#...i can get quite spirited about mathematicians

[minmin-vs-physics]

[5/9/24] the math library had a sale, so i went and bought a book on algebraic topology that im never gonna read. my only encounter with topology was through a matrix groups class and then a little romp through a homotopy textbook with a math grad student. i AM interested in the topic, but i was so sucky that im more hesitant around it.

i feel like a bull in a china shop around mathematics. yeah i do fine in the context of my degree but god they can get pedantic ugh. im just an unruly physicist im sorry.

but mathematicians amaze me! im so close to a math degree as well but i could never be a mathematician.

ah. what a shame. truly, a shame.

[growup-thatbeautiful]

hellooo, hi, im not sick anymore (more or less) and in surprisingly great spirits! i was thinking, if you wanted to write more Zeffirelli and absolutely and i mean ABSOLUTELY no pressure maybe we could have some sort of university themed kinda fic? not an AU just kind of widening the lens of The French dispatch to see Zeffirelli as a students not just his after school activities. im thinking like a philosophy student poet boyfriend x art and film theory painter reader kinda situation. studying and going to interesting lectures and to cinema in the evenings..idk it would be lovely to have some nice uni vibes to motivate me. also if you don't feel Zeffirelli now Timothee himself would be very much okay too i feel like. it is all up to you. sending you great energy, love you, message me if you want to brainstorm this story or want to talk literally about anything xx

omg hiiii!!! it’s fall now!! zeffirelli would be living his best life. i was really missing zeffirelli and timmy. timothee always renters my brain this time of year so be prepared. it’s movie szn brainrot time, my friends.

coincidentally enough, this happens to be my 700th follower celebration as well! yay!

uhhh so usually i write the translations at the bottom but i didn’t keep up this time i’m so sorry 😭😭

zeffirelli masterlist

ensoleillement (sunshine)

“You’re late,” you say, looking at the clock in the corner of your living room.

“I brought compensation.” Zeffirelli holds up a brown paper bag from the pastry shop down the street as an apology. “There's a pain au chocolat in there for you. I also got you a coffee.”

“I hope it’s not in the bag,” you respond drily, but take the bag nonetheless and rifle around for your breakfast. “Where’s the coffee?”

“Here,” he says absently, placing it on the kitchen counter.

“Dieu merci,” you sigh, taking a sip and shouldering your bag. The leather strap digs into your shoulder through the fabric of your coat.

“Thank me, not God,” Zeffirelli complains, ushering you out the door.

“You’re still the reason I’m late.” There’s a warning in your voice, but you can’t put any real venom behind your words. You never can, with him.

“Oui, but you’re not going to any important classes right now.”

“I’m going to math,” you protest. He reaches across you and takes your coffee, sipping it and grimacing. You slap his hand away and retake the coffee. “No matter how much you try, you aren’t going to like the way I have my coffee.”

“That’s because you have terrible taste,” he complains. “Why are still taking those bullshit classes? There are so many better classes to take.” It’s a conversation you’ve had many times, mostly out of jest, but there is some seriousness behind it.

“You mean math?”

Zeffirelli hums. “That’s the one. Why would you waste your time with math when you could be going to philosophy at noon?”

“Because I’m not some poet revolutionary, Zef,” you laugh, bumping your shoulder with his. “Not everyone is as successful as you.”

“Nonsense. You just haven’t shared any of your ideas with other people. Come on, amor, let me know what’s going on in that head of yours.”

“Right now there are a few things, but I don’t think you want to hear them,” you deadpan, gathering your books in your arms.

“Don’t get shy on me now, ensoleillement.” The endearment falls easily from his lips, his favorite term for you, meaning, quite literally, sunshine.

Ironically, you got the nickname on a rainy day when you had been giving him a hard time about his tendency to walk in the rain.

“I have nothing to say to you,” you reply, knocking your shoulder against his as you both try to go out the same door to the street below your apartment.

“All that math is filling your brain with nonsense,” he complains, his shoes scraping against the worn hardwoods. “I can’t have a good philosophical conversation with a mathematician.”

“Just because I’m taking the class doesn’t make me good at it,” you correct absentmindedly. He huffs and steps into pace beside you, his hand brushing against yours. The autumn leaves crunch under your feet, warm red and orange bleeding past as you make your way to class, the air crisp and the sun slinking behind the clouds. You really should be trying to make it to class on time, but you know you’ll regret it if you leave Zeffirelli out here alone with that rosy color on his cheeks from the cool air. Fall suits him well, and he wears the chill running through your fingers well.

It’s better to be here, your hands skimming against his, knuckles red and electric when he touches them than it is to be sitting in a class. Especially because he isn’t in the class.

The walk to your school isn’t much further. Just through the town sits a two-storied brick building where you’ve devoted hours to studying, crying, and trying to get Zeffirelli to take breaks unsuccessfully.

The cobblestones underneath your feet are consistently unsteady, and you find yourself, as usual, looking in awe at the quaint town that wakes up as you walk through.

There’s the flower shop on the corner with the green and white striped awning that gives out free roses on holidays. Next to it, stands a stationary store where you go more days than not to get a hand-pressed piece of paper to write home on. Across the street is a cafè where you and Zeffirelli have spent countless sleepless nights discussing movies and poetry when you should be studying,

This isn’t your hometown, and it isn’t his either, but you both know it more than you ever could know any other place on Earth. Zeffirelli’s American rouge, prophetic attitude couldn’t come from a town this small, but that doesn’t stop it from thriving. Here, nothing can stop him. Not living with his parents, which he does on purpose, or not knowing how to start a manifesto. Those things are trivial and unimportant because this place reveres every waking and sleeping moment it has with him. You and

You, well, you can’t claim this place as your home, but you’ve fallen in love with its poetically simple lifestyle. The two years you’ve been here as an exchange student has been the best you can remember, and you aren’t sure how much of that is related to the boy next to you.

A gut instinct tells you that he might have something to do with it, but you would be drawn into the charm of this town anyway, probably. He’s just an added bonus.

Zeffirelli takes the cup of coffee out of your hand and tosses it into the trashcan before you enter the towering, gray stone building that is your school.

“I’ll see you at lunch?” he asks, walking backward down the opposite hall that you’re traveling. “My mom packed cookies.”

A laugh bubbles from your throat and you can tell you’re grinning like a fool. You genuinely don’t know if he’s joking or not, but you don’t doubt the truth of his words. “I can’t even make fun of you because your mom’s cookies are so good.”

“That’s the sweet spot.” His arms are outstretched wildly as he turns back to go to his class. “I’ll see you later, amor. Don’t have too much fun in math without me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Zef.” There’s still a grin on your face when you walk into class, and you take your seat next to your’s and Zeffirelli’s friend, Mitch Mitch.

Mitch is radically passionate like Zeffirelli, but, as obvious by his presence in a math class, he’s less utterly devoted to the revolution. Which is to say that he’s still deeply invested.

“Did l'auteur make you late again?” Mitch reaches over you and slides today’s work to you. “I swear, you need to stop waiting for him in the mornings.”

“He did indeed.” You lean back in your chair and try to listen to the lecture, and you think you retain about half of the information.

The teacher at the front of the room drones on for half an hour about something you don’t understand, not that you care enough to pay attention. Despite the nature of his ideas, Zefrilli is correct about the fact that math isn’t your thing, nor is it going to help you at all. Especially not when you don’t have a clue what’s going on. Based on the look on Mitch’s face, he understands even less than you do, which is comforting and terrifying at the same time.

“Why did you convince me to take this class?” Mitch groans, flopping onto the desk and banging his head on the wood. “I’m too pretty for math.”

“I don’t think that has anything to do with it.” You pat him on the shoulder consolingly and gather your things together.

“Peut être pas, but it makes me feel better about myself.” You walk side-by-side to the next class. You have film studies with Zefirelli and Mitch has some economic class.

Zefirelli is waiting by the door for you, and, when he sees you, he pushes himself off the frame and asks, “How was the waste of time?”

“It was a waste of time,” Mitch confirms, bumping shoulders with Zefirelli, who looks at you for confirmation, which you readily give.

“Let’s do something worthwhile then, mon chéri.” Zefirelli holds out his arm for you, and you take it easily. “To the magical world of film we go.”

“Onwards we go.”

*

Lunch doesn’t come soon enough, but, slowly, it comes. Mitch, Zefirelli, and you usually eat together, but today Mitch is going to the cafe down the street with a girl in your class named Layla. She’s sweet, and you hope she’s enough for Mitch.

You and Zefirelli find your normal spot in the corner of a courtyard hidden away in the twisted cobblestone streets. It’s nothing special, just a park bench pretty much, but you wouldn’t eat anywhere else. Not when Zefirelli is sitting close to you.

“What are you writing about?” he asks, leaning over your shoulder to try and read the words in your journal.

“How much I hate math,” you deflect, shutting the small spiral and stuffing it into your backpack.

“That’s not what looks like when you write about something as trivial as math. I’ve seen your math face, and it is much more détestable.”

“You’re telling me that you don’t write enthusiastically about math?” you joke, hoping to deflect the attention.

“Only about my manifesto.”

“Yeah, well you have your manifesto, and I have my movie.” It slips out easily like things usually do around him. You’re so used to telling him everything, so it comes as no school that you’re unable to keep this from him.

The thing is, he isn’t supposed to know about the movie you’re writing. Not because he wouldn't support it, which you’re sure he would, but because there’s no doubt in your mind that he wouldn’t let you hear the end of it. You try to backtrack. “I mean, I have the movie that I’m studying for class-“

“-You’re writing a movie?” he interrupts, his hand frozen where it’s reaching for his food. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I’m not writing a movie,” you attempt. “It was a slip of the tongue. Fourchement de langue.”

“No it wasn’t,” he denies easily. “You’re writing a movie.” This time he doesn’t ask, but he does return to his previous action, splitting the pink-colored cookie in half. He offers one half to you and you take it. You decide not to respond and focus on the cookie instead.

“So, what is this secretive movie about? Hopefully something dashingly bohemian and revolutionary.” You know he’s tuning down his excitement for you, which is nice. At least he’s trying. Hopefully, he knows that you would never keep something like this from him if you weren’t embarrassed.

“Those are your interests, not mine,” you sigh, despite the deception behind your words. Truly, you do care about those things, maybe only because he cares so much about them.

“Yeah? Then why do you work with me on my manifesto so much?” he prods, a grin on his face. Everything about him screams “got you” and you have no choice but to accept his meaning.

“Maybe I like being around you, connasse.”

“That could not possibly be it,” he dismisses easily. His cookie gets placed on the floor beside him and he leans into you, his head coming to rest on your shoulder. “You’re much too talented to be hanging around me all the time.”

“You can’t be serious,” you chastise, your hand running through his hair. “Zef, you’re the most talented person I know. Not only are you some sort of chess wizard, but you also have such a passion for life that I don’t see anyone else. I’m lucky to be around you as much as I am, honestly.”

“You’re just saying that,” he sighs, but there’s a blush rising to his cheeks that fits him so beautifully.

“We’re poets, Zefirell, we only say things that we mean.” He leans heavier into your side and you relax against him, taking his weight happily. The rest of the world passes by, and time passes by, but you don’t care. This is where you want to be, by his side.

You would lift the sky for him, but right now all he needs is a shoulder to lean on. It’s something you’re ready and willing to give.

“You know,” Zefirelli starts, “there are stories about people like us. You know, people that want to change the world. Usually, they have someone by their side, a second-in-command. Napoleon had Josephine, Pierre Curry had Marrie, Sintra had Garder.”

“I think it be more reasonable to say that Marrie had Pierre, given that she was the one who did most of the research. And you’re forgetting that Sinatra and Gardner broke up after 12 years.”

“But she was the only woman he ever loved. Come on, amore, you know that. Anyway, what I was trying to say-” he looks up at you, smiling softly- “before I was so rudely interrupted, is that most people have someone beside them when they start their journey sur le chemin de la révolution. The road to revolution can be lonely.”

“Everything must start in love,” you agree. “Nothing comes out of nothing.”

“Précisément. Would- would you like to be my second-in-command? We have a long way ahead of us, and I think it would be easier if we stuck together.”

“How am I supposed to say no to that?” you breathe, laying your head on top of his and reaching for his hand. “Promise you won’t leave me for someone more antagonistic?”

“You’re enough of an antagonist for me,” he responds in an overly-sweet voice. “Not sure I could handle much more.”

“Good. I prefer you waking me up in the middle of the night rather than anyone else.” You also prefer his head on your shoulder, his hand in your hand, and his figure in your bed, but those are things you keep to yourself for now.

You’ve already got enough of a win for today.

*

A banging on your door is an unfortunately common event to wake you up. Without checking, you know who’s on the other side of the door. That messy black hair and those piercing eyes are waiting impatiently for you to make your way across your cramped apartment, you’re positive of it.

The floor is cold underneath your socked feet as you make your way over the piles of books, papers, and clothes strewn everywhere across your room. While the trek is short, to your sleep-addled brain it feels like it lasts forever, with you in a dreamlike state of confusion and agitation. You can hear the sound of rain pounding against your apartment roof, a steady rhythm in time with your slow breathing.

With a deep breath, you open your door and you’re met with the familiar, tall form of Zeffirelli. “I have an idea for the revolution,” he says, out of breath, soaked from the rain. “And I need your cinematic expertise.”

“So that’s why you’re at my apartment at three in the morning?” you ask, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“Yes. And it’s only two,” he says as he brushes past you and goes straight to your tiny kitchen. Absentmindedly, he rifles through your counters and grabs the first food he finds; some untrustworthy brown biscuits. You don’t take any when he offers. “I needed to talk to you. Son affaire sérieuse.”

“Right, I’m sure it is. Tell me, what exactly do you need my help with? I’m not sure I can be of much help.” You shuffle into the kitchen and put a kettle on the stove, accepting the fact that you’re probably not going to get any sleep tonight.

“Absurdité. Who else is going to shut down my best ideas ruthlessly?”

“I would do that in daylight too,” you accuse. He fits beside you at your counter and reaches across you for the sugar bowl, taking a sugar cube and putting it in your cup. Two more are added to the cup that he’s claimed as his own from your array of delicately painted teacups.

“But you admit to having shut down good ideas?” A twinkle in his eyes tells you to give up now and accept your defeat.

“Sure.” It’s worth it to see the victory smile break across his face, his tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth. “I am obviously the bane of your existence. Je suis ta couverture mouillée.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself.” His consolidation is quick and filled with a teasing lightness that you’ve long since accepted as his trademark. A lot of people would look past him for it, and call it arrogance, but you know it comes from a loving place.

“Don’t make me send you to Mitch Mitch’s apartment instead,” you warn, waving a spoon in his direction. “I would do it in a heartbeat.” It’s not true, you would much rather he be here with you, instead of at Mitch’s. Despite the entertainment that comes with Zefirelli and Mitch’s back and forth, you’re feeling selfish tonight.

“Empty threats.” he tisks. The kettle whistles from its spot on the stove and you both reach for it at the same time, your fingers brushing against his. It’s terrifyingly electric, but you push past the feeling. Zefirelli withdraws his hand hesitantly and you busy yourself with pouring the tea.

He’s come over in the middle of the night enough for you to know how he takes his tea by heart. Two heaping spoonfuls of sugar, no more, no less. He claims that you make it better than he does, which you choke up to him being unable to boil water without making a mess.

Clearing your throat, you ask, “So, what’s this big idea? Care to fill me in on why I’m awake at this time of the night.”

“What’s your movie about?” he fires back immediately, settling into your beaten blue couch.

“Did you come here to pester me about my future?” you ask, eyes narrowed. “Because I will kick you to the curb.”

“No, no,” he laughs, “you wouldn’t do that to me. You have no resistance to my pretty face.”

“Ah, yes, you’ve figured out my one weakness. It seems as though you’ll be taking advantage of it forever.”

“Of course, ensoleillement. What would I do if I didn’t have you to manipulate?” He sits across from you on the couch and grabs one of the blankets you have thrown around. It goes over his shoulders and he huddles into its warmth.

“So what did you come here to talk about?” you ask, taking a sip from your tea and placing it on the side table.

“Oh, right!” His eyes light up as he sits up straighter, splashing tea all over himself. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to care very much. “I thought that I would have my mother’s friend, some writer, is coming into town soon. I was thinking that I should ask her to help me. At the least, she can write about us, no? What do you think?”

“I think it’s a great idea. What does she write for?”

“The French Dispatch. You know, the one with all the stories they put out once a month or so. I hear that she’s looking for something out here in our petite ville.”

The conversation shifts and he talks about his big ideas and how he’s going to get them done. You could listen to him talk for hours, and, by the time he’s finished, you have, not that you have anything better to do. Not even dreams of him are this real. You could never make up in your mind the way his eyes sparkle and his hands flutter with excitement, or the way his hair falls in front of his face when he’s moving too fast.

Eventually, sleep takes him over, comically mid-sentence. He’s propped up against the side of the couch in a very uncomfortable looking way, but he doesn’t seem to mind. You’ve known him to fall asleep in worse situations,

When his breathing stills and his eyes close, you allow yourself to look at him as he is without fluttering hands and excited eyes. He’s calm and motionless, except for the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Everything about him is usually coiled for action, an easy tension running through his hands and his eyes, but now, now he’s undistributed and serene, laying with his hair splayed like a dark halo around his head.

Before you close your eyes, you tuck yourself close to him, fitting against his warmth like you’ve done so many times in the past, just like this, on deep-silence-ridden nights.

“You’re my movie,” you whisper into the dark, towards his sleeping figure. “You’re the one I write about.”

But of course, he doesn’t hear.

*

“Medre,” Zeffirelli swears, hopping around and trying to get his shoes on. “I have a test today.”

“You should have thought of that before you came over that early,” you admonish, watching him with amusement. “Why you didn’t think you would oversleep, I have no clue.”

“We’re in this class together, ensoleillement. You’re going to burn with me,” he warns, rushing a hand through his hair carelessly. It sticks up widely in every direction, but you know better than to try to fix it. Nothing can convince his hair to do anything except chaos.

“Yeah, but it’s so much more fun not to think about that.” Begrudgingly, you start to get ready as well. The floors creak under your feet as you shuffle to your bedroom, where a clean outfit is nowhere to be found.

For a moment, you let yourself think of the wild-haired, cigarette-smoking, arrogant person in the room next to you. His infuriating charm and charismatic persuasion captured you years ago, and you haven’t been able to get out of his orbit since then.

You may be his sunshine, but he’s your gravity, keeping you centered but tipping you over and surprising you at times.

“Dépêchez-vous,” Zeffirelli calls, rapping his knuckles against the wall. “Hurry up.” You know he doesn’t really care about making it to class on time, despite the panic, but you also know that he understands you well enough to know that you want to make it on time.

The film class you have this morning is one of your favorites, and you try and avoid missing it as much as you can. While your film studies class is more focused on the aspects of film, this class advises it’s students on the writing and cinematography that you need to make something truly special.

To make something worthy of a manifesto.

“Mon chéri, we have to go,” Zefirelli warns one last time before giving up and aimlessly wondering around your room.

“Don’t touch that,” you sigh, not having to look at Zeffirelli to know that he’s touching something he shouldn’t be touching. When you do look over, you see him flipping through your journal.

“I wasn’t doing anything,” Zeffirelli defends, hiding something behind his back. You send a glare in his direction and lean back in the chair by your mirror. The wood creaks underneath you and you stretch out your back, satisfying pops cascading up your spine.

“You have some deep dark secrets written in here?” His tone is joking, and he waves the journal in the air, taunting you.

“Grocery lists and middle-of-the-night thoughts,” you dismiss. “If you want to know when I forgot to pay the electricity bill, look on the fifth page.” You hope with everything you have that he’s going to let it go, but you have no such luck. He’s nothing if not absurdly relentless.

“I know for a fact that you don’t write anything like that down, it’s not worth the time. You just forget things like the rest of us.”

“Peut être. Still, put it down.” He doesn’t. Instead, he keeps reading with a grin on his face that slowly falls as he makes his way through the rest of the book.

“Is this- is this written about me?” he asks, disbelief written on his face. “Is this your movie?”

“I asked you to stop reading,” you defend miserably, hiding your head in your hands. “I know it’s strange, and I know I shouldn’t be writing about you like that. You don’t want to be heroic or some great leader, above everyone else, but I cannot help it if that’s who you are. Please understand, I only wrote what I saw.”

“I’m your movie? I’m what you have been furiously scribbling away at, working on late at night?”

“You’re my everything,” you admit honestly, softly, “How could you not be the plot of my movie too?” Zeffirelli walks slowly towards you and drops the journal on the floor. “I’m sorry, Zeffirelli.”

“Why?” he asks breathlessly, standing in between your legs and settling his hands on your shoulders. “What have you to be sorry for? You have immortalized be forever with your words. How can I be anything but grateful. If- if I ever gave you the idea that I do not burn for you- that I do not turn towards you in every room like you are the sun and I am a flower, then I can do nothing but apologize profusely. There is more than one reason that you are my ensoleillement. You are grumpy and rude and you give me shit for everything I do, but you also light up my days and nights. You are warmth and home. You are everything.” Zeffirelli’s voice is breathless and rushed, his hands coming up to cup your face. They’re shaky and the calluses on his fingertips are rough against your cheekbones, but you lean into them anyway.

“Zef,” you whisper, like it’s the only word you know. Just as soft as his words, his lips come down to yours, hesitantly at first, but more sure as you don’t protest.

He truly is your everything. That’s the only thing running through your mind as he kisses you with everything he has.

“We’re going to be late to your favorite class,” he gasps in between frantic kisses. “Don’t be angry at me when you have extra homework.”

“I make no promises,” you laugh, pulling him back into you. “But I’ll try my best.” For him, you’ll do anything.

He’s your ensoleillement, your sunshine, just as you’re his.

[theladyfromplanetx]

(Because if you try to read the original, you'll get hit with a paywall. This article was originally published in 2021.)

By Paul Krugman

The blogger John Rogers once noted that there are two novels that can shape the lives of bookish 14-year-olds: "Atlas Shrugged" and "The Lord of the Rings". One of these novels, he asserted, is a childish fantasy that can leave you emotionally stunted; the other involves orcs.

Well I was a bookish 14-year-old, but my touchstones were two different novels:

Isaac Asimov’s “Foundation” and Frank Herbert’s “Dune.”

Many social scientists, it turns out, are science fiction readers. For example, quite a few experts on international relations who I know are fanatics about the TV version of “The Expanse.” I think it’s because good science fiction involves building imaginary worlds that are different from the world we know, but in interesting ways that relate to the attempt to understand why society is the way it is.

Anyway, that’s my excuse for devoting today’s newsletter not to the latest scary developments in politics and economics but to a much happier event: the U.S. release of a wonderful, satisfying film version of “Dune” — the first movie I’ve seen in a theater since the pandemic began.

Before I get there, however, a word about the new “Foundation” TV series, which is being released one episode a week on Apple TV.

The “Foundation” trilogy had a huge impact on my teenage self. For those who’ve never read it, it’s about social scientists who use their knowledge to save galactic civilization. I wanted to be Hari Seldon, the brilliant mathematician who leads the effort; this economics thing was as close as I could get.

“Foundation” might seem unfilmable. It mostly involves people talking, and its narrative inverts the hero-saves-the-universe theme that burns many acres of CGI every year. The story spans centuries; in each episode everything appears to be on the brink, and it seems as if only desperate efforts by the protagonists can save the day. But after each crisis, Seldon’s prerecorded hologram appears to explain to everyone what just happened and why the successful resolution was inevitable given the laws of history.

So how does the Apple TV series turn this into a visually compelling tale? It doesn’t. What it does instead is remake “Star Wars” under another name. There are indispensable heroes, mystical powers, even a Death Star. These aren’t necessarily bad things to include in a TV series, but they’re completely antithetical to the spirit of Asimov’s writing. Pretending that this series has anything to do with the “Foundation” novels is fraudulent marketing, and I’ve stopped watching.

Now on to “Dune.” The book is everything “Foundation” isn’t: There’s a glittering, hierarchical society wracked by intrigue and warfare, a young hero of noble birth who may be a prophesied Messiah, a sinister but alluring sisterhood of witches, fierce desert warriors and, of course, giant worms.

And yes, it’s fun. When I was a teenager, my friends and I would engage in mock combat in which the killing blow had to be delivered slowly to penetrate your opponent’s shield — which will make sense if you read the book or watch the movie.

Now on to “Dune.” The book is everything “Foundation” isn’t: There’s a glittering, hierarchical society wracked by intrigue and warfare, a young hero of noble birth who may be a prophesied Messiah, a sinister but alluring sisterhood of witches, fierce desert warriors and, of course, giant worms.

And yes, it’s fun. When I was a teenager, my friends and I would engage in mock combat in which the killing blow had to be delivered slowly to penetrate your opponent’s shield — which will make sense if you read the book or watch the movie.

What makes “Dune” more than an ordinary space opera are two things: its subtlety and the richness of its world-building.

Thus, the Bene Gesserit derive their power not from magic but from deep self-control, awareness and understanding of human psychology. The journey of Paul Atreides is heroic but morally ambiguous; he knows that if he succeeds, war and vast slaughter will follow.

And the world Herbert created is given depth by layers of cultural references. He borrowed from Islamic and Ayurvedic traditions, from European feudalism and more — “Dune” represents cultural appropriation on a, well, interstellar scale. It’s also deeply steeped in fairly serious ecological thinking.

So why was the 1984 film a disaster? Because the director — yes, David Lynch — either didn’t grasp the subtlety and richness or decided that audiences couldn’t handle it. That is, he did to “Dune” what Apple TV has done to “Foundation.” For example, in the book there’s the “weirding way of battle,” which is about using psychology and deception to overcome foes; in Lynch’s film this was replaced with some kind of gadget.

The great thing about Denis Villeneuve’s “Dune: Part I” is that he respects the audience enough to retain the book’s spirit. He trimmed the narrative to reduce it to filmable size — and even so, his two and a half hours cover only the first half of the book — but he didn’t dumb it down. Instead, he relies on spectacle and spine-tingling action to hold our attention despite the density of the story. In so doing he made a film worthy of the source material.

I wouldn’t say that this “Dune” matches the vision I had when reading the book. It’s better. The visuals surpass my imagination — those ornithopters! The actors give the characters more depth than the book’s author previously had in my mind.

Will this labor of love sell to a mass audience (and allow Villeneuve to finish his story)? The early box office looks good, and this does seem like the kind of film people will see twice — I did — so sales may hold up longer than usual. But I guess we’ll find out.

In any case, all of us former bookish 14-year-olds finally have the “Dune” movie we always wanted to see. Sometimes, things actually do go right.

[theflyingfeeling]

Bc guys as scientists, could be different types or all working on the same thing!

Oof, with there being so many different fields of science, I'm gonna go ahead and offer you a funky little coctail of as many as I can come up with 🤪 The first one comes with a College/University AU twist, if that's okay 😇

Olli is studying climatology (for the millionth time, Porko, it's cliMAtology, not clitology, (and Joonas knows this but he likes to make Olli blush)). He has a coursemate who's carrying the weight of the whole world on his shoulders; Joel is a devoted vegan and quite literally stays awake at night thinking about the state of the climate. His compassion is so endearing to Olli that he asks the man if they could do their Master's thesis project together. They may not discover the solution to global warming, but maybe they discover something else in the process 💘

Astronomer Niko tends to get lost in his investigations about the planets and the stars for days. One day he meets Joonas, a free spirit who thinks aliens are real. Niko's not convinced, but he's sure he's just found hidden galaxies in Joonas' eyes ✨

Physicist Tommi has hired a nuclear technician to assist him with his research on nuclear energy. And no, he did not choose Aleksi because he was very pretty and complimented Tommi's band shirt during the job interview, thank you very much. And no, Tommi did not nearly cause a nuclear explosion while daydreaming about his not pretty at all asssistant 😳

Marine biologist Niko finds a hideous new species and jokinly names it Amoeba Porkous to annoy Joonas, but then it turns out that this tiny creature is actually "the most remarkable discovery in the past 100 years" or something like that, after which Joonas becomes absolutely insufferable and makes sure everyone knows it's named after him 😂

Chemist Olli is annoyed by his co-worker Joonas constantly borrowing his stuff (and rarely returning them). Joonas doesn't actually need half of the stuff, he just uses it as an excuse to talk to his cute co-worker 😍

Botanist Joonas meets mathematician Tommi at the after-party of a science fair. Joonas doesn't understand shit about numbers, but he wants to know: "What is the probability of us starting to make out right now?" 😏

And finally, Joel and Aleksi make a remarkable advancement in their study (you decide!) and in their celebratory excitement one of them goes "you son of a bitch, I'm so happy I could kiss you! ..But, uh, I won't, haha, just kidding...unless? 👀"

[the-villian-i-seem-to-be]

I have a request that you don't have to do if you don't want.

Would you write a yandere William and Sherlock from Yuukokou no Moriarty? Or are you not interested?

Damn! Yandere William and Yandere Sherlock!! Ok so both or separate? I'll do both!!

(Y/N) could feel themselves grow weary of the rising tension between her and Sherlock. You see, (Y/N) is a journalist who loves to write about Sherlocks cases in the newspaper. They always are accompanying him for cases with Dr. Watson, even if the detective dislikes her nosy attitude to his work life and personal life. But the journalist could tell he was warming up to her. Even if it was only.

Anyway, she decided to accompany Sherlock and Dr. Watson on another case. Though the doctor had caught the flu and had given her his train ticket to make sure Sherlock wouldn't cause trouble on one of his cases with Inspector Lestrade. So she agreed and three rode off to York for his case. Though it was a waste of time in detectives eyes once he couldn't find what he was looking for. He started spew a few curses under his breath once Mr. Lestrade went to get a newspaper.

Saying he'll come to the train car a bit later before it takes off. So the journalist and detective were alone on the boarding dock. Heading to their train. "Honestly, to hell with your death by illness. Get yourself killed, seriously.."

Sherlock utters with clear agitation in his voice. "Aw, c'mon detective Sherlock. It's okay, we can always come back and take another look around!" The (h/c)-nette smiles, hoping it would ease his worries.

Which didn't work because it seemed as if he grew more upset.

"I should of shot him when I could. If I had..."

(Y/N)'s knew he was talking about the Mr. Hope case. Though she never thought he should of killed him! "Sherlock-!" He cuts her off, "if I had killed I would have been one step closer to a huge mystery!"

"We both know that you would of done it if given the chance! You don't even care for the mystery, only the story that gets coverage!" "That isn't true!" The journalist hollars, making Sherlock turn quiet.

Sucking in a shaky breath, they try to speak more calmly. "I may go on your cases for a story. But I also care about the people in them. Sherlock, I don't want to write a article about you killing a man, and for what? A bigger mystery that you want to solve?"

"I.. I thought you weren't like that, I thought you actually seeked the truth, but not the way I hoped for." They say, sadly starring at the dark haired male in front of them. "I'll meet you in train car shortly, I-I, need a minute to calm my nerves." As the woman walks off, Sherlock scowls at his actions.

"That is-I didn't-" the male sighs and ruffles his hair. His mood and thoughts in a jumble. Pulling out a cigarette, he lights it up. Taking in the toxic fumes into his lungs to calm himself and clear his head.

(Y/N) finds herself siting in the food car, she rather be on her lonsome than deal with a unpleasant Sherlock. He was acting childish and locked her out of their shared car. So she decided to wait for his anger to subsidize. Though they were growing antsy and they needed to talk this out with Sherlock. She didn't want their supposed "one sided friendship" to end!? He let her try his cigarette once.

Only after, thought she was dying after taking a puff of the cancer stick and he laughed at her. Not only that, but she was given the privilege to hear him play the violin once before he kicked her out of his house for bothering him! Sighing, she felt her pumped up spirit slowly fading into a husk.

"Enough sulking, get a grip!" She sits up and slaps her cheeks. Frightening the waiter that waited for her to make her order. "M-miss are you alright?" Turning her eyes to the waiter with determination, she nods. Telling the waiter she wasn't ready to order yet.

Getting out of her seat, she was about to head over to Sherlock. Though her eyes find a familiar blond headed man sitting in one of the booths a little farther from her's.

Stepping cautiously to his booth, she holds her head up high an stands in front of him. "Mr. Professor Moriarty..?" The blonde male looks up from his empty dish and his red rubies stare at her with confusion and another emotion she couldn't quite place. "Mr. Professor! It truly is you!"

"My god, how are you? It's been quite awhile since I saw you." The mathematician smiles at her, "yes, hello Ms. (Y/N), I am well. How are you?"

The woman smiles gleefully, "yes I have-!" She held back her tongue as the memories with Sherlock resurface. Yet her smile stayed stuck to her lips. "Uh.. I should go. I don't want to over stay my welcome-" "there's no need for you to leave just yet. Me and my brother were getting quite bored. Please sit awhile, it will be nice to talk once more."

Mr. Moriarty says politely, letting her join them. The Journalist tries to force herself to decline, yet, she may never take this opportunity to sit to a nobleman as interesting as him ever again. She couldn't miss her chance! She can just make some small chit chat then run off after to talk to Sherlock! Genius!

"Alright.. But not for long, I need to talk with a friend of mine after." "A friend?" The second oldest Moriarty questions, his tone slightly cold. (Y/N) doesn't bother to notice his tone and sits down next to Williams brother. "Yes, I came here with a friend, well, in my opinion. I'm pretty sure he hates my guts now, but he's still a close companion of mine" (Y/N) chuckles dryly.

"I, see. I hope the two of you are, well." He replies stiffly, hiding a unhappy look with a smile. Though his observant brother could tell that he was slowly growing annoyed by her words.

"If you do mind me asking, but how do you know of my brother Ms. (Y/N)?" Louis asks her, her focus shifts to the male next to her.

Her eyes light up at Louis. "Ah, we met on the Noahtic. I was covering a story about a performance that was going to be held on it. I met Mr. Moriarty at a small gathering held on the ship floors. I offered him a drink and the two of us chatted for awhile." (Y/N) said with sheepish grin.

"Then I heard a murder had occured durring the performance. I was so shocked yet, forgive me for saying this, but thrilled! This was something that needed to be shown to the public- oh um, forgive me for blabbering!" (Y/N) blurted out, covering her mouth with her hand to stop herself.

William just chuckles at her, shaking his head. "It's quite alright. I didn't know you were so passionate about your job. I find it very endearing and admirable." (Y/N) flushed from his compliments, letting her hand fall to her lap as she gave him a sweet smile. "Thank you, Professor Moriarty. That's very kind of you."

Before William could say another word, Inspector Lestrade walks up to the booth. "(L/N)?" Looking up to see who had called her, she sees the Inspector. Quickly getting up from her seat, she greets him awkwardly.

"Is this the man you said that "hates your guts" ?" William questions, though his eyes don't glare at him. "NO, NO, NO, NO!" Flailing her hands around, she tries to clear up the misunderstanding. "I was joking!"

"Mr. Lestrade doesn't hate me! I was talking about someone else! Not him!!" The journalist cries out, the Inspector sighs and shakes his head.

"I apologize for my acquaintance, Mr..?" "Oh, this is Professor Moriarty! And the one sitting across from is his brother." (Y/N) introduces them to Mr. Lestrade like nothing had ever happened. Or at least pretending too.

"Professor Moriarty and Mr. Moriarty, this is Inspector Lestrade. He's another good friend of mine. He works for the Scotland Yard. Pretty neat right?"

(Y/N) winks, doing small jazz hands to make his introduction a little interesting. "(Y/N), why aren't you with-" before the Inspector could finish his sentence. A shrill scream of woman was heard.

~°~

Running to source of the scream. (Y/N) follows behind the youngest Moriarty and Inspector Lestrade. She bumps into one of the passengers and apologizes. Not looking at who she bumped into.

(Y/N) could hear Sherlock and Professor Moriarty discus. Growing immensely curious, she wiggled her way through the two men. Walking up to Sherlock and

"What happened?!" She said, but mostly to Sherlock who arrived before her. Who was looking through a peep hole of one of the rooms inside the train car.

"Look for yourself." He remarks, stepping away from the peep hole. (Y/N) hesitates for a moment, though creates false courage to see what happened. But was then was stopped by Sherlocks hand on her shoulder.

He didn't stare at her in the eye like normally, instead her shirt. Confused, (Y/N) looks down, she regrets it soon after. There, on her shirt was fresh blood. Even some smeared on her hands. "What.."

All eyes focused solely on her, the air quiet as she was panicking inside her mind. "It seems we have a valuable prize in our game now to make things more interesting." William said to the shocked detective, who gave the noble man a twisted smirk. "I guess so, I don't plan on losing, Liam." A disturbing smile crawls onto the crime consultant.

"Neither do I."

(Okay, this ask went a LOT longer than expected. I wanted to make it shorter but a rush of creativity hit me because I was re-watching ep 10 of Yuukoku No Moriarty! And reading the manga!! Yes!! And I hope I made them very Yandere-ish.)

[feminist-propaganda]

Single Mothers Will Probably Cry During Every Episode Of  Queen’s Gambit - Episode 1

I’ll start this long piece with a quote by Toni Morrisson. She once said : “If there's a book that you want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it.”

After watching Queen’s Gambit yesterday I rushed to the Internet to see if someone had written all of the things I am about to write, all of the symbols I saw in the miniseries, all of the dog whistles, the references.  I found articles about chess. About how the community had adopted the film, about which grandmasters the characters were based off of, about chess moves and theories, about production and the unexpected success of the series.

According to me, this is quite mediocre commentary. I eventually clicked on the New Yorker article that seemed to be a tiny bit smarter. After a couple of paragraphs I realized that the male writer was only going to rant about how the actress is “too pretty” to be Beth Harmon, and this seems to upset him. A lot.

But no one talked about Beth’s mother. Or the name of the series. Or the embroidery. The chess board. The tranquilizers. The math. The flashbacks. The exchange of queens. The sacrifice of the queen. Did no one see it? Or is it again one of those things; where the world is so obsessed with single mothers and representing them as huge, massive, quite literal train wrecks, but no one actually wants to look at them in the eye, talk to them, help them?

Let me tell you, as a single mother, this miniseries had me in tears the whole time. It’s really difficult to watch. It’s downright triggering.

Single mothers like to keep their silence. That’s because we know the world doesn’t like it when we start talking. It hurts. A lot. So instead, the world likes to make memes about how single moms are whores, how they are drunks or over worked. How they’re psychotic. How they ramble. They don’t make any sense. Bipolar. Crazy. How their children stare at the television all day, the way they microwave bad food. We laugh at them, and use them as comical relief in our ... what exactly? Cultural objects. Then we move on. We send a message to single mothers when we do this, and the message is important. You suck. Shut Up. Don’t exist. It’s your fault. 

We make an entire mini series about a single mother who killed herself to save her kid, we put on the television images that hurt and harm single mothers and then the public responds with nothing. They don’t even bat an eyelash. Miss the point entirely. Great series about chess! Except it’s not about chess. Not at all. It’s about raising children alone, when the world hates you. It’s about a trailer. In the middle of nowhere. A strong willed woman who was a mathematician in the 1940s. Who taught her daughter everything she could. Realized she couldn’t do more. And made the ultimate sacrifice, the queen’s gambit. The riskiest, most reckless, bravest move of all.

So let me tell you about what it’s like to watch Queen’s Gambit when you’re a single mother. So that somewhere in the AI, it’s written. So that when our great grand children will try to understand our times, they’ll read it.

I’ll write an essay for each episode. And in each essay I will review the important lession that Alice passed on to young Beth, and how this takes her to Moscow, where she can live a much more fulfilling life than in the U.S.A.

Lesson 1 : Find A Two Dimensional Algebric Plane. Study It. Control It.

I recently learned from instagram user @itllbeokbaby and Amsterdam based artist and weaver Liza Prins that the words textile and text have the same origin as the word texture. 

Text derives from the Latin textus (a tissue), which is in turn derived from texere (to weave). It belongs to a field of associated linguistic values that includes weaving, that which is woven, spinning, and that which is spun, indeed even web and webbing. Textus entered European vernaculars through Old French, where it appears as texte and where it assumes its important relation with tissu (a tissue or fabric) and tisser (to weave).

Women have been weaving, beading, sowing and stitching since the dawn of times. We also know that women used this technology not just to create clothes, tents or shoes. They used it as a container of information. As cultural DNA. 

In South America, in places where writing as we know of it was never created, women would bead important tribal information into skirts. They would then use the skirts as a database of the tribe. To track births, deaths, epidemics, droughts and other important group defining events.

In modern times, women still use embroidery as a means of expression. My memories from childhood contain strong images of my aunts and grandmothers, sewing my name and date of birth onto pillow cases, bathrobes and bedcovers. They would do this by the pool, at the bottom of the ski slopes, on the beach or in the train. They would engage into conversation as they embroidered; as this activity required some concentration, but not their full attention. It was their way of being present; but also transcending into the past and projecting into the future. They sewed our lives into the cloth.

I once heard my grandmother counting the holes in the cloth she was decorating with her beautiful colours. I asked what she was doing. She said that to build the letters on the cloth, you needed to count the squares. Two to the top, four to the right, ten to the middle, etc etc. I was quite mesmerized. I was maybe eight at the time, the same age as Beth when she loses her mother. I had started learning some math in school but somehow the math in school seemed to be presented to me as the epitome of something quite different than this excruciatingly feminine passtime. 

Math was presented to me as masculine, out of reach to us girls. And now I was disovering that these women in my family were geometry experts, fluent in linear algebra, and that at a higher level, they were database account managers.

In the first episode of the miniseries, in the first couple of minutes; we discover two Beths. The first Beth is in Paris, the beautiful, the chic; the glamourous Paris. Paris will always be the undisputed capital of Fashion. 

Paris is the undisputed capital of fashion not because it is the home of polluting massive textile industries like the ones in Pakistan or Zara’s empire in Spain. Paris is the capital of fashion because it is the capital of Haute Couture. And Haute Couture is custom made, sowed by hand, piece by piece, bead by bead, sequin per sequin. It is delicate. It is slow. It is sacred. It is what my aunt’s did. 

It is the opposite of industrial, the opposite of a sewing machine, the opposite of an engine. The opposite of yield failures, punching in and punching out. It is lace. Delicate, personal, eternal.

The second Beth we see is the eight year old Beth, that has just lost her mother. She stands on a bridge. Two cars have crashed into one another. And she stares on at the police officers. One says “Not a scratch on her. It’s a miracle”. The other says “I doubt she’ll see it like that”. 

My theory is that the miniseries explain how Beth eventually begins to “see it like that”. 

The first time we see 8 year old Beth she is wearing a dress, with her name embroidered on it. It reads Beth, in pink. Feminine. Purple flowers surround it. The embroidery is delicate. It’s on her heart. 

We follow eight year old Beth as she gets sent to an orphanage. In the first couple of scenes at the orphanage, we think, for a minute, that maybe Beth will be okay here. The head mistress smiles, has nice hair. Shows her around. Yes, the bed is by the lavatory, but at least she has a bed, a roof over her head.

We only start despising this new mother figure when she takes Beth to choose new clothes. Beth takes off her dress, and stares at her name, written on the front. The headmistress selects a white shirt and grey dress for Beth. She hands to her these new items, symbol of her new life, of her integration within the orphanage and later mainstream society. The headmistress then grabs the dress with the name embroidered and looks at it with disgust. Then, she says “I think we’ll burn this one” and disapears.

Beth then understands that she is no longer allowed to love her mother. That to fit in this school, this orphanage, to survive, she must let go of the embroidery and all of the things she associates with her mother. Her mother, in the words of the teacher was a “victim” of “a carefree life”. A free spirited whore, a lesbian, a witch. There’s a lot of words we liek to use to describe women who don’t conform. And Beth’s mother, as we learn, never conformed.

At night, Beth sees her mother’s eyes, she hears the last words her mother uttered before dying in the car crash. “Close your eyes”. She said it with tears in her eyes and an air of great determination. She knew what she was doing, which is something Beth doesn’t want to tell anyone. Not even her new friend Jolene. Beth’s secret is her mother wasn’t crazy. She wasn’t crazy at all.

Then, Beth discovers the board. One day, she gets sent to the basement and sees the janitor playing chess. Later in the miniseries, Beth tells the journalist from Life it was the board that attracted her. Not the pieces.

As the first episode unfolds, Beth learns that the squares have names. She learns the names. And at night when she looks up at the ceiling she sees the board. She visualizes the pieces moving on the 64 squares. She moves them in her mind and imagines all of the alternatives. What the board would look like if she moved this piece to that square. What would her opponent do then? 

To the journalist of the Life magazine, Beth says that the Chess board was a universe of 64 squares, and that she could control this space. All she had to do was study it.

The board is much like the cloth that Beth’s mother Alice would sew information onto when she was a young child. You count the squares and move your material through it. As you go, you make shapes, patterns, motifs. Beth looks up at the ceiling at night and the first night, without the tranquilizers, she sees her mother say “Close your eyes” which is too painful or such a young child. A young child doesn’t understand yet why a mother would say “Close your eyes” and then crash on purpose into a truck. A young child doesn’t know about the world yet.

Alice aknowledged that she was about to do something extremely risky, that the outcome was uncertain. Alice told Beth that she was going to purposely provoke the car crash. 

But when Beth takes the tranquilizers at night, and now that she knows about chess, she can transfer her love for her mother into her growing obsession with Chess. She looks up at the ceiling and instead of seeing Alice’s last thoughts, she sees the Chess board. Which is the small piece of universe that Alice controlled, when she was alive. The cloth that she sewed her daughter’s name on: “So that you’ll always remember who you are”.

[eviearie]

All I Want for Christmas is to Not Be Poisoned By Your Cooking

Happy Holidays (and happy new year) @stormypaint ! This is a gift for the @sanderssidesgiftxchange, in which the sides are fluffy idiots and I think I accidentally roast myself. I had a lot of fun writing this. Hope you enjoy! (Additional note: I got 2 of the wishes down. I tried to put angst in here but—it did not work. At all). 

Pairings: Platonic DLAMPR 

Word Count: 2574

Warnings: lots of bickering, 1 swear word, it looks like Remus might accidentally kill someone at one point but it’s all good 

Summary: It’s the solstice, and the sides are finally getting around to getting in the Christmas spirit. Decorating, baking, gift exchanging, and of course, playful bickering— what more could Janus ask for?

Read on Ao3 here

-- -- --

Janus lounged on a chair in the common room, sipping his… soup as the other sides worked around him. Roman was hanging stockings above the fireplace, Logan was putting ornaments on the tree, and Virgil was sitting on top of the couch with a cup of hot cocoa made by Patton, who was in the kitchen with Remus. The outcome of that should prove to be interesting. 

Janus got up off the chair and walked to the kitchen, the sounds of playful bickering and crackling fire lightening the area behind him. He walked into the kitchen, bracing internally for whatever horrible sight he was about to see. 

Surprisingly, it wasn’t actually too bad.

Patton was kneeling down by the oven, watching whatever abomination was surrounded by the warm yellow light illuminating it. Remus was— well, it looked like he was attempting to stir something in a pot, but it wasn’t going very well. 

“Do you need some help?” Janus asked, raising a brow as he approached Remus, who was covered in chocolate. 

Remus exhaled, “No duh, Snakespeare,” he said. “I’m fudging the fudge!” 

Patton giggled from the oven. Janus looked unimpressed. 

“Don’t give me that,” he said, taking the pot from the other side and vigorously mixing the glossy chocolate in the pot with ease. 

“Damn Jan, those snake arm muscles are buff,” Remus commented as he recovered. 

“Hours in the kitchen with Patton will do that to you, especially when those first batches are always in perfect condition,” Janus said with a glace over at Patton. 

The oven alarm went off with a little tune. “Cookies are ready!” Patton exclaimed, grabbing a pair of oven mitts from the counter and opening the oven. Janus was surprised to find that the smell wafting from it was actually pleasant. 

 "Yes!" Remus cheered, skipping over to bask in the presence of those cookies. "Can we eat them now?" 

"They do look good," Janus commented with faux surprise in his voice. Patton gave him the Dad Look™. You know, the one with the oven-mitted hands on hips and the (quote-unquote)  disappointment in the eyes. That one. 

“Of course they do, kiddo,” Patton chided. Janus just lifted a cookie off the still-hot tray, biting into the soft warm dough. It’s okay, Remus already had already stuffed several in his mouth. 

Wow. “Not bad.” 

“Whoo! We did it pops! We got props from the second harshest critic here!” Remus exclaimed, holding a hand up to Patton for a high five, which would have been accepted if not for the fact that the latter was still holding the hot pan of cookies. 

“Third,” Janus corrected. “As long as one’s own work counts, Roman goes before me.”

“I heard that!” Came a call from the other room. 

“Hey! Don’t eat all of them!” Patton scolded Remus, holding the pan up to get it out of the other side’s radius and holding back a smile from his face. “They’ve got to be frosted first.”

“Oh, joy,” Janus said while Remus cheered. “This better be a repeat of the Easter fiasco.”

“I think we all learned from that,” Patton said as he set the pan down. 

Janus wasn’t convinced, but he let it slide anyway. Tis the season, right? 

“But first, we should probably clean up,” the moral side continued. 

“Yes, because it looks terrible in here—” Janus started, before Patton nodded behind him. Janus turned around. 

“Oh.” Yep, that was terrible indeed. Remus must have gone full rat mode in the flour, or something. Janus really hoped that was food coloring, too, and not blood. 

“I’m gonna leave you two to that,” Janus said, backing away slowly, “and make sure Virgil doesn’t come in here.”

“Thanks Jan, love ya kiddo!” Patton called before Janus closed the kitchen door with a small sigh. 

“Janus. We need your help,” Roman said with a very serious tone in his voice. 

"What is it?" Janus asked with a sigh. 

"Roman thinks that—" 

"I think that," Roman started, interrupting Logan, “we shouldn’t hang the mistletoe ornament up on the tree, and instead hang it over the doorway.”

“First of all, I’ve already told him this is holly, not mistletoe—”

“It’s what it’s supposed to be!”

“Mistletoe is white!” Logan near screeched. 

“It’s true, mistletoe isn’t white,” Janus added. 

“I’ll just change it then!” Roman exclaimed with an exasperated tone as he waved a hand, the berries on the holly in Logan’s hand changing from a bright red to a hazy white. 

Logan looked satisfied. “Second, it’s an ornament for the tree. It should go on the tree. You can conjure up a real mistletoe if you wanted, although the whole idea of hanging one up for romantic purposes is rather silly.”

Roman harrumphed. “But what’s the point of having it on the tree?”

“There is no point, it’s for decoration. Did you not hear what I just said about the purpose being quite—”

“It’s romantic, Logan!” Roman said with a dramatic flair, spinning around and fake fainting towards Logan. The dark blue side quickly

 caught him with his free arm. 

“Can’t argue with that logic,” Janus commented. 

“I could,” Logan retaliated. 

“Oh my god guys, just hang the damn mistletoe up,” Virgil groaned from the couch. 

"But we haven't resolved-" 

"Roman. Make a new mistletoe. Like this," Virgil said, leaning forward to show a picture of a rounded ball of mistletoe. 

Roman pouted his lips but conjured up something. 

"Great. Now hang it up in the kitchen doorway like you wanted," continued Virgil. 

Roman did so. 

"Now it's resolved," said Virgil, relaxing again. 

"Terrible job Virgil," said Janus. The anxious side just rolled his eyes. 

Soon Patton and Remus came walking out of the kitchen, Remus kicking something from his fingers and Patton dusting off flour from the bottom of his shirt. 

Roman perked up from his place on the couch, where he had sat. "Hah! You two are under the mistletoe!" He exclaimed. 

"Aww, you hung up mistletoe, that's sweet," Patton commented before giving Remus an honorary kiss on the forehead. 

"Is it sweet-?" Logan started. 

"Shut your yap Sherlock," Remus cut in. 

Janus patted Logan's head as the latter crossed his arms. 

"Are the cookies ready?" asked Roman. 

"-And are they intact, not soggy, not burnt, not poisoned, and do they actually taste good?" asked Virgil. 

"Yep!"  Patton chimed, walking up and plopping himself down on the floor near the tree. 

Virgil didn't look convinced. 

"Do worry Virgil, I've seen them and they look absolutely horrible," said Janus. Virgil looked horrified only for a split second before understanding, immediately seeming much more relaxed and relieved. 

"Did you follow the recipe I gave you?" Logan asked. 

"We did!" replied Remus, who was draped over the coach next to Virgil. "At least the third time we made them." 

"Trust me, these cookies are gonna be dadlicious," Patton said. 

"That one wasn't even good." 

"I'm not on my b—a—ke game today." 

"Oh god." 

"Either way, these ginger-dad cookies are going to be a gift to us all." 

"Really? Dad again?" 

Patton shrugged, smiling. 

"Speaking of gifts—" Janus started, "I have a question for you all." 

"What's the question?" asked Patton. 

"That is the question," added Virgil.  

"'That' is not a question,” said Logan. “‘That' is a word used most commonly to refer to an object or idea." 

Roman sat up. "Oh, it's not just used to refer to an object! I refer to Remus as 'that' too.”  

(Remus was unfazed, as to be expected). 

“The question,” Janus started, again, “is when you all want to do gift exchanges this year.”

“Let’s do it now!” Patton exclaimed enthusiastically. 

“Patton, it’s December 21st. While I do agree that the solstice is a beautiful thing to celebrate, Christmas isn’t for 4 days.” 

“3 days,” chorused Virgil, Remus, and Roman simultaneously. 

“Don’t question my counting methods.”

“Well, we can do some now, right? We’ve done so much work today, decorating and baking, it would be a fun treat!”

“I can’t argue with that,” said Janus. 

Judging from the lack of bickering, it didn’t seem like anyone else could either. 

"Yay!" Patton exclaimed. "Let's do our secret Santa gifts. I'll go first!" 

The group had decided to do a secret gift exchange between all of them that year-- but some sides (Patton especially) wanted to give gifts to everyone anyways. So there would be more gifts coming on Christmas day. 

"I had Logan," said Patton, passing a gift to the logical side, "so I got him a book!" 

"A book, how practical of you-" Logan started, although he cut off as soon as he saw what book it was." 

"A book of dad jokes!" Patton said, beaming. 

Logan sighed to himself as he opened the book up. "An engineer, a physicist, and a mathematician are staying in a hotel. The engineer wakes up and smells smoke. They go out into the  hallway and see a fire, so they fill a trash can from his room with water and douse the fire. They go back to bed. Later, the physicist wakes up and smells smoke. They walk down the hall to a fire hose and after calculating the flame velocity, distance, water pressure, trajectory, etcetera, they extinguish the fire with the minimum amount of water and energy needed." 

"Why did you pick the longest joke you could find?" Virgil complained. 

"I'm just hearing a bunch of math words," said Remus. 

"Later," Logan continues without a glance up, "the mathematician wakes up and smells smoke. They go into the hall, see the fire, and the fire hose. They think for a moment, then exclaim, 'Ah, a solution exists!'. Then they go back to bed." 

Silence. Only silence was in the room. 

"That was actually really funny," said Logan, closing the book. 

"Gimme that," said Remus, stretching over the top of the couch to snatch the book from Logan. 

"Why do teenagers travel in groups of 3s and 5s?" read Remus, who then looked around for a response. 

"I don't know, why?" asked Patton. 

"Because they can't even." 

Virgil snickered at that. From the others came "That was a pretty good joke" and "yeah that makes sense" and another laugh. 

"Oh, there's also a gift card in there for you," added Patton. 

Logan lifted up the Amazon gift card. "Thank you, Patton," he said, before setting his gifts aside. "I had Janus as my giftee." 

"Oh goodie," said Janus. It was unclear even to him if he was being sarcastic or not. (He wasn't). 

"I got you a book as well. Marcus Aurelius," Logan said as Janus opened his gift. 

"Is that the 'breed quails for fighting' guy?" Remus asked excitedly. 

Logan put his hand against his head. "Yes, but he also made many other significant points-" 

"I want to breed quails for fighting." 

"Actually Marcus Aurelius suggested against that—" 

"Thank you, Logan, This will be a great addition to my collection. And that's the truth," said Janus, putting another argument on hold. 

Logan smiled, because yes, it was. 

"Well, I had Virgil," Janus said, glancing over at the anxious side.

"Let's get this over with," said Virgil, reaching for his gift. 

"I got you a new pair of headphones, since your old ones broke-" 

"Sorry about that again," said the twins at the same time. 

"-And I also got you some new eyeshadow. You're welcome." 

"Thank you," said Virgil, just a hint of surprise in his voice as he looked down at his gifts. 

"Et toi?" 

"Uh, I had Roman. Here, take your gift," said Virgil, handing a bag to Roman, who accepted it graciously. "I got you some makeup and slippers. Nothing much." 

"Oh my gosh Virgil I love them!!! They're so on brand!" Roman exclaimed, his voice ringing with life throughout the mindscape. Virgil cringed, but smiled back with a thumbs-up as he recovered. 

“Sadly, I had Remus,” Roman says, although his smile was still prominent as he set his gift to the side. 

“Oooh goodie,” Remus replies with a grin, picking up his own gift. 

“How dare you steal the phrase I just used,” Janus commented. 

“Just open the thing already,” Roman said to Remus. 

Remus did so. “Gasp, a sword! With holographic green and an octopus hilt??”

“I know, it’s great,” Roman started. Janus could hear Virgil whisper “How did he pull that whole thing out of that tiny bag?” to Logan. 

“Thanks bro!” Remus exclaimed. Virgil leaned over from his spot on the couch and held on to the closest side he could find—Janus—in order to avoid Remus’ slashing radius. 

“Okay, take it easy on the sword swinging,” Janus said, putting a careful hand on Remus’ shoulder. 

Remus lowered his sword with an apologetic grin. “And I got you, pops!” he said, looking over at Patton. “Your gift is there. Even though our amazing cooking is a gift in itself!”

“It is,” Patton says whilst picking up his gift, opening the box it was wrapped in. 

The moral side peered into the box. “Oh my gosh!!” he squealed. 

“It’s a puppy!” Remus exclaimed. 

“Oh no,” Logan, Virgil, and Janus said simultaneously. 

The dark grey and curly-furred puppy looked up at Patton with adorable eyes, and Patton started it down with adoration. “I. Love. You.” 

“I love you too Pat,” said Remus. 

“I think he was talking to the puppy,” Roman cut in, although he was also looking adoringly at the small dog. 

“Yes. But I also love you, Remus!” Patton said, beaming as the dog jumped into his arms. 

“Well, that was enjoyable,” Janus commented as Logan tried to talk Patton out of whatever adorable thing he was trying to do with this puppy that would probably miraculously disappear tomorrow. Give it a week, at most. 

"Yeah— this year has been rough. And I don't even know what year it is!" said Roman, who was putting his slippers from Virgil on. 

“I love you guys,” said Virgil, so casually it would have shaken the room in any situation where Patton and Remus weren’t occupied with lovingly staring down an adorable puppy and the rest of them weren’t occupied with watching them. 

“I love you too!” replied Roman, which was then followed by an “And I as well” from Logan, and a “Not me” from Janus himself, and “Same” chorusing from Patton and Remus, still occupied with the puppy.

“You should really do something with that puppy, though,” Janus said at Patton. “Before he ruins anything.”

“You think an angel with this face would destroy?” Patton asked with a coo, holding up the puppy for Janus to see. 

“It is Remus’ creation, so, yes,” Janus said. 

“That’s fair,” replied Remus, right as the puppy jumped out of Patton’s arms and bounded over to the tree (scarily, as Virgil would say). 

“I’ll go put him in my room,” the dad side said before any disaster could strike, scooping the puppy in his arms and sinking out, returning soon after. “Should we frost cookies then?” he asked, smiling at the group with a—not signature, because this one was real—grin. 

“Oh no,” said Logan and Virgil simultaneously. 

“Oh yes,” the twins chimed together. 

So with a trip to the kitchen, as well as many creative ways of avoiding the newly-hanged mistletoe, the sides frosted their Christmas cookies. And, well— 

It may not have been as much of a fiasco as Easter, but it wasn’t pretty either.

It’s the Sanders sides. What would you expect?

[vampiresuns]

Anatole’s Family Tree

this is Anatole’s family tree down to it’s basics, and you can have some info about everyone under the cut. I apologise for the intersecting lines, but family colours will help distinguish Florentino and Matilda from the Radošević they married.

hexagon is for he/him, circle for she/her, rounded edges for they/them

Vitale Cassano

Aquarius sun, Scorpio moon, Capricorn rising, Leo Mercury, Scorpio Mars, do NOT fuck with this man.

Former Consul of Vesuvia, responsible for the biggest (to date) expansions in the Vesuvian public space, the reason why Vesuvia was an attractive, rich location with solid public funding which ended up going to hell with Lucio’s administration, but that’s another story.

If he knew that his hard work would go to hell like it did, he would’ve made a coup to change the course of history.

Fuck around and find out in human form. His entire energy is condensed in this post. 

Had the art of delivering insults diplomatically down to an art, however. “You’re tacky and I hate you” would destroy a diplomatic relation; “I believe a less heterodox decision which might hold the weight of this agreement with less attached risk” doesn’t.

Friends with Dragoslav Radošević parents, as in those friends you call uncle when they’re not really related to you, but kind of are by default of closeness anyway. Befriended him because he was the most eccentric person in the room and he was bored.

Amparo Mediavilla

Is that even her actual family name? Who the hell are the Mediavilla? Where does her money come from? She says she’s from Karnassos but literally no one knows (she does, she just won’t tell). Has a brother named Seraphim Mediavilla, and that’s all you need to know.

Vitale was well aware she was probably a smuggler, but he likes her surprisingly present honour code anyway. Plus, she was fun, she was different, she was efficient. We stan.

She’s half the reason why the Cassano’s library in the Vesuvian Palazzo they inhabit in the Heart District is basically an open research centre for all of those travellers who seek knowledge. The Cassano have almost always have an open doors policy — the Consul acts in behalf of the people, and the people are allowed to go to the Consul. Amparo expanded and bettered that system, to the point it acted as Vesuvia’s public library and the biggest reason why the Palace didn’t quite have one — it was an understanding that it wasn’t needed. The only time the Consul’s Palazzo has been closed to the people of Vesuvia is during the plague. 

Longest lashes ever seen in a person.

Somehow already knew the Radošević, they liked her honest opinions and her distaste for explaining herself.

Luciano “Lucenzo” Cassano

Vitale’s baby brother, they had a significant age difference.

Known later as ‘Great Uncle Lucenzo’, literally no one called him Luciano but Vitale when he wanted him to stop doing something stupid. Not that Lucenzo thought his ideas were stupid, after all, this man was an architect and patron of the arts, and Goldgrave’s favourite loose canon ball.

He was not allowed to set a foot in Firent. When you asked him why, he kept changing the story.

Met his wife at an orgy. Yes, you read that right.

Octavia Cassano

Sweet lady, do no harm, take no shit, appreciates a good laugh in life.

Met Lucenzo at an orgy. She made a joke, and the person she was focusing on didn’t find it funny, but Lucenzo did.

Came from another prominent Vesuvian family. Worked with her BIL, Vitale, in developing social policy plans and judicial reforms in Veusuvia. Which also went to hell. If she was alive today, Portia would be her favourite and would literally fight to have her work with her.

Greenest eyes this side of the straight of seals.

Agrippina & Iovanus Cassano

Amparo’s and Vitale’s children, Agrippina is two years older than Iovanus.

Agrippina stepped down from becoming the Consul out of personal preference. They were a scholar and proficient historian, very talented in the art of mixing a good drink as well. Closest to the Prakran intellectual circles and is one of the notable alumni of the Prakran University. One of her later acquaintances, Rosario Aster, would eventually become Anatole’s tutor in History and Politics before he went to university himself.

Agrippina partly worked as a diplomat attaché, wasn’t a full on freedom fighter simply because there wasn’t an uprising to be one in. If Vitale is the MO of the Cassano, Lucenzo their spark, and Amparo their zest, Agrippina is, surprisingly, their political compass. Agrippina and Lucio weren’t on the best terms, they were in awful terms actually. The Cassano and him are simply like oil and water, it just doesn’t mix.

Iovanus took after Vitale and became the Consul. He was less of a surprise stew than the father, though, and inevitably, his best focus became damage control.

His entire vibe is moomin going on a murderous rage and then holding back. He’s folding the knife. For now. Iovanus was a pain in the ass to have as a predecessor in the position of Consul because this man constantly had his patience tested and his city funds used in things he didn’t want to do. Responsible, along with Agrippina, with the current functioning of the Council of Vesuvia and it’s final opening before Anatole’s times. What that composition and functioning is, is something I might, one day, decide to write down, but not today for the sake of staying on topic.

They’re the closest thing to the “spirit” of a tribune of the plebs I can think of, without like, either of them ending up dead like the Gracci brothers.

Cassandra Cassano

Finally some fucking scientist/mathematician. Mathematician wife of Agrippina. Did some political economy, but that hadn’t been invented yet, mostly liked numbers for the sake of numbers and finding out what she could do with them.

Having in mind that when I say ‘Vesuvian’ I mean solely location and original seat, not ethnicity, comes from a Vesuvian Family which settled in Venterre. Studied in Zadith and Prakra, but met Agrippina during some diplomatic function.

She was someone else’s date, and Agrippina was working with Iovanus is some diplomatic relations, and Agrippina literally said they were happy and willing to stay to seal the negotiations if Cassandra would go out with them. Cassandra was bored off her skin, and said yes.

They married by the end of the year.

Valerian Cassano

Iovanus’ husband. Renaissance man in the humanities department, very savant, a virtuoso, but his true passion was the performing arts. Darling of Vesuvian opera and theatre.

Met Iovanus through Lucenzo (patron of the arts, remember?). Iovanus went to every single of his plays for a year, made some very light advances as a “fan”, until Valerian asked him what his deal was. Iovanus was disarmed by gorgeous light amber eyes and witty snark, having no option but to admit his feelings.

Cemented the Cassano-Radošević relationship with Goldgrave. Most of the family thought it healthy for a dose of ‘get of your high-horse’ check.

Hated the Colosseum with a black tar vitriol.

He was Elysian Radošević’s (Anatole’s great grandmother on the Radošević side) best friend.

Matilda Cassano & Krešmir Radošević

Here’s where the story gets a bit sad. Inherited all of the snark of Valerian, but wanted nothing to do with her family’s ventures.

They just didn’t click. She always thought her fathers were very dedicated men, but needed to let loose a little. She was here for a fun time, not a long time. Which was sadly, literal.

For the longest time, it was an understanding that her cousin Cassiopeia would inherit the consulship from Iovanus, which Matilda didn’t love. She didn’t want the Consulship, but thought she was entitled to it. She could be the Consul and Cassiopeia do the job.

Cassiopeia did not like the idea, specially because within the Cassano it’s an open rule that the title falls on whomever willingly wants to take the mantel, number one. Number two, it came with an awareness of your social position and what good you could do with it, having in mind you weren’t really necessary for society. Someone else could be the Consul, the people, if given a chance, would govern themselves. It’s part of the Cassano mythos that surrounds them that they’re a protective line between misused political power and the people of Vesuvia. So, no, Matilda shouldn’t be the Consul.

Honestly, did Iovanus and Valerian spoil her too much? They have no clue. They just think she might be wired that way, because she always disliked it.

She married the fourth of the equivalent generation of the Radošević siblings, Krešmir Radošević.

Krešmir was a bit of a loose shot, doing “useful” things because he had to, not because he wanted to, so they took to each other like fish to water. They both wanted to have fun, the problem was they wanted to have fun with no respect of the world around them. Krešmir had middle child syndrome, which became worse after his youngest sibling, Ilnya, died at 27.

They had two children: Vladislav Radošević and Valeriy “Valerius” Radoševic.

Sadly, they passed away when Vlad was 14 and Val 4. They went on a holiday, leaving the kids with Mircea Radošević (Krešmir older brother) and Florentino Cassano (Matilda’s cousin and Mircea’s husband), as Iovanus and Valerian were in no place (out of grief) to take care of the children, and Mircea and Florentino were their de facto care takers already.

Now, onto the Radošević, so mind you, we’re going back a couple of generations.

Dragoslav Radošević

PRIME recipient of the Radošević tradition of breeding polymaths/”renaissance people”. This man spoke 6 languages, knew astronomy, economy, mathematics, accountancy, a bit of law and a whole lot of history. Excellent chess player.

No one’s exactly sure what the hell he did, he did too many things. Some sort of diplomacy was clearly his most usual job. Big friends with Agrippina, Cassandra and Iovanus. Everyone thought he’d marry Agrippina but both of them dry heaved at the possibility.

He was a bit of a character though. Very conspicuous man with particular rituals. Taciturn man, too, but overall amicable.

Had a very long, stable marriage with Elysian, his wife. Survived the death of two of their children. The death of Ilnya hit Dragoslav more than anyone would expect, but he had a very “let me grief in private” stance. The key to understand a Radošević is that their mentality is “whatever happens to you, whatever life throws at you, you find a way to survive it.”

His is a family of eccentrics, inventors, patron of the arts, humanists and scientists; when he says his family, he means the Cassano too.

No rumour ever mattered to any of them, and Dragoslav & Elysian were a prime example of it. Theirs is a family of academics full of anxieties about the world surrounding them, whose sorrows were scars they rarely showed. Private yet with an extensive, and international, circle of acquaintances who deemed them all charmingly strange on their best days; prideful, analytic, often with a drink in hand. 

Had a sister who had three partners, all of them women, too.

Elysian Radošević, nee Juriša

Wallachian by birth, first person in her family (aside from one aunt the Juriša did NOT speak about) to marry someone who wasn’t a Wallachian in a couple of generations. Not that she minded, everything I said about Drago, applies to Elysian.

She was a child of high society, bonded with Valerian, her best friend, out of their love for Operettas, though while Valerian went pro, she was an amateur — still, very good at it.

Excellent piano player, loved a well crafted, ingenious garden.

Beacon of the Radošević righteous rage. The Radošević are meant to be from a place called Balkovia, which is modelled after Yugoslavia, with many of the “bumps” in actual history colliding (A/N: Anatole is a latine-slav like me, for a reason). Elysian was the friend of artists and partisans, and had absolutely zero respect for certain kinds of leeches in political power. Zero national pride in this one, but at least, she came from a place were partisans stood (or used to) stand up to injustice.

In her dignified clothes with her amiable smile, she will bite ankles. Try her, you just try Elysian Radošević and she’ll remind you of all those people who ever said: They shall not pass.

Ambrozije Radošević

Diplomat, politician, eldest of Dragos and Ely’s children.

Inherited his father’s temperance but also had Elysian’s "Excuse Me, What The Fuck Is This Shit” attitude. Still, many times when he talked about his job, he had to stop his mother to go out and bite ankles.

Was the Radošević rage an answer against the grief of living and growing, against the cycle of dying and rebirth, and a cry of this is not enough, what I get is not enough? Maybe. Ambrozije liked to theorise about it.

Married Eloise Isaković and had two children: Kuzma and Lucija.

Best fencer of his generation.

Eloise Isaković

Didn’t take the Radošević surname solely to spite her family. She was disinherited for wanting to marry a Radošević. Her father said “if you want to marry then be a housewife for those freaks and I’ll take you out of University.”

The Radošević were like not in my fucking watch.

You bet Elysian and Dragoslav had words about that.

Percy Shelley, if Percy had been a woman, and also an anthropologist.

Will make femur jokes.

Kuzma & Lucija Radošević

Less in the centre of things than the rest of the family, out of virtue of “dear God, I get they’re my family but these people are fucking weird.”

The Addams energy was too much for them.

Kuzma is an alchemist and an inventor, moved to Zadith to study, never came back. He has two daughters and a wife, though.

Lucija became a diplomat for Balkovia, has a seat beyond the straight of seals. More traditional for diplomacy than Ambrozije by all means.

Very Dad please not now, but she does love the old man.

Married, never had children.

Neuma Radošević

Painter, a gay who can do maths, so that’ll have you knowing she’s stronger than you already. Perspective does not scare her.

Little does.

(Moths do, for some reason).

Claimed to have zero magical ability, but it was heavily disputed because how the hell did she paint like that.

Travelled a lot with her bohemian artist found family.

Never married.

Anatole loved watching her paint as a kid, she taught Valeriy to paint and about art as well. Big difference was Valeriy had a better hand for it than Anatole did, who literally can’t draw to save his skin.

Mircea’s favourite.

Mircea Radošević

Distinguished man, owns my heart.

“That was nOT POLITE”

Pretty level headed, has a big heart and a lot of will to help people. Just don’t be impolite, or he won’t like you.

Yes, he’s a libra.

An Architect, got to meet the other Architect in the family Lucenzo Cassano. That’s, in fact, how he met Florentino. Of course Lucenzo had an apprenticeship for Dragoslav son, but of course. The rest is history. Longest lasting marriage in both the Cassano and the Radošević tree by virtue of them gaving gotten together fairly young, and in the furture dying of a very, very old age.

He enjoyed travelling and the finer, beautiful things in life. If you want to equate his views to anyone in the real world, think about William Morris saying “I do not want art for a few; any more than education for a few; or freedom for a few.”

Aristically, somewhere between Gaudi and Morris.

Worked in several restoration projects both in Balkovia and Vesuvia.

Lived in Vesuvia on and off with Florentino and the children, which meant Vlad and Val were raised right between the vortex of everything that is the Cassano and the Radošević.

As polite and diplomatic that he is, he isn’t really a doormat, and if there’s anyone he would throw hands for it’s for his children (yes, he sees them as his children), and Anatole. Disrispect tha boy in front of him and he will throtle you and say you did it to yourself.

Florentino Cassano

Nicknamed Floren, Florence, Florens, Flolo, Tino, Tinino, Antonino.

Very responsible, big sense of family. Closest in personality to Vitale Cassano, his grandather.

Son of Agrippina and Cassandra, took after Cassandra’s love for numbers, but mixed it with Agrippina’s eye for politics and his Aunt Octavia’s knack for political economy (even if it had’t been invented yet).

 Financier and investor worked in the public sector, ran the coffer of the Council of Vesuvia for a while, but quitted out of management differences with certain people in Court and up. Still very willing to help people of all backgrounds manage their assets though.

A bit of a hardass, when Matilda and Krešmir died he said of course they would, as it was very in the likes of them to get so lost in the moment and their ideal world where they had no earhtly responsibilities to forget they had two young sons.

Still, when Vlad and Val first called him “Dad” or “Father”, respectively, he kinda cried big tears. Freaked Vlad out because he thought he had done something wrong. Florentino was quick to tell him he hadn’t.

Ilnya Radošević & Blasio Abadzić

Ilnya was another one of those Radošević that you weren’t exactly sure what the hell was it that they did, because they seemed to have a lot of eggs in different baskets. Was an astronomer, though.

Strongest intuition/six senth in the Radošević. Another of those cases where it was definitely magic (Ilnya was clairvoyant) but they all passed it off as having another explanation.

Was the most joyful, had the most contagious laughter and the quickest, most wicked sense of humour.

I’m not entire sure how Blasio and them met, they haven’t told me yet, but it was one of those meetings which changes your life forever.

Blasio is equally irreverent, if not more. This one post of a man playing the guitar and an old man dancing to it is the exact vibe Blasio had (he’s the old man dancing, the man playing the guitar would be his grandson Milenko — who’s Anatole’s cousin however many times removed).

They lived in Vesuvia. Ilnya was a court scientist. The Cassano library has a try globe map that was their work with a court cartographer. It has a map of the region, of the world, and of the stars for navigation purposes.

Ilnya died of sepsis at the age of 27, going on 28. To this day, no one knows exactly what took them out.

After Ilnya died, the Cassano offered to take Blasio and their twins Atanasie (pronounced Ah-ta-na-SY) and Violeta in with them to ease of the expences of raising two kids as a single father. He accepted.

Blasio was a composer and dramaturg. He took it as a personal goal not to let the joy escape from his life after becoming a widower. Said carrying on with joy and irreverence was his job, as if to preserve his spouse’s legacy.

Vladislav Radošević

Whatever name theme you sense with him and his wife, don’t @ me about it!!! I remade this entire family on a whim, I will take my headcanons about other things and build from them.

Eldest of the V² brothers, if people had soulmate marks, his soulmate would be his brother. Vlad has always felt responsible for him and, unlike him, remembers much of how they parents actually were or how carelessly negligent they could be. His defence against grief was becoming taciturn and “distancing” himself from things. It didn’t always really work for him, but he sure did try.

Grew up with the mistaken feeling that the rest of their families were taking care of him and his brother as a favour. He eventually wrapped his head around the idea that it wasn’t a favour.

Called Mircea and Florentino “Father”/”Dad” for the first time when he was 16, never went back. It wasn’t like he didn’t spent a lot of time being brought up by them due to his own parents absences.

Taciturn, remarkably inventive and intelligent, has a bit of trouble coming out of his shell. Prefers to observe, then pounce. Other than this, his main personality trait is “I love my wife, I love my son.”

An alchemist, works in what would be closest to biochemical engineering.

Mircea and Florens discovered he would be very suited for that field because when he was a kid he kept designing buildings to show Mircea. They clearly showed he had not a predisposition to become an architect, but whatever weird, inexplicable mazes he created always came with solutions attached and clever mechanisms.

He’s a problem solver, he’s just shaking years of bad mental health habits of his shoulders.

A scorpio and a cat person. Has two cats with Louisa, Kiki and Keke (their actual names are Cyrila and Cecilia).

Yes, his brother is also a scorpio, yes his son is also a scorpio. They get along, however.

Met Louisa in some sort of medical-alchemy conference/symposium (whatever that would be aplicable to the time, what matters to me is that you get the idea). Louisa didn’t like his attitude, called him out, and Vlad simply blinked, apologised, and did better.

A second apology and further conversations ended up with them falling in love.

If Vlad knows what allowing himself to love and live feels like, it is because of Louisa and Anatole.

He gets pegged.

Speaks five languages and won a regional fencing championship when he was in his early 20s. Still thinks his brother is better at fencing than he is.

Louisa De Silva

Latin American, eldest of three sisters (Paris and Alma being the other two De Silva sisters). She emmigrated from her native country to a. study medicine b. because there was a Dictatorship at the time, and her parents suspected Louisa would not keep quiet enough to guarantee her safety.

She personally swore never to go back until there were no active traces of said dictatorship left in her country. Nothing, not even the war that eventually rose up in Balkovia has made her change her mind, and probably nothing will. Once she is set on what is right, she is set.

Met Vlad as mentioned above. She didn’t appreciate his initial “careful” cynicism, but also didn’t believe he was as insufferable as most people thought he was. Someone with attention to detail, determination and who prefers to stand back from social situations, who hasn’t actually done anything nefarious, offensive or in bad taste isn’t a bad person.

Once she paid him a visit and he opened the door shirtless because he thought it was his brother, and Louisa almost wheezed in front of him.

“I’m going to sleep with Radošević” “But you don’t have to?” “No, no, I’m gonna.”

Speaks five languages.

Speaking of the war I mentioned: there was a war in Balkovia which began little before Anatole was born, and therefore around 29 years before the events of the game. At the time, Vlad and Louisa were already together, and planning to move to Vesuvia. However, the war began, Vlad felt torn about leaving and not helping, not that he wanted to admit it, and Louisa said “well, I did not leave a country ridden with injustice to passively see war crimes being committed.” As soon as she could after Anatole was born she volunteered as a field doctor.

And she is good. “Louisa De Silva” would absolutely resonate in Nazali’s or Julian’s fellow doctor knowledge level of notoriously good.

Aquarius sun, Saggitarius moon, she’s active, independent, unconventional, friendly, very understanding and highly humanitarian. Louisa loves people and cannot stand injustice. Loves and craves learning and is very sincere. She can be a bit impulsive, but she’s good at coming back from it.

Much of Anatole’s sense of social duty and sometimes even social fight is due to Louisa.

Vlad and Val call her Lulu. Anatole always calls her Mamá. Always. It doesn’t matter what language he’s speaking, she is his Mamá.

Louisa De Silva, santa patrona del pueblo que lucha.

Often dragged Vlad and Val into some of her schemes. Val loves to complain about it, but he actually adores his SIL.

Valeriy “Valerius” Radošević of the Cassano of Vesuvia, former Consul of Vesuvia and Court Advisor.

Here is where I would like to clarify and remind the (very patient) reader that this is my own interpretation of Canon, and I’ve triedto build with it from what little we were told of this specific character, Vesuvian lore, and the story I wanted to tell. I tried to do my best with the interpretation of the character, but know you’re in no obligation to adhere to my ideas.

Some people can call him Val, namely, his parents, his nephew, his SIL and his brother. Literally anyone else he will bite your head.

Inherited his mother’s and his namesakes witty snark, even if it’s not always witty.

I have the personal hc that Lucio cannot, for the life of him, pronounce slavic names, so Valeriy became Valerius, though his family already called him Valerius because it was the one nickname he accepted.

However, for the most part, his family calls him Valeriy, in contrast to Vesuvian citizens, who call him Valerius.

Doesn’t remeber his parents, and doesn’t like to think about them. It is very tragic that they died, but they left him, and he has no time for people like that. His brother, however, had always been there. So have been Mircea and Florentino.

I’ve always hc he had one big love in his youth, but couldn’t actually stand the idea of an empty marriage based on status and decided to never marry.

Wasn’t always this high and mighty. He has always been a complicated man, with complicated tastes and even a snob, but he was raised in two multicultural families, based in two multicultural cities. What I personally hc happening here is that he truly hates his job. He does like the sense of status and the power that comes with it, but the responsibility? The state of things when he took over from Iovanus? The paperwork? The staleness of it all? And to do it for a city that ate itself up?

He would’ve given his cousin Cassiopeia his left arm to take the position for him, but in the end, he was subject of what he thought everyone expectations were. He feared more not being enough in the eyes of his grandfather, who did not want to repeat the same mistakes he did with Matilda, than saying “Nono Iovanus I actually hate this job with all my soul.”

But then again, the power attached to it.

I fully believe that if you had given Valerius a position that was, say, a cultural authority of sorts? Where he could focus on the arts, theatre, food and those sort of things? He would’ve thrived. The city would’ve been leagues away from where it was if he would’ve been allowed to solely focus on art.

Instead, he has to fix people’s problems, and he doesn’t want to. It isn’t that he doesn’t care in the slightest — he does, in the distant sense of people should not be dying left and right, and cities should be ran by competent Statespeople. Of course he believes that! He’s a Radošević and a Cassano of Vesuvia, who do you take him for. It was his family that 500 years ago stepped up into the position due to their sheer excellence, of course he believes that.

Just for the love of everything you deem holy, do not fucking leave that fixing to him. He’s begging you, and he doesn’t actually beg

(At least that’s what he says in public)

 While he doesn’t quite like magic, or rather, doesn’t quite understand it and takes a lot of self proclaimed magicians as frauds (and an insult to good peope’s intelligence), he’s never had a judgamanetal attitude towards Anatole’s magical sensitivies. Most of what he sees about it is his inordinate aptitude for languages. He tends to take it as his nephew being simply Better, because if this man is something, that thing is proud.

He eases off after the events of the game where he can simply be a court advisor and give himself a chance. Not that it excuses or ammends any mistake that he committed, but it’s a place to start. He can do that, he thinks.

His was the decision to close during the Plague, and for the first time, the Palazzo the Cassano inhabit in the Heart District to the City.

His grandafther Valerian was (is) still alive while he’s the Consul, and tried to reach out to help him when he began to do deals with the Devil many times, but Valerius sucks at letting people help him. Officially worse than his brother at it.

He is, however, the best fencer in the family, and he is one of the best singers, he just doesn’t do any of both much in front of people. What he does when he’s at home is none of your business.

While I could feel pages of headcanons about this man, but I will try to stay on topic, and mostly address my previous post about the subject of Valerius’ and Anatole’s relationship, which, now that I’ve reworked the families into a story I do feel excited to tell most of it no longer applies.

The timeline is p much the same, both with Valerius, and with Anatole travelling with tutors to study and visiting whenever he could.

His feelings when Anatole dies stay the same. The difference is Anatole's family does know he dies when he stands as the Apprentice (normally, he doesn’t, he just stands as an Arcana OC). During the time of the plague, Vlad and Louisa travelled to Vesuvia to help, so they do know their son died.

What ends up breaking Val is not only losing his nephew (and again for what) but also seeing his brother and his SIL completely break. It was his job to protect him, and he didn't do it. He wasn’t enough.

I headcanon that when Anatole doesn’t die, one of his deals with the Devil is that no harm comes (from the Court) to Anatole. I also hc that for someone who has such pride in his intellect (which is there, he is pretty smart) he did rather unsuitable dealings with the Devil, by which I mean he dealt in really awful terms that he, himself, would’ve berated anyone else to have done out of their sheer idiocy of not fully using their leverage.

The main difference with the post is that Anatole and Valerius do not suffer their family anymore. The Radošević and the Cassano are opinionated and very "If something happens to one of us, it happens to all of us" but they're good, eccentric, people-leaning people, albeit wealthy. Hence, why I personally hc that what happens here is that he hates the job but loves the status, but the status carries the responsibility of people asking him for things, and he doesn’t want to be asked for things. He will be in his room if you need him, and please do not need him.

(In Anatole’s case, it's finding his place in the world. It’s a journey of diaspora and of becoming. To win, you must first know yourself)

Vlad and Louisa adore him to bits still, complicated as he is.

Anatole and Valerius do fight in some of the LI routes and during those three years before the game begins.

Everything else stands.

Atanasie and Violeta Radošević, and Aurora Radošević

Thank you with bearing with me so far, I love you.

Atanasie and Violeta are twins, cousins of Vlad and Valeriy, children of Ilnya and Blasio, the happy eccentric duo.

Grew up right amid the Radošević and the Cassano, and it really goddamn shows. They’re en aunt and uncle/counsins saying criptic things with a drink in hand, and you’re not entirely sure if they’re portetns of doom or not, but good for them!

Best violinists in the family though. Play the most instruments as well, as Blasio was a composer and multi-instrumentalist. Neither of them are professional musicians though.

Atanasie is a traveller and explorer, think of the eccentric explorer archetype without the Colonialism nor the grave robbing. Would, objectively, get along the best with Julian. He’s another of those people who knows a lot of things about different topics, but now like cursed/forbidden/borderline illegal things.

If Amparo Mediavilla had been alive to know him, she would’ve been really proud.

Violeta is a botanist and garden designer. The palace did ask her to work with them, but she went No ❤️. She, however, is responsible for the current design of the Palazzo’s winter garden, which in her biased yet correct opinion is the best room in it.

High femme eccentric queen, married Aurora who used to travel around with Atanasie. She’s an archeologist.

They have one son, Milenko, who is... an entire party.

Aelius Anatole Radoševic De Silva, of the Cassano of Vesuvia, former secretary of the Council of Vesuvia, and Consul of Vesuvia

Good ol’ Nana

Technically, that would be his entire ass title (which he correctly insists it’s a public office, not a nobiliary title, because a Consul is a public servant, and people just got mad with power for to long)

He hates it.

Please just call him Anatole, or Aelius if you’re not that daring.

I’m going to use this to talk a bit about Consul Anatole: along with Nadia, he introduced a series of social reforms, solidified them, and changed a lot of aspects of the way in which the City was run, in order to make corruption harder (Nana’s pride and joy are his Anti-Corruption directives) and to protect the reform on themsleves.

Adamantly against having a statue of him. Which was respected while he was alive, but a couple of generations down, they eventually built one, near the main square.

It points east, which is where the sun rises. It’s a metaphor for hope, and for Vesuvia to have the resilence to await for the dawn.

Milenko Radošević

His vibe is this picture of Javier Botet, meeting this meme, and the video of the old man and the younger man playing guitar, where he would be playing guitar. Oh, also, this picture of a guy floating in the Zadar floods of 2017, from this post. If this was a modern AU rest assured that WOULD be Milenko, and he doesn’t even live in Zadar.

When you see internet memes about how Slavs/people from the Adriatic are kind of weird, I want you to think of Milenko.

So yes, you would see him on a floatie down the canals of Vesuvia.

He’s a journalist and a writer, which has nothing to do with him being a character.

Tried to summon the Devil to show the Devil isn’t real. After the events of the game, if Anatole is involved in defeating the devil, he’s always offended he didn’t bring him along, he had points to prove.

Plays the guitar and the double bass.

Looks like an 80s goth, and we will not question how that’s mildly anachronistic. His favourite band would be The Cure. Also would have a soft spot for The Cranberries which he definitely took from Anatole.

When Belle and Sebastian wrote “colour my life with the chaos of trouble” in the Boy With The Arab Strap they were talking specifically about Milenko.

Chugs respect women juice harder than most people. If he chokes on it, then that’s how he dies.

Not allowed in several bars, has at least one sworn enemy in the Vesuvian nobility.

Him, Amparo Cassano (she’s down below) and Anatole are all in the same age range, and they’re a force to be reckon with.

Thank you for staying with me up to this point! We’re about to make another jump back. We’re following Lucenzo Cassano’s line now.

Atilia Cassano & Anzano Ventura

Atilia is the child of Lucenzo and Octavia. Closest thing to a community organiser. Need someone to organise a party? Atilia. A meeting? Atilia. To allocate human resources to enact some policy? Atilia.

Anzano is the son of two High Priests in Vesuvia from one of the temples in the Temple District, which is how they met Atilia.

Anzano doesn’t have a fixed profession, and takes things up according to their interests. Which are varied.

Cares more about their cat than they do about some people, both of them. Neither of them are the kind to wish ill on other people, but if ill falls on you as consequences of your actions, then that’s on you buddy.

Some of the things Anzano Ventura has said, without context: “My heart is green with hope.”

“Figure out what fortune has to hand you and spit twice in the face of the Gods.” It’s a saying from where they’re originally from. They’ve never properly explained what it means.

“These are not gentle waters we are sailing.” There is context for this one. They said this when the Plague began to surface in Vesuvia.

Atilia died a couple years before Anzano, who died of Plague.

This is how Anzano would’ve looked like in his early twenties.

Cassiopeia Cassano & Iris Ravella

If Valerius had not become the Consul, it would’ve fell on Cassiopeia. She was a Vesuvian diplomat and politician, member of the Council. Would’ve become the Consul anyway, but, respecting Iovanus’ wishes and trusting (correctly or not, it’s up to you) Valeriy’s potential, stepped aside.

Truly did not resent Matilda for harbouring peculiar feelings against her because Iovanus didn’t want to let her have the Consulship. Nor she did on Valeriy for his mistakes.

Iris comes from another prominent Vesuvian family. Theirs is a family of merchants, based in Centre City, who weren’t particularly thrilled about Iris marrying a Cassano.

Iris cared very little. They did it anyway.

Amparo Cassano

Last but not ever least.

Ballet dancer, fencer, deeply invested in politics. Amparo takes after the OG Amparo, her great aunt Amparo Mediavilla, in her daring, often without explanation ways, as she does in her honour code.

Sarcastic wit, a little bit petty. Would be one of those people who go “I licked it, so it’s mine.”

Takes up an interest in languages, as well as runes and tarot, though she’s not as good with languages as Anatole is. She says life gave him a magical advantage or otherwise she would’ve bested him. Anatole doesn’t doubt it.

Would climb to your window to impress you, with a sword to her hip. She’s that kind of bi.

Would definitely dance to Caramelldansen, and so would Milenko. Anatole would Not, but would look at Amparo dead in the eye and dance it when they’re alone, because he knows no one will believe her.

She calls him a ‘motherfucker’, to which he replies: “Do I LOOK like Oedipus to you.”

Loud mouthed, but with a good heart.

While her an Milenko are, technically, not actually related, they act like they are. They don’t care that’s not how it works.

Comrade Cassano? Comrade Cassano.

The world is her oyster and she’s about to slurp it.

Thank you so much for sticking with me to the end of this list. Means the world to me, as I’m happy to share the Radošević-Cassano with anyone who is willing to listen.

[ramzawrites]

I’m glad you like reading about c!Leif! And I like answering your questions about him!

So yeah he does other things, like tapestries, wood/stone carving, and all sorts of stuff, painting just happens to be his favorite. I’d say his second favorite would be soapstone carving. He likes to make mini versions of all his animals. Most of the more artistic things are kind of self taught. Before he settled into the sanctuary he traveled a lot to find the ‘perfect place’, during his travels he met plenty of people, he just copied them. Monkey see monkey do really lol.

His anxiety does make him sad sometimes, he would love to make new friends, but his nerves tend to get the best of him. Though he definitely doesn’t mind being surrounded by animals rather than people. As nice as it would be to have friends around to talk to, the quiet is nice most of the time.

I definitely agree that c!Philza would probably have spent a lot of his time traveling and learning about the world. c!Leif would definitely be more inclined to get to know c!Philza seeing as he’s one of the calmer smp members. I like to think that when c!Leif manages to make a new friend he’ll spend hours excitedly introducing them to all of his pets. I can imagine him growing quite fond of c!Philza.

When c!Leif found the ruins I’d say he was more intrigued by the architecture rather than how it got there or who made it. During the process of rebuilding he did stumble upon some strange runes, he wrote them down for later and proceeded to forget what he did with the notes.

The tendrils really only bothered him because of the smell, he heard something about a large red egg at one point, but has yet to put two and two together. He assumes they were just some sort of invasive species, a seed probably stuck to the shoes of a traveler.

I’m really glad you enjoy his character! I really enjoy building his story and it’s fun to rant to you about him!

After getting to know, and open up to c!Ramza, c!Leif would definitely like to consider them a friend. Especially if they offered to help find the rougue chicken. A one way ticket to being c!Leif’s friend, his animals. They seem like a very kind person, and they probably have some entertaining stories he’d enjoy hearing.

And for the final question, this isn’t all of his animals but these are his most prominent friends. Almost all of the animals are named after peoples of Ancient Greece, gods and goddesses, philosophers and scientists, perfect example: Archimedes the chicken. Archimedes was a Greek mathematician, physicist, engineer, inventor, and an astronomer. One of the the more renowned scientists found his time, so it’s only fitting that a chicken who probably knows more than it lets on should be named after him. There are plenty of chickens roaming around the sanctuary, most with names, but Archimedes sticks out more so than the others. He likes to make himself known, if you aren’t paying attention to him he is either tearing up your home or pecking at your feet. There are three different packs in the sanctuary, they don’t stay there full time, they like to roam. The pack that c!Leif is the most friendly with is the smallest one, there are only five wolves in this pack,and c!Leif has lovingly named each of them. There are three siblings: Acesias(a physician),Marinus(a philosopher), and Lobon(a literary forger). A mother to the siblings, Lysias(an orator). And a runt they found in a ditch, Isocrates(a rhetorician, and Spartan general) Lobon and Isocrates are the only males in their little pack. There’s an especially large heard of horses that don’t live in the sanctuary, but c!Leif goes to feed them every morning, most are named, though c!Leif has yet to meet all of them. Four of the named ones include Hecate, Epiphiron, Heimarmene and Gelos. There’s one polar bear he managed to drag home, appropriately named Lyssa, for her rude tendencies. Lyssa was the spirit of mad rage and frenzy.

There are and abundance of birds living in the sanctuary, mainly parrots. One particularly vain parrot is of course, called Aphrodite. There’s a decent size lake that flows into the ocean, there’s freshwater fish living in the lake, and c!Leif can follow the river to the ocean where all of his sea turtle friends are, they tend to ignore him, but he enjoys watching them from time to time.

There’s also a pair of piglins who he has forced to live in a section of the sanctuary. He found them during a trip in the nether, he wasn’t wearing gold so they came after him, he just led them home and trapped them in a little building witch he latter added a lava pool and a bunch of gold to. They begrudgingly stay because they don’t know how to get back to the nether, he calls one Ares for obvious reasons, and the other is Menoetius, a titan god of violent anger and rash violence. He doesn’t like to pick favorites, but he has a favorite. A little bearded dragon, I have a bearded dragon so it only makes sense my sona does too lol. Her name is Anteros, the god of requited love, she likes to ride around on c!Leifs shoulder while he does chores and feeds all the other animals.

As for chores and feeding, c!Leif spends the early hours of the mornings gathering wheat, carrots, meat, etc for all the animals. He goes around to water tubs and troughs , refilling the water tubs around the sanctuary and feeding all the animals. He also spends a good hour scrubbing bird poop and picking up goat droppings, some of the animals just like to do their business wherever. He also goes to the lake to make sure there’s no debris or sickened animals there contaminate the water. That’s another detail about the sanctuary, he has a veterinary room for sick or injured animals he comes across. c!Leif’s interactions with animals vary from animal to animal. Pandas and wolves enjoy belly scratches, parrots like when you talk to them. Turtles are pretty indifferent, cats are cats, they want love, you give them love, they are then filled with rage at the fact that you are touching them. Fish, well, they’re fish. Can’t really pet them lol.

If you have any more questions I’d love to hear them! Some questions help me develop him more so it’s always nice to have questions to answer!

I know you said you enjoy long asks but this feels a little too ridiculously long.

Ohhh that’s cool! Very talented! ngl I would love to see the little figures of the animals 😌 I think they would look incredible cute and awesome!

honestly c!Leif sounds like a person I would definitely approach and ask about how to treat mobs correctly and how to take care of them correctly! I know c!Ramza would! They would probably ask him about it and write down the info he has in order to spread it/ keep it safe for others to research!

I’m happy to hear that he didn’t have to deal with the egg too much and that it went well!

The animals sound so nice! But also mischievious haha I bet c!Leif has a lot on his hands with them but in a good way! I really adore that you use old prominent greek names!

Honestly the place sounds amazing! ngl I would love to see something like this, I imagine this as a really beautiful and peaceful place. I can tell you thought a lot about this and I love it so much!

Would he feel comfortable with inviting people over? Only people that he really trusts or feels he more comfortable having his home for himself and the animals? How would he react if someone gets too close and maybe wants to investigate the place, seeing how anxious he is

Has he had problems with maybe protecting his animals or has his life there been rather peaceful?

[kthstrawberryshortcake]

BTS Reaction: a TXT member has a crush on BTS member’s secret girlfriend

REQUEST:  Reaction idea: bts’s reaction to finding out one of the txt boys has a crush on their s/o (the rest of bts knows they’re dating but not txt)

I don’t know TXT as well as I know BTS so please cut me some slack when it comes to portrayal of the members!

Sorry that this one is gender-specific. I realized after I wrote it.

The reactions imply that you are older than the TXT member. That’s just how I wanted to write it.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Namjoon:  The boys had all gone out, so you were hanging out by yourself in the dorm, watching Netflix. All of a sudden you heard loud knocking on the door. You looked out the peephole. It was…. Taehyun? You were surprised, opening the door to greet him. Taehyun looked distressed.“Hey… are any of the hyungs here? I really really need their help.” He asked nervously, and you shook your head. “They went out, but what’s wrong? Can I help?” You inquired, concerned. He sighed.“My cat, Hobak, is really sick and I need to take him to the vet. I can’t drive and hold him at the same time and you can’t really take a cat in an uber…” He explained, distressed. “I’ll take you,” You volunteered, leaving with him to get the cat. After the trip to the vet Hobak was fine, thankfully, though they said that he wouldn’t have been okay if they hadn’t gotten him there in time. Days later Namjoon overheard Taehyun talking about it.“She’s literally an angel, she totally didn’t have to help at all but she did and it saved Hobak’s life! She’s unbelievable. I really like her. I think I’m a little in love.” Taehyun gushed. Namjoon left the room, sighing and rolling his eyes. He was sympathetic, of course. You were amazing, he was perfectly aware of that. But he found Taehyun’s crush on you more annoying than anything, even if he understood it.

Jin:  Jin had a few guys, including Yeonjun, over to the BTS dorms to play MarioKart. You were there as well, as you often were, since you were friends with all of BTS. Yeonjun was the only person present that didn’t know that you and Jin were together. You spent the whole evening gaming, with you surprising everyone and completely kicking their butts at MarioKart. The BTS boys knew of your insane MarioKart skills already but Yeonjun was shocked and amazed at how you left everyone in the dust. At one point you got up and left to go to the bathroom. Yeonjun had a big smile on his face. He looked at Jungkook, saying “She’s so cool! And she’s really cute. Do you think she’d date a younger guy?”. Jungkook just blinked at him before shrugging and saying “Yeah she is cool. I’m not sure she would go for someone younger though. Just a hunch.” He said, discreetly looking at Jin with a little smirk. Yeonjun sighed and shrugged. Jin found the whole thing to be funny, whispering to you to tell you when you returned to the living room. “It’s no surprise. What would you expect? You’re worldwide handsome’s girlfriend, of course you’re amazing, and everyone can see it.” He said so only you could hear. You grinned at him, saying nothing more to avoid creating suspicion about the two of you.

Yoongi:  Even though your relationship was a secret, Yoongi wasn’t one to get jealous. He didn’t care that much, confident that other men weren’t a threat. It was a good thing, too, particularly when one day Beomgyu asked Yoongi to give his opinion on a song he was writing. Beomgyu showed Yoongi what he had so far. Yoongi was actually pretty impressed at the song’s progress up to that point, making some specific suggestions for improvements. He looked carefully at the lyrics, then smirked at Beomgyu. “Somebody’s got a crush,” he said, causing Beomgyu to get all embarrassed and shy. “That’s what the song is for… I wanted to write it for her.” He admitted, not meeting Yoongi’s eyes and blushing profusely.“She must be pretty amazing to warrant a song,” Yoongi mused, and Beomgyu smiled, nodding. “She is. I’ve never met anyone like her. Y/N noona is the coolest girl -“ He cut himself off, a look of horror appearing on his face as he realized what he’d said. Yoongi was careful not to let his facial expression show any reaction, though it was hard. He felt bad for the younger boy. He was certainly not expecting the song to be for HIS girlfriend (despite your relationship being a secret outside of BTS). “Well, good work so far. Don’t quit songwriting, you’re doing well.” He said supportively, patting Beomgyu on the shoulder before the younger boy thanked him and left. Once alone, Yoongi sighed heavily and shook his head. “Poor kid…” He muttered to himself before returning to his work.

Hoseok:  You were very smart and a bit of a nerd, so you helped the TXT boys with their homework in their spare time, having no problem whatsoever with the high school level work. You enjoyed helping them. They were all very sweet and took the work seriously, which is more than you could say about people you’d tutored in the past. Beomgyu in particular was very invested in the schoolwork. You had fun having academic discussions with him. He was kind of a kindred spirit in that sense, interested enough to even have a favorite mathematician. One day Hobi came to pick you up, which wasn’t suspicious because everyone thought the two of you were just best friends. As Beomgyu left, a piece of paper fell out of his bag. You didn’t notice it, so while you packed up your books, Hobi saw the paper and picked it up, reading it. It was a confession letter….. from Beomgyu, to you. He smiled. “You need to see this. It’s the cutest thing.” He said, handing you the paper. You read it, blushing at how complimentary the letter was. “This is so sweet! I hope he’s not too upset when I turn him down. He’s a great kid.” You mused, and Hobi put an arm around his shoulder. “Knowing you, you’ll reject him in the kindest way possible. He’ll be fine.” The two of you left and went home.

Jimin:  One day, while walking down the hallway in the BigHit building, Jimin overheard a conversation. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but when he heard your name mentioned, he couldn’t help but listen. “Well, remember when I was super nervous right before we performed at the MMAs? I was pretty much having a panic attack, I couldn’t breathe. I don’t even really know why, I just felt like I was under huge pressure all of a sudden. It was very unlike me. But Y/N noona noticed me freaking out backstage and she sat with me and calmed me down. She’s seriously so nice and so caring, she talked to me and helped me get it together enough to perform. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her ever since. She’s really special.” Kai said, and that was enough for Jimin to walk away purposefully, going to find you. He stormed into the sitting area where you were scrolling through social media on your phone. Thankfully the two of you were alone. “Do you like Kai?” Jimin asked abruptly, the jealous demon inside him rearing its ugly head. You looked at him, blinking in total confusion. “Like, Kai from EXO? Jongin? I mean he kind of looks like you in a way so he’s cute I guess, but—“ Jimin cut you off. “No! Hueningkai.” He said impatiently, clearly getting very worked up. You laughed slightly, smiling. “I mean sure I like him, he’s like a cute baby, but not in the way you’re implying, like, at all,” you said, confused by Jimin’s sudden outburst. You saw your boyfriend visibly relax. You sighed, getting up and walking over to him, putting your hands on his shoulders. “You know, you don’t need to get so upset like this. I love you and I don’t have eyes for anyone else.” You said, and his eyes crinkled at the corners as he gave you a soft smile. “It’s dumb, I know. I’m sorry. I just love you too much to lose you.” He wrapped his arms around your waist and kissed your forehead, satisfied at least for now that you weren’t going anywhere.

Taehyung:  You were at a BigHit party with the boys one night. It was a low-key get-together, so you were enjoying catching up with everyone. While you were mid-conversation with someone across the room, Taehyung was walking back from the bathroom when he overheard a few of the TXT boys talking to each other. “Y/N noona is sooo hot, I really want to ask her out. Do you think she’d say yes?” He heard Taehyun say to Beomgyu and Yeonjun. Taehyung smirked to himself, walking back to where you were. He discreetly pulled you into a hallway away from the main room so you could be alone. He wrapped his arms around you in a hug, resting his chin on the top of your head. “So apparently you’re a tae magnet.” He said, and you raised your eyebrows in both amusement and confusion. “I should hope so, we’ve been together long enough.” You laughed quietly in reply. “No, I mean not just me. Taehyun has a huge crush on you. I just overheard him talking about you.” Taehyung explained, clearly finding the situation quite funny. You pulled away from the hug just enough to look at his face. You shook your head slightly, laughing at his comment now that you understood what he meant. “I only care about attracting one Tae.” You said before giving him a peck on the lips. “I do feel bad about Taehyun though. I’d hate to hurt his feelings.” You sighed a little. Taehyung shrugged. “He’ll be fine.” He replied, pulling you back for one last hug before you had to discreetly return to the party apart from each other.

Jungkook:  Jungkook loved that when he was with TXT, he was a hyung for once. He got quite attached to the younger boys and was super supportive of them. He often gave them advice and was generally really caring. One day he went to visit TXT, as he sometimes did, just to hang out. They were chatting and catching up, having a good time and eating some snacks. Nothing was out of the ordinary, they were just having fun talking. That is, until Soobin pulled Jungkook aside. He needed advice. “I really like this girl... We’re kind of friends, but I don’t know how to go about confessing to her. What do I do?” Soobin asked earnestly. Jungkook smiled, finding this situation adorable. “I don’t know, it depends on the girl. Can you tell me who it is? Do I know her?” He asked. Soobin was blushing. “Um… I think she’s one of your friends, actually. You know Y/N noona, right?” He asked apprehensively. Jungkook was, frankly, Jungshook. You were his girlfriend, but the other BTS members were the only people who knew about it. It was a secret at the moment, so he was unsure how to let Soobin down easy without exposing your relationship. “Yeah, we’re friends. I don’t know how to tell you this, but I’m pretty sure she’s seeing someone. It might be better not to confess to her.” Jungkook informed him gently, feeling sympathetic. Soobin’s face fell. “Oh… well, I’m glad I asked. Thank you for helping, hyung."

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This one was a lot of fun to write.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN, send them to my ask or message

Here’s another shameless plea for feedback because I adore it, oops :)

[grailfinders]

Fate and Phantasms #16: Arash

Welcome back to Fate and Phantasms, where we’re bringing every servant in FGO to life in D&D 5e! Today we’re building Arash the Archer, a.k.a. that guy that you use for exactly one turn while farming hands. For this build, we have two goals in mind.

High burst damage.

You need to be tough. You wouldn’t know it thanks to his NP killing him most of the time, but Arash is a pretty beefy guy. He easily has the highest HP of all the 1 star archers.

We would  include the whole “killing yourself” thing in this build, but it turns out D&D doesn’t appreciate the fine art of disposeability like FGO does. The only options for self damage I could find were Berserkers, which don’t mesh with ranged builds, and Blood Hunters, which don’t do enough damage to be all that applicable.

As usual, a quick rundown of the build can be found here, and a more detailed explanation will be below the cut.

Background and Race

You are a Variant Human, because we need that feat, giving you +1 Dexterity and +1 Strength, as well as proficiency in Persuasion. For your feat, grab Sharpshooter, letting you attack without disadvantage at long range with your bow, ignore half and 3/4 cover, and especially important for this build, take a -5 on ranged attack rolls for a +10 to damage.

You are a Soldier, fighting for  King Manuchehr (or whoever your DM decides is lore-appropriate). This gives you proficiency in Athletics and Intimidation, the latter of which doesn’t really fit you as a person, but we’ll just have to live with that. I mean, you won’t, but w/e.

Stats

As always, we use the standard array here, but feel free to roll if you want to. I’d say make sure you keep multiclassing in mind, but if you mess this up that would mean you didn’t roll a single stat over 13, so you’d probably just want to start over at that point. Put your highest stat in Dexterity. You’re more buff than nimble, but D&D doesn’t play like that with bowmen. Next is Constitution, you’re tough and resistant to poison. Not mechanically resistant, but... anyway then get Strength, because I mean look at those biceps. Follow that with Charisma, because you managed to convince multiple people that Arash Airlines was a good idea. Put Intelligence next, you’re not dumb, but not smart either. Finally, dump Wisdom, because you also thought Arash Airlines was a good idea.

Piety

With the new Theros book, WotC introduced a more in-depth Piety system. just pick a god and pray! Obviously you’ll have to hash out details with your DM about how this will work, but if you can talk them into it base your god of choice on Pharika. At 3+ piety you gain the option to use Ray of Sickness a number of times equal to your wisdom modifier (minimum 1) per long rest, using your Wisdom as the spellcasting ability. At 10+ piety, we get to the real reason we’re here, an advantage against being poisoned, and immunity to disease. At 25+ piety you can pick one of two options as a touch action, either healing someone for 1d8 + wis modifier and curing them of one disease or poison, or inflicting a dc 15 constitution save, causing their weapon attacks to deal half damage for one minute on a failure. The target can repeat their save at the end of each turn. You can use these touch abilities a number of times equal to your wisdom modifier (minimum 1) per long rest. Finally, at 50+ piety, you can add 2 to either your dexterity or wisdom, and increase your maximum by 2 as well for the chosen stat.

Since this is a new feature, and requires a bit of worldbuilding to work in a game, we won’t include this in the final writeup of the build, but it’s something to talk to your DM about, and tying your character into the world is never a bad thing.

Class Levels

1. Fighter 1: As a fighter, you gain proficiencies in Perception, Survival, and Strength and Constitution saves. You also gain a fighting style, pick Archery for a +2 to ranged attack rolls, and Second Wind, letting you heal yourself as a bonus action for 1d10 + your fighter level once per short rest.

2. Fighter 2: You get an Action Surge, giving you another action in a turn once per short rest. It’s almost an extra turn, but not quite.

3. Fighter 3: You become a Champion of the people, giving you an Improved Critical that doubles your odds of getting a critical hit.

4. Fighter 4: Use your first Ability Score Improvement to grab the Medium Armor Master feat. Technically you could use heavy armor, but medium armor fits your spirit origin better, and now you don’t have disadvantage on sneak rolls because of it, and you can add 3 instead of 2 to your AC if your dexterity is high enough (spoilers: it is).

5. Fighter 5: You get an Extra Attack, giving you two attacks with an attack action, and meaning your chance at critting each turn has been quadrupled.

6. Rogue 1: Rogue doesn’t really fit your character that much, but that sneak attack damage is just too good to pass up on. First level rogues get Expertise, doubling the proficiency bonus of two skills (Athletics and Survival), Sneak Attack, adding extra damage to attacks made with advantage or with other party members standing next to the target, Thieve’s Cant a secret language between thieves, and proficiency with one skill from the rogue’s gallery (Insight) and Thieves’ Tools. 

7. Rogue 2: At second level you get a Cunning Action, letting you dash, disengage, or hide as a bonus action. A growing amount of your damage is tied to sneak attacks, so being able to hide is useful if you’re trying to snipe someone all on your lonesome.

8. Rogue 3: Third level rogues pick a specialty, your’s is as an Assassin. This gives you proficiency with the Disguise and Poisoner’s Kits. (Again, there’s no mechanical use for the latter, so maybe you could use it to make antidotes?) You also get the power to Assassinate. You have advantage on attacks against creatures that haven’t acted in combat yet, and if you hit a surprised creature it’s an automatic critical hit. Assassinations are not really your thing, but dealing a ton of damage turn 1 and then being way less useful afterwards absolutely is.

9. Rogue 4: Use your Ability Score Improvement to empower your Dexterity for better bow attacks.

10. Rogue 5: You gain an Uncanny Dodge, letting you react to halve damage from attacks you see coming.

11. Fighter 6: Use your next Ability Score Improvement to grab the Tough feat, adding 2 hp per level and adding an additional 2 hp each time you level up. Your body isn’t weak, your bow arm is just that strong.

12. Fighter 7: As a champion, you become a Remarkable Athlete, letting you add half your proficiency (rounded up) to any physical check you aren’t already proficient in. Also, your long jump distance in increased by your strength modifier. Remember: Initiative is a dexterity check!

13. Fighter 8: Use your next Ability Score Improvement to max out your Dexterity. This means your bow is almost as deadly as it’s ever going to get, for both you and your enemies.

14. Fighter 9: You get one use of Indomitable per long rest, meaning you can reroll a failed saving throw.

15. Fighter 10: You get another fighting style. Grab Defense for one extra AC point.

16. Fighter 11: You now have a third attack attached to each action, thanks to another Extra Attack. I’m not a mathematician, but more arrows = more crits = more dead. It’s just science.

17. Fighter 12: Use your Ability Score Improvement to beef up your Constitution for some sweet, sweet, retroactive HP boost.

18. Fighter 13: Grab a second use of Indomitable per long rest.

19. Fighter 14: Use your last Ability Score Improvement for some more Constitution.

20. Fighter 15: 15th level champions get a Superior Critical, meaning every attack roll crits on a 18, 19, or 20 for a lot of crits and a lot of damage.

Pros: You have very high physical saves, high AC, and a lot of health, so you’ll probably be able to stick around in a fight for quite a while, especially as a ranged fighter. You have a +8 to initiative, so you’ll usually be high on the list, and when you go first you’ll be able to do quite a bit of damage. Unfortunately sneak attacks are only once per turn, but 3-6 crits in the opening round of combat is nothing to sneeze at. Assuming you use sharpshooter and your action surge you’ll be doing an average of over 150 damage in a single round of combat. That feels pretty Stella-ish to me.

Cons: Your soft skills could use some work, especially your int and wisdom. It’s a good thing you have indomitable, because you’re probably going to need that a lot. You also don’t have any innate magical damage, so higher level enemies will give you a lot of trouble, unless your DM gives you a break.

In short: Wreck shop the first turn, then mop up the stragglers in the second. Try to avoid any evil bards and you should be fine.

[cyanpeacock]

Man.

I am accosted by a problem and a solution wherever I go.

Another problem follows the solution.

This occurs quite independently of any changing external influence.

I can argue with the ideograms of my relatives in the absence of external stimuli.

But then, what is external, and what is internal?

Maybe I'm walking through the veil to raise the energies of their spirits.

I was granted an altar today.

It came in the form of a dusty TV stand, abandoned in the hallway, right outside my front door.

I had just been thinking about buying one.

One man's trash is another man's treasure?

Tell that to the murderer and the grave robber in opposite cells.

Collusion?

Not if you ask Trump.

He can't see the chain.

Or can he?

Or is he so dangerously befuddled it's going to fuck us all?

Will we just let it happen?

Well, it's easier that way, isn't it?

How many of the proles have been sharpening their teeth?

Give them enough, and they're content.

It's only human.

Some of us continue to meddle, regardless.

This is the basis of politics.

Once we have enough, we meddle where we don't belong, until we belong there, because we've meddled enough nobody wants to upset the system.

The collective has limits.

The limit is modulated by knowledge.

Knowledge is power.

Knowledge can be shared.

Ergo, power can be shared.

The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.

Who shall He take from next?

Well, his hands are busy.

Where did your tablet pen go?

His hands are also merciful.

Even to the multi-billionaires?

Even to the multi-billionaires.

Mind you, His hands have no work in the sins of honest men.

Bring the guillotine! Up the revolution!

Are we doing the Lord's work?

You are not immune to propaganda.

Surround yourself with the propaganda you like.

Love yourself!

Accept yourself!

Talk is cheap!

Talking means a lot.

Speech begets change begets catastrophe... for whom?

The microtubules in your cells undergo this process every day, and you're unawares, until you really look at it.

Fortunately, rescue is on the way.

So-- fuck it!

They've got shitloads of money, and we have fuck all.

We can, and will, fight pettily.

The discourse... persists, of course.

What's the point?

Reducing inequalities.

The mathematician takes this a different way.

The politician likes him, all the same.

We like our statistics.

Is there a right way to do them?

We like to believe... yes!

And so, the scientific method evolved.

Doesn't that raise your eyebrow?

No tenet is truth.

The kernels lie within.

Take what you can get, and figure out what makes you sick to your stomach, lest you starve or be poisoned before your time.

Then again, if you starve, or are poisoned, was it not your time?

Decide it, if you so choose.

To reiterate: man.

Or woman?

Human, or animal?

Organic, or inorganic?

Falsehoods, which are broadly true.

It occurs to me this is the substance of life.

Even in physics, what good is the Grand Unified Theory, if some of our numbers are just... irrational?

Like animals, or idiots, or very clever people, we persist, all the same.

[incarnateirony]

What’s this Holy Gift thing?

Okay, so now’s the time to get down to the grit of why I talk about different orders, and how I sequenced the lateralus project to try to give a wide overview of SPN’s story symmetry and character evolution through it. The actual playlist can be found here.

The “Holy Gift” is something hold in semi-contention. Just like anything else that requires some level of thinking, it has its antis that tell people they’re thinking too much about it. The raw fact is that, if sequenced in the order suggested by the Holy Gift order, the songs on the original album seamlessly flow into each other, even ones that shift between quiet interludes into dramatic rage-rock in their first/last notes.

The concept of the Holy Gift came from a mathematician paying attention to the lyrics, time signatures, and a variety of other things within the album itself that point towards shifting rhythms, or the famous line of “swing on the spiral.” Tool quite shamelessly plays into the fibonacci sequence in the album, which is part of what was used to make the Holy Gift.

The Fibonacci sequence is something used by both mathematicians and hermeticists to represent a perfect spiral, the latter of which fits into their ideology and yes, the alchemical meanings ripe in multiple songs in this album with no holds barred, such as Lateralus, The Grudge, and others.

The Fibonacci Sequence is the series of numbers where a number is equal to the last two numbers before it.: 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, etc, increasing.

The 2 is found by adding the two numbers before it (1+1)

The 3 is found by adding the two numbers before it (1+2),

And the 5 is (2+3),

and so on!

Atop other parts in the album, this is even manifest in lyrical signatures at certain points like “Black [1] Then [1] White Are [2] All I See [3] In My In Fan Cy [5] Red And Yel Low Then Came To Be [8] Reach Ing Out To Me [5] Lets Me See [3] There is [2] So [1] Much [1] More that [2] Bec Kons Me [3] To Look Through To These [5] In Fin Ite Pos Si Bi Lit Ies [8]” In the song with a decree about swinging on the spiral, which swings in the section between 1 and 8 on a loop. In fact, I actually broke part of my sequencing rules in that song in particular to employ the internal spiral once because it was so bold it felt like a waste to miss it entirely, even if this recurs through the entire song. 

That said, the album Lateralus has 13 songs to it which were determined to “swing on the spiral”. Despite a number of dudebros that want to take it as mindless rock -- if that’s you, you do you and enjoy it however you want -- entire ass books have been written in study to the analysis of the relevance of Tool’s Lateralus to alchemy and sacred geometry (link, if you want one to download.) It actually goes deeper than the level I took it to in the sequencing, but this was already some galaxy brain level canon adherence and I don’t think even I could have grokked everything down to time signatures and whatever else that were put into it, the whole way through.

Simply speaking, the one who discovered the Holy Gift Order realized a bunch of synchronicities in everything as-above, and planted 13, the final song, in the center of it and used it as the middle ground to “swing on the spiral” in a manner of rearranging it where “all tracks add to 13″, landing us with this:

06.- Parabol 

07.- Parabola 

05.- Schism 

08.- Ticks & Leeches 

04.- Mantra 

09.- Lateratus 

13.- Faaip de Oiad 

01.- The Grudge 

12.- Triad 

02.- Eon Blue Apocalypse 

11.- Reflection 

03.- The Patient 

10.- Disposition

I could go into a small lecture of why they were picked in that specific order, but I’m just gonna spare everybody that specific headache unless they specifically ask.

What I will point out is you’ll notice in my titles, these numbers all come into play in the respective songs. These were my base determinations of what seasons I could use for which videos, meaning all tracks added to 13, but I had three other seasons at any point to use (example: Schism, Track/Season 5, is Position/Season 3, but 5+8 = 13, so season 8 was needed to reach season 13.) In all of these, season 14 was used as a master track on how our modern era continues to address these plot ends in more bold and formal display than in the past, taking evolutionary steps in the characters, especially in later tracks.

I also applied some other numbers and some time sequences and stuff to roughly determine what episodes went where after determining the seasons, as often parallel episode numbers reflect each other, but that was more of a guideline than an actual rule, I still wanted to apply some art to it, and I don’t want everybody to sit there trying to overthink rather than view and enjoy beyond the overthinking already associated.

I’ll admit I put one fourth wall breaking easter egg in one video because it was too good to pass with a line that came up, but it in no way really derails the project and I’ll make the excuse that it’s season-14 adjacent. Let’s see who finds it.

By nature, all of these songs have at least one partner, if not multiples, depending on how you want to take and break down the orders. Most of those videos will pair together well.  Some also come in sets, like Triad, which I discuss in their individual posts under my #lateralus project tag.

So hopefully that clears up the mystery of what-the-fuck and how-the-fuck, but I’m open to asks about it if you want deeper explanations or clarification. If nothing else you can see how it naturally balances out seasonal representation in the ebb and flow of the whole project and addresses a large sum of SPN as a whole while individually focusing on its many story pillars and types in an incredibly diverse canon, with each song geared towards the topic at hand in the lyrics or concept.

The Holy Gift is thus an adventure in swinging on the spiral of your life lessons, wherein the Natural Course can, if just disregarded, lead to the chaos of Faaip de Oiad whereas the Holy Gift structure can lead to a different resolution altogether. That is to say, disregarding the human divinity of our life experience can lead to ruin whereas taking it to heart leads us to new and better horizons that, though they may cycle, we have taken new value to grow into the next chapter with. Much like our show.

Both versions of potential “final songs” in both playlists are also designed to show the ouroboros and leave it open-ended for a loop-watch. In the spirit of it all.

[isomorphismes]

[T]he comparison between Mochizuki and Grothendieck is a poor one. Yes, the Grothendieck revolution upended mathematics during the 1960’s…. But the ideas coming out of IHES immediately spread around the world, to the seminars of Paris, Princeton, Moscow, Harvard/MIT, Bonn, the Netherlands, etc. Ultimately, the success of the Grothendieck school is not measured in … theorems … but in how the ideas completely changed how everyone ELSE thought about algebraic geometry. This is not a complaint about idiosyncrasy or about failing to play by the rules of the “system.” Perelman … repudiated the conventions of academia by … posting … to … arXiv [instead of submitting to journals]. Perelman did go on an extensive lecture tour and made himself available to other experts…. … Usually when there is a breakthrough in mathematics, … other mathematicians are able to exploit the new ideas … usually in directions not anticipated by the original discoverer(s). …

Frank Calegari

Shortly after Faltings announced his proof of Tate’s isogeny conjecture and the Mordell conjecture, he lectured on it at the Arbeitstagung, explaining the new tools he had introduced. Everyone in the audience who had thought about the problem was immediately convinced. Instead of producing 300+ pages of manuscript, Mochizuki needs to give one or two lectures ([not in Japan:] in Bonn, or Paris, or Boston, or..) clearly explaining the new ideas in his argument and showing how they lead to a proof of ABC. This shouldn’t be difficult — I have no idea why he refuses to do so.

—Dick Gross

(NB: Calegari’s claim that years of work are never required to understand a decade of someone else’s thoughts, like every time a mathematician invokes the phrase “all of science”, are obviously wrong.

Nevertheless this is a vastly more valuable comment from an insider about the culture of mathematics and number theory than normal people could read in a newspaper. Given the way suppositions about what mathematics is like influence the way children are treated in the real world, it’s worth passing around insider comments that clarify what mathematics is and how it works—it’s quite more informative than the NYT reporting about Yitang Zhang or Terence Tao, or much worse, Stephen Hawking Versus Philosophers: yawn, and wrong. Nothing about us without us. Notice the focus on communication between known individuals: you would see the same stuff in “The Fortuitous Arrival of Heegner Points” (which Dick Gross was part of). And if you wander into a mathematician’s office wanting to talk about stuff, you will probably get the same response personaly: who are you, what have you been working on, what is your style, what have you done before?

I believe it’s a beautiful collaborative community for those who can play—as Jacob Lurie described it, Mathematics is a giant room full of toys, some of which have very long instruction manuals. And when you find someone else you can play toys with, you want to share everything you find with them, enjoy playing together, and so on. Mathematics is rare among intellectual pursuits as well, in that people from a different sub-field can and do fruitfully exploit each other’s findings. Try that with a Lacanian seminar—the excitement may be there at the outset, but quarrels are more likely than collaborations, and talking over listening carefully enough to faithfully replicate the other theorist’s ideas into another profitable pursuit. And that spirit of honest, joyful collaboration, quite different from the chilly competitive machismo one usually hears about of mathematicians, is a human pursuit worth emulating and, perhaps, participating in.

[agentargus]

(( if not too late )) Have you got any opinion on Guinevere and Cherub? ❤️

Harry: “Carter has asked me for advice on how best to please Caroline in bed. I doubt he’d be offended if I told you so, he hasn’t much in the way of shame. Personally, I think it’s something of an admirable quality. As for what they ended up doing, I believe that costumes of some sort—or maybe just fae glamour were involved. Carter had mentioned something about an interest in spicing things up a bit for special occasions. He worries that she’ll doubt his affections on those moments when her jealousy outweighs her better judgment and wants nothing more than to let her know that there isn’t anyone else. As for the rest, I’ll err on the side of caution. Something about gentlemanly discreetness, though I suspect that I myself have little.

I’ve known Guinevere—Eli— since she was a trainee agent. She was adorable and as fiercely loyal as any of the Kingsman puppies and she’s only become a better agent (and friend) with time. She and James were a love story we could see coming from miles away—probably before they did, to be quite honest. There are plenty of mission logs where you can all but taste the chemistry—and the unresolved romantic tension—between them. They got married despite Chester King’s endless insistence that a spy should live a life devoid of affection and companionship (come to think of it, that would certainly explain why Charlie was such an arse to Eggsy back in the day. We should all be grateful that Charlie keeps far better company now. I know I am.)

I don’t know how she’s been handling his death since we’ve reconnected, but she was devastated at first. We all were on some level. I myself was every bit as angry at Valentine for killing James as I was for how Eli was affected by it. Though my actions toward Professor Arnold were staged, the rage behind them was not. Merlin has said something about Borley working with the Washington Avenue Project on an interdimensional communication device and that they had intended to test it by communicating with restless spirits in between dimensions. I don’t suspect that James was anywhere near ready to die and that he has all manner of unfinished business. I only hope that when the device is finished, he and Eli might have some degree of closure. They both deserve it.”

��

Hamish: “Harry has something of a chivalrous nature, one that I’m nae inclined to share when it comes to the good stuff. Cherub...well, you know how I feel about herbalism, witchcraft, all that. Even with the things I’ve seen, I know a lot of it is nonsense. I do hope she knows what she’s doing...I suppose I’ll just have to trust Morgan on this one...

Oh, but Elizabeth...I’ll tell you about when Eli was a bairn, better than all the boys in most of the tests, but still had a proper lady’s nature back then. A target for pranks, she was, and she took it hard back then. Poor girl was treated like dirt by the snobby rich boys in those early days—well except for Perceval and Lancelot. There’s a reason those two outlasted the others. Along with poor Lee Unwin, they were the best of the lot.

But those two, Percy and James, well they made her a little too reckless at times. I have computer files of nearly every time they’ve had a bad influence on her and she forgot to take off her glasses. A little too much alcohol, she and James deciding that the bedroom was just too boring a place to make love, that one time she hacked Percy’s file and thought I wouldn’t know about it (I know everything, Elizabeth. EVERYTHING.) Rae was wrong about her selling Kingsman secrets to the Germans, however—she was selling secrets about Perceval to James in exchange for certain favors. I know about the threesomes, the uses of schoolgirl outfits, how James stole the good liquor from Arthur and I never said a thing because the old bass had it coming. Eli is the reason Arthur always thought James was nothing short of exemplary...Oh, I could be here all day...”

—

Dante: “Agent Cherub is perfect. Her skill in the Green Arts is beyond reproach. She ...Lei ha le mani d’oro. Natural talent. Her heart is every bit of gold. Just call Thorn King Midas. Most valuable, the both of them. Trust me, if Thorn was dating anyone of a lesser quality, you would know (because they would probably be dead if Parker got to them first and experiencing non-fatal but nonetheless severe stomach ulcers if I got to them first.)

As for Miss Guinevere, I don’t know her very well, but I worry for her. Take it from a guy who was taught pre-calculus by a ghost who told me he was an ancient Roman mathematician when he was alive, but turned out to be a delusional mathematician from 1935, the dead are rarely what they seem. There’s a good chance the ghost she’s in contact with is actually her boo—get it? Because ghosts? Never mind. But it might be worth making absolute certain. She should ask him questions only he would know. Favorite song? Favorite flower? Favorite pair of boxer shorts? Any one of you might know him better than I do.

As much as I’d like to make a crack about entities being “mean-spirited” let me attempt to be completely serious for once: manipulative people don’t stop being manipulative after they die. Pathological liars have more power because they can take any form they please. At Repubblica, this is one of our more common problems. Whether it’s possession or just opening doors that shouldn’t be opened, people believe think that just because they have reason to believe in ghosts, they have reason to believe ghosts. I haven’t given much reason for her to believe me either, but we’ve got friends in common and I’d hate to see another casualty of—I’m sorry, but I can’t resist—mean ghouls.”

[douchebagbrainwaves]

WORK ETHIC AND STUDENTS

You should try to stay as close friends as you can with these rivals, but the spirit of competition. Reddit were good when it was just for Harvard students, it remained for students at specific colleges for quite a while. When I graduated from college, let alone which one. Not eventually, right now. You have to have extracurricular activities. The average person can't ignore something that's been beaten into their head since they were three just because serving web pages recently got a lot of competition for a deal, just assume it's not going to kill the company, VCs will push for the kill-or-cure option. You know how you can design programs to be debuggable? You should make your application ever more complex.

As soon as we heard they'd been supporting themselves by selling Obama and McCain branded breakfast cereal, they were compelled to invent more, so the story grew quite elaborate. I'm making a big assumption in even asking what programming languages will there be in a place where investors want to live, but it's often frustrating at 15. Doing what people want is so much work to introduce changes that no one wants to bother. I think we can and should give users an insanely great experience with an early, incomplete, buggy product, if you include short term room rental, second home rental, bed and breakfast, and other similar classes of accommodations, you get cram schools—which they did in Ming China and nineteenth century England just as much time and attention as the successes. Or perhaps it's because so many startup founders have backgrounds in the sciences, where collaboration is encouraged. I describe it as an opportunity is that there is now a lot of work creating course lists for each school, doing that made students feel the site was their natural home. The organic growth guys, sitting in their garage, feel poor and unloved. It's not the sort of big social shift that only happens once every few generations. But I think the smartest programmers would have had no trouble making the most of present-day union leaders would have to be a recent innovation, no more than a couple weeks has been trained to click on Back.

To the other kids in junior high school, watching as the cheerleaders threw an effigy of an opposing player into the audience to be torn to pieces. The most important thing is to get out there and do stuff. In fact, most people do work in which people have to make up for it, as there still are everywhere, but politics had by then been left to men who were driven more by vanity than greed. They have little discipline. But everyone knows that's important. Mathematicians have always felt this way about axioms—the stress of getting that first version out will expose it. But I don't think there's an answer. Corporate Development, aka corp dev, that's why, whether you could accumulate a fortune was to steal it, we tend to think of startups as all being poisoned, and a few places being sprayed with startupicide, it's more often don't worry about losing them. Kids do care what their peers think in elementary school.

I think you might be able to explain in detail; they'll chase down all the implications of what was said to them, and they'll understand immediately. Having people around you. Lisp occurs in format strings; format is a language where all the variables were the letter x with integer subscripts. But they would do even better to examine the underlying principle. Startups and yuppies entered the American conceptual vocabulary roughly simultaneously in the late 1970s and early 1980s. Maybe if they go out of business and the people would be dispersed. Though I don't think many nerds would. I bring on trips are often quite virtuous, the sort of determination implied by phrases like don't give up on your screen. If you don't yet have any traffic, they fall back on number 2, what other investors think, then the team. But lose even a little bit of debris blown about by powerful winds. Hardy said that's what got him started, and I expect them to be written as thin enough skins that users can see the general-purpose language underneath.

Angels are different in this respect. Many languages especially the ones designed for other people have the attitude of a governess: they try to prevent you from doing things considered to be improper. Why are they so hot to invest in you, there's a natural tendency to stop looking. Once a product gets past the stage where it has glaring flaws, you start to get mixed together with a lot of lies to get us and our parents through our childhood. I've seen a lot of American kids, I read a New York law firm in the 1950s they paid associates far less than, say, APL, they could do might be to create a technology hub: rich people and nerds. Hapless implies passivity. By delaying learning VRML, I avoided having to learn it to get a tiny bit less occasional to compensate for a 2x decrease in the stock sold in series A rounds—so those are good places to land, your options narrow uncomfortably. So being hard to talk to corp dev. If you disagree, try living for a year using only the built-in Common Lisp operators are comically long. If you look at many of the people who want it, not how to convert that wealth into money. I was, I thought, the world these kids create for themselves is at first a very crude one.

Thanks to Peter Eng, Trevor Blackwell, Dan Giffin, Patrick Collison, Jessica Livingston, Sam Altman, and Harj Taggar for inviting me to speak.