#Irregulars are metaphors for all kinds of minorities

[rjalker]

can Gravity Falls fans please stop saying "lol I looked up a summary of Flatland and if I was born there I'd blow up the entire dimension too, Bill was right to destroy literally his whole entire universe and everyone in it, they all deserved to die for some of them being bigoted"

it's like. something the first time. but a dozen times over and it's just. what you are describing is ecofascism.

the entire world does not deserve to be blown up and every single person in it killed because systems of oppression exist. Slaughtering all of the oppressed people along with their oppressors is not the right thing to do and it's getting really aggravating seeing so many people joke about this like it's funny. Like all of the minorities suffering and fighting for their freedom are less important than the feelings of exactly one (1) guy.

It's getting real exhausting seeing people constantly joke about how it's good to murder all of the minorities in the entire universe to get back at the oppressors, even if it's "just a joke".

I know you like Bill Cipher. But him murdering every single person in his home universe including all of the minorities isn't actually a good thing that you should find relatable. And I would really appreciate it it people could stop putting this in the Flatland tag for real life minorities like me to see.

I know you all mean it as a joke. But you all just keep saying it over and over again and it's. can you just please stop?

it does not feel good to see people constantly joking that it'd be good and just and right and funny for me and people like me to be killed just to spite the people who hate me.

Especially right now when this kind of argument is being used to justify genocide against Palestinians by painting them as uniquely hateful towards Queer people to justify slaughtering them.

It's not funny. Please just stop.

Or at the very lease remove all traces of "flatland" from your tags so it stops showing up when I am just looking for Flatland posts.

And yes. If Bill Cipher killed every single person in his home universe including all of the minorities, he is in fact a monster and he should in fact feel bad about that, whether or not you like him as a character or not. It's is in fact a bad thing to mass murder people. It is in fact a bad thing to commit genocide against everyone including oppressed minorities to spite the oppressors. He is in fact a horrible person to have done that thing, and it would be cool if people could stop pretending that it was justified and funny and relatable.

Oppressed people do not deserve to be slaughteted to get back at our oppressors and it would be so great if you could all stop joking about this idea like it's a good funny relatable thing.

At the very least, stop posting things like this in the flatland tag. Remove flatland from all of your tags. Don't use any variations of it. If you are talking about gravity falls, then don't put it in the flatland tag. Use the actual word from gravity falls that is actually used for bill's home dimension. If you have the word flatland anywhere within your tags, it will show up in the flatland tag. It might even show up if you just use the word in your post. And if gravity falls has a completely separate name for where Bill is from, then use that instead of flatland.

If you are not talking about flatland, and if you are joking about genocide like this, don't put it in the flatland tag. We didn't ask to see that and we shouldn't have to keep seeing it over and over again.

Most of the people who use the flatland tag actually care about flatland for itself, not just as a backstory for Bill Cipher, and a whole lot of us have original characters from Flatland who are as you may have guessed, oppressed people. You are joking that all of the oppressed people in flatland deserved to be murdered by your favorite character because they were oppressed by other people. That is not okay.

[rjalker]

In flatland, are the irregular shapes a metaphor for disability or being lgbtqia+? Or intersex? Or all of them?

all of them and more. They also represent people of color, and literally any other minority you can think of. They were written to be applicable to many kinds of oppressed people.

You are correct in thinking that the measurement of angle being equated to the size of the brain is phrenology, criticizing it, to show how absurd and bigoted it is.

Yes, the narrator is unreliable, the point of the book is that he never has any clue what he's talking about, which is why it's funny. The book is criticizing the misogyny of Victorian England, 100%. It's why in the second edition of the book, Edwin Abbot Abbot had to put in a thing in the preface specifying that the narrator was a misogynist and was going along with what his society told him to think.

And yes it's extremely plausible that he also intended them to be seen as metaphors for intersex people.

also, you may enjoy this book, free to borrow from the Internet Archive: (I promise it's relevant)

In flatland, are the irregular shapes a metaphor for disability or being lgbtqia+? Or intersex? Or all of them?

I only ask because the narrative seems to draw inspiration from both. Gender in Flatland is determined by whether or not you're a shape or a line segment. The lower classes of triangles are irregular, and they are dehumanised (deconfigured?) To the point that they are considered to have smaller brains by the narrative based on angle size. I personally think that due to flatland's satire, and hints throughout the text, A square is an unreliable and biased narrator who is indoctrinated fully in the society of flatland. So what he says about the angle of triangles, and the smartness of women, shouldn't necessarily be taken for granted. I would be interested to know if the part about the triangles is a reference to phrenology and how stupid it is, but I digress.

Irregular flatlanders are reconfigured at birth. This suggests it's considered a disability, however, the irregularity doesn't seem to be disabling. In fact, the only effect it has on the person is that it makes their class impossible to determine - something which would have social effects. We also only see evidence of male children being born irregular, which is a common stereotype of autism, and the coupling with 'social detriments' being the result of irregularity, it could lead to this conclusion. However, I doubt that Abbot was commenting on this in 1884, though that doesn't prevent modern readers from taking it in this direction. I just think that he wouldn't have written 'reconfiguration' into the story, a deadly process of creating "regular" children if it was a metaphore for disability - it was often a lot more common after all to hide disabled folk away. Although, if any historians out there know about parallels in victorian society, I'd be really interested.

I'm most convinced by my reading that Abbott was talking about intersex children when writing about reconfiguration. Most of Flatland is a social commentary after all - following the wrongs of victorian society on how classes are treated, with a larger focus on women. Now, with sight recognition in flatland, women are mistaken for squares from certain angles, and sometimes for circles. Imagine if you will, an irregular semicircle - a male who would often be mistaken for a woman. Considering the sexism Abbott talks about in this world, I think that irregularity being a metaphor for being intersex is plausible. Especially since the children are reconfigured at a very young age.

When I first read the book, I read irregularity as a disability and nothing more. But now I'm thinking about it more, I really would love to know other's opinions. The book is old, and I'm not sure if my thoughts are plausible - but then again, it seems implausible that the book is mocking the sexism in victorian society. Yet it does - lots of evidence points to Abbott being a protofeminist writer. It's not a stretch to me that he might hold a stance against the mutilation of intersex children. Or perhaps a stance against conversion therapy. Let me know I guess :)

[winesvein]

50 Questions You’ve Never Been Asked

Thank you, @yngwiemalmsteens​~ :3

1. What is the colour of your hairbrush?

Dark gold. 

2. Name a food you never eat:

I’m no longer as picky as I used to be, so this one is kind of giving me trouble to really consider. But maybe... certain kinds of fish? Like trout. Not very fond of it.

3. Are you typically too warm or too cold?

Usually cold -- my body temp is irregular because of health reasons. ✨

4. What were you doing 45 minutes ago?

Trying to reach someone’s heart, because I love them, and I wanted to remind them that I’ll always be there.

5. What is your favourite candy bar?

The dark chocolate version of almost everything. I really love dark chocolate.

6. Have you ever been to a professional sporting event?

Yes -- horse racing. 

7. What is the last thing you said out loud?

“Diplomacy is paramount. No state is an island, in the metaphorical sense, and the longer this continues, the further we’re risking our national security, and I’d go so far as to suggest our viability as a state at all.”

8. What is your favourite ice cream?

Mint choco chip~!

9. What was the last thing you had to drink?

Cold milk.

10. Do you like your wallet?

I do -- it’s a simple, black wallet, given to me by my mom.

11. What was the last thing you ate?

Breakfast, lunch & dinner in one -- which was baked mac and cheese, with veggies and stuff. I say all three in one because I got up at like.. 4PM, and had exactly one meal for the entire day.  Since I’ve been home, I pretty much haven’t eaten 3 full meals -- one big meal, and I snack on fruit and stuff throughout the time I’m awake.

12. Did you buy any new clothes last weekend?

Nope.

13. The last sporting event you watched?

LCK.

14. What is your favourite flavor of popcorn?

Light butter or HELLA butter and there is no in-between.

15. Who was the last person you sent a text message to?

Kitten! It was a text of me whining because he was being tsundere.

16. Ever go camping?

Yes, when I was a toddler, and I only remember so much, but the memory brings warm feelings, so it was definitely a good experience.

17. Do you take vitamins?

I take cod liver oil capsules for my hair and eyes.

18. Do you go to church every Sunday?

No. I stopped going when I was about 7. I made the decision, and my family respected my wish not to maintain a faith; they still do.

19. Do you have a tan?

Nope. My complexion is already an envious light tan.

20. Do you prefer Chinese food or pizza?

...how can I choose?? I love both. ;-;

21. Do you drink your soda with a straw?

8/10 times, yes. If I’m out, I use a straw. If I’m at home, I might use a reusable one -- but that tends to be when I’m like.. at my desk and working and snacking at the same time? A lot of the time, I’m really using the straw as a swizzle stick, when I’m at home.

22. What colour socks do you usually wear?

White. I hardly wear socks though. :v

23. Do you ever drive above the speed limit?

Sometimes~? 

24. What terrifies you?

Ignorance. Incompetence. Helplessness. My primary motivation is to make the unknown known.

25. Look to your left, what do you see?

The night sky. 

26. What chores do you hate?

Laundry, kind of. I’m lazy about putting my clothes away when after.

27. What do you think of when you hear an Australian accent?

Hugh Jackman, because he’s bae.

28. What’s your favourite soda?

7up. I really like crisp, lemon-lime, so.

29. Do you go in a fast food place or just hit the drive thru?

Usually the drive-thru. If I’m out with friends, we’d probably dine in.

30. Who’s the last person you talked to?

At this point of answering, my baby sister (making sure she got her dinner).

31. Favourite cut of beef?

Sirloin, maybe. I’m not a huuuge fan of beef.

32. Last song you listened to?

Altered by Chromerafs

33. Last book you read?

The Woman Destroyed by Simone de Beauvoir.

34. Favourite day of the week?

Thursday / Friday / Saturday.

35. Can you say the alphabet backwards?

Probably if I was focused on doing it, yeah.

36. How do you like your coffee?

Iced, but still somewhat rich. If you hadn’t already noticed, I don’t usually go for sweet things.

37. Favourite pair of shoes?

My sneakers, and my pumps. My sneakers because I can go anywhere in them, and I don’t have to worry about them not being able to take the heavy wear.  My pumps because the sound of my heels against the floor is the sound of power. And they add a different touch to my formal attire.

38. The time you normally go to bed?

3 to 5AM.

39. The time you normally get up?

9 to 11AM, depending on what I have planned for the day.

40. What do you prefer, sunrise or sunset?

Sunset, because night follows.

41. How many blankets on your bed?

One.

42. Describe your kitchen plates?

Simple, white plates, with a blue trim.

43. Do you have a favourite alcoholic beverage?

Double Vodka, on the rocks, with lime.

44. Do you play cards?

Yes!

45. What colour is your car?

White.

46. Can you change a tire?

Probably not without minor distress, I think. :v

47. Your favourite province?

Well, I don’t live somewhere with provinces, so I don’t know that I can answer this one.

48. Favourite job you’ve ever had?

Cheerleader. You need someone in your corner to hype you up? I’m there.

49. How did you get your biggest scar?

Tug of war with a glass bottle. 5 stitches on my left index finger. 

50. What did you do today that made someone else happy?

Kissed them, albeit virtually since we’re in quarantine.

[veliseraptor]

Til the Pain Starts, 1.8k, Avengers-era, taking a stab at a minor canon-divergence Loki-whump/angst ficlet, every so often I manage to write something short, idea courtesy of @portraitoftheoddity​ (enabler in chief)

The Black Widow - Barton’s ‘Nat’ - came to him like a panther feigning a limp. She was good - he might have fallen for it, tempted by that seeming weakness, had he not been so thoroughly warned by his loyal hawkling. She plays to their expectations, he’d explained, and for all Loki’s influence the admiration in his voice remained plain as day. Acts weak, and when they fall for it she goes in for the kill.

All he needed to do was keep quiet, watch her with casual indifference as she poked and prodded for an opening. He’d thought he might need to drive more wedges between the members of Fury’s cobbled together team, but they were already on the point of falling apart. The scepter would only make that worse, and Fury’s lies would add further discord.

All he needed to do was wait. And if this was the worst they could throw at him…

The Widow sighed. “If you won’t make me an offer,” she said, her voice cold steel, “your next visitors won’t be so nice. You know that, right?”

“And what are you offering me?” Loki asked, raising his eyebrows. “My freedom?”

She shrugged. “Security measures fail.”

Loki glanced up at the camera in one corner and smiled. “No, Agent Romanov,” he said. “I think I will stay right where I am.” He leaned back against the wall behind him. Her expression cooled.

“Your loss,” she said, turning on her heel. Loki watched her go, half-smiling.

He knew what was coming next. And he wasn’t afraid.

**

“So what now,” Dr. Banner asked, when Agent Romanov returned from her fruitless questioning of their captive. She looked almost perfectly composed, but Steve thought she was frustrated. He glanced back at the screen where he could see Loki, legs stretched out, the picture of casual relaxation. “Just wait until the scan finishes running on the Tesseract’s location?”

“We might not have that kind of time,” Director Fury said. “He’s definitely not concerned about being here, and that worries me. It should worry the rest of you, too. Could mean he’s waiting for something, and I don’t want to be surprised by whatever it is.”

Thor was frowning at the screen that showed his brother - adopted brother? Steve was a little unclear on what the situation was between the two of them. “Do you have any insights?” Steve asked him. “What he might be thinking?”

Thor shook his head. “No,” he said after a beat. “I do not. Loki is not...the same brother that I knew.”

Steve tried to imagine what it would be like, standing on the opposite side of the battlefield as your own sibling, but that thought didn’t lead anywhere.

“So, what,” Stark said to Director Fury. “What are you going to do, get out the pliers and cattle prods?” Steve could hear traces of Howard in his voice, and that irritated him more than it should have. Maybe because he wasn’t Howard, was just a callow, showboating--

He jerked out of his own thoughts, properly registering what Tony was saying, as he should have immediately. “No,” he said flatly. Director Fury was conspicuously silent. “We don’t do things that way.”

“Look up Abu Ghraib sometime, Cap’n,” Stark said. “You’d be surprised what the good ol’ US of A will do.”

Steve ignored that, keeping his eyes fixed on Fury. “Sir,” he said flatly, “that’s not acceptable. I won’t be party to--”

“It’s not up to you, Captain,” Fury interrupted.

“I’m - personally, I’m with him,” Dr. Banner said. “I’m not a big fan of torture, generally speaking. That is what we’re talking about, right?”

“No one’s a fan,” Fury said. “Nothing about this situation is anything I’m a fan of.”

Steve looked at Thor, surprised by his silence, but he didn’t seem to be paying attention. “What about you?” Steve asked. “Are you - fine with the idea of us torturing Loki for information?”

“No,” Thor said, and turned slowly, something dangerous in his expression that made the hair on the back of Steve’s neck stand up. “I am not. I thought we had discussed this already.”

“We’re running out of options,” Fury said, with audible frustration.

“You won’t lay a hand on my brother,” Thor said, his voice hard.

“Last time your brother showed up here he destroyed a town,” Fury said. “This time it looks like he’s setting up for something a whole lot worse.”

Steve looked at Agent Romanov, who had her arms crossed, her expression closed. Her chin lifted, meeting his eyes directly. “Don’t look at me like that, Steve,” she said. “I know a thing or two about ugly necessities. So do you. You were in a war, right?”

“I told you,” Thor said. “There is no pain that would persuade Loki to give up his vengeance.”

“Oh, but if there were that’d be fine?” Stark said. Thor turned that glare on him.

“Do not assume--”

“Hey,” Dr. Banner said abruptly. “Is that feed on a loop?”

Steve turned to stare at the monitor where he was pointing - the one showing Loki sitting casually watching the camera, the picture of easy insouciance. Stark pushed past Steve and he shoved down the urge to push back; glancing away he caught the flick of Agent Romanov’s eyes toward Fury and the brief crease in her brow.

“You’re right,” Stark said. “It is on a loop. So what are you not showing us?” Fury said nothing, and Thor took a menacing step toward him.

“Whatever you’re doing--”

“I’m doing,” Fury said, voice hard. “Not you. I didn’t want this, but we’re talking the fate of Earth on the line. I made a call.”

Steve’s stomach clenched. His hands balled into fists. “Call it off,” he said. “Right now, call it--”

“There,” Stark said. “Let’s see what you’ve been doing to tall, dark, and horny, yeah?”

The screen changed. The sound quality was bad, but it was enough to make Steve flinch.

“Jesus Christ,” Stark said. He sounded sick. “You expect him to tell you anything when he’s howling like that?”

“That isn’t screaming,” Thor said, and when Steve looked at him he looked pale. “That is laughter.”

**

The door had barely closed behind Romanov before his promised next visitors arrived. He smiled at them. “Hello,” he said. “A pleasure, I’m sure. How are we going to do this?”

It wasn’t anticipation. It was more a...quiet satisfaction at being proven right. One of them opened the floor of the cage; an ineffective threat. They wouldn’t kill him. Hurt, yes. Kill, no. They needed the knowledge he possessed. How they would try to wring that out of him was an open question.

But he doubted they could come close to matching the sophistication of what he’d already lived through. What he’d been trained to endure. He could bleed and bruise, break and burn, and it wouldn’t matter.

“Where is the Tesseract,” one of them asked.

“What,” Loki said, still smiling. “No small talk? Not even a name?”

The floor, it turned out, could channel an electric current. His muscles went rigid and he shook for a few seconds, but it was nothing. Nothing at all, not next to Thanos’s children searing brands into his flesh.

“Where did you send Agent Barton?”

“How do you know he’s still alive?” Loki said. They let the charge go for longer this time, and Loki couldn’t help it: he laughed. “Is this all you can do?” He asked, standing and taking a step toward him. “And here I thought perhaps--”

His teeth slammed together and his knees gave, lightning spidering over his skin, current jolting every one of his nerves. It took him a few moments to catch his breath.

“Where is the attack going to begin?”

A chuckle bubbled up Loki’s throat and he snorted. “Do you really think that I’m going to tell you? You don’t have a chance. You might as well accept that you’ve lost.”

Longer. Loki felt his heart seize, briefly. They couldn’t even touch him, Loki thought. Didn’t dare step past the clear walls of his cage. They couldn’t carve open his chest and leave him gasping with lungs exposed to open air. Couldn’t pump venom into his blood to burn from the inside out.

Didn’t they know that pain was an old and familiar friend by now? His body was a shell. A tool. Barely even his, when it came down to it, the skin he wore as false as everything else--

Loki panted for breath. His chest ached and his nerves prickled, feeling bleeding back into his fingers. It’s a good thing you heal quickly, he thought, but it wasn’t really in his own voice.

“That tickles,” he said, a bit of a rasp in his voice that faded as he spoke.

“Where is the Tesseract?”

“I have no idea,” Loki said with a grin. “But by all means, keep asking.” He rolled his shoulders back, as though his muscles didn’t ache, starting to push himself up. His slightly irregular heartbeat steadied, and looking down he could see the burns healing, his body already repairing itself.

He flexed his hands open and closed, watching burnt flesh flake away from his palms.

“Is that all?” He asked again, and started laughing. He didn’t stop as his body seized, electricity tearing through his muscles. He could hear himself, the sound of it, high and wild and insane but it was hilarious, wasn’t it, that they thought they could touch him with this, that they thought anything they did could hurt him enough to break him.

Thanos got there first, he wanted to tell them.You’re too late.

That just made him laugh harder, harder, until he couldn’t breathe, until there was nothing but the pain and the questions and people shouting.

Thor shouting. “Loki! Loki!”

Loki opened his eyes, which had closed at some point. “Ah,” he said. “Have they sent you now, then?”

Thor’s expression flickered with distress. He pressed a hand to the barrier between them, clear as glass and yet impassable. What a perfect metaphor. He was dizzy, giddy, and he suspected there was something wrong inside him. Muddled up. Ah well. It would mend.

Someone else was still shouting. “I didn’t know,” Thor said, like he needed Loki to believe it. “I didn’t know that they were…”

Oh, Thor. Stupid, stupid, Thor, who didn’t understand a damned thing. He started laughing again, though it hurt his chest.

“Loki,” Thor said, sounding so worried, the liar.

Which was when one of the engines exploded. Barton had arrived. Time to get moving.

It didn’t matter if it hurt. Something always did.

[madqueenalanna]

You remind me of... something

Pairing: York/Carolina Word count: 1,213 Prompt: @lostlegendaerie always encourages me to spread the Yorkalina love Summary: Modern AU. York is trying desperately to be poetic, but Carolina eludes categorization.

York had spent many years being derisively called poet by North and did his level best to live up to the infamy. The actual poems came few and far between, and stayed hidden in a journal with a notice to burn it all when he died, but poetry was about more than that. It was a lifestyle, and naturally he had to drag Carolina into things. Of course he would fall in love with a woman who defied categorization.

When she was rolling meatballs he slung himself around her shoulders, took her hands in his, and made her clap. “You remind me of something,” he sang, making her clap along like a puppet, “but I don’t know what it is.” “Don’t sing to me, and if you destroy my balls I’ll destroy yours.” But she didn’t try to shake him off, and she let him play with her hands. “You’re an awful poet, you know.” “What? Why?” “I remind you of something? What kinda line is that?” “First of all,” he said, indignantly gesturing with her hand, “my lines have been bad since the day you met me, so don’t act all surprised now. And second, I’ll come up with a great metaphor. Just you wait.”

***

It was harder than he thought. He put his half-remembered history minor to the best use he could and tried out the comparisons. “Isabel de Castilla,” he offered when they were watching TV. “She ruled Spain as a warrior queen and mothered some of the most important rulers in Europe of their generation.” “Isabella? She sent Columbus off to make slaves and drove the Moors out of Spain. I’m not sure slaver fundamentalist is the kind of vibe you get from me.” “Empress Theodora,” he tried when they were cleaning up after dinner. “One of the most influential rulers Byzantium ever had.” “Theodora.” She pulled out her phone and Googled it. “She was a prostitute. Try harder.” Alright, sure, he was a little entry-level. He could step up his game.

***

The natural world was ripe for comparisons, and all of them weak. The rose-red of her hair, the cool lime of her eyes, her skin like ivory, like stones polished smooth by the ocean, like sun-bleached bone… No, he doubted she’d like that one. In truth she was the honeybee that coaxed him to blossom, but that would go over weirdly too. The first time he tried out the pet names that sat heavy and thick in his mouth, he greeted her with good morning, sweetie, and she shot back, soft as anything, good morning, salty. She was not quite his moon, which after all could only reflect others’ light. Nor was she as numerous and uncountable as the stars, even as she had grown so adept at tracing constellations against the skin of his chest with her chapped fingertips. She was in a sense the sun his planets could constantly revolve around: ever-present and hurtling through space at a million miles an hour. But that smacked of a co-dependence that he didn’t know how to romanticize. It would be a cliché to call her a religious figure, even given how much time he spent on his knees.

***

“I’m thinking I just make it rhyme,” he said over breakfast one morning. “But what do I rhyme with Carolina?” “Probably easier if you let your Boston start shining through,” she suggested, cracking open a grapefruit. “You know, how y’all drop all the Rs in the middle of a word and then put an er where it doesn’t belong.” “You’re talking a lot of shit about dialectical irregularities for someone who just said y’all.” “Oh, Carolin-er, you are-a mine-r,” she said in a ridiculous twang. York rolled his eyes. “I’m not from rural fuckin’ Tennessee. You just want to make fun of me.” She shrugged, eyes flashing. “Stop making it so easy.”

***

He gave up a week later. It kept him up late, staring into middle distance while Carolina played Solitaire on her iPad next to him. Finally she set it down and turned to him. “Okay. Are you still on the metaphor thing?” “No,” he sighed. “I think I have to give up. Everything is too… trite, or too forced, or has a lot of weird implications. I don’t know.” She cocked her head and her hair slipped over her shoulder. She’d stolen one of his shirts, one of the ones he’d cut the sleeves off. It looked better on her. All his shirts did. She knew it, which is why she kept stealing them. “But why does it bother you? It’s just a– it’s not even a poem, it’s just a metaphor. Why do you care so much?” He shrugged, but she wasn’t going to let him get away with saying nothing, so she stared him down until he answered for real. “This relationship is the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he admitted. “And I want to have a really beautiful way of saying that to you, like something… y’know. Words as beautiful as you are.” He wondered if she’d mock him for that, but Carolina always had a stunning sense of when it would be rude to mock him. She didn’t always decide to be nice, but tonight she did, her eyes wide and soft in the low light. “You’re obsessed with the concept of metaphor,” she said. “Let me introduce you to the concept of inimitable.” “I know what it means.” “Then why are you afraid of it? Ooh, I get it, things are like other things. Poetry is one thing, but, York… how do you think I think of us?” “I…” What a question. He never thought about how she saw him. Maybe he was afraid to think about it. “I don’t know. Like the clowns we are?” She smiled a little, just a slight curve to her mouth, a ghost. “The answer is that I don’t. Not in terms like that anyway. It’s not about the best thing that ever happened to me… it’s about different. This relationship is different to everything else I’ve ever had. You are different from every other man I’ve dated. Why do you think I love you, idiot?” “I have rockin’ abs.” “Not as rockin’ as you think they are, York. But that’s what I mean. You say things like radical or dialectical irregularities or fuck freak dunce. Who says things like that?” She held her hands up and out, a gesture of outreach more than anything. “I don’t know! You, I guess! Things are like other things, that’s poetry, but this isn’t… like anything else like that. You’re like York. You’re like the man I love. You’re like the guy who cooks the worst omelets on planet Earth.” “That’s not very nice.” “I’m not trying to be nice–” “Clearly.” “–I’m trying to be honest. This isn’t a metaphor, York. It’s just love. Just life.” She picked her iPad back up and started a new game of Solitaire. “You know,” he said softly, “you’re sounding kind of like my wife.” And it wasn’t meant to be wholly serious, he had no ring or speech or anything except his own damn self, but she smiled anyway, not even looking at him, just that little secret smile she never gave anyone else. And okay, things weren’t always like other things, but it was like a yes anyway.