#like you might as well find a maga hat while youre at it

[papirouge]

I sent you message a few days ago about traditional women and dating and I think it didn't send because of my shitty computer u.u I guess I'll write something similar.

Anyways, if I was a grifter or e-beggar I'd also cater to right wingers because they tend to have more money than leftists. I remember this black woman who posted on twitter about how she got kicked out of her house for supporting Trump, alongside a photo of herself wearing a MAGA hat partially obscuring her face. She asked for donations to help her desperate situation, and right wingers literally gave her thousands of dollars thinking she was one of them. Later, it was revealed she was lying and wasn't a trumper or kicked out of her house, and she simply dissapeared with all of their money. Don't know what happened after, if she ever got caught or what, she might still be enjoying all that conservative money for all I know.

Cant say I understand this mentality; I could never betray my own race or sex or culture just for some conservative money, I just have too much dignity and respect for that

I actually have a friend that hangs with conservatives and right wingers, and she has told me that trad men and the like tell her that they tend to find the women in their circles boring. Which makes sense if you think about it, as these women usually limit themselves to "femenine" hobbies and skills, thus meaning that these "masculine" trad men end up finding little in common with them that they can bond over and have fun with. There's also the fact that some of these tradwomen convince themselves they have to dumb themselves down to attract any of these "manly" men, so these men end up dealing with women that can't keep up with them intellectually and dont offer them a mental challenge, thus boring them to death.

Another point is that many of these tradfems are too "man pleasing", and while these ladies brag about hating hookup culture and having standards and hating sex positivity, they end up coming as too "easy" to many of these men. Because while this woman respects and strokes your ego as a man, she might as well be doing it to any other man that gives her a crumb of attention, meaning that there's no respect or admiration to be won from her, you're not special to her and there's no "chase" or "challenge". It has been pointed out before that many of these men don't date any of these tradwomen, usually prefering other type of ladies.

The fact that some of these women can't find a man in these traditional spaces is weird as hell considering there's more redpilled or tradmen than women. There's something sketchy going on, like you'd have to be completely repulsive in basically every way to not be able to find someone, even if its bottom of the barrel tradmen. It's just suspicious.

And lately, it makes sense that some white tradmen end up dating asian and black women even if they're white supremacists or whatever. They might talk about how superior the white race is, but ultimately they're straight men so obviously they're going to be attracted to women of other races too. And many of these women, while raised in traditional societies, still have standards for their men and expect them to fullful the male role and be providers and protectors aka they're not impressed by any man.

My original message was better written and mcuh more coherent, but im ok as long as this one sends....

SORRY ANON FOR BEING SO LATE REPLYING THAT YOU ASK LOST 😭😭

It's here

I think shoe0nhead is a good cautionary tale of how far being a pickme will lead you to. Homegirl has been wasting years of her "young & breedable" years with a master scrote who never married her, left her for another (ironically older) woman, and now is being clowned by rightoid scrotes (who are a good chunk of her audience) for being old and degrading herself for the man who didn't marry her 🥴

She didn't even celebrate her turning 30 💀 I guess she's getting highly defensive of not being able to milk her youthfulness for her pandering grift anymore 👀

She just got financé by her new boyfriend who's a Christian so I hope he'll eventually marry her but it's interesting how despite doing the most for all those years she never managed to tie the knot earlier..

[kicking-names-taking-ass]

Lol if you watch or defend skamit in any way shape or form YOU’RE A RACIST! Here you are defending a show for backing their white actor saying the N word and hiring a white girl to take off her hijab for men... Skam Italia literally gets it all wrong and people still defend it... keep defending your right to be racist baby we see you.

[magic-and-moonlit-wings]

Chapter 57: Gatto’s Keep

Becoming The Mask

Trollish and -text messages-

I hope we all enjoy the movie when it comes out this Wednesday! Remember, today’s the last day to start binge-watching and still have enough time to watch every episode of all three shows before the movie airs!

+=+

Four humans, one Changeling, and two unaltered trolls were scatted around an underground library, researching notable locations around the world.

"Whoa, listen to this," said Jim. "Surrounding the Hero's Forge of Heartstone Trollmarket is a chasm known as The Deep, which was enchanted through unknown means by the Trollhunter Kanjigar the Courageous."

They were hoping to find notable mountains, in particular, but 'caverns deep' had also been mentioned in the riddle, and hey, maybe Strickler had been wrong about where the Eye was before the Changelings got it.

"Anyone cast into The Deep will suffer death at the hands of their greatest fear. It has since been used as a means of execution for particularly heinous criminals. No troll is known to have entered The Deep and lived."

Jim frowned and traced over that last sentence with his fingertip.

"How does anybody know it works if no one has ever come back?" he said. "Maybe they just die on impact after getting dropped off a cliff. Or maybe there's, like, a little society down there now and they're just choosing not to leave."

"I saw a cartoon like that once," said Toby.

"Also," Jim continued, "I understand why, if you think somebody deserves to be tortured to death, you would use magical means to get them to come up with a customized torture for themselves to maximize their suffering; but why would you kill someone, who you definitely want executed, in a way that makes it impossible to check and confirm they're dead?"

"Isn't that how oubliettes work?" said Mary.

"Good point."

"You understand torturing people to death?" said Darci.

"I understand trying to do a thing a thoroughly as it can possibly be done."

"Maybe Kanjigar pretended to enchant the place so he could have a spot no one would bother him if he wanted to get away from his job for a while," said Toby.

"Surrounded by the bodies of executed criminals?" said Darci.

"Depending on how hard they landed, they might already be gravel," said Jim. "It's a little unsettling when you know that used to be a troll, but you get used to it. Besides, Kanjigar was only Trollhunter for … what, just under a hundred and seventy years? How many 'particularly heinous criminals' could there have been down here in that time?" He turned to Blinky. "No, really, I'm asking."

"Offhand I can only think of three cases, all involving treason. Perhaps Kanjigar can explain the enchantment next time you visit the Void. Ah!"

Blinky turned his book so everyone else could see the illustrated mountain.

"Gatto's Keep! Deep in the realm of the Volcanic Trolls, in what you humans call 'Argentina', under the volcano Ojos del Salado."

"The eye of the salty?" said Claire.

"Believed to be named for the many salt deposits found on its glaciers, forming eye-like lagoons of meltwater," said Blinky, brushing the interruption off.

"Salt gets expelled through volcanic ash," said Toby. "Or chlorine gas that fuses to nitrogen later. Underwater volcanic activity is part of why the ocean is salty."

"Fortunately, this particular site is not underwater," said Blinky. "Gatto's Keep, a vault of treasures untold – treasures deemed too powerful for the underworld to possess, and kept locked up by Gatto himself."

"Have you ever met this Gatto?" asked Jim.

"Uh … no. Truth be told, I've done everything in my power to avoid him. Very few ever return from his keep."

"I see." Jim frowned down at the book in his lap. "Then maybe you guys shouldn't come."

"What?"

"Are you kidding?"

"The last time we went on a Triumbric Stone quest, a supposedly mostly safe quest, we ended up in the middle of a violent revolution!" Jim reminded them. "I'm not leading a bunch of kids somewhere I know in advance is going to be dangerous!"

"He makes a fair point," conceded Blinky.

"But you can't just go on your own!" Toby protested.

"Of course I won't. Blinky's got to drive the Gyre, and I'll bring Draal for muscle, and –" Jim cut himself off, looking quickly around the room. "Maybe someone else, but I'll have to ask. And if she can, it'll have to work around her schedule."

"You're bringing your mom?" Darci asked.

"No!" Jim recoiled from the idea. "I – Look, there's a Changeling I know who might be able and willing to help, especially for a chance at a legendary vault of forbidden treasure, but I have to ask."

Toby got out his phone and texted Jim rather than asking out loud.

-It's the museum lady, isn't it?-

Jim just glared at him. Both boys deleted the message.

+=+

"Have you ever heard of Gatto's Keep?"

Nomura raised her eyebrow at the Trollhunter.

"Not much. It was one of the places we suspected a piece of the Bridge might be hidden, but considering it had a reputation of no one ever coming back from it, we weren't actually sure if it was real."

It was just as likely to have been an old story that got passed down until it became a figure of speech. The Janus Order’s references to it were all from before Nomura was even stationed on the surface – she'd happened upon them while on archive duty decades ago.

"Blinky says it's real." Jim shrugged. "Or at least Gatto is real, and lives in Argentina. We're planning to go see him about an artifact he might have."

"You're not looking for the Triumphant Stones, are you?" she asked. "Draal's told me that story." Years ago, back when he'd first tried to convince her to change sides. It was the closest he'd ever been to philosophical. "Building a weapon is one thing, but chasing prophecies is another."

Jim shrugged again. "If I'm going to do this, I might as well take every advantage I can. The Triumbric Stones might not be the key their reputation says, but they'll still help."

"Assuming the stones aren't just a trap that will put the Amulet under Gunmar's control."

He snorted. "Oh, come on. If they worked that way, Bular would've been the one to bring them up."

"Not if the conspiracy went deep enough." She snorted as well. "Sure, I'll help loot the place."

"If diplomacy fails," said Jim insistently. "I want to at least try cutting a deal first. When do you have time?"

"I don't work Wednesday or Thursday."

"Great. I'll text. Oh, also," he suddenly looked much more shy, "this comes with a risk of a human or several finding out about you. Still in?"

Nomura leveled a glare at Jim, letting him squirm while she thought it over. (He didn't squirm at all, the shameless wretch. Just looked at her with that stupid timid hopeful expression.)

"For a chance at a legendary treasure trove like that, I might transform in public."

Human public, where they could make up some excuse about hidden cameras and movie costumes and practical special effects, not Trollmarket public, but most Changelings wouldn't need to clarify that.

+=+

Nomura had a duffle bag slung over her shoulder and was wearing a wide-brimmed brown fedora.

"Isn't that Stricklander's hat?"

"It's traditional garb for archeological expeditions."

"You stole it, didn't you?" His inflection made it clear this was not really a question.

"I'm going to send him a selfie and see how long it takes him to realize it's his." Nomura held her phone out and snapped a picture.

"Hi, museum lady!" Toby greeted. They were meeting in the canal. "I brought tacos!"

"… Why are we bringing him?"

Jim sighed. He hadn't wanted to, but Toby made a good argument.

"Diversity of perspective. A human might notice something a troll or Changeling would miss, just like vice versa. We don't know how organized this Gatto guy's collection is. We might have to go looking for the Birthstone."

Thankfully Claire had a 'family thing', Darci had an 'extracurricular commitment', and Mary had a date, all on Wednesday, and he had been able to get that information without revealing Thursday was also an option.

Inside, Nomura shifted to her troll form, keeping the hat showing. Toby gasped.

"You're so tall …"

"Toby, Nomura," introduced Jim. They started climbing down the glowing staircase. "Officially, she's one of Draal's old sparring buddies who's agreed to come on this mission for extra muscle."

So please do not address her as 'museum lady' where anyone can hear you.

"Isn't Draal coming too?" asked Toby.

"Which is how she got invited."

"I don't get it."

"She's going to meet Draal while you and I go to the library, and then we're all meeting up at the Gyre station."

"Why didn't she just –" Toby stopped and readdressed the question to Nomura. "Why didn't you just meet up with Draal at Jim's place?"

"I'm avoiding the chance Barbara will try asking me for life advice again," said Nomura lightly.

Jim's eyebrows went up. He hadn't questioned her suggestion to meet in the canal, but now he really wanted the story there …

"When did that happen?" asked Toby.

"We're in the same krav maga class."

Which did not completely answer the question, but Toby seemed to think it did, and Jim didn't want to push when Nomura was arguably doing him a favour.

On the one hand, he could claim to be doing her a favour, taking her along on a treasure hunt where she could sneak out an artifact or two for herself, but on the other hand, she was loaning her experience in identifying and handling ancient artifacts and dealing with stuffy curators. The situation was roughly neutral and Jim didn't want to tip it.

The walk to the library, and to the Gyre station after that, were peaceful. AAARRRGGHH accompanied them as far as the station entrance.

"Good luck," he said, tapping his horns against Blinky's, rubbing the top of Jim's helmeted head like he was fluffing his hair, and giving Toby a very gentle pat on the back.

"I will look after them," Draal promised, arriving with Nomura. "We will all return from Gatto's Keep."

"Well, now that you've said that," Nomura teased.

+=+

Jim's first impression was that Ojos del Salado looked like a construction project was underway. Or, maybe a mining operation? The mountain was hollowed out, with another mountain inside, and the inner mountain was covered with ladders and scaffolding.

"Ugh, it's so hot," Toby complained. "I know it's a volcano, but still." He pulled at his sweater vest but didn't take it off.

The local trolls wore what looked like welding masks over their faces, and had faintly glowing orange lines carved into their skin. Two appeared to be standing guard near the Gyre station – but facing in, towards the complex, rather than outwards to new arrivals.

Very few ever return, rang loudly through Jim's mind.

"Excuse me," said Blinky to one of the sentries. "We would most graciously request an audience with Gatto."

The troll wordlessly pointed them to the top.

"Ah … thank you, kind friend."

Toby was groaning after the first few ladders. By the time they neared the top, he had stopped, probably to conserve energy – but he managed another when they realized the platform was empty.

"Where is he? They pointed 'up' but there's no more 'up' to go … Did he leave while we were climbing up here?"

Jim eyed the stone the scaffold was built by. It might be climbable. There was a long but narrow ledge about level with the platform, and a tall, V-shaped protrusion probably taller than AAARRRGGHH, and – the ledge split apart. It glowed inside.

"Who has awakened Gatto?"

The mountain-in-a-mountain opened two glowing yellow eyes. A chuckle made the platform shake.

"A human Trollhunter?" the mountain-in-a-mountain said. "How interesting. How … unique. To what do I owe this … pleasure?"

Jim cleared his throat and leaned back a little so he could look Gatto in the eye. "We've come to ask –"

One of the masked trolls arrived, pushing a wooden cart of rocks. The delivery-troll darted away just in time to avoid a massive tongue, and ran back off the platform into the lower scaffolding. Jim reflexively summoned his knives. It was difficult to will them away.

"You must excuse me," said Gatto. "I never talk business without something to eat. Go on."

"We've come for the Birthstone."

"Birthstone of Gunmar?" The mountain troll chuckled again. "Very powerful. Tell me … why should I give it to you?"

"Of course we don't expect you to just give it to us."

Jim ignored Draal's quiet, "We don't?" He took off his backpack, handed it to Blinky, and unzipped the top.

"We've come prepared to trade."

"We did?"

The first thing Jim got out was black and rectangular. Its cord was plugged into a crystal array which some trolls used to substitute for electrical outlets, to power the neon signs and Christmas lights and televisions down in Trollmarket. Blinky had one for his phone charger.

"This is an uncommon human device. You activate and deactivate it with this button here." Jim pushed the button twice, demonstrating. "By turning these knobs, it's possible to generate a custom frequency of audible static."

He put the white noise generator back in his bag, and got out a lumpy object wrapped in a towel. He draped the cloth over his shoulder and held the item where Gatto could see it.

"This is the head of Bular, son of Gunmar, taken as proof that he was slain. Proof that Gunmar's line is not unkillable."

Gatto looked intrigued. Jim rewrapped the head in the towel and switched it for a book. Blinky grimaced during the exchange.

"And this is a document stolen from a Janus Order base; an unfinished medical study of foods that provide nutrition to both humans and trolls."

He flipped through a few pages so the text was visible, proof he wasn't scamming Gatto with a blank notebook, and put it away.

"Seller's choice. Rare artifacts that carry entertainment, power, and knowledge. Which of those would you accept as payment for the Birthstone?"

"Hmm …" The mountain troll pondered the selection. "I think I will have all three. Along with the answer to a little riddle. Answer it correctly – the Birthstone is yours. Answer it incorrectly – I eat you all."

"WHAT?" Toby yelped. "Did I understand that right? Did he say 'eat'? He said 'eat'!"

"Breathe, Tobes." The Sword of Daylight was in Jim's hand. His first instinct was to pick Toby up and bolt for the Gyre. He should be strong enough for that if he switched to troll form, right?

But they needed the Birthstone …

"Master Jim, we must not enter into this binding agreement," Blinky hissed in English. "I'm beginning to catch on why so few trolls ever leave this domicile."

"We'll play!"

"Nomura?!"

"It's simple – either we figure out the riddle and he gives us the stone, or we refuse to answer, which is not technically answering incorrectly, and fight our way out."

"… When you're right, you're right," Jim agreed.

"You think you are clever," said Gatto. "So answer me this. What begins and has no end, and ends all that which begins?"

Blinky blinked, in full unison for once, all six eyes together. "… I have absolutely no idea. Those words mean nothing! Indecipherable!"

"Begins and has no end," Jim repeated to himself quietly, "and ends all that begins."

"I … don't think I can help," said Draal reluctantly. "Rocks for brains, remember?"

"Well, that attitude's not helping, for sure. Begins with no end, ends what begins …"

"School bus?" Toby guessed, switching back to English. "Uh, meatloaf? Hair?"

"Let's think logically," said Nomura, also in English. "In these situations, the answer is almost always one of four things: death, nothing, eternity, or a riddle itself." She counted them off on her fingers. "The answer to a riddle is its end. Eternity by definition doesn't have a beginning or an end. So it's either death or nothing."

"Ten more seconds," said Gatto ominously.

"You didn't tell us we were on the clock!" Blinky protested.

"What begins and has no end, but doesn't end when it begins –?" Jim punched his hand. "Shoot, that's not it! Could you repeat the question?"

"Kangaroo! Golf! Socks! Magic! Warhammer! Baby deer!"

"DEATH!" shouted Nomura. "The answer is death!"

"What?" Gatto gasped. "No one has ever answered that before … and lived to tell about it."

The celebration at getting the correct answer ended immediately.

"And that's the hazard of riddle games where the answer is death," said Nomura. "Most riddle-givers pick that answer because it's what they plan to give the riddle-solvers anyway."

The group was surrounded by four masked trolls, all armed with axes about twice the size of the hammer Toby carried.

"Your entire keep is a trap!" Blinky accused Gatto. "You hoard treasures as nothing but bait!"

"Oh, come now. A mountain has to eat, you know." He opened his mouth, like he expected them to just obediently walk in.

Jim summoned Daylight. The volcano trolls all flinched back from the burst of light.

Nomura lunged at the guard nearest to the ladder. She caught the axe between her swords and twisted it out of the masked troll's grip, flinging the weapon into Gatto's mouth – he yelped when it caught his tongue – and in the same spin she kicked the masked troll off the platform.

Draal punched a masked troll, then grabbed them and another one and bashed their heads together.

Blinky swung Jim's backpack like a flail at anyone who got too close to him. Jim heard a cracking noise, either from the head or the white noise generator, but that wasn't important.

Jim swiped a masked troll across the belly, leaving a shallow cut and causing them to bellow in pain. He threw a knife at another one that was going after Toby, who was doing his best to parry their axe strikes.

Nomura kicked another one off the platform, and Draal threw a third, but more were climbing up, and driving the group back towards Gatto's mouth.

"Get them!" Gatto egged the smaller trolls on. "Prepare the chimichurri!"

A masked troll landed a punch on Nomura and knocked her backwards into Toby. Gatto's tongue flicked out and tossed them both into his mouth.

"I don't want to be food!" Toby howled, before Gatto's jaws snapped shut around them and the mountain gulped.

"Toby! Nomura!" Jim screamed. "TOBY!"

"RAH!" Draal charged Gatto –

"Draal, no!" Blinky shouted.

– and Gatto simply opened his mouth again and swallowed the rolling troll.

Jim's helmet sealed as he switched to troll shape. He threw a volley of knives at their attackers, who backed off for the few seconds he needed to shove Blinky to the ladder.

"Get to the Gyre!" he roared. At one level down, below that horrid mouth, he turned and lunged at Gatto.

Swallowing wasn't instant. If he could get the throat open, he could still save them. He didn't know if he could gut a mountain but he'd find out if that was what it took to get Toby back –

Daylight was a sword, not a pickaxe. Jim slashed and stabbed, and scratched with his now-clawed gauntlets and boots, and made barely any headway.

"Jim!" Blinky was now several levels of scaffolding lower, and fending off more of the smaller volcano trolls with an axe he must have grabbed from one of them. "Were we not attempting to vacate?"

Jim let go of Gatto and slid down the mountainside, and with another roar he stabbed the troll nearest to Blinky through the eye with one of his daggers, shattering the lens on that side. The troll bellowed in pain and clutched their face, dropping their axe. The dagger vanished, leaving an open wound, and reappeared in Jim's hand. He sliced into the arm of another attacker.

The troll with the injured eye staggered and, between the pain and the sudden loss of depth perception, knocked the other masked trolls off the platform. Blinky threw the ladder after them, reducing pursuit from above.

Jim turned to start burrowing through Gatto's hide again.

"Jim!" said Blinky again. "We must leave!"

He barely heard Blinky. He certainly didn't hear his phone, chiming the alert for an incoming text.

+=+

The stomach was even hotter than the 'outside' had been. Toby had gone through both his water bottles during the climb up to meet Gatto and didn't have any left. Not that this was his primary concern at the moment, considering –

"We just got eaten!"

"I noticed," said Nomura scathingly.

"Ohmygosh, ohmygosh, ohmygosh, this isn't happening, this isn't happening –"

"Do you have an international plan?" she said, interrupting his entirely justified freak-out.

"What?" asked Toby. "What does that have to do with anything? We're in a stomach! It doesn't matter what country the stomach's in!"

"Ugh. I'll take that as a no." She got her phone out of the duffle bag she carried and shoved the device into Toby's hand. "Text Jim. We're alive, Gatto's Keep is Gatto's gut," gesturing at the gold and artefacts around them, "and we're going for the Birthstone."

Assuming the lava-acid, which was rising, didn't get them first.

Draal came down the tunnel, fast enough he shot over their heads and over pool of lava-acid, skipping once (with a roar of pain) and landing on the other side.

"Draal! Are you okay?" It was a stupid question that Toby asked without any conscious thought.

Draal uncurled and growled. He gingerly touched his right arm, which looked shinier than usual and must have been what touched the lava.

"Where are we?"

"Gatto's Keep," said Nomura. "I guess that's one way to deter theft. Find the Birthstone. And be careful what else you touch, some of this might be cursed." She put a triangular thing with green gems on it into her bag. "We'll crawl up his throat and choke him or something once we've got it."

Wow, Nomura was not a detailed texter. Toby saw the last few messages she'd exchanged with Jim while he was typing.

Jim: -Today still works to check that collection?-

Nomura: -16:30- -canal-

Jim: -Okay, see you there!-

Toby, on Nomura's phone: -still alive- -gatto's keep in stomach- -going for birthstone-

Toby put her phone in his pocket and started digging through the piles of gold.

Curses or no curses, if Nomura got to take souvenirs, Toby was totally stealing some of these gold coins.

And maybe that glowy purple rock –

Wait –

"I think I found it!"

+=+

Jim – Jim couldn't do it, he couldn't stab deep enough to cut Gatto open and protect himself and Blinky at the same time –

He kept having to abandon his spot and climb down a few levels, and start over at an even thicker part of the mountain's hide –

Blinky kept urging him to the Gyre, but they couldn't leave, not yet, they had to get Toby back, they had to get Nomura and Draal, they couldn't just leave them behind –

Jim drew one of his poisoned knives. He carried more varieties on him than just Creeper's Sun. Gatto couldn't get away with this. Jim was the Trollhunter, he wasn't going to let some troll eat a human right in front of him. He wasn't going to let some troll eat Toby and live.

He drove the knife into a cut he'd already started with his sword, and left it there while fending off the masked trolls again, then ripped it out.

If Jim didn't manage to kill Gatto today, the troll would suffer a much slower death.

+=+

Draal had been favouring his burned arm. He looked up the steep tunnel of Gatto's throat and tried to lift his burned arm, and grunted in pain.

"I … I can't climb out. You'll have to leave me behind."

"What is wrong with you today?" Nomura demanded. "You've never been this – this fatalistic before."

"Guys," Toby interrupted. "There's another way out, but you're not gonna like it. If this is his stomach, then there's a 'back door', and if we upset the stomach," he tossed a nearby crystal into the acid, where it dissolved with a flatulent sound, "then we might have a chance to be passed through."

Nomura grimaced. "We're going out that way eventually." She started tossing things into the acid as well. "I'd rather go out alive."

"What are you both –? Oh." Draal's eyes widened and he looked like he might have an upset stomach himself. "That's – ugh. The shame of being remembered for that."

"There's no shame in survival," said Nomura.

Draal grabbed an entire shelving unit of bottles and threw it into the acid, where the potions exploded with blue light. He fell back and began coughing.

"Draal?!" Toby cried.

"I'm alright, I'm – is that my voice? Is that my" – he coughed again – "voice?" The high squeak had gone back to its normal gravelly depth. Draal shook his head and helped Nomura shove a heavy crate into the acid.

Toby started coughing too. It was so hot and smoky …

The troll, the Changeling, and the human climbed onto a boulder that hadn't melted yet. The lava continued to rise. They balanced precariously. Draal and Nomura were both forced to duck as they got closer to the ceiling.

"I guess this is my last chance to eat these," Toby lamented, taking out a taco. Nomura's eyes widened. Toby had only taken a single bite when she snatched the food and the bag out of his hands and threw them into the gut-lava. "What –? No! Those were Diablo Maximus!"

"And if this doesn't work, you'll die with that taste in your mouth."

The acid level started to drop – spiraling like it was going down a drain. Draal wrapped his arms tight around his two smaller companions.

"The back door!" cried Toby. "It's open! I gotta text Jimbo!"

All three of them screamed as they surfed on the boulder through Gatto's volcanic intestines.

+=+

Blinky kept an eye on Jim as they climbed and ran and fought and climbed some more. It had taken until they were nearly halfway down Gatto's sides to convince Jim to flee instead of continuing to attack. Blinky was ready to physically pull the boy along if he tried it again.

This was awful. Horrible. And all Blinky's fault, besides. Coming to Gatto's Keep had been his suggestion, and it had cost three lives already, and if they died here as well, the Amulet would become another part of Gatto's collection, no good to anyone.

But there would be time for blame and grief and stewing over what else might have gone wrong once Jim and Blinky were out of there and no longer in mortal peril.

Gatto tried to grab them with his craggy hand. Jim roared and nearly deprived the mountain troll of a finger.

Gatto said something, but his head was too far away now for Blinky to make it out. It might have been 'nachos'?

Another taunt about how he intended to eat them, no doubt.

"No more guards?" said Jim. They were off the scaffolding now, and it looked like a straight shot to the Gyre station.

The ground started to crack and rumble ominously. There were spurts of lava, and a smell Blinky hadn't expected but regretfully recognized. They ran faster.

Someone screamed behind them.

"Start it up! Start it up! START IT UP!"

"Toby!" Jim yelled.

Tobias, Nomura, and Draal erupted out of a rock wall nearby. They all cried out when they crash landed, and then ran for the Gyre just as Blinky and Jim were doing. Draal grabbed the Gyre's outer wheel and, with a bellow, set it spinning to jumpstart the vehicle. They piled in, and zoomed away.

It was a miraculous escape. Blinky would have to record this for the history books.

"I am – so sorry," he said to them all. Even at the Gyre's speed, it would take some time to get to Arcadia from Ojos del Salado. "If I had realized the nature of Gatto's Keep, I never would have brought us there."

"He did have the Birthstone," said Nomura. Blinky turned just enough to see her with his outermost eye. She seemed unscathed, and was still wearing a hat. Her bag was now bulging with whatever else she'd … claimed as recompense for the trauma of today's experience.

Blinky turned the other way to check as best he could on Jim and Toby. Draal was in the centre of the Gyre bench and hardest to see without turning around, though Blinky could at least tell he was there.

Jim was wrapped around Toby. His helmet was open again, and his eyes were glowing. Toby was clinging to Jim as well, and breathing hard.

"I saved us," Tobias bragged. "My tacos were the key to our grand escape." Jim tightened his grip.

He didn't let go of Toby until they reached Trollmarket. AAARRRGGHH was waiting for them at the Gyre station. (And oh, that made Blinky's gut twist, to think AAARRRGGHH had been sitting there awaiting their return and they might not have come back because Blinky had led them into danger.) AAARRRGGHH reached into the basket to help Toby and Jim disembark.

Jim let go of Tobias and swiped at AAARRRGGHH with Daylight.

AAARRRGGHH recoiled, unhurt physically – Blinky had seen the distance between his hand and the sword – but wounded all the same.

"Jim?" said Toby. "Dude, calm down."

"Red eyes," said AAARRRGGHH. Jim's eyes were still glowing. "Hurt?"

Draal, who had been climbing down the other side of the Gyre, grunted and lost his balance. When he got up, Blinky finally got a proper look at him.

"Great Gronka Morka, Draal, what's happened to your arm?!"

His right arm was half grey, with pits starting to form where the dead stone had cracked, and the patches that were still blue were far glossier than was natural, like he'd spent a month buffing and polishing his hide.

"Gut-lava," said Draal. His eyes were out of focus. "And straining. And that fall, just now."

"He used his arms to shield us while we were – getting out," said Toby, giving a sideways look to Jim before finishing that sentence. "And he landed badly coming in."

"Need Vendel," AAARRRGGHH decided. He offered his open hand to Jim and Toby again. Jim growled and readied his sword.

"You two take him," Nomura said. "Jim can't go through the market with his eyes like that, and he's not going to calm down until he stops thinking he has to protect his human from another troll any second."

Blinky and AAARRRGGHH looked at each other. Blinky split his focus to look at AAARRRGGHH, Jim, and Draal at the same time. AAARRRGGHH looked from Blinky, to Jim, to Draal, then back to Blinky, and nodded.

AAARRRGGHH moved to stand on Draal's injured side. Blinky climbed out of the Gyre – Jim turned the sword towards him for the moment it took to get to the steps, moving closer to the human and Changeling than he'd been whilst at the controls – and stood at Draal's other side.

He was loath to leave, but Draal needed medical attention, and Nomura was right that proximity to larger trolls seem to be increasing Jim's distress.

Blinky turned an eye back to Nomura.

"What about you?"

"I'll stand guard and make sure no one else walks in on this." She sat on the floor and opened the bag she'd been carrying. "I can get started on cataloguing while I wait."

"And will you be alright, Tobias?" Blinky asked.

"I think so?" The boy looked at Jim uncertainly. "Dude, it's Blinky and AAARRRGGHH. They're not gonna hurt us. Shouldn't it be my turn to be freaking out right now?"

+=+

"I'm sorry," said Vendel to Draal, as gently as the brusque elder was able. "The damage is … severe. I suspect your arm cannot be saved. I advise that we amputate, to keep the cracks from spreading higher, so your shoulder can be fitted with a prosthetic."

Draal grimaced. He stared at his cracked, pitted arm and flexed his fingers with a wince. A few more chips came loose. He touched one of the worst with his uninjured hand.

For the examination, the leather strip that usually wrapped around his right wrist was removed, showing the scarred crack that extended onto his hand. Vendel remembered treating that wound – he'd been worried Draal would lose his hand then as well.

"What if we used metal packing?" asked Draal.

"You lost some mobility in your wrist last time," Vendel reminded him. "If we tried that now, with your more extensive injuries, the amount of metal necessary and immobilization while you healed would likely lock the joints in place for good. And we would need to clear out the dead stone before we begin. Depending on the depth of damage," which was already and obviously deep, "your arm might come off in any case."

"… Can I have some time to think about it?"

In a sense, no, because the longer he went without treatment (beyond the painkillers Vendel had already given him), the worse his injuries would get, and the more likely it was the decision would be made for him.

"If you can remain still while you decide, I can give you a few hours."

"Thank you."

Vendel was not a prayerful troll, but he prayed he wasn't just giving Draal false hope.

+=+

"Hey, your eyes are blue again!" Toby cheered. "That's a good sign, right?"

"Maybe."

"And you're using words!" He patted Jim on the shoulder. "Think maybe we can get off the Gyre now?"

Jim looked at Nomura, still sitting on the station floor in troll form with her stolen treasures spread around her, and shook his head.

Early on in her sorting process, she'd propped up one of her treasures next to the Gyre – a trident with a red gem set on a ring below the fork. The red gem had started glowing when she'd turned the ring and seemed to be sucking all the heat from the room, which was an incredible relief for Toby's overheated skin.

"Dude, come on. I thought she was, like, your friend?"

Nomura laughed. "Oh, we go way back."

"… I can't tell if that was sarcasm or not."

"It wasn't," said Jim.

"So why is she scary to you?"

"Excuse me, are you not intimidated by me?" she asked, casually running her finger along the length of one of her cool swords. Which seemed like kind of the opposite of helping Jim calm down.

"You helped us," Toby reminded her.

"And we're all richer for it," she agreed.

Seriously, was she being sarcastic or not? Or, maybe not sarcastic, but … teasing? Was that it?

"You got eaten," said Jim, as though Toby could possibly have forgotten this. "By a troll. You getting eaten by a troll is literally one of my worst nightmares. I can't … I can't let you be in Trollmarket right now. There's too many trolls I don't know. I probably shouldn't fight them all, but I'm going to want to."

Toby sighed and turned back to his phone. He loved Go-Go Sushi, but there were only so many times he could play it in a day.

Oh, hey, wait, phones.

"Here, you should take your phone back." He put it as far down the Gyre's foldaway steps as he could reach without getting off the boat and having Jim grab him again. Nomura waited until he was back in the boat before standing to get it.

"Why do you have Nomura's phone?"

"From when we texted you we were alive. She's got an international plan and I don't."

"I didn't notice the text come in," Jim admitted.

"That's fair. You would've been pretty distracted."

+=+

Draal didn't want to lose his arm.

He had no regrets about what he'd done – if he hadn't been there, Nomura or Tobias would have been the ones hurt, or might even have fallen off the boulder and died – but he would rather have been able to save them without ending up in this position.

Draal liked his body. He liked his arms. He liked his strength and agility, and his reach, and how easy most weapons were to use, and how easy it was to switch between going on two legs, all fours, or a roll.

Whatever happened now would change that. Patch job or prosthetic, he'd have to restart his training to compensate for the change in balance. He wouldn't have the same reach or flexibility anymore. His grip on two-handed weapons would change.

It would have been easier, in a way, if he'd been hurt badly enough for the arm to come off on its own. Then at least he wouldn't have to decide whether to have what was left of it cut off, or to try and salvage it and risk seeing it crumble away in any case.

He wished his mother still lived in Trollmarket. Ballustra was a weaponsmith, but she had done prosthetic work as well, and helped with injuries that needed metal packing. He trusted Vendel to give him good advice, but … Draal wanted his mother.

(She'd gone back to the Old World a few centuries ago, after she and Kanjigar had divorced. Draal hadn't actually seen her in person for almost twenty years now. He hadn't realized how much he missed her until he started thinking about her.)

He sighed heavily. The movement of his chest caused his arm to move on the table. A few more pieces flaked off. Had they been already broken and sitting there, or had they just broken away? Was it his imagination, or did some of the cracks just get a little bit longer?

With the depth and spread of the fissures, metal packing would noticeably increase the weight of his arm. Draal would be fit to return to the field far sooner if he accepted a prosthetic, which could be graded to a compatible weight. He'd have use of two hands again more quickly, too.

Draal's blue hide had been nearly seared off in some places, exposing the veins of purplish crystal underneath. He couldn't stop himself from rubbing some of it. So smooth; a bit itchy at the edges.

Vendel had not simply left him alone. The Elder was looking through his supplies, giving Draal an illusion of privacy while keeping an eye on him to make sure he didn't aggravate his wounds.

"Vendel. If … If we try to save it. What are the odds it'll work?"

"Very low, I'm afraid. We can keep it attached, if that's your wish, but it would likely not be functional."

"Meaning?"

"In the worst case scenario, it would be like an immobile prosthesis with bits of your living stone embedded in it. In the best case, you would recover about half the mobility you had before."

Draal grimaced. He studied what was left of his arm again. Gorgus, some of the pits were so deep they nearly went halfway through.

"Cut it off."

+=+

"Then we all reached the Gyre, and Draal worsened his injuries to start the mechanism."

They were waiting outside the Gyre station. Blinky had just finished reciting the day's events to AAARRRGGHH.

"This is my doing. I knew Gatto held a place on the Tribunal, but never even thought to ask Vendel's assessment of his character. So now Jim is terrified of us all, Tobias is probably also mentally scarred, and Draal is grievously injured for my failure as a researcher."

AAARRRGGHH, always a troll of few words, had no words that could make Blinky feel less responsible for what had happened. He tried anyway.

"Attacking was Gatto's choice, not Blinky's."

"He didn't attack us, AAARRRGGHH! He made his terms clear, and I knew better than to accept but I did anyway, and now –" He flailed his arms. "I can only be thankful Jim didn't actually hurt you, and no one actually died."

"I'm sorry about that."

They both jumped, and turned to see Jim and Toby. Jim's helmet was sealed, and he was between them and Toby, but he was unarmed.

"I shouldn't have agreed to the riddle game either," said Jim. "That was a stupid gamble. I should've just stabbed him in the face the second he started talking about eating us."

"I feel like that's not the lesson we should take from this, but at the same time I can't argue," said Toby.

"I wanted to say, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let my fears get the better of me when I – I trust you. I know you would never."

"Forgiven," AAARRRGGHH assured him at once.

Blinky looked passed the boys, into the Gyre station. It stood empty.

"Where has Nomura gone?" And how had he not noticed her leaving? She would have had to go right past them.

"She wanted to see Draal before we left," said Jim.

+=+

"Hey," said Nomura.

"Hey." Draal lifted his new prosthetic hand in greeting. It made a faint clanking sound.

"… I came to show off all the stuff I took," she claimed, rather than admit she'd been concerned and wanted to check on him. Draal leaned forward.

"Show me."

+=+

Previous Chapter (Otto keeps unintentionally sabotaging his own coup.)

Table of Contents

Next Chapter (As though Draal hasn’t been through enough, he turns human.)

This was the longest chapter yet! Helped along by how I had a few hundred words already prepped from the early days of fic writing, back when I thought they would be doing to search for the Triumbric Stones in canonical order and Blinky was still going to be the troll who turned human. How far we've come, eh?

There are two non-Tales of Arcadia cartoon references in this chapter, one to a show and one to a movie. Spot them for imaginary prizes! I'll reveal them in the notes for the next chapter.

I do not know what regular lava would do to a troll, but since Gatto digests that poor unfortunate troll in his introductory episode (seen sinking into the gut-lava when Toby and Blinky arrive in the stomach), I assume that particular type of lava can mess stone-flesh up. The term 'gut-lava' was used in one of the spinoff comics.

Out of curiosity, I looked up 'Ojos del Salado', which is a real place. Some fun facts: It is the highest active volcano in the world, and the second-highest mountain in both the Western Hemisphere and the Southern Hemisphere. It's actually on the Argentina-Chile border, and the mountain has two summits, one in each country. There is a crater lake on the eastern side that is believed to be the highest lake in the world.

Draal's mom Ballustra was named in the spinoff novels. I have not yet decided how much of the novels' depiction I will use, beyond the name and the job and the bit about her and Kanjigar being divorced. Or separated? The novel does not actually use the word 'divorced', but it does say they were married when Draal was born, and heavily implies they were not married anymore by the time Kanjigar died without providing a word for how the end of a marriage is described in troll society.

[gallavictorious]

what about like mickey and geneva crossing paths somehow but don't know each other (i guess before the wedding bc i would guess they would have met at that point) and idk maybe she overhears him say something homophobic and she confronts him and somehow mentions gay jesus and idk. this is 100% inspired by my desire for someone to ask mickey if he knows gay jesus just for him to respond that he knows him biblically lol

Ah, this might just be the most justified desire in the world, nonnie; I salute you! Okay, let's see –

I'm thinking Geneva and a bunch of her friends decide to stage a protest of some kind. Maybe just to raise awareness of the plight of the LGTB+ community in general, or maybe in direct reaction to a store treating gay people less than right... let's be honest, there's a lot of shit happening, so it's not like it'd be hard for them to find a just cause. Brave and resolute they arm themselves with righteousness and march out in the name of their lord and savior, Gay Jesus!

March, as it happens, straight to A Certain Mall – CAN YOU GUESS WHICH? – where A Certain Disgruntled Darling – CAN YOU GUESS WHO? – works. Now, I don't think their protest is aimed at Old Army per se but maybe it happens right outside the store just next to it, and so the Gay Jesus Group and all of their signs and whatever other props they bring kind of spill over to halfway block the entrance to Mickey's workplace?

By rights this should be a case for mall main security, which I assume exists even if I have no idea what the right word for it would be, but let's pretend that they're unsure about how to intervene in a way that doesn't get them into trouble for being homophobic. Maybe their boss is a very anxious and pollitically minded person, highly unsuited for their job? Or just secretly supports what's happening? Either way, mall security does nothing. The protest continues. There's a crowd gathering, some jeering, some curious, and some in silent support. Between that and the protest itself there's not a whole lot of people making their way into Old Army which Concerns the staff working the floor there, and so they send Mickey out to deal with it.

“What's in it for me?” Mickey probably demands, savvy to the fact that this strictly speaking isn't his job, and the fuck does he care if a few hippies stand around chanting whatever so that no one can get in to the store to bother him while he dreams of all the stuff Ian and he can do to and with one another once he gets off work?

I'm not sure what the rest of the staff promise him, but it's good enough that fine, he'll go scare these rainbow kids away. So out he stomps and he immediately identifies Geneva as the ring leader, mostly because it's her holding the megaphon and leading the chants. Our highly questionable hero walks up to her, calling: “Yo! Gonna need you to pack this shit up and get the hell out of here. You're bothering the customers.”

Mickey's scary when he wants to be, that's true, but Geneva ain't no pushoever and she's used to standing up to all sorts of bullies – plus she has the unshakeable zeal of a true believer. She's not backing down, and maybe there's a small part of Mickey that can admire her courage, but a larger part is just really fucking annoyed at these people complicating his workday with this stupid crap.

Sadly (for Mickey) Geneva doesn't give a fig for his annoyance. She stares him right in the eye and launches into a spiel about how the store they're protesting has treated the LGTB+ community in a horrible, horrible way and people need to be made aware of the fact.

Mickey's face wrinkles in disgust. “And what the fuck's whining about it gonna do, huh? Someone insult you 'cause you're gay you beat the shit outta them, or you trash their fucking store to teach them a lesson, but nobody's gonna give a damn about a few signs. Besides, those ugly things” – he indicates the signs – “are boring as hell, you ain't gonna convince people of shit with those.”

(There's an alternative version of this story, I think, wherein Mickey now leaps into a lecture of how to make proper, eye-catching signs, and maybe even leads a little practical workshop in the art of it, because we know he's got an artistic streak. But as amusing as that image is, Mickey ultimately just doesn't care enough about whatever these people are doing to bother, so in this version of the story, that just doesn't happen. Sorry, guys. I cannot be blamed for Mickey not having a whole lot of communal gay spirit.)

Geneva is maybe a little surprised by Mickey's take on the whole thing, but not impressed: “Demanding that we should be interesting to be heard is putting unjust pressure on the victim of systematic oppression and – “

The crowd has followed this entire exchange with varying degrees of cautious interest and now someone – a big, beared man, probably, and likely sporting a MAGA hat too – calls out: “Nobody cares, you fucking dyke! Go suck a dick and maybe you won't be such a bitch.”

Geneva is sadly used to these sort of slurs, and she and her group are more than prepared to defend themselves, but before anyone has a chance to do or say anything, Mickey – whose face has collapsed into irritated disgust – turns around and walks straight up to the shouty bastard and gets right in his stupid face: “Yo, maybe you wanna keep your fat mouth shut, Cheeto-packer, or I'll give you a dick to suck on and I promise you, you gonna fucking choke on it.”

The man stares. The crowd stares. Geneva and the Gay Jesus Group stares too. Mickey, he just stands right there, smiling up at the far taller man; it's that dangerous smile of his, and the beared dude suddenly shows far more sense than his hat would suggest him capable off and walks away without another word.

Unperpetubed, Mickey turns back to the protesters: “So you gonna get out of here or what?”

Geneva isn't quite sure how to respond. She doesn't know what to make of this security guard and his frankly odd and contradictory behavior. “Thank you for shutting him up,” she begins slowly and a little grudgingly. “But we can't just walk away. Gay Jesus taught us – “

“Gay Jesus?” Ah fuck, he should have fucking known, and if he finds out that Ian had anything to do with this, he's going to fucking kill him...

Geneva frowns at his tone. “You know about Gay Jesus?”

Mickey's lips twist into something that's not quite a smile. “Know him biblically,” he offers sardonically, and he takes no small amount of pleasure at the sight of Geneva at an actual loss for words. (Sure, he's only known her for two minutes, but he has this feeling that it's a very rare sight indeed.)

Then he sighs; this has gone on long enough. He picks up his phone and calls his boyfriend (who has the very good sense to pick up almost immediately): “Ay, asshole, can you tell your fucking groupies to go be pains in someone else's ass?”

“... what?”

And Mickey explains while Geneva and her squad yet again stares and then Ian talks to Geneva and of course he doesn't talk her out of protesting – because she is right to to do it, let's not forget – but in the end they reach some sort of compromise that leads to the Gay Jesus Group taking themselves and their signs elsewhere, and Mickey swaggers back into the store, equally pleased and disgruntled. The staff working the floor has followed the entire thing and now they have questions, but Mickey just gives them one forbidding glare and they very hastily return to folding clothes and whatever. The customers start walking in; peace has been restored; all is well.

(And when he comes home that night the whole incident develops into a complicated – but utterly playful, never fear – argument about who owes whom what; does Ian need to make things up to Mickey for starting the whole stupid cult in the first place, or is Mickey in Ian's debt for needing him to resolve the situation? They don't actually reach an agreement on the issue, but I think it's safe to say that both of them feel quite satisfied by the time they eventually fall asleep in each other's arms.)

[cherry3point14]

Cookies & Milk

Pairing: Dean x British!Reader Warnings: Established D/s, mind you don’t fall down the crack Word Count: 2,172. Summary: Dean buys you some cookies. You call them biscuits. Arguments ensue, lines are drawn and restraints are required. A/N: Have any of y’all met @winchesters-meaty-feast? She’s my pal and partner in crime. We have extensive conversations about many a subject but one day the most important topic arose. Biscuits. I’m a dunker, she is not. It almost tore us apart but luckily we’re stronger than that. Anyway, I drabbled this Dom/sub biscuit thing in our chat and the following CRACK is what snowballed from that. (This is meant to be dumb ok. Don’t come for me over this weirdness.) 

Ao3 if you prefer.

You should close your laptop.

In the late afternoon—underground where the time of day doesn’t matter—even then the light it’s emitting is too blue. Sure, you could turn down the brightness but it’s too little too late. Your eyes are already starting to ache from the strain.

You're not even doing anything important. You started scrolling a few hours ago; a news story that might have been something, but turned out to be nothing. Less than nothing, it was mundane. Dull as dishwater, as your mum might say. You would have closed your laptop then if it hadn’t been for that link at the bottom of the page. To another article, this time about an unexpected cold snap. This leads you to look up weather trends in Kansas, which becomes reading the articles on weather.com. Who even knew weather.com had articles? Still, they do and they’re very informative. The problem is that their data all points to it being cold as balls soon (your term, not theirs). So, now you’re shopping, with a pair of snow boots and two winter coats in your basket. And you’re debating a new scarf to put you over the free shipping threshold.

It is really time to shut your laptop before you go ahead and checkout. Dean hates having to pick up your parcels in town. Always complains that you have a problem. Pretty hypocritical considering the number of breweries he keeps in business. Besides he doesn’t even have a reason to complain, Marta loves seeing him, she lights up like a Christmas tree for him. You walk into the post office and you get a ton of side-eye, plus a ten-minute wait, but Dean? Well, he’s always at the front of her line.

You’re so engrossed in shopping that you don’t immediately look up at the sound of the bunker door. It’ll be Dean, you know that much. He’ll have a couple of brown bags from his supply run and you don't want to insult him by insinuating that he needs help.

It’s for the greater good anyway, the longer you sit here the more chance there is of you buying him snow boots too. Maybe he'll let you buy him a hat too.

Once he’s finished stomping his way down the stairs he sets the paper bags down next to you. It just so happens that's the exact moment you finally look up at him. A grateful smile on your face and over the top fluttering eyelashes—to remind him how loveable you are.

He shakes his head at how obvious you are. “I didn’t buy them for just you.” His unnecessary emphasis is all the permission you need.

“Is that smoke?” You sniff the air, one arm sliding inside the nearest bag, “must be the fire in your pants.”

He tries. Bless his heart. He tries to hold out. You can see him chewing the inside of his mouth as your arm moves about inside the bag to liberally finger his goods. The haul from the supermarket anyway. But he cannot resist your lame jokes and it ends the same as always. He cracks. A twitch of his lip, shaking his head and then an eye roll even Sam would be proud of.

“Other bag, Sherlock.”

“Ah-ha!” You grin when you switch to the other bag. Instead of fresh fruits and vegetables, you’re treated to food of the more processed variety. Plastic bags filled with crisps, a pie carton and, oh he really does love you, biscuits.

You slink back down to your screen, tearing the package open with your teeth as you do. Revitalised by the imminent influx of sugar. Dean sighs but doesn’t say another word. He picks up the rest of the groceries and carries them away. Presumably to the kitchen by the distant sounds of him putting everything away.

It’s another five minutes when he returns with a glass of milk that he puts down next to you. With a determined thump of glass on wood, as if the sound is an entire explanation.

“Thanks, but you know I don’t…”

“Take the damn milk.”

Normally you’d be irritated for being cut off mid-sentence, but it’s his exasperated tone that catches your attention. You even deign to look at him again, ignoring the popup that’s offering an extra 15% off if you enter your email. “You ok?”

He scratches at the scruff on his jaw while he tries to internally talk himself down from the ledge. “Nothing, nothing. Drink the milk, please.”

You look from him to the glass and frown at the white liquid. There’s nothing wrong with it per se. It looks like a perfectly good glass of milk, the kind you might see on a ‘got milk’ ad from the nineties. It’s not that you hate milk, you just prefer your biscuits to have a little bite. Dean should know that by now but if he’s forgotten then you are more than happy to remind him. “You eat your biscuits how you want, let me eat mine how I want.”

In your attempt to be rational you have failed to notice the desperation in his, 'please'. And now you’ve managed to tick him off.

“Cookies,” he grinds out.

“What?”

“They’re cookies. Dammit, you’ve lived here long enough to call a cookie a cookie.”

The outburst is not Dean’s fault. He’s not exactly hoarding MAGA caps and asking you to go back to England. No, this outrage is the product of a very specific joke that you might have taken too far.

Ordinarily, you switched back and forth between American and British all the time. As easy as breathing. You’d lived in the good ol’ US of A for long enough that your brain simply picked out the first word it could reach. A lot of the time it ended up being American without much intention, people understood better. 

And then a few weeks back you’d been on the way to a hunt, sprawled in the back seat. Despite the fact that you were still strategizing with Sam you were comfortable. You could have fallen asleep right there if Sam hadn't kept talking. The word had slipped out on a whim. You called Baby’s trunk a boot.

Dean—being an absolute drama queen—had slammed on the brakes and eloquently asked what the fuck you called his Baby. Apparently, it was the first time you’d said that particular British word.

If you hadn’t found his reaction utterly hilarious that would have been the end of it. Except you did find it funny. The way his face soured, that little crease in the middle of his brow, he was so offended by four little letters. It was beautiful.

Now it’s been a few weeks of very purposeful language choices. Asking to borrow his mobile to make a call, or to wear his hoodie. And you’ll admit the ‘pip pip cheerio’ as he left the bunker earlier had been excessive. That isn’t even a real thing people say.

You’ve been torturing the poor guy with British slang. And because this isn’t the first time you’ve taken a joke too far, you’d usually hold your hands up and apologise. You’re good at apologising. He likes when you have to apologise because you always make it worth his while.

The problem is, biscuit had been an honest-to-god slip of the tongue. It had been the most natural word for your brain to conjure and so his anger seems a tad unjustified. Utterly out of proportion.

“It’s a biscuit.” You repeat as you take a bite, noticing the way his left eye seems to twitch at the crunch.

“It’s a cookie. It says right there on the packet. It’s a fucking sandwich cookie.” He points at the ripped plastic on the table for emphasis.

You sigh with the kind of effort that forces all the air from your lungs. “This country can’t spell half the time, why should I trust the packet?”

“Because you’re eating from it.”

He’s got you on a technicality. And he knows it. He knows it by the telling pause before you speak and the flash of panic in your eyes.

“So?”

It’s not an argument that’s going to win world-class debates but you couldn’t go ahead and let him have the last word.

Dean's problem now is he thinks he’s got you on the ropes, so he goes and gets cocky. He puffs out his chest a little and bites back a smirk.

“So? So… cookies and milk is as American as apple pie-”

“Invented by the Dutch.”

“-whatever. It’s a thing. Which means you gotta sit down, shut up and drink your fucking milk.”

You always love it when he does that. Argues his way to a conclusion whether he’s right or not. It’s kind of ridiculously hot.

Or at least that’s how you justify putting your half-eaten biscuit down. Slowly rising from your chair and crawling onto his lap. You lean in, slow enough to tease him, letting your breath settle over his skin as you whisper in his ear. “I know a way we could settle this.”

“What’re you doing?” He manages between teeth that are grinding against each other. The muscles in his arms are tense where he’s pulling at the rope that holds him.

Any other night and you might calm him down at this point. Remind your good boy that he shouldn’t hurt himself. Or depending on the game you’d remind him who he belongs to, who he’s foolishly directing his anger towards. But there’s no soothing touches or harsh reminders bestowed upon Dean tonight. This game is different. This is a battle for dominance, unlike one you’ve played before.

For the first time, he wants to win as much as you do.

There’s no mutual satisfaction in the room because you’re both out for blood. Where blood equals being right about snack goods. And unfortunately for Dean, he didn’t figure it out before he let you tighten the ropes around his wrists.

“I thought that was obvious, baby. I wanted something sweet.”

His eyes flick between the glass of milk he’d seen you carry in and the cookies plated up beside it. Well, you’d call them biscuits but that’s not what this argument is about.

“Don’t you dare.” There’s a threat in his voice.

For a moment it surprises you and you’re quick to counter him, “I’ll do what I like.” Your tone is reminder enough for him to remember his place.

He retreats a little, gives an inch so that you can take a mile. A breath rattles through his chest doing little to calm his tightly wound body. At the very least, he switches anger for desperation. Dean knows you love it when he pleads, “please Princess. Please, I’m begging you. Dunk it.”

Your entire body glows a little when he calls you by your name. The change in his attitude only urges you onwards though, with a smirk turning up the corners of your mouth.

Your hand finds a treat, fingers picking it up with deliberate, delicate movements. His eyes are wide as he watches you hover the biscuit over the glass as if maybe you’ll appease him. The whimper he lets out when you bypass the drink is almost fulfilling enough that you’re no longer hungry. Almost.

The room takes on an eerie silence as you part your lips and take a bite. A loud, crunchy bite. Crumbs fall onto the table beneath you—probably in slow motion— and chewing only seems to increase the volume.

“Son of a bitch.” He mutters as you swallow, “you’re crazy.”

You hadn’t planned on it but you walk across the room then, half a biscuit in your hand and a satisfied smile on your face. He’s slumped in his chair a little. He’s defeated since he knows he won’t defeat the knots keeping him in place.

“Come on, try it for me.”

“Go to hell.”

It's your turn to roll your eyes, “don’t be so dramatic, you’ve been to hell. This can’t be that bad.”

As you reason with him, you slide into his lap again, which will be torture enough because he can’t touch you. Except you also hold the biscuit to his lips.

“Please. For me. Be my good boy.” You coo as if you're not toying with him.

His thighs twitch beneath you at the use of his nickname and, because he’s always your good boy, he opens his mouth.

5eva tags: @divadinag @darthdeziewok @fluentinfiction @witch-of-letters @supernatural-teamfreewillpage @magnitude101999 @alexwinchester23 Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles @akshi8278 @bloodydaydreamer

[blackroseraven]

I'm relieved, and happy.

The terrible thing is that an election shouldn't make someone "relieved" or "happy." It should be boring, just the gears of democracy grinding forward, a replacement of one figurehead for another. Maybe one that will guide the nation using different methods and ideals, sure, but the agenda should always be the same: the betterment of the nation. There shouldn't be celebrating and dancing in the street, and we shouldn't feel the relief so many of us clearly are. Any more than people should feel a sense of doom or defeat; we should be Americans, together, and democracy should be a monotonous ritual where we can all feel confident that at the end of the day, no matter how much we might disagree with the next person in charge, they're still going to do their best.

Trump wasn't that. Trump played golf and visited his own properties over 500 times. Trump never had a functioning cabinet, any more than he was ever a successful businessman. We know that Trump's taxes are... not good, even if it's hard, actually, to pin down why: tax and tax law are very complex, but the obvious patterning shows a laziness, almost an arrogance that would draw the attention of any accountant.

Trump had a nation put children in cages. I don't care "who built the cages" or "who was behind the original law" or anything like that: I don't care about talk, but about actions, and this is what ICE did. I care that over 500 children cannot be reunited with their parents after being separated from them at the border. Trump created tariffs that hurt America and his behavior has been antithetical to global peace and prosperity.

Was he a racist as well as an incompetant buffoon? Probably. But that doesn't matter: we know for a fact that white nationalist groups supported him, from the KKK to neonazi movements, and that he had his own personal cult, QAnon, even though he was never cunning enough to wield the power of Q himself, always just a figurehead of the conspiracy. What matters to Trump is Trump, and Trump alone: I don't think it matters how racist, how cruel, or how he feels about things. As Mary Trump attests in her book, he is like a toddler: he only cares about things that care about and benefit Trump.

But the worst part was his incompetence. The worst part, and the entire reason he failed as an autocrat: he is a bumbler, who can only gain the help of fellow bumblers, and who is easily manipulated by anyone who makes it into his orbit if they have the necessary selfishness and cunning. Look at Parscale, who is now writing a tell-all book, after having done pathetic little work to help Trump's sinking ship of a campaign.

And yet people will tell you he is Alpha, even though he's a fat man who eats nothing but McDonald's in spite of being in the highest office in the land, and had to pay to have sex with a porn star shortly after the birth of his youngest son. That he's a genius, in spite of the fact he has trouble stringing a coherent sentence together and repeats the same lie over and over again. That he is a Lion, even though he fires by tweet and has his underlings face the world for him, while he runs off to golf or hides like a coward. That he only speaks the Truth, even though no Covid vaccine has materialized despite his promises, we STILL don't have a healthcare plan but at most, vagaries, and of course his blameshifting with regards to the pandemic when he is President and should have been showing, oh, I don't know, leadership?

Could I even maintain my friendship with someone who supported Trump? I don't honestly know. I say that as someone who doesn't like to go to extremes, but Trump impacted me and people like me so much, and so many of his supporters took such joy in it, I would spend a long time musing on it. People go "oh well gosh you can't judge ME by what OTHER PEOPLE did," but these are often the same people who refer to the "liberal elite" as one monolithic structure. Because people love to generalize, but hate being generalized. And how much do you really care about "me" beyond what you perceive of me as, if I have these very real concerns about hardening of rules around immigrants and immigration, about the lawlessness and overzealousness of ICE, about how "my kind" are treated, and the response is always "well, but..." or "I'm sure you're exaggerating."

People have made Trump into this persona that doesn't exist. I'm sorry, but the Emperor is just a fat orange man, addled in all the ways that his sycophants have accused Biden of being... or have you not noticed how often the very people accusing various Trumpian enemies are themselves guilty of the exact crimes they're describing? We aren't in the era of gaslighting: this is the era of projection, where we avoid guilt by blaming other people for our sins.

Take the election, for example, and how PA legislature purposefully delayed ballot counting as part of a known plan, a “campaign strategy” by Trump to undermine the election. And I’m disgusted with the people complaining about “mail-in” ballots being used when Trump himself was doing nothing but discouraging them, essentially handicapping himself. Furthermore, how do you think military people overseas vote? By magic? Or do our soldiers no longer matter when they’re no longer useful to your cause and your ideology?

Don’t answer. We all know the truth. The screaming red hats showed us that, just as they showed us how people want to be ruled over, and the real people living in a bubble aren’t the “liberal coastal elite” but the now-minority that’s desperate to keep itself in power in a country that is trying to adapt, change, and evolve as the world does so.

Biden is far from perfect and not at all my ideal candidate, but at least he’s a decent human being, who stays off twitter. And I look forwards to having rational ideological disagreements rather than living in fear and disgust. I look forwards to being able to speak my mind again, even if it will be a long time before I feel again like I am actually welcome in this country, if I ever was at all; like I’m not an outsider to this nation, and that if many of these vile people had their way, I would be removed, no matter what good I’ve done, or how much of my blood and sweat has been spent working alongside them.

If Trump is your idea of a "strong man," then you need to reflect on where you are in your life, honestly, and how happy you are with it, and how you got there. And I pray you find your answers and your peace. And if this "offends you..." what was that popular MAGA motto?

Ah, yes.

Fuck your feelings, snowflake. Facts don't care about your feelings.

[spiltscribbles]

combo of 7 & 8 for pynch hehe :)

Notes: Thank you so much love!!!  |   Send Me A Prompt 

.-

“It’s the last straw! I’m done! I’m over it!” Blue stabs the spoon into her yogurt, teeth clenched, and knuckles white. Adam, like the good friend he is, just calmly slides it out of her hand and gives her a banana instead.

“She’s not that bad of a roommate,” he tells her with a one armed shrug. The look she shoots him can only be described as the personification of betrayal. Adam can’t believe it’s the third time he’s rolled his eyes at her and it hasn’t hit nine in the morning yet.

“They were naked Adam! Nude! Birthday suits!”

“The biblical state,” Henry tacks on and Blue nods along graciously.

Make it four times before nine in the morning.

“It’s Orla…. She’s eccentric

“It was on the couch! I sit on that couch Adam!” blue hits her hand against the table, fully indignant now.

“I really would recommend having it at the very least steam cleaned before partaking in that activity  again,” Henry advises sagely as he takes a sip of his coffee.

“Oh no! No way! I will never sit on that couch another day of my life!”

“Glad to see you’re taking this reasonably,” Adam says, voice blithe, as he brings their cereal bowls to the sink.

“Don’t start with me Adam! You haven’t seen the things I have! The freckles and birthmarks— The hair.” Blue shutters and henry slings an arm around her slim shoulders in comfort, clucking his tongue all the while.

Fifth…. It’s been the fifth time now.

“So how do you reckon you’ll live in there without sitting on the couch ever again?” He needles with a quirked brow, fully having decided to just fall into the dramatics. It’s always easier for him at the end of the day  when just excepting it.

“I’m moving out! Duh.”

“Oo, My Blueberry is becoming her very own American woman!” Henry preens. “Let me get you a chic new outfit Sabrina style!”

“That movie is sexist and culturally appropriates middle eastern garb.” Blue sniffs.

“Good to know that the new Blue has still got all her old spunk.”

“You’re both ridiculous,” Adam tells them, lips pinched.

“We bring bursts of color into your otherwise stale existence,” Blue argues loftily.

“Ridiculous,” Adam repeats with feeling.

“Lying doesn’t become you my dear Henrietta Prince,” Henry tells him far too frankly before turning his attention back to Blue. “You know you’ve got a place here if you want it.”

“Where?” Blue snorts. “In your living room?”

“Our couch doesn’t have naked Orla germs,” Adam offers halfheartedly. 

Blue just levels him with a unimpressed look, and Adam’s got flashbacks to junior year when Maura caught the pair of them getting drunk off Persephone’s peach wine coolers.

It’s terrifying.

“Charming. But no need, I’ve already begun sifting around for places nearby that are looking for a new roommate.”

Adam takes the papers she’s already printed off and begins shuffling through them.

“This one has like five cats,” he tells her with a curled lip.

“It sounds homey.”

“You’re allergic,” Adam rebukes. 

“I’m desperate Adam!” Blue reminds him.

“This one has a picture of him wearing a MAGA hat on his facebook profile pic,” Henry informs her, holding a second listing.

“Okay not that desperate,” Blue crumples it up and tosses it to the side. Adam would tell her to throw it in the trash like an adult but reasons she’s having a moment. 

“Mmm, what about this one,” she waves around the paper and Henry takes it to look over himself.

“It’s with three random dudes.”

“Three normal looking dudes,” Blue presses. “And so to reiterate, I’m desperate.”

“Ted Bundy was a normal looking dude,” Adam charges, making Blue glare at him menacingly.

“Adam I can still see flesh in my nightmares!”

Sixth, sixth time he’s rolled his eyes. Jesus fucking Christ Adam is gonna be sent to an early grave because of  an aneurism from them.

.-

The problem is that when Blue sets her mind on something, not even the angels above can dissuade  her from it, so that’s why Adam spends his Saturday afternoon— the only one he’s had off from a shoot in literally three months— driving to some sketch apartment with her and Henry, in the latter’s abrasively flashy sports car. 

He feels like a fraud.

“Blueberry are you sure you put in the right address?” Henry asks, face scrunched in confusion once they cruise into the open parking spot in front of a dilapidated looking  manufacturing building.

Blue flickers her eyes back down towards her phone before glancing up with a sure nod. 

“Look it says Monmouth right over there on the sign near the front door. This’s the right place.” 

“Right place to get murdered,” Adam intones darkly. 

Blue only tosses him a glare before slipping out.

“Are we bad people for going along with this?” Henry asks Adam, his mouth downturned in concern.

“Nah, we were bad people long before this.” Adam assures him wryly  before following suit.

.-

“I don’t want a new roommate,” Ronan tells Gansey for the third time in the past hour. In turn, Gansey only rolls his eyes before trying to stuff the old pizza boxes into the trash can. God fucking damn it, Helen’s right, they do live like pigs.

“I think it’s a good idea,” Noah contends. “It’ll bring some new energy in this place.”

“Oy, what did I tell you about saying shit like energy and chakras.”

“That’s it’s something a douche hipster would say and you’d throw me out a window if you heard it again.”

“And yet.”

“All I can say to that is dude you need to clear your chakras.” Noah says, fully goading, and making it so an unexpected laugh tears out of Ronan, the total prick.

“For the love that is all holy and right, will you two please just attempt to act normal when she gets here.”

“It’s a girl?”

“A girl with models as friends,” Noah perks, completely beaming. “And you know what that means,” Noah winks and Ronan, for the good of the public, cuffs him on the back of the head. Hard.

“You fucking sly dog, how do you even know that?”

“Preliminary interview through the phone,” Noah shrugs. “She sounds nice, better than living with that guy with a pet snake.”

“That snake was fucking cool.” Ronan argues.

“There’s a one pet limit here, and your raven has taken the slot.” Gansey huffs, hand on his hip like Aurora would do if Ronan and Declan were being especially rowdy. “And Noah don’t ask about her model friends, that’s creepy.”

“That’s kind of my shtick man.” Noah points out, wide eyed.

“Less horror film creepy and more loser from Revenge of the Nerds creepy,” Gansey clarifies scoldingly.

Noah swallows down a lump, properly cowed.

It’s right then when the doorbell rings and Gansey frantically puts in the last of the empty cups into the dishwasher from the sink before scurrying to the doorway, Noah and Ronan on his heals.

Ronan knows he lost the battle and the war the moment the door swings open and the first thing the pixie sized, colorfully dressed girl says is a glowing “Blank 182?” While gesturing towards Noah’s… Well Noah’s everything.

Noah looks like the cat who’s gotten into the cream, Gansey looks more glowing than usual, and Ronan can’t take his eyes off the sandy haired boy she’s brought along with her.

.-

Living with Blue is a beast that Ronan can’t quite figure out how to defeat.

She, probably like any sane person, expects the house to be in some sort of semblance— aka no more jackets and other innocuous articles of clothing thrown about the shared living space, and for dishes to be rinsed after use and put into the dishwasher accordingly. 

“Your rooms can be as trashy as you want, but can we please not make the whole place a pigsty,” she had sniffed with a cocked head and jut out hip. Gansey of course nodded giddily— on account to his staring at her all moony ever since meeting her— Noah had shrugged, indifferent. But Ronan held out as long as possible, sneer on his lips. But alas, she met his every zig with a zag and he found himself in a stalemate.

But Ronan could deal with the tidiness and even the impromptu yoga sessions she holds with randoms from her classes at university. Hell he could deal with her weird obsession with Yogurt too, and can actually listen to her rants about the patriarchy and institutional blocks that keeps the impoverished and people of color and women down from being able to achieve feats once only meant for wealthy white men. Fuck, Ronan’s come to think her particular brand of spitfire humor is actually hilarious.

So yes all of this is fine. But with Blue comes them. Henry Cheng, best friend she met at some art class her freshman year. And fucking Adam Parrish, apparently someone she’s known for so long and so intimately that she refers to him as family more often than not.

And yeah. Ronan is not jealous and Noah needs to take that fucking sneer off his face.

“You’re jealous!”

“I am not jealous!” Ronan yells emphatically for the fifth time.

“Ronan has a crush!”

“Noah God so help me!” He threatens, totally venomous.

“You’re in loveee!” 

“Noah I will destroy you!”

.-

Okay so Ronan might be sorta, kinda, not jealous…. But bothered. Yes Bothered. He’s bothered because he can’t fucking figure out Blue and Adam’s deal. One second they’re sniping at one another about the economy and the next she’s lying her head in his lap while he’s carding a hand through her hair.

Fucking salacious shit.

But occasionally, on especially good days, Blue falls asleep early and instead of going back home right away, Adam stays. He stays and he shares a drink with Ronan on the porch and they talk about nothing really, but also a lot of things. Ronan find’s out he basically grew up with Blue, that she was his first everything. He’s deaf in his left ear and he didn’t mean to fall into modeling but he didn’t have enough money to finish the semester at MIT and instead of giving up he took up some side gigs which eventually culminated into a career of his own. 

Ronan finds out that Adam’s favorite flavor of ice cream is cow tracks and his front tooth is chipped from behind.  Adam has a small, crooked smile and when he laughs its more breath than sound and its absolutely lovely.

Ronan finds this all out but still has no idea whether he has a shot.

And again, he’s bothered.

.-

“I vote on something classic,” Blue tells them with a sip of her shake. (Read the shake Adam bought but Blue somehow still always drinks half of even while she complains about being on a diet, which then leads her to grouse about how Adam stays narrow and lithe even if he eats four quarter pounders back to back).

Sadly, this happened once and only once when Adam was especially stressed over a finals week and hadn’t eaten for literally three straight days. 

She really has seen him at his worst.

“Ooo, let’s watch some singing in the rain! I’m ready to belt out some toons.” Henry crows.

“Oh well if it includes your perfectly pitched singing,” Adam says flatly. Blue promptly elbow checks him and Henry waggles his tongue out.

“Sounds good to me Henry, so where?”

“Your place?” Adam says, brow kinked and trying to smother down the hopefulness in his voice. Of course, it doesn’t work. They know him better than anyone else, and they immediately stick him with matching smirks.

“Pray tell Parrish, me and you have the better entertainment system by far, and yet you’ve been insistent on heading to Blueberry’s place for our weekly movie nights for the past two months…. Hah, I wonder what two months signify?”

“Ooo ooo! I know Henry, I know!” Blue teases swinging her arm up high like an excited school girl. “I just moved into Monmouth and Then Adam over here got all slack jawed and goofily eyed over my scary roommate!”

“Blueberry gets the point!” Henry squawks, giving her a makeshift bracelet out of the straw wrapper.

Adam looks at them both with as much fury as he could muster, cheeks infused red, and jaw locked.

In retort, they only laugh ebulliently.

Adam is so tempted to make new friends.

.-

Ronan opens the door on a random Thursday afternoon a week later and Adam steels his nerves, not about to back down.

“Oh, ah Parrish.” His prominent brows furrow together, suspicious. “Maggot isn’t here yet.”

“I know,” Adam says, head tipped high. “Can I come in?”

Ronan only shrugs as he moves aside to give him the room to enter.

“You look like you have something squirming up your ass,” Ronan tells him, as blunt and as crass as ever.

Adam silently questions to the universe why is it that he’s so resoundingly attracted to him for that.

“You’re so eloquent with your words Lynch, you know that?” Adam tells him, completely flat, and making it so Ronan’s answering grin is something feral and amused.

“So you gonna just stand there looking pretty or actually get it out?”

“Jesus Christ, do you have an ounce of patience in your entire body?”

“I sweat it out at the gym, you wouldn’t know that skinny.” Ronan barbs, hip checking him while he struts to the kitchen.

Adam just glares after his form… His well built and deliciously broad shoulders.

“Still got enough muscle to beat your ass,” Adam teases and Ronan leers, impressed. Adam walks closer, magnetized. 

“So Blue’s enlightened me about something.”

Ronan hikes up a brow, betraying his mask of indifference.

“Is that right. What? Did Maggot make you understand that the hand holding and lovey-dovey looks are getting abrasive?”

Adam is utterly confused to what he’s talking about— Did he find out about the crush, and if so does that mean he’s already, wordlessly rejected Adam. Is Ronan completely uncomfortable right now.

Adam shakes off the questions, is determined to just plunge in for once in his life without beating a situation to death with analysis.

“She’s enlightened me that my crush on you is getting to ridiculous levels of yearning and i should just ask you out like an adult.”

A thousand different expressions pull at Ronan’s face until finding landing at something Adam can only call aw.

“Oh— Ah, wait. Wait do you like me?”

Adam rolls his eyes heavenwards. God he really is going to get an aneurysm.

“You are such a doofus,” Adam sighs before inkling his head forwards and kissing Ronan senseless.

Ronan grabs his head and presses impossibly closer.

.-

Later that night, when Henry and Blue march in with the decided upon movie they both begin to preen at the sight of them, exchange bills with Noah and Gansey too.

Again, Adam is going to be sent to an early grave. But hey, if in the meanwhile Ronan does that thing with his tongue, Adam will at least enjoy his final earthly days.

[clearlydeplorable]

To the Leftists:

If you are a liberal who can’t stand Trump, and cannot possibly fathom why anyone would ever vote for him, let me fill you in.

It’s not that we love Donald Trump so much. It’s that we can’t stand you.

And we will do whatever it takes — even if that means electing a rude, obnoxious, unpredictable, narcissist (your words not ours) to the office of President of the United States — because the thing we find more dangerous to this nation than Donald Trump is YOU.

How is that possible you might ask?

Well, you have done everything in your power to destroy our country.

From tearing down the police, to tearing down our history, to tearing down our borders.

From systematically destroying our schools and brainwashing our kids into believing socialism is the answer to anything (despite being an unmitigated failure everywhere), while demonizing religion and faith, and glorifying abortion, violence, and thug culture.

From calling us racists every time we expect everyone of any skin color to follow our laws equally to gaslighting us about 52 genders, polyamory, grown men in dresses sharing public locker rooms with little girls, and normalize the sexualization of young children, you simultaneously ridicule us for having the audacity to wish someone a “Merry Christmas” or hang a flag on the 4th of July, stand for the national anthem, or (horror of horrors) don a MAGA hat in public.

So much for your “tolerance.”

(See why we think you are just hypocrites??)

We’re also not interested in the fact that you think you can unilaterally decide that 250 years of the right-to-bear-arms against a tyrannical or ineffective government should be abolished because you can’t get the violence in the cities you manage under control. That free-speech should be tossed out the window, and that those who disagree with your opinions are fair game for public harassment or doxing. That spoiled children with nose-rings and tats who still live off their parent’s dime should be allowed to destroy cities and peoples livelihoods without repercussions. That chaos, and lawlessness, and disrespect for authority should be the norm.

This is your agenda. And you wonder why we find you more dangerous than Donald Trump?

Your narrative is a constant drone of oppressor/oppressed race-baiting intended to divide the country in as many ways as you possibly can. You love to sell “victim-hood” to people of color every chance you get because it’s such an easy sell, compared to actually teaching people to stand on their own two feet and take personal responsibility for their own lives and their own communities and their own futures. But you won’t do that, you will never do that, because then you will lose control over people of color. They might actually start thinking for themselves, God forbid!

This is why we will vote for Donald Trump.

Not because he is the most charming character on the block.

Not because he is the most polite politician to have ever graced the oval office.

Not because he is the most palatable choice, or because we love his moral character or because the man never lies, but because we are sick to death of you and all of the destructive crap you are doing to this once beautiful and relatively safe country.

Your ineffective and completely dysfunctional liberal “leadership”(?) has literally destroyed our most beautiful cities, our public education system, and done it’s damndest to rip faith out of people’s lives.

However bad Donald Trump may be, and he is far from perfect, every day we look at you and feel that no matter what Donald Trump says or does there is no possible way he could be any worse for our country than you people are.

We are sick to death of your stupid, destructive, ignorant, and intolerant behavior and beliefs — parading as “wokeness.” We are beyond sick of your hypocrisy and B.S.

We are fed up with your disrespectful divisiveness and constant unrelenting harping and whining and complaining (while you live in the most privileged nation in the world), while making literally zero contributions of anything positive to our society. Your entire focus is on ripping things down, never ever building anything up. Think about that as there is something fundamentally very wrong in the psychology of people who choose destruction as their primary modus operandi.

When Donald J Trump is reelected, don’t blame us, look in the mirror and blame yourselves.

Because you are the ones that are responsible for the rise of Donald Trump. You are the ones who have created this "monster" that you so despise, by your very actions. By your refusal to respect your fellow Americans, and the things that are important to us.

You have made fun of the “fly-over states,” the people who “cling to their guns and religion,” the middle class factory workers and coal miners and underprivileged rural populations that you dismissively call “yahoos” and “deplorables.” You have mocked our faith and our religion. You have mocked our values and our patriotism. You have trampled our flag and insulted our veterans and treated our first responders with contempt and hatred.

You have made environmentalism your religion, while trashing every city you have taken responsibility for. You scream from the rooftops about “global warming” and a “green new deal” while allowing tens of thousands of homeless people to cover your streets in literal sh!t and garbage and needles and plastic waste without doing a single thing to help them or solve the environmental crisis your failed social policies are creating. But we’re supposed to put YOU in charge of the environment while gutting our entire economy to institute this plan when you can’t even clean up a single city??

You complain — endlessly — yet have failed to solve a single social problem anywhere. In fact, all you have done is create more of them.

We’ve had enough. We are tired of quietly sitting by and being the “silent” majority. So don’t be surprised when the day comes when we finally respond. And trust me it’s coming, sooner than you might think. And also trust me when I say it won’t be pretty. Get ready.

When Donald Trump is reelected it will be because you and your “comrades” have chosen to trash the police, harass law-abiding citizens, and go on rampages destroying public property that we have all paid for and you have zero respect for.

When Donald Trump is reelected it will be because we are sick of your complete and utter nonsense and destruction. How does it feel to know that half of this country finds you FAR more despicable than Donald J. Trump, the man you consider to be the anti-Christ?

Let that sink in.

We consider you to be more despicable, more dangerous, more stupid, and more narcissistic than Donald Trump. Maybe allow yourself a few seconds of self-reflection to let that sink in. This election isn’t about Donald Trump vs. Joe Biden.

This is about Donald Trump vs YOU.

So if on the morning of November 4 (or more likely January 19, by the time the Supreme Court will weigh in on the mail-in ballot fiasco that we are headed towards), and Donald J. Trump is reelected?

The only people you have to blame is the left-wing media drones and yourselves.

You did this.

We don't believe in Wealth Distribution, we work hard for our money, and if anyone else wants to make more, they can too.We don't believe illegals should be taking American's jobs. We don't think everyone should get free this, free that.

[tanstaaflaos]

A rant from Trump supporters

The following is a cut and paste from someone I know on Facebook.  In short, they don’t particularly like Trump but like liberals and progressive ideas even less.  They justify their vote for Trump as giving a finger to liberals and the media, rather than supporting Trump.  In short, a very selfish and short-sighted mentality that is unfortunately prevalent in today’s world.  These folks will continue to vote against their own interests if it means they can “win” while sticking it to the liberals.  Here’s the rant:

🛑 STOP! 🛑 EVERYONE SHOULD READ THIS ⬇️ If you are a liberal who can’t stand Trump, and cannot possibly fathom why anyone would ever vote for him, let me fill you in. It’s not that we love Donald Trump so much. It’s that we can’t stand you. And we will do whatever it takes — even if that means electing a rude, obnoxious, unpredictable, narcissist (your words not ours) to the office of President of the United States — because the thing we find more dangerous to this nation than Donald Trump is YOU. How is that possible you might ask? Well, you have done everything in your power to destroy our country. From tearing down the police, to tearing down our history, to tearing down our borders. From systematically destroying our schools and brainwashing our kids into believing socialism is the answer to anything (despite being an unmitigated failure everywhere), while demonizing religion and faith, and glorifying abortion, violence, and thug culture. From calling us racists every time we expect everyone of any skin color to follow our laws equally, to telling us that our “tolerance” of lifestyles we don’t agree with isn’t nearly enough — no we must “celebrate” any lifestyle choice or gender option (forget science) you throw our direction or you think it’s fine to calls us homophobic or some other degrading slur you decide is okay to call us — ironically all while lecturing us on hate speech. While you gaslight us about 52 genders, polyamory, grown men in dresses sharing public locker rooms with little girls, and normalize the sexualization of young children, you simultaneously ridicule us for having the audacity to wish someone a “Merry Christmas” or hang a flag on the 4th of July, stand for the national anthem, or (horror of horrors) don a MAGA hat in public. So much for your “tolerance.” (See why we think you are just hypocrites??) We’re also not interested in the fact that you think you can unilaterally decide that 250 years of the right-to-bear-arms against a tyrannical or ineffective government should be abolished because you can’t get the violence in the cities you manage under control. That free-speech should be tossed out the window, and that those who disagree with your opinions are fair game for public harassment or doxing. That spoiled children with nose-rings and tats who still live off their parent’s dime should be allowed to destroy cities and peoples livelihoods without repercussions. That chaos, and lawlessness, and disrespect for authority should be the norm. This is your agenda. And you wonder why we find you more dangerous than Donald Trump? Your narrative is a constant drone of oppressor/oppressed race-baiting intended to divide the country in as many ways as you possibly can. You love to sell “victim-hood” to people of color every chance you get because it’s such an easy sell, compared to actually teaching people to stand on their own two feet and take personal responsibility for their own lives and their own communities and their own futures. But you won’t do that, you will never do that, because then you will lose control over people of color. They might actually start thinking for themselves, God forbid! This is why we will vote for Donald Trump. Not because he is the most charming character on the block. Not because he is the most polite politician to have ever graced the oval office. Not because he is the most palatable choice, or because we love his moral character or because the man never lies, but because we are sick to death of you and all of the destructive crap you are doing to this once beautiful and relatively safe country. Your ineffective and completely dysfunctional liberal “leadership”(?) has literally destroyed our most beautiful cities, our public education system, and done it’s damndest to rip faith out of people’s lives. However bad Donald Trump may be, and he is far from perfect, every day we look at you and feel that no matter what Donald Trump says or does there is no possible way he could be any worse for our country than you people are. We are sick to death of your stupid, destructive, ignorant, and intolerant behavior and beliefs — parading as “wokeness.” We are beyond sick of your hypocrisy and B.S. We are fed up with your disrespectful divisiveness and constant unrelenting harping and whining and complaining (while you live in the most privileged nation in the world), while making literally zero contributions of anything positive to our society. Your entire focus is on ripping things down, never ever building anything up. Think about that as there is something fundamentally very wrong in the psychology of people who choose destruction as their primary modus operandi. When Donald J Trump is reelected, don’t blame us, look in the mirror and blame yourselves. Because you are the ones that are responsible for the rise of Donald Trump. You are the ones who have created this "monster" that you so despise, by your very actions. By your refusal to respect your fellow Americans, and the things that are important to us. You have made fun of the “fly-over states,” the people who “cling to their guns and religion,” the middle class factory workers and coal miners and underprivileged rural populations that you dismissively call “yahoos” and “deplorables.” You have mocked our faith and our religion. You have mocked our values and our patriotism. You have trampled our flag and insulted our veterans and treated our first responders with contempt and hatred. You have made environmentalism your religion, while trashing every city you have taken responsibility for. You scream from the rooftops about “global warming” and a “green new deal” while allowing tens of thousands of homeless people to cover your streets in literal sh!t and garbage and needles and plastic waste without doing a single thing to help them or solve the environmental crisis your failed social policies are creating. But we’re supposed to put YOU in charge of the environment while gutting our entire economy to institute this plan when you can’t even clean up a single city?? You complain — endlessly — yet have failed to solve a single social problem anywhere. In fact, all you have done is create more of them. We’ve had enough. We are tired of quietly sitting by and being the “silent” majority. So don’t be surprised when the day comes when we finally respond. And trust me it’s coming, sooner than you might think. And also trust me when I say it won’t be pretty. Get ready. When Donald Trump is reelected it will be because you and your “comrades” have chosen to trash the police, harass law-abiding citizens, and go on rampages destroying public property that we have all paid for and you have zero respect for. When Donald Trump is reelected it will be because we are sick of your complete and utter nonsense and destruction. How does it feel to know that half of this country finds you FAR more despicable than Donald J. Trump, the man you consider to be the anti-Christ? Let that sink in. We consider you to be more despicable, more dangerous, more stupid, and more narcissistic than Donald Trump. Maybe allow yourself a few seconds of self-reflection to let that sink in. This election isn’t about Donald Trump vs. Joe Biden. This is about Donald Trump vs YOU. So if on the morning of November 4 (or more likely January 19, by the time the Supreme Court will weigh in on the mail-in ballot fiasco that we are headed towards), and Donald J. Trump is reelected? The only people you have to blame is the left-wing media drones and yourselves. You did this. Yep you. I copied and shared this and if you give a shit about your country then you should too.

[hellyeahheroes]

Uncanny X-Men #11 is Outright Vile

Women in refrigerators. POCs killed for white people narratives. Anti-vaccinator and pro-suicide messages. Return of FascistCap. This book has it all. So obviously, all kinds of trigger warnings below.

I will not be posting any pages from the Uncanny X-Men #11. Not a single one. At least aside from that first page which reads like a bad joke anyway. Yes, this stuff is an actual page of this book. And I urge others to do the same and not post anything from it. When previously I would find this book to just be awful at this point it has reached levels of being openly mean-spirited and spiteful. While Matthew Rosenberg talks on his twitter how he wanted to discuss serious topics in this issue, dealing with personal experience of self-harm and suicidal thoughts, neither he nor anyone else at Marvel took care to actually warn potential readers the book flat out shows a suicide scene for shock value and I have already heard reports it has triggered people. So I urge everyone to not post these pages less we trigger more people.

Yes, the book has a character commit suicide. The story has a subplot of Cyclops searching for Blindfold, whom Rosenberg claims to be one of his favorite X-Men. And after reading this issue I have flat out said on twitter and I will say it here - could have fooled me. Scott finds her too late, as she already has slit her wrists in the bathtub. So this is what her story amounts too. She dies so that Scott Summers can feel sad. Or sadder, he wasn’t exactly sunshine and rainbows since page one. A character created after 90′s and not popular enough to get resurrected in the next 20 years dies so that people who come back to life more often than Jesus can pretend death in comics still has a meaning. A woman dies so that a man can feel sad. The page above is right. Every X-men story really IS the same.

This is not delivered with any respect whatsoever either. On the previous page, we had Madrox telling Scott where he can find Ruth and to leave her alone and then we get a splash of her death with coloring and art so bad you had to actually study it carefully to realize she is, in fact, not naked. As far as lack of respect goes it is out there with that godawful Heroes in Crisis cover showing dead Poison Ivy, wrists slit, ass up. 

What’s more is that at the end we have a backup story, so-called Last Blindfold Story. Which pretty much explains that she did it because she’s been tormented by visions of her own death and cannot see any possible future in which she does not get killed. And this is very obviously a clear metaphor for invasive thoughts, all the dark scenarios people tend to run in their heads about how everything is going to turn horrible, there is nothing good awaiting us in life, no hope or future, just continuous series of crushing failures, disappointments, humiliations and all-around misery so it is better if we just killed ourselves. I know that feeling, even though I am not diagnosed with anything. I will say even I had these feelings to deal with after coming today from a, particularly disastrous day at work that made me dread my future and indeed made me think of killing myself. And then I’ve read this book and do you want to know how this whole story came out to me? It told me that this voice telling me to end myself is right, that every scenario I envision not only will happen but is inevitable and it is better to just kill myself. Thankfully, being spoiled the contents beforehand made it I reacted to the pages more with anger than getting put into an even shittier mood, I certainly did not need it. 

I do beleive Matthew Rosenberg, just like Tom King on Heroes in Crisis, means well, I really do. I do believe each of them is trying to tell a personal story. But we really need to sit down and talk about how the mainstream comics portray and handle topics like anxiety depression, other kinds of mental illness and disorders, self-harm or suicide because for every book that deals with it with respect like recent Unstoppable Wasp or Mister Miracle, and you notice these are always niche titles, we have a high-profile book that completely botches it for shock value and preserving the status quo. Rosenberg might be working through some personal issues but he does so in a way that doesn’t seem to realize the damage he is doing all around.

Speaking of shock value this issue also casually kills of Loa, one of Marvel’s very few Pacific Islander characters. Worse that scene, in the end, serves nothing, it is there to shock you and does not add up anything. You cannot even say that it was done to push Blindfold to her suicide or to show the situation really is that serious. It amounts to nothing in Ruth’s storyline and the latter is being hammered down through the entire issue anyway, this is completely redundant death done only to get people talking. How am I supposed to believe that X-Men writers and editorial really, as they claim to, care for these characters when they write something that treats them as disposable. Similarly, aging of Velocidad done from overuse of his powers is there only to nod Wolverine more into getting back into the game, something that so many other elements, including his conversation with Blindfold, already accomplish, making it redundant. What does that leave us with, however? Two POC characters killed or alerted beyond saving to show how serious the situation is and two teenage girls killed to make things look bad and grim for our manly heroes? For a franchise that prides itself for being a metaphor for minorities, X-Men sure treat women and minorities as nothing but props for stories about white guys.

When we are at treating other characters as props I cannot help but mention that Captain America, Black Widow, and Winter Soldier show up here to protect a mutant-hating rally from any mutants who would want to start a riot. And even though they tell you they want to protect both sides Cap sure didn’t step in when the mob tried to kill Cyclops for speaking his mind but stepped in only when he started fighting back. He had no real answer to Summers accusing him of protecting fascists either. I do wonder what do Mark Waid and Ta-Nehishi Coates think of their efforts to fix Captain America after Secret Empire being flushed down the drain for the sake of an outdated message of mutant isolationism. They did the same with Phil Urich, making him a coward who refuses to do his job out of fear of public opinion. And topped on some old-fashioned ageism by having Chamber, a Gen X character, go and tell Scott, a Baby Boomer, to give up...while Millenials are sacrificed to prop said Baby boomer’s story. And I don’t care Jordan D. White is ranting on twitter with Marvel sliding timescale O5 are now “true” Millennials, nobody cared for this thing in a long, long time and he comes off as bitter old man trying to pretend he is still young.

Speaking of the said rally we need to address the problem of the whole mutant vaccine plotline. And is it me or does the whole thing comes off as anti-vaccinators propaganda, with evil bigots trying to practice eugenics by forcing mandatory vaccines on kids that somehow work on something genetic? Is this really the way you want to use the mutant metaphor? To equate your heroes with a bunch of idiots who don’t want to vaccinate their kids for stupid and often bigoted reasons like assinine belief vaccines cause autism and they’d rather their kid died than be autistic? Is this really a message you want to be sending? Maybe next X-men will start wearing MAGA hats, proclaim Earth flat and draw comparisons to “blue lives” defenders?

It is not that the story is dark. I like dark stories. I love them even I’d say. But there is a difference between being dark and being pointlessly grimdark for the sake of it. One of the reasons why I read superhero comics and why I am a fan of Earn Your Happy Ending narratives is that I find inspirations in seeing superheroes being knocked down and still raising, still pressing forward until they win against all the odds and prove that yes, there is a reason to fight another day. But so far Uncanny X-Men made it abundantly clear this will not be another day in which I or my generation are welcome. I have no doubt X-Men will win in the end. but it will not be X-men with Blindfold and it will not be X-Men with Loa and it will be not X-Men with Velocidad. It will not be X-Men with any of the characters I care about at all. It will be X-Men that made it clear not only am I not welcome here, the book actively things the world will be a better place if I and my entire generation were gone so that it can relive good old days alone.

But hey, it had two guys beating up mooks on a splash page so it CLEARLY means the franchise is on the right trac /sarcasm.

- Admin

[that-one--book-nerd]

Pride and Love (a fierrochase one-shot)

HAPPY PRIDE MONTH! I was inspired by Rick’s tweet about Magnus and Alex at a pride parade so I sat down and wrote this. I feel like I went off track from my original idea, but I like where I went with this. I feel like this is incomplete so I might write a continuation of this, but no promises. We’ll see what happens.

You can read it on AO3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/14851220

I hope that link works. If not, my AO3 username is

@ that_one_book_and_theatre_nerd

If you like what you read below, remember to reblog and like! Comments give me life also.

Okay NOW for the good stuff ;)

Magnus felt like his heart was going to burst with pure elation as he watched the parade travel on. Flags with multi-colored stripes waved through the breeze as people cheered and marched.

Magnus had gotten a small flag face-painted on him, just three simple pink, yellow, and blue stripes—the pansexual pride flag—a few inches below his right eye. Alex also had a flag on his face, but it was colored pink, white, purple, black, and blue—the gender-fluid pride flag. The pansexual flag was painted on his other cheek, while in his right hand he waved a small transgender pride flag.

Balloon arches with rainbow patterns seemed to float along the street. Magnus and Alex always cheered a little louder when someone with a pansexual and/or gender-fluid pride flag walked by. They had promised to meet up with Blitzen and Hearthstone in an hour at Blitzen’s Boutique, but Alex persuaded Magnus to spend just a few more minutes at the parade.

“I love this,” Alex said, squeezing Magnus’s hand.

“What?” Magnus shouted back. The loud music that was blasting from seemingly invisible speakers and the large cheering crowd made it difficult to hold a conversation.

Alex lifted Magnus’s hand to his lips and kissed it.

“I LOVE this!” Alex shouted.

“This pride parade or me?” Magnus shouted back, smiling.

Alex rolled his eyes, but smiled as he leaned down to kiss Magnus.

“Yes,” Alex whispered into Magnus’s ear.

Magnus couldn’t stop the giggle that burst out of his mouth as he hugged his wonderful boyfriend.

At that moment, a very pretty girl walked by, passing out little handkerchief-like pieces of cloth, each decorated with the stripes of a different pride flag. Alex walked up to the curb where the girl was and got four flags (two pansexual ones, a gender-fluid one, and a trans one). He returned to Magnus, who wrapped an arm around Alex’s waist.

“Should we start heading up to Blitzen and Hearth?” he asked.

Alex was busy staring at the little square gender-fluid cloth with a bright smile and eyes filled with sunshine and rainbows.

Huh. His eyes are filled with rainbows both literally and figuratively because we’re at a pride parade and he looks so happy, Magnus thought to himself. I’m so smart.

“It’s usually a hit-or-miss with finding gender-fluid themed stuff at pride events, but this place is a treasure chest!” Alex exclaimed. He threw his arm across Magnus’s shoulders as they continued to make their way through the crowd that was blocking them from the relatively open sidewalk. Blitz and Hearth would probably be impatiently waiting for them. Magnus looked at his watch.

“Yikes, we’re twenty minutes late.”

“Oops,” Alex replied.

“Once we get out of this crowd, we should pick up the pace and—”

“Hey!” Alex interrupted Magnus.

Magnus turned to look at his boyfriend, who suddenly had a mischievous smile growing.

“Oh, gods. What now?” Magnus asked. “I know that smile, Fierro!”

Alex set down the bag full of the goodies they got at the parade and took Magnus’s face in his hands. Magnus couldn’t help but smile giddily.

“I’ve always wanted to do this,” Alex said before bringing his lips to Magnus’s. Magnus closed his eyes and kissed back, and for a moment, it was just him and Alex together.

Magnus’s period of zoning out abruptly ended when people around them cheered and applauded. Alex pulled away and bowed to the crowd. Magnus timidly waved and was finally able to catch his breath a few minutes after he and Alex joined hands and escaped the crowd of thousands.

“What do you mean ‘I’ve always wanted to do this’? We’ve kissed—” Magnus paused to count on his fingers “—nineteen times now!”

Alex’s eyebrows rose on his forehead as he began to laugh.

“You’ve been keeping count of the number of times we’ve kissed?”

Magnus felt the heat rising to his cheeks from embarrassment and from seeing Alex laugh. The sight of seeing him laugh felt like being able to breathe after feeling like you’ve been underwater for far too long.

As Alex turned to him, Magnus sensed his—no, her, now—gender change.

“Of course I keep track of the number of times my beautiful significant other and I have kissed.”

“You’re such a dork,” she replied.

They walked in silence for a minute, attempting to catch their breath as they walked up a steep incline. Magnus could just make out what he was pretty sure was the top of the neon Blitzen’s Boutique sign, glowing with the colors of the rainbow.

“You’re a girl now, right?” Magnus asked, rubbing his thumb in circles on Alex’s hand.

“Sí, mi pequeña bola de sol,” Alex replied, kissing Magnus’s forehead.

“Did you just call me a fireball?” Magnus asked, smiling.

“No, idiot, I called you ‘my little ball of sunshine.’”

“The sun is a ball of fire, so technically I’m not wrong.”

Alex rolled her eyes and smiled.

“How do you know?” Alex suddenly asked as they continued walking. The sun was starting to set, and the streetlights were starting to glow.

Magnus looked up at her brown and amber eyes.

“Hm?”

“How can you tell when I shift genders? Sometimes I feel like you know it’s happening before I do. So what’s your secret?”

Magnus shrugged.

“Well, when you shift genders, you kind of glow for a second. It’s super faint and it lasts for shorter than a second, but I guess I notice that, and something about your eyes change too. Like, they don’t change into something different or anything, but it’s like they sparkle a little more than they usually do, and then I just…have an instinct, you know?”

Alex stopped and took Magnus’s other hand into her own.

“Incredible.”

It was all she said before pulling Magnus into another kiss. Magnus happily obliged, but pulled apart and looked around.

“What is it? Monsters?” Alex asked, immediately on alert. She tightened her grip on Magnus as her multi-chrome eyes darted up and down the street.

“No, no it’s nothing like that,” Magnus hastily explained, feeling his face become warm.

Alex rolled her eyes. and looked past Magnus to make sure there weren’t really any monsters or other creatures that were out of the ordinary.

“Then what is it, Maggie?”

Magnus gently guided Alex’s face towards his own and leaned forward so their foreheads and the tips of their noses were touching.

“You’ve been so…open about me today. About us,” Magnus whispered. The sky was becoming darker, but Magnus and Alex had luckily found themselves under a streetlamp.

“You’re usually so…careful when we’re in public,” Magnus continued, taking each of Alex’s hands into his own.

“But today…kissing me in front of all those people…those strangers—”

“I’m sorry,” Alex interjected. Her head drooped. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m so sorry.”

“No no no! It’s okay! It was good! I mean, it was great, but I—uh, I was, um…” Magnus trailed off as Alex slowly lifted her head back up and Magnus’s eyes met her own.

“Gods, you dork, do you ever start a sentence on the topic you wish to speak about?”

“First of all, don’t use that adorable little pretentious professor voice with me, young lady.”

Magnus felt his heart breathe a sigh of relief as Alex restrained herself from giggling.

“Second of all, what I’m trying to say is that you’re usually so careful when we’re in public. Like, you’ll hold my hand, but if someone gives us a weird look, you either let go or shove your hand—and my hand—into your pocket. That time we and Sam were sitting in the park on that bench, you and I were being all lovey-dovey and gross and Sam got annoyed so she went to get some food and I followed her to the taco truck and we came back and you barely let our feet touch and Sam asked you what was wrong and you said it was nothing but then I saw a big white guy glaring at us with a Confederate flag on his shirt and an ugly MAGA hat and he looked like the type of guy to defend the rights of a gun to exist rather than the lives of children—”

“I remember the horrible conservative in the park, Magnus,” Alex interrupted. Magnus took a deep breath.

“The point is, you always seemed…well, scared in public when it was just you and me. For a while, I thought it was because you were embarrassed to be seen with me—”

Alex interrupted Magnus again, but instead of talking, she grabbed his face and kissed him.

“Don’t say things like that. I’m only embarrassed to be with you when you spill a milkshake on a poor waitress.”

“That was one time!” Magnus exclaimed. He paused to breathe before continuing. “I’m just wondering what made today different than any other day,” Magnus explained.

The sky was pitch black by now, stars were twinkling against the navy blue atmosphere, and the temperature had significantly dropped. Alex and Magnus still stood under the light of the lamppost, albeit closer together. (Whether it was human instinct to keep warm or some other reason, neither einherjar cared.) Alex looked into Magnus’s eyes and brushed a stray strand of hair out of his face.

“Well, that day in the park, the man approached me and said to me: ‘I don’t know what the hell you think you are, but you and your little lesbian friend and that terrorist are the reason this country is falling to pieces. It’s things like you that make me wanna start building a wall right here. To keep your people out, to keep those terrorists out, and to keep all those god damned fags out of this good country. President Trump will deport you, and then this country will become great again.’”

Alex was shaking by the time she finished recounting what happened. Magnus looked at her and then pulled her close into a hug. She started crying.

“Ever since then, I’ve always felt like we were in danger. Like we’d be holding hands one day, then suddenly some bigots come out of nowhere and start…I don’t know, beating us up. I know we’re already dead, but like…when we’re in Midgard…” Alex shuddered.

Magnus held Alex for a while as she cried. The street was thankfully empty (save for a few people) due to it being blocked off for a few days thanks to the pride parade.

“I’m just so scared that I’m putting you in danger. When I was homeless or in foster homes, I was always the target. I was always ‘the boy who thinks he’s a girl.’ I was always…abused. I…I can’t subject you to that. But today, when I kissed you in front of all those people, I felt safe. In public. For the first time in a long time.”

Magnus thought he might just die (for a second time) on the spot. He couldn’t think of what to say that could possibly console Alex, so he held her tighter and kissed her cheek.

“Let’s go find Blitz and Hearth. They’ll have some guava juice, and we can continue this talk at their place, okay?”

Alex sniffled and nodded.

When the couple finally approached the boutique they found a sleeping Hearthstone and Blitzen sitting on the sidewalk next to the door. The lights were still on inside the store, even though they should have closed an hour ago.

When Alex and I were supposed to meet them, Magnus realized, suddenly feeling guilty for making Blitz and Hearth stay up and fall asleep on the sidewalk. Hearthstone was the first to wake up, who immediately shot up and wrapped his arms around both Alex and Magnus at the same time. Then there was a thump, and Blitzen was awake.

“You silly elf! Pillows aren’t supposed to up and—” Blitzen stopped when he saw Alex and Magnus. “Let’s go inside,” he said while also signing for Hearth.

The moment Blitzen closed the door to his and Hearth’s apartment, he almost exploded.

“What were you two thinking?! Where were you? Why didn’t you let Hearth and I know where the Helheim you were?!”

Hearthstone gently took Blitzen’s hands—which were frantically waving around as he yelled and paced around the room—into his own. He kissed them, then gently put them down so he could sign. Calm down, dear. They were fine. I saw them. One block down that street. Being lovers. Cute. Gross.

Blitzen’s eyebrows shot up nearly to his hairline as he exclaimed “You were one block away?! Kissing?! In the middle of the night?! Poor Hearth here wouldn’t go back inside until you two came back! And—wait.”

Blitzen stopped and turned back to Hearthstone.

“When did you notice them if you fell asleep outside?”

Hearthstone shrugged. I woke up and I saw them walking together. Then they stopped one block away. I fell asleep. I am fine. I used a rune to help me keep strength. Hearth pulled out a rune and held it up proudly for Blitzen to see. Blitzen only sighed, exasperated.

“You stupid elf, what were you thinking, falling asleep in the dark like that?! Rune or no rune, you could have died! What the Helheim was I thinking, letting you go outside when it’s so dark? Gods, why would I—”

Blitzen was interrupted when Hearthstone picked him up and kissed his lips. Blitz seemed to calm down and melt into Hearthstone before Alex cleared her throat.

“So…are Maggie and I grounded now?” Alex asked.

Magnus elbowed Alex in the side.

Hearthstone gently placed Blitz back down and kissed his temple before signing. We will talk in the morning. We are all very tired. Goodnight.

Blitzen almost started to say something before Hearthstone gently took his hands and guided him to their bedroom. However, Blitz looked right at Alex and Magnus and quickly signed: Don’t even think about sleeping in the guest room. You two are grounded for the night. There is one couch. Goodnight.

Alex and Magnus stood in the middle of the bright living room for a while before Magnus cleared his throat.

“I guess we’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

Alex had no time to retaliate before Magnus fell face-first onto the couch.

“Magnus, if you think you get the couch, you’re dead wrong.”

“Only half of that statement was true,” Magnus replied, his voice slightly muffled from talking right into a pillow.

Having his face buried in a pillow proved to be a bad idea once Alex collapsed on top of Magnus.

“Move over, you couch hog.”

“I was here first!”

“I’m taller.”

“You’re the reason we’re sleeping on the couch in the first place!”

Alex only repeated what Magnus said in a mocking tone.

“Real mature, Fierro.”

“I know,” Alex smirked.

“Will you get off of me now? I can’t breathe.”

“Fine, but only so I can turn off the lights.”

Magnus arranged the couch and the ottoman to form a semi-functional bed while Alex found blankets and pillows and turned off the lights.

As the two einherjar got comfortable in their makeshift bed, Magnus turned to Alex and cleared his throat again.

“Do you have a frog in your throat, Maggie?”

“Do you have to start every conversation sarcastically?”

“Yes.”

“Liar.”

“Prove it.”

Magnus froze, realizing he couldn’t think of a time when Alex hadn’t started a conversation with a sarcastic remark.

“I can’t think of one right now, but I’m sure it’s happened at some point.”

“Sure, Maggie. If you say so.”

The couple was quiet for a moment before Magnus turned to face Alex.

“Alex, about earlier—.”

“I want to go to sleep,” Alex replied, turning on his side to face away from Magnus.

“Me too, but I think it’s important that we have this conversation sooner rather than later.”

“I’m going to go to sleep and you can’t stop me.”

“Oh, really?” Magnus slyly smiled as he climbed over Alex and laid down to face her. She had an amused expression on her face when Magnus took one of her hands and leaned in and kissed her.

“You have my attention,” Alex replied, rolling her eyes.

Magnus took a deep breath to prepare himself.

“Alex, you said earlier that you were afraid of putting me in danger for being with you in public. I understand, and I’ve thought about the same thing as well. But, here’s the thing…”

Magnus paused as he took a hand and gently tilted Alex’s face to meet his so that their noses were touching. It was one of the few things that made Alex giggle. (She claimed she wasn’t ticklish, but Magnus knew better.)

“There are going to be bigots, and we’re going to have to face them. But I know you’ll protect me, and I’ll protect you. Those bigots that hate us for who we are have much bigger problems than a dead boy dating a dead gender-fluid person, whether they themselves see it or not. my point is, when we’re together, we aren’t in danger, because I’ll always have your back, and I know that you’ll always have mine, okay?”

Alex was quiet as she took in Magnus’s words.

“Do you have nothing to say to that?” Magnus asked, jokingly offended.

“No, I do not,” Alex replied. Before Magnus could say anything, Alex closed the small gap between them and kissed him. She rested a hand on his face, and he held that hand and rubbed circles on it with his thumb.

“I like it when you do this,” Alex whispered.

“What, kiss you?”

Alex chuckled.

“No, like when we hold hands and you trace little circles on my hand. It feels good. I like it a lot.” Alex leaned up and kissed Magnus’s thumb.

“You know what I like about you?” Magnus asked.

“What?” Alex replied, smiling.

“I like it when we’re holding hands, and we both lean over to say something to each other, and then we kiss. And then we don’t stop.”

“You like accidental kisses?”

Magnus nodded.

“Gods, you’re such a dork,” Alex chuckled.

“Oh, I’m the dork, little Miss ‘I Like It When You Rub Circles On My Hand With Your Thumb.’ Please.”

Magnus and Alex couldn’t help but quietly laugh together.

“We should try to keep our voices low, Blitz and Hearth are probably trying to sleep.”

Alex yawned.

“Good idea, I’m exhausted. I had a great day.”

“Me too,” Magnus replied. “Oh! I just remembered something.”

“What?”

“I like you because you’re brutally honest with me, but you’re also such a softie on the inside that it’s almost confusing, but not in a bad way.”

“Is that the one reason you like me?” Alex jokingly asked.

Magnus was thankful Alex couldn’t see him blush. Magnus turned on his side so he could be the big spoon, and Alex held onto his arm and kissed his hand.

“Alex, I love you for an endless amount of reasons,” Magnus sighed. He only then noticed that Alex had completely froze.

“Alex?” Magnus asked.

“You said love,” Alex whispered.

“What?” Magnus asked again.

“You said love,” Alex repeated.

“What? Wait, didn’t I say—”

Magnus felt his heart drop.

They hadn’t said ‘I love you’ to each other yet. Alex wanted and needed time to adjust to being in a relationship, as did Magnus. They usually just said ‘like’ in place of ‘love.’

Gods damn it. Why do all my declarations of love happen when I don’t even know what I’m doing? The Ship of the Dead thing, and now this? Great.

Magnus’s thoughts raced around in his head like Mallory after eating fifteen Pixie Sticks in less than five minutes.

Alex abruptly sat up and turned to face Magnus.

“Do you mean it?” she asked.

Magnus sat up and took Alex’s hands into his own.

He could feel his heart beating at a million miles an hour. He was almost certain he could feel Alex’s heart beating through her hands.

“Of course I do,” Magnus replied, brushing away strand pieces of Alex’s hair so he could properly look her in the eyes. He wiped away a single tear as well.

“I’ve loved you since I first saw you, though I didn’t know what I was feeling. I realized that I loved you—or at the very least, had true romantic feelings for you—the day we fought that wolf at my Uncle Randolph’s house and we sat on those lounge chairs drinking guava juice. That was when I realized how much I truly care for you. And I finally admitted to myself that I loved you when you kissed me for the first time in Niflheim and you said that you weren’t going to die without doing that. I admitted it out loud on the Ship of the Dead during my flyting with Loki. And ever since then…I’ve always just known that…I don’t know, that maybe the valkyries had a reason to bring you to Valhalla.”

“Besides the fact that I died doing a heroic act?”

“I’m trying my best to be sappy, okay?”

“Oh, I can tell, and it’s making me sick,” Alex joked. She took his face in her heads and pressed their foreheads together.

“I just…I just hope that you—”

“Magnus.”

Magnus leaned away slightly and looked up at Alex when she spoke over him. He almost didn’t believe his ears when he heard what Alex whispered to him.

“I love you, too.”

Alex and Magnus looked at each other, and before they knew it, they had the biggest smiles on their faces and they were kissing each other and repeating the words ‘I love you’ back and forth, almost like a game of hot potato.

“So, am I allowed to say it out loud to you casually now? Because honestly, the fact that I haven’t been able to has been driving me up the wall.”

Alex chuckled as she laid down on her back and took Magnus’s hand into her own.

“I suppose you have my permission,” she replied.

“Oh, thank the gods, I was worried,” Magnus sarcastically replied.

“Shut up,” Alex said.

“Make me.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“Is it?”

Alex immediately rolled over right onto Magnus and kissed him. He wrapped his arms around her back as she gently held his head.

“This is exactly how I like you,” Alex whispered in between kisses.

“What, silent or the kissing?”

Alex chuckled.

“Both.”

[truthbeetoldmedia]

The Bold Type 2x08 "Plan B" Review

Hello friends, and welcome to another week of me reviewing The Bold Type. Let’s dive right into it by starting with Jane.

Plan? I Don’t Even Have a “Pla”

As you can guess by the title, Jane and Ben suffer a “mishap”  while having sex. Jane postmates Plan B (yes, you can do that) and all's well that ends well, right? For Jane, however, a visit to her doctor about some side effects of the pill spark a much deeper conversation.

We learned in Season 1 that Jane’s mother died of breast cancer when she was very young. We also learned that Jane is positive for the BRCA1 gene. Long story short, this means that she has a much higher risk for developing breast or ovarian cancer than someone who doesn’t possess the gene mutation. A positive result doesn’t mean that cancer is inevitable for Jane, but it does mean that she has to take pretty drastic preventative measures that most people don’t have to worry about.

Because of this, Jane’s doctor tells her she needs to think about her fertility options right away. One part of Jane’s preventative options, and a common one, is a total removal of her ovaries. Jane is faced with a very serious and time sensitive issue. She could commit to not having children, freezing her eggs, or having them right away, either with Ben or a sperm donor.

Jane struggles a great deal throughout the episode with this dilemma, something that 25-year-olds don’t usually have to worry about. Luckily the nature of her job at Scarlet is asking people questions about things she wants to know, so she pitches an article about how being a mom affects 20-somethings in the modern age. Instead of helping Jane make a decision this actually complicated the issue, forcing Jane to consider things she wouldn’t have before.

Motherhood for Jane is complicated. To put it simply, it's just too early for Jane to know what she could possibly want. There’s also the worry that if she decides to have kids now, she’ll lose out on parts of her life. That’s not to say that moms don’t have full lives, but having a child is a monumental life change that requires time and energy. Her life wouldn't just be about journalism and friendships. At a time when she just got her job back at Scarlet and is starting to fully grow into her career, having children wouldn’t necessarily be ideal.

Jane’s situation is also complicated because of her own mother. Because her mother died young, Jane doesn’t have any real memories of her that don’t take place in a hospital. She never really got to see her mom being a mom, so motherhood is especially foreign to her. She also doesn’t have her mother around to be a source of advice or help, something that almost all of the moms she interviewed mentioned as being their saving grace.

Jane, Sutton and Kat have a conversation about motherhood while at a playground, after Jane had interviewed some of the moms. This conversation is one of my favorite parts of the episode. It definitely sounds like a conversation I’ve had with my own friends, and it was refreshing to see a show portray a typical millennial conversation so accurately. Kat doesn’t feel the need to have kids; there are enough people in the world as it is, resources are drained, and everything generally sucks. I have to agree with her here, and when she says she doesn’t feel the allure of “being a human kleenex,” it was like she read my mind. Kids are great and all, but I’d love to be able to give them back when they get antsy.

Sutton, on the other hand, is a little more open to having kids than Kat. Like Jane, if kids are in the picture, she always assumed it wouldn’t be for a while. The Bold Type has already established Sutton as career driven first and foremost, so this definitely fits. She’s also not shy in naming her mother as a reason she might want kids. As briefly discussed in last week’s episode, Sutton basically served as a parent to her alcoholic, hard partying mom. It’s very common for people from situations like this to want kids just so they can do better than their parents did.

Later on in the episode Jane tells Ben what’s been going on, both about her BRCA status and the complex decision she’s facing about having or not having children. This is the first sign of Ben being a little less than perfect: he’s way too much of a doctor about Jane’s BRCA gene and not enough of a boyfriend. He immediately starts asking medical questions involving the type of cancer Jane’s mom had, which is definitely not the best (or most comforting) response. They end the episode on a strained note, the future definitely not looking bright for these two.

#GIRLBOSS  

Ah, Sutton. Everyone seems to be having a time of it this episode, and she is no exception. Oliver is in Paris for fashion week, so Sutton serves as his replacement in a Scarlet budget meeting. They’re cutting every department budget to allocate some funds, and Sutton took Oliver’s advice to “smile and nod” as permission to authorize a 10% cut to the fashion department. I really doubt that Sutton would be given power over the fashion department budget, but hey, it’s a plot device so I’ll let it go.

In a story that they’ve given Sutton about a million times, she faces a dilemma at her job that could possibly be career threatening, tries to fix it the traditional way, and ends the episode excelling at resolving the problem in a method that’s usually a little out of left field. Don’t get me wrong, it’s great to see Sutton kicking ass left and right, but at this point in the season I would expect something a little more substantial for her. Sure, her relationship with Richard was a plot point for a while, but as for now that’s been pushed to the back burner.

The most we’ve learned about Sutton was actually in last week’s episode, “Betsy,” when we learn more about her childhood in rural Pennsylvania and where her need for control comes from. We also know that Sutton grew up poor. She had to be extremely resourceful, sewing all her own clothes and retreating to the pages of fashion magazines when things got tough.

Despite how small of a view we’ve gotten into what makes Sutton tick, her backstory is actually one of my favorite parts of the show. Aside from her affinity for guns (you guys know how I feel about that), I’m super impressed with just how perfectly her life before and during Scarlet fits together. It makes sense: her love of fashion and her ability to be creative and resourceful with almost nothing make her a perfect fit for her job, bringing skills to the table that people who simply went to fashion school wouldn’t have. I’m so glad that this episode provides her with some much needed traction: she’s going to Paris for fashion week! This is obviously a huge step in her career, and something that indicates real change for her. I can’t wait to see what she excels at next.

Make America Black and Queer Again

Kat, meanwhile, is facing her own dilemma. She’s approached by Cleo, the newest board member at Scarlet’s parent company, Safford. Ah, Cleo. Love to hate you. See, with Cleo, I enjoy her time on the show because it’s usually accompanied by Jacqueline putting her in her place. It’s pretty satisfying to watch, and this episode doesn’t disappoint in that regard.

Cleo has been in talks with a skin care company called Whole Spa, and they want Kat to be the face of their new campaign. At first Kat is flattered, and at her meeting with their brand rep it all sounds great: the company aims to be all inclusive, the packaging is eco-friendly, and they want to work with Kat because of her unique story. She is, after all, a queer black woman who happens to be the first person of color department head at Scarlet. Who better to represent your company, right?

Turns out, Whole Spa chose Kat very, very carefully. In a casual run in with Pinstripe in the lobby at Safford (he’s freelancing for a garden magazine now: hemp is the new corn!), he notices the Whole Spa products that Kat is carrying and asks about them, so she tells him about the sponsorship. Unfortunately for Kat, Pinstripe has a reporter friend that is in the middle of a story about Whole Spa’s CEO donating to some prolific hate groups, specifically anti-black and anti-LGBTQ.

Now Kat realizes why Whole Spa wanted her in the first place: to be their “one black friend” when this news hits the public. As Sutton puts it, they want her to be their “black, bi bandaid.” She’s stuck now, since she already signed the contract and would almost definitely be sued if she didn’t follow through with the terms of it. Saying positive things about a company that disagrees with your very existence is not something that Kat’s comfortable with, so in typical Kat fashion she finds a way to speak her mind.

She does everything she’s contractually obligated to: she tries the products, posts about them on Instagram, and lists three things she likes about them. She also just so happens to sneak in a bit at the end of one particular Instagram story that the Whole Spa CEO is corrupt and using her to cover up their bigotry, but hey, no problem right?

Wrong. Actually, the only ones mad about it are Cleo and Whole Spa themselves. Cleo drags Kat to a private meeting with Jacqueline, playing Kat’s instastory for her and waiting for Jacqueline to enact some kind of fury on Kat.

Sorry, Cleo!

Jacqueline staunchly defends Kat and ridicules Cleo for rushing into this partnership without doing her full research. Jacqueline isn’t upset about the possibility of bad press or a reaction from Whole Spa. Instead she’s angry that Cleo would compromise the integrity of both Kat and Scarlet. Cleo isn’t as phased by Whole Spa’s bigotry, saying that there are members of Safford that have been known to sport MAGA hats on the weekends.

Jacqueline then calmly informs Cleo that maybe next time, she should choose one of them to be a brand rep for Whole Spa.

YAS, JACQUELINE!

For me, Jacqueline is the true highlight of this episode. We don’t get enough of her in most episodes, so her constant support of both Jane and Kat this week was great to watch.

From the beginning of the show, Jacqueline served to be the polar opposite of Miranda Priestly a la The Devil Wears Prada. She’s kind and supportive of her staff, destroying the domineering and intimidating female boss trope.

While Jane is struggling with her article, Jacqueline is understanding. She recognizes that this might not be one of those times that Jane needs to be pushed, so instead she gives her support. After the incident with Whole Spa, she also encourages Kat to seek out progressive companies that she would feel good about supporting. She easily could have banned all future sponsorships or endorsements, but didn’t let this particular debacle ruin anything. Also, getting her eyebrows threaded in her office? Goals.

This was a fantastic, solid episode. I’m truly excited to see how this season wraps up Jane, Sutton and Kat’s journeys. The Season 1 finale was so great that I cried, so I’m looking forward for the last few episodes of this season to really pack a punch. With Kat struggling with her relationship with Adena, Jane dealing with her medical dilemma, and Sutton visiting her hometown next episode, I’m sure I won’t be disappointed.

The Bold Type airs Wednesdays at 8/7c on Freeform.

Alyssa’s episode rating: 🐝🐝🐝🐝

[cromulentbookreview]

Please Don’t Be The End

“What did he mean?” I asked. “Building a brighter future. How?”

“A jab at your expense, I fear,” said Ansveld, closing the door but still scowling after his rival. “They say brighter, but they mean whiter.”

-From the uncorrected egalley of Guardian

So the Steeplejack/Alternative Detective series is, perhaps, one of my favorite series out there. Where else can you find a steampunk alt-19th century South Africa set mystery series with a badass female protagonist of color? If there are more of these books, please let me know where I might find them because apparently, with Guardian, A.J. Hartley is ending the series.

I'm not crying. 

 Anyway. I didn't realize at first that Guardian was meant to end the series - I went through it laboring under the delusion that it would be one of those series that would go on forever until Hartley got bored with it or died, whichever came first. So I devoured Guardian with uncharacteristic speed (hey, I'm avoiding graduate school work and actual paying work-work here) then took to Twitter to ask Hartley if we'd be getting any more.

Damn.

(Also, yeah, I read this book last month and am just now getting around to reviewing it. I wasn’t kidding when I said I was avoiding doing stuff. That includes any Tumblring outside of reblogging gifs from my favorite The Terror blog).

If you haven't read any of the Steeplejack books, you should. It's shelved in YA, but if you ask me (I'm sure you didn't, no one has, or ever will) adults can/should read this series, too. It's definitely one of the smarter YA series I've read out there, relying more on worldbuilding and character than just angst and romance. In fact, the angst and romance of this series is kept to a bare minimum, and it’s fantastic and extremely refreshing. So many YA series rely entirely on angst, romance and angsty romance, and there is more to life than just fighting a dystopian regime and daydreaming about your hot boyfriend, people!

Uhm. I mean:

The city of Bar-Selehm may be fiction, but it actually feels as though this were an actual place – the racial tension, political in-fighting, and class struggles are all too familiar. Especially the “make Bar-Selehm great again” crowd. Those guys are super familiar in a way I can’t quite put my finger on…hmm…

Seriously, the Steeplejack series is only a few word changes away from just being straight-up historical fiction, but then where would we put all the steampunk? You gotta have more steampunk.

It’s like the cowbell, but with more Victorian elements.

Though it still depresses me to think that Guardian is the last book in the Steeplejack series, looking back, it is a damn satisfying way to end the series – basically all the underlying plots from the previous two books get together and explode in a horrifying manner: Anglet’s patron, Josiah Willinghouse, is found standing over the body of the Prime Minister, knife in hand. He can say he’s innocent all he wants, but being caught literally red-handed is not great for his defense. Any hope of a moderate, coalition government in Bar-Selehm disappears after the death of the Prime Minister and the ultra-racist and eerily familiar Heritage party seizes power.  They immediately start enacting all sorts of awful laws on the non-white majority population of Bar-Selehm. Meanwhile, the Grappoli look an awful lot like they’re preparing to invade, journalists are turning up dead in the bush, the enlightened population of Bar-Selehm rallies behind the charismatic activist Aaron Muhapi, a troupe of murderous circus folk has come into town, and there’s a weird plague going around that only seems to hit poor Black and Lani neighborhoods. All of this is happening while Anglet is doing her best to prove Willinghouse’s innocence.

It’s kind of an uphill battle. And it doesn’t help that Willinghouse’s sister, Dahria, normally snark-tastic and incorrigible, seems to have given up in the face of her family’s ruin.

Essentially, Guardian is the culmination of two books worth of careful worldbuilding and it pays off so, so well. If you haven’t read the series, you need to. Here, I’ll help you out, the first book is Steeplejack, then Firebrand and then Guardian which will be out on the 12th, so, you know, you’ve got a whole week to enjoy the first two before book three comes out. So…yeah, you should get on that. Go ahead, I’ll wait.

Just don’t get your hopes up for a fourth book. Though I desperately want one. Or like, a novella told from Willinghouse’s POV …oooh, or an Origin Story novel for Madam Nahreem. Or just a whole book focusing on Aaron Muhapi. Or something like a “ten years later” story focusing entirely on the Suffregette’s trying to get votes for women in Bar-Selehm…Come on, Hartley, don’t leave me hanging like this. At least do like, a collection of short stories or a novella or something. Please? 

Please?

Please?

RECOMMENDED FOR: Anyone in the mood for an South African-inspired Steampunk novel featuring a badass protagonist of color.

NOT RECOMMENDED FOR: People who don’t read books, people who dislike steampunk, people who wear red MAGA hats. 

RATING: 5/5

TOTALLY UNBIASED FANGIRL RATING: 5,000,000,000,000/5

RELEASE DATE: June 12, 2018

ANTICIPATION LEVEL FOR SEQUEL / CONTINUATION IN SOME FORM: Mauna Kea.

[junker-town]

Why Tom Brady is one of America’s most polarizing athletes

Love him or hate him, NFL fans can’t quit Tom Brady on the verge of his 10th Super Bowl appearance.

It difficult to find someone with a lukewarm opinion of Tom Brady. The Tampa Bay Buccaneers quarterback and New England Patriots legend inspires strong feelings on both ends of the spectrum.

To some, Brady is the greatest quarterback to ever play the game, with the legendary resume and hardware to prove it. Others see a cheater, a shameless a brand builder who benefitted from playing for a football dynasty, who refused to take a personal stand on anything to avoid alienating fans, his consumers.

Like all things the truth likely falls somewhere in the middle. It makes Brady one of the most complicated figures in modern American sports, who can be viewed as the greatest athlete of our generation o tremendously overrated depending on your point of view.

Now, with his 10th Super Bowl appearance on the horizon, we dig into the legacy of one of the NFL’s most decorated players, and understand why he elicits such strong emotions.

Why do people love Tom Brady?

Brady represents the archetype of the underdog athlete. We don’t need to spend a great deal discussing this, because we’ve heard his story a million times, in a million different ways over the course of the last 20 years. Scouts didn’t believe in Brady entering the NFL from Michigan, and his average athletic showing at the combine cemented him as a sixth round pick.

He became a star due to circumstance. Taking over for an injured Drew Bledsoe, leading the Patriots to a Super Bowl in his rookie season in 2001 — it’s a story straight out of a sports movie. Brady’s ascension defied expectations in a way people love, and it perpetuated the dream that anybody with the smarts and drive could excel. I mean, if a slightly doughy, relatively unathletic Brady could win a Super Bowl, then the presumption is that anyone can — even if that’s not true.

Then Brady kept winning, kept succeeding, and in doing so cemented himself as the modern Joe Montana. The rest is history.

Why do people hate Tom Brady?

This one is a little more nuanced, because there isn’t a single overwhelming reason why people dislike Tom Brady. Obviously everyone’s reason for disliking an athlete are individual, but there are a few key buckets we can put people into.

The “Tom is a cheater” crowd

While Brady is certainly responsible for a lot of the Patriots’ success, he will be inexorably linked to two of the league’s biggest scandals: SpyGate and DeflateGate. Yes, tired names that are way too on-the-nose references to Watergate, but nonetheless impactful on his legacy.

You can look at recording the Rams’ practice, or using partially-inflated footballs as small competitive edges, but they raise questions. If these were the incidents that were caught, what lurked under the surface that we never learned about? There are the questions people ask when thinking of Brady as a cheater.

It’s perhaps a little unfair to levy the sins of an organization against one player, but heavy is the head that wears the crown. When you become the figurehead of an organization you take on the benefits, as well as the criticism. Quarterbacks in general get far too much credit and criticism for team results, so when a team is under fire for breaking the rules, naturally much of that will fall on the leader.

There were already debates about whether Brady was the vector for the Patriots’ success, or whether it was more on Bill Belichick — so when controversy swarmed the team there was was similar doubt. How much of this was on Belichick, and how much was on Brady? That alone soured the quarterback in a lot of peoples’ minds, and while perhaps not enough to add an asterisk to his rings, it was enough to raise doubt.

“Brady stands for nothing but his brand”

It’s impossible to separate athletes from their impact on society. That’s been true for decades. Normally this takes shape in frivolous things like product endorsements and sponsorships, with companies clamoring to leverage the facade of athlete approval into sales, but that changed substantially over the last four years.

Everyone in every field was asked for their stance on social justice and racial injustice. Some athlete chose to take a strong stand, turning their fame into activism and pressure for change — but Brady, much as he did throughout his career, sat on the fence and said little of substance.

“It’s certainly been an offseason to listen, learn, have more compassion, and more empathy for one another. Everyone should deserve the opportunity to reach their fullest potential. Being in the locker room for 20 years and being around guys with every different race, religion, skin color, background, and different state. Everyone something different to the table and you embrace those things.”

On the surface this might sound like he’s taking a stand, but this is the definition of playing both sides. At a time where people of color were being marginalized and harassed, Brady was calling for “more empathy for one another,” as if it was an issue that flowed both ways.

In isolation this comment may seem innocuous enough, but it came at a time people were desperate for a stronger voice for someone of Brady’s stature. Considering it came not long after the quarterback was seen with a MAGA hat in his locker, which he claimed “found its way there” seemingly by magic, when questioned about it.

Brady has ensured his earning potential remained maximum by refusing to take a stand on just about anything off the football field. This often feels like a desire not to rock the boat, famously doing semantic gymnastics to say he supported his friend Donald Trump, but didn’t necessarily support his politics. The only area he seemed to take a strong stand was on his health and wellness brand TB12, which tells people not to eat tomatoes and live by a strict diet.

The cap to all this might have been the news that Brady, who has earned hundreds of millions of dollars over his NFL career, and is married to one of the highest-paid supermodels in history, took almost $1 million in Paycheck Protection Program funds, designed to insulate small businesses from Covid, in order to prop up his lifestyle brand. Money ran out of the fund for small mom and pop businesses struggling to stay afloat, while Brady’s pet project got funded.

People who are just sick of hearing about Tom Brady

There’s a lot about Brady’s story as an underdog that’s admirable, but it’s also been built up to mythic proportions that make it harder to swallow. Yes, people didn’t believe in him entering the league, yes Brady overcame a certain amount of adversity in the process. However, his “adversity” is a point of order. Brady’s “struggles” are minute compared to the majority of players entering the NFL. He had a stable, middle class childhood, he got to attend NFL games regularly with his parents, he went to good schools and benefitted from strong role models.

It’s not Brady’s fault he grew up with these privileges, but it’s important to note them — especially when it comes to casting him in the light of “adversity.” Brady didn’t need to overcome poverty, or the loss of a parent, or have the pressure of football potentially changing the lives of everyone in his orbit. If Brady didn’t make it on the field, he could have fallen into any number of fields, and likely carved out a life for himself. The same can’t be said for other players in the NFL.

So, when he’s cast as the star of the “adversity” narrative, it makes some people resent him. On the field he’s often blameless in the eyes of commentators, where other players would be critiqued. In the NFC Championship Game against the Packers, he threw his third interception of the game, a high pass that ricocheted off the hands of Mike Evans, into the hands of a defensive back. The pass wasn’t framed as Brady’s mistake, but rather Evans’ fault for failing to haul in an errant pass. Forget the fact that Mike Evans is one of the tallest receivers in the NFL, and he was jumping at full extension, and that the pass would have sailed to the DB anyway — it was not Brady’s fault as presented.

Brady has been a difference maker for the Buccaneers, but he’s also been elevated to savior status at the expense of his teammates. Tampa Bay’s defense is one of the biggest reasons they’re in the Super Bowl now, but Brady is being awarded all the credit. It’s a similar issue to that of New England, where he excelled inside Belichick’s system — and we didn’t get a great sense for how players perform out of it, other than seeing Brian Hoyer and Jimmy Garoppolo fail to make an impact away from Foxboro.

Instances like that grate on people. They grow tired of feeling like there’s preferential treatment of Brady’s narrative.

They hate Tom Brady because he’s so good

This seems to be the biggest claim of his fans, but Brady’s skill on the field tends to be a minority reason why people don’t like him. Sure, there are probably some fans, particularly in the AFC East who dislike Brady just because he’s so good — but a larger number think he’s an incredible quarterback, but perhaps not the best person, and that’s where their frustration comes from.

There’s also a sense of this all growing tired. Players work their entire careers to make one Super Bowl, and more often than not their dreams have halted at Brady’s feet. While it’s his job to win, there’s certainly resentment from fans who have seen their players lose because of No. 12, and dislike him for it.

In the end, absence will make the heart grow fonder

So much of Brady’s story is tied to the perception and mystique surrounding him. When he decides to retire and all we’re left with are the stats and the highlights there’s a good chance opinion of him will soften, and he’ll simply be remembered as the greatest quarterback to ever play the game.

When Brady’s current influence lapses, that’s when he’ll be appreciated simply as a player. For now he’s still very much a part of the NFL, getting ready to play on its brightest stage yet again. There will be plenty of fans cheering for No. 12 to do it again, and those desperately wanting him to fail for a variety of reasons.

Nobody’s mind will change on either side, and that polarization of opinion adds another layer to the Super Bowl.

[assorted-delights]

WOW. I DIDN'T WRITE THIS, BUT ITS WORD FOR WORD WHAT I FEEL.

“If you are a liberal who can’t stand Trump, and cannot possibly fathom why anyone would ever vote for him, let me fill you in.

It’s not that we love Donald Trump so much. It’s that we can’t stand you! And we will do whatever it takes — even if that means electing a rude, obnoxious, unpredictable, narcissist (your words not ours) to the office of President of the United States — because the thing we find more dangerous to this nation than Donald Trump is YOU. How is that possible you might ask?

Well, you have done everything in your power to destroy our country. From tearing down the police, to tearing down our history, to tearing down our borders. From systematically destroying our schools and brainwashing our kids into believing socialism is the answer to anything (despite being an unmitigated failure everywhere), while demonizing religion and faith, and glorifying abortion, violence, and thug culture. From calling us racists every time we expect everyone of any skin color to follow our laws equally to gas lighting us about 52 genders, polyamory, grown men in dresses sharing public locker rooms with little girls, and normalize the sexualization of young children, you simultaneously ridicule us for having the audacity to wish someone a “Merry Christmas” or hang a flag on the 4th of July, stand for the national anthem, or (horror of horrors) don a MAGA hat in public.

So much for your “tolerance.”

(See why we think you are just hypocrites??)

We’re also not interested in the fact that you think you can unilaterally decide that 250 years of the right-to-bear-arms against a tyrannical or ineffective government should be abolished because you can’t get the violence in the cities you manage under control. That free-speech should be tossed out the window, and that those who disagree with your opinions are fair game for public harassment or doxing. That spoiled children, who still live off their parent’s dime or Fed/State programs, should be allowed to destroy cities and peoples livelihoods without repercussions. That chaos, and lawlessness, and disrespect for authority should be the norm. This is your agenda. And you wonder why we find you more dangerous than Donald Trump?

Your narrative is a constant drone of oppressor/oppressed race-baiting intended to divide the country in as many ways as you possibly can. You love to sell “victim-hood” to people of color every chance you get because it’s such an easy sell, compared to actually teaching people to stand on their own two feet and take personal responsibility for their own lives and their own communities and their own futures. But you won’t do that, you will never do that, because then you will lose control over people of color. They might actually start thinking for themselves, God forbid!

This is why we will vote for Donald Trump.

Not because he is the most charming character on the block.

Not because he is the most polite politician to have ever graced the oval office. Not because he is the most palatable choice, or because we love his moral character or because the man never lies, but because we are sick to death of you and all of the destructive crap you are doing to this once beautiful and relatively safe country.

Your ineffective and completely dysfunctional liberal “leadership”(?) has literally destroyed our most beautiful cities, our public education system, and done it’s damnedest to rip faith out of people’s lives. However bad Donald Trump may be, and he is far from perfect, every day we look at you and feel that no matter what Donald Trump says or does there is no possible way he could be any worse for our country than you people are.

We are sick to death of your stupid, destructive, ignorant, and intolerant behavior and beliefs — parading as “wokeness.” We are beyond sick of your hypocrisy and B.S.

We are fed up with your disrespectful divisiveness and constant unrelenting harping and whining and complaining (while you live in the most privileged nation in the world), while making literally zero contributions of anything positive to our society. Your entire focus is on ripping things down, never ever building anything up. Think about that as there is something fundamentally very wrong in the psychology of people who choose destruction as their primary modus operandi. When Donald J Trump is reelected, don’t blame us, look in the mirror and blame yourselves.

Because you are the ones that are responsible for the rise of Donald Trump. You are the ones who have created this "monster" that you so despise, by your very actions.

By your refusal to respect your fellow Americans, and the things that are important to us. You have made fun of the “fly-over states,” the people who “cling to their guns and religion,” the middle class factory workers and coal miners and underprivileged rural populations that you dismissively call “yahoos” and “deplorables.” You have mocked our faith and our religion. You have mocked our values and our patriotism. You have trampled our flag and insulted our veterans and treated our first responders with contempt and hatred.

You have made environmentalism your religion, while trashing every city you have taken responsibility for. You scream from the rooftops about “global warming” and a “green new deal” while allowing tens of thousands of homeless people to cover your streets in literal sh!t and garbage and needles and plastic waste without doing a single thing to help them or solve the environmental crisis your failed social policies are creating. But we’re supposed to put YOU in charge of the environment while gutting our entire economy to institute this plan when you can’t even clean up a single city??

You complain — endlessly — yet have failed to solve a single social problem anywhere. In fact, all you have done is create more of them. We’ve had enough. We are tired of quietly sitting by and being the “silent” majority. So don’t be surprised when the day comes when we finally respond. And trust me it’s coming, sooner than you might think. And also trust me when I say it won’t be pretty. Get ready.

When Donald Trump is reelected it will be because you and your “comrades” have chosen to trash the police, harass law-abiding citizens, and go on rampages destroying public property that we have all paid for and you have zero respect for. When Donald Trump is reelected it will be because we are sick of your complete and utter nonsense and destruction. How does it feel to know that half of this country finds you FAR more despicable than Donald J. Trump, the man you consider to be the anti-Christ?

Let that sink in.

We consider you to be more despicable, more dangerous, more stupid, and more narcissistic than Donald Trump. Maybe allow yourself a few seconds of self-reflection to let that sink in. This election isn’t about Donald Trump vs. Joe Biden.

This is about Donald Trump vs YOU!

So if on the morning of November 4 (or more likely January 19, by the time the Supreme Court will weigh in on the mail-in ballot fiasco that we are headed towards), and Donald J. Trump is reelected, the only people you have to blame is the left-wing media drones and yourselves.

[ramrodd]

Is the Christian Bible correct?

Quora Moderation has censored this commentary for offending their IT sensibilities and questioning their collective omniscence

COMMENTARY:

Additional Dialogue with Ross Whittle

Nope. There is nothing about the bible that is correct. It is a collection of ancient myths. Some people, such as yourself, are desperate to cling to faith, and thus take outrageous leaps to overlook this and find some truth- in your case “perceptive doctrine’. from this, It seems you take something you believe is good- capitalisms- and then interpret something ELSE you like- the bible- to reflect that. The fact the Jesus teachings are far more socialist than capitolist is irrelevant to you. You will see things as you wish them to be.

When confronted with this, you will retreat to another typical Theist trope- you will ignore answers that contradict you, and simply re-ask the question as if it has not been asked.

I’ve outlined a few of the multitude of instances where the bible reflects huge immorality. You simply display a total LACK of morality, so I understand you cannot comprehend this. Perhaps if it had been YOUR family killed in a religiously inspired massacre, you might feel differently.

I don’t agree there IS a “perspective doctrine” as you outlined- it seems a complete distortion of what little in the bible might be redeemable- it, for instance, in no way reflects “do unto others.

You are example of someone who can be completely without morals while claiming morality, so you are a living embodiment of my claim.

Tom Wilson: Well, unlike you and Dick Harfield, I’m not making any moral claims for myself: I’m not in a position to judge. Nor do I claim to be a person of faith: I know The One and have had a working relationship with the Holy Spirit since 1954.

Knowledge and faith are not the same same thing.

You haven’t confronted me with anything novel nor enlightening. As I have said from the get-go, I get the gist of your complaint, which you have just recapitulated on the basis that you expect to be able to beat me into submission with your puny dialectic, and I’m bored with it.

The Bible is divine literature. It’s complexity is infinite and, like the Lotus, blossoms eternallly to the humble pilgrim, but is manifestly unavailable to those who refuse to submit to its pulse.

As far as holocaust, I know what that is. I’m an Army brat. I lived in Europe as a child at a time in Germany just past the moment when a loaf of bread could get you a blowjob in Berlin. I’ve been to Hitler’s bunker in East Berlin when the godless commie cocksuckers were in charge and I’ve been to their magnicent cemetary for the Soviet cucumbers who died taking Berlin. It’s a vast park, like something out of the English estates of Downton Abbey, only emphasizing the the horizon with a huge sculture of Yaweh, Queen of Battle rising from a small hill that rises above the tree line. The Soviets call her “Rodino” or “Mother Russia” but she is the feminine aspect of The One described in Revelation 4.2. It’s one of the secrets of the Torah, the actual ontology of God abiding in the narrative.

The cemetary had a long, broad Paris-style side walk up to the sculpture and on the right were 10 or 12 mass graves that held 10,000 soviet soldiers as I remember. I’ve been to Verdun where one of the memorials is a marble shelter 25 - 30 metres long that keeps the elements from a row of rifles with bayonets sticking out of the ground, waiting for the signal to go over the top and unto the attack when the trench collapsed on the soldiers who were issued those rifles. “To Keep and To Bear” means something to me so outside your prissy little League of Nations existence that it may as well be a Sanskrit quotation at the beginning of a T. S. Eliot play about cats.

“Pearls before swine” comes to mind with every sentence of every one of your responses. If I wasn’t satisfied with writing for my own amusement, I wouldn’t waste my time in your useless attempts at resembling critical thinking and dialectical competence.

The fact that you are appalled at the slaughter in the bible means that you accept the historicity of the Bible and, consequently, the existence of The One. I was raised to matriculate at the US Army Command and General Staff College in the fullness of time, beginning in 1952. Since then, I’ve been to Verdun and Vietnam. If I had stayed in the Army and retired as a general, I would have caused 100,000 casualties learning my trade. Killing is an essential element of the Clauswitz Paradox.

Jesus. of the Gospel of Mark, provides the Christian model for the sworn servant leader of the American republic and Cornelius, the centurion featured in Acts X, provides the Roman model for the sworn servant leader of the American republic.

The centurion is not a myth. S/he represents a profound military innovation that became an essential element of the trajectory of the Roman empire for 500 years. The difference between Real Warfare and True Warfare is the difference between the Samurai and the Centurion. The Samurai is. literally, a creature of the mythos while the Centurion is a creature of the rule of law.

I was raised by centurions to be a centurion. It was a conscious aspiration of mine as a vision quest from 1962 until I got to Vietnam in 1970.

I was confirmed as a Christian in the Chapel of the Centurion at about the same time, 1962 or so, but I already had a working relationship with the Holy Spirit before that moment. I literally saw myself preparing to go forth as a knight in the white armor of the Crusade marching as to war. As I say, I have knowledge of the one, and, at the same time, I developed a deep faith in the training I was getting as a soldier from ROTC until Jungle Training in Panama before.

In Vietnam, I was confronted by an existential dilemma that required me to make a choice between continuing to believe in myself or in the US Army. It was a no brainer. I lost faith in myself. I still knew Jesus and the Holy Spirit, but not in my own moral compass. So, I left the Army.

So, all your representations of moral superiority are totally wasted on me, no matter how secure you may feel in Bart Ehrman’s apostasy. My opinion is that his whole “Born Again” conceit was phony from the get-go: he just did it high school because all the popular girls were doing it and he wants to be popular. And he built a career as an Evangelical pastor flogging the Pro-Life heresy until he went to Princeton and met Dale Martin, a gay Christian professor who flirts with apostasy because it makes his New Testament History and Literature course at Yale popular and Bart realized he could be even more popular at Chapel Hill by going full apostate and it’s working as well as Jared Kushner’s crypto-Nazi business plan he acquired from Robert Murdoch.

And you’re just another mongrel baying in that ant-theist evangelical imperative. I’m not writing for you. I am witnessing for combat veterans totally mystified by what they have discovered about the American civilian culture since they left the spiritually cloistered cacoon of the infantry squad. They are coming from an ecology where the violence of the Bible was part of their job description to an environment dominated by people like you and the IT folks in Quora Moderation whose entire concept of the violence in the Bible is circumscribed by the boundaries of video games defined by the League of Justice and Gal Gadot.

The Book of Job, the oldest book in the Bible, establishes the reality that you cannot unknow God once you have encounted God. That’s why my opinion is that Bart Ehrman is a phony: he either never has encountered God in his “Born Again” mode or did and has found it profitable to deny God.

Free Will isn’t just a theological construct: it is structural to the human psyche. God cannot violate individual sovereignty, morally (that is, intellectually): the individual must voluntarily expand his or her boundaries beyond the personal wisdom, which is to say, beyond the finite horizon of trust into the mind of God.

The whole purpose of the Bible is enlarge the population of humanity which has exercised their personal Free Will to come to know The One. The only unforgivable sin is to deny the Holy Spirit because it is a sin against the self, a form of suicide, to not embrace the personal responsiblility for their own Free Will and project their intellectual boundaries beyond the box of needless ignorance and frightened atheism.

I first read Marx in 1962, when I was 15, on the basis that it is essential to understand your enemy. As a prospective career Army officer like Alexander Vindman, the Soviets were my enemy and I read Marx to learn how to strike to kill the enemy, like the mongoose studies the cobra. So, when someone like you is determined to display his ignorance of the economics of the Bible as a dialectical gambit, it’s usually not worth the effort to help you lift the burden of your ignorance. I mean, the only difference between a Bernie Sanders groupie and a MAGA hat forever Trumper is the object of their affections.

Marxism is based on the same fallacy as the 18th Amendment. Our entire strategy in Vietnam was based on this fatal flaw in the Soviet system. Because of Vietnam, the Soviet Union no longer exists.

However, it is important to understand that Vietnam came down to a contest between Marxism and the Harvard Business Model and Marxism won precisely because people like Robert MacNamara agreed with your economic model.

Currently, Donald John Trump* is running America the way Robert MacNamara ran Vietnam. Strictly speaking, there is no one in the Old Testament like Donald John Trump*. King David comes close, but all those oriental despots were the law: Donald John Trump* just operates above the law, the basis of his lie, cheat and steal “Art of the Deal” crime family business model. He is trying hard to become the law, like an oriental despot, or Stalin. with the help of Moscow Mitch and Bill Barr, but he, Donald John Trump*, isn’t an oriental despot of the Old Testament.

He is more like Nero in the context of the New Testament. Cornelius, the centurion featured in Acts X, was part of the Xth Legion stationed in Caesarea that participated in the investment and reduction of Jerusalem anticipated by Revelation. Our annual calendar is based on this existentially certain moment which anchors events around 70 because the number is numerologically significant figure of speech in the literature of the BIble. According to Richard Carrier. the dates on all your checks are based on mytholog, because the year 70 wouldn’t exist if the Cross hadn’t happened in 33 and the Cross in 33 wouldn’t have become a pivotal moment in history if the Romans had not been witness to the moment of Resurrection. The Gospel According to Mark is a military report from the front in Palestine to the Emperor in Rome, via Theophilus in the Preaetorian Guard, based on contemporary intelligence records and the debriefing of Peter from inside the Jesus insurgency, aka “the Christians”, Roman soldier slang for the Jewish cult that emerged from the Resurrection.

It isn’t so much that your dialectic produces a puny argument: it’s that your anti-theism requires a willing suspension of disbelief Job was totally incapable of attaining and, if Job, who was Righteousness, itself, couldn’t do it, who am I to attempt the same self-delusion.

I make no claims of morality. The purpose of the Bible is epistemological and the purpose of epistemology is moral clarity.

I’ll settle for that.

*(impeached)