#I can keep things private but people thinking they know things that aren’t true…icky!!

[bookwyrminspiration]

“the mortifying ordeal of being known” what about the horrifying ordeal of someone thinking they know you but really they’re just misinterpreting everything and superimposing traits and characteristics onto you that aren’t there and creating a different you you don’t know how to get out of their head but every time they look at you you know they’re seeing something that isn’t you and that you don’t want them to see

[vampiresuns]

Creature Comfort

✴︎ CREATURE COMFORT ✴︎ 

2.9k words. In which Anatole learns the Band is in Vesuvia after Alec’s death and runs to them, pretending there isn’t one of them in specific he wants to see.

Leon (he/they) is @apprenticealec​‘s, and this piece is brought to you after her last fic, January, activated the Janiverse brainworms. Please go read that if you haven’t already.

Nadia was never late for a meeting. Ever. 

Anatole looked at his uncle with a questioning look, one of the many non-verbal communication cues they had developed while working together. They came in handy in moments like these. He shrugged at him, rolling his eyes and asking to be brought a wine glass and a very specific bottle from something Anatole didn’t even recognise, ignoring Lucio’s complaints about not being able to have wine himself. Anatole began to fidget with his quill, shaking it between his fingers, making it tap with his papers.

He didn’t want to be here. Not in Lucio’s room. It was too close to the plague. It was not safe enough. Him and Valerius could come in contact with it and bring it to the Palazzo. They could give it to anyone. They could get it themselves. 

Anatole couldn’t lose more people. Paris, though for different reasons than Plague was gone, Anzano was gone — and with them, part of Amparo’s joy — and while his parents were here, which was always a comfort, he constantly lived in fear his mother who had volunteered as a doctor would get it.

What if Valeriy got it? His chest constricted at the idea. Things with him were tense right then, but it was nothing Anatole could blame on any of them, because saying that they were going through a lot was a gross understatement. He wanted to take his uncle’s hand, something he would’ve done if they had been in the comfort of his office, but instead they were in Lucio’s fucking bedroom. What if he lost them too, because this, this, this, negligent imbecile with it’s negligent court still didn’t listen, still refused help. 

His tapping became louder. Probably, along with his aunt, the death which weighed him down the most was Alec’s. It didn’t feel just like losing her, but Ilya and Asra in the process, for their own different reasons. 

At times like this, he wished the band was here. 

“Hey, little Valerius, could you stop that tapping can’t you see it gives me a headache?”

Anatole tapped his quill one more time, on purpose. Lucio threw him a dirty look, but the Gods (whomever those were) knew Anatole couldn’t care less. 

“You’re not going to apologise?”

“Did I give you the headache? With my tapping, or didn’t you say you already had one when we came in?”

“Aelius,” Valerius warned him. He didn’t actually care how he spoke to Lucio, he knew that, but now was not the best time. 

Nadia arrived before things could escalate, excusing herself by saying she had taken longer with her cousin than she had thought she would take. Now, as a rule, Anatole never talked about his personal life when he was in Court duty. If he could pretend he didn’t have a personal life, the better. It was all out of professionalism, a defence mechanism and him being a naturally private person who wanted people who were not part of his circle to stay the fuck away from his personal business. He was good at redirecting personal questions he didn’t want to answer, and his own abilities allowed him to know beforehand when people had what he described as ‘icky interest’, unable to describe the leftover sensation his magic left him in any other way.

But it was late autumn, and he had seen so many Vesuvians die, his friend had died, his aunt had died, and for a moment his heart betrayed him, thinking that maybe, just maybe seeing Leon alive and well would be a comfort. 

Why? He couldn’t tell. They had nothing that was serious, but right then he would’ve given anything for the comfort of his laughter. For allowing himself, for one moment, to focus on anything other than the impotence of his position. 

Now, when Anatole got single minded, his ability to see consequences blurred a little, however, he had enough mind to change to Prakran when speaking to Nadia. “Was it Jamil? Is he alone?”

It was a way to loophole his own rule about no personal talk at work, and a way to keep Lucio at a distance. He would keep the Count at a distance no matter what. 

“Aelius,” Valerius said, standing close to him, his voice no longer the Consul’s, but his uncle’s, “I don’t think now is the time.”

For Valerius to be speaking to him like that in public, Anatole must’ve looked frazzled. Valerius was a peculiar man: Anatole couldn’t say he had met many more people, if anyone at all, who were two distinctively different people in private and in public and managed to come off as authentic on both occasions. The cues were there in either scenario, but it made sense why people who only knew Valerius publicly couldn’t understand why someone such as Anatole put up with him for any other reason than personal ambition. 

Right then, however, as Nadia replied that yes, it was Jamil and the Band, Anatole couldn’t listen to his uncle, but he pleaded to him silently — another of their nonverbal cues — when he passed on his quill and his papers to him. 

“I have to go.” 

“Aelius,” and, of course, the Consul was back. “Your duties.”

Anatole raised a single eyebrow at his uncle. He would rather get chewed back when they were home about this than staying; besides, what could he say? His Court performance was stellar. He cleared his throat. “Clean water sources, especially if we can get a way to pool the infected water back so we can study it are a priority, the chain supply for the flooded district completely broke, and you need to speak to the Guild of Merchants about it. A new group of nurses has been taken to the Lazaret this morning, and according to three different accounts we should get more court magicians to see whether or not this disease has a magical origin. Did I miss anything, Consul?”

Anatole didn’t wait for an answer. Bringing out a face covering from one of his pockets, he tied it with practice around his face, breaking into a race before anyone could stop him. 

His steps echoed through the halls of the Palace as he ran. Outside, the sure clacking sound against the cobblestones travelled with him as he made his way through the City as fast as he could. He felt his chest burn from exhaustion and a frantically beating heart, but he couldn’t stop, he couldn’t slow down until he was near the familiar street of Camia’s shop and dusk fell on the City. 

He sat outside to catch his breath for a moment, something twisting inside him when he realised what he had done: he had almost snapped at the Count (again), he had barged the Countess with questions, and he had deflected a meeting he had to attend. Sure, his notes had all the information they needed, so Valerius could literally read them aloud and it’ll be just as if he was there, but he had been working in the Court for three years now. He should know better than shoving his sense of duty into someone else’s hands because he wanted—

What did he want? He felt the words freezing at his throat, a knot threatening to make all words escape him, forever, as he hanged on the cliff’s edge, refusing to look down because looking down meant admitting to himself too many things he didn’t want to admit. That he couldn’t admit. 

He was there anyway, so he knocked on the door. 

As soon as he stepped inside, he felt like coming here was a mistake, but once again, he couldn’t turn back. Out of stubbornness or true caring, he didn’t know. Perhaps both. Pulling through his impulsive decision was better than allowing the skin crawling sensation that he wasn’t wanted there win. No, he’d push down under a rug, and deal with it when he was alone. It wasn’t Camia, however, who made him feel that way. Camia had given him a half-hug, half-shoulder grab that was all the same full of affection that he was happy to retrieve as she asked about him, and he allowed himself to finally answer a personal question, and he asked about her and how she was doing, if there anything he could do.

It was Leon. 

The source of the skin crawling sensation grew just a little bigger, threatening to snap his gut in two. 

“You too? I didn’t realise we were hosting a pity party.” 

He had never been more thankful for Leon not to be able to see his face, and never more embarrassed that Camia could. He exhaled, letting a practiced neutrality settle on his own features. 

“Right. Anyway—”

“What’s your excuse that you didn’t know and you were so very busy following the Consul around.”

“Leon,” Camia said, “Nana, I’m sorry.”

He gritted his teeth as he replied. “I did know Alec died,” saying it was more difficult that he wanted to acknowledge, “I knew almost immediately. I have ways to keep tabs on the Lazaret, or rather, I have to overview the death lists, if you wanted to know how I knew, Leon. There’s no need to apologise Cami, I just didn’t know you were still in the City. Asra mentioned talking to you, but him and I aren’t precisely on speaking terms at the moment.”

He took a deep breath, letting out a sigh. “But I didn’t come to bore you with my accommodated Court position troubles, of course, I came because grieving is a bitch, life doesn’t stop for it, and I’m sure you all need a hand.”

As he tried to make his way to the kitchen, telling Camia an inventory of things he was happy to help with, insisted to help with, Leon stood between him and his way. For the first time since he had arrived, and for the first time in what it felt like too long, Anatole allowed himself to look at Leon. He wasn’t going to lie to himself: Leon’s face had crept onto his memories too often, sitting too comfortably in the back of his mind as a source of ongoing, mental conversation between him and what he thought Leon would bicker about when he was tired of the Courtiers being terrible, or other people who worked in it being just as exhausting as them. 

That Leon and this Leon didn’t look anything alike. He was thinner, his hair looked messier, he looked sad. He looked incommensurably sad. It made Anatole want to reach out and pull him close. 

Leon wouldn’t want that, and even if Anatole gave into wishful thinking, his words were enough to cut that thread: “What do you think you’re doing?”

“It’s called helping you, I mean your friends. So if you please let me go to the kitchen to make a list.”

“But why? Is it guilt, Anatole?”

He shouldn’t have come here. “I do not dignify stupid questions with answers, Leon. No matter who they come from.” 

He stepped to the side, walking past Leon and making his way through the shop for pen and paper. He hadn’t been there too many times, but he had been there enough times to have a vague idea of where they were. He settled in the kitchen area to make a list of things he could get for them right then, and things he could help them procure regularly. If anyone came to ask about his own grieving, he already had an answer prepared as using his extensive, notoriously tightly knit family was always a good excuse. Two of his friends had come live with them, because it was safer. He had people. 

They didn’t need to know how much he spoke of or he let himself feel around them. He would’ve liked to talk with them about Alec, talking helped him process things, but he thought it was unfair to ask, so he didn’t. He didn’t ask, and wrote his list instead, pretending he couldn’t hear Leon and Camia bicker about him somewhere else in the shop. 

He left through the back door to go into the market, came back through it. Brewed tea for everyone, and cooked dinner bringing Jamil a tray with food when it was done. 

“It’s been a while since I had to use a kitchen, but I want to think I haven’t turned completely useless,” he told an unresponsive Jamil as he squeezed his shoulder. “If you want me to tell Valeriy you’re here, I would be happy to help with that too, just let me know, will you?” 

Jamil didn’t say anything, but Anatole didn’t expect him to. 

Camia told him off for not asking for help with dinner and he shrugged, making nothing out of it. “It’s the least I could do.” 

Leon spoke before Camia could reply. His tone was less hostile, but still far removed. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“You always do that thing where you do more than people usually would, and then call it nothing.” 

“If you want to file a complaint, the booth is open from monday to thursday, from 11 am to 3 pm, and it’s well past that hour, so I don’t think I’m taking criticism at the moment. Look, I know you’re going to tell me that was my own decision, but I almost snapped at the Count and ditched a meeting to be here. I came as soon as I knew, and before you say anything else, Leon, I am well aware you are all more than capable than taking care of yourselves, and that you are capable of being responsible for once—”

“What’s that supposed to mean—”

“I think you’ve interrupted me enough. I’m not Nadia. I’m not someone you can chew because it’s easier to process what you’re feeling that way. It hu— it’s not fair.”

To his surprise, Leon didn’t fight back. Instead, he asked Camia if he could excuse him and Anatole for a moment. Leon surprised him again by apologising. 

“I… what?”

“Take it or leave it,” Leon said, trying his best to emulate their playful bickering, but Anatole could tell in his words that he was far, far away. His mind was somewhere else, and he couldn’t do anything but respect that.

“You don’t have to entertain me, you know? I really didn’t come because I would get something out of it, other than lending a hand to people I care about. I believe I told you already what I believe about affection.”

They stood together in silence, Anatole wanting to reach out and hug Leon. All he allowed himself to do instead was run his finger over Leon’s forearm twice. Exactly twice. 

“Leon, do you know that if you, you specifically, ever needed anything I would help you, right? If you let me be there for you, I’d be happy to do it.” 

Leon put his hand on Anatole’s arm. Anatole, for a second, allowed himself to believe in every possible, positive outcome of the interaction. Thousands of Leon’s existed in that moment, as many as crossroads existed right then. Some thanked him, a heartfelt thank you he could feel through his words, his magic absorbing the warmth of it. Some hugged him, for long minutes until Camia came to retrieve them, and they knew they could all be sad together, but they would be together nonetheless. Others kissed him, kissed him like Anatole desperately wanted to, his treacherous heart screaming for Leon to turn to him at the worst possible time to ask for such a selfish thing that Leon couldn’t possibly want, but it didn’t matter. Because in that moment he allowed himself to hope for once in months and—

“Could you keep an eye on Asra?”

What he wanted to reply was who kept an eye on Leon, he could keep an eye on Leon. What he said was: “Is something the matter?”

“You both work at the palace, you see him more than we do and I’m worried about him. I’m afraid he’s looking into things he can’t control.”

Anatole stepped back, straightening invisible wrinkles from his coat, clearing his throat. “I will, but I need you to promise not to stretch yourself too thin… actually, I will anyway, I’m sure you don’t need me bossing around.”

Leon’s smile was weak, but sincere. “Will you take care?”

“Leon, you don’t need to worry about me.”

“You said you almost snapped at Lucio.”

“He wanted me to stop tapping a quill, it was nothing, he never means it when I’m bouncing stuff against things. Not that I’m making excuses for him, I have better things to do with my time.”

“I know he’s sick but—”

“Leon, I don’t want to talk about my insufferable boss.”

Anatole wanted to take a Gondola back home, he didn’t want to walk. He wanted to sit down on one of the boats and see the stars reflected in the water, swirling as the gondolier moved, and make inconsequential chatter with them, but he had never been very good at lying to himself. 

He was feeling too many things he couldn’t admit, he was feeling too much altogether and whenever he was overwhelmed, he cried. He could cry in silence, him and the City and his steps as he made his way back to the Heart District and pretended he knew what to do about his own. For the first time in forever, he wished he hadn’t taught himself to hope. 

[woodrokiro]

Hollowed (fic) Part Three

Fandom: Bleach

Pairing: IchiRuki

Summary: They call her a miracle, but he looks at her as if she’s normal. It scares her. Fantasy/Futuristic/Zombie kinda?AU. Read Part One and Part Two.

As a kid, Ichigo imagined this place to be heaven on Earth. 

High up on the mountain, heavily secured by both stone walls and the near entirety of the militia, containing the smartest doctors and scientists dedicated to fighting the Hollowed--these are details that can allow more luxuries than one in the Valley could ever imagine.

He believed the walls to be just adorned in gold, gardens and fields bursting with fruits and vegetables to last years, doctors that can aid without having to wait until it’s officially deemed “safe” outside, and its people walking the grounds like they were on Cloud 9.

And… Yes, it’s incredible how privileged these people are to be living within such a structurally secured community. There are, indeed, ancient tapestries on the walls that must be hundreds of years old from the Old World at least, and he is disgusted with how plentiful the food is here compared to what is provided to the Valley.

But there’s… Something heavy in the air here.

The constant fog of the mountain has clearly taken its toll on the castle, as he notices mildew and mold in quite a few corners of stone. It’s crumbling, some trees outside bend to the ground as if too tired to pick themselves up, and it’s so fucking cold like good God, this is the place everyone says will be humanity’s saving grace?

And it’s not just the place itself: everyone walks with order, with a restrained purpose that never deviates within the day. There wasn’t much joy back where he was from either… But Jesus. He smiled at the maid that showed them their rooms the first night and she nearly bolted out of the room. There is a dark look in everyone’s eye, a near-obsessive work ethic as if they’re terrified  that today someone will call them lazy and have them kicked back down the mountain. 

Of course, the level of comfort at which you sit in your job depends on your station. 

 The caste system here nearly dictates that the militia is king, the scientists are nobles, and the “service” (cooks, farmers, housekeepers) are the bugs beneath everyone’s feet.

And Yamamoto is God. 

Blame it on him being from a normal (albeit, more dangerous) village, but he hates this hierarchy bullshit. 

---

“The more I see of this place, the less I like,” he tells his group their first night with crossed arms. “What, just because they have more access to weapons and protection they’re better than us? What makes that old guy in charge? Why did that Hinamori chick just near run out of the room? And what was the deal with that...” he motions wildly with his hands, trying to express… He doesn’t know. “You know. The girl in the really fancy dress, what’s her deal?!”

He sees Karin rolling her eyes, and Uryu sighs. “Kurosaki, we don’t have a choice. Obviously we’re allowed here on some favor from your father, but these aren’t people we want to rock the boat with. It’s a thin line between being a reluctantly welcomed guest and a happily thrown out one.”

“While it’s clear that Ichi-nii is having issues expressing himself here, I agree with my brother,” Karin cuts in. “On the other side of that coin: why did they allow us in? There have been people with more vying for a position here for years. Protection like this is worth all the gold and silver and food in the world. What was with our dad’s sword that made it so easy? Something’s fishy here, and I don’t like it.”

“Maybe Lord Yamamoto remembers your father as a friend, Ichigo? Or he just suddenly realized that there were some jobs open? There were these extra rooms already here, after all…” Inoue’s voice is hopeful, and Yuzu next to her nods enthusiastically in agreement. 

But Karin won’t budge. “Nah, these guys are military, the same ones that were supposed to protect us all these years and failed so miserably they escaped up here. There’s no way there are noble intentions here.”

“The point is, we can’t be too careful here… Or at least reckless.” Uryu shoots a pointed look at him, and Ichigo has a not-so-rare urge to throw him out the window. “We have to lay low for a bit and keep our guard up. Kurosaki, it’s clear Yamamoto’s got some sort of an interest in you. He arranged some meetings with you in the coming days, yes?”

Ichigo shifts. “Well, yeah, but that could be just because he’s setting up a position for me--”

“All the rest of us are to report in the common hall for our positions tomorrow. You’re the only one actually meeting with him.” Uryu raises an eyebrow. “See what kind of information he gives you. Take note on what he needs from you. But remember: you have to follow his rules on his time. That’s the only way we’re going to know a little better on how this place works.”

The group sits in silent contemplation until Yuzu sniffles. “And then what?” Her voice is shaky, and her watery eyes break Ichigo’s heart. “After we figure out the system… Then where do we go? What do we do?”

Ichigo is about to say something falsely cheerful to comfort his sister before Chad in his corner clears his throat. 

“We survive,” he finally says, and that has to be good enough for all of them.

---

And three days in, Ichigo still has no clue what Yamamoto’s got in store for him.

Although the messages he has received each morning since their arrival says that he’ll be meeting with the old man, he finds out it’s more like he’s meeting with generals and captains who represent Yamamoto, or something.

Powerful people are fucking weird.

In any case, he’s certainly not been twiddling his thumbs. A General Ukitake gave him a tour of the grounds, focusing more on the military section--and Ichigo guesses Yamamoto wanted to see if he was true to his word on using a sword, because then he was forced to spar with a few of the soldiers.

Mostly easy fights, if you ask him--although one bald guy and an angry redhead kind of gave him a rough time--but Ichigo just barely avoided a battle with a Captain Kenpachi, who grinned maniacally and demanded a battle “as soon as the old geezer puts you back here.”.

(Ichigo’s pretty sure at this point he’s going to be put in a military position, and it fits. But he would really really like to not be in that captain’s squad.)

There’s been a couple of actual meetings with the old man, but nothing of substance: each lasts an uncomfortably long ten minutes, with Yamamoto staring at him for long periods of time before peppering in casual questions about his village, his group, and his father.

It’s bizarre, but Ichigo decides to follow Uryu’s advice for once and go along with the whole thing. He bristles at Yamamoto’s question concerning his mother… But otherwise, he answers them as honestly as he can. 

He’s not given the worst job, he supposes. 

Actually, nearly none of them are. Uryu--while resenting the military system as much as he did--snagged a spot at the wall with his bow, and he mentioned they might give him a position within science, what with his family’s medical background. Chad scored a position in weaponry, and while he doesn’t have any previous experience (that Ichigo knows of), Ichigo’s confident he’ll do great. 

The girls are in the service, and Ichigo feels… Conflicted about that. 

He gets the icky feeling that it’s weirdly sexist (even though Yuzu really is talented in the kitchen… BUT HER GENDER HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH IT), and can’t help but feel it as demeaning to his sisters and friend. The service is treated bottom rung here, after all, and if someone even remotely tries to mess with one of them…

Not to mention Karin is absolutely miserable. 

But he knows she grits her teeth, does her job alongside Yuzu and Inoue and everyone else for the sake of being remotely safe for once in their goddamned lives. If she can suck it up, so can he.

The longer Yamamoto has him wait for his job, the more nervous it makes him. That’s all. 

---

On the fourth morning after the others have headed to work, he receives a message to go directly to Yamamoto’s quarters. 

He’s escorted by a few soldiers--which is weird, considering the ease of which he’s been going place to place the last few days--and the old man is sitting patiently at his desk, hands clasped together. 

It’s like he’s going to get punished.

And he has no idea what Yamamoto has on him (probably something his old man did, screwing him over even after probable-death, the fucker), but Ichigo prays to whatever god might still be out there and care about humanity that the world can do whatever it wants to him, just leave his friends and sisters be--

“I’ve assigned a guard job for you, Ichigo Kurosaki.”

He stares blankly at the old man. 

“That’s… It? After all this time?”

Yamamoto smiles in a way that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yes, well, we do apologize for the delay. There were some… Precautions that we had to take before getting you to this position. We wanted to make sure you were a right fit.”

“Oh… Okay. So am I at the gate with Uryu, or--”

“No, no. None of that.” A gnarled hand waves the thought away. “This is a private guard position. Very important. Tell me, do you remember seeing our Lady Rukia the day you arrived?”

Ichigo tries to think of the female faces he caught in the crowd, and then remembers the woman in the ornate garb. “The one dressed in all the… Dressed really nicely?”

“Yes, that very one. She is dressed to reflect how precious she is to us. We call her our ‘Prized One.’ Tell me, have you ever played chess? You might call her the queen of our board.”

“... I’m not sure I follow--”

“You don’t need to.” The response is sharp, so swift that Ichigo almost startles. Yamamoto glares hard behind his hands at him, before suddenly relaxing. “Just know that your job is to guard her. You will be going with her where she goes, watching the entrance to her rooms. We have enemies that would very much like to take her, and that… Would be devastating to our cause.”

Ichigo’s having a hard time biting his tongue on all the questions bubbling up. What the fuck is up with this girl? 

Instead, he asks: “So, in terms of guarding her at night… I suppose what I’m trying to say here is, will I be her only guard? I hate to tell you I can’t be awake twenty four hours, sir.”

The old man chuckles dryly. “Of course not, my boy. Nothing of that sort is expected. We have a rotating staff at night while she sleeps; but you will be her primary guardian. In return, your group will be made of good use here.”

Ah. There it is. 

“So you’re blackmailing me, eh? I knew it was only too convenient that you took on my friends and sisters so easily.”

“Not at all. They have all been mastering their duties beautifully. This is just… Insurance, you might say. If you do your job, they will keep theirs. You would be wise to take it; others have not had such an offer.”

“So why me? What’s so important about this job, and why does it have to be me that does it?”

“You’ll learn, as I’m sure your friends have told you, that it’s better not to question this institution. Just trust that this is a job I consider you capable of, and leave the decision making to us. Now,” Yamamoto slides a sheet of paper from the corner of his desk to himself and begins to write on it. “Go to the Northwest Hall, fourth floor. If you get lost, there will be service persons that can lead you the right direction. They’ve been made aware of your new position.”

The old man doesn’t even acknowledge Ichigo’s leaving as he writes further.

[kimyoonmiauthor]

Why Your Books Will Get Banned (Old Nanowrimo Post)

I used to post this game on Nanowrimo. I saved the text before Nanowrimo declared that the N-word spelled out was OK and this wasn’t a democracy (2010, in the archives, at the bottom). I figure it’s OK to post that unless they didn’t change their policy since then, because they want prejudice (though that wasn’t the worst of what they wouldn’t mod). Writing forums need to be run at the top by diverse people, and not just white women. Separate post though. BTW, I have witnesses who still remember this incident, so it isn’t slander. I was working on diversity in the writing forums before WeNeedDiverseBooks was a thing and squandered the opportunity by making it only YA. And I’ll still call them out for that. It got challenged, this thread once, much to the laughter of everyone. (for being anti-Christian lol) If the writer is out there that challenged the thread and somehow got published. Thumbs up, good for you. Maybe you revised since then? The thing I didn’t post with this post every year from 2005-2010 I did this post was I posted it because I wanted people to think hard on Free Speech and what it meant. So I’ll hardball it this time. As you read the list, think hard on who is gate keeping. And who has the right to gate keep. Is gate keeping a tool to oppress and do the power minorities have a right to use the same tool back? How many books don’t even get a chance to be published? I’d also add that chasing after individual authors for the last 10 years has done nothing to change the system. The percentages are the exact same. And how that affects what people in the future will think of us now. Can you write a book that won’t be challenged on these fronts at all? And if you’re going to say, “You’re anti-cancel culture” This was posted before “cancel culture” was a thing. This is more like an examination of the system of censorship itself. (Because look, I like examining systems.) If you want to take this list, BTW, this is years and years of my work reading through ALA who never compiled this list. I’d been following the list since High School when I did a banned book class (which was a fad of the time, I think). So... maybe, give me credit? I feel sad I have to say that. And thanks to Jakob Nielsen and my Typography prof for teaching me the way to format text.

This thread was originally started in honor of ALA Banned Book Week. I've started this several years in a row. Disclaimers for this thread: ('cause I've done this for a few years) 1. We do not support the idea of banning/challenging books. 
2. We are doing this for fun and it should not be taken seriously. 
3. If you are seriously offended by the fact that we would write these scenes into books please consider the following:
a. It is out of context.
b. You probably unwittingly own a banned book without knowing it. Please check the list: <a href="http://www.ala.org/bbooks/frequentlychallengedbooks">http://www.ala.org/bbooks/frequentlychallengedbooks</a>
c. We are not popular enough to get our books banned, and by hoping in a weird way that they will get banned, you are helping our egos. ^.~
d. If you are religious, the Qu'ran, the (I think Ramayana), the Torah, the Bible all have been challenged or banned. (KJV of the Bible if you plan to be snooty, by even more ironically Jews once, and Atheists the second time). (The Art of War, I also believe was challenged/banned.) (And also, the Bible probably contains more than half of the issues that Christians ban other books for. Christians banned Moll Flanders. All the issues the banned Moll Flanders for is in the Old Testament. Particularly Genesis) 
4. This is not a thread for hot debate on the moralities of book banning. It is for listing why you think your book will get banned. If you would like to do so--please start a separate thread. You don't have to stick to Nanowrimo for this thread either.

General Notes: ('cause I like to point out the humor) - This thread was challenged and asked to be banned before. (Because someone was offended by the contents.) The challenge failed, BTW, just in case you'd like to challenge it again. - You probably have to write Young Adult and under to get banned *most* of the time. - Asterisks indicate new ones for the year. (BTW, most of it is about Islam, this year... sex and violence of course)

Want to avoid getting banned/challenged? (Categorized by how the banners see it for maximum head desk based on real book challenges and bannings.)

RELIGION You can't talk about religion. -- No taking the Lord's name in vain. -- You can't have anyone question the will of God or curse them when they lose faith after losing their best friend. (Bridge to Terabithia) -- Anything from Islam --- Cannot include Islam, even as a text book, because it will "indoctrinate the students into the Islamic religion." even if you are only covering it as a chapter. * (World History by Ellis, Elisabeth Gaynor and Anthony Esler.) *

-- Anything (fill in your religion here.) because some people are (fill in your exclusionary term here) -- Atheism (though not a religion, still argued by the theists as one. =P) -- You can't swear, including the word "damn." -- A boy and a girl can't live together if not related, because it's obviously living in sin. -- Can't be detrimental to Christian values.* (The Handmaids Tale, which is BTW, based on a Biblical story...) (The Bible, Torah, Qu'ran and many other religious books have been banned. Yes, if you have a religious book,  it has most likely been banned or challenged.)

SOCIAL INEQUALITY You can't talk about class or classism.

You can't talk about race. -- You can't use racial slurs. -- You can't talk about racism. -- You can't have a black bunny marry a white bunny because that's supporting interracial marriage. (The Rabbit's Wedding, though Once Upon a Time in Wonderland also does this explicitly... must have enraged the challenger.) -- The book can't be deemed racist in any fashion. -- You can't talk about Mexican-American issues or history. (Apparently it's a lie that Mexican Americans get racism. *cough*) (Arizona Governor, though it was overturned later). -- You cannot have a Person of Color explicitly on the cover of the book. (Barnes and Nobles pulled that off with Cindy Pon's Silver Pheonix--not to mention all the other publishers.)

No talking about over eating, bad eating habits. No talking about disabilities including cerebral palsy. Can't be sympathetic to Armenians or for portraying Azerbaijans as "savages" [book burner's words] (because apparently you will get a $12,700 price on your head to *cut your ear off* for being historically accurate.) (Stone dreams by Aylisli) *

QUILTBAG Issues: -- You can't talk about sexuality. (As in the willingness to have sex). -- You can't talk about sexual orientation. (As in Straight LGB) -- You can't talk about gender identity issues unless it is cis and not crime investigation kind either. - Main character cannot have two fathers. (The Popularity Papers by Amy Ignatow)

Magic Issues: You can't have talking animals. (Peter Rabbit.) Oh, no magic, no mention of witches, and no fantasy (That promotes Satanism and teaches them to do evil satanic spells).  (Harry Potter)

VIOLENCE Children can't do violence, especially to adults or to each other. Especially school violence. You can't have kids doing stunts or possibly hurting themselves. No realistic depictions of the Vietnam War. Can't be Graphic.* (The House of the Spirits) - Cannot have violent illustrations.*  (The Librarian of Basra by Jeanette Winter and Nasteen's Secret School by Jeaenette Winter)

No dysfunctional families. -- You can't talk about child abuse.

No characters may ever die. -- No dead parents. -- No dead siblings. -- No dead best friends (Even if you are a Christian author, other Christians will come after you).  (Bridge to Terabithia) -- No dying adults. -- You may not mention anyone dead (already) or dying (currently). -- No young infants dying. -- No talk of euthanasia.

You can't have any mention of cannibalism. (Alive, etc)

DRUGS You can't mention any drugs, including alcohol, especially with teenagers drinking it. (The Perks of Being a Wallflower--though there are many others) --- Children can't carry alcoholic beverages.

GENERAL MORAL OBJECTIONS You can't have it be morally corrupt. -- You can't have monsters of any kind. (Where the Wild Things Are) It can't be a "Downer" (Anne Frank) And by all means it can't be "icky." "gross" or "scary" (Goosebumps) Can't be perceived as Anti-feminist.* You can't be a PoC and write something negative about being a PoC.* (The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian) - Cannot have "inappropriate content" (Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman [Welcome to the banned books club, Mr. Gaiman.])* - You cannot have a single mother. (The popularity papers by Amy Ignatow.)* - Cannot be a "Bad book" that "one shouldn't be associated with."* (Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison) - Cannot have "an underlying socialist-communist agenda."*(Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison--note it was challenged in her own home state for this....) - Cannot have a book that goes on about "developmental preparedness" (i.e about children developing?) and "student readiness."  (The Story of a Childhood by Marjane Satrapi)*

No children defying authority figures. -- No cursing at parents. -- No disobeying parents. -- You can't have kids breaking dishes (especially to avoid washing them). (A Light in the Attic)

No toilet humor. You can't have characters eating worms, because that's unsanitary.  (How to Eat Fried Worms)

SEX Your book can't mention any private parts. You can't mention body parts (this was how it was phrased. --;;) -- Even if you have drawings of lots of people on the beach, not even one of them, even when drawn at 2cm x 2cm can be topless, even as a joke. (Where is Waldo) -- No talk or showing of nudity.  (even when private parts aren't shown) -- You cannot teach sexual issues in your book to middle school students. * (The Middle School Survival Guide)

You can't have masturbation or any mention of sex. -- No beastiality -- No showing of safe sex. (Apparently Teen pregnancy is still A-OK, but safe sex isn't! --;;) -- And you can't use any words with "tit" in them. (Title will now be called tidle just not to offend anyone.)  (Harry Potter)

Rape may be seen by banners as a type of porn. (I see it as violence, but the banner saw it as titilating sex. --;; *gags*) (Speak)

AUTHOR CAN'T BE... -- LGBT (Asexuality, apparently, is still safe.) -- You can't have the same name as anyone connected to "Socialism" or "Marxism." (Texas School board)

Good luck getting it published.

So yes, this was started as satire. If you have any further questions about said history of said thread, you are welcome to PM me. Do not start it in the thread.

And please reply using the "reply" button at the bottom of the page, not this post.

Banned books for this year PDF: http://www.ila.org/BannedBooks/ALA016%20Short%20List%20L3c_low%20%281%29.pdf

[thelegendofclarke]

I'm a jonsa fan, but she straight up nailed you, unfortunately. Just own up to it. You claimed something that was clearly a lie and they've pulled receipts on you that shows it was a lie. Honestly, the more jonsa fans that behave like lunatics about daenerys and call her crazy shit, the worse jonsa fans look. We all need to chill out.

Nailed me on WHAT? And own up to WHAT?? And WHAT tf do those so called “receipts” show, exactly?!?

Did you happen to miss the part where she said, “ETA: oh wait i DIDN’T actually send her those links that I SPECIFICALLY SAID I SENT HER but she’s still a terrible person who I hate sooo…” (x)

And no, I didn’t want to get involved. I was TRYING to take a step back from wank and a step back from fandom in general (both for fandom related reasons and for personal reasons, many of which I told this person but would rather not publicly get into detail about). A fact that I told this person MULTIPLE TIMES, and yet they STILL continued to bring up wank to me and drag me into it and demand I insert myself into conversations and situations that made me uncomfortable, which I refused to do as is my right. You can count on one hand the number of times I have actually TALKED about D on my blog. I don’t like the conversation that surrounds her, it is unpleasant, unproductive and (CLEARLY) toxic af. I don’t know why I have the ~responsibility~ to talk about things I have never talked about in the first place or what ~accountability~ I have for things I have never fucking talked about. And I NEVER said there wasn’t toxicity or issues in the fandom when we talked and on the NUMEROUS occasions where they continued to try to show me wank when I specifically said I was trying to AVOID WANK and had it Blacklisted, TS-ed, blocked, and filtered all I possibly could. They were forcing things on me that I was not seeing BY DESIGN for my own personal reasons which I explained to them on more than one occasion. Me saying “I didn’t fucking see this” isn’t me saying “that didn’t happen,” CLEARLY it happened given that they showed it to me. They are just completely misrepresenting what occurred here.

(Oh and not to mention that the times that I DID get involved or try to do something, they were deemed “not good enough“ or “not supportive enough” or “not specific enough.” Remember the Love Train thing I tried to do to be supportive after the whole Campfire Fuckplot bullshit? Yeah, apparently that was me just trying to “bury them in wank.” Like, I cannot even EXPLAIN to y’all how draining and degrading and fucking depressing it is to have people CONSTANTLY nitpicking your every goddamn move and word trying to find some kind of insidious intent and make everything you do or say a personal insult to them. To CONSTANTLY have people hinting at or vague blogging about or a lot of times just down right telling you what a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad person and friend you are. To be CONSTANTLY accused of using people for popularity, of being fake, of lying, of gaslighting. And all this coming from people who are supposed to be your “friends,” it’s NEVER ENDING and it’s just awful to be around tbqh.)

(And it’s REALLY CUTE and SUPER CONVENIENT that the part about “oh wait lol I DIDN’T ACTUALLY SEND HER THOSE OR SHOW HER ANYTHING!!!” didn’t make it into the original call out post. Nooo no no, that call out post is just about how I’m a lying bitch who no one wants to be friends with because I’m fucking shady, and that’s what is making the rounds and that is what people are believing.)

Or how that part about me “reblogging with a rebuttal” is a FLAT OUT FUCKING LIE, given this is the post and the version of the post I reblogged…

Or how my url is NO WHERE in the notes of the 2 year old post she posted a screenshot of that is somehow supposed to prove my ~insidious knowledge~ of something…

A post which I do not remember seeing… I very well might have; but like I said, it has been 2 years, and it’s not a time I particularly care to look back on or think about. (I was also being placed on meds for the first time due to the personal/mental health issues I referenced at that point and my doctor was trying to figure out which dosages I needed so I was out of it A LOT.) Nor does this post refer Hitler at any point, which is supposedly what I am being a “fucking liar” about having never seen.

Or how those DM screenshots (of our private conversation from over a year ago) don’t say a fucking WORD about Hitler…

Or how she left out the original part of the Twitter thread where I specifically stated that it is the “D is Hitler” argument that I’ve never seen. (and for the last time: NO, I HAVE NEVER SEEN ANYONE IN FANDOM SAY THAT!)

And left out the ENTIRE rest of the twitter thread/conversation in question (which does not say ANYTHING about albinism). And in which I did NOT say that I have never seen anyone comparing D or the Targs to other things like Nazis, nor deny that there are any problems with this fandom being toxic (because, i mean, lol CLEARLY there fucking are)…

(**this is where the tweet in the photo above would go but I’m not putting it in again because that would be redundant**)

(Links to this whole twitter exchange for anyone who wants them: x, x, x, x)

Or how this person is accusing me of just caring about ~popularity~ and wanting to maintain my “BNF-ness” and gain “popularity points;” an issue THEY are fixated on (and have brought up and accused me and other people of in multiple times in multiple conversations) not me (x, x)…

Or where they have straight up admitted to keeping tabs on me (or hate scrolling i think is the term the ~youths~ are using nowadays) on twitter even though we do not follow each other on twitter (or on here), and we are not on speaking terms and haven’t been for some time, and they have stated they wanted to curate me out of their fandom experience (x)…

Or where this person is bringing up private and very personal shit (that I told them in confidence because I thought they were my friend and that I could trust them) because they hate me (x)…

**Backhandedly referencing the fucking terrible depression I was going through at the time where I couldn’t even get out of bed in the morning. A fact that I, again, told her in confidence because she was supposed to be my friend and I trusted her.

(Also, this wasn’t the worst few months of MY fandom life. My fandom life doesn’t revolve about YOU or the things YOU care about, believe it or not. I’d have to sit down and think about when the worst time of my fandom life was. There are a few points in time that are strong contenders. But I gotta say… right now is NOT PARTICULARLY FUCKING FUN.)

AND bringing up personal things that happened between us which have nothing to do with what they are accusing me of or the situation at hand…

And for the fucking record: yes, our friendship crumbling DOES stick out in my mind. There are several events and things said that I remember VERY CLEARLY which happened over a number of months. I have NO DESIRE to get into all of that, I personally don’t like airing my dirty laundry for everyone to see or broadcasting my personal issues with someone like it’s one of those fucking Jerry Springer talk shows… But given the fact that the last text this person sent me was about 5 months ago on October 10, 2018 (yes, I have “receipts.” but no, I am not posting them. I, for one, don’t like violating the trust people had in my or their privacy by posting stuff from our private conversations) over a YEAR after this wank happened in September 2017, the dissolution of our friendship has very little to do with THIS.

Or how that was a call out post made up completely of misrepresentations and flat out lies, yet ironically has the goddamn NERVE to call ME a “fucking liar.” And that it was full of false information that she “stands by” and is not only LEAVING UP to let it continue to spread through out the fandom, but also NOT CHANGING OR CORRECTING the part where SHE FUCKING LIED. And how now I am having people like YOU who didn’t even read the post or look at anything she said (which is nothing) calling me a fucking liar too.

Or about how all of this (whatever ~this~ is or whatever tf they were trying to prove) probably has nothing to do with the incident in question in the first place. No, this is more about their person feelings on ME and the shit that went down between us and whatever ~sins~ they feel I have committed against them. And that I didn’t let them boss me around and do what they told me to do and fall in line or CONTINUE to let them use me as their fandom punching bag and take out all their fandom frustrations (that had nothing to do with me and that I could do nothing about) out on me. And that they are using this as an excuse to lash out at me and come after me with bullshit that ISN’T EVEN TRUE. They are straight up, flat out using LIES to call ME a liar… I don’t fucking like this, I don’t want to “Go” or “Do This.” In fact, I fucking hate this; it makes me feel icky and I just want it to be over. But I am NOT going to just not stand up for myself. Of course THIS isn’t the shit that will get spread around or that people will see or believe, but I’m not going to let myself just take it lying down.

DON’T call me a lunatic, DON’T demand I take responsibility for shit I didn’t do and didn’t say, DON’T call me a fucking liar, and DON’T come into my ask with this crap again.

Hate me all you want, you clearly aren’t the first and I’m sure you won’t be the last… but DO NOT SPREAD LIES ABOUT ME.

[sonicrainicorn]

Made of Love, Chapter 13

<< Previous|Next >>

Table of Contents

Ship(s): Logicality, (platonic) Prinxiety

All Characters: Thomas, Virgil, Roman, Logan, Patton, Dr. Picani, Joan, Talyn, and Deceit

Synopsis: Humans Roman and Virgil get wrapped up in some serious magic business without meaning to. Their other companions aren’t exactly as they seem, either. Together they all must defeat a great threat for the safety of humanity.

Chapter Desc.: Three idiots with one brain cell shared between them get a chapter to themselves. Oh, and some new friends are introduced.

TW: Cursing(?), minor violence, implied sexual content

Prefer to read it on Ao3? Click here!

Thomas tried to find that damn picture again the next day, but he couldn’t. He checked every shelf and cupboard in the house, many books, and even places Picani thought were secret (but weren’t since Thomas found them early on). Logan hid it well. He knew Thomas would go looking for it -- that paranoid bastard.

Thomas huffed in annoyance and fell back on his haunches. He let the cupboard door fall closed. All he wanted was to know who that boy was -- a name at least. But neither Patton nor Logan wanted to talk about it. He almost convinced Patton to let something slip, but Logan walked back in and ceased the conversation. For some reason, Logan was adamant about not telling Thomas anything. He didn’t know why. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t around at that time. He and Picani were almost attached at the hip until the seventies

Up until Thomas screwed things up.

Oof -- besides the point, and thus no reason to think about it. The point is, it didn’t make any sense on how Thomas never met Mr. Sunglasses. He was with Picani at every moment of his free time -- sometimes even when he didn’t have free time. He was a kid, and easily frightened at his own shadow, so often times Picani brought him along to the library when he needed to study. On a few occasions, he even brought him to a lecture if the professor was nice enough. Thomas never did anything during those times. Just stayed silent and drew on some paper Picani had given him.

Once, on no day in particular, Picani stopped going to classes. He stopped going to school. Even now Thomas doesn’t know why, but he always had his suspicions. Because before that day happened, he found Picani crying by himself in the middle of the night. He was looking at old pictures until Thomas came in. Then they stayed together until the morning with Picani never mentioning the incident again.

Thomas shook himself out of his memories and leapt to his feet. The scrapbook. It had to still exist -- no way would Picani throw out something like that. There was a chance it could reveal the missing puzzle piece that Thomas needed.

Without any further hesitation, Thomas took the stairs two at a time to get to the first floor faster.  He flung himself into the room he needed to be in and began his search. For the most part, the books were organized by type. In true Picani fashion, however, many parts of the order only made sense to him. So Thomas had to search thoroughly in order not to skip over it on accident.

It felt like an eternity before he found it. Not on a shelf -- or even a bookcase -- but under one. There was a gap between one of the bookcases and the floor that he never would have paid attention to had he not kicked under it on pure accident. It was big enough for the book to slide out of. It must have been under there for a long while; a heavy layer of dust settled over the cover.

He opened it after, finding that his anticipation couldn’t hold off any longer. Inside was like any other scrapbook. Pictures, messages, little doodles. The notes were signed 'R' and 'E', depending on who was writing. They were almost like text messages with some being about where to meet up and when, but others being inside jokes or complaints about a professor. There were many pictures of Picani and R. A majority of them were of the latter, however. Thomas had a feeling that Picani did this on purpose. The ones where they were together were the goofiest. It felt like looking through frozen snippets of time between two close friends.

Then there was a jump. A skip of time that occurred with a simple flick of a page. R looked somewhat older while Picani looked more or less the same. But during these pictures, R ditched his sunglasses. He stood up straighter, smiled rather than grinned or smirked. Something changed him. As the pictures moved from black and white to color, they became less frequent before stopping altogether. The notes were gone. There weren’t any more doodles of two teenage boys messing around. Thomas turned a blank page and found a letter. He noticed the remaining pages had been altered into pockets to hold other letters as well. They were all still in their envelopes.

Part of Thomas wanted to read them -- to spill all the secrets they had in store -- but the other part new that he shouldn’t. He was already invading enough of Picani’s privacy. He didn't need to fall deeper into that. Instead, he opted to look at the envelopes. They had a red and blue lined border. Judging from the stamps and overall condition of the paper, these weren’t recent at all. He struggled to read the smushed loopy writing. He managed to read Emile Picani and their apartment number at the time. The address for the sender looked like random letters and numbers strung together.

He flipped through the pages, all with the same information. Emile Picani, apartment number, and random scribbles. He did, however, make out an 'R' and what might have been a 'y' on the name for the sender on one of them. The last envelope caught Thomas off guard. It had wrinkles in it. Like someone crushed it in their hand before deciding to smooth it out. Was whatever inside it upsetting?

Thomas stared at it before succumbing to curiosity and slipping it out of the pocket. He held it in his hands, noticing how the ink smudged from water droplets, then flipped it over. Someone ripped it open. It wasn’t how Picani normally opened envelopes. He was always so careful. The way this was opened looked like someone rushed to get inside. Thomas lifted up the remains of the flap to see the letter still folded inside. His fingertips brushed the paper before he yanked it back.

What the hell was he doing?

Whatever was in this letter wasn’t any of his business. He shouldn’t have even considered looking through it. This was a private affair. Letters were personal and this one -- no matter how intriguing -- wasn’t meant for him to read. His name wasn’t anywhere on it. This was only ever meant for Picani to read.

Sighing, Thomas returned the letter to its pocket. He felt icky for even considering reading that. If Picani wanted him to read it, then he would have let him see it years ago. So despite the curiosity that ached inside him, he let it go. He put the book back where he found it and stood up to leave. In hindsight, this whole endeavor seemed a bit silly. He shouldn’t have let himself get so focused on such a tiny detail of the past. Focusing on the past never led to good things in his experience.

As he approached the door, voices from the other side made him stop. Patton and Logan. They were having a hushed argument. Thomas peeked out a bit to see Patton close a door on a room. A room that Thomas affectionately dubbed the “seance room”. Though no actual seances ever took place there, it did have many witchy aspects to it.

“We’re not getting any closer, Patton.” Logan rubbed his eyes underneath his glasses.

Patton sighed. “I know. But there’s only so much we can do when we have nothing to go off of.”

Logan didn’t say anything for a moment. “Patton, I think it’s time to start talking about if we don’t find him.” He hesitated. “So if it ever gets to that point, I --”

“No.”

“Patton --”

“I don’t want to hear you talking like that.” He cupped Logan’s face. “I -- I won’t let you talk like that. You just have to believe that everything is going to be okay. We still have time -- you still have time. Just, please, don’t talk like you -- like you’re --” He couldn’t seem to finish his sentence.

Logan put a hand around Patton's wrist. “We can't afford to be blindly optimistic. There is a chance that I'll --”

“Stop. Please -- just --” Patton squeezed his eyes shut -- “I don't know what I'd do without you. I can't lose any more people I care about. Not you. I almost lost you before, Logan, I can't go through that again.”

Logan opened his mouth as if to say something, but ended up closing it. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Patton. “I understand how you feel, but I just want you to be prepared for all possible scenarios.”

Patton held Logan as if that was the only thing keeping him there. “I don’t want any other scenario. I want you to be safe.”

Thomas ducked behind the door to avoid being seen. He tried to convince himself that the tears pricking at his eyes were because of Patton.

Virgil groaned as loud noises invaded his room. He rolled over and pulled his blankets closer as if that would lessen them somehow. When it didn’t, he peeked one eye open, only to groan again. His hand searched the nightstand. Once his fingers bumped into a rubber cover, he tilted it towards himself and pressed the home button. He groaned yet again. “It’s ten o’clock, what are you guys doing?” He tried to get cozy to avoid leaving any time soon.

“It’s time to wake up,” Thomas announced. “We have places to be.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Virgil yelped when the blankets were ripped from him. He sat up to glare at the perpetrator. “Roman!”

“Up and at ‘em.” Roman grinned. “You’re wasting away precious morning hours by staying in here doing nothing.”

“I was sleeping.” He snatched the blankets back from Roman’s hand, but made no attempt to get back under them. “I’d prefer to get back to it as I have work tonight.”

Thomas jumped onto the bed, narrowly missing Virgil’s leg. “Come on, Virge. We have to do this now before Patton and Logan get back. I promise it’ll be worth your while.”

Virgil stared at Thomas for a moment. He seemed a bit off. Despite this, Virgil ended up agreeing. “I expect my payment to be in food.”

After Virgil threw on whatever clothes were close enough to him, they were on their way (after slight criticism from Roman on outfit choice). Thomas gave directions from the backseat, but wasn’t explicit about where they were going. An unfortunate trait he learned from Picani, no doubt. But he did explain the reason they were doing this:

Patton and Logan need more help than they’re letting on. With no clues to where Altair is, and a race against time, they need all hands on deck. More eyes to lookout. Other similes of that nature. And there were only two other people Thomas knew who would be willing to help.

“Neither of you are allergic to dogs, right?” Thomas asked after his hand fell from the door. The three stood around on the front steps of a house. A quiet neighborhood surrounded them. Perhaps the morning weekday had a part to play in that.

“Isn’t that something you normally ask before going to see someone?” Roman put his hands on his hips.

“We're on a bit of a time constraint here.”

“And if you are, you can just wait outside,” Virgil shot back.

Roman glared at him.

Before Thomas could interject to tell them to knock it off, the front door opened. Roman and Virgil dropped their annoyance with each other for the benefit of the person on the other side. They’d pick it back up again after pleasantries were exchanged.

“Hey, Joan,” Thomas chirped, wide smile in place.

The other seemed ready to return the greeting but stopped upon seeing that there were others. “Who’s this?”

“Right, um --” He turned to his partners in crime -- “Joan, this is Roman and Virgil. Roman and Virgil, this is Joan. They’re kinda like my best friend.”

“Kinda like your best friend? I’m insulted that the title is so uncertain.” Joan smirked at him. “Well, come on in. I assume you have something important to tell me.”

Thomas gave Roman and Virgil a large grin before following Joan inside. Roman and Virgil shared one final glare before joining. They followed the eccentric Thomas into a quaint little living room. Laying on top of a sofa cushion was a little dog. Curly black and white fur adorned its precious form. Roman squealed and ran over to it, cooing excitedly.

“Where’s Talyn?” Thomas glanced around the living room as if the person in question would appear out of thin air.

Joan wandered in after locking up the front door. “They’re washing Sephone right now. Does this conversation need the both of us?” They paused to look at Thomas. “Did you break something again?”

“What? No! Why do you always assume I did something bad?” He seemed embarrassed more than annoyed. “Can’t I just want to talk to two of my best buds?”

“Considering you brought guests with you,” they motioned to the two in question. Virgil stood off to the side awkwardly while Roman continued to play with the dog, “I’m going to take a wild guess and say that this talk is going to be a bit of a big deal.”

“I mean, like, maybe…”

A voice shouted from down the hall, “Loose dog!” followed by thumps against the floor. The sure sign of an animal excitedly running away. Said excited animal was a lot faster than anyone realized and found its way into the living room before a word could even be uttered. And far before Virgil realized that this animal, moving at top dog speed, went straight for him.

This was not a small dog by any means, and Virgil was not exactly tough, so they both found their way to the ground after the dog jumped on him. He spit out dog fur that got in his mouth and attempted to push the dog away from him, but it seemed pretty set on licking his face. Connected to the tongue was a rather energetic fluffy dog. Brown, black, and white coated its face in splotches. Or rather, faces. This thing had three heads.

Virgil squeaked but found himself still trapped under the dog and unable to get away.

“Woah,” Roman gasped. The tinier, less intimidating dog, found its way into his lap. “Thomas, you didn’t say your friends had Cerberus. I thought this cute dog was all that you meant!”

Thomas chuckled nervously. “Uh, yeah. I-it kinda slipped my mind.”

“Cerberus is just a breed type, by the way,” a new voice mentioned. The person it belonged to emerged from the direction the dog came. They had a rather bold statement of hair that contradicted their overall soft appearance. “Her name is Sephone and she enjoys giving kisses to strangers.”

“Well, I do not enjoy receiving them.” Virgil tried to push the middle head away, but the left head came in and continued the kisses. He wasn’t much of a dog person; they could be intimidating. So having a dog with three heads on top of him was the closest thing to a nightmare that could have decided to happen today.

“I’ll take them!” Roman exclaimed very much like a child on Christmas.

“If you whistle then she won’t even hesitate to go for you,” Joan said.

Without the slightest bit of hesitation, Roman whistled for Sephone. All her heads turned toward the sound before bounding off toward it. She automatically began to lick his face in greeting. Roman responded by petting one of her heads, though his other hand remained on the other dog.

“Sorry about that, Virgil.” Thomas helped Virgil off the floor. “Next time I’ll be sure to mention any magical pets beforehand.”

“It is a little funny that she went straight for you,” Joan mentioned. “Considering it wouldn’t be the first time a Virgil and a cerberus met.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s hilarious,” Virgil snapped.

“Anyway,” Thomas jumped back in. “We didn’t just come here to see your dogs -- even though that is a plus. I have some serious developments to reveal and I need to get them out as soon as possible because I don’t know when Logan and Patton are getting back home.”

So Thomas explained, in depth, how they would all benefit from Joan and Talyn’s help. With Talyn being able to get information from a broad spectrum of magical creatures, and Joan knowing which humans could be trusted, they wouldn’t have to wait around for Altair to find them. They could have a network of people keeping an eye out.

“I can try my best,” Talyn said. “But you know what everyone thinks. Once news starts to spread that Altair is actively looking for someone then they’ll all stay far away. Very few will get involved with that.”

“Humans don’t have as much to fear so I think my connections will be a lot more willing,” Joan added.

Thomas looked as if he expected as much. “Thank you -- it’s just really important that this gets done.” It looked like he wanted to add something else, but kept silent.

“Don’t worry about it, dude. We’ll do anything to help you get Picani back. You’re probably struggling without him.”

Thomas flushed red in an instant. “I’m almost a hundred years old. I know how to handle myself without Picani, thank you very much.”

Joan scoffed. “When we first met, you still clung to him like a kindergartener that doesn’t want to leave their mom.”

“That doesn’t count!”

“It was high school.”

Virgil decided to cut in before Thomas short-circuited from embarrassment. “Wait, how did both of you meet Thomas?” Both Joan and Talyn looked closer to Roman and Virgil’s age than to Thomas’s. But as Virgil knew, looks could be deceiving.

“I met him freshman year of high school,” Joan answered. “In an English class, I think. Of course, then I didn’t realize he lived with a real-life fusion and had a family of wizards, but it sort of explained a lot after I knew.” They gave Thomas a look. One Thomas seemed to understand more than Virgil.

“Does that mean you two graduated together?” Roman continued to sit on the floor with one dog asleep in his lap and the other getting belly rubs.

“Yep. It’s been about ten years now.”

Ten years? That’s when Roman and Virgil graduated as well. Would that make Joan a human then? They did reference having strictly human connections. And as tricky as Magi years were, a Magus didn’t age that fast in the span of ten years. It seemed a bit rude to ask, however.

“We met by complete accident,” Talyn replied. “I was kind of hanging out with the wrong crowd back then and Thomas has a knack for being at the wrong place at the wrong time.” They gave him a knowing smirk and he returned it with a sheepish smile. “So to make a very long story short, he found out I was a shifter and we became friends.”

“Shifter?” Roman and Virgil questioned.

“Shapeshifter. It’s what I am.”

Roman laid his hand on top of Sephone’s middle head since that’s the one she put on his leg. “So you can change into different things?”

“Just people.” Talyn shrugged. “It’s a bit of a painful process, but it does make for easy hair changes.”

“That’s awesome.” He started to pet Sephone with both hands since the little dog continued to sleep regardless of attention. “Thomas, you should have introduced us sooner -- I’d love to have met these dogs. And your friends, too, I guess.”

“Thanks,” Joan muttered, though it was clear no hard feelings were had.

Then, to everyone’s surprise, “Stronger Than You” started playing. Thomas groaned and reached into his pocket to pull out his phone. He stared at it for a few seconds with a grimace before answering.

“Hello --?” He winced and pulled the phone away from his ear. What sounded like Patton’s frantic voice could be heard from the other side. He hesitantly put it back. “Alright -- whoa -- hey, uh, P-Patton. Patton, please.” He angrily waved his hand at Joan when they started snickering. “I’m fine, I swear. I’m just at Joan and Talyn’s house… Virgil and Roman are with me… Well, honestly, I kinda expected you to be gone longer.” That appeared to be the wrong thing to say, as he instantly cringed and hung his head. Patton could once again be heard yelling on the other side.

“Okay, I get it.” He lifted his head back up. “I had a good reason for this, I swear. I didn’t mean to freak you out or anything… Yes… So now that you know I’m not dying, are you good…? Alright… Well, we can’t exactly leave yet. Roman seems to be a little occupied with the dogs.” They all turned to look at Roman.

Roman looked up and gave them a sheepish smile. “Is it obvious that I’ve never had a pet before?”

Thomas shook his head. “I’ll be fine. Roman and Virgil are here, there’s a cerberus, I am in a safe place. They won’t let anything happen to me.” He rolled his eyes, a familiar action of a teenager getting annoyed at their parent's questions. “Yes. Now chill out. Have fun. We’ll be back soon.” He hung up with a sigh.

“Did you get in trouble with your daddies?” Joan asked with a smirk.

Thomas held up a finger in their direction. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call them that. But yes.”

“Maybe we should get back,” Virgil suggested.

He turned his head to give Virgil an incredulous expression. “Uh, no. We're going to give them enough time to stop being mad at me. And then we'll get back.”

“I'm not going to argue with that,” Roman said.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “You just wanna keep playing with the dogs.”

“Normally, I would object, but in this case, you are very right.”

They all spent the next several minutes talking with each other. All the while Roman continued to give the dogs the majority of his attention, something which Virgil couldn’t understand, but wasn’t going to poke fun at or anything. It was sort of… pure. The way he interacted with them. He became much more gentle -- loving, almost -- in a way that Virgil had never seen before. It was, maybe, a little cute.

Not that Virgil would ever admit to thinking that in a million years. Nuh-uh. He wasn’t going to have his reputation ruined by that of all things. Besides, Roman would never let him live it down. So no. No one was going to get a hold of those thoughts. Not today -- not ever.

Eventually, they did have to leave. Roman had to be dragged away from the dogs with a promise to return one day. Joan and Talyn said they were welcomed back anytime, anyway, as long as it was for anything other than bad news. Virgil could get behind that kind of mentality.

Thomas groaned in annoyance when they reached the car. “Patton said to get lunch,” he squinted down at his phone, “at least I think. There’s a lot more spelling errors than usual.” He tilted his head to the side as if that would help to read it better. “How do you even add that many extra letters in the word ‘get’?”

“Does he have any requests?” Roman asked.

“I feel like if I asked, I’d get a response that didn’t make sense.” He frowned at his phone before putting it away. “We’ll use our best judgment. I don’t know what’s going on with him right now.”

Virgil smirked a bit. “Maybe he’s so mad he can’t even type right.”

“Shut up and get in the car.”

“Wow, who made you the boss of me?”

“I’m literally sixty-six years older than you, now get your butt in the car.”

Unfortunately, there were few fast food places that served vegetarian options, so they had to pick somewhere that involved getting out of the car. Which was unfortunate. Because both Virgil and Thomas would do anything if it meant doing the least amount of work.

After getting situated, Virgil and Thomas played Chopsticks while they waited for their order. Roman watched them with mild fascination as Thomas won every single round. No matter who went first, Thomas always managed to win.

“How?!” Virgil threw his hands up in defeat. He only regretted the volume to his voice a little bit. He was more peeved at losing so many times. “I’ve never seen someone win that consistently before.”

“Black magic,” Thomas joked with a sly grin.

Roman snorted. From around the straw of his drink, he spoke, “That would explain Virgil sucking so bad.”

Virgil glared at him.

As they walked to the back parking lot where the car was, Virgil continued to receive teasing. Roman did most of it with Thomas not helping in the least. Though Thomas did eventually concede that he learned the tricks to winning from Picani. It made Thomas a rather grumpy boy after teaching it to him and then having him win a few times after figuring it out. So he knew how Virgil felt (yet he declined to release the secrets).

Well, whatever then. Virgil didn’t want to know them anyway.

Suddenly, a bad feeling crawled down Virgil’s spine. An innate instinct told him to reach into his pocket with his free hand. By the time he clicked the pen and turned around, someone yanked Thomas back by the arm.

The Figment had the appearance of a young girl with a 90s grunge aesthetic. There was a high chance that it was the authentic style rather than someone going retro. It held Thomas’s arms to keep him from escaping and stared down both Roman and Virgil as if daring them to do something. But like all Figments, its expression didn’t give very much away.

“Throw the dagger at it!”

With a jump, Virgil shoved the food into Roman’s arms. “Thomas, duck!” He raised his arm and launched the dagger from his hand. Honestly, he couldn’t say what possessed him to do it. Patton taught him how to throw it once and he never did it again, so that wouldn’t have been his first course of action.

As soon as Thomas was out of the way, the dagger hit the Figment square in the shoulder. Somehow, Virgil got it to stick.

This allowed Thomas to rush over and hide behind Roman.

The Figment stared in what might have been considered shock. Black ink began to seep onto its shirt from the wound. Then, like the ones before it, it went up in smoke.

Virgil glanced around.

“Dude, those things can not take a hit,” Roman muttered after a moment of shocked silence.

“Well, you’d have to imagine that it takes a lot to reanimate a soul with a body. As strong as Altair is, I don’t think he’s capable of forming a fully-fleshed person out of their soul and magic alone.” Thomas stared wearily at where it used to be. “On another note, Virgil how the hell did you think to do that?”

“Yeah, I have to admit that was one of the most impressive things I’ve ever seen you do.”

Virgil stopped searching the area to look at them in confusion. “I… I just -- I thought I heard --” He shook his head. They wouldn’t have believed him. “Never mind. It was some weird instinct, I guess.” He picked up his dagger, frowning at the ink splattering the blade.

“Whatever you say.” Roman pushed the food back into Virgil’s arms. “Just don’t use me as your personal lackey next time.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Sure.” He placed the pen back into his pocket. And, being the paranoid individual that he is, couldn’t help but look around one last time. He could have sworn Logan was the one to yell at him.

Thomas opened the door to the house with a dramatic flair to rival Roman’s “Patton! Logan! We have returned in one piece! Come out here so I can tell you stuff.”

Roman and Virgil went to set the food down in the kitchen.

They waited for a moment until Logan emerged from down the hall. His hair appeared more wild than usual and his cheeks were flushed. “Yes? What is it?”

Virgil raised a brow as he sat at the breakfast bar. “Isn't that Patton's shirt?”

Logan paused and looked down. “It appears so.” He adjusted his glasses. “Interesting.”

At that moment, Patton came out holding Logan’s shirt with his finger. He leaned against the doorway with a smirk. “I think you forgot something.”

Roman started slurping on his drink and shared a look with Virgil, who pursed his lips to restrain himself from making any comments. Thomas looked like he wanted to die.

“Patton,” Logan stressed. He tried to act like he couldn’t see him. “Put on a shirt.” The tips of his ears turned pink.

With a sly grin, Patton said, “That's not what you were saying earlier.”

Roman spit out his soda into the sink while Virgil slapped a hand over his mouth as he started to laugh.

“Ah! No!” Thomas covered his ears. “Why would you say that near me? I can’t just unhear that. Oh my God. No. No. St -- oh my God.” He turned to walk out to the deck, ranting the whole way.

“He’s definitely not going to let that go,” Logan grumbled.

“You're just lucky he didn't see your hickey,” Roman muttered like a side remark.

Logan’s eyes widened. His hand flew to cover his neck as if he knew where it would be already. “Patton.” He glared at him, but it was obvious he was more embarrassed than anything.

Patton shrugged in response, clearly amused rather than ashamed. “He told us to have fun.”

“You are the worst.” Logan hit Patton’s arm which made him start laughing. “Shut up, I’m mad at you.” He started to push him down the hall, continuing to complain while Patton laughed.

(Next)

[propshophannah]

Hi, so I’m not super sure what I’m trying to say but I’m feeling down abt some manorian posts I saw. It’s prob really dumb but I get like upset/sad when blogs I like a lot love everything SJM but then say they’re anti one of her ships. I’ve criticized SJM’s writing & there r ships I don’t particularly like...but I’d never say I was anti one of her ships? Idk. Maybe I’m just confused/sad abt why ppl who love SJM choose that word when it carries a lot of baggage in fandoms. idk. I was just 1/2

feeling kinda sad about it. I also saw ppl I respect a lot saying manorian isn’t a ship cuz they don’t say I love you/show PDA/only have sex. I was just…really hurt by that? It felt like they were saying ppl had to act a certain way for their feelings or relationships to be valid. I don’t think they meant to be offensive(?) they just didn’t realize they were marginalizing a lot of ppl & cultures that show affection differently. idk. It made me really sad & I’m not sure what to do. 2/2

—

Hi Nonnie, I’m sorry it took me so long to get to this ask and I’m sorry you’re feeling sad and confused. I want you to know that what you’ve brought up here is not dumb. Your feelings are valid and important! I’ll try to address your ask as best I can.

About fandom use of the term anti.

You are not alone in finding this odd or discouraging. I’ve seen stuff like this from time to time on “pro” blogs and found myself thinking the same exact thing. I’ve had a lot of conversations with people about it, too. It does seem like there could be a better way to phrase ship criticism or dislike of something other than to use the word anti because you’re right, it does carry a lot of baggage.

To play the devil’s advocate, I think it’s really important to remember that context is key. Just because a fandom blog you love says they’re “anti” something doesn’t mean they’re using the term in the same way Official Anti Blogs use it. (As I write this, I’m wondering if I’ve ever used it to express dislike, not realizing how it could come across!) It could be a joke you’re not in on, or phrasing used because the blogger was rage posting (we’ve all been there) and that was the phrase that validated their feelings in that moment, or it could be that they used that phrase without thinking about how it might come off to their followers.

Have you tried asking the blogger about it? Maybe just send a quick note about how it made you feel. They might not realize how it comes off. This could give you an opportunity to feel as though you’ve been heard and it would allow the blogger the opportunity to explain why they chose that phrase. I think you should ask them, Nonnie! Just because there are a lot of reasons someone might choose that phrase that don’t necessarily mean they are against SJM, or only pro the things they like about her writing and against everything else.

Now that’s not to say that a blog can’t be pro SJM and still be anti something about her books or (as you said) criticize her work. And if that’s the phrase they choose to use then there isn’t much we can do about it. We can’t change other people, but we can change ourselves. So maybe, you don’t follow that blog anymore, or you remind yourself that they’re still a great blog, but one you disagree with on word choice and topics.

About PDA and relationship validation.

I actually love that you brought this up because this is a conversation I’ve been having a LOT lately. There have been a handful of posts or comments on posts lately where things like PDA etc. were used to lessen or invalidate Manon and Dorian’s relationship and it just left an icky feeling with a lot of people.

I should be VERY clear here. I DO NOT think the people who use PDA as an argument for invalidating a ship realize they’re marginalizing people, or are being offensive when they do this. I think it’s more that they’ve just never been in a position where they were asked to think about it that way. The normative category is by definition ignorant of itself, right? Like, even I had a hard time figuring out why some of these arguments left a bad taste in my mouth, and it wasn’t until after I’d talked to a few people that I was able to really figure it out.

But you’re right! Not everyone expresses affection by exhibiting normative displays of romantic love (such as hand holding, cuddling, kissing etc.). Some people aren’t capable of those things, don’t like those things, or they just choose to express affection differently (maybe by validating someone’s feelings, keeping them safe, being present, providing for them in small ways like making dinner or folding their person’s laundry etc.).

And I think the best/most relevant point you make, is that some people don’t come from cultures that normalize PDA. Western cultures show affection VERY differently than Eastern cultures.

Recently I watched a CNN special on Japan that talked a lot about this idea of “sexlessness” and how culturally the Japanese don’t show a lot of affection, specifically touch affection (hugs, kisses, hand holding after marriage etc.). It was fascinating and I’d argue that the idea of cultural differences TOTALLY APPLIES to the Ironteeth in ToG. We don’t know a lot about their culture, but we do know that affection in any form is frowned upon and discouraged. So if we consider how Manon grew up thinking she was incapable of love/displaying loving or kind emotions (and subsequently beaten/abused for displayed them) it’s not hard at all to see how it would take her a lot of time (and deprogramming) to be able to show and express those kinds of emotions.

This is her ENTIRE character arc, right? From the very moment she appeared on page, she told us how heartless she was, while simultaneously showing us how heartless she was not. (I mean, helloOoOo Abraxos!) Her first “I love you” always belonged to him. But she didn’t need to say it for us to know she loved him. It was there the whole time in her actions. Same with the Thirteen. Manon loved them dearly. They were her sisters, her family. And just because she never told them “I love you” doesn’t mean she didn’t love them. I have plenty of friends whom I love very deeply who I’ve never said I love you to. I likewise have lots of friends who I have said it to. Also, it’s easier to tell a pet/animal that we love them rather than risk saying it to a person, right? Animals aren’t going to judge or reject you—or even verbally respond. Therefore, it’s a low risk endeavor. (Not to say I think this is the only reason she said it to Abraxos!)

My partner and I are not into PDA. At all. Sometimes, if we’re in a group of close friends or family I may be more into showing touch affection, but usually we save those moments for private. There have been MANY times when we’ve been out and people have hit on my partner because they honestly don’t know we’re together. And I don’t get mad/jealous or physically stake a claim or anything when this happens. I let my partner handle it. We just aren’t into sharing our intimate moments with other people. It’s for us only.

So I totally understand how an argument based on PDA can be really hurtful or potentially offensive. Especially when the argument ignores the great moments of communication we get with manorian. As if communication is less important to relationships than PDA…

I also see nothing wrong with casual sex, though I don’t see manorian as having had casual sex (even before the “stay” scene where they clearly did more than just sex). I think they both talk a big game about how the sex didn’t mean anything, but if that were true then why wouldn’t Dorian pursue Vesta? Why would the idea of Dorian with another person make Manon jealous? I feel like they both wanted to pretend like The Sex didn’t mean anything, but I read two people, who weren’t able to verbalize their feelings for one another, finding a shared safe space that was free of responsibilities and the horrors of war where they could be with one another and express their feelings the only way they could at that moment in time. (Which is another reason the “stay” scene stands out.)

TL;DR

A good friend of mine is not monogamous at all. She’s in a relationship with a married man (who’s in an open relationship with his wife). They’re bf and gf and she tells me how they say I love you to one another, take trips together, have AMAZING sex, he writes her the most beautiful love letters, they go on dates—they do EVERYTHING couples do. Except he’s married and they’re both sleeping with other people.

And sometimes it’s HARD for me to figure out where to put this in my brain because I grew up with a specific set of parameters that defined what a relationship was supposed to look like. Sometimes I get confused about how he also loves his wife, sometimes I get confused about how my friend knows their relationship is real. Like it’s hard because it challenges societal expectations of what relationships look like.

I think that happens sometimes with ships in books—or with anything in life that we don’t understand. When something is different than what we expect or are used to, it can kind of…blind us to what’s there. If it still bothers you, Nonnie, you could try explaining your side to these people and start a dialogue? It might actually be really helpful for you and them! Give it a try and let me know!

[dantediscoversfic]

Chapter 40: The Crap Cave

“Dante! You found us!” Clio said as I hovered awkwardly in the doorway of the art room that first day of school during lunch period.

She bounded over and grabbed my elbow to draw me into the oddly dark classroom. The overhead lights were all off, the window shades partially drawn down and gloomy pop music I vaguely recognized as The Cure droned from a cassette player. About ten kids were sprawled out around the room, most of them sporting various degrees of punk/goth/New Waver style. Two corset-clad girls in billowy skirts drew intricate designs on each other’s arms in black pen; a couple dressed in “normal” clothes was making out with gusto in the corner by the potter wheels; a boy wearing all black continually skimmed his pointer finger over the top of a Bic lighter flame; and the rest were eating lunch, chatting, scribbling in notepads or singing along to the music. Clio flicked the overhead lights a few times to get everyone’s attention, eliciting a few winces and hisses and boos from the group.

“Everyone, listen up, this is Dante. He’s new. He’s from Texas, but try not to hold that against him. He’s a brilliant artist. Dante, this is everyone. That’s Raija, Jane, Sachi, Fletch and Kelly back there sucking face, Joseph, Ann, Dave, Forest and Vee.”

I was greeted with a few head nods and finger waves, except for the couple making out who kept at it with sloppy yet admirable enthusiasm. Everyone went back to their conversations as Clio led me closer to the girls she’d pointed out as being named Jane and Sachi.

“So, Dante from Texas, welcome to 'The Crap Cave’”, Clio said using air quotes. “We have lit mag meetings here and also make our own ‘zines and stuff. Raija’s mom Ms. B is the art teacher—she just stepped out for a minute—so she doesn’t care if we hang out here as long as we don’t you know, perform ritual animal sacrifices or set anything on fire. Again.” She coughed pointedly in the direction of the boy with the lighter seated a few desks down from us and the girls chuckled. Seeing my apparent confusion she said, “See, Joseph’s a bit of a pyro and went through a destruction of property phase last year, didn’t you, Jo-Jo?” The boy in question grinned slyly up at us. “But he’s got it under control now,” Clio continued. “He channels his urges into sculptures where he can use an actual blowtorch from woodshop.”

“Blowtorches rule,” he said and cast me one more glance before focusing all his attention back to his lighter and intrepid pointer finger. I couldn’t help but notice that all his fingernails were painted black and he was wearing eyeliner and dark lipstick like the girls.

I pulled my gaze away from him, not wanting to stare too hard and be rude. “What did you call this room? The ‘crap cave’?” I asked Clio. “Did I hear that right?”

“Oh yeah, you heard me right.”

“Do I even want to know?”

Clio laughed. “Don’t look so scared, we know how to use the bathrooms like everyone else. It’s a sort of long story. You ever hear of The Batcave?”

“You mean like from Bat Man comics?”

“No. Well yes, but no. Same but different. The Batcave is this famous club in London for people like us. Bauhaus, Robert Smith, Siouxie, Nick Cave, Specimen all hang out and play there. Jane actually got to go there this summer, that lucky bitch,” Clio knocked Jane’s shoulder with friendly admiration. “So we kind of started calling it that in homage to the club like a year ago. But then the school had this gross mouse problem and their little poops were, like, this constant presence in our lives, so somewhere along the line we started calling it ‘The Crap Cave’ instead. Because that's how we roll.”

“The mice were perfect and adorable, not gross,” Sachi said.

“Sachi, no. Just no. The mice themselves might have been cute but their poops definitely weren’t.”

The two girls bantered about whether the mice should have been saved and kept as pets or if they were indeed an icky health hazard while I took everyone in, trying not to gawk, and sat down to eat my packed lunch. I was fascinated by the group’s collective style: a motley assortment of teased and spiked dyed hair, leather jackets, ripped band t-shirts, corsets and lace, fishnets, heavy boots, winged eyeliner, black lipstick and nail polish, powdered white faces, spiky hardware chain jewelry mixed with rosaries, crosses and pentagram necklaces. Some of the boys were even wearing makeup, which was something you hardly ever saw in El Paso. Joseph, the pyro boy, was particularly fascinating to me. His raven hair was teased out as much as Clio’s and his dramatic eye makeup accentuated his blue eyes and delicate, almost pretty features. The flame from his Bic lighter cast a warm glow on his ghostly pale skin.

Clio must have caught me staring because she leaned in close to my ear and said, “Don’t worry, Dante, we might look at little scary but we don’t bite. At least most of us don’t. Forest over there is saving up to get his teeth filed, but it’s not for blood sucking purposes. It’s because it’ll look badass.”

“Wow. My old school in El Paso was a Catholic private school so we all had to wear uniforms. It’s so cool you can wear whatever you want here. And be whoever you want. Do you all make your own clothes? I love your corsets,” I said to Jane and Sachi.

The girls grinned at me with approval and Clio said, “I knew you were a good egg, Dante. Jane made the corsets. She’s an amazing designer and sewer. I think the rest of us get by with thrift stores, hot glue and a crapload of paperclips.”

“I’ve never really thought about my clothes before,” I said. “But now I feel so boring compared to you all.”

“Aw, there’s nothing wrong with being a normie,” Clio said and patted me on the back. “It doesn’t make you boring.”

“Well, if you want to try something new, let me know,” Jane said. “Jo-Jo’s my twin brother. I make stuff for him all the time. Cravats, vests, things like that. I’m sure he’d let you borrow something.”

“Wow, thanks. You think I’d look good?”

“Yeah, for sure. But don’t let us pressure you. We dress like this because it feels right, right? But it’s not for everyone.”

The girls nodded.

“How did you all know you wanted to get into goth stuff?” I asked.

Jane said, “Well, for me, growing up I loved making clothes and dressing up since forever. Halloween was my always my favorite holiday. I was obsessed, like obsessed. Like I’d start planning my costume and how to decorate the house six months in advance. And after it was over each year, the next day I’d get so sad and cry for days and beg my mom to keep the decorations up and let me keep wearing a cape or whatever to school every day. So when I figured out that I could dress however I wanted whenever I wanted and basically have Halloween all year round and have my clothes express how I feel inside all the time, it was like a big weight was lifted.”

“Do people make fun of you?”

“I mean, sure, dicks are dicks,” Jane said.

“We get all sorts of ignorant comments at school, on the street, wherever. Like…‘Hey Morticia, Halloween is over,’” Clio lowered her voice to a dopey male grumble.

“Or ‘Errr….Do you sleep in a coffin?’” Jane said.

“Or ‘You look pretty hot for a dead girl!’” Sachi said.

“Or my personal favorite, the classic ‘Going to a funeral?’” Clio said with an epic eyeroll. “Yeah, your funeral if you don’t shut up about it. Please. But there are lots of people who aren’t asshats and you can just ignore the losers.”

“Yeah,” Sachi said. “People say things like ‘Oh, you’d look so pretty if you didn’t dress like that’ but this is how I feel pretty and beautiful. I didn’t feel right before. Now I feel good. Right. Like myself.”

“Raija’s mom is super cool because she’s an old hippie and gets it,” Clio said. “But my mom is still waiting and praying for the day when I let her dress me all in pink pouffy dresses again. Sorry Anita, not gonna happen.” There was an edge to Clio’s voice when she talked about her mom that I hadn’t heard from her yet. It made me wonder what her home life was like.

Sachi said, “Yeah, my parents were all worried at first that I was depressed and wanting to kill myself. They tried to have an intervention with all my aunties and cousins. ‘We’re worried about you, Sachi.’ ‘This isn’t the real you.’ Um, first off, yes it is. And second off, I’m so much happier now than before when I felt like a fake.”

“Yeah, people think that we do this for attention or as a cry for help or because we’re suicidal or worship Satan or are in a cult, but that’s not true at all,” Jane said. “I started making clothes for myself when I was ten. This isn’t a ‘phase’. I’m not going to just grow out of it.”

“And finding people who are into the same bands and fashion and movies and everything makes putting up with all the weird looks and comments easier. We’re here for each other, ” Sachi said.

“And sure, we get attention,” Clio said, “because we stand out with our awesome amazingness. But it’s not like we do it for attention.”

“Yeah, I totally get it.” I said. “I think it’s great.”

The girls smiled at me and I wondered how it would feel to dress like them, if that would feel ‘right’ for me or not. I understood what Sachi had said about feeling like a fake, though, and not liking how that made me feel. I felt that way when I used to tell people my name was Dan and not Dante. I felt that way still, a little. Because I didn’t quite know what it meant to be totally free and open with myself and the world and the universe. Not when it came to the biggest secret I had. In El Paso, I felt like I already stood out by not looking Mexican enough, by liking art and poetry and books and astronomy too much. It was enough to blend in and not get teased or bullied for being a little strange. Now I wondered if I flipped the script and really tried to stand out—if I dressed all in black and put on makeup and spiked my hair and embraced my innate weirdness—if that would make me feel more like me. It might make me feel tough and cool and badass for a little while, but I doubted it would make me feel more like myself the way it did for this group. How did I know, though? I’d never tried it before.

I wondered what Ari would think of my new friends. I bet he’d like them. And then I wondered what Ari would look like in black nail polish and eyeliner. I bet he’d look like a dark glamorous rock star. The thought did funny things to my insides.

Then the art teacher, Ms. Baldwin a.k.a. Raija’s mom, came in. She had gray hair in a long braid all the way down her back and wore a long flowy dress and bangle bracelets. She turned the overhead lights on and said, “Hey darklings, the cruel daylight beckons. Gotta get ready for the next class. Lunch is over in five. And you two, yoo-hoo, Earth to Fletch and Kelly! Please rein in your raging hormones during lunch if at all humanly possible? I can’t have anyone getting pregnant on school grounds.” Everyone cracked up at that and Fletch and Kelly turned beet red but finally disentangled their entwined limbs (and tongues).

I had an art class with Ms. Baldwin later in the day so I introduced myself.

“Hi, I’m Dante Quintana, I’m in your painting class during sixth period.”

“Dante, it’s so nice to meet you. You’re new, yes? This lot showing you the ropes?”

“Yes, Clio invited me to eat lunch with her and be part of lit mag.”

“That would be lovely. I’m the advisor, so I’m sure I’ll be seeing a lot of you. How are you finding Chicago? Settling in all right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Ma’am! Please, call me Ms. B. Where are you from?”

“El Paso.”

“Ah. I’ve only been there once. EPMA is a lovely museum. Have you been to the Art Institute yet?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“We’ll be doing a field trip later in the year, but if you are a lover of art you must go. It’s one of the prides of Chicago.”

“Thanks, Ms. B, I will.”

"Now if you’ll excuse me, Dante, I have to prep for next period. See you in a few hours!”

Ms. B went over to her daughter Raija, who had been sitting off to herself drawing in a sketchpad for most of lunch, and gave her a quick side hug before disappearing into a supply closet. Since everyone else was getting packed up I ate the rest of my lunch quickly and consulted my schedule to see where I was headed next.

“You’re in sixth period drawing?” I looked up and saw it was Joseph who had asked me the question. Standing up instead of hunched over the desk I saw how truly long and lanky he was. He was about a foot taller than me.

I nodded up at him and tried to smile but had a hard time keeping eye contact.

“Cool. Me too.”

He flicked his lighter a few times in his right hand and then grinned a lopsided grin at me before heading out into the hallway right as the bell rang.

This was shaping up to be a much different first day of school than I had expected.

[imrootedbutifloate-blog]

My Diagnosis in Words

Dear Andre Solo, you have succeeded in describing me in a way I would never have managed. Your article defines me from A to Z , thank you so much for having struggled to write down in the first place. 

6 THINGS THE INTJS IN YOUR LIFE PROBABLY WON’T TELL YOU ABOUT THEMSELVES

if you have an INTJ personality type in your life, there’s a lot that they probably wish you knew. But there are also things we might not tell you—especially about our emotional side. As INTJs, we don’t like to show emotions (in fact, just writing this article was like pulling teeth). But that doesn’t mean our emotions never affect us. Here are six things that INTJs wish you knew—but we’ll probably never tell you. These things may not apply to every INTJ in equal measure, but I believe this list is generally true.

1. We have occasional outbursts, and they’re weird.

For a personality type known as “robots,” INTJs have a deep emotional core. We keep this largely hidden from the world, not as a protective measure but simply because we tend to view feelings as private. Expressing them in public is awkward, like forgetting to put on pants.

But those feelings are surprisingly sensitive. Your INTJ is likely to come equipped with:

A strong sense of dignity

Extremely specific tastes

Deep and often misplaced insecurities

The constant feeling that we aren’t achieving enough

A code of morals that we don’t talk about unless something violates it

An urge to take control in any situation where any of the above are threatened

Basically, if you cross a samurai style code of honor with the idealism of Gandhi and then give it imposter syndrome, you have a working model of the INTJ’s emotional core. (In personality type theory, this is known as our underdeveloped “Introverted Feeling” or Authenticity function.)

So what happens when those feelings get stirred up? Usually nothing. Most of the time, we keep that nonsense under tight wraps and deal with it privately or by talking to a trusted friend. But sometimes our emotions come out in a sudden burst that shocks everyone, including ourselves.

This usually happens when:

Someone affronts us personally

We witness a display of incompetence

Something strikes us as fundamentally unjust

Then we suddenly get indignant, non-cooperative, and even angry. If the situation is beyond our control, we may rant. If it’s something we can influence, we rip into it with withering critique. Or we may become stubborn and throw up roadblocks until it’s addressed.

Try sitting in a car with three INTJs when another driver cuts them off and you’ll see what I mean.

So what can you do about this? Well, ultimately it’s on the INTJ to learn how to accept and deal with their emotions (as an INTJ myself, just writing that sounds icky). But, if you witness one of these outbursts, it does help if you realize that this is a very vulnerable moment for your INTJ friend. We probably don’t want to talk about it directly, but if you offer to help us with the problem, it goes a long way.

2. There’s nothing we appreciate more than someone trusting our advice.

INTJs have a weird set of strengths and weaknesses. Our biggest strength is that we can eyeball a problem and almost immediately see a way to make it better, or even solve it outright. Our biggest weakness? Well, often, we’re terrible at communication.

The result: INTJs can spend our time making great suggestions, or bringing up very accurate insights, only to be told we’re wrong. This is not a pleasant feeling. In fact, many INTJs identify with the story of Cassandra, the ancient prophet who was cursed to see the future but never have anyone believe her. It’s probably our biggest pain point as human beings.

INTJs can get better at communication, of course—and all the other skills needed to get our ideas out of our notebooks and into the world. But for many of us, nothing feels better than having someone else listen to our advice, take it seriously, and try it out. Fixing problems is what we’re best at. When someone notices that and starts to use our advice, it’s an almost spiritually fulfilling experience.

3. We smile more with emoji than we do with our faces.

INTJs have a well-deserved reputation for never smiling. Even when we’re happy, we tend to wear a neutral, focused expression (because we’re often happiest when we’re deep in thought) that others misread as anger. INTJs can and do learn to overcome this, but one look at the kinds of selfies we take is enough to prove the point.

Something funny happens, though, when we start texting or writing an email—suddenly we’re all emoji. For most INTJs, this isn’t natural either; we all go through a phase of rolling our eyes and griping that people don’t use correct punctuation anymore. But what we lack in social graces we more than make up for in our language skills—and emoji are, basically, just another written language. They’re basically a way to code emotions. And coding we can handle.

As a result, I find myself very easily switching to the appropriate written tone for whoever I’m texting to, and using emoji like I’m 17 years old—even though the INTJ grimace is locked on my face in real life.

4. It doesn’t make us feel good to be told we’re smart.

Anyone who knows an INTJ knows we often don’t take compliments well. I find this is doubly true when we’re praised for our intelligence. Since we’re known as masterminds and bookworms, you’d think there’d be no higher compliment you could give us than to tell us how smart we are. And occasionally it is satisfying—perhaps when a new boss notices it and calls it out. But as INTJs, we probably already know we’re smart; we’ve been told that all our lives. What we really value is what we do with it.

This is because INTJs don’t view intelligence as a static thing (you’re either “smart” or “not smart” and that’s that). We view intelligence as a constant process of learning more about the world. As a result, accomplishing things in the world matters a lot. Achievements in any field are, to us, a measure of applied intelligence.

This focus on tangible achievements is why INTJs react so weirdly to compliments: if we’re already succeeding at our goals, we basically see praise as superfluous, because we’re happy without it. And if we’re not succeeding at our goals, being told we’re smart actually hurts—it underscores that we had the talent to succeed, so the failure must be our own fault. This is a self-pity loop that mature INTJs grow out of, but we’ve just about all experienced it at some point or another.

So, is there any kind of compliment that does make an INTJ’s day? Absolutely. With our great strengths comes a long list of weaknesses, especially the social skills mentioned above. Some of us spend years working to improve in these areas, and any praise we get is surprisingly meaningful. A simple, “You’re really great at handling clients,” or “I never would have guessed you think of yourself as a nerd; you’re always so charming” will melt an INTJ’s heart. (If it’s sincere, of course.)

5. We agree with you more than you think (really).

INTJs can be argumentative. But, unlike most people, we don’t always argue because we’re upset. We argue because we like to test out new ideas.

This can lead to major communication problems. For example, we may argue for something as a hypothetical only to have other people think we really believe it. Or, we might find ourselves in a one-hour discussion that we think is really deep, meaningful talk—but the other person thinks it’s a fight. The other day my girlfriend had to stop me in the middle of speculating about the job market and ask, “Wait, are you just talking out ideas or are you about to quit your job and move to Nepal?”

In polite conversation, this is on us as much as it is anyone else—we simply need to learn to rein in our debating and theorizing, and most of us do so by our mid-20s. But it also means many of us bite our tongues about our most interesting thoughts and ideas because we don’t want to upset anyone. This is part of why INTJs seem to “check out” from conversations: we’re running through all the possibilities in our head instead of saying them out loud.

The flip side of this is, once we’ve kicked an idea around enough, we often get convinced that you’re right. At that point, we will completely drop the argument (or the ruminating) and simply agree with you. But I think we often don’t emphasize enough that we really have come around to your way of thinking—that we’re on your side. Or, more accurately, that we’ve always been on the side of “let’s find the right answer,” and we’re proud to know someone like you who helped us find it.

6. Once you’re “in,” we’ll back you up for life.

INTJs can take a long time to warm up to a new person—perhaps more than other introverts. We often prioritize our work over our personal lives, giving us very little time to meet new friends. And we have high standards, preferring to surround ourselves with a few very interesting, thoughtful people. If you have an INTJ in your life, it may have taken you months or years to get “in” with them.

But once you are, you’re incredibly important to us. Bringing you into our inner circle means we think we can learn from you. It means that you stand out to us from all the other people we meet, and that we want to give you our respect, our affection, and our time. As a result, you’ll find that we’re patient, tolerant, and willing to stand by you even when other people would judge you. And, of course, we’ll offer way too much advice—see above. 🙂

How many INTJs do you have in your life? Have you seen any of these emotions and tics come out? Are there other behaviors you’ve noticed? Leave a comment below and tell us more.

[koganphrancis]

(I saw these cropped in a similar way on eliosberm’s Twitter and I liked it because it looks like Ian’s in jail-foreshadowing the not too distant future, perhaps)

Ugh, so do I have it in me to recap the Season H8 Premiere?  

It was so boring!  If they were trying to set up an exciting season, they failed miserably-which is no surprise, I know, but what did surprise me was how bland it all was.

First I want to address the time skip-from Monica’s pre-Christmas demise to...end of summer?  Maybe?  Liam’s in school, Debbie’s in school, but Carl’s not (yet), but I doubt it’s early summer/almost the end of school for L&D, so it’s probably late summer and at least 8 months since Monica’s funeral...but Fiona hasn’t met any of her tenants till last night?  Welcome to the usual Shameless Time Warp where no one is experiencing the same passage of time.  

Anyway-yeah, Fiona.  She’s off Tinder after an opening scene with a blue dick-at first I thought it was a dildo but I guess the guy was wearing a blue condom?  For whatever reason, she’s not into...something with the guy, and after about six close ups of her looking like she’s never seen a penis before, she throws her clothes on over her underwear (no FIona tits shot?  JW must’ve been so disappointed) and splits. The only other thing she does in the episode is go to her apartment building and meet the lesbian tenant that dozens of people in the Shameless tag hope she has a “gay” relationship with (whereas Fiona isn’t gay and would either be bi or pan if it were to happen)-but spoiler alert-Emmy did say Fiona’s strictly dickly (unlike Ian got to be), so I’m doubting the show goes there.  The new tenant has a girlfriend who, so far, is coming off as a bitch, so, you know, Shameless keeping up their streak of no such thing as a happy gay couple!  Anyway-aren’t you all excited for a TV show about a woman who runs a diner and manages an apartment building?  Yawn.

Lip is being a tool-mooning over Snore who has told him she wants nothing to do with him.  He’s not taking No for an answer for some reason, and he volunteers to babysit her kid, giving her a speech that had me gnashing my teeth and thinking it was all things Ian should’ve been saying to Svetlana two seasons ago about how he likes her son and misses seeing him.  Meanwhile, he also sneaks off and pays her overdue electric bill for her (and, in typical Shameless fashion-she’s on the phone begging the electric company to let her send in $50 towards her big overdue bill-while wearing at least $50 worth of make up.  And I don’t mean they caked it on her and made her look slutty-but she DID look like she had her face done at a spa and, come on?  I know they don’t want to be as gritty and realistic as they could be when it comes to the actors’ looks, but they could pull it into the realm of possible).  But wait!  He’s also acting like a total horndog for a chick at the motorcycle shop he’s working at with his sponsor.  So, which is it?  Is he lovesick over the one that got away and would give anything to be with her again, or is he still willing to bang any chick with a good body?  

Carl is living out Ian’s dream-sort of.  He’s observing all sorts of military rules, but he’s also moving everyone’s meth and he buys the hot tub for the back yard.  And there’s a scene with all the guys in it, but there’s no steam coming off the water, so I wonder if the poor bastards had to sit in water as tepid as the overall episode was cuz that’s what it looked like.  That hot tub didn’t seem hot.  

Debbie’s going to welding school (so, she’s gotta be 18 now-look up welding schools in Illinois, LOL) and also working in a parking garage where she stuffs her kid in a pet carrier during her shift.  I wish I was kidding.  She’s got the hots for her welding teacher and for a guy she meets at a bar after school when she’s out with them after class-sticking Neil with her kid for the night.  Debbie looking at these dudes with her lust eyes makes one think of what she did to poor Matty and even to her clueless baby daddy and it’s just icky.  

Liam has lines now-who cares?  That just means less for everyone else and his storyline so far is stupid-the school that he’s going to for free keeps pulling him out of class for free “advertising” when prospective parents come for a visit.  And?  If the Gallaghers get wind of it and don’t like it, they can put him into public school.  That’ll show that evil snooty private school!  There’s a scene where Fiona is driving Liam to school and asks him how school is-so, again, first time she’s ever taken an interest?  He was going there last year too...

Frank is doing his usual schtick-it hasn’t won them an Emmy so far, but hey, why change shit up now?  He was all wasted and burned out, lost a tooth because of his insane meth usage, and now is going to try to make amends to everyone he can remember that he wronged.  Boring.  

There was stuff with Kev that would be good if I hadn’t heard the story isn’t going to be serious and now I’m just bracing myself for them to play it up for laughs.  And there was awful stuff with Vee being a real bitch to Svetlana about the bar.  Svetlana says she’s willing to take Kev and Vee back-they’ll all work at the bar, raise the kids, be the thrupple (which I was never a fan of, but they all seemed into it, so what the hell)-but she’ll still own the bar and Vee is screaming no fucking way and I think even if Svetlana said they’d split ownership of the bar Vee would still say no.  Svetlana says how they hadn’t paid taxes for two years and would’ve lost the bar anyway and it was Svetlana staying up all night doing the books that saved the place. Vee doesn’t give a shit and throws a punch and they fight and all the bar patrons look on and Kermit asks Tommy if they should stop it, but Wells is getting his boner over the girl on girl action and he says no.  Later, Vee calls ICE on Svetlana and that was a total bitch move.  Svetlana is completely in the right about the bar and it’s weird that the show is making her out as the evil Putin-loving Ruskie and expecting us to side with Vee.  

Finally, Ian.  He’s acting just like Lip-mooning over Terror and acting like a real loser about trying to get him back.  WHY?  What’s the attraction?  I get it, corporate headquarters says there has to be a trans character-but why does Ian have to be involved with him?  And why are they having him act like such a stalker?  In the first scene together he asks Trash to go out for a drink-T can’t because he has a date.  Ian says bring him.  Tragedy says he can’t-it’s a drinks and movie thing.  Ian looks gutted, says, “What movie?”  Really, Ian?  You gonna follow him to the movie theater and sit in the row behind them and jerk off?  WTF?  Why are they making it seem like Ian can’t find somebody new?  The ambulance gets a call and Ian and Sue have to leave.  After Ian leaves, one of the LGBTQ+ center’s youths (who looks a lot like Terror just without the chin hair and with a richer skin tone) gives Trumpet a hard time.  “You used to hit that?” and maybe something like “why aren’t you still” and Teabag says, “It’s complicated,” and the junior Trev says, “Why?  Because he fucked an old boyfriend?”  Yeah, that’s all Mickey was-an old boyfriend.  Not the love of Ian’s life, not the man who saved his life time and time again, just some guy Ian used to date in high school-like Ned or Kash.  Grrrrrrrr.  Anyway, I can’t even remember if there’s another scene with Trailmix, but the end Ian/Trial scene is Ian waiting outside the center like a total stalker, talking to the Jamie kid till Terror comes out and they”flirt” and it was soooooo awful.  Ian says something about being irresistible, Terror says, “No,” Ian, all flirty says, “I’m not irresistible?” and leans closer.  Terror says, “No to whatever you’re going to ask me this time.”  Ian tries to ask him out for drinks again, Terror says “no” again-what is it with the show and not knowing No means no?-Terror for some reason says if Ian’s doing okay and when Ian tries to say he’s all right Terror brings up Ian’s mom-so, again-whether it’s been five months or eight-this is the first time he’s asking?  Ian gets all sad, says something that again, he should be saying about Mickey and the way he ignored him while he was rotting away in jail :(  “I miss her.  It’s weird huh?  Never around when she was alive and I never thought about her, now she’s gone and I think about her all the time.”  And Cameron delivered those lines well, and made you believe them, but then in the quickest turn around since Jerome Valeska went from crying to Jim Gordon about his mom to laughing about killing her, Ian slides right back into flirt mode and says, “Come on, one drink!”  It was creepy and crappy and if the show was actually handling/showing him dealing with bipolar disorder, you’d think they were setting the table for him to be on the edge of trouble with his meds again.  But of course, that’s zzzzzz and he’s just a red blooded male, wanting to get back with his now-main-squeeze Treacle.  Tupperware says no to the millionth drink invite and says he’s gotta go or whatever, and Ian says, “I’ll be back tomorrow.”  It’s SO FUCKING CREEPY AND PATHETIC AND WEIRD.  Oh, and I forgot-but in the middle of the flirting and Ian saying Jamie said to buy Terror a car (cuz, yeah, that’s true love, when you have to buy someone’s affection), Ian gives Terror another “I’m sorry” and this time it really is clearly about running off with Mickey (not the retconned scene from the “previously on Shameless” where they edited Ian saying he was sorry that he didn’t answer T’s texts to make it look like he was saying he was sorry for taking off with Mickey).  THAT’S the conversation they need to have-instead of Ian merely saying he’s sorry, Terror needs to make him say what he’s sorry FOR.  Terror needs to ask, “All things being equal-if there was some miracle and Mickey was set free and could move back here-would you pick me?”  Why the fuck should Terror take Ian back, knowing he’ll never be what Ian really wants?  Why does the show think we want to see them dance around that issue?  Tragic never even says WHY he keeps turning Ian down-and of course, by the end of the episode you can see he’s thawing and it’s going to be so fucking unrealistic if they do get back together and act like a happy couple.  Ian’s a bolter!  We all know he’ll run again-hell, we all know Terror would run if he had to put up with any of Ian’s bipolar manifestations.  

The ONLY good thing the episode had to offer was when Ian was in the hot tub and it made his curls come to life.  I’m all for that-but I figure we’ll only see him in there up till the episode where he gets his tattoo and then it’ll be too much bother to let him be shirtless/wet.  Which, if that applies to being with Terror, I guess I’ll be okay with sacrificing shirtless times when he’s not with that little whiner.  

[mirroring-mirrors]

Heathers (1989) Sentence Starters!

Dear Diary...

Real life sucks losers dry.

If you want to fuck with the eagles, you have to learn to fly.

You're beautiful!

What is your damage?

Do they even have Thanksgiving in Africa?

This wouldn't be that bizarro thing you were babbling about over the phone last night, would it?

Hey, I'm really sorry I couldn't make it to your birthday party last month.

Think I'd probably miss my own birthday for a date.

I was looking around the other day and I dug up.. these old photographs.

I was talking to somebody.

Check this out. You win five million dollars from the Publisher's Sweepstakes, and the same day that what’s-his-face gives you the check, aliens land on the earth and say they're going to blow up the world in two days. What do you do?

Why can't we talk to different kinds of people?

Fuck me gently with a chainsaw.

Do I look like Mother Theresa?

Does it not bother you that everybody in this school thinks that you're a piranha?

What are you gonna do with the money?

I'd pay Madonna a million bucks to sit on my face and have her ride like the Kentucky derby..

That's gotta be the most spooky-assed question I ever heard.

You wanted to be a member of the most powerful clique in school. If I wasn't already the head of it, I'd want the same thing.

You used to have a sense of humour.

You know, maybe you should see a doctor.

God, _____, drool much?

Greetings and salutations. 

There are no stupid questions.

That's the stupidest question I've ever heard.

Let's kick his ass!

We're too old for that kinda crap.

You gonna eat this?

What'd you say, dickhead?

Can you bleach out urine stains?

I thought you had given up on high school guys.

Did you have a brain tumour for breakfast? 

So, tonight's the night. Are you excited?

You blow it tonight, and it's "keggers with kids" all next year.

So, what was the first week of spring vacation withdrawal like?

Hey kid, isn't the prom coming up?

I gotta motor if I want to be ready for that party tonight.

Are you gonna pull a super-chug with that?

If you're nice, I'll let you buy me a slushie.

I see you know your convenience-speak pretty well.

That thing you pulled in the caf today was pretty severe.

Yeah well, the extreme always seems to make an impression.

Did you say a cherry or coke slushie?

Is your life perfect?

I don't really like my friends.

Maybe it's time to take a vacation.

I want to kill, and you have to believe it's for more than just selfish reasons

So, when you go to college, what subjects do you think you'll study?

How's my little cheerleader, huh? 

Come on, now look, I don't feel so good, okay?

Hey, let's do it on the coats, it'll be excellent, huh?

You know, I have a little prepared speech for my suitor when he wants more than I'm prepared to give him.

Save the speeches for Malcolm X. 

You don't deserve my fucking speech.

I sound like a fucking psycho!

You stupid fuck!

You goddamn bitch!

You were nothing before you met me.

Lick it up, baby. Lick.. it.. up..!

Monday morning, you're history.

I'll tell everyone about tonight. 

Dreadful etiquette, I apologise.

I saw the croquet set-up in the back. You up for a match?

Thank you, that was my first game of strip croquet.  

I use my grand IQ to decide what colour gloss to wear, and how to hit three keggers before curfew.

I say we just grow up, be adults and die. 

I'm a no-rust-build-up man, myself.

Don't be a dick. 

I think last night we both said a lot of stuff we didn't mean.

How the hell didcha get in here?

What did you do, put a phlegm globber in it or something?

I'm not gonna drink that piss.

Grow up!

You think I'll drink it just because you call me chicken? 

Just give me the cup, jerk. 

I just killed my best friend.

What're we gonna tell the cops?

I can't believe this is my life.

I'm gonna have to send my SAT scores to San Quentin instead of Stanford.

At least you got whatcha wanted, y'know?

It is one thing to want somebody out of your life, it is another thing to serve them a wake-up cup full of liquid drainer.

We did a murder, and that's a crime

You might think what I've done is shocking -

People think that just because you're beautiful and popular, life is easy and  fun.

I die knowing no-one knew the real me.

Have you done this before?

Keep things business as usual.

We must revel in this revealing moment. 

You call me when the shuttle lands.

Where's your urge to purge?

Sorry to hear about your friend. 

Let's talk emotions.

Are we going to be tested on this?

How many networks did you run to?

What're you talking about? You hated her, she hated you.

Gosh, pop, I almost forgot to introduce my girlfriend.

Goddamn will somebody tell me why I smoke these damn things?

I gotta motor if I want to be ready for that funeral.

Jesus, God in Heaven, why didcha kill such hot snatch? 

Jeez, people are so serious.

Hi, I'm sorry. 

I just want my high school to be a nice place. 

Did that sound bitchy?

So, we on tonight, man, or what?

That pudwacker just stepped on my foot.

When I get that feeling, I need sexual healing.

Sorry, I'm feeling a little superior tonight.  

Seven schools in seven states, and the only thing different is my locker combination.

Our love is God.

Let's go get a slushie.

The funeral yesterday must really have been rough, eh?

It's more tasteful than it sounds.

I left them drunk and flailing in cow shit.

No, don't shut up, I'd like to know exactly what I did.

Yeah, I didn't expect to be calling either, I just guess my emotions took over...

I was wondering if you wanted all those things you've been saying to really happen?

It's always been a fantasy of mine to have two guys at once. 

Listen, my Bonnie and Clyde days are over.

Do you take German?

Tell me the similarity is not incredible.

The joy we shared in each others arms was greater than any touch down, yet we were forced to live the lives of sexist, beer guzzling jock assholes.

I mean, if you don't have a brewski in your hand you might as well be wearing a dress.

So, should I just whip it out, or...?

I was kind of hoping you could rip my clothes off me, sport?

Did you miss him completely?

Hey, I heard something out there, I'm checking it out.

Does this answer your question?

You believed it, because you wanted to believe it.  

Your true feelings were to gross and icky for you to face.

I did not want them dead!

My teen angst bullshit has a body count.

Are we going to prom or to hell?

I've seen a lot of bullshit. 

Is this as good for you as it is for me?

I need a copy of all this by Monday for my Princeton application.

It was chaos, fucking chaos.

Chaos is great!  

Chaos is what killed the dinosaurs, darling.

We scare people into not being assholes!

God, you can be so immature!

Hey, they're playing our song!

That's it! We're breaking up!

You can't bring them back, you must know that.

I am not trying to bring anybody back, except maybe myself.

And to think there was a time when I actually thought you were cool!

Blow up a couple of toasters or something.

Kind of scary though that everybody has got a little story to tell. 

What is this? Blackmail?

I'll ask you to do me a favour, it'll be one you'll enjoy.

Don't you start getting cocky on me now.

Do you know I'm still a virgin?

Nice guys finish last. I should know.

Are you telling me this is not a time for troubled youth?

I don't patronise bunny rabbits!

I guess I picked the wrong time to be a human being.

You were out of control!

Hey babe, I need a name.

God has cursed me, I think.

What are you trying to do? Kill me?

That's about the least private thing I can think of.

If everyone jumped off a bridge, would you?

If you're happy every day of your life, you wouldn't be a human being, you'd be a game show host.

What do you say we knock off early and buy some shoes or something lame like that?

People love me!

People love you, but I know you. 

Some people need different kinds of convincing than others.

Don't talk to me like that, OK?

Jealous much?

Why are you such a mega bitch?

Want to go out tonight? Catch a movie, you know, some miniature golf?

I knew you'd be back... I knew it.

You were wrong, and I was right!                

You've been depressed lately. 

Get off of my bed, you fucking psycho! 

Do you think you're a rebel? Do you actually think you're a rebel?

You're not a rebel, you're a fucking psychotic!

What do you think I'm gonna do with it? Take out their tonsils?

I've got a meaningful marked-up Moby Dick, what else does a suicide need? 

Is this turning out weak, or what?

My afterlife is so boring.

If I have to sing Kumbaya one more time...

I loved you! Sure, I was coming up here to kill you...

Our burning bodies will be the ultimate protest to a society that degrades us. 

Talk about your suicide pacts, eh?

What do they want, a written invitation?

Whether to kill yourself or not is the most important decisions a teenager can make.

Put your hands on your head.

Do you think that just because you started this thing you can end it?

I'll kill you, I'll fucking kill you, I swear to God!

How do I turn off the goddamn bomb, asshole?

You want a clean slate as much as I do. 

The only place where different social types genuinely can get along with each other is in heaven.

Do you know what I'd love, babe? Cool guys like you out of my life.

You've got power... Power I didn't think you had.

Now that you're dead, what are you gonna do with your life?

You look like hell!

My date for the prom kind of flaked out on me...

I was wondering, if you aren't doing anything, maybe we could rent some new releases? Pop some popcorn?

[littlethingwithfeathers]

Commenting on Fanfic: A how-to guide for not being an asshole. Even unintentionally.

You’ve just read a fanfic that has left an indelible impression, and the siren song of the comment box is calling your name. It begs for you to send your opinion to the author... but should you? Are your thoughts really helpful or encouraging or even all that important?

Well... lets break it down! What do you want to say, and should you say it? And if you should, what should you say?

***

I want to flail at them because their writing is amazing! My comment would be nothing but effuse praise and adulation.

Full speed ahead, captain! By all means! You post that comment! Write for days! There is not enough positive feedback in all the world if you’re a fanfic author. We drink that shit up like it’s the blood of the innocent.

And if you feel awkward about commenting on explicit fic, don’t fret. We’ve all been there. Don’t do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable, but if you want to say something positive about an explicit work, go for it! We wrote explicit fic. We know why you’re here.

Something to consider: While, “THIS IS AMAZING! FLAILING FOREVER! THANK YOU!” is an awesome compliment to receive, it isn’t the same as positive feedback. If you’d like to have a bigger impact on an author that you really enjoy, comment with something specific about their writing and how it moved you. 

- “I liked the way you decribed <specific thing here>. It made me feel like I was part of the story.”

- “Your word choice here was amazing!” 

- “ *cut and paste a small section of dialogue or action* This was my favorite part.”

This is not necessary by any means. Flail-comments are still the greatest thing ever, and are the best part of any writer’s day. It’s not a matter of one being better than the other. It’s about what sort of impact you want to have on the writer. Praise and flailing are ego and mood boosters and are sure to help us keep writing, and writing more of what you like. Specific positive feedback is a great way to help a writer find and improve their voice when writing. 

And “thank you” is always nice. It’s good to acknowledge that fic writers do this on their free time, and let them know that you appreciate it.

***

This fic is amazing and I want to encourage updates or ask when it will be updated!

Tread carefully here. While on one hand, you could simply be meaning to encourage a writer to keep writing, but I know a lot of writers (particularly who start publishing before they are finished) that get anxious over requests for updates. Be mindful of your wording, and be sure you tell the author that you’re enjoying the work. Keep it positive and encouraging. 

Remember that fanfic authors have lives outside of writing fic. There may be some real world obstacles in the way of their fic writing, and guilting them about updates will not help. And in fact, it may hinder their ability to write. Not everyone responds well under pressure when it comes to creative outlets.

Something to consider: Pair your request with compliments! And avoid outright demands for updates.

Do: “This story is so amazing. I really love your pacing throughout the chapters. The suspense is amazing. I can’t wait for more! Thank you so much for writing!”

Don’t: “When are you updating? I’m dying here!” or “Update soon !!!”

***

Eeek! This fic I really love has a typo/grammatical error! Can I tell the author in a comment?

Pause for a moment! We are now treading into the dangerous land of uninvited criticism. While your intentions are no doubt good, this could very very easily be taken the wrong way. Or just flat unwanted for whatever reason. This is criticism that is coming quite possibly from a total stranger. There are a few things to consider.

First, check the author’s notes on the fic itself. Do they state that it’s unbetaed and invite corrections? Some do! Myself included when I publish something that has been edited by no one but myself. I know I miss things. When this is the case, I always put an invitation for corrections in my author’s notes, and many other fic writers do the same. Or they put it in their author bio on their main page. 

If you see no explicit invitation for corrections, do not do it. It’s as simple as that. I don’t care how egregious the errors are. It is quite simply not your place.

If you do see an invitation for corrections, a few steps are advised. First, go leave a comment on the fic. Make no mention of the corrections there. Just let them know you enjoyed it and thank them for their work. Then, send them a private message, not anonymously, with a gentle wording of the correction. Don’t do this in a comment that everyone can see. There’s no need to be exhaustive if you’ve caught a lot of errors. Sometimes just one or two corrections are enough to make an author go back through with a fine-toothed comb themselves. Then, thank them again in the private message and lay on a compliment or two there as well.  Again... this is not their day job, nor are you their writing professor.

Do: In a private message, “Hi AmazingAuthorPerson! I absolutely loved your fic “Fic from the Pairing X.” You invited spelling corrections in your author notes, and I wanted to let you know that this word was mispelled here.” *copy/paste line where mispelling takes place* “Your work is incredible. Thank you so much for taking the time to write and share with us! Sincerely, PoliteReaderPerson.”

Don’t: In a public comment, “I found errors X, Y, Z, AA, BB, and CC.”

Something to do instead: If you’ve got a good eye for editing, and you’re really interested in helping out fanfiction writers, consider becoming a beta reader. I see requests for beta readers all the time, particularly from people writing in their second/third/fiftyseventh language, and some of the more established fandoms have lists of beta readers. Just know that this can sometimes mean forming a relationship with a writer that goes beyond just comments on their work. Part of what makes unsolicited corrections icky is that they’re coming from total strangers.

***

The author did not appropriately tag something! Can I tell them?

This is a similar situation to the above scenario with corrections. Even though you may not feel like it be careful, especially with your wording. 

First, consider if there’s something seriously misleading going on? Is the maturity rating wrong? Did they fail to tag triggering material that would have been important to you to know about for safety reasons? 

If it truly is something serious, especially regarding triggering material, very gently tell them using the same method as for corrections. And remember that even though you might be upset, aiming that negativity at the author for what might be an honest mistake or just flat ignorance about tagging is not helpful in the long run.

Do:  “Hi AmazingAuthorPerson! I really appreciate that you take the time to write fanfiction for our fandom. In your fic, “Character Has a Bad Day” there is a scene that contains XYZ triggering material, but the fic is not tagged as containing XYZ material. Would you please update your tags so that your readers can be aware if they need to be? Thank you again for your work! Sincerely, PoliteReaderPerson.”

Don’t: Flame or even shame them in a public comment. Or be rude or angry in the private message. 

Regardless of what the author’s response is, move on with your life. You’re not the fandom police. 

***

Oh no! I just read a fic and I didn’t like the pairing/ending/a plot twist! I with they had done something else! I need to tell the author!

No, you don’t. 

It’s as simple as that so let me repeat it.

No, you don’t.

Here is where we get into the most valuable tool in a fic-reader’s commenting arsenal. 

Not Commenting.

Yes, it’s true! The option exists to just not comment. You can read something, not like it, and then move on with your life! 

Odds are good the author chose to write what they did for a reason that is personal to them. The idea of changing canon, keeping to canon, shipping a pair, not shipping a pair, or whatever it was spoke to them and they wanted to explore it. Or it was a request from a friend! Regardless, let them do so in peace. 

Or go write your take on the same pairing and write it how you think it should be done. I’ll be honest, I’ve read some fanfic where I’ve gone... “Yeah, I don’t know that I like that. I think I would like this better.” And then I go write it! Or at least bat the idea around awhile until it’s out of my system. Hell... isn’t that what fix-it-fics and non-canon-compliant actually is?

Do: Click the little “x” window. Go read a favorite fic you do like. Leave another positive comment for that author. 

Don’t: Leave negative comments.

***

That’s the ultimate takeaway here folks. Negative comments are not helpful to fic writers. Full stop. If you feel the author needs to know you didn’t like something, particularly if it has to do with what they chose to write about, or how they chose to portray a character/pairing, I would ask you this:

Why does the author need to know? 

Why does the author need to know about your personal tastes in fandom/fanfiction? Especially if it doesn’t include what they are writing. They aren’t here to cater to you and your personal tastes. That is what fic commissioning is for. That’s what tagging is for. So we all can find what we want to enjoy.

So enjoy things. And let other people enjoy things. And most importantly, let authors enjoy writing the things they feel moved to write about.

This has been a public service announcement.

*vanishes in a puff of feathers and caffeine.*

[anthonybialy]

Public Ignorance

Teaching fear is a union success. Panic about everyday life is the only knowledge imparted to schoolchildren during the era of perpetual sickness. Why not be scared constantly when it’s all adults seem to have gleaned? If a decade or so being taught by the government is supposed to prepare attendees for life as a grownup, then the system has succeeded. Crying means you pay attention.

Get used to being told everything is about to kill us all, kids. Sitting next to schoolmates has been banned for your safety, which is a broader excuse used by all tyrants. That's a big thing to learn about at such an early age. But schools want future grownups conditioned to expect awfulness. Youngsters notice what the allegedly mature don’t, like how everyone’s been wearing masks all this time and nobody seems healthier for it.

Aimless brats are free to wander through homes in which they're locked. Try to limit their screen time before making them spend their entire supposed school day facing one. Containing classmates to isolation booths is certainly great for socializing. There are certainly no frightening consequences ahead from children rendered weird through endless alone time. Depriving impressionable young people of human contact is no worse than unfathomable debt dooming their futures.

Kindly adults better create eternal fear to help. Convincing youths breaths will kill is not a healthy way to learn science. Spreading nightmares is far more likely. Children aren't safe in any sense, but at least they're being taught that hiding from problems works.

On the bright side, it's not like public schoolkids were learning much in the first place. Decreasing from basically zero to zero isn't that far of a drop, although an infinity percent difference seems alarming. The issue of kids learning nothing despite years of alleged education is obviously caused by lack of funding. Uncannily, massive spending increases are never enough every other time, either. Please don't notice the pattern of government involving itself in any aspect of life that once worked fine.

Adorable optimists think that the virus's end will mean a similar conclusion for capsule education. It's sweet to think there won't be another excuse for keeping schools sealed. Glorified babysitters don't want to return to being in the same room as icky children. Brace for indefinite virtual learning, minus the learning. Who doesn't want progress? Television teaching means little ones reside in the future.  Playing Jetsons is totally not an excuse to avoid going in to a job.

This is a good time to notice just who teacher unions care about most. As a hint, it's the first word. Selfless members show just how dedicated they are to shaping the next generation by doing everything they can to not teach. Overwhelming evidence that kids aren't virus-spreaders fails to dissuade government employees who promote education by ignoring what they don't like.

Don't you dare call workers who won't work nonessential. It's no wonder goons with education degrees don’t instill life skills when the primary lesson has been avoiding risk at all costs. The folly of attempting to get ahead without drawbacks also applies to economics, which is another thing not taught.

Schools' charges learn inadvertent lessons, like how preening fear-mongering exacerbates a crisis. Stampeding away from the ruckus causes far more mayhem. Letting a virus shut down life has caused incalculable health damage. Unions teach whippersnappers to not care about anyone but themselves above all. Three-time substitute teacher of the year Peggy Hill was right: it really is for the freaking children.

Aggravated parents possess few other options. For now. Alleged public education has merely gotten worse since the zombie plague. There's never been a better time to let all kids be private schoolkids. Unions couldn't have created a better advertisement to get government out of the schooling business. Acting like a monopoly encourages competition. The state is too dim to realize.

True education doesn't take the form of just getting money paid in back, or at least a little of it. Talking about giving every parent a voucher is a well-intentioned half-assed step. Remove the filter altogether to truly let teaching racket mobsters know they can't keep getting paid to not impart knowledge. Cut out the middleman for efficient choice.

The baffling presumption that government is supposed to teach kids is as damaging as the results. You'd have to be quite the mendacious public employee to distort an example of when the entity succeeded at anything else. Hand over young people to an entity that doesn't care by nature. Getting smarter is important, which is precisely why state-sponsored schools are an atrocious idea. Take an opportunity provided by a sick system to distance.

Buying things you use is awful. I know. But the best deals involve consumers spending as little as they can to get as much as possible. Watch prices lower as parents get to decide which school deserves to teach their progeny. Concurrently, property taxes will plummet as quickly as tuition. You mean the government shouldn't make you pay for what you already own to not make kids brighter?

Prices drop uncannily when consumers have options. The outrageous idea that those who brought kids into the world should pay for what they consume infuriates those who seek communal credit for a reason. It'll be easy easy to set up scholarships for underprivileged children to accept donations from liberals who care so much about helping the poor that they won't do it voluntarily.

Teaching kids how much government sucks from an early age is the best lesson possible. They're unfortunately learning in the worst manner. Poor experiment subjects grasp what's being instructed even if politicians are unwilling to stand up to unions opposing it being taught in person. Not being in public school makes them brighter. Don't offer thanks for mistaken instruction.

[theactualrealatticus]

What Can You Get From A Healthy Online Community?

   Yesterday, I found a local Facebook group for my area called "Anytown Plant Growers and Garden" and decided to join the page. I Posted about the Thai Basil plant I've got that didn't look like the rest of them. Spoiler alert. I think its just a genetic mutation that causes an unequal distribution of a pigment called Anthocyanin. Anyway, a woman commented and asked where I had found the seeds in Anytown. I couldn't remember, so instead of sending this poor woman on a wild goose chase, I just told her to private message me if she'd like to take one. All I asked in return was for any old growing containers, or soil, or even plant cuttings from her garden as a trade. She Agreed and came by with her husband to pick them up. It was pretty cool to go from a stranger on the internet in the comments section to a friendly smile and thanks from both sides. That got me thinking. Had I found a healthy internet community? From a keystroke to handshake. Well... The awkward mention of shaking hands (COVID-19).

   What is a "healthy" online community? It seems like its a dumpster fire even in cat videos comments on Youtube. On Facebook, everyone's wall looks like what a 16 and a half-year-old would get for a tattoo of it tattoos for 16 and a half-year-olds were legal. And HOLY SMOKES, that Twitter comment section will get your ass fired from your REAL job after a good night of drinking alone and a phone battery that just won't quit till you seal the deal with that tweet button. So where the fuck is a guy or gal supposed to go? The answer is simple. Just look for it. It is out there man. I once heard that there is more content uploaded to Youtube in just 3 months than the entire history of American television broadcasting content. That's fucking bananas if true, and I had to have heard that over 8 years ago, so imagine what it is today! Start by searching on whatever social media platform you want. I'm a fan of Facebook groups. They have a Facebook Group to suit almost any kind of niche market. I'm talking "Anytown County Model Railroad Builders and Destress Painters Using Burnt Auburn", to "The United Front of International Horse Cosplayers...Anonymous". Or something like that. If YOU like it, so does some other nerd. Just keep digging. If you're living in rural Anytown, find the nearest population and search there. And if you still can't find shit? Start one dummy! Facebook groups are easy-peasy. Try to set up a meet up with other folks from your area that are into the same podcast. Or rally behind a particular horror movie you love. Or some activity! Yoga, hiking, workouts, cars, skateboards, or even yes! Planting and Gardening. See how we've come full circle here? AS LONG AS YOU DO IT SAFELY.

   Avoid using your phone number and email. Meet in public, and don't go alone. Don't give out your address or ANY other personal information about yourself. Use whatever your preferred social media platform's private communication so there's a record of your communication. And ALWAYS tell someone you know and trust the 5 W's. Who are you going to meet? What will you be doing there? Where are you going to meet? When will you return? And finally, What should they do if they cant get a hold of you or you don't come back? The internet can be a VERY dangerous place for someone not paying attention. There are legitimate preditors out there that want to hurt or scam you. But I tend to believe that if you follow the above instructions to the letter, your odds of becoming a victim are pretty low. At the end of the day, Going from Keystroke to handshake may not be your thing, but I tend to think it's borderline magical.

   Even though I was talking shit about the comment sections before, the people you read in there aren't like most of us. Most of the time it's just the loudest, or dumbest that comment. It's always heartbreaking watching someone try to be a voice of reason only to get shit on by both sides of the commenters. The truth is, if you're looking for healthy wholesomeness on the internet, it's out there. But I have to tell you the truth about it.

   It is always clunky and awkward meeting up at first. I'm sure what I described above with that plant transaction seemed clean. But it wasn't. First off, she didn't message me until about 8:30 PM the night before the meeting. Everything was civil and cool until she asked when would be a good time. Due to the current COVID-19 situation, I'm available pretty much ANYTIME. And that's what I said. Anytime. That's when she mentioned that she "Or more likely my husband will meet you at your convenience. IMMEDIATELY I thought to myself that I should have been more clear about how I had meant "anytime...during the day" and now she probably thinks I'm trying to get her to come here tonight and alone or something! This could be my self-consciousness talking, but the way she said it made me feel kinda icky. I tried to defuse the situation with another half-joke, half overthinking the whole thing by saying "No Problem. I'll send you some detailed pictures so you can tell your husband which ones you want. You know, in case he doesn't have as good of an eye as yourself!" Keep in mind, this lady has a profile picture of a close-up bowl of stir fry. I have no idea wtf this lady looks like, her age, nothing. I just wanted to see if I could get the internet equivalent of "trail magic" going on. Help someone out and get a cool plant out of it. Anyway, Re-reading the message, I realized how flirty it could have come off. I felt like a real jughead. I sent the photo the next day and didn't hear back. Fuck. I blew it being awkward. Then at around dinner time I get a message. We're "5 minutes out". After I had taken them around back to see all the plants, we all started jiving. "Where you from? How long have you been in Anytown? Oh, we just love it there. Your Elephant ear looks great!." It was Awesome. It ended with her inviting me over this weekend to take a look in their garden to take some cuttings from all kinds of cool plants. I was glad she didn't bring something small. I showed her my garden and helped her out, and she wants to do the same now. WOW! But if shes a person with good intentions and I'm a person with good intentions, why is meeting a stranger from the internet such an awkward event?

   I think it because we are social creatures. We are practically purpose-built to communicate. Read body language. Looking at the other person in the eye to see if they like what you have to say. Body language and facial expressions have been watered down do a few emoji and a hand full of .gifs. The WAY you say things makes a difference. The inflection in your voice places emphasis on where you intend to. All of that is lost in direct written communication. People weren't meant to communicate through 1's and 0's. People are supposed to communicate through nuance, body language, and with eyes and mouths. When that woman, whose name is Diana by the way, left, it felt like the entire situation had gone over so perfectly. I think the genuinely warm smiles at the end took over my entire memory of the event. I guess what I'm trying to say is that there is a thriving "Healthy Internet Community" out there for you. But don't mistake that for the real thing. The internet is humanity's greatest accomplishment. Allowing Knowledge to flow into places where it simply could not before. Either through politics or poverty. Allowing the oppressed to be heard. And allowing us to rally and get something done with numbers and in real life. The internet can't change our lives. It's just a tool to we can use to influence action in reality. Or just help out some lady named Diana that hates the taste of previously frozen Thai Basil.