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botgal · 5 months ago

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Update on AB 3080 and AB 1949

AB 3080 (age verification for adult websites and online purchase of products and services not allowed for minors) and AB 1949 (prohibiting data collection on individuals less than 18 years of age) both officially have hearing dates for the California Senate Judiciary Committee.

The hearing date for these bills is scheduled to be Tuesday 07/02/2024. Which means that the deadline to turn in position letters is going to be noon one week before the hearing on 06/25/2024. It's not a lot of time from this moment, but I'm certain we can each turn one in before then

Remember that position letters should be single topic, in strict opposition of what each bill entails. Keep on topic and professional when writing them. Let us all do our best to keep these bills from leaving committee so that we don't have to fight them on the Senate floor. But let's also not stop sending correspondence to our state representatives anyway.

Remember, the jurisdiction of the Senate Judiciary Committee is as follows.

"Bills amending the Civil Code, Code of Civil Procedure, Evidence Code, Family Code, and Probate Code. Bills relating to courts, judges, and court personnel. Bills relating to liens, claims, and unclaimed property. Bills relating to privacy and consumer protection."

Best of luck everyone. And thank you for your efforts to fight this so far.

Below is linked the latest versions of the bills.

Below are the links to the Committee's homepage which gives further information about the Judiciary Committee, and the page explaining further in depth their letter policy.

Edit: Was requested to add in information such as why these bills are bad and what sites could potentially be affected by these bills. So here's the explanation I gave in asks.

Why are these bills bad?

Both bills are essentially age verification requirement laws. AB 3080 explicitly, and AB 1949 implicitly.

AB 3080 strictly is calling for dangerous age verification requirements for both adult websites and any website which sells products or services which it is illegal for minors to access in California. While this may sound like a good idea on paper, it's important to keep in mind that any information that's put online is at risk of being extracted and used by bad actors like hackers. Even if there are additional requirements by the law that data be deleted after its used for its intended purpose and that it not be used to trace what websites people access. The former of which provides very little protection from people who could access the databases of identification that are used for verification, and the latter which is frankly impossible to completely enforce and could at any time reasonably be used by the government or any surveying entity to see what private citizens have been looking at since their ID would be linked to the access and not anonymized.

AB 1949 is nominally to protect children from having their data collected and sold without permission on websites. However by restricting this with an age limit it opens up similar issues wherein it could cause default requirements for age verification for any website so that they can avoid liability by users and the state.

What websites could they affect?

AB 3080, according to the bill's text, would affect websites which sells the types of items listed below

(b) Products or services that are illegal to sell to a minor under state law that are subject to subdivision (a) include all of the following:

(1) An aerosol container of paint that is capable of defacing property, as referenced in Section 594.1 of the Penal Code.

(2) Etching cream that is capable of defacing property, as referenced in Section 594.1 of the Penal Code.

(3) Dangerous fireworks, as referenced in Sections 12505 and 12689 of the Health and Safety Code.

(4) Tanning in an ultraviolet tanning device, as referenced in Sections 22702 and 22706 of the Business and Professions Code.

(5) Dietary supplement products containing ephedrine group alkaloids, as referenced in Section 110423.2 of the Health and Safety Code.

(6) Body branding, as referenced in Sections 119301 and 119302 of the Health and Safety Code.

(c) Products or services that are illegal to sell to a minor under state law that are subject to subdivision (a) include all of the following:

(1) Firearms or handguns, as referenced in Sections 16520, 16640, and 27505 of the Penal Code.

(2) A BB device, as referenced in Sections 16250 and 19910 of the Penal Code.

(3) Ammunition or reloaded ammunition, as referenced in Sections 16150 and 30300 of the Penal Code.

(4) Any tobacco, cigarette, cigarette papers, blunt wraps, any other preparation of tobacco, any other instrument or paraphernalia that is designed for the smoking or ingestion of tobacco, products prepared from tobacco, or any controlled substance, as referenced in Division 8.5 (commencing with Section 22950) of the Business and Professions Code, and Sections 308, 308.1, 308.2, and 308.3 of the Penal Code.

(5) Electronic cigarettes, as referenced in Section 119406 of the Health and Safety Code.

(6) A less lethal weapon, as referenced in Sections 16780 and 19405 of the Penal Code."

This is stated explicitly to include "internet website on which the owner of the internet website, for commercial gain, knowingly publishes sexually explicit content that, on an annual basis, exceeds one-third of the contents published on the internet website". Wherein "sexually explicit content" is defined as "visual imagery of an individual or individuals engaging in an act of masturbation, sexual intercourse, oral copulation, or other overtly sexual conduct that, taken as a whole, lacks serious literary, artistic, political, or scientific value."

This would likely not include websites like AO3 or any website which displays NSFW content not in excess of 1/3 of the content on the site. Possibly not inclusive of writing because of the "visual imagery", but don't know at this time. In any case we don't want to set a precedent off of which it could springboard into non-commercial websites or any and all places with NSFW content.

AB 1949 is a lot more broad because it's about general data collection by any and all websites in which they might sell personal data collected by the website to third parties, especially if aimed specifically at minors or has a high chance of minors commonly accesses the site. But with how broad the language is I can't say there would be ANY limits to this one. So both are equally bad and would require equal attention in my opinion.

#california #kosa #ab 3080 #ab 1949 #age verification #internet safety #online privacy #online safety #bad internet bills

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unholyhelbig · 3 months ago

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Keep the kate angst coming pls

Title: Firecrest (Part 4/???)

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

Summary: Kate Bishop and y/n have an unspoken agreement that revolves around being enemies with benefits. But when Kate's new mentor is someone Y/n is very familiar with, things become complicated.

Warnings: Bad parenting, panic attacks, possible arson, descriptions of fire, fight scenes, blood, angst, and horrible grammar (I don't proofread)

[A/n: All of my Kate Bishop stories have a tendancy to flop, but this one is for you, six loyal readers, I love you!]

Bobbi Morse refused to release her hold on the duffle bag. It was comically pink but covered in different drawings that bled into the nylon as if the item had been wounded. You hated the color, despised it, really, but defacing it with sharpie markers seemed to settle your discontent.

Her other hand gripped her daughters shoulder with her usual confidence and you knew better than to pull away from her. The woman in front of you was only a head taller than you, her face pockmarked with zits of different pustules of width. When she smiled, her lips made an uncomfortable noise against her braces.

“Miss Morse, I promise you, Y/n will have a fantastic, safe, time.”

They were playing tug-of-war with the bag now. It was subtle enough that no one else would notice. But of course, Eleanor Bishop was always the first in the room to notice subtle. She materialized out of a Rolls-Royce that had a strange purple tint to it in the mountain sun.

“Oh, Bobbi, you have to relax.” The woman gabbed your mother in the side. If anyone else had ever tried that, they’d lose a hand or possibly a heart. “You think I would really send Katherine to Target Trails if it were dangerous? These are trained professionals.”

That seemed to relax Bobbi’s shoulders by half an inch. Your mother was not worried about safety. She had ensured that you knew how to take care of yourself from a young age, much younger than the counselor in front of you now.

The idea of leaving you in the middle of the forest wasn’t a problem either. You had survival skills, you could make a home for yourself out here in the wilderness and wander back to civilization on your own in time for school to start in the fall.

Bobbi trusted you. What she didn’t’ trust, was your powers. You had become less reactive over the years, relied on therapeutic techniques to control the fire that festered just below your fingertips. But there were moments, sporadic ones, where the heat got away from you and you were too groggy to chase it.

“Jessica, dear. Can you make sure that Katherine and Y/n are in the same bunk?”

“Mrs. Bishop, the assignments have been set for weeks, I can’t just-“ a crisp hundred dollar bill was slid across her neon clipboard. Her eyes widened, narrowed, but she snatched it up all the same. “Would you look at that? We just had a bed open up in the bullseye cabin.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Bobbi was suddenly relinquishing her hold on your bag to cup both of your shoulders. At fifteen, you were nearly her height. She made a point never to bend down to speak to you. It was demeaning, and you both knew it. She addressed you like an adult in these moments.

“Okay, sweetie, remember what doctor Garner said.”

It wasn’t a question. Your coping mechanisms were drilled into your mind, tattooed against the softness of your brain. You were supposed to name five things in the room you could touch, five you could see, five you could hear, and five you could smell. By the time you’d puzzled it out, you had reached to the end of that ever-familiar heat.

There were other tools; an imaginary box to put your worries in, a safe-space that was fire retardant. But there were almost always moments you feared that nothing would work. That you’d torch a place and add more names to your ledger of misuse.

“I love you, firefly.” Bobbi kissed between your eyebrows and gave your shoulders an extra squeeze. “Send a smoke signal if you need me.”

She smiled jokingly before loading back into her jeep and expertly pulling from the gravel drive. She kicked up white dust behind her that tasted like the salt of the earth when you inhaled. Jessica smelled like sunscreen and sweat, and you stepped to the side before she had a chance to touch you in a nurturing way.

“Right, let’s get you to your bunk.”

There were four other girls in Bullseye, including Kate; America Chavez, who had somehow already found a stick to carve with a pocket-knife that should have been confiscated upon entry. Cassie Lang, a small blonde that had already claimed the top bunk. And Gwen Poole, a girl who would have loved your pink bag before you destroyed it, the tips of her hair dyed the offensive color.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“It’s good to see you too, Katie.”

“Okay!” Jessica clapped her hands together, “Y/n, I’ll leave you to get settled. Dinner is at six and there is a mandatory campfire afterwards.”

She seemed to sense the tension and left fast enough not to get hit with the sticky screen door. She took the cabin steps two at a time and kicked up a trail of dirt much like Bobbi had. Kate had claimed the bottom bunk on your side of the cabin, leaving you with the rickety top.

“I hope you’ve curved that nasty bed-wetting habit of yours.” She said, just loud enough for the whole cabin to hear.

“Hope you packed an umbrella.”

Kate turned as white as a sheet and clutched her pillow to her chest. She could never tell if you were being serious or not. Of course, you weren’t. You’d never wet the bed. Setting it ablaze on the other hand? That wasn’t so far out of the realm of possibility.

“You take that back,”

A wolfish grin moved across your face before you pulled yourself up onto the scratchy green blanket. The springs creaked as if they’d been used for years. You were suddenly exhausted and made no move to remove your boots, or unpack the duffle shoved to the side.

“Do you two know each other?” America asked, shirking a long strip of birch onto her own bed. She was sitting cross legged, getting it as sharp as she possibly could. You had a feeling you would gravitate towards her throughout the summer. “Or is this some weird attempt at flirting?”

You sat up fast enough to make your head spin, “Our parents run in the same circles. We’re obliged to be in each-others presence at least 75% of the year.”

“Obliged? Try forced” She scoffed, scowling at you. “You don’t even like archery.”

“I like being better at it than you.”

“You’re not.”

“They’re totally flirting.” Gwen whispered to Cassie, who gave an exaggerated nod, barely stifling her blinding grin with the stuffed bear she’d brought along to suffer with the rest of them.

Most of that summer had passed by in a blur. You really didn’t like archery. Your aim was there, but your form was lacking. Kate ticked all the boxes and had even split an arrow straight down the middle on the second day of camp, much to your dismay.

The two of you mostly stayed out of one another’s way, on opposite schedules by design. You’d grown impossibly close with Gwen and America, the three of you none too enthusiastic about the sport that Target Trails boasted about. You were much too interested in the lake, and spent most of your time out there.

A week and a half before the end of summer, and you had let your guard down. You would never admit this, but you were actually having fun and participating. Gwen had begged you to attend a movie night at the fire pits, and you had agreed with the promise of sickly sweet marshmallows.

The two of you were huddled up under a blanket, biting through the late-night mountain chill. You hadn’t been paying attention to the content that would be shown, nor to anything other than the slow-moving bag of puffed deliciousness that was making its way towards you.

“We have a real treat for you tonight, campers. We’ve got first hand access to the new Hawkeye documentary! It’s not releasing until this November, but he loves what we do here at Target Trails and gave us an exclusive.”

A wash of numbness fell over you, appetite suddenly gone. You were frowning, you knew, at the documentary as it played on a hung white sheet, strung up between two evergreens. Your fingers curled around the edge of the blanket.

Gwen nudged you with the bag of marshmallows, but you shook your head, too engrossed in the picture on the screen. Seeing him as a hero, you could handle. He’d been on the news, and you’d caught glimpses before Bobbi shut it off. But this was different. This was about his life.

He sat at his kitchen table with his family. A baby cradled in his arms and a woman with kind eyes at his side. There was a girl around the same age as you in the other chair, pushing yellow eggs around her plate and doing her best to ignore the camera. A daughter.

“Lila, don’t be rude, say hi to the nice film crew.”

Clint was joking, and the frame was shaky, but she gave a small wave and dazzling smile regardless. The thought was bitter; what made her different from you?

You didn’t realize that your breath had quickened and you’d wigged out of the fleece blanket that you shared. Gwen looked at you with worry, but you had the stamina to hold it together until you could maneuver around other campers to the darkness of the surrounding woods.

Far enough to stifle your sob in the side of your hand and fall to the damp forest floor. The pain that ripped through you was unbearable, and you naively dug your fingers into the dirt to see if it would extinguish the building flames.

The pressure licked at your throat and pressed down your spine like a metal rod. It hurt to hold it in, to let warm tears soak through the glowing embers that had taken over your irises. You were doing so well. You were pretending almost too well, to be normal.

Arms were around you in an instant, but you were too far gone to push them away. Instead, you folded into the embrace. It was cold compared to your body-heat, the scent of artificial wintergreen rivaled the real thing. It was Kate. You knew from the strong grip of her hands and the gentle soothing words that you couldn’t process.

A growl had escaped you, and when you peered up at her, the orange glow of your eyes shaded her features. There was no moon tonight. They flickered like a lantern used as a beacon. Kate drew in a sharp breath, but didn’t’ push.

“You need to breathe for me, y/n.” She said instead, letting you clutch onto her camp shirt and stain it with dirt. You were in her lap like an insolent child, but you would combust if she let you go. As if on instinct, she held you tighter. “Four in, six out, come on.”

You tried to follow instructions, but the pain started to roll in waves. The rolling in your stomach felt like you were about to vomit up magma. Kate was panicked, you could see the beautiful gray of her stare flicker with worry. Your hands were getting hotter.

“Fuck it,” She hissed.

Kate leaned down with fervor and pressed her lips against yours. It was not graceful, her teeth hit your own with a dull clack and her hand was gripping your collar to hold you up. Her nose was cold, and her chest heaved up and down with anxiety. It was much too clumsy, and it was glorious.

Eventually, you sucked in a deep breath and used your heels to scramble away from her, back hitting the hard bark of a tree. She had a dazed, glassy stare that still seemed to seep with worry. The worst of it was over, and you were suddenly exhausted.

Your stare didn’t glow like engine coal and your skin had returned to it’s normal pigment. You were breathing normal, almost greedy for the tinny taste of it. “What the hell, Kate?”

“Me what the hell?” She whispered harshly, “You what the hell! I was preventing a forest fire.”

“You’re not smokey the mother-fucking-bear.”

It was harsh, you should be thanking her, but you wanted to get as far away from the archer as possible. You clambered to your feet and started to head towards civilization. You needed to get to the payphone. Screw the last few weeks of camp. That was too close of a call.

Kate didn’t’ let you get far. Her fingers wrapped around your wrist and she held you in place with an impressive amount of strength for a girl her size. “I don’t understand a lot about what happened just now. That’s not important. I don’t get why you’re so mad.”

“Because,” The first word was easy, the rest got stuck in your throat. You tore your hand away and she let you. “You… stole my first kiss.”

Her features softened for a moment before she narrowed her eyes in what you could only describe as discontent. There was plenty to thank Kate Bishop for, and plenty more that you had to explain to her. Instead, you were hung up on this. And why wouldn’t you be?

You’d been saving it. You’d expertly dodged Tommy Maximoff at a game of spin the bottle just last week. And before that, you’d gone to see a movie with Teddy Altman who seemed as worried about grabbing your hand with his sweaty one as you were. None of it felt right, and the two of you both breathed a sigh of relief when the credits rolled.

She kicked dejectedly at the dirt. “You took mine too, you know? You were freaking out and I saw it in a movie. It worked. Didn’t it?”

You blinked at her in surprise. Kate bragged on multiple occasions that she and Eli Bradley, a kid that was way too into ROTC, had made out behind the bleachers. It made sense now, why the two of you had done your awkward little dance on the forest floor.

“Thank you,” You settled, working shaking hands through disheveled hair, suddenly feeling even. “For doing that, I mean. It could have been really bad.”

An obscure pop song crackled through the overhead speakers in the grocery store. The lights buzzed under the melody, uncomfortable and neon in their flickering annoyance. You hadn’t been able to sleep, which wasn’t a surprise, so you took advantage of the low traffic to stock up on essentials.

Bread, milk, and dry pasta. Your diet wasn’t the best, but it filled you up and the staples still maintained an easy enough price for you to justify your purchases. The basket hung from your arm, slowly filling with off-brand items.

You were busy stocking up on bandages and antiseptic when you felt an odd crawling feeling up the back of your neck. You were being watched. Your movements stilled for half a second before you continued with your task, senses becoming overwhelmed with an expensive floral scent.

“Miss Morse, strange running into you here.”

Yes, it was strange. You didn’t know that Eleanor Bishop did her own grocery shopping, and judging by the single orange in her cart, you weren’t sure she had actually decided to do so now. There was a sheepish smile on her face. She had the decency to look somewhat embarrassed.

“Relax, sweetie.” She squeezed your upper arm. “You don’t have to be so guarded. I just wanted to extend an invitation to dinner this Friday. It’s a formal event, just a chance to get to know my daughters partner a little better.”

The air suddenly felt thick. You still hadn’t produced a comprehensive sentence and now you opened and closed your mouth like a goldfish that had hopped from it’s bowl. She had a thin smile on her face that failed to hide her true rage.

“I’ll even extend the invitation to your father.”

Finally, you found your voice. “I’m sure Lance would appreciate the thought, but he’ll, uh, be out of town until next Monday I’m afraid.”

“No, no. Not Lance, silly. Clint.”

Your grip tightened on the box of bandages. It made a sad noise under your crushing fingers. Eleanor’s unwavering gaze flicked down and then back up, hardly phased by your knee-jerk reaction. You were flushed with an odd type of calmness.

Five things you can touch: The rough fabric of your jacket. The metal handle of the basket. The obnoxious blue plastic at it’s end. The crumpled box of bandages.

“How do you know about that?”

“Well, dear, people talk.”

Five things you can see: The venom in Eleanor Bishops eyes. A single fly trapped in the light fixture above. A bored clerk that pushed packs of gum around the counter. The puke-colored floor tiles under your feet. The line of green vitamin bottles just below your shoulder.

“That won’t be a problem, will it? I’ve heard through the grapevine that you and Katherine are getting quite serious. It’s only customary to meet the parents. I know Bobbi so well, but Clint is all anyone can talk about these days. We’d love to get to know him better.”

Five things you can hear: The pitiful last cries of the trapped fly. The squeak of a cart that was three aisles over. The dull hum of the frozen section across the store. Eleanor Bishop’s even, calculated, breaths. An obscure rock-song blaring from the clerks’ headphones.

“Y/n?” She prodded, lifting a sculpted eyebrow.

“That… that uh,”

Five things you can smell: Your own sweat, quickly slicking your back. The musky floral perfume that Eleanor Bishop bathed in. The sharp edge of antiseptic contained by plastic bottles. The faux citrus scent of floor cleaner. The beginning of bile climbing your throat.

“Yes, of course, Mrs. Bishop.” You schooled your features into something you hoped was calm. “I’ll be there.”

She clapped her hands once, a moment of success. You were absolutely drenched in sweat with a heat that even the frozen section couldn’t cure. She went to pat you on the shoulder but thought better of it, before leaving her cart with the singular orange behind.

Shopping was the furthest thing from your mind at this point. Any semblance of productivity was morphed into shock, and then scathing anger. You set your own basket down and turned to rush from the grocery store, entirely overwhelmed in the area you’d just used to steady yourself.

The change in temperature between the store and city streets was minimal. You could feel your breath speed up, your fingers start to tingle. You had to get out of here, so you started to run. Kate’s usual haunts as a hero weren’t too far, and even if they were, you were positive that you could sprint to them.

People became scarce on the sidewalks, a humid mist coated your skin. White fairy lights adorned every other tree, and then none at all. There was a darkness, chain link fences and a dog that lunged on a short lead. The streets were empty, and your chest began to ache.

You stopped in the center of the street, shouting out “Hawkeye!”

It wasn’t certain which one you would summon. You tightened your fists, clenching your eyes shut as you tried to control your breathing. You hadn’t had a panic attack like this in years, high school, to be exact. The turmoil kept building. The memories you’d shoved down boiled up.

“Hawkeye!” You shouted again, letting the orange flames engulf your fingertips, cracking against skin. “Come out or I start torching everything!”

An overreaction? Perhaps. But part of you, a very small part, was tired of playing the hero when all of the cards were stacked against you. What was stopping you from being a villain? You had your nemesis in both archers for different reasons, and a formidable villain you would be.

It would be easy to let go of the control you’d worked so hard to build. Fires were uncontrollable, they were dangerous and deadly. There was no problem setting them. It was controlling the blaze once it’d been ignited that could bring absolute destruction.

“Five!” You called out, your boots on the ground the only noise. “Four!”

You spotted a trail of gasoline leaking form the bottom of an old Camaro that was propped up on cinderblocks, all four tires being ripped from the frame. Perfect. It was clearly abandoned, and far enough away from the brownstones to be a real risk. An attention grabber.

“Three!”

You were feeling heady now. A wash of dizziness had replaced the panic as your emotions were simmering down. You knelt, the sharp scent of gasoline filling your senses. Even the smallest touch would ignite the vehicle in a wash of flames.

“Two!”

Still, nothing. The quiet was eerie. Much like crickets and frogs in the country, the city relied on it’s staple noises. There was never silence, but it fell heavy on your shoulders now. You could cut your losses, raise to your feet, and walk away. But walking away never got you anywhere. Walking away was too much like your father.

The sharp sound of an arrow being pulled back pulled you from your thoughts. “Not another move.”

Kate was bluffing. You could see the uncertainty and fear in her eyes. Of course, you were positive that you were harboring the same thing. You weren’t obedient in this moment. The sight of her in her black tactical suit, marred in purple, was captivating. Infuriating all the same.

A rush of hot air pooled at your palms as you righted yourself. They’d gotten stronger, hotter. Blue licked harmlessly at your skin now. You clenched your jaw and lilted your head to the side. In this moment, despite the intoxicated hold she had on you, you wanted to fight her. Wound her as she’d wounded you.

“Do it. Shoot.” You called her bluff. Her aim was slipping. “Or we could put all of our flashy toys away and have it out like adults.”

She made no move to lower her weapon. “We can talk this out. Just step away from the car.”

“This car? God, she’s a beauty. It’s such a shame that it was put to waste like this.”

“Y/n,” She warned in a muted growl. “I will shoot.”

This time, you believed her. Any slack in her stance had tightened like she were on puppet strings. She aimed directly at your chest. Hawkeyes never aimed to kill, but they would. Kate would, if she was pushed far enough.

You lifted both of your hands up in a half surrender, letting the flames extinguish themselves. You’d shown so much restraint. So much leniency for an unfair situation that plagued the both of you. Kate lowered her arrow, the metal tip pointed at the ground before she placed it back in the quiver entirely, sensing the danger dissolving.

When she glanced up and closed the distance between the two of you, your breath hitched. There was insurmountable anger in her eyes. In a quick movement, she slapped you with an open palm, hard enough to make you taste metal, but not hard enough to cause a ringing in your ears.

Kate hissed “that was fucking stupid of you.”

Your head was turned to the side, the harsh sting throbbing in tune to your heartbeat. You pulled in a humid breath and let it out within the same sentence. It had been stupid of you, nearly starting another fire that could very easily get out of control. You’d never admit that to Kate.

In a swift move, you grabbed Kate’s arm, twisting it until she let out a yelp and fell clumsily to one knee. You stopped shy of breaking anything. “No, it was fucking stupid to tell your mother about Clint.”

Kate’s fist hit your stomach with a cheap shot. It was still effective, knocking the breath right out of your lungs. By the strap of her quiver, you dragged her back to her feet and slammed her against the side of the car.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You’re the only one that knows, Kate!” You snarled “Your mother invited me to a family dinner with him.”

Your knee was in between hers, she was panting, strands of hair falling into her slate stare. There was a smear of dark blood against the corner of her lip. You hadn’t put it there, and though she was pinned under you right now, you wanted to destroy the person who had done that to her.

Fist-fights were predictable for you and Kate. The first time she landed a punch was at her 9th birthday party. You don’t remember how the quarrel started, it was that trivial. It was a pool party with an inflatable slide that might as well be a boxing ring.

There was hair pulling and you remember Lance wrapping his arms around you while Derek Bishop wrestled to pull a feral Kate to the other side of the yellow slide. After fifteen minutes, the two of you were sitting at the edge of the pool digging into chocolate cake.

“Y/n, have you ever considered that other people heard the conversation we had at the benefit?” She sighed, letting her head thump softly against the side of the car. “My mother has ears and eyes everywhere. I didn’t even tell her we were dating. I would never do that to you.”

She shoved you off, and you went slack, allowing her to. You were close enough to a catering table that it was plausible. Kate sounded broken, and it filled you with a deep guilt that you weren’t quite prepared for. You had been so certain.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. Fuck.” She bumped into your shoulder as she walked past you. You turned, tracking her with your eyes. “After all these years, do you really think that little of me?”

“No, Kate I...”

She looked at you expectantly. Sadness rimmed her stare. All of your previous anger had melted away. There was nothing there but a deep dread. You never wanted to hurt her. You hung your head like a kicked dog, feeling a lump form in your throat.

“We’ll do the dinner. Keep playing the part. But after that, it’s done. I don’t owe you anything.”

“You don’t.”

Your voice was tight, chest suddenly painful. She used the edge of her thumb to wipe at the wound on the edge of her lip that you’d reopened. She swiped her tongue over it for good measure.

You were crying.

But she respected you just enough not to say anything.

Tag List💕: @noturlondonboy, @slvtformaria, @pianogirl2121

#Kate Bishop #Kate Bishop x reader #Kate Bishop x y/n #Kate Bishop x you #Kate bishop x reader #Hawkeye #Hawkeye fanfiction #Marvel #Marvel Fanfiction #hurt/comfort #Ask #bobbi morse #lance hunter #mockingbird #clint barton #Reader has fire powers

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13leaguestories · 5 months ago

Text

Superstition Rewrite Peeks (Ep2 Pt2)

And the last of the sneak peeks for episode two. This one is an entirely new scene and at least does a decent job of showing the "damn Tee, did you really not add this originally?" I'm telling you, sometimes you go back and be like "wow, what were you thinking."

Piece of advice more so for IF writers. Finish your story, give it some time after moving on and recovering your energy and excitement, return and then add all the flashy bits. I'm telling you so many ideas and realizations come to you lol.

Anyway, the scene below is exclusive for if your uncle is dead and Chris is still with you. Chris proposes that the two of you have a funeral. Rereading, it became extremely odd that Chris, THE CHRIS, Mr. I Am Literally Your Connection to the Human Side of All This And Has Been Your Best Friend For At Least Three Years And Even Knew The Man, did not say anything much about your uncle's death in the original. Like, not even talking about how much I didn't really highlight that your uncle died, Chris I think says sorry for your loss and then that's it. This is a big deal!

And for those who still want something like this but have no intention of bringing Chris or ended up offin' him, your time will come in Ep3.

With a sigh, I place my phone back into my pocket after glancing at my diminishing bank account for what will probably be the last time. That's not exactly true; I still have enough money for a few more store visits and gas station runs, but I also need more personal items. Not everything will be met if I keep on this way. But I don't have a solution.

Rubbing my brow, I glance towards an approaching Chris.

"Chris?" I ask, looking from him to the small bundle of sticks."I didn't know what else to do," he admits, passing a twenty-dollar bill over to me. He defaced most of it as best as he could, and the name Matheus Roe stares back at me. I glance back up at him, and he chuckles awkwardly. "I felt like I needed to use something of value. Not to say he doesn't deserve a hundred-dollar bill, but I don't exactly carry that around. I just thought that maybe we could bury it or burn it. Whichever makes you feel better." He gulps before I can answer. "Wait. I don't mean it like those two options will make this all better. It's all really shitty. Not to mention that it'd be done on the edge of this parking lot." "Chris." He immediately shuts his mouth.

[[Burn the dollar.]]

[[Bury it.]]

[[“Thank you, but no.”]]

[[“Don't bring up my uncle again.”]]

#superstition s1 #superstition season one #13leaguestories #sneak peek

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preservationofnormalcy · 7 months ago

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ITEM FILE #6412

ITEM: "Fool's Money"

ITEM HISTORY: Item 6412 is a standard American five (5) dollar bill. Running the serial number shows a mundane origin, but the item was slightly defaced at an unknown point. The inscription 'a fool and his money' (a reference to the adage 'a fool and his money are soon parted') has been written on the front face near former President Abraham Lincoln. Lincoln has also had pointed ears drawn onto his depiction. Whether this was merely doodling or a statement of the artist on President Abraham Lincoln's classification remains unknown.

This item was surrendered to Office custody after its previous owner suffered a mental health crisis, citing the bill's adverse extranormal effects. After some testing, it was determined that the bill, when spent, will always return to its designated holder, known colloquially as the "fool." The "fool" can only pass the bill onto another holder permanently if it is stolen, or more likely, if the holder is able to perform a financial "scam" involving the bill. The bill has no other documented adverse effects beyond repeated appearance and the mundane designation of the holder being a "fool."

Office psychometric testing has resulted in a 98.4% certainty that the bill's extranormal effects are of fae origin. Fae advisors have suggested that the bill was part of a 'literal wording' scam. They currently hypothesize that the original holder of the bill traded a significant amount of liquid assets for the ability for "money to return" to them, resulting in the bill in Office custody.

The nature of the bill initially presented a challenge in maintaining custody - though he surrendered the bill, the holder was still "the fool" and thus it returned to him. After researching the bill's effects, a mugging was arranged through a series of double-blind contacts, the bill stolen by a mugger acting, for that day via a thaumo-legal contract, as an agent of Office Accounting. The agent immediately made a business purchase of one (1) box of paperclips using the bill, thereby securing the Office Accounting entity as the "fool" and the bill's custody. It is currently in the OA's petty cash drawer, marked so as to not be spent.

#office for the preservation of normalcy #documents #fae #urban fantasy #microfiction

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annoyangle · 4 months ago

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//while I'm plucking at threads in TBOB (cut for spoilers)

okay so accepting the container of the fiction that the whole thing is Bill's desperate craft project as a way to connect with someone to get them to read it and free him from (I guess??) the statue after Weirdmageddon in Gravity Falls...

Then all of the Pines material - their pages, Ford chiding you for reading, etc - is BILL'S CONSTRUCTION. He made THEIR WORDS UP to insert into the book as well.

Why would he do that? For narrative deniability? Because he's Just That Unwell? is he using the Pines as fragmented narrative characters to allow himself to express other parts of his thought process he couldn't 'claim' as his own?

Why would he have passages from "Ford" telling you not to read it, if in fact his entire end goal is to entice readers? Also, if everyone canonically sees something different in the book, HOW could the Pines have been reading it to each other, SEEING THE SAME THING AS A COLLECTIVE, and laughing about it? I challenge on this point, even if you feel like they all have hardened their hearts against Bill, there are still points in his backstory (granted, mostly obscured by codes) that would invoke sympathy. Why do the Pines accept that 'being a screwup just makes you a real Pines' but not extend that outward to others? It comes off as almost mean-spirited to have them sitting around laughing at the book. And I don't think they are. You wanna know what the real tip off is here? STAN RIPS A DOLLAR BILL IN HALF. STAN WOULD NEVER EVER DO THIS. Even though this is a call back to the whole 'free will means ripping a dollar in half' earlier in the book. Stan would never in a thousand thousand years deface any instrument of MONEY, if he launched himself into a table to grab a dollar bill on a fishing hook in the Dipper clones episode. I submit to you: nothing the Pines say in TBOB is actually real. Because it's not them. They're Bill's "projections" of what he THINKS they would say if they had the opportunity to. Bill thinks they would mock and laugh at him, (as he secretly fears everyone would if they knew the truth) so he made it so they did. Bill lashes out at the reader at the end too, clearly believing the reader finds his suffering entertaining. "Even his lies are lies." We've been basically given a 'get out of taking this as canon if you want to' card by this statement. I think about half the book is actually true and genuine, and half of it is Bill's bloviating. What's fun is trying to parse what the difference is.

#the book of bill spoilers #the book of bill #gravity falls meta

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serpenttailedangel · 9 months ago

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It's not the fact that JelloApocalypse disliked parts of Lovely Complex and openly said so. It's not what parts of the original source material he objected to either. I never heard of the show before, it doesn't sound like my genre, and I'm not going to pretend to be offended on it's behalf.

I'm offended on the principle of one storyteller doing that to another, regardless of the perpetrator and victim.

What irks me is the utter entitlement inherent in him feeling that since he didn't like someone else's story, he was within his rights to change an official release of it to suit his tastes--and then brag about having done so to his fans. The sheer contempt, from a storyteller, for someone else's work is astounding. Just up and saying that he thinks people will only like the story because of his edits and that he hates to think they'll give the original version any credit. Wow.

It's gross enough when some rando does it. It's just downright appalling when someone with their own story, who you know would hate to see others treat their own work so disrespectfully, does that to a fellow creator.

Granted, the company got what they paid for, but also, the fact that he changed the story for free makes it even more gross. He didn't take on a project that he didn't want because there were bills to pay. He volunteered to deface another person's work with the satisfaction of having done so as his only compensation.

#jelloapocalypse #brendan blaber

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kittyit · 1 year ago

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wow. defacing money is a great idea. we should make anti-porn/etc stamps for bills

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handeaux · 9 months ago

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Overwhelmed By Advertising? The Battle For Cincinnati Consumers Has Raged For More Than A Century

Depending on the source, it is estimated that each American is confronted by 6,000 to 10,000 advertising messages every single day. That immersive media onslaught swelled as we started carrying little video screens around wherever we go, but invasive and obnoxious marketing has bothered Cincinnatians for much more than a century.

For example, on 20 July 1871, a correspondent for the Cincinnati Times related an enjoyable voyage he had undertaken down the Ohio River. After praising the service of his riverboat’s staff, the remarkable scenery along the river, the picturesque little town he floated by, the writer registered one complaint, about a cliff near the town of Hanging Rock:

“High up on the face of this wall of white sandstone, hundreds of feet beyond the reach of a scaling ladder, I noticed a patent medicine advertisement. It was penciled there by a man let down with ropes from above, and the letters are large enough to be read from the deck of a steamer two miles distant. I was sorry to see this defacement. It is bad enough that all the fences throughout the land should be made to lie for patent medicines without debasing the hill-sides with such marking. I suppose that when the ‘chemical affinity necessary to be the motor of some immense flying machine’ shall be discovered, some enterprising patent medicine man will be plastering the face of the moon with some of his ‘wonderful remedies.’”

If only the poor man knew what lay ahead! Even in the 1870s, almost every vertical surface in Cincinnati was slathered with posters, placards and bills advertising shows at the local theaters, patent medicines and political candidates. Cincinnati was the center of the bill-posting world. For one thing, Cincinnati was among the top printing cities of the United States, with the mighty Strobridge Lithographing Company dominating the poster industry.

Also, Billboard magazine was headquartered here in Cincinnati. What we now think of as a music magazine, Billboard was founded in Cincinnati as a trade publication for men who posted “bills” on walls. From its first issue in 1894, Billboard covered the entertainment industry, such as circuses, fairs and burlesque shows, and also created a mail service for travelling entertainers. Initially it covered the advertising and bill-posting trade and was known as Billboard Advertising.

Far from inspiring civic pride, advertising rankled Cincinnati residents as they witnessed visual pollution encrusting the region’s hillsides. Leading the opposition was the Municipal Art Society – a sort of ad-hoc predecessor to today’s Urban Design Review Board. The opening shot was fired 24 August 1896 when the Enquirer reported:

“A matter that will undoubtedly be of interest to the business men is the fact that war has been declared by the Cincinnati Municipal Art Society against advertising signs on fences along the car routes and drives of the city. The art society maintains that these signs mar the beauty of the city, especially in the case of landscape scenes on the hills and in the suburbs, and that they are offensive to the public taste.”

The Society was persistent. It took five years but the Cincinnati Post reported [24 November 1901] that the Baldwin Piano Company had demolished 200 feet of billboards erected on company property along Gilbert Avenue. The Post described this as the “first result” of the Society’s campaign.

The Municipal Art Society was soon joined by some strange bedfellows. The Cincinnati Business Men’s Club, among whose members were certainly a number of advertisers who employed billboards to disseminate their messages, created its own Municipal Art Committee to lobby for restrictions on outdoor advertising. On 1 June 1907, the committee circulated a postcard illustrated with a photo of signage clogging the view from the Grand Central Depot, with the sarcastic caption, “A Nice Welcome To Cincinnati.”

As early as 1895, the city chased the Fountain saloon’s advertising off Fountain Square, but appears not to have drafted a comprehensive law about outdoor advertising until 1909 when, as part of a broader safety ordinance, the city adopted limitations on the size of billboards, their placement near thoroughfares and the materials to be used in their construction.

While the city pondered how to encourage commerce while maintaining attractive views, the entire billboard industry was gaining momentum through a Cincinnati entrepreneur named Philip Morton. Before Morton, “bill boards” were basically fences on which bill posters slapped printed advertisements glued up with a flour-water paste. Morton took outdoor advertising to a new level, according to Jay Gilbert, who has researched his influence on marketing [Cincinnati Magazine September 2016]:

“By 1898 he’d become the Steve Jobs of roadside blight. Doing business as Ph. Morton, Phil was an early pioneer of putting ads into free-standing frames called ‘bill-boards’ and plunking them down everywhere. Eventually every railroad route and motorway in America had its view ruined by a Ph. Morton billboard.”

Even the powerhouse Morton found himself in the city’s crosshairs. Parks Superintendent John W. Rodgers, according to the Enquirer [20 September 1907], exasperated by Morton’s billboards blocking the view of Inwood Park, erupted.

“Park Superintendent Rodgers yesterday tore down over 12,000 feet of big billboards that stretched along for a distance south of Hollister street, facing Vine street, in front of Inwood Park. The billboards were 12 feet high, about 1,000 feet long and contained the advertisements of leading firms of the city, and were illuminated at night with electric lights. They had been at that place for years.”

All of those billboards were leased by Philip Morton who, as coincidence would have it, dropped off a check to pay the lease while workmen were busily engaged demolishing his thousand feet of signage. This was the Boss Cox era in Cincinnati where the right hand was very often ignorant of the left hand’s activity. And so it was, while the Park Superintendent was demolishing billboards on Vine Street, the Board of Public Service pondered a lease for billboards along Gilbert Avenue. That’s right – the same Gilbert Avenue divested of billboards just six years earlier.

A common theme of cartoon artists at that time was the eventual coverage of all available exterior surfaces with advertising signs and slogans. In response, Cincinnati Post cartoonist Elmer Andrews Bushnell sketched City Hall wrapped from sidewalk to parapet in advertising while George Barnsdale Cox and his minion, August “Garry” Herrmann, happily apply more posters and Mayor Julius Fleischmann hides behind a billboard.

The battle raged for decades. Photographs from 1927 show dozens of billboards crowding the hillside over the Brighton overpass to Central Parkway and the Enquirer [24 March 1929] begged for relief because billboards and other unsightly structures had a negative effect on property values:

“What of the gaudy billboard that intrudes itself into a residential district, the sign which girds the tree or telephone pole, the roadside ‘shack’ which is made more ugly with bizarre advertisements? Do they affect values?”

A century later, we hardly notice billboards anymore. We’re too busy texting while we drive.

#cincinnati advertising #cincinnati billboards #billboard magazine #philip morton #boss cox

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botgal · 7 months ago

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If you've been following my post regarding internet privacy legislation in California, or if you've been paying attention to the news, then as of late you've likely heard of CA AB 3080, The Parent’s Accountability and Child Protection Act. Which I have written about prior.

On Monday 5/6/2024, this bill will be going through a vote on the Assembly Floor. If you can this weekend, call and email your California Assembly representatives (which you can find through this link here). Even if you only leave voice mails, an inbox full of voice mails regarding the same topic can greatly increase our chances of getting heard.

It is important to help get this vote stricken down in order to protect the privacy of California's internet users, and not set a precedent for them to allow this further (because we know that they will). However, I would like to say a few things to dispel some of the panic and fear that I've been seeing spread around about this bill. To let you know we still have time no matter what happens on this vote, and to prevent anyone from becoming too too anxious for now.

This is only the Assembly vote. Which means that there are plenty more steps in the process we will have to stop it. Even if it passes here, which we will try to stop, it will still have go to through both the Senate and the Governor before it gets signed. And we will work to stop it no matter what point it gets to.

As for the content of the bill. While the original incarnation of AB 3080 was indeed a general age verification bill, the scope of it has narrowed somewhat. Instead it has narrowed down to focusing on age verification for purchasing items which are illegal under California law for minors to purchase.

The most recent version of the bill, as amended on 5/2/2024, has focused primarily on requiring age verification for online purchases of any items that minors are not allowed to purchase in California. These items explicitly include "An aerosol container of paint that is capable of defacing property", "Etching cream that is capable of defacing property", "Dangerous fireworks", "Tanning in an ultraviolet tanning device", "Dietary supplement products containing ephedrine group alkaloids", "Body branding", "Firearms or handguns", "A BB device", "Ammunition or reloaded ammunition", "Any tobacco, cigarette, cigarette papers, blunt wraps, any other preparation of tobacco, any other instrument or paraphernalia that is designed for the smoking or ingestion of tobacco, products prepared from tobacco, or any controlled substance", "Electronic cigarettes", or "A less lethal weapon".

To note, this version of the bill does still include access to "pornographic internet websites". Which are also explicitly defined under the law, and have had their scope narrowed considerably since the original iteration of the bill. The most recent version of the bill limits this definition to "an internet website on which the owner of the internet website, for commercial gain, knowingly publishes sexually explicit content that, on an annual basis, exceeds one-third of the contents published on the internet website." In which "sexually explicit content" is defined as "visual imagery of an individual or individuals engaging in an act of masturbation, sexual intercourse, oral copulation, or other overtly sexual conduct that, taken as a whole, lacks serious literary, artistic, political, or scientific value."

So, while the current version of AB 3080 is still not a good thing and we must work to keep it from being passed, please know it's not an immediate internet shut-down via age verification bill. We have time to fight this. And if we have people who are willing to try and fight this, calling and writing to their representatives, then we will always have the chance.

In conclusion. Do not fall to panic. Do your part. Fight to keep our internet free and unregulated.

#california #ab 3080 #age verification #kosa #legislation #ca ab 3080 #internet privacy #internet freedom

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myjealouseyes · 8 months ago

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Picture this: in DH P1 when the Golden Quartet hide out at Grimmauld Place after Bill & Fleur’s wedding, Harry & Wolfstar!daughter explore every room. When they reach Orion & Walburga’s room, they’re overcome by an adrenaline rush from escaping the Death Eaters, and they just need each other in every way. Soon their clothes are off and their limbs are tangled with each other. As they make love, Wolfstar!daughter sends a big silent fuck-off to Sirius’ parents in whatever hell they’re in because their disowned son‘s adopted daughter and a half-blood (not to mention the Chosen One) are screwing in their bed out of wedlock. Somehow that just makes everything better for the young couple 🤭

-🦄

THIS. This is wolfstar!daughter’s favorite kind of rebellion. Defacing property involved with or belonging to wizard bigots by hooking up with her boyfriend (who HAPPENS to be the half-blood destined to fuck everything up for them)??? Oh yeah. She’s all over it.

#(despite their ‘best’ attempts they aren’t very quiet. if they noticed anyone but each other at that moment #reconvening with Ron and Hermione would have been awkward)#they WOULD do this.#anytime post hbp they are INSATIABLE #🦄 anon #knock knock knocking on my askbox #wolfstar!daughter!reader

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mhalachai · 2 years ago

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Word of the week: Canadianisms: Loonie and Toonie

getting back to things, here's a join word of the week/just Canadian things for you.

Loonie

The loonie, aka the $1 coin. Named such as, in 1987 when Canada moved from the $1 bill to the $1 coin, the winning design for the back was a lovely loon. To differentiate from the quarter (and other coinage that are silver in colour, the loonie is brass). Called huard, or loon, in Quebec.

From this...

to this:

However, the move to the coin resulted in an explosion in popularity of the $2 bill (which prior to this was as popular as the $2 bill is in the States today), which in turn led to the introduction in 1996 of the…

Toonie

When the chuckleheads at the Mint decided to turf the $2 bill in favour of a $2 coin it was in turn nicknamed the "toonie" (a portmanteau of "two" and "loonie"), because Canadians love a two-trick pony. Also known as the twoonie if you're trying to make up points in Scrabble. Apparently called deux piastres or deux piastres rond in Quebec because at that point the linguistic logic fell apart - if anyone out there is Québécois, please correct me if that's wrong.

From:

To:

Fun fact, when they introduced the toonie, everyone tried to get the two parts to pop apart. I was working at a fast food restaurant at the time and i had a couple of ten-year-olds trying to buy an ice cream cone with a separated toonie. I swapped it out for a $2 bill in my pocket and kept the outer part on a chain; still have it around somewhere (unless you're from the Mint in pursuit of criminal charges as it relates to currency defacement in which case I didn't and I don't)

And bonus:

If you’re ever up in Canada and at a liquor store and someone suggests you get a mickey, they’re not offering to spike your drink, they’re suggesting you get a bottle of liquor that is 375ml, or 13 florida ounces.

And I cannot find anyone who has a reason as to why we call it that.

#word of the week #just canadian things #monetary gains #history lesson #what else can i tag this as #loonie #toonie #canadian slang

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crystallizedkingdoms · 6 months ago

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RABBIT HOLES / GRAVEYARD BONES

Rory visits a place he can’t stop defacing. A rabbit digs its bed and lies in it.

wc: 1K

day 4 of cape june-o! rory the rabbit is in town and he is. not happy! you can also read this on ao3 <3

You’re kneeling in front of her grave and your hands are caked in dirt again.

You don’t know how many times you’ve seen yourself in this exact scene, all you know is that it’s become so familiar that you feel marginally less disgusted in yourself for being there. Your hands reach into the small blades of grass beginning to grow over the still-fresh soil, and you pluck them out with swiftness. Your hands are too accustomed to killing things that grow, but you don’t really care. You can’t bear to let time pass on top of her where she can’t join.

The stars above you watch how your back hunches over the soft earth, vulnerable to them like the weak little prey you are. Your eyes dart across the cemetery as they always do, but you never see anything lingering in the dark anymore. When your eyes drop back down to the dirt in front of you, you stare at it, fixated, like the person below could spring out and join you in chase as she always did. If that happened, you and her could stare right back at the stars that bore holes into your heaving back. Then maybe you wouldn’t feel so fucking alone and scared and like nothing means anything.

Look at you, Rory, you’re making such a fucking mess of yourself. You’re crying onto your sister’s grave dirt like you’ve done a million times before and you’re fulfilling every fucking stereotype that everyone in this town has muttered about you and her. But you don’t really care enough to stop falling into those stereotypes, because if you did then maybe the bullying would stop and she’d be alive and your crooked little fingers wouldn’t be pawing at the grave dirt.

Dirt is getting under your fingernails the more you drag them across the soil. You already know that it’s getting weird how dirty your nails and sweaters are when you don’t have a manual job, and your mother’s starting to complain it makes her look bad. Which, Jesus Christ, you think, as if that’s possible! But you don’t say that to her because you don’t really say anything to her these days. Instead you just shove your hands into your pockets, knowing that you’ll be right back in this spot like you always are.

You just can’t help it. It’s the worst excuse in the world reserved for the lowest scum, but you know you fit that bill, don’t you? You just can’t help when you slip into the cemetery and dig your paws into the soil and you hear a howl outside your head that sounds like something’s going to eat you from behind, but it doesn’t, do your hands just keep moving.

You never dig too deep, it’s barely even a hole, just a small dip in the ground that you wish you could curl up and die in. You don’t have the courage to dig any deeper even if you really want to because you’d really rather not go to jail for grave robbing your sister. Still, your hands scratch at the dirt until a little depression forms under your fingers.

For a split second that makes you want to die, you think about digging deeper this time. Fuck jail and fuck Wind Town, maybe if you dig deep enough you’ll catch your sister just in time before she hits the overpass again, or before she finds your way in your well, or the sewers. Maybe when you tear through the wooden coffin that you scrounged up all her Deaf school savings to help afford, you’ll cradle her in your arms. You don’t even think about what she would look like after so long down there. You just fucking can’t because you’re delusional and idiotic.

Your eyes strain when you think you hear something behind you. You whip your head around, expecting to see a million things, like your mother or your father or a kid with a camera or Carrie please let it be Carrie, but you don’t see shit in this darkness except maybe a broken twig. Whatever. You stare into the darkness, wild-eyed and broken, but then you turn back because there was never any choice in what you did with yourself.

Yeah, no, you’re not digging any deeper this time. And maybe you never will because you’re a coward and you know that even when everyone told you just how strong and brave and mature you were at your sister’s funeral. You can’t stomach the thought of someone seeing you like this, and you certainly can’t stomach the idea of really reaching her and defiling her memory as you’re so keen on doing lately. Maybe it’s normal not wanting to imagine your sister’s shattered bones and decomposing flesh in your hands, but under the stars’ hungry stares and over the small hole you’ve dug, you think that’s what love truly is.

You hear some noises behind you that are definitely not one-off, they’re footsteps now you know they are coming towards, and your eyes get all crazy as you scramble to your feet and run to hide behind the nearest tree. You flee like prey from predator, thinking only of your life and nothing else, just so you won’t be eaten alive. That’s the only way you know how to live. You run away like all pathetic useless nobodies do. You even run and hide from your sister.

Your heart is pounding in your chest and it’s almost all you can hear. You peek your head around to see who’s there, and it’s hard to really see between your tears, but you know it’s the man who works on keeping the cemetery clean for his community service. Your heart is too loud in your ears to really hear him, but you swear you hear some of his words.

Damn rabbits, the man growls as he kicks dirt over the hole you dug. Those pests got to this one again.

#yiik #yiik: a postmodern rpg #rory mancer #carrie mancer #my writing

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