#today he taught me java

[jdgo51]

SEPTEMBER 29, 2024

Rooted

Linawati Santoso (East Java, Indonesia)

"Be rooted and built up in him, be established in faith, and overflow with thanksgiving just as you were taught."- Colossians 2:7 (CEB)

"'My sister and I love gardening, so we planted a papaya seed. The papaya tree began to grow, but then one day its leaves turned ugly — apparently a pest had attacked it. My father cut off the top half of the tree, but my sister told me not to worry: “The leaves will sprout again because the tree still has its roots.”

Staying rooted is also important for us. Even though life may be tough, we can survive if we stay rooted in hope. We see an example of this in Joseph’s life. He was sold, slandered, and imprisoned. It seemed like Joseph’s life was over. But we know that he eventually thrived, becoming a great leader in Egypt (see Gen. 41:41). A big reason for Joseph’s success was the hope he kept in his heart. He worked hard, trusting that someday God would turn his life around according to his dreams (see Gen. 37:5-9).

Even when life is difficult and problems surround us, like Joseph we can choose to stay rooted in hope. We can trust that God will help us. With God, hope will forever be in our hearts."' Even I'm most difficult times, just yurn to God.

TODAY'S PRAYER

Dear Lord, in every situation remind us not to lose hope. Guide us always to trust that you will help us." Amen.

Genesis 37:12-28

"'12 Joseph’s brothers went to tend their father’s flocks near Shechem. 13 Israel said to Joseph, “Aren’t your brothers tending the sheep near Shechem? Come, I’ll send you to them.” And he said, “I’m ready.” 14 Jacob said to him, “Go! Find out how your brothers are and how the flock is, and report back to me.” So Jacob sent him from the Hebron Valley. When he approached Shechem, 15 a man found him him wandering in the field and asked him, “What are you looking for?” 16 Joseph said, “I’m looking for my brothers. Tell me, where are they tending the sheep?” 17 The man said, “They left here. I heard them saying, ‘Let’s go to Dothan.’” So Joseph went after his brothers and found them in Dothan. 18 They saw Joseph in the distance before he got close to them, and they plotted to kill him. 19 The brothers said to each other, “Here comes the big dreamer. 20 Come on now, let’s kill him and throw him into one of the cisterns, and we’ll say a wild animal devoured him. Then we will see what becomes of his dreams!” 21 When Reuben heard what they said, he saved him from them, telling them, “Let’s not take his life.” 22 Reuben said to them, “Don’t spill his blood! Throw him into this desert cistern, but don’t lay a hand on him.” He intended to save Joseph from them and take him back to his father. 23 When Joseph reached his brothers, they stripped off Joseph’s long robe, 24 took him, and threw him into the cistern, an empty cistern with no water in it. 25 When they sat down to eat, they looked up and saw a caravan of Ishmaelites coming from Gilead, with camels carrying sweet resin, medicinal resin, and fragrant resin on their way down to Egypt. 26 Judah said to his brothers, “What do we gain if we kill our brother and hide his blood? 27 Come on, let’s sell him to the Ishmaelites. Let’s not harm him because he’s our brother; he’s family.” His brothers agreed. 28 When some Midianite traders passed by, they pulled Joseph up out of the cistern. They sold him to the Ishmaelites for twenty pieces of silver, and they brought Joseph to Egypt."" Being sold away by your own brothers is very hurtful, "but what man does in seeking bad; God will make it good". Trust Him and share blessings around. Joe

[luminousvision]

Sky

I sat on the worn sofas in my freshman college dorm, arms braced, heels dug, ready for the onslaught.

I don’t like trying new things. I think that’s a perfectly fine way to live.

I debated a budding politician, an eclectic consequentialist, and a chill engineer who was mostly there to watch the show. We debated for almost two hours. We waged war over broad plains of intellectual territory, through rivers of thought and the oceans of history. Ultimately, I relented. I could not defend the quest for enlightenment.

Today, I try again.

—

Have you ever attained the position of first, finest, best, most capable? At any skill. There are “normal” firsts, like best soccer player (Lionel Messi?), fastest runner (Usain Bolt?), best chess player (Magnus Carlsen?), but also the less obvious ones. Someone has crafted the finest clay pot. Someone has held their breath longer than anyone else. Someone has written the best poem.

I’ve attained two firsts. One was in a video game but it’s difficult to relate that experience. I’ll discuss the other one: a 6-month Kaggle competition (you can find me with a bit of Googling. I’m Miranda on The Reverse Game of Life).

By my sophomore year of college, I had lost interest in the theoretical concepts taught in my computer science classes. I wanted to escape the bubble of textbooks and go punch something real. So, I found Kaggle, a site for competitive programming, open to anyone with an internet connection. I sank my teeth into this aptly named Game of Life.

I forgot my schoolwork and sometimes forgot to eat. I wrote reams of code, debugged it, optimized it, replacing the hashing algorithm with six other variants, each a bit faster than the one before. My poor computer churned through calculations overnight, every night. I wrote it in Java and then translated it to C to speed it up. I ran out of memory and asked my dad to help me buy new computer. He told me to just write better code. Even with one hand behind my back, I continued to fight, determined to win.

After four months, I submitted my answers. I scored first place out of a hundred. The previous leader, no doubt shocked by this dark horse, sent in new answers. He almost caught up, nipping at my heels, but still held in second place. I submitted once more. I was now ahead of second place as much as second place was ahead of third. The competition would end in the middle of a physics lecture. I spammed the refresh button on the leaderboard. 11:58. 11:59. 12:00. I had won.

For anyone with a basic computer science background this Kaggle puzzle is actually extremely simple to understand. Its solution is also extremely simple to understand. This whole affair is about as complicated as holding your breath. Try to hold your breath for a minute. That’s about the difficulty of making a submission. But winning it? Try holding your breath for longer than anyone else in the history of humanity.

I’m not here to brag. I’m not here to celebrate. This isn’t about winning. This is about being the best.

This is about setting up camp at the top of Mt. Everest. I’m talking about the nod you exchange with the stranger you meet at the summit. You didn’t know him. He didn’t know you. But you each know exactly what it took to climb up to the top. And now you know each other better than anyone else who has yet to reach it.

After the Kaggle competition ended, the second place guy posted his solution. I posted mine. He gave me a nod. I nodded back. I didn’t know him. He didn’t know me. But we each thought back on the previous half year and realized we probably now knew each other better than anyone else did. 

Some bow to statues. Others worship pictures and symbols. I have no God. I have only those who reach the top. I admire only the pinnacle of mortal accomplishment. I need nothing else.

Some describe the human condition as the shared experience of billions past and present. Really, billions of people? If I want to learn something about the human condition, I want to ask the guys at the top of Everest. They seem like the kind of people who have earned the privilege of defining humanity.

Some count the number of countries they’ve traveled to, as though there is intrinsic value in diverse experiences. I admire those who put in the effort to learn new languages and cultures, which is itself an endeavor. But compare the two people. One visits every country in the world. The other never leaves Nepal, but climbs to the top of Mt. Everest.

Who experienced more of humanity? It’s not even close. 

—

Do you see it now?

I don’t like trying new things. I think that’s a perfectly fine way to live.

Some probably find the experience of crafting pottery and writing poetry very different. Running for local office probably appears very different from running a marathon. Sure, if you spend a few hours, or even a few months trying these things, they are probably quite different.

But I don’t care. I don’t care about the difference between your week in Spain and your week in Indonesia.

I care about the poet of five decades and the potter of five decades who quietly share a secret few of us can understand. That secret doesn’t change one bit if the poet never touches clay or the potter never holds a pen. The experienced Senator and career marathoner also carry that same secret.

I’m after that secret. It sits at the top, waiting for us.

Do you see it now? I don’t travel much. I climb. I reach for the sky.

[neptoons1998]

The Bounds that Ties Us

Warning: I suck at writing twelve years olds so please bare with me.

A/N: So this one is going to be a mixture between BP and one. It's just going to have Riri be Wakandan. And how she becomes friends with Shuri. I think I want to create this to a slow burn type. Plus I like that both, T'challa and Shuri both freeze when they see their crush.  BTW this fanfic is half finished so it's going to hop all over the place super sorry about that.



Shuri sees another volcano replica she might scream. It was already bad enough that she has to wear these too-stiff royal garments. The princess felt even more stupid that she had to wear this monstrous outside of the royal palace.

The young princess was with her mother on her annual school field day. The school field day is where the golden city shows its best and brightest students off to the politicians and the royal family. To Shuri, it was a dog show. The young princess will keep her mouth shut just long enough for her mother to forget that she had lessons today. 

"And last be certainly not least," The headmaster of one of the many schools Shuri and her mother were visiting. The man places his hands on the young girl's shoulders. The small girl had two braids buns that had white ribbons holding them together and sat behind her ears, "Miss. Rihana here has been working diligently on this robot here."

The machine was a small little thing. It had wheels for legs zooming around people's legs. Just before it skirted to stop in front of the Queen’s feet. Queen mother looked at the robot, "That is very impressive,"

"Thank you, your majesty," The young girl said shyly. 

“How old are you, sweet child?” Queen asked smiling at the girl. Riri believed that she was dreaming. 

“I’ll turn nine in a couple of months, your Majesty,” Riri said depresently wanting to sound proper like her mama sounded when she was working at the hospital. Riri looked in corner of her eyes to see the princess Shuri crouched down to get a better look at the robot, "What type of program did you use?"

Riri was shocked that the princess was talking to her. She quickly croaked out, "Um, well C++ and Python. I refused to use Java."

"Ah," Shuri agreed. The princess wasn't sure how she felt about seeing someone else take interest in science like her. sure, her brother taught her the majority of science and engineering. That changed recently now that all he wanted to do now is suck faces with Nakia. And Okoye was twelve months of training to become a Dora Milaje. Leaving the poor girl by herself, sure she had her lab and all. Sometimes she wished she could have a friend to share science with; like bouncing off ideas together or setting the lab on fire and trying to put it out before any of the guards noticed. Shuri had a hard time trying to be friendly to the nobles that weren’t Nakia. They approach her as princess Shuri and not just Shuri. Maybe Riri can be her friend. The princess always wanted to have a friend. Based on the young girl's uniform she wasn't a part of the noble five's families. 

"Well I hope we'll see more inventions from Riri," Shuri said Riri's back straighten when the princess said her name.

Riri nodded her head, "Yes of course! I'll do my best!"

Shuri chuckled before she followed her mother's lead in leaving the school. In a few days, strange things started happening to Riri. Well for one she was getting special treatment. Her headmaster wanted her to have the best of the best materials when it came to her working on her robots. The young girl was willing to overlook them if that means she could have her own space to work. What got weird was that Riri thought she was being followed. Which had to be odd because there was no reason to follow her. 

Little did Riri know she was right. She was being followed by no other than the princess herself. Shuri couldn’t help it, she just trying to find the right way to say she wanted to be friends with Rihana. It is just complicated when comes to talking to people. 

"Y'know you could've asked for us to be friends," Riri said to the princess. Shuri fluttered being called out so quickly, "Yeah, well I did not want you to see as the princess. Just Shuri to Rihana.”

"I can do that. And if we are friends then all my friends call me Riri, not Rihana, So are we?" Riri said to Shuri. The small girl smiled at her, "Are we what?"

Riri rolled her eyes before she outreaches her hand, "friends?

Shuri outreach one of her hands to Riri's, "Sure we can be friends."

And with that, the pair will be inspirable.

A/N: Let me know what y'all think cause I ain't gonna lie I love this AU. And if I continue I might make it like 15 chapters of it.

[arctickat2400]

Postpartum Insecurities <> Bucky Barnes

“She’s so beautiful,” You smiled down at your daughter in your arms. You laid in the bed in the med bay of the Avengers Compound, wrapped in Bucky’s arms as he sat behind you. He rubbed your arm softly as you both cooed over your newborn.

“Do you have a name yet?” Dr. Cho asked with a smile as she took your vitals. You looked up at Bucky in question. You had been talking about names probably since you found out you were pregnant. Though, you still didn’t know what was right. But, looking at your daughter now for the first time, both you and Bucky knew the perfect name.

“Sophie Rae... Sophie Rae Barnes.” You smiled up at Bucky, him returning the gesture. He kissed your forehead as you continued to adore your daughter.

* * *

“I’ll be right back.” You said to Bucky, gesturing to the front counter of the cafe, before standing from the booth.

“You want me to get you something, doll?” Bucky questioned. He was always so sweet like that, getting you anything you needed or wanted.

“It’s alright, babe. I got it.” Smiling, you kissed his cheek and walked back up to the counter. There was a new barista working the register today. Brooke must’ve had a day off.

“What can I get for you?” The woman, Caroline, offered.

“Can I get one of the chocolate chip brownies and a java chip frappe, please?” You asked with a smile.

“You sure about that?” She started, and you could hear a bit of judgment in her voice. “With that appetite, that extra weight isn’t going anywhere. Never gonna get that gorgeous model body back.” She states, and you could feel the tears build up. Before you got pregnant, you had the perfect body and you were a very well-known model. But, then, you had your daughter and your body never went back to the way it used to be. No matter how grateful you were for your daughter, nothing could change your insecurities.

“Um… well,” You hesitated. “Never mind, then.” And with that, you left back to your table. Bucky’s head snapped up, sensing you were close. It was kinda like a sixth sense for him. Which meant you couldn’t sneak up on him like you could with your other friends.

“Hey, baby. I thought you were gonna get something to eat.” Bucky wondered as you slid back into the booth across from him. You made eye contact with him and you could feel the sadness build up more and more.

“I, uh, changed my mind. But, um… could we actually go home?” You questioned. You saw Bucky’s expression change from adoration to concern.

“Yeah, sure.” He began as he followed your movements out of the booth. You started walking out of the cafe, and you could swear you saw the barista glare at you as you walked by. You sped out of the cafe and were almost 3 buildings down the street already when Bucky caught up to you, took your hand, and stopped you.

“Baby, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” Bucky asked, more worry laced in his voice. A tear escaped your eye and you tried to turn away, but Bucky pulled you closer to him, his hand on your cheek. He turned your head to look at him and wiped the tears away.

"Y/N, talk to me. What’s going on?” Bucky questioned, his eyes glued to yours.

“That new girl at the counter... she told me that I was...” You sniffled as you said the word ‘fat’ under your breath. You didn’t want to say it, but that is what she was implying. You knew Bucky could hear you, his super serum allowing him to hear miles away probably.

Bucky didn’t know what to say. He just pulled you into his arms as you let a few more tears slip.

“Baby, it’s okay. Don’t cry. Let’s not make a big deal of this.” But, Bucky knew that, once she pulled away and looked up at him with that shocked look on her face, he had said the wrong thing.

“You don’t think this is a big deal?” You said, anger building up. You were speechless. Bucky opened his mouth to say something but you didn’t let him. You didn’t say anything else as you turned around and made your way back to your car. You got into the passenger’s seat, Bucky in the driver’s seat and you traveled back to the compound.

“Doll, I’m sorry. I just...”

“Don’t,” You said louder than intended. “Just don’t.” They didn’t speak for the rest of the drive to the compound.

Everyone knew you were insecure about your body. Ever since your pregnancy, you had to give up your modeling career and your body changed drastically.

You weren’t the skinny, beautiful girl Bucky had first fallen in love with. You didn’t think he’d want you anymore. But, he told you differently. He told you he had made a promise to always love you no matter what when he proposed to you. He promised that he’d always think you were as beautiful as he thought you to be when you first met. And you believed him, deep down.

But, other times, you would go through phases of depression and you would hate yourself. No one really understood, clearly. Everyone thought you were overreacting, as always. You hated your body now, there was extra weight everywhere. And no matter what Bucky told you, how beautiful you always were and always will be, you couldn’t help but hate yourself more.

You hated being mad at Bucky, but the person you loved more than anyone or anything, the one person you’d think would understand more than anyone thought it wasn’t a big deal. And, though he thinks whatever you’re going on about is complete nonsense, Bucky hates the distance between you two.

Later, in the afternoon, Steve decided to bring you and Bucky with him to meet a friend to pick up some stuff, weapons and such. As part of your job, you’re forced to talk to Bucky, as well as all the others. You’re not surprised Steve chose to bring Bucky, his best friend. Though it was quite obvious, Steve didn’t know you weren’t talking to each other, so he brought you too. You sat in the front seat of Steve’s Buggy, Bucky in the back, and Steve driving, of course. You pull up under a bridge behind a black car, belonging to Sharon Carter.

“I’ll be right back...” Steve says, getting out of the car, leaving you and Bucky alone. Everything is silent as you watch Steve converse with Sharon. You watch as she opens her trunk and you see several guns and Steve’s shield on the top of the pile.

Suddenly, “Can you move your seat up?” Bucky breaks the silence.

“No.” You answer without any emotion, just annoyance, keeping your eyes on the two blondes in front of you.

You can feel Bucky’s eyes on you, and you just barely feel the car move seconds later as he shifts over to the middle seat. You watch a smile form on Steve’s face as he leans into Sharon, and they share a passionate kiss. You didn’t know they were a thing. You were quite surprised, to be honest, considering Peggy’s funeral was just two days ago. But you thought it was sweet. Steve’s known Sharon for a while, it seems. You smile at the romance.

“Ya know, that could be us,” Bucky states and your smile falters, remembering your fight from just hours before. You stay silent. “I’m sorry, Y/N...”

But there was something in you that just wasn’t yet forgiving. You focus back on Steve and Sharon. She gets back in her car just as Steve made eye contact with you. You and Bucky smile at him as a light blush lit up Steve’s cheeks.

About 20 minutes later, you three make it back to the compound. You get out of the car and make your way inside. A smile lights up your face as you see your daughter running towards you, a huge smile on her face.

“Mommy!” She exclaims, running into your arms. You’ve only been gone about 2 hours, but she’s always excited when you get home.

“Hey, sweetheart. Did you have fun with Aunt Nat?” You asked her, kneeling down in front of her.

“Yeah! We colored and then she taught me how to load a gun.” Sophie answered. You chuckled nervously, not really knowing how to feel about that, considering she was 6 and wasn’t ready to be around guns.

“Oh, did she?” You met Nat’s eyes from across the room and she just shrugged with a smug smile. You looked back at your daughter.

“Well, I’m gonna go freshen up. Go say hi to Daddy.” You say just as Bucky walked through the door with Steve.

She looked over at her dad and Uncle Steve, a bigger smile growing on her lips.

“Daddy!” She squealed as she ran to him. You stood up and walked away through the halls and to your room.

“Hey, baby girl! How was your morning?” Buck smiles as he holds Sophie in his arms, her perched on his hip.

“It was good. Did you know that you always keep your gun on the safety until you are ready to use it?” Sophie states with a giggly smile.

Bucky chuckles at his daughter. “Yes, I did know that. But, I didn’t think you were ready to know that yet.” He glared at Natasha from the corner of his eye.

“Daddy, can you teach me something?” Sophie asks him as he sets her on her feet and kneels down in front of her.

“Of course, doll.” He says. She was always into reading and spelling, you think she got that from you. She likes to learn with Bucky, the daddy’s girl side of her. You would always find them around the apartment, reading easy-to-read books or him teaching her to spell or write or doing whatever she wanted to do.

After changing into a pair of jean shorts and one of Bucky’s sweatshirts that went past your shorts, just as you were walking out of your bathroom, you ran into Bucky. You looked up at him as he looked down at you with a pleading, sincere look in his eyes. You wanted to forgive him, you just couldn’t yet. You walked past him into your bedroom as he walked into the bathroom and closed the door. You grabbed your book and settled on the couch in your room by the window.

Bucky walked back out, shirtless and in gray sweatpants. You just had to look at your favorite outfit on him. You could never help yourself when he wasn’t wearing a shirt. He did it all the time too, knowing you loved it. He did it whenever there was no one in your apartment except you, him, and Sophie. That was almost all day, every day, always a nice sight to see.

He walked out of the room and you went back to reading, trying to focus. It was hard to focus back on something as simple as reading after seeing Bucky shirtless.

A little while later, you heard a loud squeaky laugh from the kitchen. You close your book, standing from your spot on the couch, you make your way quietly to the kitchen. You stood in the doorway, arms crossed over your chest, watching the sweet sight of your husband and daughter sitting on the kitchen floor in front of the fridge. Sophie sat in Bucky’s lap as they played around with the spelling letter magnets on the fridge. You couldn’t help but smile.

Bucky just finished teaching Sophie how to spell the word ‘perfect’. He told her to sound it out, first asking her what sound a cat makes.

Just then, Bucky looks up at you, and as your eyes meet, your face fell as fast as your smile came when you saw Bucky and Sophie together. You turn around and make your way back to your room.

“Hey, Soph, how about you go and wash up for dinner?” Bucky tells her, helping her up from his lap. “Okay, daddy.” She smiles, giggling as she runs off. He could never hold back a smile whenever she called him daddy. It would never get old for him.

Bucky made his way to his room, longing for his wife that he hasn’t talked to since that morning. He walks in quietly, careful not to scare her like he does more than he would like. He always found it cute how jumpy she was.

He finds his wife sitting on their bed, back facing him. He knew what she was doing. She didn’t have her phone or a book in her hands. She just sat there thinking like he found her doing a lot. Bucky climbs up behind her, pulling her hair back and placing a soft kiss on her neck.

“Bucky…” She starts.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry. I know how you are and how you feel about yourself and I just didn’t know what I was thinking.” Bucky interrupted her. He moved to sit beside her, taking her hand in his. “I’m sorry about what that woman said. If I had known, I would’ve done something about it.”

“I just thought… I thought you understood.” You told him, your voice quiet as you looked down at your hands, a tear slipping down your cheek.

“Y/N, baby, I do understand. I really do. The only reason I don’t think it’s a big deal is that I always see you the same in my eyes.” Bucky paused as he lifted your chin to look into his eyes. “You will always be and I will always see you as beautiful as you were when I first met you, no matter what. And I will always love you, baby.” He finished as he brushed his thumb against your cheek. He rid away some of the stray tears, though more kept coming. But, instead of the sad tears, they were happy tears.

“Besides, all of this,” he slid his hand up my shirt and set his hand on my belly. “It came from the birth of our baby girl. So, there’s no reason to feel insecure about it, baby. It’s a good thing.” He told you, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your belly.

“I love you so much, Buck.” You said as he came back up. You leaned in, your hand on the back of his neck. Your lips met in a sweet, loving kiss.

“Forever, Y/N. I love you.” He said, your foreheads pressed against each other.

Just then, you heard pots and pans banging against each other from the kitchen.

“I think our daughter is getting hungry.” You giggled, bringing a smile to Bucky’s lips. He couldn’t get enough of your smile or your laugh or your anything.

You stood up, ready to make whatever your daughter wanted.

“Y/N, can I just say one thing?” Bucky asked just before you turned the corner to your bedroom door. You turned towards him with a questionable expression.

“That cute ass of yours is not helping the way I feel right now. Especially since I haven’t touched you much today.” He states as he stood up and walked to you. His hands ran up your - his - sweatshirt and planted themselves on your bare waist. He felt you tense in his grasp. You still felt a little sensitive and insecure when he touched the places that held that extra bit of weight.

“Don’t worry, baby. Don’t feel insecure.” He whispered into your ear. “You’re so beautiful. Every inch, every bit of you, I can’t get enough.” Bucky finished. You looked up at him, a somewhat seductive smile on your lips. He leaned down and pressed his lips to yours. You felt his hand travel further down towards your ass and into your back pocket.

You leaned back a bit. “Dinner first, my love. Then, maybe we can do some of that later.” You told your husband. You loved watching him the way he was. You loved that he longed for you. You slid your hand into his and led him out to the kitchen where you find your daughter starting to put ingredients together for dinner. You knew she was going to take after Bucky in the cooking department. You and Bucky watched her, a smile on both your faces. You leaned into Bucky, one hand on his chest along with your head and his arm around your waist. He leaned down and placed a soft kiss on your head.

Note: My apologies if I've missed changing any of the name "Katie" to "Y/N". I write my stories as myself and then change my name to Y/N once I put it on Tumblr. Please don't discriminate my writing if I did miss something here or on any of my future/ other stories. I don't mean to. Thanks for reading and I hope y'all like my stories!

[kimmyyang]

210504 My favorite moments & translations of the SHL concert day 2

1. When they were introducing themselves: ZZH: I’m your Ah Xu, Ah Xu is still here, it’s just Ah Xu’s sword has changed to a microphone.

YBY: tell me what you guys want to see, Ye zuzong will prepare it for you. XDD ZJ: did you know that I fell yesterday? Fans: yes ZJ: it’s okay, help me up and I can still ship (my cp).

2. MCs asked the cast to show their individual skills/ talent. And Heizi laoshi said he will sing a song to dedicate to WENZHOU'S LOVE (yes he really said that) after he has finished, he wished WenZhou to remain happily married to a ripe old age. (I think he was about to say more but they stopped him lol)

3. When MCs asked YBY to sing, GJ & ZZH were bickering with him like 3-year-olds. And GJ was so confident, he even volunteered to start the song for YBY (translation is here).

4. Game segment, they need to think of a fruit name and an action to go with it (the line they have to say is smth like who can drink alcohol, xxx can drink alcohol - when they say a fruit name, they also have to do the action) ZZH was thinking of a fruit name, fans were shouting "apple", ZZH said: "apple is too easy." Then fans shouted: "kiwi!". ZZH said: "no, you guys are kiwis!" In the end, he chose "sugar apple". GJ picked "java apple" (it's supposed to be 莲雾 but he said the other way round 雾莲 XD)

5. ZJ picked loquat and did the action of playing a pipa (loquat & pipa sounds the same in Chinese, and the Scorpion King plays pipa). Fans screamed and he said: "you guys get it, right?" (well ofc XDD)

6. During the game, GJ & ZZH pointed out that YBY was wrong and they started arguing. YBY was like can both of you just let me off?! GJ shouted: "no!" (and YBY just sighed ahahaha) When when YBY eliminated, GJ said: "the game won't be fun anymore as he's eliminated."

7. When GJ was asked to say 彩虹屁 (to compliment excessively) to the casts, fans screamed and GJ said: "don't rush, I will start off with didi. Didi, recently you have been practicing martial arts pretty well lately. You learned it from me, the master of the ghost valley, right? Your master didn't teach you much, right? Just tell me quietly. Be honest, you didn't learn anything (from him). Didi: "he taught better than you." (AHAHAHAHAHA) GJ: "I'm angry!

8. GJ 'complimenting' YBY which actually turned into a chaotic mess (translation is here they scared the MCs lol).

9. GJ complimenting ZZH: the last one (to compliment) has got to be Ah Xu, who has a skinny waist, long legs, and is harsh when he speaks but is actually soft-hearted. Aiya~ I can hear Ah Xu's singing tonight, I, Lao Wen is very happy. Hahahaha *ZZH getting embarrassed* ZZH: ok, that's enough, my face is getting red. (asdfghjkl ;-;)

10. When GJ asked ZJ "who would you bring to a deserted island?" ZJ replied: the one that can pipa the best. GJ: it has to be someone on the stage. ZJ: I'll pick Zhehan. GJ: why?!! ZJ: only 4 words - 夺人所爱 which means to steal someone's love. *ZZH smiles*

11. GJ said he saved ZZH as 'Zhang laoshi' on his phone.

12. Man Shu Ke said GJ is actually talented in rapping and he can release a rap song. (ZZH was watching them offstage) After GJ has learned the rap from MSK, he was so proud of himself and was so eager to teach ZZH. GJ also mentioned when he reaches 20 million fans, he will sing Nocturne by Jay Chou.

13. At the beginning of the guess the song game, GJ said: "protect your little ears." (AHAHAHAHA)

14. I nearly passed out from laughing when it was Ah Xiang's turn, and everyone's facial expressions were so hilarious. The MC even said to CWN: son-in-law, you need to control your facial expression, this is Ah Xiang singing!

15. ZZH making didi pick the winner and said otherwise didi won't get to say much during the concert.

16. GJ & ZZH at the backstage part where ZZH called GJ 'didi' (translation is here sobs)

17. When GJ said it doesn't matter if you can sing well (points to ZZH) or not (points to himself), as long as it brings joy to you.

18. Last part where they thanked each other, the crew, and the fans. GJ: I'm very thankful that I met SHL this spring, met you guys who love SHL. Thank you to the fans whether they like me or the other casts, I also want to thank my partner Zhang laoshi and the character he played - Zhou Zishu. And the other casts of the drama. I'm so happy that I met you all this spring. It's the most unforgettable memory of my life. ZZH: It doesn't matter if you like Zhou Zishu or Wen Kexing, or ZZS & WKX, maybe it's the end today. We, as Zhang Zhehan and Gong Jun, thank you for liking Zhang Zhehan, thank you for liking Gong Jun, thank you for liking ZZH & GJ. This spring, it's great to have you guys. I also want to say something to Jun Jun. Although I'm slightly older than you and I don't know what you will encounter or face what kind of difficulties. But I hope you can continue to stay true to yourself and keep your personality. No matter what difficulties you will face in the future, or if you need gege's help. I will always be there. (it got me so emotional ahhhh and their hug T ^ T)

Day 1

[southeastasianists]

Last September, I drove for four hours from Jakarta to a small town in western Java, staying one night in a Javanese-styled hotel at the foot of Mt. Ciremai, a 3,000-meter volcano on Java. When I got to Cisantana, I journeyed down a stone path, looking for the Mother Mary shrine. It was a welcome surprise to see this Catholic shrine, equipped with a tropical version of the Via Dolorosa—the route believed to have been taken by Jesus through Jerusalem to Calvary—and supported by electricity coming from a nearby Islamic boarding school.

The presence of such a shrine was all the more surprising in West Java, one of Indonesia’s most conservative Muslim provinces, where attacks against Christians, Ahmadis, and other religious minorities frequently make headlines in local news. Attacks against women’s rights, private gay parties, and transgender crowds are not uncommon.

I continued walking past avocado farms, a banana plantation, and cornfields and finally came upon an open space where a handful of Sundanese women and men were working to construct a tomb.

They were very pleasant. “It’s a quiet day today,” an elderly man said to me. They were taking a break and welcomed me to sit in their bamboo hut with a fire stove.

A woman showed me phone videos of the work they did with more than 100 volunteers, who used wooden poles and bamboo to bring several huge stones from a nearby river to this spot, which is inaccessible by road. They called the tomb “Batu Satangtung” or the “Human Stone,” intended for their elderly religious leader and his wife.

I imagined the makers of Stonehenge might have used similar methods two or three millennia ago in England.

The Sundanese people are from West Java, a province of about 40 million. They are the second largest ethnic group in Indonesia, after the neighbouring Javanese. The volunteers I met are not only Sundanese but of the ethnic-religious group Sunda Wiwitan. The name literally means “early Sunda” or “real Sunda.” Its practitioners assert that Sunda Wiwitan has been part of the Sundanese way of life since before the arrival of Hinduism and Islam.

Why were they building the tomb here? Ela Romlah, the woman with the videos, told me that in 1937 and 1938, when Mt. Ciremai was expected to erupt, Pangeran Madrais—then the leader of this group—and his followers climbed the mountain, carrying a set of gamelan instruments. He and hundreds of his musicians played the gamelan on the mountain for months. They believed their music and prayer stopped the eruption. “They then set up a camp at the foot of the mountain. It was here in Curug Goong.”

Madrais was an inspirational cleric, interpreting old Sundanese and Javanese beliefs. He helped establish the community in 1925.

The Dutch colonial officials in charge at the time were not amused to see this kind of independent behaviour. They tried to prevent hundreds of Sundanese people from staying at Curug Goong. But they said nothing when Mt. Ciremai calmed down.

In August 1945, at the end of World War II, Indonesia’s independence leaders adopted a constitution that vowed to protect all Indonesian citizens equally. But they also reached a political compromise with conservative Muslims, including Wahid Hasjim, the chairman of the Nahdlatul Ulama. The agreement, designed to avoid setting up an Islamic state, established the Ministry of Religious Affairs to be “the bridge” between Muslims and the state. The compromise was called Pancasila.

In Garut, about four hours’ drive from Curug Goong, Islamist militants were not satisfied with this and declared the Darul Islam (Islamic State) movement in August 1949, vowing to implement their version of Sharia in Indonesia. From 1950 to 1958, Darul Islam conducted a failed guerrilla campaign in West Java that nonetheless attracted some popular support. They attacked not only the Indonesian military but also religious minorities.

In response, Wahid Hasjim, the minister of religious affairs, adopted a 1952 decree to differentiate between “kepercayaan” (faith) and “agama” (religion). In Indonesian vocabulary, “aliran kepercayaan” is officially used to cover multiple minor religions and spiritual movements. Hasjim decreed that “aliran kepercayaan” are “dogmatic ideas, intertwined with the living customs of various ethnic groups, especially among those who are still underdeveloped, whose main beliefs are the customs of their ancestors throughout the ages.”

Meanwhile, “agama” was defined according to monotheistic understandings. If a community is to be recognised as “religious,” it must adhere to “an internationally recognised monotheistic creed; taught by a prophet through the scriptures.” In this way the decree discriminates against non-monotheistic religions including Hinduism, Buddhism, Confucianism, Bahaism, Zoroastrianism and hundreds of local religions and spiritual movements in Indonesia.

In West Java, the Sunda Wiwitan people faced two serious challenges: the Darul Islam militants, who repeatedly intimidated and attacked them, and the Ministry of Religious Affairs, which actively tried to align “underdeveloped religions” such as theirs with Christianity or Islam.

In 1954, Darul Islam militants attacked the Sunda Wiwitan base in Kuningan. “They managed to burn our paseban (communal spaces) including the kitchen and the garages but fortunately not the main hall,” she said. “They forced our members to convert to Islam,” said Dewi Kanti, a great granddaughter of Madrais.

Similar intimidation and violence took place in neighbouring regencies Tasikmalaya, Banjar, and Garut. Dewi’s grandfather, Pangeran Tedja Buwana, who succeeded Madrais, fled Kuningan to Bandung.

Darul Islam also sent militants into Jakarta. On November 30, 1957, President Sukarno attended a school function at which a Darul Islam militant threw a grenade. Sukarno was unharmed, but six schoolchildren died.

Even after Darul Islam had been militarily defeated, eight Darul Islam militants mingled with a Muslim congregation during a prayer service inside the State Palace on May 14, 1962. They fired shots at Sukarno but missed, hitting one of his bodyguards and a Muslim scholar instead.

Muslim conservatives continued their opposition to smaller religions and spiritual movements. To placate hardliners, Sukarno banned the Indonesian Freemasons (Vrijmetselaren-Loge) along with six so-called “affiliates,” without providing evidence of any illegal links: the Bahai Indonesia organisation, the Divine Life Society, the Moral Rearmament Movement, the Ancient Mystical Order Rosae Crucis, the Rotary Club and the Democracy League, a non-religious organisation considered to be critical of Sukarno. The Rotary Club was accused of being a Zionist group; this was essentially  a conspiracy theory intended to connect the Freemasons to the six organisations.

In June 1964, the Kuningan authorities declared Sunda Wiwitan marriages illegal. The Kuningan prosecutor’s office later detained nine believers—a priest and eight young grooms who married in Sundanese Wiwitan rituals—for several months.

Anticipating increased hostilities, Tedja Buwana, who had returned from Bandung, left the Sunda Wiwitan faith, joined the Catholic church and used their paseban as a church. His move prompted 5,000 Sunda Wiwitan believers to convert to Catholicism, according to a researcher, Cornelius Iman Sukmana, himself a Catholic in Kuningan, who wrote a book about the Sunda Wiwitan and the Catholic church.

“It was an important decision. My grandfather saved thousands of our members from accusations of atheism,” said Dewi Kanti, referring to massacres of the communists between 1965 and 1969. “We can’t imagine what would have happened if he didn’t do it.”

Decades later, when the situation finally calmed down, many of these Sunda Wiwitan people, including Dewi Kanti, openly, but not offficially, re-converted to Sunda Wiwitan. Many who converted away from Christianity still go to Sunday mass and wear a cross around their necks. But inside their pockets, they also have Sunda Wiwitan pendants (a mountain, an eagle and two snakes).

“It is common in Kuningan to meet a single family with several religions,” said a vendor near the shrine.

As I walked down from the tomb, I wondered if these conversions and re-conversions prove that religious identity is not a zero-sum game. Identity is somehow imagined like a container with a fixed volume; if you have more of one identity, you have less of another. The Sunda Wiwitan people showed me that they could expand the container and have multiple identities. Thinking of it from this perspective, it is no surprise that I found a tropical Via Dolorosa and an Islamic boarding school near the tomb construction.

The 1965 Blasphemy Law

In downtown Kuningan, I drove to the paseban area, looking at the beautiful wooden hall and sipping a smooth ginger-lemon tea while chatting with Okky Satrio Djati, a Catholic Javanese, who had married the Sunda Wiwitan leader Dewi Kanti almost two decades earlier.

Djati and I used to work together in a newsroom during the Suharto era, publishing online samizdat and managing a mobile internet server. He went to Kuningan in 1998 when President Suharto was facing the mass protests at the height of the Asian economic crisis and helped hide political activists fleeing trouble.

Djati is now a Sunda Wiwitan member, speaking Sundanese, burning incense and sometimes performing midnight prayers in a nearby mountain. “He seems to be more Sundanese than me,” said Kanti, with a giggle.

Djati helps his wife deal with the discrimination that many Sunda Wiwitan members face. “My husband chose Catholicism as his official religion,” Kanti said. “But he practices Kejawen faith. If we insisted on marrying with our own (real) religions, we wouldn’t have birth certificates for our children, or at least, not with my husband’s name on them.”

Under Indonesia’s legal system, an ethnic believer cannot put their kepercayaan on the agama column of their national ID cards and thus cannot legally marry unless they change their kepercayaan to a recognised religion. In these cases, they leave a blank space in the religion column of the card and the civil registration office does not recognise paternity because the couples are not officially married.

Problems for religious minorities escalated in January 1965 when President Sukarno issued a decree that prohibited people from being hostile toward religions or committing blasphemy, which is defined as “abuse” and “desecration” of a religion. Sukarno decreed that the government would steer “mystical sects … toward a healthy way of thinking and believing in the One and Only God.” The decree, which gave official approval only to Islam, Protestantism, Catholicism, Hinduism, Buddhism and Confucianism, was immediately incorporated into the Criminal Code as article 156(a), with a maximum penalty of five years in prison. This has had disastrous effects until the present.

After deposing Sukarno, Suharto and his regime enforced the 1952 decree, which also requires a religion to have a holy book, leading to many bizarre stories of “religious alignment.” In Kalimantan, Dayak tribal leaders created the Panaturan –a collection of Dayak ancestral wisdom compiled into a single “holy book.” This required the creation of a clergy, so Dayak priests were trained. Religious rituals once held in fields and homes were moved into new worship halls called Balai Basarah. But most importantly, Kaharingan religious leaders had to choose a permitted religion to align with. They chose Hinduism, and thus became “Kaharingan Hindu.” But do not ask them about Ganesh or karma!

President Suharto’s wrote about his own Javanese Kejawen faith and Islam in his 1989 authorised biography. He described the syncretism common among the Javanese, conducting his Islamic prayers and celebrating Islamic holidays while also meditating in the sacred places of the Javanese traditions when he wanted to make major decision.

On September 7, 1974, three months before the East Timor invasion, Australian Prime Minister Gough Whitlam met Suharto in a villa in Mt. Dieng, Java Island, where Suharto was meditating in the Semar Cave, which is named after a mythical Javanese character with whom Suharto identified. That cave is still regarded as sacred. When I visited in 2019 it was locked—the villa is now a museum where photos of the Suharto-Whitlam meeting are displayed. Showing a more open mind towards religious minorities, in 1978, Suharto created a directorate within the Ministry of Education and Culture to service these local religions, telling the Indonesian parliament, “These kepercayaan are part of our national tradition, and need not to be opposed to agama.”

Yet even under a strongman, the Ministry of Religious Affairs, technically in charge of religions, resisted and maintained its opposition to local religions. They have refused to include kepercayaan within their domain and have promoted the inclusion of these believers into monotheistic realms. One reason Muslim groups refuse to recognise kepercayaan is their concern that the percentage of Muslims (88 percent) in Indonesia may decline, threatening their majority status.

In Kuningan, the new atmosphere under Suharto prompted the Sunda Wiwitan to re-convert to their native faith. Some of them legally left the Catholic church. Some maintain the practice of two religions, living with multiple identities. In 1982, the faith registered with the Ministry of Education and Culture’s directorate, seeking government services along with President Suharto’s accommodation of ethnic believers.

During the weekend I spent talking with Kanti, Djati and other Sunda Wiwitan believers, young and old, women and men, I witnessed the pain of the discrimination they faced and the cost of religious intolerance to people full of tolerance themselves.

It is fascinating to see a small religion resisting the power of the state. While Suharto took some important steps to protect religious freedom, it would have been better still if he had shown the moral courage to rescind the blasphemy law and the idiosyncratic and dangerous definition of religion from the Sukarno era. Sadly, Suharto’s successors have also failed to find the necessary political will.

Post-Suharto Discrimination

Jarwan is the only Sundanese man who stays overnight to guard the Sunda Wiwitan tomb in Curug Goong. He is a well-built man, keeping a motorcycle and several guard dogs in the bamboo hut.

“Someone has to stay here,” he said. “I am the youngest of the elders.”

In July 2020, the Kuningan government sealed off the tomb, declaring that the Sunda Wiwitan group had no permit to build “a monument.” Dozens of Sunni Muslim militants accompanied government officials to seal the tomb, saying that “the monument” is idolatrous.

Sunda Wiwitan members argue that the construction is not a “monument” but rather a “tomb” prepared for two of their elders, Dewi Kanti’s parents, Pangeran Djati Kusumah, and Emalia Wigarningsih. “It’s built on their own land. There is no regulation here to ban anyone to have cemeteries on our own land,” Djati said.

This is not an unfamiliar scene in many Muslim-majority provinces in Indonesia. Rights monitors have recorded hundreds of incidents like this involving Sunni militant groups, whose thuggish harassment and assaults on houses of worship and members of religious minorities have become increasingly aggressive. Those targeted include Ahmadis, Christians, and Shia Muslims. To give just one grisly example, on May 13-14, 2018, Islamist suicide bombers detonated explosives at three Christian churches in Surabaya. The bombings killed at least 12 and wounded at least 50 people. Thirteen suicide bombers also died.

In 2006 the government introduced regulations for building permits for houses of worship, prompting Muslim protesters to demand the closure of “illegal churches.” Hundreds of churches were closed. Some Christian congregations won lawsuits allowing them to build, but local governments simply ignored  court rulings. GKI Yasmin Protestant Church in Bogor was shut down in 2008. The congregation won the case at the Supreme Court in 2010 and then-President Yudhoyono asked the local government to reopen the church, but the city government defied the orders, without consequence.

By contrast, in 2010 the Religious Affairs Ministry listed 243,199 mosques throughout Indonesia, around 78 percent of all houses of worship. Recently an ongoing government census using drones and photography has registered at least 554,152 mosques, suggesting that the number of mosques has more than doubled in a decade.

The hardline Islamist preacher, Rizieq Shihab, has just returned to Indonesia from self-imposed exile in Saudi Arabia. He then called on his supporters “to behead blasphemers;” on November 27 an Islamist group attacked a village in Sigi, Sulawesi island, beheading a Salvation Army elder and three of his relatives. The attackers also burned a Salvation Army church and six other Christian-owned houses. No action has been taken against Rizieq for inciting violence, although police arrested him for breaking coronavirus restrictions.

Threats and speeches that incite violence are facilitated by Indonesia’s discriminatory laws and regulations. They give local majority religious populations significant leverage over religious minority communities. Compounding this, institutions including the Ministry of Religious Affairs, the Coordinating Board for Monitoring Mystical Beliefs in Society (Bakor Pakem) under the Attorney General’s Office, the Religious Harmony Forum, and the semi-official Indonesian Ulema Council have issued decrees and fatwas (religious rulings) against members of religious minorities, and frequently press for the prosecution of “blasphemers.”

Recent targets of the blasphemy law include three former leaders of the Gafatar religious community, prosecuted following the violent, forced eviction in 2016 of more than 7,000 members of the group from their farms on Kalimantan. A more prominent target was former Jakarta Governor Basuki “Ahok” Purnama, sentenced to a two-year prison term for blasphemy in a politically motivated case in May 2017. His longtime friend and ally, President Joko Widodo, simply stood by, afraid of the wrath of radical conservatives.

Violence against religious minorities and government failures to take decisive action negate guarantees of religious freedom in the Indonesian constitution and international law, including core international human rights conventions ratified by Indonesia. The International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, which Indonesia acceded to in 2005, provides that “persons belonging to…minorities shall not be denied the right, in community with the other members of their group, to enjoy their own culture, to profess and practice their own religion.”

Throughout there have been occasional and modest examples of progress. The Rotary Club began operating again in 1970 after Sukarno died. In 2000, President Abdurrahman Wahid, the eldest son of Hasjim Wahid, cancelled President Sukarno’s 1962 decree banning the Freemasons and alleged associate organisations. After more than a dozen members were detained under the law during the New Order, the Bahai community has since been able to revive their network; however, they have been denied permission to build a temple so they continue to worship in private homes.

A major reform took place in 2006 when President Yudhoyono signed the Population Administrative Law, which no longer requires kepercayaan believers to convert to official religions to be listed on ID cards. But many civil servants are still not aware of or ignore the law, so religious minorities face problems if they refuse to choose one of the six religions that these officials recognise. “They simply say you’re a godless woman if you want to keep the [religion] column blank,” said Kanti, whose ID card has a blank space after the word agama.

In Kuningan, Indonesia’s Ombudsman finally helped mediate the dispute between the Sunda Wiwitan community and the local government, prompting the local authorities to lift the seal on the site and permitting the group to continue constructing the tomb.

The Ombudsman’s Office also helped the Dayak Kaharingan, pressuring several local governments to drop decades of discrimination. Ombudsman Ahmad Suaedy said in a webinar: “The key issue is that they [local religious groups] should get public service. The religious minorities should take courage to report their difficulties.”

In 2017, four Indonesian citizens petitioned the Constitutional Court, demanding the right to have their religions listed on their ID cards. They represented four Indigenous religions including the Marapu  (Sumba ), the Sapto Darmo (Java ), and the Parmalim and the Ugamo Bangsa Batak (Sumatra). On November 7, 2017, the court ruled in their favour.

But the Ulama Council objected to the decision. The Ministry of Home Affairs, which issues and manages ID cards, has since failed to implement the court decision. The Ulama Council argued that the ruling “hurts the feeling of the Islamic ummah,” but it is not clear on what legal grounds the ministry refuses to do its duty.

Separately, the Constitutional Court rejected three petitions to revoke the blasphemy law between 2009 and 2018, declaring that religious freedom was subject to certain limitations to preserve public order (former President Abdurrahman Wahid joined the lawsuit in 2009). Those limitations, the court stated in its 2010 decision, were to be defined by “religious scholars,” thereby outsourcing the rights of minorities to unelected members of the majority religion.

There are more than 180 ethnic-religious communities spanning from Sumatra to the smaller islands in eastern Indonesia. They are estimated to encompass around 10 to 12 million people, although the 2010 census recorded only 299,617 people or 0.13 percent of Indonesians claiming to be exclusively ethnic believers. It is still hard and even dangerous to publicly declare one’s religion in Indonesia.

Indeed, it is gruelling work to battle against both government officials and the Sunni ulama. Spineless politicians, feckless government bureaucrats, and narrow-minded ulama officials hamper the development of democracy and human rights in Indonesia.

Jarwan in Curug Goong knows very well that he cannot rely on the government or anyone else to protect the tomb he stands guard over. “We have seen this mistreatment and intimidation for decades. We must guard our sacred places ourselves.

[questionsonislam]

Why do muslims go for circumcision. I have heard that it avoids sexual transmitted diseases. How? What are the other diseases avoided by this?

Khitan: The act of circumcising; surgical removal of the foreskin of males. Although it doesn’t take place in the Quran, khitan is considered to be a symbol for Muslims. Its roots reach to Hadrath Abraham and it was a custom in the Arabs before the Islam too. Arabs used to perform it for both men and women. It is told that khitan is started by Hadrath Abraham by applying on himself at the age of eighties. It is also told that the test of Hadrath Abraham with some mentioned words in the Quran (Baqara, 2/124) was with cleanness related questions. Body related of these were the issues like khitan, shaving armpit and groin hair, istinja (cleaning after toilet) with water and nail trimming. Khitan is an act of cleaning befitting to human, like these cleanings: washing and rinsing the mouth with water, pulling water to the nose and cleaning it, cutting or trimming the moustache, trimming the nails, shaving the armpit and groin hair. (Bukhari, Libas, 51, 63, 64; Muslim, Taharah, 49; Abu Dawud, Tarajjul, 16; Tirmidhi, Adab, 14) Hadrath Abraham is told to perform khitan at his eighties in the village of Kaddum (Bukhari, Anbiya, 8; Muslim, Fadail, 151; Musnad al Shamiyyin, I, 88). In a saying coming from Abu Hurayra the word “kadum” is used instead of “Kaddum”, then it becomes “he performed khitan with a carpenter’s tool, adze”. Also by some sources he is told to perform it at the age of 70 or 120. Hadrath Abraham performed khitan. The Pentateuch of Jews commanded this too. It was carried out till Jesus by Christians too, but later on they abandoned this custom with a wrong comment like khtian is throwing the screen covering the heart (Translation of Tajrid al Sarih, IX, 112). In another narrative it is said that: “Surely the one entertaining a guest for the first time, the one wearing underpants for the first time, and the one performing khitan for the first time was Hadrath Abraham” (Muwatta, Sifat un Nabi, 4).

Later on performing khitan was carried out by all the prophets and their followers. Hadrath Muhammad (pbuh) says: “There are four things that they are from the customs of the prophets. Performing khitan, using pleasant smells, using miswak (a natural toothbrush), and getting married” (Tirmidhi, Ahmad Ibn Hanbal, Musnad). It is told that some prophets were born with khitan already applied. These are some like 10-17. Imam Al-Suyuti expressed some of these with a poem. These are Adam, Sit, Nuh (Noah), Sam, Idris (Enoch), Musa (Moses), Saleh (Shaloh), Lut (Lot), Yusuf (Joseph), Shuaib (Jethro), Yunus (Jonah), Sulayman (Solomon), Yahya (John) and Isa (Jesus), peace be upon them. And the poem ends with “Hatam (The last)” indicating Hadrath Muhammad (pbuh). Also according to some saying, his grandfather had it applied khitan giving a feast on his seventh day of the born. Before Islam khitan was applied as a precaution of hygiene (Muhammad Hamidullah, The life and work of the Prophet of Islam). It is accepted as an operation of cleaning and becoming beautiful between Arabs. In this respect they use also the word “taharah (cleanness)” for khitan Hadrath Muhammad (pbuh) told to new Muslims “Shave your excessive body hair that Islam doesn’t like, and have khitan” even if they were 80 years old (Kanz al-Ummal, I, 263). As Usaym Ibn Kalib transmits from his father, his grandfather told him: “I came to Hadrath Muhammad and accepted Islam. Upon this he told me: Throw away the hairs of kufr (disbelief, denial) from your body and have khitan” (Ahmad Ibn Hanbal III, 415; Abu Dawud, Taharah, 129). Khitan relies on the rule of Sharia (Islamic principles of jurisprudence) of “giving pain to a creature may be permissible only if that pain gives a benefit to that creature and that benefit is bigger than the pain”.

The age of khitan changes from region to region, from the seventh day of the born to the age of 13. Having their children applied khitan before they reach to puberty is a duty of their fathers. Hadrath Muhammad (pbuh) had their grandchildren Hadrath Hasan and Hadrath Husain applied khitan on their seventh day of the born. It is more appropriate for a child to have khitan when he is a baby and find himself already had it when he reaches to puberty. This way he feels comfortable without any fear. In some societies khitan is applied to women too. This custom lives between some Muslims in Egypt, Arabia and Java. These societies are known to apply khitan before Islam too. When we think about the Islamic world, khitan for women seems to be in the minority as a local practice (A.J. Wensinck, Hiton, IA, VII, p. 543). Hadrath Muhammad (pbuh) says “Khitan is sunnah (from the way of the prophet) for men, and is a virtue for women” (Ahmad Ibn Hanbal, V, 75; Abu Dawud, Adab, 167; al Fath ur Rabbani, XVII, 1312). While Imam Abu Hanifa and Imam Malik think it is an absolute sunnah for both sexes, Ahmad Ibn Hanbal thinks that khitan is wajib (compulsory, although of a slightly lesser degree than fard) for men, and sunnah for women. Khattabi says that also many scholars think it is a wajib. Hadrath Muhammad (pbuh) used to lead the people to the good deeds and taught people the things distinguishing Muslims from the others. He didn’t investigate people’s deeds and applications in deep; his duty as a messenger was to declare the message and leave the judgment to Allah. But people becoming a Muslim knew that khitan was one of the principles in Islam and they used to have it applied after having ghusl (ablution of whole body). Scholars of Islam show the main reason why khitan should be necessary as: A person without khitan applied tends to break his ablution and salah easily because the foreskin covers the penis completely (urinating breaks the ablution which is a must for the salah). When some urine remains in it, it is hard to feel and clean it. A healthy cleanliness is possible only by khitan. Because of this, many people consider a person without khitan to be imam inappropriate, and forbid it. And when he performs salah by himself he is considered like a person having an excuse who couldn’t hold his urine. Along with religious reasons, khitan has many benefits for the health too. With the more developed science of medicine today, reason and the importance of the khitan is better understood. The rate of uterus diseases in the societies where the males do not have khitan is far more than in the societies who apply it. Khitan is the complementary for the religion, introduced via Hadrath Abraham by Allah. This is such a religion that it keeps our soul clean with the activities like salah, fasting, zakah (alms), hajj (pilgrimage), dhikr (practice that focuses on the remembrance of Allah), and tafakkur (to observe and reflect on God’s creation; act of meditation and contemplation on Allah’s creation); and it keeps our flesh clean with the activities like ghusl (ablution of whole body), cutting or trimming the moustache, trimming the nails, shaving the armpit and groin hair, istinja (cleaning after toilet), and khitan. Our Creator -Allah- says: “Then We revealed to you: Follow the faith of Ibrahim, the upright one, and he was not of the polytheists.” (An Nahl/The Bee, 123). “(Our religion) takes its hue from Allah. And who can give a better hue than Allah. And it is He Whom we worship.” (Al Baqara/The Cow, 138).

[keichanz]

Move Your Body || pt. 2

Part 1 || Part 2

“When’s your next class with Sango?” Inuyasha asked her around 4 am and tipped back a water bottle to drain the rest of its contents.

Lowering her own drink that Inuyasha had provided for them sometime around two in the morning, Kagome sighed and tilted her head as she thought.

“Um, Wednesday,” she supplied. “I know she does them every day, but I can only come in every other because of classes.”

He nodded. “After your sessions with Sango you’ll come up here and we can begin our own. A month isn’t that long to come up with an entire routine, so plan to stay all day. I’ll provide food and shit and we can take breaks.”

Kagome wrinkled her nose but nodded without complaint. He was right; they didn’t have a lot of time, and with her having classes and his own job demanding his time, they couldn’t get together every day.

Inuyasha grunted, carelessly tossed his empty water bottle onto the table and released a hearty belch, ignoring Kagome’s look of disgust as he snatched up her phone and brought up her messaging app.

“I’m sending myself a text so you’ll have my number,” he told her, typing out a quick “hi” and sending it before handing it over. “Feel free to text me about any ideas you might have, or questions you wanna ask. Don’t matter when, if I’m busy or in a meeting I’ll reply when I’m done. I’ll do the same if I think of something and we can brainstorm.”

Kagome took back her phone with a nod and walked over to stash it in her bag. She spotted the remnants of her destroyed t-shirt and suddenly remembered her state of dress and blanched. Oh crap, what was she going to wear when she left?! She couldn’t walk home in nothing but shorts and a sports bra!

Inuyasha followed her gaze, watched her eyes go wide and the color drain from her face and rolled his eyes, walking over to his own discarded shirt on the floor and tossing it at her.

“Here,” he said as she automatically caught it. “Just bring it with you Wednesday and if you forget, it’s not a big deal. It’s just a shirt.” He shrugged and raised his arms above him in a stretch, releasing a yawn. Fuck, he needed to get to bed soon since he had a meeting in like...five hours. Shit.

Sending him a grateful smile but not without a blush, Kagome pulled his shirt over her head, immediately feeling better now that she had some cover. True, she’d been in nothing but shorts and her bra for the past few hours and she was more or less used to it now, but part of her still felt the need to hide herself. But they were working on that, and she couldn’t begin to express her gratitude for his help.

Picking up her bag and shrugging the strap over her shoulder, Kagome leveled him with one last genuine smile.

“Thank you,” she said softly, sincerely as her eyes collided with deep amber, “for everything. It means a lot that you’re taking the time to do this and...well.” She laughed softly and lifted a shoulder in half-shrug. “I appreciate it.”

Inuyasha studied her for a moment, golden eyes speculative, before he quirked a grin at her. “It’s my pleasure, babydoll,” he told her, being completely honest. “I’ll see you Wednesday. You okay to walk by yourself?” He didn’t like the thought of her walking alone at nearly 4:30 in the morning, but he really did need to get some sleep. However, if she asked him to accompany her he wouldn’t say no.

“I’ll be fine,” she assured with a smile, touched that he truly seemed to care. “It’s not far, just a ten minute walk. See you Wednesday.” She turned and headed toward the doorway, giving a yawn. Damn, she hadn’t realized how tired she was. She was very glad her first class wasn’t until noon.

“I’ll text you,” Inuyasha murmured as he watched her go and after she disappeared into the elevator, giving one last wave and smile before the doors slid shut, he sighed, shut off the lights, locked up, and headed upstairs to get some much needed shut eye.

Inuyasha fell heavily into his office chair with a groan and immediately started yanking off the tie that had been gradually suffocating him since nine that morning. It was now a little after noon and he’d just returned from the meeting that had run much longer than originally planned. It was the quarterly meeting, where Sesshomaru and his advisors went over profit and a bunch of other technical jargon that he didn’t particularly care for, and he had been bored out of his goddamn mind for the majority of it. Sesshomaru had kept sending him warning glares whenever he couldn’t hold back a yawn but he couldn’t help it; while he didn’t need as much sleep as the regular human, it had still been a while since he’d stayed up that late and he was paying for it now.

Finally loosening his tie with a grunt, he let it hang around his neck and leaned back in his plush chair, tossing an arm over his eyes and debating on the merits of a brief nap. But then he remembered he had an appointment at one with some spoiled brat that fancied herself a dancer because her rich daddy had called the day before and practically begged him to see her. Inuyasha had only said yes just to get the guy to shut up; he had no intention of taking on another client. Not right now, anyway. Between his actual jobs and the side project he had going on with Kagome, he didn’t have nearly enough time to dedicate to the private lessons that had been requested.

At the thought of his blue-eyed, dark-haired “student,” a grin lifted the comers of his lips and miraculously the pounding in his head lessened a degree. He’d only spent a few short hours with her, but already Inuyasha was eager for tomorrow to come so he could see her again. He liked her spunk, admired her determination and the flash of temper that always sparked in her eyes whenever he criticized her form or made her do a certain move again, but better and faster.

Though clearly not a fan of his methods of instruction, Kagome never complained and did as she was as told, preforming a move again and again and again until he was satisfied. She was a hard worker, he was quick to realize, and a fast learner which blessedly made their time together much easier. He was really looking forward to the day where she could put everything he taught her together and put on a little show for him, but until then he was content in slowly getting to know her in increments.

He’d learned little snippets about her life last night during times when idle chatter had been had, things like she’d been friends with Sango since middle school, she had a younger brother, and being a nurse had been a goal since she was a little girl. She liked helping people, she was a terrible cook, and she was deathly afraid of spiders.

Inuyasha had also learned she’d only ever had one boyfriend, some shmuck named Houjo she’d dated in high school, and they’d broken up when he left for the States for college. She was a virgin – he’d gleaned that obvious information by himself – she was completely inexperienced when it came to intimacy, and she really, truly thought that she wasn’t the least bit attractive.

Inuyasha frowned. He wasn’t stupid; he knew a single night and him simply telling her it was false wasn’t enough to convince her otherwise. He didn’t understand how such a knockout like Kagome could possibly have self-esteem issues, but everybody had his or her reasons, he supposed.  

Something might have happened in her past to make her think that, or maybe even something had happened just recently, but whatever the case Inuyasha was making it a personal goal to make her see herself through his eyes. She was a beautiful young woman worthy of praise and confidence, and he meant what he’d said; if he had to say it every day, shower her with compliments until she blushed and stuttered like a schoolgirl, he would.

Heaving a sigh, Inuyasha lowered his arm and cracked his neck, glancing at the clock and thinking he should probably get up and get something to eat when his office door opened without warning. His top instructor walked in like she owned the damn place, donned in her usual work attire of tank top and capri leggings with her dark hair secured in a high pony-tail.

Sango hip checked the door closed and strode over to his desk, calm as you please. Then Inuyasha noticed what she had in her hands and instantly he was alert, ears perking up and back straightening in his chair as he leaned forward.

“Fuck, I love you,” Inuyasha muttered as she set down a hot coffee from Starbucks and a McDonald’s bag on his desk. Knowing from experience not to immediately chug down the steaming brew, Inuyasha went for the food first, fishing out a Big Mac and barely getting the wrapper off all the way before chomping down with a groan of pleasure.

“I know,” Sango answered as she sat on his desk as opposed to one of the two chairs in front of it and sipped her caramel frappe. “Figured you’d be hungry since you never eat breakfast and your meeting ran late.”

Inuyasha grunted, polished off the burger with another three bites, and then started on the fries next.

“And also,” Sango continued a little too casually and idly played with the straw of her drink, “after I apologized about forgetting to unlock the door last night, a little birdie told me today that you didn’t get to bed until very late, hence the java.”

Then she paused and cut her eyes to his and Inuyasha froze.

Goddammit. He really should have known she’d tell her. Didn’t she say they’d been friends since middle school?

Heaving a sigh and rolling his eyes, Inuyasha shoved a few more fries into his mouth and then took a careful sip of his coffee. He let his silence be his answer and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes as he savored the Americano with one sugar. He tasted a hint of mocha too and he grunted in approval.

Sango’s lips twitched. “Are you seriously going to help her come up with an entire dance routine?”

He glared at her over the rim of his venti.

Unfazed, the dance instructor shrugged and turned her gaze to her drink, taking another pull on the straw. “I was just curious,” she said innocently, trying not to smile.

Her boss’s scoff told her exactly what he thought about her curiosity and that time she couldn’t hold back the grin that spread across her face.

“What’d she do to get you to help? Bat those big blue eyes at you and smile?”

Inuyasha stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable, and then kicked up his feet onto his desk and leaned back in his chair as he nursed his coffee.

“I offered,” he told her.

Sango’s smile dropped. “What?”

He raised a brow and took another sip of his espresso.

Sango blinked at him and then her eyes widened. Holy crap, he was serious.

“Holy crap, you’re serious,” she said, incredulous.

Inuyasha looked a little offended at that and scowled at her. “Why the fuck wouldn’t I be? Despite what you and the pervert think, I ain’t heartless, Sango. The girl clearly needs help, and as it just so happens I have the qualifications that fit her needs perfectly. She’s just another client and just because she’s your friend doesn’t make her any goddamn different than anybody else.”

Sango’s stare hardened and she squared her shoulders. He may be her boss, but he was also her friend, and she wasn’t about to take any of his shit.

“I know for a fact that Kagome’s not paying you so don’t tell me she’s not any different,” she spat, her protective instincts kicking in as they always did whenever her dear friend’s delicate nature was compromised. “She thinks you’re helping her free of charge out of the goodness of your heart, and I swear to god, Inuyasha, if she’s another one of your charity cases to get more publicity or you want you want your payment to come from other means—”

“Shut the fuckup, Sango,” Inuyasha growled and shot forward in his chair so fast Sango flinched back. Golden eyes flashing fire and fangs exposed in a dark scowl, the half-demon seethed, “Kagome’s not a goddamn charity case and you know I would never take advantage of her innocence like that, or anybody else for that matter, so fuck you for even saying that.”

Alarmed by the heated vehemence in his voice, Sango snapped her jaw shut and simply stared at him with wide magenta eyes, at a complete loss for words. She’d never seen him react like this before about any woman and it was completely unexpected, if a little disconcerting. She supposed he head every right, though; she always lost her head a little whenever it came to Kagome’s safety and she admitted she shouldn’t have accused him of such a horrible thing, because he would never do that.

“Not that it’s any of your business, because it’s not, helping Kagome is actually helping me,” he continued, still glaring, though his voice had lost its growl. “Sesshomaru’s been on my ass about new material and this is the perfect opportunity to get it. Kagome gets her dance, shoves her victory in that bitch Kamlyn’s face, and I have new material to give to that tightwad. Everybody wins.”

That said, Inuyasha sat back in his chair once more, lifted his coffee to his mouth, and looked to the side, his eyebrows down low over his eyes. He glowered at some random point on the wall, still pissed that his friend would even insinuate he would ever take advantage of a woman like that.

A tense silence developed between them after that and Sango stared pensively into her drink while Inuyasha nursed his coffee and fished his phone from his pocket. He’d gotten a text earlier during the meeting but hadn’t had the chance to check it yet...

Sango sighed, drawing his attention, and he flicked his gaze over to her, expression carefully blank.

“Look, I’m sorry,” she began, looking and sounding guilty enough that his anger softened a little and he gave her his full attention. Sango glanced at him and grimaced. “You’re right, I know you would never do that. It was stupid.”

He snorted but her glare quickly shut him up.

“It’s just...” Sango sighed again and pushed her fingers through her bangs, brow furrowing as she gathered her thoughts. “You have to understand, Inuyasha, Kagome is...fragile. I was honestly surprised when she told me she signed up for this competition because she...well, she...”

“She has no confidence,” Inuyasha supplied for her and at her look of surprise he sighed and nodded. “I already know she has low self-esteem and thinks its necessary to hide behind baggy clothes. It’s another reason why I chose to do this, Sango. I wanna help her. Really. Kagome is fucking beautiful and I want her to see that.”

He stared directly into her eyes and the sincerity was unmistakable in the honeyed depths. Inuyasha was being totally and completely honest and if Sango were being honest herself, she was floored at the hanyou’s dedication to this cause. It was one she approved of, definitely, but in all of her years as his closest friend, she’d never witnessed him going this far for any woman before.

And with a start, she realized that he was exactly what her shy, self-conscious friend needed. Inuyasha’s unique brand of arrogance, dedication and tenacity would no doubt draw Kagome out of her shell and slowly transform her into the confident, brave woman Sango knew she could be.

Sango would just consider it a bonus that Kagome was also just what the doctor ordered for the oftentimes hotheaded hanyou, even if he didn’t realize it yet.

Finally offering her friend a genuine smile, Sango nodded once. “Keep me posted?” she asked. “And if there’s anything I can do to help, I’ll do my best.”

Releasing a breath, Inuyasha nodded in return and thrust a hand through his hair, glancing at the clock. 12:28. He still had a bit of time left before Daddy’s Little Princess showed up, so in the mean time he had one last question for his friend.

“Hey, Sango,” he began, idly tracing the cap of his coffee with a claw as the instructor glanced over at him inquisitively. “...Why is Kagome like that? Did something happen?”

Sango sighed and took another drink of her frappe, brows dipped down into a slight frown. She’d had a feeling he’d ask, and while she supposed he had a right to know since he was going to help with Kagome’s self-image, it didn’t make it any easier to reveal. Perhaps Kagome herself should be the one telling him this, but Sango also knew it wouldn’t be right for him to ask, and her friend wouldn’t reveal that information to him without cause anyway.

“It goes without saying,” she began slowly, “but please keep this to yourself. Kagome hasn’t always looked the way she does, Inuyasha. When she was in elementary school, before I met her, she was chubby and mercilessly picked on because of it. She told me she didn’t have a lot of friends because of how she looked, and it only got worse when she entered middle school. She gained a little more weight, and the bullying got worse, to the point she would refuse to go to school the next day.

“The day I met her she was surrounded by high school boys and they were calling her names, bullying her about her weight, and laughing because she was crying. I managed to chase them away by screaming for the nearest teacher and threatening to kick them in the balls if they didn’t leave her alone and ever since then Kagome has been my best friend. I became her protector against the bullies and it wasn’t until Kagome’s appearance started to hinder her health that she decided to do something about it.

“She started exercising daily, with me being her constant support of course, eating healthier, and taking care of her body. By high school she looked like a completely different person, a lot like she does now, and that’s when she got her first boyfriend.”

Inuyasha frowned. “Houjo.”

Sango blinked in surprise. “She told you about him?”

He shrugged. “In passing. She didn’t give any details and I didn’t ask.”

“Anyway,” she continued and took a sip of her drink to wet her throat. “Dating Houjo helped a lot with Kagome’s self-esteem, but even he couldn’t erase the scars from years of bullying. And even though they parted on friendly terms because it was a mutual breakup, Kagome regressed back to her previous way of thinking and now it’s just a subconscious habit to dress in baggy clothes and deny any compliment that’s given to her, an instinctive way of protecting herself, I imagine. I’m always telling her she looks great, but she just blushes, shrugs, and changes the subject.”

Sango sighed and chewed on the end of her straw with a thoughtful frown. “She’s still eating healthy and exercising when she can, but you have to understand, Inuyasha, after years of being called degrading names, bullied because of how she looked, and believing she was ugly or didn’t deserve affection, I’d imagine it’d be quite difficult to accept any sort of praise, even if it’s true. She’s been cruelly conditioned to think like that, and without Houjo there as a constant reminder that she’s worthy and beautiful...”

She paused and stole a look at her unusually quiet half-demon boss and friend. Inuyasha was staring down at his desk, claws tapping against the thick paper of his coffee cup as he drummed his fingers. It was hard to determine what exactly the prevalent emotion on his face was, however judging by the dark frown that gradually lowered his brows over his eyes and the way his lip curled over sharp fangs, Sango wagered that anger had reigned supreme.

Relatable. Sango often felt the same whenever she thought about how rough her best friend had had it and the desire to go back in time and kick some ass was always present.

But then it vanished as quickly as it had arrived and Inuyasha shook his head, closing his eyes as he thrust a hand through his hair. It was obvious he was still perturbed at this new information however, because though less prominent, the frown on his face hadn’t diminished and he sat back in his chair. The rough grunt he emitted as he lifted his coffee to his lips articulated exactly what he thought about that and Sango nodded.

“Same,” she agreed.

Translation: I don’t fucking like this.

Then he sighed, nodded, and cut his eyes to hers with the steely determination that Sango recognized and her expression softened into a smile as she easily decoded what that meant.

But I’m gonna do my damnedest to fix it.

“Good,” Sango whispered and by mutual agreement, the two lapsed into silence as Inuyasha finished off his coffee and dumped the evidence of his lunch into the trash while Sango noisily and obnoxiously slurped up the remnants of her frappe.

Inuyasha’s ears pinned and he pegged her with an annoyed glare. She returned it with an innocent smile and while keeping eye contact, drew on the straw one last time, resulting in another grating slurping sound. He scowled at her.

Visibly pleased and resisting the urge to cackle, Sango sucked up the last of the tasty caramel before finally tossing it into the trash. Inuyasha rolled his eyes and dug around in his desk for his cigs and lighter, lamenting on the fact that his friends and instructors were children in adult bodies.

“By the way,” Sango said as she prepared to leave, “you’re one o’clock is here.”

Inuyasha paused and aimed a frown at her. “How the hell do you know?”

She smiled sweetly. “I saw her waiting in the lobby when I got back from getting your lunch. She was quite rude and demanded that I ‘fetch Mr. Taisho tout de suite, he’s expecting me and I mustn’t keep him waiting.’ So I gave her my murder-smile and said, ‘Right away, miss,’ then came up here and had a half-hour conversation with you.”

Her boss stared at her blankly for a moment and then a delighted grin spread across his face. “You are a fucking queen.”

“And don’t you forget it,” Sango quipped with a wink and headed for the door.

Inuyasha snorted and looked at the clock. From what Sango told him, Miss Daddy’s Princess must have gotten here shortly after he did, nearly a fucking hour early. What the actual fuck.

Growling in annoyance but figuring he might as well get it over with, he grunted and said, “Send her up.”

“I’m not your secretary,” Sango snorted as she reached the door and swung it open.

“I’m sorry, who signs your paychecks?”

“Asshat.”

“Bitch.”

“That’s Queen Bitch, thankyouverymuch.” Sango flipped him off and Inuyasha returned the gesture, straight-faced.

Rolling her eyes and grumbling, his friend finally left his office, but Inuyasha didn’t fail to miss the smile that crept onto her face right before the door closed behind her.

Chuckling, Inuyasha shook his head and wondered not for the first time how such a sorry son of a bitch like him lucked out with such amazing friends before once more rifling through his desk for his nicotine sticks. He ended up finding them on his desk under a pile of paperwork along with his lighter and he wasted no time in lighting up.

The sound of the elevator chiming outside his office was his only warning and he just barely managed to shove his hat down onto his head before his door was unceremoniously thrust open and his one o’clock appointment sauntered in without a care in the word. Inuyasha cocked a brow at her audacity at not bothering to knock before barging in but said nothing, leaning back in his chair and peering at the woman that strolled confidently toward him from under the bill of his hat.

Crossing his arms, the cherry of his cig flared orange as he inhaled and Inuyasha watched Miss Daddy’s Princess give him her best beauty pageant smile that he bet she practiced doing in front of a mirror and claimed one of the plush chairs before his desk. He first thing he noticed was that her tits were so full of silicone they could be considered paperweights and when she not so subtly thrust out her chest, they threatened to spill from her very low cut blouse. Christ, the buttons looked about ready to burst open and Inuyasha nearly choked on smoke as he disguised a laugh.

“Mr. Taisho,” she purred, crossing her legs at the knee and causing her short skirt to ride up either further. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. I was here nearly half an hour ago, but that bi—uh, that lady made me wait.” She huffed and pretended to pout.

Inuyasha didn’t deign that with a comment and took in the rest of her, releasing a stream of smoke in a smooth exhale. Tanning salon worthy dark skin, long brown hair with so much product in it stung his nose, and the greenest eyes he had ever seen.

Contacts, he surmised and flicked the ashes off his cig into an ashtray. She was pretty, he’d give her that, but in an artificial way and he was willing to bet her personality was just as fake as those rock hard bags on her chest. She knew how to manipulate a situation and what to say to get what she wanted, but that was okay. Inuyasha had dealt with countless women like her before so he was prepared for whatever she threw at him.

“Miss...Soma, was it?” Inuyasha drawled and stuck his fag between his lips again.

She smiled again, perfect white teeth flashing. Of course.

“Call me Kamlyn, Mr. Taisho.”

Inuyasha choked on his next inhale and surged forward, blindly reaching for the half-full bottle of water sitting on his desk.

He lied. He certainly hadn’t been prepared for that.

Kamlyn Soma, the bitch that had apparently been tormenting Kagome for the past three years, blinked and frowned at him.

“Are you...okay?” she asked and actually sounded genuinely concerned.

Chugging back the contents of the bottle, Inuyasha held up a finger in the universal “one moment” signal and after successfully soothing the irritant in his throat, he lowered the water and released a loud breath.

“M’fine,” he finally answered and looked around for his cig, scowling when he found it on the floor by his feet. Grumbling he stooped down to pick it up before settling back in his chair, inspecting it carefully.

Eh, whatever; he gave a mental shrug and placed it between his lips again. He didn’t want to waste a perfectly good cig he’d just started and besides, his office was vacuumed daily and shampooed monthly from the same company he hired to clean the studios.

Remembering he had an audience, Inuyasha turned his attention back to the woman before him. She was still eyeing him a little strangely but wiped the expression from her face when his eyes connected with hers, straightening her back and offering him another practiced smile.

“What can I do for you, Miss Soma?”

“Kamlyn.”

He stared at her and wordlessly opened his mouth to let a few tendrils of smoke drift lazily upward.

Undeterred, Miss Kamlyn Soma, aka Kagome’s Tormenter, cleared her throat and launched into an entire spiel that Inuyasha was positive she practiced for hours beforehand, complete with the sultry lilt to her voice.

“So, Mr. Taisho, I have a...proposition for you.” Her smile turned rather suggestive and she leaned forward in her seat, deliberately showing a generous amount of cleavage. “You see, my school is having a dance competition...”

Eighteen minutes later, lazily puffing away on his second cigarette without a damn care in the world, Inuyasha watched in unabashed amusement as Kamlyn Soma stormed out of his office, face beat red and body stiff with anger. Aside from an ear flicking beneath his hat when she slammed his door as hard as she could, he didn’t react and merely tapped more ashes into the ashtray, calm as you please.

Her less than stellar behavior had been entirely expected. When her methods of seduction had failed to garner what she wanted – i.e., assistance in planning a show-stopping routine – she’d thrown a tantrum and resorted to threatening him with her daddy’s money and power. Inuyasha had been unimpressed – Ryukotsusei Soma couldn’t do shit to him – and once more turned her down with the true reasoning of he was too busy.

He’d been professional and polite, keeping his tone respectful even when her calm composure had begun to deteriorate and she’d tried one last tactic, desperation causing her to lose all pretenses of seduction and outright promising him that she’d give him the ride of his life if only he would agree to help. She’d pay him generously of course, implying that money would not be the only means, but when still he’d replied in the negative, even looking bored while he said it, that was when she’d dropped her façade and her viper attitude had shown its fangs.

Inuyasha had merely watched, face blank, as she’d ranted and raved at him for a good five minutes, threatening that she would destroy his reputation and pretty much throwing a little spoiled princess hissy fit before huffily stomping away and childishly slamming the door in her wake.

Fuck, but Ryukotsusei must have the patience of a goddamn saint to put up with that every day.

Snorting, Inuyasha carelessly tossed his hat onto his desk, freeing his ears, and reached into his pocket to retrieve his phone. Waking up the screen, he was a little disappointed to see the text he’d received earlier wasn’t from Kagome, but then again, it wasn’t that surprising. Considering how insecure and shy she was, it was a given she wouldn’t text him first, probably thinking she’d be bothering him or something and not wanting to be a nuisance. He hoped soon she’d be comfortable enough to text him whenever she wanted, but for now he was content to initiate their conversations.

Ignoring the message from Kikyou telling him to call her later, Inuyasha brought the text he’d sent from Kagome’s phone last night and swiftly typed in a new message.

you’ll never guess who I just had the pleasure of meeting with and then stormed outta my office looking pissed enough to commit murder

He hit send, paused, and then sent a second one. mine, specifically

Expecting it might be a while before she replied since he had no idea what her class schedule entailed, Inuyasha flipped up his laptop and decided it’d be a good idea to actually get some work done. He needed to check his emails, reply back to some if necessary, call and check in with a few of his clients, call Kikyou, draw up some contracts, review and sign a few contracts, file said contracts, go over payroll and yell at Miroku for his frequent habit of coming in late, and then go over some reports that were past due.

Fuck my life, he groused, grumbling as he brought up his email, crushing the stub of his cigarette in the ashtray and lighting up a fresh one. He stared longingly at his office’s custom bar he’d added in some years back but thought better of it. Sango would kill him if she caught him drinking in the middle of the day, no matter how justifiable it was after putting up with someone like Kamlyn Soma for nearly twenty minutes, and he was pretty sure he’d finished his JD last week anyway.

Shame.

He wasn’t even half-way through reading his second email when his phone buzzed beside his computer. Surprised, but delighted, Inuyasha abandoned the email to swipe up the device and lean back in his chair to read his newest text.

????

He snorted even as the corners of his lips quirked up into a slight grin.

A one kamlyn soma maybe you’ve heard of her

Her reply was instant that time.

GET. OUT!!!!!!!!!

Inuyasha laughed.

srsly. tried seducing her way into getting me to help w her dance was hilarious

Taking a drag, Inuyasha exhaled through the side of his mouth and idly tapped this thumb against the screen as he waited for her to reply. The three dots appeared, vanished, appeared, and then disappeared again and he frowned when it stayed that way. He narrowed his eyes, and then to keep himself from asking what the hell she was doing, he closed the app and after thinking about it for a split second, brought up Facebook.

He brought up his friends, found Sango, and browsed her friends until—ah. There she was.

Grinning victoriously and with a single tap, he brought up Kagome Higurashi’s profile and took his time going through her timeline, chuckling at some of the memes and pictures she’d shared that gave him a glimpse into her sense of humor. Then he came across a selfie of her and Sango, looking positively radiant as they laughed together, and his expression softened.

Truly, how could she ever think that she wasn’t pretty with something like this as proof?

He’d just decided to browse her albums to see what other gems he could find when finally his mobile vibrated with an incoming message. And instead of the lengthy reply he’d been expecting because she was taking so long, the notification that dropped down had his brows snapping low over his eyes in an annoyed frown.

You agreed??

Ears pinning flat against his head and growling low, Inuyasha gripped his phone with both hands and hastily typed out his response, pissed the hell off that she actually had to fucking ask that in the first place.

what the fuck kagome NO I didn’t agree u don’t fucking think I would actual

Inuyasha stopped mid-word. Blinked down at his phone and reread what he’d typed. Then he sighed, briefly closed his eyes, and promptly deleted everything he’d written before starting again.

no babydoll. I didn’t my time is yours

He hit send and dragged a hand down his face as his previous anger quickly fled. Kagome was insecure and Kamlyn was her hot, although still fake as fuck, enemy; it wasn’t farfetched that she’d assume he would agree. He was a businessman, and what businessman didn’t want…well, more business? He’d have to keep reminding himself that Kagome was just acting on instinct, doing what her brain had been unconsciously hardwired to do, and he’d definitely have to start exercising more restraint.

It was like Sango said; Kagome as fragile, or at least her state of mind was, and Inuyasha knew if he directed one of his infamous blowups at her, it would cause more damage than he could repair. And he’d never be able to forgive himself.

Blessedly her reply came much quicker this time around and glancing down at the mobile cradled in his lax grip, he released a breath and was suddenly infinitely glad he’d decided to change his last message.

:)

Grinning, Inuyasha sent the dog emoji back, practically able to hear the giggle he knew it would elicit, and then grudgingly put down his cell to actually get some work done. In a significantly lighter mood than before, he went back to his email, unaware of the smile that lingered on his face as he scanned the page.

Part 3

Buy me a coffee? :)

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Passing Through

Part One: Looks Like Snow 

A/N: Well. Here I am attempting to write for Ryan Brenner. This started out as a cute little one shot for @banditthewriter ‘s trope challenge, with the prompt of “spilling coffee on a stranger” and then one thing let to another and a whole plot line the length of my arm unfurled and here we are. So. Without further ado, I invite you along on this mile high musical adventure. 

Word Count: 3,862

Warnings: none. it’s fluff. all fluff and nothin but the fluff so help me fluff. 

You’d been awake already when the first few rays of sunlight filtered through the vertical shades, reaching for you like fingers to tangle in your hair. With a sigh and a stretch you tossed the sheets aside and sat up, pinching the bridge of your nose. You’d pulled a double shift down at Jake’s yesterday, trading with Missy so you’d have off today, and you hadn’t gotten in until after 2am. As tired as you were, you knew you wouldn’t be sleeping, not through the night anyway. Too many memories running on a loop, too many songs playing in your head. It’s how it always was on this day. It’s how you knew it always would be. Absently, you ran the overstretched, frayed collar of the old tie dye tee you wore between your thumb and fingers, the soft, threadbare fabric bringing you comfort like it always did.

She’d been something of a hippie, your mom, and while you were growing up you didn’t understand why she couldn’t just make cupcakes for school bake sales or volunteer as your Girl Scout leader, why a carpool had to include sing-a-longs to songs your friends didn’t know, or why she’d show up to parent teacher meetings in ripped denim and layers of long necklaces, hair down and free and wild. But as you’d gotten older, into your college years, you started to understand her better. You appreciated her free spirit, and her encouragement of your own. Yeah sure, from time to time you’d open the fridge and there’d be nothing but a head of lettuce or some obscure ingredients she’d meant to use in a recipe she’d  gotten from her friend who’d just returned from India. Sometimes you’d come home to find her cross legged out on the back porch with a ukulele or guitar, strumming while rusty brown oak leaves fluttered down to stick in her hair, not realizing how chilly it’d gotten until you were draping a crocheted blanket around her shoulders. You’d sit on the edge of the lawn chair, thumping your thigh along with the last bars of whatever tune she was playing, and if you knew the words you’d join in, her teeth flashing in a wide smile as she sang. She was unconventional, creative and carefree. Sometimes that made things difficult, but she’d taught you far more than she’d held you back in any way, taught you far more important lessons than how to make lasagna or what setting on the dryer wouldn’t shrink your sweaters. She’d taught you how to laugh things off and when to say “fuck it”. You missed her every single day. But today you ached a little more. You raked a hand through your long unruly hair- her hair, on your head- and stood from the bed.

By 8:30am you were dressed and had slogged down a cup of coffee. It was late February, but the winter weather in Colorado was as wild and unpredictable as the landscape or the sky. “Yeah, we have all four seasons- sometimes in one day.” You’d heard some form of that phrase since you’d moved out this way. The weather, 300 days of sunshine,  had been a draw for Kevin, and part of the reason he’d chosen the destination. But he was gone and you were here and even though the sun was warm, the air was brisk, and despite the lack of clouds in the cerulean sky, you knew there was always a strong likelihood of snow. You shoved your feet into ankle high brown leather boots before lacing them up over your jeans, grabbed a chartreuse knit hat and stuffed your curls beneath it, and slung your cross-body bag over your your shoulder.

The day was yours, to spend with your thoughts and your memories, and you weren’t going to stay caged inside these empty walls. You cast your eyes over your living room; carpet slightly faded in the spot where the sofa had lived for the last four years, black wrought iron fireplace tools standing at attention next to a hearth that hadn’t been lit in ages, the hook for your keys the only thing that remained hung. You grabbed them, the little pewter elephant charm slipping between your fingers, cold from the draft that came through the front door. This hasn’t been home for a while, you thought, if it ever was at all. Strangely, the thought didn’t bother you. What bothered you was that you didn’t know where home was anymore. Pushing that thought to the back of your mind to unpack another day, you sniffed and adjusted your hat with one fingerless-gloved hand, and headed out.

You took the trail behind your apartment that ran along the South Platte River, a mile or so to the light-rail station in town. You were only one town over from the Denver city-limits, but Littleton felt as small and secluded as any tiny mountain village, and it was one of the things that you both loved and hated about where you were staying- it was too easy to get stuck here. The trail gave way to the town’s main street and you passed Jake’s Brew Bar where Missy would be opening up for you in a few hours, and inTea, the boutique tea shop, and Penzy’s the bulk spice marketplace. Nothing was open yet, storefronts all darkened and sleepy. You walked toward the rail station, the rising sun behind you throwing light at the mountains, shining in their purple majesty. It was a beautiful morning to honor the beautiful memory of your mother, and you would do so by partaking in one of her favorite hobbies- making free music for strangers and expressing your soul in the process. You boarded the light rail and rode it the 5 or so stops to the Denver Convention Center, passing beneath the giant blue bear statue, and turned toward Blake Street, heading for the 16th Street Mall and that painted piano that awaited you- after stopping in at Caribou for an obligatory second cup of java.

You got in line behind two men, one in a sleek charcoal gray suit with a thick, black wool pea coat, cell phone clutched tightly in high- end gloves,  the other carrying a guitar on his back and wearing dark, broken in denim pants and a light brown canvas coat that looked like it had seen more winters than the man who wore it. You smiled as the more casual of the two ordered his drink- a small, black coffee to go. His voice was warm, like cinnamon, and it played into the melody of his surroundings; the hiss of the espresso machine, porcelain mugs clinking together as a twenty-something with headphones on emptied the dishwasher, the bell above the door as another couple of patrons came chattering in from the bright morning. You heard the man’s charming twang as he thanked the barista with a tip of his hat and the jingling sound of a few coins dropping into the jar on the counter. He stepped over to the side of the shop where there was a station set up for milks, sweeteners and other toppings and add-ins, and you heard him humming to himself as he tore open a sugar packet and shook its contents into his coffee.

The suit was barking his order to the girl behind the counter, making sure that she knew that the last time he came to Caribou Coffeehouse, his order was wrong and that if it happened again he wouldn’t be back and he’d make a formal complaint on the corporate website because how hard can it be to follow an order and make a drink? You rolled your eyes and scoffed to yourself. As a bartender, you knew the type. Six figure salary, needs to wear at least four of those figures at all times so that everyone knows where they stand around them, and equates everyone around them to their job title because that’s how they feel about themselves. The contrast between this boardroom bozo and the kind natured music man stirring sugar into his coffee could not have been more stark. You couldn’t be sure, but you thought you caught a smirk from under the hat and behind the patchy beard of the canvas clad stranger as you showed your distaste for the rudeness the suit was showing the barista.

You were up next, the bozo back on the phone as he waited next to you for his complicated order to be filled. You ordered a simple medium coffee with room for milk, and gave the girl a wink of solidarity as you tucked a couple singles into her tip cup. She smiled appreciatively at you and punched your frequent buyers card three extra times so that your next one would be free. You told her to have a nice day, and turned towards the milk station, removing the lid from your cup. But the suit had just been handed his beverage, and he stepped in front of you cutting you off. You tried to catch yourself but you were already in motion, and you collided with the man, spilling most of your coffee on the back of his coat. You gasped and jumped back, trying to keep more of the dark brown liquid from escaping your cup, but it was too late; the damage had been done, and the man stiffened his shoulders before turning around with a scowl. “Are you kidding me?” He spat the words at you, his face going red with anger.

You immediately grabbed a fist full of napkins from the dispenser and thrust them in the direction of the man’s wildly gesturing hands. “I am so sorry, sir,” you said sincerely. He may be a rude asshole but you honestly didn’t mean to throw your coffee at him.

“You can’t watch where you’re going?” he ignored your apology, ignored your offering of white paper napkins, and continued to sneer down at you.

The barista glanced nervously over from where she was helping the two customers who had come in behind you, clearly observing that the encounter was escalating past her paygrade. You waved her off indicating that you were okay and her relieved sigh could be heard over the drip of the new pot she was brewing. “Sir, really, I am sorry. Trust me, I’m just as upset as you are,” you tried to joke with him like you might with a customer at Jake’s. “I needed that coffee a lot more than your coat did.”

“Do you even know what this coat costs?” he asked coldly, removing the jacket to inspect the spill. “More than you make in a month I’d wager.”

“Look, it’s a nice coat. I spilled coffee on it. I’m really sorry. If you’ll let me I’ll pay for the dry cleaning. Here, let me give you my number and-” you were really trying your hardest not to curse the man out, calling on your mom’s ability to kill with kindness. You’d never mastered it like she had, though, and it was taking everything in you.

He scoffed. “Even that would probably be more than you could afford,” he looked you up and down: yesterday’s jeans, mud caked boots, two cable knit sweaters layered over one another and a handmade, multicolored scarf wrapped three times around your neck that matched neither your hat nor your gloves. He wasn’t interested in an apology or an offer to amend things. He only wanted to remind you of how much higher than you he had climbed. You let out a frustrated huff and were about to try one more time, when another pair of mud caked boots appeared in your line of sight.  

“S’cuse me sir, but the lady said she was sorry,” he took a step closer to the suit, closing the lid on his cup. He brought his thumb to his lips to suck a drop of coffee from it and shrugged. “Accidents happen, y’know?” You watched his hand fall back to his side, noticing the inked lines of small tattoos on the digits between knuckles. You gave him a grateful half smile for stepping in, as the two patrons behind you took the long way around the three of you to get to the milk station.

The suit turned to the other man and directed his venom at him. “Mind your business,” he barked.

The other man’s warm spiced eyes narrowed and darkened just a touch, and your breath caught as you watched his tongue dart out of his mouth and back between his lips before he responded. “Pardon me sir, but I’m makin’ this my business. Now, she apologized, so either let her pay for your cleanin’ or move along so these nice people can get their coffee.” He wasn’t aggressive, not by any means, nor did he seem threatening. He was simply sincere, and that sincerity seemed to unsettle the suit. The bozo grumbled under his breath about how he wished his company would move to the other side of the city, away from the bums of the 16th Street Mall, but, throwing one last disgusted look at you and the sincere stranger in front of you, he left the coffeehouse and brought his negativity with him.

The barista passed you another cup of coffee, on the house, and held out a handwritten ticket for a free small coffee to the hero who rid Caribou of that obnoxious asshole, which he accepted with a shy smile, tucking it into an inner pocket of his coat. “Thank you, ma’am, I’ll be back another mornin’ then,” he nodded and the girl smiled brightly before turning back to the line of patrons, all of which had just witnessed the scene and none of whom were sympathetic to bozo’s coffee covered pea coat. He turned back to the small table that he’d been walking towards before getting involved, and you saw a small black plastic flip phone plugged into the wall behind the table. He picked it up and opened it, checking to see how much the battery had charged.

You finished pouring almond milk into your coffee, stirring it with a thin wooden stick before dropping it into the trash and turning towards where the man stood holding his phone. “Hey,” you said with a small grin. He blinked and gave you his attention as soon as the word left your lips, and you were struck by the silence in his soft eyes, by the way that they shone against his slightly tanned, slightly windburnt skin. Oh, wow. You cleared your throat and let out a little laugh. “Hey, um, thanks. That guy was a jerk,” you rolled your eyes and he nodded, smile climbing up one side of his warm face. “You didn’t have to do that. Most people wouldn’t.”

“Don’t mention it,” he answered. “And I did have to do that…” he shook his head. “People like that, they forget,” he closed the phone in his hand with a snap and reached down to unplug the cord, winding it and tucking both items into another inner pocket of his coat.

“Forget what?” you asked, unable to tear your eyes from him.

He looked back up at you as if amazed that you were still there talking to him. His mouth dropped open just a bit before his came back together in a smile. “Forget that they’re no better’n the rest of us.” He dried the spilled coffee on his hands by brushing them off on his pants. “Well,” he adjusted the straps of his guitar case on his shoulders. “You have a nice day, ma’am.”

You spoke your name without realizing it, suddenly overcome with a want to share it with him. He looked at you, eyes shining again as his top lip twitched upwards. “Ryan,” he said, extending his hand. You took it, immediately feeling the callouses and little cuts on his fingers from the abuse of the strings. “Pleasure to meet you.” He dropped your hand too soon and you squeezed it closed, trying to hold onto the feeling of his well-used fingers wrapped around yours.

“Likewise,” you didn’t usually make small talk with people you just bumped into, but something compelled you to keep opening your mouth. Your eyes fell on the neck of the guitar case sticking up over his shoulder. “So, you got a gig somewhere today?” You raised your coffee laden hand to indicate his instrument.

If his eyes shone before they sparkled now and he cast them downward, grin growing as he lifted them back to your face. “Nah, not in so many words,” he looked toward the window, out at the bright blue sky that was just visible over the tops of trees and buildings, at the way the morning light caught the flecks of silicon and metal in the sidewalk, sparkling with the magic of the mundane as people walked over it without noticing. “Just gonna go out there’n play.”

You shook your head and let out a surprised little breath. “What?” he asked, genuine curiosity in his tone.

“It’s just,” you laughed again at the serendipity of it all and heard your mom’s voice as she gushed about how much she loved that word- the stars don’t just align every day, Junebug, she’d say, using her nickname for you, her summer child, so when they do you better take note. “Just... that’s what I came down here to do today, too.” You took a sip of your coffee, the nutty aroma filling your nostrils as the piping hot liquid slid down your throat, warming you from the inside out.

“Yeah?” he asked, beaming at you. “You play?” his eyes darted around as though looking for a guitar or banjo or something that he’d missed. “What do you play?”

You winked. “Piano.”

His smile widened and his curiosity grew. “Piano? You got one in your pocket or somethin’?” He pointed in the general direction of your pockets and you laughed.

“Nah, left my pocket piano at home today,” you answered, patting down your jeans with your free hand as though looking for something that you had misplaced. He chuckled and it was one of the most joyous sounds you’d ever heard. You knew nothing about this man, but you could tell that everything he said, whatever he felt and the things he expressed, all of it was completely genuine, 100% authentic. He seemed incapable of faking a reaction or an emotion, and it was one of the most refreshing interactions you’d ever had in your life.

“Then, where…” he tilted his head and wrinkled his nose to show his confusion.

“Follow me, if you’re curious,” you headed towards the door and he followed, arm coming from behind you to hold it open for you as you stepped outside. You thanked him and he fell into step beside you. You noticed that he kept his eyes up and that they were always flitting from one thing to the next- he’d hear a bird or the beep of a horn and he’d turn in the direction of the sound, always alert and present and eager to absorb what was happening around him, a true artist. “So, you ever play on 16th Street before?” you asked, making conversation as you walked the 4 or so streets down to the garden block.

“Can’t say that I have. It’s my first time in Denver, just got in this mornin’. Heard it was a good spot for music, though.”

“It is,” you answered with an emphatic nod, and he smiled, happy that the information he’d been given had been confirmed. “So you’re not from around here then if this is your first time in Denver,” you stated.

“Nah, just passin’ through,” he said with a shrug. When he lifted his shoulders the light hit his brown hair where it was sticking out from under his cap at the right angle, showing off some golden tones that you knew came from spending so much time under the sun. “How ‘bout you, you from here?”

You thought back to your empty apartment and how you couldn’t call it home. “No,” you said, slightly distracted. “No, I guess you could say I’m passing through, too.” You were thankful to have reached the garden block, a small fenced area with concrete flower boxes that overflowed with color in the spring and summer, metal cafe tables and chairs with chess boards painted on them, and your favorite thing about 16th Street- a shabby, beaten up old upright piano that was painted with different colors and patterns every time you made it down this way. Today it was a deep red with purple swirls and black lettering that read “Denver Makes Music Happen”. You spread your arms wide as you stepped to the side so Ryan could see the piano. “Ta-da,” you announced.

He ran his hand over the top of it, feeling the layers upon layers of paint before attending to the keys. It needed tuning, like it always did, but you smiled as his fingers danced over the ivory. “So you play piano, too, huh?” you asked with a smirk. He looked over to you and nodded, and again you were dumbstruck by his eyes and the quiet calm that seemed to come from them. “Some people get all the talent,” you joked, sitting down at the piano and cracking your knuckles.

He dipped his head as he shrugged the guitar case from his back, sitting on one of the concrete flower boxes and setting the case down by his feet. “I can play the piano,” he said, unbuckling the snaps, “but this is my first love,” he opened the case and the way his eyes lit up with they fell on the shiny wooden guitar made it clear that there was nothing in the world that he loved more. He picked it up gingerly, setting it on his knee, strumming over the strings as you warmed up on the piano. “You…” he removed his hat to run a hand over his hair anxiously before pulling it back over his head. “You wanna play together for a while? I always like meetin’ musicians wherever I go… I like playin’ with people from all different places.” It was an earnest invitation, and you were eager to accept.

You looked up at the sky- still clear and empty- and then turned West, looking down the 16th Street Mall towards the mountains in the distance. Over the jagged tops of the Rockies hung a heavy shelf of cloud that made the sky look closer than it was and meant snow was undoubtedly going to make an appearance at some point, despite the warm sunshine that made you shed one of your two sweaters as you answered him. “Sure,” you started playing a folk song, one your mom used to force on you and your friends growing up that you’d learned to love. “We can play until the weather turns.” You cocked your head towards the snow cloud shelf. “Looks like snow soon.”

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  

@something-tofightfor @my-little-dumpster-fire @suchatinyinfinity @lexxierave @benbarnestongue @banditthewriter 

please let me know if you want on or off this train (ha ha) 

[douchebagbrainwaves]

WRITERS AND ARCHITECTS SEEM TO AS WELL

Don't worry about people stealing your ideas. The rich spend their time more like everyone else too. Not necessarily. So instead of doing what they really want to do something you should. They build a coarser model of their surroundings, and this is easier if they're written in an object-oriented programming in the 1980s. But as one VC told me after a startup he funded would only take about half a million, I don't know. There didn't seem to be a good thing. And Hewlett-Packard. But people will do any amount of drudgery for companies of which they're the founders. We have three general suggestions about hiring: a don't do it if you can, though. But unlike serfs they had an incentive to create a more elegant alternative to the Turing Machine. But that's still a problem for VCs.

But a programming language go so far as to get rid of numbers as a fundamental data type? If things go well, this shouldn't matter. But when you choose a language, if it existed, might be good to program in college was all wrong. So if a piece of software that's full of bugs. Programming languages are interesting to write. Plus as companies became smaller it became easier to estimate how much an employee contributed to the company's revenue. The usual way to accumulate a fortune was to steal it, we tend to find great disparities of wealth alarming is that for most of the time I was in graduate school I had an uncomfortable feeling in the back of their minds, like a thousand barely audible voices all singing in tune. And you can't go too far in any law, and this is reversing the historical polarity of the relationship between meanness and success inversely correlated? Logically, you don't have to pay great hackers anything like what they're worth.

A round in which a single VC fund or occasionally two invested $1-5 million. Really? Adults would sometimes come to speak to us about their work, or we wouldn't have paid for them. It's intrinsic to the medium; software is always 85% done. The ambitious had little choice but to join large organizations that made them march in step with lots of other people—literally in the case of more promising startups, that series A investors often make companies take more money than they have in the past there were multiple ways to do it right. When I said at the beginning that if you look for it? The happy Macintosh face, and then I'd gradually slip back into my old ways. The no man's land between angels and VCs was a very inconvenient one for startups, because it taught us how it would feel to merchants to use our software. This was the only way to decide which to call it is by comparison with other startups. There may be tasks that we solve now by writing programs of their own.

They go to school, which was built in 1876, the bedrooms don't have closets. But you should realize you're stepping into dangerous territory. It runs along the base of the hills, then heads uphill through Portola Valley. People like baseball more than poetry, so baseball players make more than poets. There may be a handful that just grew by themselves, but usually there's a bigger offer coming, or perhaps even an IPO. The politicians all saying the same things, the consumer brands making almost identical products with different labels stuck on to indicate how prestigious they were meant to be, in any kind of purchase. In a field like physics this probably doesn't do much of anything—the one we never even hear about, because it wasn't going to be at odds with it, it seems to decrease other gaps. Cobol. Writing a compiler is. Nearly all startups have to. That's what leads people to try to develop ideas in house, but simply to buy them. Or rather, back to stay.

I'm going to try. Will the number of startups is that there will be an orderly way for people to read, and only incidentally for machines to execute. Deregulation also contributed to the company's revenue. Depends on what you like, and worry only about the ones we don't. You often can't tell yourself. If you wanted to create a startup hub deliberately. When Steve and Alexis auctioned off their old laptops for charity, I bought them for the Y Combinator museum. For millennia that was the canonical example of a great hacker doing that; and two, even if you're one of them from doing too much damage. It seems odd to be surprised by that. That is, no one thought these paintings were as important as we do today. The trick of maximizing the parts of your job that you like can get you from architecture to product design, but not as misleading as it might seem a prudent choice to write it in Java.

The initial user serves as the form for your mold; keep tweaking till you fit their needs perfectly, and you'll usually find you've made something other users want too. It's also the best route to that holy grail, reusability. Distraction seeks you out. Because to the extent that income varies simply according to how much wealth people create, the distribution may be unequal, but it's there. But you have to make a living. If it didn't suck, they wouldn't feel tempted to do this. The top 10 startups account for 8. But I expect them to be interchangeable. Research imposes constraining caste restrictions. It might be a good deal of effort into seeming smart. Not necessarily, but probably hurts. How do you find users to recruit manually?

[themiddlelayer]

Maybe I AM the crazy one here

No.. definitely. I’m definitely the crazy one and it’s exhausting. 

Java Bear and I had a long talk about where he was and what had been going on with him all week. He totally validated my feelings and apologized for not reaching out sooner. He continues to reinforce how good he actually is at communication and clearly stated that if there is ever any doubt in my mind of my importance in his life that I should look at my keychain. Giving me a key to the house really IS a big thing. 

He also said that if I’m not sure about what’s going on with him or am afraid that he may be shutting down on me that I should always just reach out and let him know what I’m feeling... and if I’m not able to do that, that I can and should talk to Olive about it. The GF/metamour line is a touchy one, but she’s continued to show support for the communication between us about Java Bear. 

This weekend was more of that validation of my place in their life and just how much they care about me.

MM had a scare on Friday morning. He was having chest pains bad enough that he had a co-worker take him to the clinic because he was afraid it was a heart attack. They said it wasn’t but because of the symptoms, his health and family history they still sent him to the ER via ambulance. I ended up passing my class to another instructor and drove the hour to be with him. Once they had him in a room I had Cookie come help with getting my car home so I could get MM and his car home after they discharged him. 

The fucked up thing was on the way down I found myself wishing I still had Gypsy and Nomad there to help like they did with the last ER run when MM was losing feeling in his legs. That stirred up all kinds of crap for me, but I put on the wife face and just did what needed to be done. 

MM kept saying that he felt guilty about possibly ruining my plans to go to Phoenix so after doing dinner with Cookie and driving home I finished packing and left around 9:15pm. 

Olive was up painting a wall and Java Bear was out at a birthday thing for his buddy when I got there. She and I got a couple hours to just hang out before he got home and we all eventually went to bed. 

The alcohol had Java Bear feeling all kinds of frisky and Olive’s functioning uterus had her in the same place. But her functioning uterus meant that despite the desire being there, we all stopped short of PIV and eventually attempted to sleep. 

I say attempted to sleep because not long after finding my underwear Java Bear started to whimper in his sleep and twitch while he was holding me. It wasn’t his usual purr/growl thing but something sad, scared... I said something to Olive and we realized that he was having night terrors. I narrowly missed catching an elbow in the initial flailing before we sandwiched him and held him tight enough that he couldn’t swing his arms around anymore. It was a rough night but better that the first time I saw it was at their place with Olive there to show me how to handle him when it happens. 

Java Bear got up around 5am and Olive and I slept until after 9am. Her kiddo was playing video games with Java Bear when I came out. Java Bear and I did a grocery run and then they cooked up a big brunch with pancakes, fresh fruit and eggs. It was just a normal “family” kind of morning. 

Eventually we decided that naps needed to happen. Olive wanted to touch up the wall she’d painted so Java Bear and I curled up. There was more sexual tension but Java Bear had told me that they hadn’t christened the new bed and that Olive wasn’t okay with the two of us having sex there first. I TOTALLY understood where she was coming from so we did our best to behave. 

We’d had a talk the night before in the throes of sexy time when we both said that we weren’t ready to watch the other with Java Bear. It was different with all of us involved but with her being on her period it just wasn’t practical or really do-able. 

Olive came up to bed after giving the boy something to keep him occupied. The same tension was there with the three of us in bed and I got to the point where I just asked where the dark towels were and told her, “Please fuck your husband. You can take the kiddo out for a bit after dinner and he and I can have some time.” She objected a bit but I was pretty sure they were still going to have sex while I was downstairs with my headphones on, chatting with friends. I was totally fine with it and just relieved that the tension would dissipate.

Maybe an hour later they came down and told me that they’d been talking the entire time. They told me that didn’t want to impose any “couple’s privilege” on me and that Olive was going to take the the kiddo for a walk to go get a movie so Java Bear and I could have some time. I about burst into tears... good tears. I continued to assure Olive that I totally understood how she felt and thanked her for understanding where I was... spending most nights alone and knowing I won’t get to see either of them for at least 2 more weeks. 

Java Bear and I totally took advantage of the time but I was sure to be downstairs fully dressed when Olive got home. I also made the bed up, opened the window, turned the fan on and sprayed air freshener in the bedroom. We had both showered and were talking about dinner when they got back. The kiddo stood outside the door and they asked me to close my eyes. He had seen a stuffed husky while they were shopping and because I’d talked about my husky at breakfast he insisted they buy it for me as my Valentine. Could that be any stinking cuter?!? 

We decided on take-out poke for dinner and I stayed in my jammies and waited in the jeep while they went in to get it. The rest of the night was more of the awesome... cheesy kids movie, dinner, then Java Bear and I watched the latest Grey’s Anatomy while Olive did some meal prep. How I managed to not fall apart completely during that episode is totally beyond me. Ben and Bailey had been “on a break” and they got back together. Their separation was heartbreaking. Their reconciliation was equally emotional. And yes, I know.. fictional characters.. but it really hit home with some of the things MM has said to me lately. 

MM and I had our ‘therapy’ night on Wednesday and he talked about how he thought it would be ‘just us’ after the quad imploded. Thursday after my emotional day over Java Bear’s post he asked if I wanted anything from the grocery store and I asked him to grab me some salmon. He had plans to go out to a game night and was going to change and turn around but while I was finishing my paperwork, he got home and put my salmon on the grill. It was just one more example of him showing how much he loves me and wants to keep trying. 

I’m tearing up just writing that.

I don’t know how to go back. I don’t know how to unring these bells. Part of me wants to just cut everyone else out of my life and go back to monogamy, but I know that MM’s relationship with Pixie is still in a good place, and my relationships with Java Bear and Olive are awesome. I feel so loved and valued and wanted there. At least, I SEE how loved and valued and wanted I am there. That’s where I’m struggling right now. 

I had a meltdown on the drive home thinking about the moment when we were all in bed together fooling around. I was the center of attention but all I could think was, “Is this my life? Is this really what I want? How did I get here?” I started spinning, feeling like a lot of what I’ve been doing hasn’t been out of choice but out of a need to make the best of a bad situation. 

Polyamory made it so that MM and I could view our marriage as evolving rather than ending when we got to a certain point in the quople where we knew that we had become disconnected. Truth be told, we were struggling to stay connected before the quad... Poly made it so that we can still love each other and be partners but have our other needs met elsewhere because I’m not ready to really get all the way back in. But the longer we do this, the less I see the possibility of getting back to who we were in any way. That breaks my heart. 

The worst part of it all is this sense of being unable to feel the good. It’s that ‘taste of blue’ thing. Most people, if they are lucky, are raised being fed blue things so that they have a clear, natural understanding of what blue tastes like. People like me... we see blue, we know what it looks like and hear the rest of the world talk about how sweet it is. We recognize the blue things but don’t have that immediate understanding when it’s in our mouths that, yes.. this is BLUE. Not a blue thing but blue. Does that make any sense? 

My crazy is still really flowing and I can’t imagine that the whiskey is the cause after this many days. I’m hungry and tired. I made myself oatmeal and coffee and ran the towels that Olive said she wanted to wash this weekend before doing the drive back. From there I spent a couple hours doing Friday’s paperwork and coloring Cookie’s hair. MM is at a game night at Pixie’s today so I likely won’t see him until later, assuming I’m still up when he gets home. 

I’m trying to prep for tomorrow’s class because it’s one I haven’t taught in months and I’ve got a really big group. I know I need to make myself some real food and put the clean sheets on the bed. I need a hot shower and will probably be in bed early. I’m trying to take care of myself, really... I think this is what it looks like. Writing, eating, sleeping, maybe doing more reading in the Codependency book... I just feel so tired and empty right now. 

[100toannie]

YOOOOO 6/14/23 I hit a milestone today. 219.6lbs and I’m even on my period. I’m looking forward to weighing again tomorrow to see if I can maintain but holy crap I was so excited this morning. I was almost late to work lol. I didn’t eat a lot yesterday and I’ve had pretty much the same today other than I drank another Monster Java. I bought reduced sugar uncrustable s at Target the other day and they are pretty okay. It’s only a 20 calorie difference between them and the wheat honey ones and 10 calories between the Nutella ones. I didn’t like those by the way. I had one for dinner. I’d rather stick with the PB ones. Anyway.

Big weirdo thing happened on Saturday. I woke up with an intense crush on my brothers BFF. Like I’ve never been attracted to this guy before but I remember noticing his chest when we went to the D&D movie a while back. Like he’s been working out. I was like wow you look fit (in my head) but yeah I also remember him being smart when we were all talking. Now I’m imagining what it would be like to date him and I’m like well okay I think it could work. He’s smart and makes good money. He’s a Christian like me. He has a good family. And weirdly enough I like that he’s active.

I want to be active. Or well I want to remain active. I like living this way. I’m happier and hot damn I’m starting to look good in my face. I feel like I look younger too.

Also mom said that if I do lose all my weight her and my daddy would either help me or pay for me to get a tummy tuck. It will be necessary because I’m almost 75pounds down (!) and do have saggy skin between my legs and on my tummy. My upper arms are getting loose too.

I did notice that my double chin is shrinking. That makes me very happy. I really want my fupa (I think that’s what it’s called) to start shrinking now. I don’t need that to be the last thing to go lol.

But yeah… intense crush man. I’m hoping my brother invites him over this weekend so I can analyze him in person. I sound like a freak but I need to determine how much my lovey brain is influencing this and if I’m honestly attracted to him. I don’t want to ruin this if not because it could end up being like it was with A. I love the idea of being loved. Do I actually love him? Totally not saying I love j. No way it’s just an example thought. I don’t know him super well to be honest. We don’t really talk or have a ton in common for interests. I can learn though. I’d love to be taught about football and I guess racing too. I love a smart man. Mmmmhmmm.

Lol wtf is wrong with me?

[30-day-consumption]

Monday 1.24.22

SLEEP

7H 30M of sleep. I also didn’t get over 8 hours of sleep the night before so I was pretty tired. I especially was sleepy on the light rail and thought I was going to fall asleep standing. However, I ran into two of my best friends on my way to class and I was feeling energized and ready to start the day. I could focus well in my first morning class, but it didn’t last throughout the day. However, I was pretty productive.

+ I took a little nap in between classes (12mins)

WEATHER

It was 3ºF when I woke up. I decided to wear thin layer of long sleeve and leggings under my jeans and sweatshirt and wore a long puffer jacket. It was still too cold. I probably should’ve worn another layer. However, I mostly stayed indoors today so it was do-able.

LOCATION

Anderson Hall (Linear Algebra Class): It is an auditorium. Class was relaxing especially my outfit was good for indoors temperature and no one was sitting within close proximity of me. The professor also explained the materials well. In the class, I learned vectors and linear combinations. It was similar to what I learned in Multivariable Calculus. 

Wilson Library (Study in between classes): Did homework with a friend sitting across from me. It was 2 hours of time between classes and it was relaxing. However, I got tired of reading loads of text that I decided to watch youtube videos on the topic. However, after 5 minutes, I fell asleep. When I woke up (~12minutes later) I was feeling cold but it was a good little nap.

Blegan Hall (Statistics Computing Class): I was a minute late and the auditorium felt a bit dim. The professor was rushing through the topics so halfway through class, I kind of zoned out. I also got a bit frustrated because the prof would write something on the whiteboard while standing in front of it (so I couldn’t see) and erase it right after he finished writing it. We were taught Bernoulli and Binomial probabilities and R codes. However, I got a bit lost and will need to review my notes. My upbeat mood fell a bit. 

Kolthoff Hall (Writing Class): I really like the professor for this class because he is nice and has a reasonable grading system. The professor was wearing a Hawaiian themed shirt. He played music during free-write. I liked the energy of the class. However, it’s been a long day (still only 3pm) and I couldn’t focus too well in the class. I learned technical writing skills like the rhetoric. I think it is a good skill to learn for the future.

Starbucks: The way there was so cold, I only got Chicken Bacon Panini. I usually get it with Peach Green Tea Lemonade or Java Chip Frap but I skipped it today. 

HSEC Library: I stayed here from 4pm until 11pm doing school work with friends. Last semester, I could never get work done with them because I would always talk, but I didn’t participate in their conversations much and got more work done than I probably would have last semester. I also went to a club meeting that took place at Moo’s Tower which was connected to HSEC Library. I took Gopher Chauffeur home. It was cold outside :)

FOOD

Chicken Bacon Panini (Starbucks): I usually rate it 8.4/10 on a strict scale, but it was 7.3/10 today. I just wasn’t in the best mood and the bacon fell out of the sandwich so I ate it separately. The bacon was still good though.

Sesame Oolong Milk 50% Sweetness(Kung Fu Tea): My friend was coming from Kung Fu Tea to HSEC Library so I asked her to get one of my favorite drinks from there. It was p decent, but it was sweet. I didn’t feel healthy after having it.

Chipotle Chips (Chipotle): I ate around 15 pieces of chips (of my friend’s, with permission). I wasn’t hungry but seeing the bag of chips on the table just made me eat it. It was p oily and salty. After I finished eating, I regretted eating it, because I’m trying to be healthy for 2022.

OVERALL

Overall, I would rate this day a letter grade C. I had a busy day and did a lot of work, but I still have so much left to do I don’t know if I will get enough sleep before class tomorrow. Also, I just haven’t been feeling energized these days and will need to do some digging to find out why.

[corporatedragon]

Yearning For Home

@puppy-lovve

The tiny office of the ‘temp to hire’ caseworker seemed exceptionally cramped as every available space was taken up with stacks of folders. The elderly woman struck Joey as perhaps a little overworked as her curly hair was up in a hastily done messy bun and was sporting not only two pencils, and a pair of magenta reading glasses but the ballpoint pen she was searching for as she spoke. “You see Mr. Wheeler we have been fortunate to have received a great number of new jobs. As you caseworker, I have kept your special needs in mind. Where in the hell is that pen? Why is nothing where I left it?”

Lifting up his folder and checked under it while opening her desk drawer, Mrs. Carly Rae frantically searching for the pen. With a sigh, she grabbed a fresh one out of her pen jar. “Fiddlesticks! That pen was my favorite. Anyway… Where was I …. OH! Yes.. I think I found you a job that suits your special needs. Now let me make sure that I have everything. You are attending medical classes at DCC. Between that and the lab work plus you need to study that leaves you very little time. I think I found a job that will work for you. The pay is amazing and it isn’t a call center. I remember that you were not quite the right fit for that kind of job. Ok… that file is here somewhere…”

Realizing the file was right in front of her she gave Joey a smile and a nervous giggle. “Yes… It is a job for a Gal Friday. Well.. that was what it was called in my day. It is a personal assistant position. It says flexible hours that you set. Must be willing to do anything asked. The pay is quite high. More than…” Leaning in close to the report she squinted, then put on the teal reading glasses hanging from her neck by a beaded chain. “OH, my stars and garters… If I was younger I would take this job. It is offering more than four times the minimum wage. $65 an hour to start. Jeepers that’s high.  Hope they are not expecting you to be a Gigolo.  It says no professional skills required.”  Tittering at her own humor, Carly wrote down the address and floor number, tearing off the note and handed Joey her notepad. Realizing her mistake she let out a snort and handed him the note in exchange for her pad. “Understand this is just an interview. But night now I don’t have anything else that meets your needs unless you want to try another call center or that packaging plant.  But they don't pay that much. Good luck deary. Let me know how it goes. Your interview is later today.”

Arriving back at his apartment building, Joey saw that fire trucks were just pulling away.  The apartment building had been condemned years ago but there were so many families that had nowhere else to go, so everyone refused to leave.  The utilities turned a blind eye as long as the bills were paid and the police didn’t harass them since the families kept the place from becoming a crack den.  However, gangs had moved into the surrounding neighborhood and they wanted the apartment complex for themselves. Mysterious fires and random violence kept everyone on their toes.  Families and business in the surrounding area would disappear in the middle of the night. It was a bit nerve-wracking to live with the constant threat lurking but it was better than living with his dad.  But now part of his home was a burnt down husk. He had lost the first place that felt safe.

Joey remembered that night he had gone home having finished his after-school shift at Java Addiction to find his dad was out of control.  His dad was always an angry drunk but this was something more. Joseph jumped him the moment Joey walked in the door, beating into unconsciousness. For what seemed like days Joey would wake to his father kicking him or pouring water on his face, barking an order to make some food or fetch him a fresh beer. Barely able to move, his dad would yell and start beating him again.  Over and over an endless cycle of brutality. Waking to find his father passed out with a needle sticking out of his arm, Joey knew he had to get away. He threw the few things he cared about and grabbed the overnight bag he always had packed.

Delirious for the pain of the constant beating, Joey got lost in the slums.  Too exhausted to walk further, Joey slumped against a wall and fell asleep. Waking he thought for a moment his whole life had been a dream.  He could feel Serenity cuddled up to the side of him, keeping him warm. Nuzzling her head, Joey realized this wasn’t his sister. A tiny, bald boy of about five or six years old, with huge green eyes looked up at him while rubbing his eyes to wake up.  They were both huddled under a threadbare flannel jacket. Shyly smiling, the boy jumped to his feet and gave Joey his hand, pulling the hurt blonde to his feet. It hurt Joey’s heart to see the boy was as thin and boney as a skeleton. His oversized clothes just emphasized that he was not being taken care of.  

Keeping ahold of the child, Joey followed him to a building that had seen better days.  The place was run down but surprisingly clean. As they entered a huge black man stepped out of the first door.  He glared at Joey but when he saw the child his craggy face broke into a grin that showed many missing teeth. Gesturing the boys to come inside the man looked Joey over.  “Who’s been beating you, boy? Don’t be givin me that look. I’ve been in a few fist fights in my hay day and I know what I know. These bruises are not from one fight so that says it’s personal.  That knuckle print is too big to be a woman so I am knowin’ it be your pappy. My misses with fill ya up with a hearty meal and tend to your hurts. You can stay here tonight if ya like or find yourself a nice hidey hole with Mouse.  Them runaways have taken most of the top floor. Like rats they are. Skittering around at all hours when decent folks are trying to sleep.” The little boy looked sheepish and ran for an open window but a small plump woman intercepted him and pulled him into a hug as she glared at the big man.  “None of that from you, Mister. Shame on you. You know how skittish Mouse is.” she admonished the man next to Joey then bent over and have the small boy a kiss on the cheek.  “I see you found a lost soul. Please stay and sup with us. There is plenty to go around. Hope both of you boys are hungry. I got pot pies and corn. Even a little cobbler for dessert  Now you and Mister go clear and set the table while I tend to this one’s hurts.”

The woman introduced herself as Mrs. Kitty and her husband was John Tate as she treated Joey’s cuts and let Joey take a shower while food cooked.  Over dinner, they explained how the building was full of lost souls. Good people but too poor to find a better place to live. They took care of each other and helped where they could.  While they set up the spare bed for him the little boy managed to slip out unnoticed. Quiet as his namesake. The next day they helped Joey find a nice little studio that hadn’t been gutted. It reeked of cigars but the blonde was used to the smell.  Even with sleeping on the bare floor and the sounds of the gangs and shootings, Joey slept better than at his pop’s place. The other families gave Joey blankets and stuff to make the apartment more comfortable.  A sofa and a mattress showed up the next day. Over the next few months, Joey settled in. Used his medical learning to help the small community that took him in.  Joey loved having a place of his own but it was lonely. Mouse would show up with Duel Monster cards or bottles of pills he found.  In exchange, Joey fed the boy and taught him how to read a little. It was almost like having his little sister back. Mouse would never stay even when Joey offered. And never spoke a word. Now he stood staring at the hole where his apartment used to be.  All his things were gone. His photos of Serenity and the gang. His deck.  His clothes. He would have to see if his pop… No, he would sleep on the street before he went back.  Clenching his hand he felt the paper. The interview! If he got the job he have some money! He could get a real place!   A tiny hand grasped his finger.  Looking down, Joey saw it was Mouse.  The boy was trembling and wouldn’t look up at Joey, but the blonde could see the tears running down his splotchy red and obviously burned face.  Glancing over the boy for other injuries, Joey noticed that in his other hand was his bag! The boy had braved the fire to save his stuff.  Tears welled in the blonde’s eyes, as he held the little hand. Didn’t the child know that his life was more important than stuff?  Together they looked at the ruin that used to be both of their homes. The loud, shrill ring of his phone caused the both of them to jump.  Answering quickly, Joey expected Yugi or Tristan but instead, it was a very frantic female voice.  “Mr Wheeler. I am Ms. Regina Clayton. You and I have a meeting this afternoon. So we don’t waste each other’s time I thought I would give you a call.  It came to my attention that the employer changed some of the job requirements that disqualified many of the other applicants. You would have to start right away, today in fact and be available at any hour of the day or night excluding your class schedule and your one day off.  Since this requires you to be on hand, you will be given a company accommodations. Are you still interested in the job Mr. Wheeler? If you can meet these requirements consider yourself hired and come to my office so we can work out the other formalities.”

[thedatasciencehyderabad]

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