by the lack of response, Thomas pushed further into Hamilton’s space, and Hamilton... flinched? Thomas backed off. “Yeah. I guess we will.”

Thomas watched Hamilton leave with increasing worry. It was obvious that Hamilton was scared of him at the moment, and Thomas had no interest in that, at least not that way. Intimidated by his mental prowess and status? Sure. Afraid his bills won’t get past his political rival? Please. But afraid of Thomas himself? Afraid the man would hurt him? That wasn’t something Thomas ever wanted, and he didn’t know why that was the case right now.

For the next month or so, Thomas did his best to discreetly keep an eye on Hamilton. He didn’t want to freak the younger man out, especially when he already seemed to be pretty on edge, but he felt a growing need to understand what was going on. It wasn’t just Thomas himself Hamilton was avoiding conflict with. It was literally everyone. Any time someone tried to talk to Hamilton about something serious, he got jumpy and evasive, unless it was specifically in a work context. Thomas finally got his answer, though it was more horrifying than anything he would’ve thought of himself.

Thomas leaned on the doorway of Hamilton’s office. It seemed that Hamilton’s boyfriend, a young lawyer named Aaron Burr, had come to visit him for lunch. Thomas hadn’t been noticed yet, and he let the conversation continue. “And you’ve been behaving, Alexander?”

“Yes, Aaron,” Hamilton answered, not meeting the other man’s eyes and speaking in a soft voice. Thomas frowned. It was strange enough that Hamilton had been acting the way he was around other people, let alone his own boyfriend.

“I’m not sure if I think that’s true.” There was a hardness to Aaron’s voice. “I’ve seen footage of you on the senate floor, and in interviews. You’re just as boisterous and overbearing as usual.”

Thomas’s frown deepened. That was harsh. It was something he himself would’ve happily said about Hamilton, sure, but he wasn’t supposed to be the man’s loving partner. Hamilton hunched in on himself, but did look up to meet Burr’s eyes. “It’s my job, Aaron. I can’t just not do my job. But I barely even talk to anyone outside of it anymore. I haven’t even seen John or Herc or Laf for more than a week.”

Burr rolled his eyes. “You don’t need to see them every week, Alexander.”

Thomas’s frown deepened again. Talking down to Hamilton, and potentially isolating the man from his friends. Those were two pretty serious strikes against Burr, in Thomas’s opinion. Before he had just been waiting for a lull in the conversation to come in, but now he was paying attention. Thomas had figured Hamilton was sick or facing financial troubles he was too proud to tell Washington about, but maybe Burr was the root of Hamilton’s problems.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. I just miss them sometimes is all.” Hamilton went back to averting his eyes. “But I really do need to do my job. I’m a senator. I have to speak up on these issues. People are counting on me.”

“Talk less, smile more.” Burr reached out and grabbed Hamilton by the ear, yanking hard and pulling Hamilton half way across his own desk. Hamilton made a small sound of pain, but managed not to be loud enough to draw attention to the scene. “Do you think that’s only supposed to apply to your personal life? This is for your own good. If you’re too ungrateful to see that, then I don’t know why I waste my time with you.”

“I’m sorry,” Hamilton gasped. “I’m sorry, please.”

Thomas had seen enough. He strode into the room, a look of thunderous rage on his face. He closed the door behind him to protect Hamilton’s privacy and grabbed the wrist of the hand Burr maintained a painful grip on Hamilton’s ear with. “Let him go.”

Never one to perpetuate a confrontation he wasn’t absolutely certain he could win, Burr released Hamilton. In turn, Thomas released Burr. Burr schooled his features and looked to the larger man. “I apologize. That was unseemly. If I’d realized how that was going to go, I would’ve closed the door.”

“Unseemly?” Thomas hadn’t thought he could be angrier. “Fucking unseemly? You call abusing your boyfriend fucking unseemly?”

“Abuse is a strong word,” Aaron protested. “You witnessed a private moment in our relationship without context, and I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t make wild accusations.”

“I know what I saw.” Thomas crossed his arms and glared at Burr. “If Hamilton tells me later something else was going on, I’ll let it go, but I’m not gonna believe a word he says while you’re still here to intimidate him. Now get the fuck out of this building before I have Secret Service drag you out.”

Thomas closed the door behind Burr, then turned back to his political rival. Hamilton’s head was in his hands, and he was shaking. “Oh, fuck. What have you done?”

Normally, Thomas’s first instinct would be to make a snarky response, but he recognized the inappropriateness of that at the moment. Instead, he approached Hamilton slowly. “I kicked him out. He’s gone. It’s okay, Hamilton.” The man continued to shake with his head in his hands. “Alexander.” Hamilton flinched, and Thomas winced, remembering the way Hamilton’s full name came off of Burr’s lips like poison. “Alex?” When Hamilton actually looked up, Thomas nodded. “Alex. It’s okay, you’re safe.”

“I have to go home to him,” Alex pointed out with clear horror. “He’s going to be so angry that he got caught, that you accused him of that, and I have to go home to him.”

“I’ll come with you,” Thomas told him. “We’ll get your stuff together. It’ll be fine.”

“And where am I supposed to go after that?” Hamilton yelled, and Thomas was glad to see some of his personality back. “As you love to point out, we’re not all trust fund babies with a massive estate. I can’t get out. I don’t have the money, the resources, to get out!”

Thomas frowned. “What about any of your friends? Or President Washington? They would help.”

“They wouldn’t want me anymore if I told them,” Alex yelled, frustrated. “They like me because I’m strong, because I can fight for them. If they knew I was weak, they wouldn’t want me anymore. I can’t lose them.”

“You’re not weak, and you wouldn’t lose them,” Thomas told him. “Who told you that, Burr?”

But Alex didn’t seem to hear him. He had gone into a clear mental spiral. “They’d all be so disappointed. And now you, my greatest political rival, know. What are you going to do with the information? Who’s going to know? I don’t want anyone to know!”

“They won’t,” Thomas told him. “They won’t be disappointed. They love you. God, Washington treats you like his son. And I’m not going to do anything with this information, Alex. You’ve been hurt by your boyfriend. I’m not going to use that to hurt you more. I’m not a monster.”

Slowly, Alex looked up from his hands. What Thomas saw in his eyes devastated him. “I’m scared.”

Thomas tried to reach out, and Alex flinched. Thomas grimaced. “Sorry. Sorry, that was stupid of me. I’m not going to hurt you, Alex. I’d like to help if you’ll let me.”

“Why?” Alex asked, genuinely confused. “You hate me.”

“I don’t,” Thomas answered immediately, glad to drop the artifice to help Alex. “I never have. I disagree with you a lot, but you’re intelligent and passionate and you’re a good challenge. I don’t want to see you lose that, so I want to help.”

“Okay,” Alex accepted. “Thank you.”

Thomas felt his heart warm. “Of course.”

“What’s the game plan?” Alex asked. He still couldn’t imagine a world where he was out from under Burr’s thumb.

“I mean, that’s at least in part up to you,” Thomas answered. “I think you shouldn’t go home tonight. I think you need space to calm down. But if you decide you want to get your things tonight, I’ll come with you. And I think you should tell Washington.” Thomas held a hand up to forestall Alex’s protest, and winced when it made the smaller man flinch. “It’s okay. Not gonna hurt you, sunshine. I think you should tell him. He loves you, and he’ll help keep you safe. You’d be better off with someone you trust nearby. You could stay with him for the next week until Congress goes to recess, and then, if you wanted, you could come back to Monticello with me. It’s big enough you wouldn’t have to see me if you didn’t want to, but you’d be safe there, well away from Burr, and it would give you the summer to try to find a new place.”

“Okay.” Alex visibly relaxed. “Okay. That sounds good. Thank you.”

The next few days were hard for Alex. The situation forced him to swallow his pride in a way he never wanted to. His conversation with Washington was probably the hardest. Alex entered the Oval Office, still pale and shaky from what had happened earlier. Washington, of course, noticed right away. It took all his willpower not to stand and pull Alex into a hug, knowing the fatherly action would not be welcomed. “What’s wrong son?”

“I...” Alex felt his heart fall. The President of the United States. The most powerful man in the world. What would his mentor think of him now? “Never mind, sir. It’s nothing.”

Now, Washington did stand. He strode across the room and placed a sturdy hand on Alex’s shoulder, growing more alarmed when the gesture was met with a flinch. “It’s not nothing, son. Please.”

“I’ve... I’ve gotten myself into a bit of trouble, sir,” Alex admitted, not able to meet Washington’s eyes.

“Why don’t you come sit down and tell me about it?” Washington lead Alex over to the Oval Office couches, leaving a respectful few feet between them. “What kind of trouble is it?”

“I’ve been stuck in a bad relationship. He’s... he’s never really hit me, but he talks down to me, and pinches me, and grabs me by my ear, and grabs me too hard, and sometimes... sometimes if I do something really stupid he will slap me.” Tears fell from Alex’s eyes. “I’m so sorry to ask, but I need help, sir.”

Now, Washington did pull Alex into that fatherly embrace, the younger man’s feelings on being his son be damned. Right now, Alex needed a father. “Never be sorry for that, son. I’m right here. Whatever you need. I won’t let him hurt you anymore. That is a promise.”

For the moment, what Alex needed was to cry into Washington’s shoulder. Washington let him, gently rubbing the young man’s back. When Alex finished crying, he tried to pull back, embarrassed, but Washington just held on a little tighter, and Hamilton relaxed, allowing himself to feel the comfort as he filled Washington in on the plan he had made with Thomas. “But I need somewhere to stay until Congress goes to recess.”

“What a coincidence that I have all these guest rooms.” Washington allowed Alex to pull back enough to meet his eyes. “And if you need me when you’re in Virginia, I’m just a phone call away.”

“I was scared you’d be disappointed in me,” Alex admitted.

“Never, son,” Washington swore. “Not for this.”

Alex settled. “Thank you.”

“Not at all, son.” Washington couldn’t help himself. He pressed a gentle kiss into Alex’s hair. “You should consider telling your friends, too. They wouldn’t be disappointed either. You might have some help moving your things out of Burr’s apartment.”

The conversation with his friends went well. They were all outraged on his behalf. John cried. But not a single one of them was angry or disappointed with Alex. Alex never even had to go back to the old apartment, because Herc, Laf, and John went for him. And if John hauled off and punched Burr in the face for the damage he did to his best friend, well, that was no one’s business but theirs.

A week later saw Alex moving into Monticello. That was an intimidating experience, to say the least. Alex froze on the doorstep, looking at Thomas with wide eyes. After the long drive, Thomas was exasperated. “You do know how doors work, right, Hamilton?”

“Y-Yeah,” Alex stuttered, reaching for the doorknob. “Sorry.”

Now Thomas felt like a jackass. Alex was moving in with him for the summer because he had been abused, and Thomas had acted rashly and exacerbated the situation instead of approaching Alex discreetly. “No, I’m sorry. What’s wrong, Alex?”

Alex seemed to be intently studying his shoes. “Aaron was always so nice, so sweet to me. Right up until... right up until we moved in together and I had nowhere else to go.”

“Shit.” Thomas could see the potential threat now, someone who had been his enemy for so long dragging him all the way to Virginia alone. “Hey, you have somewhere to go, right? President Washington, any of your friends... they would come get you if you needed them to. You know that now. But I’m not going to hurt you, sunshine. Promise.”

That was the second time the older man had used the pet name for him. Alex studied Thomas’s face carefully, finding honesty and... was that a spark of affection? “Okay.”

After that, moving into Monticello went smoothly, and Alex started to heal. Instead of living as removed from Thomas as possible, as Thomas had expected, Alex moved into the room across the hall from Thomas. More than once, Thomas woke up to Alex panicking from a nightmare. He always carefully calmed Alex down, and they would sit up talking about anything and nothing, except for politics, which were always off limits for these late-night chats. They learned a lot about each other that way, and each man felt his affection for the other grow.

Thomas knew Alex was really on the road to recovery when he started fighting with him again. They were sitting on the couch together, watching the news and having their morning coffee, when news of another gun death came on. Alex shook his head. “This is why we need better gun control laws.”

“That’s what you think,” Thomas scoffed. “The founding fathers gave us the right to bear arms. Our government was created by a citizen militia overthrowing a tyrannical government. Do you really think you know better than the founding fathers, sunshine?”

“No, but I think I know better than you, honey.” Without so much as a thought of danger, Alex rose to meet Thomas’s challenge. “The government has tanks and shit. Drones. Some redneck with an AK-47 isn’t going to stop the government, but they could do a lot of damage to the public.”

“Doesn’t matter, sweet pea,” Thomas shot back. “It’s an ideal our country was built on.

“People living now matter more than an ideal some old dead white guys found important, darling.” Alex retorted.

After that, the debate devolved into Thomas and Alex shooting terms of endearment at each other like insults.

“Angel.”

“Sweetheart.”

“Sugar.”

The two men fell into a fit of laughter, leaning on each other for support, the initial debate forgotten.

Still, recovery was not linear or simple. A mere few days after that debate, Thomas came running into the kitchen when he heard a crash. He found Alex staring, horrified, at a glass that had shattered across the floor. Alex dropped to his knees, thankfully not in the glass, and moved to scoop the mess up. Thomas moved quickly, crouching behind Alex and grabbing his wrists before he could hurt himself.

“I didn’t mean to. Please.” Alex’s voice was thin and fearful. “Please don’t hurt me.”

“Shh, sunshine. I know it was an accident. I’m not gonna hurt you. Wouldn’t even if it wasn’t an accident.” Thomas kept his voice soft and gentle. “But I can’t watch you hurt yourself, either. C’mon.”

Thomas led Alex away from the mess, then hefted the smaller man onto the counter. Alex was slightly disconcerted by the ease with which Thomas lifted him, but he kept his touch nothing but gentle. Thomas left Alex there and went to clean up the glass himself, properly and safely. Then he came back to stand in front of Alex again, one hand resting on either side of him on the counter.

Alex thought he ought to feel trapped, but instead he felt safe. He smiled up at Thomas, and caught himself glancing at the other man’s full lips. “Thank you.”

“Of course, sunshine.” Thomas pressed his forehead to Alex’s. “I don’t want to see you scared or hurting.”

“I know.” Their eyes met, and Thomas started to lean in for a kiss, but Alex put a hand on his chest and said, “Wait.”

Thomas stopped, giving Alex a little space though not stepping away from him. “What’s wrong?”

“This isn’t like...” Alex looked down in shame. “A pity thing because of Aaron, is it?”

“Of course not.” Thomas used a finger to gently nudge Alex’s chin up so he would meet his eyes. “I think I’ve loved you for a long time.”

“Good.” Alex grinned and pulled Thomas in for their first kiss. “Because I think I love you too.”

#hamilton #hamilton fic #alexander hamilton #thomas jefferson #jamilton #jamilton fic #george washingdad #alexander hamilson #tw: abuse

[aquarianlights]

It kills me that I can put forth 110% for someone I love and that person barely gives me 50% back when I need it the most.

I've finally grown up and realized that that is what a true friend does: They're there for their friends even in the midst of their own issues. And when I grew up and finally realized that and started putting that out into the world, it turned out that the people I thought were closest to me tended to be the ones who would only give back on their terms or not at all.

I don't ask for people to physically be there for me much anymore. I used to ask for it daily. Most of the time, I'm p content to be alone and just do my thing and incorporate others into my plans or incorporate myself into their plans if invited or if I ask what they're up to and I wanna join.

But during the times when life is most stressful and I'm sitting alone with pills and a knife like I used to when I was young, I still tend to drop everything and act like I wasn't just about to hurt myself or kill myself if someone needs me.

But now I'm finally honest about it and ask for someone to be there in the midst of a very dark hour for me. A moment where I'm feeling the most lost and helpless I have in years due the extreme stress of medical complications lately, financial struggles, school issues I'm having due to surgical complications, handling trauma from dealing with my one of my worst fears almost every single day for 4 days in a row now, multiple times a day each, much more physical pain than normal (as I have acute pain added onto my chronic right now), and so much more. . .and you can't even spare a couple hours for me?

Even on the day that I had 6 panic attacks in a row and absolutely could not handle coming out of my apartment whatsoever, you indicated you needed me and I was doing you wrong by not coming out despite the fact I was laying in my closet curled up, shaking and hyperventilating, choking and unable to breathe or move due to trauma. But I went out despite the fact I cried the entire way there and cried the entire way home and had a breakdown through the entire night and still haven't mentally recovered from being forced out. But I don't regret it because I was there for you and was able to force myself to act normal and cheery and bury my issues because you indicated the same thing I'm indicating to you now.

I put out 110% into a friendship that I only get 110% back on their terms. I put out 110% no matter what I'm going through and despite the plethora of terrible things happening to me that shouldn't be happening at all and I get almost nothing in return unless it benefits them. As long as it makes them happy, benefits them, and doesn't bring their mood down, they'll be there for you. But if you have a real crisis where you need someone to be there for you despite the fact you will need to lean on them and cry on them (or with them, depending on circumstances), you can almost count on the fact that they won't be there for you.

The only reason I was never there in the past was because I honestly didn't know what friendship was supposed to really be. . .what one was supposed to put out and get back, etc etc... how good friendships are somewhat symbiotic. I had no idea that you were supposed to be there for your friends no matter what (unless, ofc, you have to go to work or something of that sort and have to put being able to pay bills and such first; there are definitely practical exceptions after you enter adulthood). It may sound stupid, but I couldn't understand the social cues.

But when I finally experienced it with someone and I started doing the same for them, my entire world changed and I remember even asking them one night after explaining all this, "Is this how friendship is supposed to feel? Unconditional warm fuzzies with no underlying pain?" I was surprised to find out the truth, honestly. I was more surprised to find out most people get this in childhood, where I only experienced it and understood it in adulthood. And it was magickal.

But then you have long time friends that constantly make you feel the opposite and you wonder "Is this also what friendship is supposed to feel like?" When talking to friends and professionals about it, it is apparently not supposed to feel this way or be this way. Not a good friendship, at least. A friendship can feel anything, but a *good* friendship is something special and unique. I really don't have a point of reference since I didn't pick up on the fact it was supposed to be a 50/50 relationship like in romantic relationships until a few years ago.

The thing with romantic relationships is that it is a 50/50 during the good times... but there are times when your partner falls and you have to give 60 while they give 40. But that's okay because you know they will do the same for you when it is time for you to only give 40.

But what do you do when you have someone who just constantly uses the same excuses over and over and over? They're never "in a good place" and they're always "in the worst place they've ever been" and they constantly apologize for it like they're promising and giving you hope for that future moment when you desperately need them specifically again only to be given the exact same excuse. What kind of an apology is just mere words with repeated harmful actions behind them every single time for years and years and years?

I wish I had noticed the pattern so long ago, but it took me forever to notice because I'm honestly not a detail oriented person like that. I wish I were, coz I would probably be able to remember people's names and faces a *lot* better and not end up in situations where I have to try to figure out who the fuck I'm talking to since they know me lol.

I just wish... for once... I could be the 40. I used to be able to give 40 and they would give 60. But it was still on their terms even back then. But at least they would show effort at all. These past handful of years, any time you need them, if it's not directly benefiting them and bringing up their mood in some way and/or if they are not being rewarded with some form of social outing with someone else to cheer them up after "sacrificing themselves" (as they always see it) for a couple hours to help a friend to continue baiting them along in hope that one day, they'll give the same you're giving.

But when you're alone, both physically and mentally exhausted from having panic attacks all day long, and are ready to end it and they still just don't care enough to be there, it really shows who has the power in the relationship.

I've been here before with so many people. Never in my life did I think it would be them. But narcissists are generally a wolf in sheeps clothing. It's terrifying. I thought maybe since we are older and they continue to claim how much better they're getting and how they're trying and how they're getting help and this and that... it would finally be different and I thought after a few years of this excuse being recycled almost weekly, sometimes as often as daily, maybe I could be blatantly honest about what I need and where I am, like they were the day that I was having so many breakdowns and panic attacks that I ended up throwing up twice. I still went because they expressed what I expressed to them now, just in a different way. I was there for them despite it all and just used my alone time later to breakdown until it put me to sleep.

Will they ever do the same for me? I feel like I should know the answer by now. But seeing direct situations and roles reversed and seeing they are not doing what I would do for them. . . I'm feeling even more helpless and unloved than before. If I wanted to end it before, well I had no idea how badly I would want to end it after getting my hopes up.

I still don't know why I did. I should never be honest with them because I can almost predict exactly what they will say to get out of it. The excuses just keep coming and I don't know how much more rejection when I'm at my worst I can take.

I knew being alone was the right call to make. I should have stuck to it. I don't know why I thought I could have a friend physically near me that would do for me what I do for them in their times of need. I'm so exhausted from fighting to try to keep my hopes up. I'm so exhausted from believing in them only to be let down over and over again. I'm so exhausted by taking a chance to ask and see if they still value me as more than a pawn in their mind games only to find out that they don't. I'm so exhausted by getting hurt over and over and over again. I'm so exhausted by not having a soul that truly loves me and only people that perpetuate the idea of loving me around me so that I'll fall for their tricks.

This is, by far, the longest game of anyones I've ever played. I wish I could take myself away from it. But I know the second they are back to wanting me on their terms as always, I'll be right back at their side laughing and asking them to a coffee shop to study or just to come hang out like a kicked puppy who has to pretend he was never kicked and is the happiest dog alive.

I'm so tired. I'm so goddamn tired. I just want someone to actually be what they appear to be for once... I'm so fucking tired.

#personal

[stabbedinthenameofscience]

On Why Disabled People Are 2nd Class Citizens in the United States

Not all disabled people are mistreated personally, but socially/institutionally, there’s a view that (at least where I’m from- the US midwest) disability isn’t as important as able-bodiedness and it’s codified in our official procedures (and often that rubs off on people- especially in the Ayn Rand loving crowd who voted for the Orange Tire Fire and seem to be everywhere around me and in our government).

I hope the dots here connect properly.

All of the following novel put together is why I believe our lives don’t matter in my country and signals to certain groups of people that harassment is fine.  I don’t mean to indicate that every disabled person is abused or harassed.  Many are not.  But I am going to discuss structural issues here, rather than individual.

When it comes to institutionalized problems, they tend to filter down into some sects of society.  I have a wonderful support circle and most of the people I’ve interacted with have been lovely people.  My lovies are amazing.  Some of my doctors have been, too, others have been dismissive.  But I’m on Medicaid (if you’re not in the US, state insurance for poor people), so that’s not surprising.  We only have a few doctors who will take us.  But this isn’t the direction I want to go here.

So, institutionally.  I want to hit on insurance issues first.  Companies are allowed to deny coverage for the decisions of a doctor.  They are able to decline to cover medications that they determine unnecessary even if those medications ensure a quality of life that means a person is functional instead of simply alive.  This is why our local Cystic Fibrosis clinic actually has people on staff to help patients work around the insurance companies so they are able to live productive lives instead of just barely being able to breathe.  This is legal.  Disabled people aren’t afforded accessibility if their insurance companies decide they shouldn’t  I see this allowance as tacit approval of the devaluation of disabled lives by our government.

The United States government did expand Medicaid to cover more low income people and that greatly assisted those with diabetes.  It is documented in the city in which I live that emergency room use for diabetics running out of their medication dropped after the expansion.  Unfortunately, this has been threatened time and time again by our Congress in budget negotiations, thus also disregarding the benefit this expansion has had for disabled people now actually able to access care.  They have also repeatedly threatened CHIP, a comprehensive children’s health insurance plan that covers a wide range of medical needs for children in poverty, a group with a disproportionate number of disabled individuals.  My son is in this group and waiting on edge for them to renew funding as the clock ticked down to midnight September 30th, 2017.  It took them 114 days to decide to fund it again and in that time, some states started to send letters to parents explaining they could no longer provide services were the funds to not be restored quickly.  Half of the disabled children in this country are covered by either Medicaid or CHIP.  9 million children total are served by this program.  For an overview of how state insurance impacts children with disabilities, this link is useful.  The perpetual threat against these programs, including the threat to the provisions in the Affordable Care Act that disallow insurance companies to deny coverage for a preexisting condition, once again makes it clear to me that the governing bodies of the United States do not value disabled lives.  In addition, it has recently come to light that in order to fund the detentions of children coming over the border from Central and South American countries seeking asylum in the US, the government is siphoning from the Ryan White CARE Act fund, money dedicated to helping those with HIV/AIDS afford the medications that keep them alive.  If this isn’t blatant discrimination against an already deeply stigmatized community of disabled individuals, I don’t know what is- the US government is spending the funds that keep these people alive on keeping children from their families.

This scares the living hell out of me for the sake of my child as well as my own sake, as I don’t know if I’m functional without the bipolar medications that are only available to me thanks to the Medicaid expansion and the funding of Federally Qualified Healthcare Centers, which serve a disproportionate number of disabled individuals thanks to their locations in poor communities with high Medicaid dependency.  That I am aware, the funding for these places has not yet been reauthorized and it expired the same time as CHIP funding did back in September.

To continue on the insurance discussion, the state in which I live, Michigan, has an addition on our car insurance bill that goes towards a state fund to cover the medical care of those grievously injured in car accidents.  It has no lifetime dollar limit on care.  This has been a godsend for people I know, people who have been in or had family members in catastrophic accidents that have left them severely disabled.  Because our state doesn’t value disabled lives, this fund is at risk in the name of making insurance cheaper, both from our legislature and from citizens who don’t know what this charge is for and won’t be educated on it- all they see is another hike in their insurance rates..  Not surprisingly, a good number of people support this.  Unfortunately, the removal of the lifetime limit will severely hinder people with catastrophic injuries to function in society.  This article discusses the benefit of this system as compared to other states.  I see this as the state endorsing a lower quality of life for disabled people and dismissing their value in participating in our communities.

To further the disregard I feel from the government, we have two laws to protect people with disability, both of which are being undermined by our current administration.  IDEA (Individuals with disabilities Education Act) is being undermined by the Secretary of Education, DeVos, who doesn’t understand the meaning of the law.  The Americans with Disabilities Act may be gutted to diminish the effectiveness of disabled people getting redress for barriers to access.

So where I’m coming from is the perpetual structural prejudice expressed by the US government, which does trickle down in to attitudes- it’s become clearer where our national attitude lies because prejudice that’s been tucked under the woodwork leaks out when the government validates it.

Not to mention the “just like us” “inspirational” material that circulates- disabled people are considered heroic for living like everyone else and making themselves seem “normal”- if they don’t, it’s those poor people who can’t overcome.  I’ve seen that happen, too, and it’s tiring- it has had a personal impact in that I have, for most of my adult life, felt like I had to justify my use of a handicapped parking placard because of the number of dirty looks and disgusted expressions I’ve dealt with when I’ve stepped out of my car.  I’m very good at hiding pain.  That doesn’t mean I’m not in it.  I think the only time I didn’t get as many of these was when I was walking with a cane and even then, they didn’t stop.  People don’t seem to understand that young people can be disabled, too.

I’ve had to argue to a university that the handicapped ramp should be shoveled even if no students using the building used a wheelchair, that the parking space needed extra clearing because the curb cut caused meltoff to gather and created an ice slick, that the fast food delivery people shouldn’t park in handicapped spaces, that “just running in to drop something off” isn’t a reason to keep disabled people from going to class/appointments/the store....  And our city government was evaluated in 2010 for accessibility and a number of these required changes still haven’t been met- and I’ve been told it’s because there’s not money or it’s not a priority in the problem areas.  It’s been a pervasive issue wherever I’ve traveled and a number of disabled people I know just don’t have the energy to fight the powers that be as well as sustain their lives or they don’t have the money to take up a legal fight (which is why the Trump administration’s proposal to dismantle the financial redress in the ADA is a huge slap in the face to disability rights).

Like the increased hostility towards people of colour and LGBT folks since the Orange Tire Fire opened his mouth in the presidential campaign, I’ve seen a greater dismissal of disability (though not nearly as much hostility).  His mocking of a disabled person was just not OK, but at the same time, those who voted for him thought it was presidential enough behaviour.

So yeah.  There’s my ramble.

Disabled lives matter, no matter what the clusterfuck of a government says.  Please, all of you out there who are disabled and feeling down, remember that you are valuable, you do belong on this great green earth, and there are others of us out there who feel just as down-hearted sometimes, but we’re pulling through and rooting for you, too.

With love,

Mistress Stabby.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

THEY MADE SEARCH WORK, THEN WORRIED ABOUT HOW TO DESIGN TYPE SYSTEMS MAY SHUDDER AT THIS

There are many advantages of launching quickly, but the most successful of that group by an order of magnitude. Common Lisp. And in the early 1970s, before C, MIT's dialect of Lisp, called MacLisp, was one of those rare, historic shifts in the way of Perl's popularity. A poor student who could afford only rice was eating his rice while enjoying the delicious cooking smells coming from the food shop owner, accusing us all of stealing their smells.1 Most hackers who start startups wish they could do searches online. There are other messages too, of course. So by caring more about money and less about power than Silicon Valley, the message the Valley sends is: you should live better. The biggest mistake you can make is not to worry about this.

Put yourself in the position of someone selecting players for a national team. At least one hacker will have to do is keep telling your story, and eventually people will start to get the gold out of it. I think is a red herring.2 And the core problem in a startup is too much for one person to bear. I think I have finally solved the problem people cared most about, which was dictated largely by the hardware available in the late twentieth century it seems to matter more than that. Visually, Paris has the best eavesdropping I know. Early Lisps let you get your hands on everything. Conditionals. Let me repeat that recipe: finding the problem intolerable and feeling it must be, because I wasn't looking for it. If you're designing a chair, that's what you're designing for, and there's no way around it. It's too late now to be Stripe, but there's nothing to distract you. If the founders know what they're doing.

While young founders are at a disadvantage. It won't stop patent trolls, for example, or find fields that are uninitialized. There's a lot of time doing it. So the solution may be to shrink and then figure out a way to answer this question, you have to write it anyway, so in the worst case, it will probably fail. Historically, Lisp has been good at letting hackers have their way with it. Burning through too much money is not as great as it's sometimes thought to be. When I was in college I used to write papers for my friends. The language offers abstractions only as a way of telling you what to do; they'll start to engage in office politics. How grim it must have powerful libraries for server-based applications. It's a lot more interested.

And yet a surprising number of founders seem willing to assume that someone, they're not going to let you just put the money in the bank and keep operating as two guys living on ramen.3 If you start a startup by just writing code. One complaint people have had with Lisp is that it's not true.4 Scheme has no libraries, and Lisp syntax is scary. You got me.5 The good news is, plenty of successful startups, you find they'd often make good startups. If i is the average outcome of the whole company was before.6

So by caring more about money and less about power than Silicon Valley, New York, and Boston.7 New York.8 The usual way to avoid being taken by surprise by something is to be consciously aware of it, and show why most but not all should be ignored. Statues to be cast in bronze were modelled in wax. Oxford and Cambridge England feel like Ithaca or Hanover: the message is there, but not the best.9 Python is a more elegant alternative to Perl, but what we mean by it is changing. What do you do about it? Make something people want.

In a way, it's harder to see problems than their solutions. Programs composed of expressions. Perl: Shell scripts/awk/sed are not enough like programming languages. For some kinds of work better sources of habits of mind you invoke on some field don't have to remember anything, and you're going to have competitors, so you have to work at something that pays the bills. I think a lot of people think they're too young. And in the early versions of the list, because nearly all the founders I know are programmers. Historically, Lisp has been good at letting hackers have their way. In fact, I'd guess the most successful founder we've funded so far, Sam Altman, was 19 at the time and not too resistant to learning new things. Professors in New York the number of people with the necessary skills.

I think the worst danger of committees is that they probably will, one day. But of course it's not a problem if you don't need as many hackers, and b look at the world of programming languages: library functions. So there you have it: languages are not equivalent, and I understand the messages of New York to California residents in the Forbes 400 has decreased from 1. Life in Berkeley is very civilized. Is there some way to beat this limitation? The failed startups you hear most about are the spectactular flameouts. They think of the profiler as an add-on, at best. There need to be moderately smart to succeed as a startup founder. That sounds like a recipe for chaos, think about a soccer team. Whereas if I encourage people to start startups. What I mean is that Lisp was neater than Turing machines was to write a paper for a class I wasn't taking. Good ideas and valuable ideas are not million dollar ideas, and the de facto censorship imposed by publishers is a useful if imperfect filter.

But Lisp Machines along with parallel computers were steamrollered by the increasing power of women, the increasing influence of actors as models, and the best research is also good design, and my habit of always asking would x be useful in a programming language.10 If you're smart enough to start a company by just writing code. You can sense it when you walk around one. So our rule is just to do whatever's best for your users. To the extent there's a secret to success, it's not so pretty. Startups are often described as emotional roller-coasters. Most startups fail because they don't like the uncertainty. Popularity is always self-perpetuating, but it's not going to say you should seek out ideas that would be an extraordinary bargain. An investor wants to buy half your company for anything, whether it's money or an employee or a deal with another company, the rather surprising conclusion is that the people who know this best are the very ones trying to get you to stick to the old model. Instead you should draw a few quick lines in roughly the right place, and then you realize the window has closed. A popular programming language should be both clean and dirty: cleanly designed, with a command-line interface, is more available than one that you have to select 20 players. Whereas if I encourage people to start startups who shouldn't, I make my own life worse.

Notes

Related: Reprinted in Gray, Donald J.

There are aspects of the main reason kids lie to adults. The best kind of secret about the difference.

This is an interesting trap founders fall into two categories: those where the second clause could include any possible startup, and b the valuation at the end of World War II had disappeared. And when they buy some startups and not least, as it were a first-time founder again he'd leave ideas that are or feel weak. Google Google is not the only reason you're even considering the other. 001 negative effect on college admissions process.

Russell also wrote the editor written in Lisp, you don't get any money till all the free OSes first-rate programmers.

It's a case of heirs, professors, politicians, and their wives. Then you'll either get the money was to reboot them, and jobs encourage cooperation, not where to see it in the twentieth century, art as brand split apart from art as brand split apart from art as stuff.

I have to mean the hypothetical people who are younger or more ambitious the utility function is flatter. This is the odds are slightly more interesting than later ones, and would probably also intelligence. And I've never heard of many startups from Philadelphia. By your mid-sentence, but to do it to profitability, you don't want to start some vaguely benevolent business.

Since they don't make wealth a zero-sum game.

I'm not against editing.

But you can charge for. Apparently someone believed you have for one user.

Managers are presumably wondering, how little autonomy one would have become direct marketers.

Thanks to Trevor Blackwell, Jessica Livingston, Robert Morris essay, Patrick Collison, Mike Moritz, Geoff Ralston, and Robert Morris for the lulz.

#automatically generated text #Markov chains #Paul Graham #Python #Patrick Mooney #publishers #everything #professors #Make #New #functions #profiler #startups #dialect #sup #rule #money #lulz #advantages #till #soccer #core #course #people #bronze #conclusion #success #Lisp #Google

[junker-town]

Bills pick A.J. Epenesa has talent that isn’t debatable

2020 NFL Draft prospect A.J. Epenesa has first-round talent.

Retired defensive end Stephen White knows there isn’t much that makes Epenesa stand out athletically — yet, the Iowa pass rusher is anything but ordinary.

The Buffalo Bills selected A.J. Epenesa with the 54th overall pick in the 2020 NFL Draft. Here’s what Stephen White had to say about Epenesa ahead of the draft.

I would imagine opinions on Iowa defensive end A.J. Epenesa are going to vary wildly. The reason, quite frankly, is because there doesn’t appear to be anything all that “special” about him at first glance.

I don’t mean to sound harsh with that statement, but it’s the truth. He has good size at 6’4 and a listed weight of 280 pounds, but he isn’t the biggest or strongest guy you’ve ever seen. He has a decent get off, but nothing to write home about. His lateral quickness was fine, but I didn’t watch his tape and come away thinking he’d be breaking any short shuttle records at the combine.

In fact, when I look at his combine performance overall, he put up the kind of numbers I would expect from someone who possessed just above-average athleticism relative to his fellow prospects.

But, the more I watched his tape, the more plays I kept seeing him make. Then, I started tallying up all the damage he’d done in four games I watched: four sacks, 10 pressures, seven other hits on the quarterback, eight other one-on-one pass rush wins, and one pass knocked down at the line of scrimmage.

At that point, it was clear to me Epenesa is one of those prospects who you have to dig a little deeper on to really recognize their value on the next level.

What Epenesa does well: Swiper move

I will admit it did take me a little longer than usual to figure Epenesa out, but then it finally came to me when I changed the way I approached him as a player. Usually, I try to focus on individual traits or moves a defensive lineman uses to win on the field, and extrapolate whether those things will also work for him in the NFL. But with Epenesa, it turns out you have to look at his pass-rushing ability as a complete package.

Epenesa’s best edge move around the corner is his patented swiper move. He has really mastered the details of that move and can seemingly pull it out at any moment. His timing on tape with it was great, too. As soon as offensive linemen shot their hands at him, Epenesa used his swiper so violently that he was almost always able to swat those hands away before they could touch him.

He also finished those moves with a rip, which helped him to turn a tighter corner than he normally would have with just his athletic ability.

Those swiper moves were easily the flashiest part of Epenesa’s game. Just about every offensive lineman he faced had to have been on alert for that move, but they still caught hell when Epenesa was really humming.

There is one problem with the swiper move, however. The success of that move is intrinsically tied to whether or not an offensive lineman actually shoots his punch at Epenesa. If he does, then Epenesa is likely going to able to swat the lineman’s outstretched hands away.

While there is still a shortage of quality offensive tackles in the NFL, Epenesa is sure to go against some who know how to switch up when they shoot their punch and will be able to throw off his swiper move. There will even be a few who understand how to keep their hands back completely when they see him going for his swiper move, and instead just try to bear hug the pass rusher after he swats air.

But that’s where Epenesa’s second-best pass rush move comes into play.

What Epenesa does well: Long-arm move and arm-over

In addition to that swiper move, Epenesa has a nice array of power rushes, and his long-arm move in particular is one of the best you will see from a college prospect. That’s important because once he gets to the NFL where tackles tend to be a little more stingy with their punch, Epenesa will need a Plan B.

It doesn’t get much better than countering your swiper move with a long arm.

If he can continue to switch things up like that, I see no reason why Epenesa won’t be even more successful as a pass rusher in the pros.

The more I thought about it, the more sense this made to me: being able to use his power and his swiper move to keep an offensive tackle off balance could help Epenesa turn into a guy who is damn near unblockable three years down the road. I was even more convinced after I factored in the quick two-step arm-overs inside he was able to win with as a counter move, too.

Those three facets of his pass-rushing plan working together will eventually make life hell for any offensive tackle assigned to block him.

What Epenesa does OK: Defend the run

I believe with Epenesa’s size, he could easily pack on another 10 pounds or so and carry it well, so playing him inside full-time could be viable option if he comes out of the gate slow as an edge rusher. At the very least, being an interior pass rusher could be a way he gets on the field early if he doesn’t earn a starting role right away.

I don’t have a lot to say about Epenesa as a run defender, but not because I think he’s bad at it. I feel like he is a guy who can hold the point at the line of scrimmage and not get driven off the ball.

He showed good technique coming off and using his hands well to try to control the blockers, something aided by his long arms that measured over 34 inches at the combine. That’s why his 17 bench press reps are not the same as a guy who is built like a Tyrannosaurus rex. He is definitely plenty strong enough to at least be a decent run defender in the NFL.

At the same time, I only credited him with four tackles aside from those sacks in four games. I wouldn’t be expecting him to make a ton of them in the NFL. But, just like sacks, tackles don’t always tell the tale about how well a guy plays the run.

As far as dropping into coverage, Epenesa did do a little of that, and he was at least OK at it in the games I watched. I don’t think it’s a major selling point for him, however, aside from maybe using him as a spy inside from time to time. But with the speed this new generation of quarterbacks seems to have, I’m not sure how well he would match up with them in that role.

Where Epenesa can improve: Playing both sides

Now that I have established he has first-round talent, I can also point out some valid concerns about Epenesa’s game.

My biggest concern in projecting how Epenesa will do in the NFL is I only got to see him play on the right side of the defensive line. He did show some versatility by kicking inside as a three-technique pass rusher in definite passing situations quite a bit, but even then, he was always on the right side. It seems like there had to be a reason behind it, because I would have assumed at least once in four games Epenesa would’ve found a favorable matchup on the left side, at least on passing downs.

We don’t talk about this a lot, but there are pass rushers who feel a lot more comfortable on one side than the other. I know this because I was one of them until a few years into my NFL career. I had played almost exclusively on the right side at defensive end in college, so playing on left side at first felt like trying to sign my name left-handed.

Eventually I, like a lot of guys in the same situation, did get more comfortable playing on the other side, mostly because I didn’t have a choice if I wanted to stay in the league. Which is to say unless there is a physical issue preventing Epenesa from playing on the left — like the situation with another former Hawkeye defensive end, Adrian Clayborn — Epenesa should get to that comfort level eventually. That is especially true if he is drafted high and expected to play right away.

Epenesa’s NFL future: Underrated but productive

To sum it up, I definitely believe Epenesa is worth a first-round pick, even if he isn’t the best athlete testing-wise. He has legit pass-rush moves and a plan that will work on the next level as long as he continues to improve. If he goes in the first round, it will likely be because the team that took him largely ignored the testing stuff and focused on the film, which I personally would encourage.

I don’t think he’s a finished product anyway, but his floor as a prospect is just too good to ignore.

With the way he plays, I can see Epenesa starting off slowly until he gets a feel for the quicker speed of the game in the NFL. However, a few years down the road, I can also see him being a double-digit sack guy in the right system. That will be especially true if he is comfortable playing on the left side already and won’t have to adjust to that in the league.

I will note, again, that he has excellent potential as an interior pass rusher.

If a team needs a guy to come in and be a “savior” for their defensive line right away, I’d probably advise against taking Epenesa. But if there is a team with some talent up front and is just looking to add to it, then I think most could do a lot worse than drafting Epenesa this year.

But I do think there will be enough conflict between where different teams see his value that he could drop to late in the first round, or out of the first round altogether.

Always remember, it’s not where you start, but where you finish. Barring injury, I believe Epenesa is going to be a hell of a player no matter where he is ultimately drafted. At the same time, he may be one of those guys who is perpetually underrated because he makes a lot of plays without being that flashy.

That’s OK, though — flash doesn’t win games, production does. And Epenesa should have plenty of the latter by the time his career is all said and done.

Be sure to check out my other scouting reports on Chase Young, Jerry Jeudy, Derrick Brown, and Jedrick Wills Jr.

For the purposes of this breakdown, I watched Epenesa play against Iowa State, Michigan, Purdue, and Minnesota.

[ramblingsofafedupmillennial-blog]

The Moral Problem that Everyone is Missing with the Healthcare Debate Right Now

Other than the fact that healthcare is simply not a right, there is a huge debate surrounding congress and the president’s attempts at passing a repeal/repeal+replace of the 2010 Affordable Care Act, otherwise (not so) affectionately known as ”Obamacare.”

Under Obamacare, we have seen premiums skyrocket. They will be quick to blame the insurance companies to start, forgetting the simple economic understanding explains that when you force the insurance company to cover things you not only remove the competition (you know, keeping prices in check) from the market, but also adds unnecessary bureaucratic costs to procedures that maintain no risk.(x) Perhaps I’ve already lost you in this argument—I urge you to read on as I’m going to be making a completely different point by the end. I also encourage you to look up a man by the name of Thomas Sowell, and study his works. He’s a great thinker and has a lot of strong arguments about healthcare.(x)

Those in favor of the bill will tell you that we have seen an increase in the number of people who are now insured. But what they won’t tell you is how many of these people are now insured because they have to be. They are not willingly participating in the marketplace, but instead submitting to a government mandate that continues to fall well outside the boundaries of the Constitution. Newest speculation regarding the potential “22 million that will lose their insurance under the BCRA or others” comes from the fact that 73% (or 16,060,000 people) of these people will opt out of their own free will. 

Americans are being forced to buy into a product that they don’t want or don’t need. They have no say in the matter.  I am one of those people.

I am a very healthy, 27-year-old single female. I go to the doctor’s office once a year for an exam that costs about $140 out of pocket in my region. How much did I pay for premiums in 2016? $2,016.37. Don’t worry, my premiums only went up 25% for 2017. That’s right: one doctor’s visit cost me $2,000 last year. I work for a non-profit. I’m sitting on a great deal of student debt. The last thing I wanted to do was throw an extra $2,000 out the window when I had actual bills I needed and wanted to pay. Instead, I’m subject to a tax or a penalty, I’m getting to choose between two different guns pointed at my head—oh boy.

And on top of that I get to be counted as one of the Obama administration’s “accomplishments” of now being insured, but I had NO say in the matter. Am I the only one that sees a problem with that?

I understand that a lot of my religious and even “conservative” friends are very much in favor of Obamacare, universal healthcare, or similar proposals. Their argument is simply that we must take care of the people in our country. I would agree with this--I absolutely believe in helping those less fortunate than myself. But that is not where their view ends. They are for expanding Medicare, saying that reducing it will harm many people, that we must pay into a system to ensure that everyone is protected and we as Christians need to help our neighbors as God commands us. (PS - you all know that there are still millions of uninsured people out there, right?)

But really—what is it that God says? I’m still trying to find the verse that says “make sure you do all of these things at the forceful hand of the government.” Essentially they try to support the ideas of charity within the mandate of government regulations, but that’s not true religion, is it?

James 1:27 tells us that “pure and undefiled religion in the sight of our God and Father is this: to visit orphans and widows in their distress, and to keep oneself unstained.”

Pure religion. Seems like almost too easy of a concept. One of the most important aspects of this is visiting the orphans and widows, those who (in that society) cannot take care of themselves and require support from the community. Yes, I am in complete support of providing for those who need it. It is our duty to help these individuals. Part of this help comes from:

C H A R I T Y 

Private charity is a strongly articulated concept in scriptures. We see it perpetuate throughout both the Old and New Testaments.

Psalm 112:5a - “It is well with the man who is gracious and lends.”

Psalm 41:1 - “How blessed is he who considers the helpless; the Lord will deliver him in a day of trouble.”

Proverbs 19:17 - “One who is gracious to a poor man lends to the Lord and He will repay him for his good deed.”

Proverbs 28:27 - “He who gives to the poor will never want, but he who shuts his eyes will have many curses.”

I Timothy 6:18 - “Instruct them to do good, to be rich in good works, to be generous and ready to share.”

1 John 3:17 - “But whoever has the world’s goods, and sees his brother in need and closes his heart against him, how does the love of God abide in him?”

But we also know that the Lord judges our heart, our intent, not simply our actions. The Lord shows Samuel this very principle even in OT times when He says “God sees not as man sees, for man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart” (I Samuel 16:7).

2 Corinthians 9:6-7 states “Now this I say, he who sows sparingly will also reap sparingly, and he who sows bountifully will also reap bountifully. Each one must do just as he has purposed in his heart, not grudgingly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver.”

The Lord shows that a believer gives not only generously, but with a pure heart that is not under compulsion.

The fact is simple: we as believers are called to give to charity. It is clear as day. It is a simple and pure truth that is perpetuated throughout the Scriptures. But that is where the church and all religious people have failed. They believe that it is the government’s job to take care of its lowly citizens, when it is 100% ours. And unless we remove the mandates and overwhelming impositions of the government, the church is never going to step up. Someone needs to call out believers for the hypocrites that they are. When your brother is in need, did you bother to help him? When is the last time you reached into your pocket and pulled out that last $20 you had to give to the man down the street that you know can’t buy groceries this week? When is the last time you chose in faith to commit even a small $5 donation to the family friend that is trying to raise money for a medical procedure they cannot get covered? That is the problem. Plain and simple.

Many of my friends will argue that if we remove the government influences (since the church has failed), the victims of poor circumstances will remain. It appears my friends that you are treading on fallacious grounds.

There are plenty of instances where we have seen American (and non) citizens step up when their government, whether federal or local, has failed to act.

How about the citizens of Portland that took to patching their streets in an effort to show their desire for “freedom and equality?” (x x x)

Have you been paying attention to the stories of churches that are attempting to provide shelter to homeless individuals but their local governments are trying to fine them?

Across the pond, even though government overreach ultimately cost the young Charlie Gard his chance at life, his family successfully raised over 1.6 million USD to cover the costs of experimental medical treatment here in the US. And after hearing of this story, a US hospital offered to treat the sweet child at no cost. (x x)

Even the abortion-mill Planned Parenthood had a great increase in donations when they were at risk of legislation defunding them due to the 2016 presidential election results. (x x x)

Websites like GoFundMe serve as perpetual examples of the opportunity for private charity. Log on and you can easily send $5, $50, or $500 to a person in need, and you don’t even have to know them.

Perhaps people don’t believe me. Here I am sitting on my soapbox proclaiming a simple solution to a very complex problem. I don’t want my private charities to be exalted here, because that is not what this is about (Matthew 6:1-4). I will assure you, believe me or not, that I am 100% practicing what I’m preaching. And if I wasn’t pouring out thousands of dollars in mandated health insurance that I honestly don’t need, I would be able to give even more.

Acts 3:6 reminds believers of the giving nature that we are called to. Peter expressed to the lame beggar on the side of the road that he had no silver or gold to offer, but what he had he gave freely. 

This is the mindset that believers should be taking. Private charity is the only way to properly cover this great need that people feel has spread across our country. Those who cannot have their expenses covered should not need to look any farther than their local church. The church has failed, however. They need to turn and repent, and then follow the commands of the Lord.

[cjjingram]

Not much. Rereading your Arrow fics, wish there were more.

I have a few out now. As you may have guessed, I’m more of a satirist than anything else. Pretty much all of my stories come with a wink and a nod. For instance, Still Waters is actually a commentary on feminism and a criticism on fanboy stereotypes and tropes. I’ve been writing something I call The Tolstoy Universe that is a satire of the Bratva arranged marriage trope you might like. You can find them here:

 http://archiveofourown.org/series/676445

I also have a shit ton of unpublished stuff I need to post eventually. Here’s a taste of something from an upcoming chapter of Sunshine Suits Her you might enjoy:

Ollie just threw them a mischievous grin, “Don’t worry; Ipromise I’ll try to keep it down next time. The volume anyway,” he added as anaside.

“Next time?” Sam (who was still playing a fucking video gameand not helping with their group project because Ollie once againmanaged to distract everyone into doing something else) asked, “Since when doyou take on repeat business, Queen?”

“Believe it or not, I have been known to be generous onoccasion,” Ollie said smugly.

“So what? Are you planning on making this latest conquestinto a girlfriend or something?” David asked wryly.

“Naw, I already have a girlfriend,” Ollie said dismissivelyas he took out a bunch of enemy combatants on the big screen.

David blinked at that, “A girlfriend? A real girlfriend orjust a picture in your wallet that you show girls whenever they get tooclingy?”

Sam looked up at that, “Wait, so other people do that, too?I thought it was just me.”

Ollie grinned at that, “Naw, a real girlfriend, man. It’spretty serious, too. We’ve been together for a few years now actually.”

David narrowed his eyes at that, “Wait, so if you have a ‘seriousgirlfriend’ of a few years, then why are you picking uprandom chicks every other night?”

“Every other night?” Sam scoffed. “Dude, try every night,right Merlyn? Hell, because of this fucker I had to buy my own set of noisecanceling headphones just so I could get a decent night’s sleep.” He turned toOllie, “By the way, you owe me four hundred bucks.”

“Take it out of my wallet,” the other man said as he tossedit over to him.

“Damn right I will,” Sam said opening it up and pulling outseveral bills before tossing it back. As he tucked the money into his ownwallet he looked at Tommy, “How the hell do you sleep with all that shit goingon night after night anyway?”

“I don’t which is why I spent most of this morning’s lecturein a coma,” Tommy replied crossly.

David held his hand up for attention, “I still want to hearabout this ‘serious girlfriend’ that Queen here is screwing around on.”

“I’m not screwing around on Laurel,” he said with aself-conscious laugh.

“Dude, if you’re fucking someone who isn’t your girlfriendthen that’s pretty much the definition of ‘screwing around on yourgirlfriend’,” Sam said with a snort.

“First off, it’s only cheating if she finds out about it,”he said easily. “Secondly, even when Laurel has caught me she didn’t carebecause, at the end of the day, she’s my girlfriend andthose other girls were just about sex so it doesn’t count. See, the truth isthat you’ve been lied to your entire lives and you don’t even know it.”

David looked at him with a raised eyebrow, “What the hellare you babbling about?”  

“I’m talking about how society wants us to think that ‘monogamy’and ‘exclusivity’ are the same thing when, the truth is, they’re not. In fact,that whole thing is just a delusion,” he said seriously.

“A delusion?” David repeated mockingly. “Do you even knowwhat that word means?”

“Yeah, I do,” Ollie told him. “It means that it’s a pipedream because being sexually bound to one person for the rest of your life isunnatural and unrealistic. I mean, think about it,” he said sweeping his eyesacross all of them, “Here we are, a bunch of guys entering our sexual peak, andyet society expects us to find a girl–or a guy,” he said gesturing towardsDavid and Brandon, “then shut our eyes and pretend we can’t see anyone but theperson we’re dating because it’s, quote, ‘wrong’ when the truth is that havingsexual feelings towards people we find attractive is normal whether we’re‘with’ someone or not and to deny that goes completely against nature,” he saidfirmly. 

“I’m a young guy who likes having sex. I’m not hurting anybody. Thegirls I sleep with aren’t trying to hurt anybody. Laurel isn’t being hurtbecause she’s not here. Why, then, when my girlfriend is two states and twohundred and sixty miles away, should I deny myself pleasure and companionship?Why should I waste the most exciting time of my life, probably the last timeI’ll ever have to really enjoy my freedom before I have to get married andenter a corporate hellhole, by sitting in my room alone, night after night,just because I’m ‘in a relationship’?” Ollie asked with a knowing hum, “You wantto know why? It’s because a few puritanical types can’t seem to accept the factthat just because you’re sleeping with other people it doesn’t necessarily meanyou’re committing the ‘sin’ of adultery,” he said off-handedly. “After all, thedefinition of ‘adultery’ is sex between a married person and someone other thanhis or her spouse and we’re not married. ‘Cheating’ would imply that I’mbetraying Laurel or that I’m being disloyal in some way and I’m not. I’mextremely loyal to Laurel and we’ll probably even get married sooner or later.Right now though I’m still a free agent and I want to enjoy my freedom while Ican but,” he paused dramatically, holding one finger inthe air in emphasis, “that doesn’t change how I feel about her;it just means I’m horny.”

Everyone fell silent so they could mull that one over.

“Brother, I’ll give you props for stringing together apretty solid argument but, just like my grandma used to say, ‘Just becauseyou’re crocheting with bullshit, that don’t change the stink’,” Sam told him.

Brandon looked at him and shook his head, “What the helldoes that even mean?”

“I don’t know but my grandma used to say it all the time,”the other man shrugged. “That and, ‘If wishes were horses then y’allmotherfuckers would be headed to the glue factory’.”  

“Yeah, I don’t know about LaRoche’s grandma or afghans madeof shit, but I do know that Queen might want to invest in a new dictionarybefore his girlfriend sends him to the glue factory,”David said at last.

“Look, Laurel’s in Yale and I’m here in Cambridge,” theother man said reasonably. “She knows I fuck around on her with other girls and,for all I know, she’s out there doing the same thing with other guys, but do Ilook worried? No,” he said answering his own question. “Want to know why?”

“God help me, but I do,” David said reluctantly.

“Because, at the end of the day, if someone asks her ‘Do youhave a boyfriend?’ I know her answer will always be, ‘Yes I do and his name isOliver Queen’,” he said smugly.

David nodded in understanding, “Okay, so what you’re sayingis that you and your girlfriend have an open relationship.”

“No, we have a regular relationship but whenever she catchesme messing around with other girls she just yells at me for about twentyminutes or so then, after she gets it out of her system, I get her to forgiveme by promising not to do it anymore followed by lots of really hot make-upsex,” Ollie said with a shrug. “Actually, if you think about it, my cheating onher on a regular basis is probably the reason our relationship works half aswell as it does.”

“Someday I want tolive on Ollie’s planet,” Sam said seriously. “I think I’d be really happythere.”

“Damn straight,” Ollie told him before pausing the game andlooking directly at David. “Word of advice, dude: The reason I’ve managed tomake it work with Laurel for as long as I have is because I figured out a longtime ago that when I’m happy, she’s happy, and getting laid on the regularmakes me happy while having me recommit myself to our relationship whenever shecatches me makes her happy in return. You could have the same thing but first you’vegot to break free of all these stupid ideas society has about what does anddoesn’t constitute a healthy relationship. Once you do that, you’re gold.”

The other man folded his lips at that and nodded slowly,“Okay, sure; that makes perfect sense—not. But whatever works for you, right?”

“It does work,” Ollie insisted. “I’m living proof.”

“Yeah, okay; I’lljust take your word for it,” David said dubiously.

“You don’t see it but the proof is in the pudding,” Olliesaid with a superior air. “After all, I’ve been in a stable relationship foralmost two years and I’m getting laid every single night whereas you want to bein a relationship and yet you haven’t had sex in how long?”

“Too long,” the other man admitted reluctantly.

“Exactly,” Ollie concluded smugly. “You know, I should reallygive up on this whole Harvard thing and just write a book or something,” henodded to himself. “I have a feeling that a lot of guys could really benefitfrom what I have to say.”

“Right,” David said slowly, “You keep believing that, Queen,and, should you survive the horde of rampaging women out to string you up byyour disease-ridden testicles, I promise I’ll be the first one in line to buythat book.”

“You do that,” Ollie said seemingly unperturbed by the otherman’s obvious sarcasm, “When you do I’ll even sign it for you.” He held up hishands and gestured midair, “To David; may all of your cats be healthy and noteat your corpse when you eventually die of perpetual horniness. Love, Ollie;the guy who actually got laid within the last decade’.”

“Damn, that was harsh,” Sam said with a snicker.

“And, unfortunately, probably true,” David said miserably.

Tommy let out a huff of frustration, “Look Ollie, if you’redone bragging about your sex addiction, I meant what I said: No more ass in theapartment, especially during the week. Take that shit to a hotel or her place, butnot here.”

“Oh, come on! We weren’t *that* loud,” the disease carryingsex addict scoffed.

“Bull. Shit,” he snapped; now well past the point of givinga fuck.

“Bullshit is right,” Sam agreed. “It sounded like you weretrying to lay asphalt the way you were jackhammering away last night.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” the other man said with a grin.

“It was that bad,” Tommy tossed back. “Seriously Ollie, notto rain on your slut parade but I need some goddamn sleep every once in awhile, y’know? Last night the noise got so bad I nearly took my blankie over toBrandon’s crib to crash on his couch.”

“If it was that bad then you should’ve,” Ollie shrugged in away that said he couldn’t care less.

“Maybe next time I will!” he countered.

Hope you enjoyed the prezzie. :)

[carterthornton]

The Third Wave | Chapter One: A Change In Routine

      A ray of light surpassed the narrow gap between Aiko’s curtains, shining down upon her face and rousing her from her slumber. Her eyes fluttered for but a moment as her vision straightened out, and with a grunt, Aiko lifted her tired head, sitting at the edge of her bed. She started staring at herself in the mirror just a few feet away that she had propped right next to her door. Every morning she would gaze into the mirror, studying her face and eyes as if they were brand new, and she had done this since she was no older than five. Her mother had always told her to do so, insisting it was, “to accept the way you look” and, “to face yourself before you face the world”. She didn’t really understand it when she was younger, and now that she was eighteen, the reasoning behind it never really mattered. All she knew was her daily routine: get up, get in the shower, get dressed, then find some shred of excitement to make the day seem less repetitive.

       Aiko sighed as she marvelled at her own face. Many had told her it was her most prominent feature, but after so many years she had almost become desensitized to it. She got her narrow blue eyes from her mother and father, the former being Japanese, the latter being of mixed Haida First Nations descent. Many had told her that her eyes were so mystifying and that they contrasted her complexion in such a beautiful way. All Aiko saw were two broad, blue eyes with epicanthic folds that made it look like she was perpetually tired. Her shoulder length ebony hair would often be brushed to the left, partially concealing that side of her face. Her chestnut skin was her father's— a mishmash of Haida and European –and its colour was so alien to her noticeably round face, which she inherited from her mother. Aiko often thought back to her birth certificate when on the topic of her skin. Under the race category, it read, ‘mixed’, which she always thought was just the politically correct way of saying 'who the hell knows?’.

       She was not the tallest girl in the world, but Aiko— to her relief —was not too short. She was around five foot nine, and she sported an hourglass build with sizeable hips and a fairly generous chest; she had the women on her father’s side to thank for that. Though, Aiko always believed her feet were far too large and oafish for a woman of her form; most of her shoes she bought in sizes far too small, wishing to hide the feet she so detested.

       Aiko stretched, yawning as she grabbed the cup of water off of her nightstand. She took a long drink from the glass, relieving the harshness in her voice, then with a long groan, she walked across the hall to the bathroom where she would have her morning shower. Her shower session ranged from five to seven minutes on average, and her shorter hair was to thank for that. There was a time in her mid-teens that she would take almost twenty to get out, to which her father would often give her a lecture about saving water. It wasn’t until her father actually made her pay a water bill when she was thirteen that the message really sank in.

       After drying her hair, Aiko put on her work clothes, or in her case, day-to-day clothing; a white tank top with her usual brown leather jacket overtop, coupled by a pair of dark blue jeans. Though it wasn’t very fashionable clothing, she always felt comfortable in it. As she sat down on her bureau, she applied a little blush and some eyeliner, leaning over to take a peek at herself in the detached mirror by her door. She was not the kind of woman who enjoyed attention from most— not because she didn’t care, but because she lacked the time and patience to deal with such trivial matters. Besides, most of whom that were interested in her weren’t her type anyway. Admittedly, she wasn’t even certain what her type was. But if she did have a type, she definitely knew it wasn’t anything like the kind of people who would pop in and out of the convenience store where she worked.

       Checking the time on her phone, Aiko descended the spiral staircase down the hall on her right, entering her living room. It was 6:34, work wouldn’t be for another hour or so. Aiko moseyed over to the kitchen, waving to her father, who was sprawled out on the couch watching the news as she poured herself some cereal.

       With a low grunt, Aiko’s father lifted himself off his seat and shuffled over to the kitchen as well, setting up a toaster on the island right next to Aiko’s cereal for his usual BLT. “Hey, Koko, how was your sleep?”

       Her father was the same as ever. Rain or shine he would wear the same Hawaiian shirts and tan cargo shorts as if he were some kind of beach volleyball referee. His face was taller and a little darker than Aiko’s, and his nose came at more of a point than a rounded end like hers. His jaw was pronounced and his chin was somewhat sharper, but his eyes were narrow, though, not quite like Aiko’s. He was very large, a little more than a head taller than her, and he was well-built, getting most of his bulk from his German side. And like a vast majority with German blood in their veins, like Aiko, he had striking blue eyes. He would often call their eyes 'The Schmitt Gaze’, as his father, and his father before him all shared this trait.

       "Pretty good,“ Aiko replied as she crunched on a spoonful of Cheerio’s.

       "Any dreams?” Her father asked.

       "Nah, nothing tonight…“ Aiko sighed as her eyes gravitated to the clock above the refrigerator on her right.

       "Again?” He scoffed, grabbing a tomato from the windowsill above the kitchen sink. “Man, you really need a little excitement now and then, Koko. You’ll start gettin’ nightmares if ya keep dancin’ to the same tune all the time.” Aiko silently scooped another spoonful of cereal into her mouth. “All I’m sayin’, Koko, is that you need to spice it up now and then. Yeah, you’re takin’ this first year off to learn a little about yourself, but you can’t do that if all you do is work, sleep, and eat. You can get into any university ya want, but you’re still undecided. Try to live a little if you want to learn somethin’ about yourself.”

       "So what do you want me to do?“ Aiko had heard the speech hundreds of times.

       "You can’t get hung up on the past, Koko. You gotta let go.”

       "The same way you let go of mom…?“ Aiko muttered under her breath.

       "What was that?” He said as he raised an eyebrow at her.

       "Nothing, dad…“ Aiko shook her head as she placed her bowl in the dishwasher. "Are you off work today?”

       "Yeah, they give me Saturdays off now, remember?“

       "Oh, right…” Aiko nodded as she grabbed some orange juice from the fridge and filled a short glass to the brim. As she downed the glass, her attention was grabbed by the television still yammering in the living area about the recent Mark-user incidents in Victoria.

       "Marcusologists are still baffled by the recent anomaly on Vancouver Island, and the population of Mark-users is growing at an alarming rate. In response, The League of Thirty has made their decision in Geneva to send in our own Canadian IMOP Task Force just this morning. Meeting with them will be Canada’s top IMOP agent, Victoria’s own Northstar.“ The anchorman on television reported.

       "Northstar?! Damn, this must be serious. I was still in university last I heard of an anomaly like this, but I never thought there’d be one on our own island.” Aiko’s father munched on his sandwich as he turned down the TV. “What do you figure, Koko?”

       "I think this recent spike in new Mark-users will bring some old ones out of the woodwork…“ Aiko ruminated on the idea. "Maybe-.”

       "Oh no, don’t get any ideas, Koko. We talked about this before. You aren’t going to that academy. You have no Mark of your own.“

       "Dad, why can’t you let me go?! Mom-!”

       "Please, don’t bring her into this, Koko. I know what happened to her.“ Aiko’s father set his hands on the island to prop himself up, bowing his head and he took a deep breath. "This is what I meant by fixating on the past. You can’t keep sitting in your room reading those books of yours studying Mark-users. I won’t have you go to that academy. You’re out of your league.”

       "But I want to help people, dad!“

       "And you can do that doing some other job, Aiko! I won’t lose you like I lost her!” Her father exploded, resting his head on the table as his rage fizzled. “It’s-… check the time. You’ll be late for work here quick.”

       "Yeah. Sorry, dad…“ Aiko hid the quivering in her lip as she marched over to the door, squeezing into her red runners and slinging her satchel around her shoulder. "I’ll see you later.”

****

       Aiko walked down the same path her mother always took to the city; she called it the “Sukoshi Path”, after a similar road she would take to school when she was a young girl living in Okinawa. She often shared stories on their long walks down the winding road through towering spruce and arbutus trees, stories about Japan, about life before the Marks showed up. Aiko would laugh and sing with her mother as they made their way down the hill, watching as ravens flew in the treetops and deer pranced about in the thickets. She felt so much older now; it had been four years since their last walk together from the cabin. Solitude and time had whitewashed those beloved stories, and she only retained fragments of them, like loose shards of stained glass left behind after a pane had been shattered.

       Aiko eventually reached the bottom of the hill and turned onto the highway, adjusting her satchel; the added weight from the heavy books inside had dug into her shoulder, to which she would often switch shoulders to combat the discomfort. Eventually, she just gave up and held the bag in her arms, keeping it close to her chest. Since high school, she had always kept a journal and marcusology encyclopedia close at hand to study and identify all the various Mark users that popped up around Vancouver Island. She had become an expert of sorts, though, she never really shared her knowledge on the subject with anyone else besides her mother.

       Work wasn’t very far at all— just some dinky convenience store just a mile down the road on the right side not too far from Port Renfrew, a fairly touristy town a few hours north of Victoria. The shop wasn’t too lively in the winter; only the occasional drifter or trucker would come by, maybe for a pack smokes or some junk food, typical items one would buy at such a place. In the summer one would see more tourists than anything else; perhaps a few local hippies here and there looking for a place to rest before they headed out to China Beach for some surfing. Aiko greatly preferred winter over summer in terms of business, but in the case of weather, Aiko despised the eternal grey sky of a Vancouver Island winter.

       The exterior of the convenience store wasn’t all that pleasant to look at. It was mostly made of sun-bleached wood, and the windows, though clean thanks to her diligent care, were somewhat scratchy and translucent from age. There was only one Helium 3 pump by the parking lot about the size of an air compressor— a replacement for the old gasoline pumps that had all but vanished just a few years ago. Fusion power had become all the rage since the U.S had set up mining operations on the Moon. However, all the rage or not, with rumours of a Third Wave of Marks approaching, Marked One incidents made everything else seem like old news. What news could possibly top superpowered humans attacking a school or a governmental building?

       Aiko opened the ancient wooden door, cringing a little as it let out its horrific creak, like one of those doors you would see in a bad horror movie with exaggerated sound effects. Aiko sighed as she looked to her workspace on the right, stepping into the tiny cashier’s booth. She set her satchel on the desk behind her, grabbed the large encyclopedia out of it, then sat down on her stool, placing her elbows on the front desk as she opened up the book.

       "Aiko? Are you here?“ A voice called out to her a few meters away, right next to the soft drink fountain— in the right corner of the store, concealed by a shelf full of protein bars and other health food for the hippies.

       "Yeah, Sal. I’m here.” Aiko replied, flipping through her encyclopedia as she checked the cash register.

       "Nice to see ya, niña. I was wonderin’ when you’d show up.“ Sal said with a usual grumble to his tone, replenishing the shelves with new product. "How’ve you been?”

       Salvador was from Spain, and he bought the store off of the previous owners a few years prior, when Aiko started working. Salvador was a thin man with olive skin, and he was around an inch shorter than Aiko. He was totally bald, and he sported a clean shaven, black goatee. His usual attire consisted of mainly classic rock t-shirts or flannel button-down shirts. In this instance, he was wearing a black “Pink Floyd: Dark Side of the Moon” shirt with the signature beam of light through the triangular prism, forming a rainbow on the other side. Along with the shirt, he wore a pair of blue jeans and red loafers. He was your average classic rock fanatic, and he would often play Led Zeppelin or Rush on the old as dirt CD player he had set up on a chair in the corner of Aiko’s booth.

       "I’m alright, Sal…“ Aiko nodded unconvincingly, still looking through her textbook.

       "I dunno. You’re lookin’ a little edgy today, eh?” Sal said, playing air guitar as his favourite riff in Kashmir came on. “C'mon, cheer up! Listen to the sweet sounds of Jimmy Page!”

       "Geez, Sal…“ Aiko chuckled as she watched Sal ham it up, strolling over to the second aisle of the store, stocking the shelves with beef jerky and other road food, still strumming an imaginary guitar. "You’re lucky no one is here to see that.”

       "The only one who’ll get embarrassed is you.“ Sal snickered as he ceased his miniature performance, returning to his work. "So, you’ve got any plans yet?”

      “I’m working on it…” Aiko shrugged her shoulders as she flipped to the section on Mark types.

       "Ah, you thinkin’ of bein’ a marcusologist?“ Sal looked over the counter at Aiko’s reading material. "You always read those books of yours.”

       "Yeah, well… not really. I dunno…“ Aiko shook her head as she continued reading.

       "Ah, you’ll figure it out, Koko. Don’t fret.” Sal insisted as he turned over the 'closed’ sign on the window to read 'open’. “Another day…”

       "Yep…“ Aiko muttered to herself.

       After around a half hour of meagre activity, it was clear that it was going to be a very slow day. Barely any cars stopped on their way to Port Renfrew, and Salvador became anxious like he always did in the winter. He’d occupy himself with crosswords or counted the tiles on the floor to pass the time; he was somewhat like a child. Perhaps that was why she stuck with him after so many years. He knew how to let loose once in a while, and Aiko had lost that part of her. She had always been so tense and introverted, it was hard being without her high school friends, and Sal was sort of their replacement. Although, Aiko knew this little world of hers couldn’t last. She was eighteen, she had a plan for the future, but it seemed so distant and impossible. Whether she had a dream or not, Aiko knew she had to leave Port Renfrew at some point. She just needed to find a way to get back up on her feet.

       "Hey, Koko. Can you pass me my water bottle? I think I left it under the desk there.” Sal gestured over to Aiko’s booth as he walked over, avoiding the arrangement of potato chips on the cardboard shelf by the front door— all stacked in a neat display. “Should be on the top shelf down there.”

       "Huh?“ It took a moment for his instructions to echo in Aiko’s head. "Oh, yeah. No problem.”

       Aiko got off her stool and crouched down, searching for the bottle. She leaned over a bit, going down on her knees to get more comfortable. There was a mess of other junk under the desk; CDs, cassette tapes, all old junk only Sal would have. After a minute or so of rummaging around, her hand touched something plastic. Aiko moved the old newspapers out of the way and grabbed the plastic container, placing it on the desk. However, Aiko paused before she got back on her feet.

       A subtle noise emanated from the empty space where the bottle once sat, drawing her closer. She listened carefully, perceiving them as muffled whispers of some sort. Aiko squinted, peering into the deep shelf to see what the source of the disturbance was. Hidden within the darkness was an odd symbol that shone a grey light. The symbol appeared to have two parts; the first looked a lot like a pedestrian one would see on road sign, however, behind it was the next piece— a larger, much more rigid humanoid. The whispers faded as she reached for the strange rune, and it vanished suddenly. Aiko recoiled in response, feeling a sharp sting on the back of her right hand; it felt like it had been doused in boiling water.

       "Ah!“ Aiko grimaced as she inspected her hand, her eyes going wide with shock. On it was the same exact symbol she had just examined. And sure enough, as she checked underneath the desk, the symbol had disappeared.

       "What? What is it, Koko?” Sal moved closer, checking to see if she was alright.

       "N-nothing! I’m fine! I-… I just thought I saw a rat is all. Must’ve just been my imagination…“ Aiko lied as she hid her right hand behind the desk, quickly flipping backward through her encyclopedia as she deterred Salvador from coming any closer.

       "Alright…” Sal nodded slowly as he took his water and walked to the row of coolers at the back of the store, assuming Aiko just had a moment.

      ��"If I’m right… then…“ Aiko assessed what had just happened, recalling every detail of the experience as she came to the page in her textbook on 'Mark Acquisition’. ”Here it is!“

*

CHAPTER ONE: MARK AQUISITION

       Based on information gathered from interviews with Mark-users, Marks will typically etch themselves into any conceivable surface in order to be noticed by a human. Once visual contact is established with a Mark, it will vanish from its point of origin and instantly latch itself onto the viewer’s skin.(It is unknown if the area on the body in which the Mark appears contributes to the power of the Mark in any way). While the true nature of mark acquisition has yet to be revealed, marcusologists have narrowed down possible contributing factors that may lead to a person obtaining a Mark.

Factors:

#1: The parent of the new Mark-user was also a Mark-user. (This scenario has been proven to occur almost 80% of the time amongst children of Mark-users).

#2: The new Mark-user has recently experienced psychological trauma (This has been known to yield extremely powerful and volatile Marks).

#3: Danger is imminent, and the Mark appears to protect its new user.

#4: A Mark-user is in close proximity.

*

       Starting with number one on the list, Aiko began to calculate. ”Alright. I know my dad isn’t a Mark-user, but mom was in the IMOP, though, she didn’t have one.“ She then came to the second bullet on the list. ”No… I haven’t experienced any real trauma recently. That fight with my dad wasn’t anything close to a trauma.“ Then she moved down to the third and fourth bullet. ”These two are both equally likely. Maybe it’s both. If a Mark-user is close, then perhaps they’re the imminent 'danger’.“

       Aiko closed her book as the front door swung open, ringing the bell hanging right above it, alerting Salvador. The stranger looked homeless; he wore a torn red sweater with the hood done up, sported a shabby beard, and he seemed to drunkenly shuffle towards her booth, grabbing a pack of cigarettes from the basket on the desk. Without paying, he tore into the pack with his unusually long and sharp fingernails, dropping shreds of plastic and cardboard on the floor. Aiko spoke up after a few minutes had passed, clearly seeing the concern in Salvador’s eyes. If this man was a Mark-user, she had to handle the situation herself. She couldn’t let Salvador close to him. Quickly Aiko raised her hand to halt Salvador, insisting that she had the situation under control.

       "E-excuse me, sir… you haven’t paid for those…” Aiko swallowed nervously, watching the shifty man snarl, gnashing a set of razor sharp canines as he tossed the cigarettes on the table. He scratched the wood countertop as a threat, indicating he had no intention of paying. “S-sir, I’ll call-. Sal, no!” Aiko was too late. Before Sal could knock him on the back of the head with his elbow, he reacted, slashing Salvador across the chest with his right claw, knocking him into a nearby shelf with a savage backhand. “Sal!”

       "You should’ve let me have a smoke, girl! You ain’t callin’ the cops! I ain’t goin’ back!“ The man’s claws extended even more, and excess hair began to grow around his eyes as he took a swing at Aiko.

       ”Those claws! He must be a Cellularum-type Mark of the Beast Class!  Predatory Beast Subclass!“ Aiko’s eyes widened as she ducked, shimmying under the counter to the other side of the booth. ”These guys are prone to irrational thoughts and actions! The most violent of all Mark-users! There’s no way this guy can be reasoned with now that he’s pissed off! I’ve got to deal with him now or he’ll kill us both!“

       Aiko grabbed the in-case-of-emergency mace from under her desk, waiting for the right moment. Then, as the raging man sliced through a section of her desk with his claws, Aiko sprung into action. She let out a spray of burning liquid from the can of mace into the man’s face as he let his guard down, blinding him.

"Arraaghhh!” The man growled as he slashed wildly in Aiko’s general direction, smashing her booth to pieces with his supernatural strength.

       Aiko vaulted over her desk before she was caught in the flurry of claws, making her way over to Sal to make sure he was still breathing. Luckily, he hadn’t sustained too severe of a laceration, but he had been rendered unconscious by the beast man’s brutal follow-up. Switched into survival mode, Aiko grabbed Sal and dragged him into the back room, letting the blind beast growl and roar by himself. Though she was given enough time to get Sal to safety, the homeless man began to pick up on Aiko’s scent in the air, using his nose to see. Realizing this, Aiko moved away from Salvador, running into the middle aisle, right in front of the glass door of one of the various drink coolers at the back of the store.

       "C'mon! I’m right here!“ Aiko shouted over to the man, a rush of adrenaline coursing through her. "Come and get me!”

       Annoyed by her confidence, the man charged forward, lunging at Aiko. But at the last second, Aiko strafed to the right, letting him run right into the glass door, shattering it to pieces. Though he was now grievously injured, the man still removed himself from the fractured remains of the cooler, his rage heightened to an even greater extent. He ran at Aiko while she was on the ground, glass lodged in face and chest, claws extended even further. This time Aiko was helpless, and in a last ditch effort, she brought her fist up, attempting to punch her attacker. To her surprise, she was not claimed by his claws. Aiko didn’t feel her fist connect at all, and yet the man was thrown back with such force that he flew through two aisles, stopping only once he impacted the drink fountain, launching liquids around the room in wild, sticky geyser of browns, oranges, and reds.

        Utterly speechless, Aiko’s mouth hung wide open as she found out just what had hit the beast-man. It was an arm about the size of her own, perhaps a bit larger. Its fist was clenched tightly like her own, and the whole arm appeared to be composed of the same material as the floor; tough ceramic tile and hardened grout.

       "Whaa….?“ Aiko gawked as the fist retracted back into the floor, returning the ground to its normal state. The Mark on her hand flashed brightly before fading back to its more tattoo-like form, indicating its power had subsided. "That was… my Mark’s ability?”

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