#from my experience of living in the south ​I cannot imagine someone going out of their way for a stranger like this

[drafty-castle]

I’ve said before but I moved from southern USA where urban sprawl has eaten everything to northern Maine where everything is vibrant Green or sparkling White depending on the season. No billboards. Minimal urban sprawl. A “large city” is the equivalent to a medium-small town in Georgia/Tennessee.

Beautiful.

Is it for everyone? No. There’s little to no entertainment that you can’t make yourself, everything closes at eight or ten (including Walmart and McDonald’s), and unless you live downtown in a city or town with local access to necessities the need for a car is dire because the nearest anything might be fifty to a hundred miles away.

But the people are kind. Not nice in the Southern sense. There’s little chitchat between strangers or automatic smiles and politeness. But there is a deep seated culture of kindness and community support. Not necessarily in the financial sense (though there are a significant amount of aid programs that just don’t exist in the south available here), but in the “stranger-helping-a-stranger” sense. I think it’s due to generations of people knowing it could be their car (and before that, horse and buggy) on the side of the road during a snow storm needing help and so people automatically go out of their way to help others in kind. No questions, no expectations, sometimes not even an introduction! Just, “Hey! You stuck? Want me to hitch up your car with my winch? [gets car out of snow ditch] All right, see around. [drives off]” (True story)

It’s a complete culture shock compared to living in the parts of the South I come from, where people are polite to your face but more likely to turn their eyes away from anyone needing help or blame misfortune on God’s judgement or just watch in glee and gossip but not help. I’ll take standoffish but genuinely kind over polite but selfish any day.

Places can be beautiful and I enjoy looking at that beauty. But people can make someplace so much more than just pretty to look at. Having both in one location is sick a blessing.

[ivan-fyodorovich-k]

Broadly speaking I sympathize with the desire to have the smallest possible government or even no government but the latter is a fantasy, and in the case of the former, "possible" is really the operative word.

The world being as it is, and the history of the United States being what it is, I am not sure how to turn back the clock. The more power we give to individual states the more we are inviting individual states to have even more uneven outcomes than they have now. I cannot imagine untethering the states from one another will suddenly make West Virginia prosperous or ruin California. There is also the historical problem that much of the rise of the federal government in the 19th and 20th century occurred over problems of economic development and social justice, by which I do not mean even in the way the phrase is used and abused now, but what I hope we can all agree was the very real necessity that slavery be abolished and that equal rights be granted to minorities and women.

Whatever your stance on abortion we are seeing a version of this play out now on that very issue; left to the states, the lived experience of women in different states can become dramatically different based on a single policy. Gun rights and gun laws are another where we see this dramatic variation from state to state. And the thing is, a woman who lives in a no-abortion state can still get an abortion. Someone in an anti-gun state can still get a gun. They just have to make connections in states more amenable to their desires, and both laws impact the poor disproportionately who always have less autonomy. The states are so dramatically close physically and economically and even culturally (set aside the rural/urban divide, something for a future discussion), I'm skeptical how much federalization is going to achieve, except to exacerbate unequal conditions and unequal outcomes which are already a huge problem.

There is also the problem of defense. History shows time and again that the United States is stronger together. The very discussion of the extent to which it is the business of the United States to police the world is an almost unfathomable luxury that in history has fallen to a number of political bodies small enough to count on our hands. The United States was born in a world of neighboring hostile empires; in 1783 it shared a border with Spain and Britain; later with France, and the major European empires also held sway in the Caribbean and Latin America to the South. It is not impossible that something like that could happen again someday. Arguably, one of the lessons of the American Civil War was not only the Union's greater material wealth but also its greater ability to take advantage of it given its more centralized system helped secure victory over a decentralized, disorganized opponent. The South still smoulders from that defeat that is over a century and a half old, and in some ways it has yet to recover. What if it was the Chinese or the Russians tomorrow?

If the solution is not a curtailed federal government, what is it?

I honestly struggle deeply with this. To abolish the federal government is to roll the dice. Staggeringly few other political bodies in human history have had anything like the success of the United States of America under the Constitution of 1787. Yet negative counterexamples abound. To roll the dice on a new arrangement is to court a virtual guarantee that the new arrangement is not better but worse, maybe far worse.

My PhD would be revoked if my peers heard me say this but the United States is an exceptional place.

The problem as I see it, to which I do not have a solution, is how to hold the power accountable? Whether the power is the bureaucracy, the president, the court, the legislature, the corporations, the billionaires, the 1%, the coastal elite, the people, or however else you slice it, people have to be answerable for their influence, and right now they clearly are not.

[octuscle]

DeepTraining Part 2 – Gus

One of the first people to approach Stefek after IronData's presentation was Constantine. Constantine had worked with Stefek on two startups and had also made a lot of money on the exits. Unfortunately, he had been less fortunate with his business ideas after that; much of his fortune had already been spent. But there was more than enough left over for a carefree life. Besides, Constantine was a truly brilliant Data Scientist who loved his work. He was not made for idleness. Stupidly, he also looked like a Data Scientist. He looked like someone who loved to sit at a computer for a living: fat, pale, a bit unkempt. He had been an oddball since childhood. He was always teased. The feminine-sounding name hadn't helped. So he had kept to himself. But after seeing his old pal Stephen, he wanted to change that. If the nerd Stephen could become the alpha male Stefek, he wanted that too.

The two had met in Paris shortly after the trade show where Stefek had presented IronData. Stefek was on a promotional tour of France; Constantine was serving as interim CDO at a pharmaceutical company. "Let me be honest," Constantine got straight to the point. "IronData is hot shit. Great concept. I believe in your success. But your body wasn't shaped by IronData." The two had deliberately not met in public. Stefek had guessed it would be about DeepTraining. But there he was sworn to secrecy. And he didn't even want to imagine what could happen if he didn't keep to the agreement. Therefore, he answered honestly that he could not say much about it. But he could try to make a contact. And he wanted to point out that it would be expensive. How much Constantine would loosen up like that. Constantine was counting up his financial possibilities. He once estimated his fortune at $80 million to $90 million. Stefek slipped him the public business card of the young man from DeepTraining. It looked completely neutral. Nothing pointed to DeepTraining. Stefek thought it might be a little difficult to reach the contact. But a man with Constantine's skills should be able to do it. The two arranged to meet for lunch the next day, after which Stefek had to return to Gdansk.

Constantine had spent the whole night on the phone and at the computer. But he had actually managed to make an appointment with the young man. In three weeks. Somewhere in the countryside of Burgundy. Stefek didn't say a word. But instead Stefek slipped him an envelope. If he should meet someone, he should hand over the envelope. Constantine nodded. The two said goodbye.

A few weeks later, Constantine and the young man were sitting across from each other in a wine cellar of a chateau in Burgundy. The young man read Stefek's letter. He put the paper on the table, smiled at Constantine. What could he do for him? Constantine was sweating. He was nervous. And then he stammered that he wanted to become like Stefek. Maybe not such a colossus. But he wanted to become a man. Masculinity made flesh. He wanted everyone to want sex with him. And that he could have sex all the time. Constantine was in his early 30s and still a virgin. With no chance of ever going to bed with a woman or a man. Sure his money had helped him hook up with hookers and hustlers. But he had always been too nervous to get down to business. That was his driving force. "Well," the young man said. "You have half Greek roots, after all. Southern genes, in my experience, are a good basis for transformation in your sense. From there we should be able to comply with your wishes. I have just read the letter from our dear common friend Stefek. We are making a proposal to you. The transformation costs $100 million. Unfortunately, we cannot do it cheaper than that. Stefek offers to buy all your possessions from you for exactly that amount. We will carry out the transformation in Johannesburg. The authorities in South Africa are quite lax, there it will be easier to integrate you into a new life. Stefek has even already organized a plan for your departure. Settlement of the purchase contract, farewell party. And you should renew all your IDs beforehand to give you as much time as possible before you have to apply for new ones. You'll understand that when the time comes." Constantine looked first at the floor and then at the young man's face. "And what happens then? Then I'll be in South Africa with no money!" "Don't worry, Stefek is a smart man and has thought of everything. You'll get two months paid leave and then become CIO of IronData Africa with a generous salary."

Six weeks later, Constantine was in a limousine that would take him from the airport directly to his transformation. Here, the process was fully automated. After he got out of the car with his bit of carry-on luggage, doors opened and closed right behind him. There was not a person in sight. A few doors down, he found himself in a locker room. And a voice asked him to undress completely. Constantine became more and more nervous. And sweating like a pig again. But he did as he was told. Another door opened. And Constantine stood in a perfect copy of the room in which Stephen's transformation had also taken place. And the sequence of events was also identical. The only difference was that he was naked. My God, what if someone is watching me. Or filming. He felt ridiculous. But when he got on the weight bench to bench press, energy flowed through him. And the energy grew. He could already feel his new body; seeing anything in the dim light and without a mirror was difficult. But then the light came on. And a door opened. The young man and Stefek were waiting for him. But Constantine couldn't help but jerk off in front of the mirror first.

A year had passed since that day. No one had called Gus "Constantine" for a long time. After two months in a backyard gym learning everything he needed to know about bodybuilding and how to use IronData, he had joined IronData's software development team. He had never had a job like this before. Whereas before he had lived a completely asexual life, now he was surrounded only by men who made it hard for him not to think about sex. And more often than not, they were having some. The glory holes in the staff restrooms were legendary. And Gus' cock was a legend, too!

@peepshow321, thanks for the challenge!

@zakucavanje, awesome picture! Thanks for that too!

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 7/11/23, timezone change edition

the last time i wrote one of these things, i was not quite fully packed up in ma. now, i am technically temporarily homeless in houston, bc the apartment i originally signed on was completely unlivable. crashing in an acquaintance's guest room for a bit while i have a very bad time with apartment hunting round 2

i have lived in south florida, staten island, and various shithole student housing. i understand seasonal bugs in hot places and things such as different kinds of roaches and palmetto bugs. when i say that apartment had the worst roach infestation i've ever seen i fucking mean it. in theory i will get my full deposits back, but they're taking their sweet fucking time about it.

but having that full yes-i-know-about-seasonal-roaches conversation with new acquaintances and leasing agents takes too long so i've resorted to saying it had a horrific bedbug problem, which everyone seems to go Oh Okay Yeah Reasonable For You To Leave much more quickly.

listening

a lot of early aughts dance pop standards, to chase away the agonies as i drive to and from apartments only to get ghosted, find they were rented a week ago, or find that they look absolutely nothing like the pictures. i was really torn on which britney song to pick for this week until my sister sent me Twin Flame by Maude Latour, which i can only describe as "douchebag get the girl back song but for lesbians". spotify

also how do we like the "featured link from bandcamp or soundcloud with additional spotify link" format? in an ideal world i would buy all my music directly from the artists but realistically i use spotify 90% of the time. i don't know what your life is like, tell me if this is helpful or not.

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reading

my best friend made sad faces at me until i read The Flatshare by Beth O'Leary, and it was a little nice to see someone else's dire housing situation get resolved neatly and with thematic consistence in several hundred pages. it was also nice to text her snippets with "WHAT?????" every so often. this is a reading experience i don't have very often bc our current reading tastes don't overlap even a little bit.

i don't have much to say about it bc i didn't have particularly strong feelings and don't really read mainstream straight romance, so i can't point out what this did differently or well compared to its peers. if nothing else, it was a fluffy bit of distraction, and i think that's kind of the point?

(image from Tor) also read Saad Z. Hossein's Kundo Wakes Up novella in a waffle house while eating some of the best scrambled eggs i've ever had in my life.

this novella was the closest thing i've ever read to "aging English professor has an affair" without actually containing any of those elements. generally i enjoy his work, but this was sort of a way to check up and tie off many characters from previous works with a sort of light frosting of "my wife left me and i don't know why [ rot13:v pna znxr fbzr thrffrf ohg gurer vf ab zbzrag bs frys-ernyvmngvba, bapr ur svaqf uvf jvsr ur whfg perrcf ba ure sebz nsne naq nsgre qrgrezvavat fur'f abg jvgu nalbar arj znxrf gur gerzraqbhf fnpevsvpvny qrpvfvba gb yrnir ure nybar op fur'f zhpu unccvre jvgubhg uvz. gurer vf ab zbzrag bs frys-ernyvmngvba nobhg jul fur zvtug unir yrsg uvz. xhaqb arire trgf bhg bs uvf bja shpxvat urnq bapr.]"

while The Gurkha and the Lord of Thursday novella (TREMENDOUS) and Cyber Mage book (fun but with some dire pacing issues) are fairly standalone, i cannot imagine you'd get much out of Kundo Wakes Up if you haven't read the other two. for some reason none of the libraries i have access to have his other book Djinn City, so we'll have to procure that elsewhere.

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watching

the dnd movie, the day after i broke my lease on the roach apartment. i don't remember a ton about this movie. do generally like a heist. michelle rodriguez was hot

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playing

genshin. listen. it is a free and familiar way to turn my brain off by doing open world exploration and puzzles but CRUCIALLY! most of it is completely new to me. i have not played this game in a year and a half. i have not played this game since right before enkanomiya. there was no chasm. there was no Sumeru. i have absolutely no idea what’s happening lore-wise.

i pulled for the fancy ice claymore lady and got a catboy archer (at least i think it is a catboy? the ears do give a pharaoh hound vibe... he is distinct from the extant dogboy archer). not terrible but not my vibe.

i have been enjoying the shit out of the temporary summer event carnival space. they really did pull out several stops by introducing a ton of genuinely interesting and innovating little new mechanics and mini games. delightful!

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making

altering the worst shorts ive ever seeeeeeeeen with a demure little two-inch side slit on both legs bc my thighs simply will not quit. mens shorts are so much better than womens shorts in nearly every way except for the catastrophic physical fit issues.

when i got ghosted by two different apartments on saturday i bought myself a spoon ring so chunky it makes my other chunky rings look positively delicate by comparison. not very comfy to drive in but fine to wear while tippy tappying on the spreadsheets

a girl i saw for one singular awful date in 2016 called my hands "coarse but honest" and i think about that every time my hands are in a photo. what did that even fucking MEAN, [REDACTED]?

[rutidon]

When the World Dies

Every now and again, the world dies for just a little bit. The wind stops blowing and the animals stop singing (In the south, this is the year-long chorus of birds, frogs, and bugs).

Sometimes, I like it when the world dies. Everything stops and goes silent for long enough for me to think an entire thought and find that there is empty space left over in my head. Then, I’ll think over that one thought again and again until it fades into the idea of a memory of a concept of a dream.

Sometimes, I don’t like it so much when the world dies. Everything feels so lifeless (Almost as if it is truly dead). I can sit outside for a while and experience nothing. It feels like I am missing something that I never had, or never knew that I had at any rate-- Like I am waiting for some stranger who I know will never come.

I know that the world isn’t dead for good. When I focus really hard on it, I can find signs that survivors have made it through this temporary mass extinction. Every night, I hear an owl calling from the pines somewhere across the street. On my walk up to the house, I will see a bush that is covered in flowers, each one teeming with bees whom I can only assume are the last ones that I will see this year. On the playground at work, I can still see moths and grasshoppers and even a squirrel at times. My students have made it a point to identify new birds that they see as well. 

This dead world may exist entirely within my head. My students are as energetic as ever, and always eager to step outside. My father and sister continue how they have done for most of the year; They work from home, so I cannot put myself into their shoes when I walk or drive on a near-daily basis.

I am not sure if the world is dead right now.

I will, at times, find myself sitting motionless, staring off into space and listening to find out if there is something out there that I missed while surveying the world for life. Then, I will be pulled back into a sense of reality when one of my students says my name, or a friend or family member asks if I am alright.

Do they know that the world is dead? Do they recognize how quiet it is? Do they recognize how the sky now hosts only the sun? Am I the one who is dead? Has the world around me continued on and evolved to be so unnatural that it could only be perceived as dead to a dead man?

What happens if the world dies for good? For me, this was never a question of “if”, but rather “when”. 

I would imagine that the world would die, but it would keep on going. Our roads and houses wouldn’t disappear, and neither would the tree trunks and the bones of animals that had already passed. I’d like to pretend that I was one of the many people who foresaw catastrophe and took the time to plan for how to survive it. Realistically, my own hopes for survival wouldn’t matter (Not to be entirely pessimistic, but I know for a fact that I would either thrive in a post-apocalyptic world or perish shockingly fast). 

Whenever I do die, I hope that the world doesn’t remember me as the guy who lied in bed for hours every morning, poring over already-known information while checking to see if anyone at all had tried to make contact (That is to say, lying in bed on my phone, scrolling through stuff I’d seen and being too afraid to text people first). I hope that the world doesn't remember me as someone who was “sad” or “irritable” or “bitter” or “crabby” or “short-tempered”. I hope that the world doesn’t think of me as someone who deserved to die, but instead as someone who had earned a right to die through a lifetime of trying to make things better for everyone around them.

If I live (And that is a very weighted “If”), then I want to be someone.

I have already thought through what I intend to do.

Times of tragedy always bring out the best and the worst of people. In this case, I’m choosing to think of myself as one of the people who chooses to be better.

When the bodies that take care of us can no longer do so, it becomes the duty of us to take care of each other. As a preschool teacher, I certainly know a great deal about taking care of other people.

I wouldn’t have much as far as capital (In a dead world, that would be skills and tools and knowledge). I can fish, but not too well. I can start fires, but not too well. I can trap and clean animals, but not too well. I can navigate without a map, but not too well. All I’d have with me is my emergency bag (Which, optimistically, would last me about a month or two if everything else died and I had to pack up and hit the road).

I do, however, have a lot of books. Across the floor of my room there are so many children’s books that I have completely given up on trying to count them all; My organization system, too, is almost at its breaking point.

When the world dies, I would fill my time with more books. If I were to grow bored, I’d imagine that I’d lose hope of survival, and my motivation to keep going. If I were bored, I would turn the silence of the dead world into an irrational fear that the space around me could suddenly spring back to life with the sole intent of killing me. If I were bored, I would become as destructively energetic as an untrained dog.

If I could read, I would stave off that boredom for as long as possible. If I could read to others, maybe I could keep them alive, too. If I could read, maybe I could say that I had saved someone.

Who knows?

I do like reading, almost as much as I like telling stories. Story time for my students often keeps them in one place long enough for them to forget that they don’t hate each other and that they don’t hate me. Rather, I could say that it keeps them in place long enough for me to remember that nobody really hates anyone; They just grow tired of being so near to each other all the time.

I think that nap time is the best time to tell stories as well. The room is deathly quiet and there may only be one or two children awake out of the fifteen or sixteen of them. They’ll sit in silence, looking around the room in what I can only imagine is their own search for signs of life. I think that they’re being silly; “Of course the world isn’t dead”, I would think. Then, I would sit and read with them until the world seemed alive again.

When the classroom becomes silent due to my influence, I somehow don’t think of it as dead-- Only resting. I think that if the world could speak then it would pause from time to time and echo “I’m not really dead, I’m just taking a break!”

I’ll consider this when I lie still on my bed, or in the grass, or on the branches among leaves. I’ll consider this when I sit and watch the waters of a creek or lake. I’ll consider this when I count the words on the pages of a story book:

“I’m only resting.”

[mrs-nate-humphrey]

So not to be dramatic, but if you could get a degree in discourse-ology, the topic of my master’s thesis would definitely be “Which political candidates did the characters of the CW’s Gossip Girl (2007-2012) support?” I’m doing this in order from most to least obvious, and considering both the 2016 and 2020 presidential elections.

[ little ivy interjection here: i haven’t changed ANYTHING, except adding a screencap of the title + the submission, because that made me laugh & more people deserve to see it, and putting this under a read more because that’s how i generally try & organise stuff on this blog. so this submission is exactly as it was when i received it! also while we’re at it, anon, this MADE my day.]

Blair Waldorf: “Hillary Clinton is one of my role models. I do not break treaties, you ass!” (04x13) There’s no question that Blair would go hard for Hillary in 2016, she praised her on multiple occasions throughout the series. Blair’s a classic American neoliberal, third wave Democrat-type: she’s decently progressive when it comes to social policies, and would be decidedly supportive of causes like gay marriage, racial equity, and women’s reproductive rights, but she’s still very much in favor of maintaining the status quo when it comes to capitalism and the hegemonic structure of power that, lets face it, heavily favors her own class interests. To use the American healthcare system as an example: Blair would have been all for the Affordable Care Act, and is largely supportive of the idea of creating a public option - but single payer, nationalized health care? It just wouldn't work in a country like the United States for “X” reason (although the real reason, deep down, is that she doesn’t want to see her tax rate go up in any meaningful way). So she’s thoroughly for Clinton in both the 2016 primaries and the general election, she maybe even comes out with a line of high-end “I’m With Her” merchandise if she’s still CEO of Waldorf Designs, and is personally heartbroken when Clinton loses.

Flash forward to the 2020 primaries. Blairhates Donald Trump, like emotionally, viscerally hates him - his misogyny, his incompetence, and his blatant tackiness are a direct repudiation of her beliefs, and the fact that he’s representing Manhattan society and the Upper East Side to the world in such a godawful way is frankly embarrassing. So in a certain sense, her strategy, like frankly many Americans at the time going into the 2020 Democratic primaries is, “Which one of these candidates has the greatest chance at beating Donald Trump?” I see Blair being rather conflicted at first, but ultimately going for either Amy Klobuchar or Kamala Harris. She has a certain admiration for Elizabeth Warren given her professional background, but her policies are a bit too progressive for someone like Blair. Buttigeg is fine, but not especially thrilling. Biden, quite frankly, doesn’t seem like he has any real chance at winning, although I think he’d be Blair’s third choice after Harris and Klobuchar. I can see her leaning more towards Harris ultimately - although, after the “Amy Klobuchar throws staplers at her interns!!” rumors start spreading, Blair cannot help but, at a personal level, kind of respect her for that. When Biden unexpectedly takes South Carolina and then the Democratic nomination, Blair is a bit disappointed, but not overly so, and quickly marshals her financial resources into supporting and fundraising for him for the remainder of the election. At least it’s not Sanders - or Bloomberg. As a New Yorker, of course Blair’s opinion is “Fuck Michael Bloomberg”.

Chuck Bass: Now here’s where it gets interesting. Chuck, as you said, isn’t stupid - there’s no way he falls for the “build the wall” crap or any of Trump’s rhetoric, he knows it’s a bullshit farce and sees right through it. But you know what he definitely is? Deeply greedy and deeply selfish. I’m hardly the first person to point this out, but Chuck Bass is, in many ways, the fictional equivalent of the Donald Trumps and Michael Bloombergs and Brett Kavanaughs of the world - new money billionaire who inherited his wealth from his father working in the real estate industry, who despite his lack of business acumen and deeply problematic history with women, has managed to coast through life failing upwards with absolutely no social or legal accountability? I mean, back in 2010, Forbes Magazine actually did a real interview with the fictional Chuck Bass in which they outright compare him to Donald Trump. I couldn’t tell you if the Gossip Girl writers meant to write Chuck as their Trump analogue - I mean, they did invite Jared and Ivanka onto the show, after all - but the parallels are just too strong to ignore. All of which is to say, not only did Chuck Bass vote for Donald Trump, he held exclusive political fundraisers for him and was probably a substantial donor to his campaign. Now, did Chuck distance himself publicly over time as the political climate became increasingly caustic and public sentiment towards Trump plummeted even further? Perhaps, perhaps not. It really depends on if the board of Bass Industries felt like being connected to Trump was a liability or an asset - but privately, I imagine Chuck once again voted for him in 2020, because the one policy Donald Trump did effectively execute during his tenure in office was massive tax cuts for billionaires, and for someone like Chuck Bass, that’s the only political policy that really matters. He wouldn’t wear a red hat and wouldn’t be caught dead within sniffing distance of a MAGA rally and the hoi polloi, but dude is basically the image of what the kind of rich conservatives backing the Trump administration for personal gain look like. On the off chance that the distastefulness of it all got to be a little much for even Chuck post-2016, perhaps he might switch his vote to Bloomberg. But I highly doubt Chuck would be politically invested in anything other than his own wallet to such an extent that he wouldn’t vote for Trump, no matter how much it would no doubt completely infuriate Blair.

Dan Humphrey: As the unofficial king of the hipsters, Dan has been a Sanders supporter since before it was cool. Seriously, Bernie Sanders appeals to Dan intrinsically on every level - his policies, his rhetoric, even his aesthetic - the rumpled old man with wild hair wearing mittens and railing against the upper class is the sort of thing that’s basically political catnip for someone like Dan Humphrey. Not only would Dan vote for Sanders in both the 2016 and 2020 primaries, he’d go out and be one of the celebrities campaigning for him. This would definitely lead to him butting heads with Blair, and she would no doubt call him out on supporting someone like Sanders when Dan himself is now a millionaire, who made his money from writing stories about the upper class. The fact that in 2017 he apparently gets married to Serena, a billionaire heiress, and may or may not have been engaged to her back in 2016 when the Democratic primaries were happening might cause him a bit of cognitive dissonance, but really, just because he’s climbed up the socio-economic ladder now doesn’t mean his values have really changed, have they? (Debatable.) In any case, in both the 2016 and 2020 general elections, Dan would definitely vote for Clinton and Biden respectively - although he’d be significantly more disgruntled about it than Blair would be switching from Harris to Biden. I don’t think Dan would be a “Bernie bro” in the way that term is used, but he’d definitely chafe against Clinton’s past policy decisions, and would probably make some snippy Tweets about her during the election. Nevertheless, once it became clear that Trump was going to be the Republican nominee and was a serious threat, I think Dan would change his tone and start encouraging his fans and followers to vote for Clinton. Likewise, in 2020, Dan would probably become one of the Sanders supporters doing outreach for Biden, having become more politically pragmatic following the experience of living under the Trump administration.

Vanessa Abrams: Much like Dan, Vanessa is a progressive, although unlike Dan, Vanessa’s activism is more focused around specific issues and less around specific politicians. I can see Dan and Vanessa being in roughly the same place in 2016, and given that the only real choices were between Sanders and Clinton in the primaries (RIP to Martin O'Malley), Vanessa would no doubt go for Sanders. Whereas Dan might campaign for Sanders directly however, Vanessa would instead focus her time and resources around advocacy for specific causes that are important to her, like climate change and racial justice, and would probably use her platform as a filmmaker and documentarian to advance those causes. I could very much see her getting involved with movements like Black Lives Matter and organizations like the Sunrise Movement, and taking part in protests, marches, and sit-ins. When the 2020 Democratic primaries come around, I could see her possibly switching from Sanders to Warren for a while (and Dan would definitely argue with her about it if she did), but I can also see her switching back to Sanders after Warren amended her support for single-payer, “Medicare for All”. She’d definitely vote for Clinton and Biden in the generals, but not enthusiastically.

Nate Archibald: For someone whose family business is politics and who, in 2017, is apparently a candidate in the New York City mayoral election, Nate seems to be rather removed from politics. As Vanessa puts it in 02x19, “The only thing Nate’s ever voted for is American Idol.” Still, as Editor-in-Chief of The Spectator, Nate kind of has to have an opinion, and in that respect, I see him gravitating towards the type of center-left “establishment” candidates that he and his family would no doubt have close ties with. In the Gossip Girl universe, the Vanderbilts are portrayed as being a lot like the Kennedys, and I think Nate’s policies as a mayoral candidate would really reflect that. In 2016, he would vote for Hillary Clinton in both the primaries and the generals without much of a second thought - after all, she’s the obvious choice, and there’s no way a candidate like Donald Trump could actually beat her, right? Actually, optimistically, maybe that’s why Nate decides to jump into the mayoral race in 2017 - previously, he had been for all intents and purposes politically apathetic, but seeing someone as genuinely vile as Donald Trump ascend to the office of the presidency stirs him out of that apathy, and he wants to make a positive difference in the only way an incredibly privileged white man from a politically prominent family knows how. So he runs as a Kennedy-esque center left candidate, further left of someone like Hillary Clinton, but more moderate than someone like Elizabeth Warren - sort of like Kamala Harris, now that I think about it. I have no idea if he would actually be able to beat Bill de Blasio given the major incumbency advantage de Blasio would have, but who knows. Come the 2020 Democratic primaries, I think Nate would probably just vote for whoever he believed was most likely to beat Donald Trump. I don’t see him having any sort of clear preference - maybe he would gravitate towards Biden on the basis of him being the most established candidate, or maybe he would gravitate towards Harris on the basis of her campaigning as the “moderate progressive” candidate. I could also seeing him liking Andrew Yang, come to think of it. In any case, he would most definitely support Joe Biden in the generals. How involved he’d be in supporting him really depends on whether or not Nate actually gets elected to mayor - if he was the mayor, he’d definitely endorse him and probably donate to him, but I think he’d be too wrapped up in his own political responsibilities to really do much more than that. If, however, he lost the election and was still the Editor-in-Chief of The Spectator, I can see Nate getting more involved alongside the rest of his family, officially endorsing him in The Spectator, hosting political fundraisers for him, and maybe even campaigning for him. The Vanderbilts in the Gossip Girl universe (I have no idea what the family’s actual political beliefs are in real life) definitely seem to me like they’d be Biden supporters, and I imagine they’d use their political clout to try and get Biden in, and more importantly, Trump out.

Serena van der Woodsen: Oh Serena. Look, she knows it’s important, okay? It’s just, she’s been really busy lately, and she doesn’t really like to think about politics, and hey, remember that fundraiser she did with her mom for last month’s philanthropic cause du jour? Serena’s a Democrat, vaguely, but if you tried to really pin her down on her political beliefs she’d probably just change the topic. So who does she vote for in 2016? The truth is, she doesn’t. Not in the primaries, not in the general, not at all. She meant to, okay, Blair’s definitely been pestering her to send in her mail-in-ballot for weeks, but she just got distracted and forgot. Serena really strikes me as the kind of person who doesn’t enjoy thinking or talking about politics, save for perhaps a few specific issues, and she has a sense that everything will work itself out eventually and she doesn’t really need to participate. And then the 2016 election happens, and holy shit, she didn’t vote. Blair and Dan might have spent early 2016 bickering with each other over Clinton versus Sanders, but the one thing they can definitely agree on is “What the fuck, Serena?!?!” They both reminded her like, a million times, how could she possibly forget?! Serena feels really bad about it - she didn’t think it was such a big deal, she didn’t think Donald Trump could actually win! - and so she starts overcompensating whenever the topic of politics comes up, maybe even joins Vanessa at a few protests and marches, even though she’s still sort of clueless about the actual issues at hand. She does vote in the 2018 midterms, although only in the general election - straight blue ticket, all the way down. She takes a picture of herself at the voting booth wearing an “I Voted!” sticker and posts it on Instagram, tagging both Dan and Blair in the post (who already voted weeks ago using mail-in ballots, but it’s the thought that counts). Flash forward to 2020, and she really needs to make a decision about who to vote for in the primaries… but there’s just so many choices. Everything seems so scary and stressful and real in a way now that it didn’t back in 2016, and she can’t just ignore it and assume things will work out for the best like she did back then. So who does she vote for? Well, Serena always wins, so she votes for Biden. Conspiratorially, both Dan and Blair privately wonder if her voting for Biden isn’t on some cosmic level the reason for his unexpected victory, even if they know there’s no logical way that’s possible, right? But it would be such a Serena thing to do… In any case, Serena’s just happy her candidate won, and would probably host political fundraisers for him with her mom’s circle of philanthropic friends. Assuming she and Dan are still married at this point, she offers to help him do political outreach to Sanders supporters to get them to vote for Biden, which he sweetly dissuades her from given that most Sanders supporters would probably dislike her on principle.

So that’s how, in my opinion, the main cast would vote, ordered roughly in how confident I am about that analysis. You could make the argument that perhaps some characters would vote or act differently based on whether or not they’re dating or married at the time - like, would Chuck openly fundraise for Trump when Blair is a dyed-in-the-wool Clinton supporter if they’re married? (He totally would.) But I tried to consider them purely on the merits of their personalities and values, and not on the particularities of their situations at the time (with the exception of Nate, just because him being in office or not would obviously make a huge difference in regards to how politically involved he’s going to be).

I wish I put as much effort into my actual university essays as I did on Gossip Girl political analysis.

[legobiwan]

Whumptober #2

“pick who dies”

Notes: This got out of control. I was going to add an Obi-wan + Anakin section but I had to cut myself off as I do have other things I need to get to today. This is less whump than...a set of pretentious character studies with THE LINEAGE (including Rael) and an excuse to explore the trolley problem within a Star Wars setting. I blame my recent Hannibal obsession for what you see below. First part here, rest under the cut. Note, I am a musician, not a philosophy student, so allow for some creative interpretation here. 

General Whumptober tag

Whumptober 2020 #1

~~~~~~~

(excerpt from “The Padawan’s Guide to Philosophy.” Eds. Masters Thrife-Foran & Ugaaalich. 616th e. Coruscant, 940 ARR. Holobook.)

Premise:

You are out for an afternoon walk in the outer regions of Thymilla, a moderately-populated city on the planet Ungar. On your walk, you pass by a set of hovertrain tracks, which branch into two separate arms - one an extension of the main track, the other a smaller offshoot which leads to a cargo loading zone, about fifty clicks south of where you are. (Diagram 3)

As a hovertrain approaches from the north, you hear screaming, the words of the driver becoming clearer as the hovertrain barrels towards the switch. The brakes of the train have failed and there is no chance of repair. If the train continues on its current path, it will kill five workers making repairs on the track. If you pull a switch, the hovertrain will divert to the offshoot, where it will kill one worker at the cargo loading zone.

Because of an anomaly in Ungar’s atmosphere, you cannot access the Force.

Do you pull the switch or do nothing and allow the train to speed forward?

~~~~~~~

“Your thoughts, Padawan.”

Dooku shifted on his meditation pod, the firm material groaning as he uncrossed his legs from the lotus position, gingerly setting both his bare feet to the cool, tiled floor of his Master’s chambers. The young man allowed himself a small wince with the action. Yoda might have been able to keep that damnable position for hours, probably days on end, but Dooku was just a few months shy of his eighteenth life day, and another recent growth spurt seemingly focused all on his legs made sitting for any long amount of time…uncomfortable, to say the least.

Which was likely why Yoda had had him trapped him here for the past three hours, running through one ethical thought experiment after the other, poking his literal and metaphorical gimmer stick precisely at each gnarled and swollen joint in both his body and thoughts.

To act - to pull the switch - would mean to commit premeditated murder, even if it were for the greater good. Hardly a Jedi-like action. But then again, they had been taught - indoctrinated, really - with the idea that is was acceptable to sacrifice one life for the lives of many. A supposedly fair trade-off, although Dooku had seen enough of the Jedi’s relationship to the Senate, had seen enough of the Council’s internal politics, to know that two lives did not necessarily hold equal weight.

But to not act - to let the train barrel through, to leave it up to the will of the Force...Dooku clenched his teeth. That seemed more in line with the Order he was coming to know, was consistent with the Council’s lack of action on Protobranch, when Sifo-Diyas had seen the calamity that was to befall the planet and yet the Council, his Master, had done too little, too late, preferring to allow events to transpire as they would, the Jedi only impassive bystanders.

What was the point of their abilities, their training, their place in the universe, if they weren’t able to change the course of events for the better?

“I suppose,” Dooku began slowly, coming to stand, suddenly not caring if he was maintaining his proper meditation position. The young man padded towards the slightly shuttered windows on the other side of the room.

“I suppose it depends on the relative worth of each life,” he said, turning away from Yoda as to not see the subtle moue of distaste Dooku was certain would cross the old Master’s face.

“Is not all life sacred, Padawan?”

Dooku barely bit back the dark chuckle threatening to escape from his chest. Only in the holos and classrooms and the empty rhetoric of the Council was all life sacred. The Jedi could do so much more, he could do so much more to change the galaxy and yet the Order allowed itself to be chained to politicians, leashed like akk-dogs until receiving command.

No, Dooku thought. There was no balance - not here and not in the Force.

“From the information you’ve provided,” Dooku said, ignoring Yoda’s question. He peered through the slits of the rotor blinds into the watery illumination of Coruscant’s night sky. The dome of the Senate building rose through the rain like an oddly-shaped umbrella, shielding those in power with its wide beadth. “We can assume both parties of victims are of equal social standing, being manual laborers. Because of this, we must find other ways of determining their worth, their ability to enact change in the galaxy.”

Dooku clasped his hands behind his back, daring to turn to face his Master’s displeasure.

“The question becomes whether you want to hold sway over the transit network of a forgettable city, or the imports and exports that may go off-world. Exports which might include valuable resources or even smuggled goods. Items which could affect the governance of our imagined city and therefore, by extension, an even larger part of the populace.”

“Which is why, in this case,” Dooku concluded, his posture straightening, “I would choose to allow the hovertrain to continue its course and save the cargo worker.”

Yoda folded both claws over his gimmer stick, frowning. After a moment, he let out a small grunt, his features now inscrutable.

“And see yourself as the final arbiter of worth, do you, my young apprentice? Stand you above all others holding a golden scale, you do?”

Don’t we, as Jedi, hold these scales every day and yet choose to ignore them? Dooku thought.

“Someone,” the young man replied, “will make the judgment regardless. Is it not better for the Jedi to use our powers to make such decisions?”

This time Yoda did let out a wet sigh, shaking his head.

“Dangerous, these thoughts are, my Padawan,” Yoda grumbled, gesturing at the meditation pod. “Sit, young Dooku. Much we have to discuss.”

~~~~~~~

“Your thoughts, Rael.”

Rael Averross slung an arm over the back of Dooku’s couch, sleeves of his Master’s borrowed robe hanging long near the tips of his fingers. It had been the third time that month Rael had “misplaced” his own robe, his Master’s foisted upon him in the wee hours of the morning, Dooku grunting something about “Jedi propriety” before shoving Rael out the door. (The things were a damned inconvenience, and made him look like something straight out of a space station ghost story, to boot. Was it so surprising he showed up to Dooku’s quarters in a state which his Master referred to as “half-naked?”)

Rael bit his lip, trying to not think of all the times he had actually been half-naked in the Temple. Those were fun times. Unfortunately, Dooku could probably mind read them out of him right now if he weren’t so concentrated on this thought experiment.

“Why not save them both?” Rael drawled amiably, scratching at the beginnings of a beard with his other hand as he hoped to distract his Master from any hint of his past indiscretions. It was about time, too, he thought. Never going to look my age going around all smooth-faced like a transparisteel window surface.

Dooku gave a small smile. “You cannot, Rael. Those are the rules of the scenario.”

“Rules,” Rael scoffed, picking at the hem of Dooku’s overly-fancy robe before suddenly launching to his feet, unable to contain his restlessness. The younger Jedi paced up and down the length of Dooku’s couch, grateful his usually strict Master was allowing him this indulgence. Not that Dooku had any problem sitting still for what felt like forever - stiff as a board, that one - but Rael was too jittery, too full potential energy to keep his thoughts in neat line with his body. “Rules are meant to be broken, Master,” Rael gave a swift chop with his hand in illustration. “You’re the first one to tell me that.”

Rael heard his Master let out a soft snort in response. Only Dooku could make such a noise sound dignified. “I suppose I did,” the older man answered evenly.

“So there you go! Blow up the train and everyone’s fine.”

“And kill the driver?”

Rael spun to face Dooku, the other man’s eyebrows raised not in condemnation, but genuine interest. It was days like this Rael truly appreciated having Dooku as a Master. Sure, he was as pretentious as any big-city Senator, a hard taskmaster in his lessons, and an even tougher dueling trainer - but at the end of the day, Dooku only expected Rael to follow Dooku’s rules, and not the Order’s.

And as much as Rael chaffed under any collar, he’d take Dooku’s version of the Code over the Council’s any day.

“I mean, the driver is the one in control of the train,” Rael shrugged. “Sure, it’s an accident, but the they were going to be dead either way once they hit those other bodies. Probably would go flying through the window and bash their skull in. This way, you save six lives,” Rael gave his best used speeder salesman grin. “Buy five, get one free.”

That little addition did cause his Master to roll his eyes.

“You are…” Dooku pressed his lips together, sitting back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. It was as close as Dooku ever got to a casual posture. “Colorful rhetoric aside, you are essentially advocating for pre-emptive action. Very interesting, Rael.”

“Interesting as in,” Rael pulled a sour face, imitating Dooku’s proper Serennian accent, “‘And now I will assign you five Jedi moral precepts to memorize and write a five-page essay about’ or interesting as in ‘I will now have you learn the complete codified law of the Umbargans, whose entire military strategy revolved around non-preemptive attacks.”

Dooku chuckled - actually chuckled - at Rael’s minor impertinent outburst. “Neither, Rael. Although, I must say you have provided me the perfect means by which I may punish you later on.” Damn, dug my own grave with that one, thought Rael. 

“No,” Dooku continued, “I merely find your stance on this matter to be refreshingly…original.”

“You mean the Council wouldn’t approve?”

It took his Master a full minute to answer, his gaze shifting beyond Rael, beyond the confines of their shared quarters, Dooku seeming lost in some memory.

“Hardly,” he finally said. “And that is for the best.”

~~~~~~~

“Your thoughts, Padawan?”

Qui-gon Jinn sat motionless on the small patch of grass, listening to the susurrations of the light breeze in the Room of a Thousand Fountains finger through a nearby thicket of Borto reeds. Across from him, Master Dooku sat in a mirrored pose, long legs crossed over the other in the lotus position, expression unreadable, his presence in the Force - or, his effect on the Force presence on the vegetation around him - one of controlled expectancy, a single blade of grass erect and ready despite the buffeting winds.

“We shouldn’t have to choose, Master,” Qui-gon replied, trying to steady his own uneven thoughts and emotions. Although he had been Dooku’s Padawan for almost five years now, Qui-gon still found himself worrying his responses to thought experiments like these would not pass his Master’s high and stringent intellectual standards.

“In an ideal world, Qui-gon, we wouldn’t. But as you have learned - as I have shown you - the status quo rarely measures up to our ideals.”

The status quo, Qui-gon thought. Code for the Senate, for the Council, for the Republic at large. That much he had figured out, had learned from Rael, whose ability to translate Dooku’s sometimes opaque rhetoric to something more digestible never ceased to amaze Qui-gon.

The status quo. The more years he spent with Dooku - with Rael, when the younger man was around - the more Qui-gon understood. Perhaps he always had a predilection to question, to challenge what was “known,” the dictums etched in stone handed down from the Council to the Council’s Masters to its Padawans. But with Dooku’s guidance, and with his own exploration of the Jedi prophecies, Qui-gon had developed his own sense of right and wrong, of how the galaxy ought to work in consonance with the ideals of the Jedi Code and his own moral compass.

“In that case, I would ask the Force for guidance,” Qui-gon replied, thoughts slipping back to the many hours he had spent in the Archives, poring over ancient holocrons. The Force had provided for the seers of old, why shouldn’t it provide now?

“Perhaps the Force cannot provide all the answers,” Dooku countered, as if reading his mind.

Qui-gon frowned, tilting his head. “Is that not what the Jedi teach, Master? What you teach? To follow the Force?”

“To a degree,” Dooku assented, rare amusement curling the side of his lips. “But the Jedi work in symbiosis with the Force, and even that is within a certain self-imposed definition of what the Force may or may not be capable of.”

Self-imposed definition? Qui-gon ran his hands through the soft grass at his sides, no longer able to keep that perfect stillness now that Dooku had so upset his equilibrium. Had his study of the prophecies not proven that exact point? That the Jedi of now no longer regarded the Force with as open a mind those of millennia ago?

“The Force is more infinite, has more potentialities than the confines of what we could possibly hope to study in a thousand lifetimes,” Qui-gon hedged.

“And so you hope to use prophecy to save these doomed beings?” Dooku retorted with a small wave of his hand. Ah yes, the hovertrain problem, Qui-gon grimaced. He had almost quite forgotten about the whole reason for this conversation.

“I would hope to…” Qui-gon cocked his head, watching a pair of butterflies flutter over a Byrsonima crassifolia, fragile leaves fluttering in their wake. An action - or a lack of action. If he saved one life or saved five. What would the repercussions be? How could he know he was making the right choice? How could the Order know, if not for guidance from the Force, in all its possible iterations?

And yet, the study prophecy of was considered at best, an esoteric hobby - at worst, a dangerous arm of mysticism by much of the Council.

Which is why your Master encourages you to think beyond the dictates of the Council, Qui-gon concluded.

“Yes, then,” Qui-gon stated, suddenly more confident in his answers. “I would hope to ameliorate the situation by using a similar mindset of the prophets. One of openness, wonder, and possibility - to find my way in this situation.”

“And just how far would you be willing to take supposed,” Dooku trained him with an enigmatic expression, “openness?” The word weighed heavy with implication.

Qui-gon started. What exactly is Dooku trying to get at here? Hadn’t it been his Master who had introduced him to the prophecies, to the Force beyond the dictates of the Code? So far, Dooku had not steered him wrong, and yet just as the nearby Byrsonima crassifolia cast a long shadow over the open grass, so did Dooku’s unspoken entreaty.

But before Qui-gon could cobble together an answer, Dooku seemed to break out of his trance, chuckling slightly as he got to his feet. He extended a long arm to Qui-gon, who took it without hesitation, coming to stand at his Master’s side.

“Meditate on the answer, Qui-gon. For now, I believe it is past time for dinner.”

~~~~~~~

“Your thoughts, Padawan.”

Obi-wan Kenobi shifted in the overly-large, overly-plush velvet chair which threatened to swallow him whole. He and Qui-gon had been dispatched to Barstovia, a little-known desert mining planet in the Mid-Rim. A simple mission, really, overseeing a trade deal between Barstovia and Ord Mantell, opening up some shipping lines of the rare fermenium mineral to the Republic. A wholly forgettable mission, if Obi-wan were being honest, except for the fact the diminutive race of Barstovia seemed to prize, of all the unlikely things, oversized, over-upholstered furniture.

While Obi-wan struggled with a crimson throw pillow the size of his torso, his master, Qui-gon Jinn, sat across from him, perfectly serene in his eight-foot tall, royal blue armchair.

“Well, Master,” Obi-wan said, words strained as he punched the pillow to his side with un-Jedi-like ferocity. Of all times for Qui-gon to pull out a thought experiment.

“The prevailing wisdom would say to sacrifice one life to save five - a utilitarian outlook and the most practical, at least on the surface.” Obi-wan pushed down on the seat of his chair, trying in vain to straighten his posture, to lend his answer some form of credence beyond his words. Inevitably, Qui-gon would hold the exact opposite opinion from Obi-wan’s, and while Obi-wan had often kept his feelings to himself under the guise of “picking his battles,” he preferred to express his thoughts while at least looking the part of an almost eighteen-year-old Padawan, and not some child stuck in a chair too large for him.  He struck at the recalcitrant cushion one last time. “But as Jedi, we often prioritize a single being or beings if they hold an important role.” 

“In the short-term,” Obi-wan grimaced suddenly, pulling an impossible second pillow from under his right thigh, “we would lose four lives over one, granted. But in the long-term, that single life lost might mean the eventual deaths of hundreds, perhaps thousands.”

“But you do not have this information, Padawan,” Qui-gon replied, a crease of annoyance in his brow. Obi-wan noted there was no accompanying crease in the cushion of his Master’s chair. “All you know is the number of beings.”

Obi-wan bit down on a caustic reply. Yes, I know that, Master. I hadn’t gotten to my point yet. But when did Qui-gon actually ever listen to him?

“Yes, Master, this is true,” the younger Jedi answered, Obi-wan impressed with the evenness of his own response despite his increasing irritation. “Which is why I would endeavor to save them all.”

A beat. a raised eyebrow coupled with a subtle sigh. “Quite the feat, Obi-wan,” Qui-gon finally said, his words laced with skepticism. “How would you accomplish such a thing?”

How in the world is he not drowning in that chair? Obi-wan thought, distracted by his Master’s impenetrability, despite the audacious situation. There was Qui-gon, halfway across the room, composed and neat - well, as neat as Qui-gon ever got - against the regal backdrop of the humorously-sized chair while Obi-wan floundered in a sea of crimson, just out of his Master’s reach.

And wasn’t that the perfect metaphor for their troubled partnership?

Obi-wan wiped at his brow. “It’s quite simple, Master. The hovertrain could be diverted, or at least impeded by a third party inserting themselves into the equation.”

Something in Qui-gon’s expression shifted at the statement, earlier annoyance now melting into something closer to concern. The older man leaned forward in his chair, for the first time exhibiting a pang of discomfort as he battled the voluminous material.

“And who might that be?” Qui-gon asked, batting at the tsunami of beige woven blanket at his side.

“Myself, of course.”

Dead silence met Obi-wan’s words.

Wrong answer, Kenobi. Absolutely the wrong answer. Disappointment was written all over Qui-gon’s body language, even emanating from his usually controlled Force signature. Obi-wan fell back into the chair, not bothering to fight the dunes and valleys of velvet threatening to overtake him, averting his gaze to some preposterously-sized side-table and vase. Hopefully, his failure to provide the correct response would be the end of this increasingly uncomfortable conversation. Qui-gon would assign him some reading and meditation, and let the matter rest until they returned to Coruscant.

But Qui-gon only peered at Obi-wan with a piercing stare, apparently not ready to give up on the exchange.

“You would sacrifice yourself to save the others?”

Obi-wan found himself mirroring his master’s movements.

“Isn’t that what it means to be a Jedi?” he asked, genuinely perplexed. “We are servants of the Republic, of the Force - if our actions can save lives so that Republic may continue in peace - “ Obi-wan’s mouth opened and closed, trying to form the words that would express his devotion to the Order, the Code, his own sense of honor - but found himself gaping like an Ithorian cuttlefish.

Once again, Qui-gon fell into contemplation, back arching against tall, bulbous pillows, brushing his mustache with a single finger. A minute, then two went by, the only sound the clicks of a nearby chrono. Over eighteen feet tall, the clicks sounded more like the steps of a lurking gundark than a timepiece, doing nothing for Obi-wan’s nerves.

Finally, Qui-gon broke the uncomfortable semi-silence. “Don’t be so hasty to throw away your own life, Padawan. As you rightly said, the death of a monarch may cause the deaths of many others down the road. But you cannot know how many lives would remain unsaved if you were to treat your own so lightly.”

Obi-wan’s eyebrows rose. That had not been the reaction he was expecting.

“But how am I to know when that sacrifice is necessary?” he asked automatically. Obi-wan would make that sacrifice gladly, although...to be perfectly honest, he would prefer not to die as a seventeen-year-old Padawan. 

“The better question is how you can work to reach a more productive option rather than coming to such a dire conclusion.” Qui-gon’s voice softened. “I am serious, Obi-wan. You have much to offer the galaxy. Don’t let your strict adherence to Jedi ideals extinguish your star too early. Not only would the Republic be at a loss, but…” Qui-gon looked away, staring down at some invisible pattern in the corner of the room. “I would, as well.”

Obi-wan’s mouth dropped open. “Master, I - “

“Ah, Master Jedi!” A new voice squeaked from the gargantuan entranceway. “Thank you so much for waiting,” proclaimed the three-foot Minister of Commerce, Parhary Hatch, bedecked in a long, flowery robe whose velvet train stretched back several feet. “Please, if you would,” he gestured towards the tall archway.

“Yes, of course, Minister Hatch,” Qui-gon replied in his diplomatic voice, jumping neatly off the chair, his landing as elegant as a Coruscanti ice skater.

Obi-wan frowned, joining his Master in a slightly less dignified, but no less effective maneuver. They had been on the verge of…something, some kind of understanding, or at least a truce. Whatever words had remained unsaid between would likely stay so, the moment gone, the trip back to Coruscant, and then to a Hutt outpost taking priority over these types of conversations.

Another time, then, Obi-wan sighed to himself, following the slinking violet trail of the Bartovian minister and his Master into the long corridors of the palace.

[victorusolano]

FYD Series

by Victor Ubanos Solano 

The old lady said that the pup was born in the province of Cavite from an unidentified breed of canines. Although it looked like a Labrador or a half-breed Saint Bernard or if mistakenly recognized from refined breeds of dogs, it was just a dog of some ordinary sort or I do not know. She said, “My friend had to put the pup inside a rugged sack so we can travel the way from south to north.” It was Friday morning when I met them at the tail coach of the PUV going to Antipolo. “They're not letting us to onboard because they do not allow pets inside” The Madame exclaimed. She was talking to me like a newly found friend. But only with a calm smile, I rewarded her back from her exasperation. 

The other commuters reverted in silence while we were all comfortably tucked into our seats. “So, I gave its brother to the kind and gentle bus driver then he let us in.” She said while still a bit annoyed. Again, another moment of delay before she spoke another word. “Don’t tell them!” She shrugged with a hush. The car moved on, the furry creature sneaked out from the sack bag where he was kept out of sight and raised his little paws to my feet. “Cute creature,” I said and put him on my lap. “You want? You can adopt him too!” Calmly she said. The little beast gave me a gaze of glassy eyes as if telling me, Please! He bowed his head and folded his feet, pushed his body closer to my arms; I looked at him and told myself, a furry friend – and I named him Maximus.

The truth is, I never had a pet that I raised on my own. The feeding and caring for a pet to live was never handed to me directly as an opportunity. My attempts from the past were some experience of a disaster, I can name a few: Boomer was the first, she was a family dog and died while giving birth to Dugan which I named after an anime series Cedie in the ninety’s. Unfortunately, Dugan died a miserable death due to an unknown disease. The last was Chuchay. I would say Chuchay is a lesbian bitch but that was only my guess and died a virgin dog. There was one animal that lived a long life and expired old, It was a rooster. Needless to say, the reasons for these animals being gone, the sad and happy moments had been revered and marked happy memories. 

Now as for Maximus, the first nourishment I gave was all dog milk that I bought from the pet shop the next morning. I can say that he liked it and enjoyed it till the last drop of the serving. The routine began like that, milk in the morning and afternoon.

One day, there was an inevitable change in my work schedule. I left Maximus wandering outside around a fenced structure. I decided to let Maximus claim the outside surroundings. A territory, my strong belief was that; going out of the fence is far from his ability. 

I went home early the next day. I expected that Maximus would be so excited to see me wagging its tail in joy. But no shadow of Max at the entrance, I wondered and tried to look for him. I called him Max for a nickname. “Where is that rascal?” Sweat on my brow dropped. I've looked at all corners of the surroundings and I am sure he cannot be inside the house. It would be impossible, I locked all the doors and checked them twice before I went to work last night. The only recollection I had was; I left Max at the gate; Max watched me leaving, and wagged his tail like sending me the message, Goodbye. It could be a snake swallowing him whole for dinner? That was my suspicion. In fear of that indescribable scene, which I considered could be possibly true, I grabbed a metal rod which I used to push coals in the hearth and poked it under the hearth stand, but only pots and old ceramics clanged under and no Maximus or a snake moved to be visible.

There, I turned my survey to the other part of the premises, to a meter square of foliage near the dead mango tree, I grubbed the metal rod to the soil and the newly grown shrubs, but there was no reptile of some sort to be recognized. If Maximus is not inside the house. And a dog can't break the fences. That Maximus may have been stolen? Yes and no! What would be so interesting for a small dog? Maximus is not even an expensive breed, so what to steal it for? I went on curiously.

I went outside and looked. Maybe a charitable neighbor allowed him a free sleepover. “Nanay Auring! Have you seen my dog?” I yelled out from the gate. She opened the door and stepped out onto the porch wearing a billowy duster dyed in Okir patterns, and said “No! I didn’t even know that you have one!” I resigned my curiosity and walked a little more and searched. Disappointed I was, with no Maximus found. I began to lose yearning. I felt tired and it has been an exhausting day – my mind whirled of many thoughts. If Max happened to know where to go back, I'd make sure he could not escape anymore, or if someone brings my dog home, I would be grateful to thank the good samaritan then. I retired to look for that dog; I have gone for the next street and the next street further. And to the tall rusty arch gate of the village, now I can see the highway from a distance. I imagined a scene, a plausible one, did Max walk this far last night? tried to follow me, and was hit by ten-wheelers careless of their speed. I prayed without words “May good heaven forbid.” While trudging, I decided to go back and will continue my search tomorrow. I have agreed to myself to take my usual drill at home, boil water for coffee, take a bath, continue reading the pages of the novel I left last night, take note of ideas and write more chapters to a story I have been developing for the past two months, then go to sleep.

I entered the gate of my house and pushed the door open. Alas! Almost all things inside were scattered. Shoes were randomly thrown everywhere, and the tattered fleece of the sofa and paper bills were torn in pieces. I looked at all these things and quickly I thought they were not made by a human. “Maximus!” I yelled out with all the energy. Max came out from my room, little pink tongue out as if smiling, wagging the small tail, and with all speed, I ran to my room and found a disaster. All pillow covers raged in an inordinate piece, my room slippers are all twisted. Max barked a screeching note trying to divert my attention. “Little rascal! How did you get in?” but in no time before I finished what I just said, a book fell from the shelf inside my room near the window. “Aha!” Little did I know that there was a stack of old things outside of my room window. Max managed to climb and entered through a missing jalousie blind near the beam. He quickly felt from my sharp stare that Max committed something wrong. Maximus curved his hind half, bowed his head, and tried to kiss my feet. “Little beast! I thought I lost you.” A sudden surge of feeling not to punish him is a remarkable thing I felt, I pity and realized Maximus was just a pup.

A few months passed, the acquaintance with him went on with ease, Max and I shared my favorite nook in the house, He and I went out together. Max, I can say, is almost a member of the dance club organized by the village sports enthusiasts. All afternoon we went there and he waited patiently till I was all perspiring for the afternoon workout and then he slipped out and explored all nearby places. There were other gangs of dogs, high breed dogs, toy dogs, and all sorts of unidentified colors. Maximus, a snobbish dog I observed, had been in too many dog fights before he could learn to go places he liked. 

After my workout at the village sports center, I usually attend some readings and writings before going to bed. Maximus never missed an opportunity to read what I type on the computer. He sat beside the writing table and climbed on a little space left on the bench. “Hey, is that beautiful?” Max's responses are few, he would just look at me, a big mouth of a yawn, and look away. Max didn't know any tricks that time so I taught him the basics; shake the hand, sit in place, roll over and poop training, the only difficult one was to play dead. Surprisingly, he exhibited that skill by ignoring my presence when I am deeply immersed in reading or writing. 

In the totality of his existence, Maximus was very happy and satisfied with all that comprises a dog life, nearly those eight months of being my chum, I could not say that Maximus was of a selfish temperament. But Maximus hated to be acquainted with other dogs. At some point I tried to understand that animal behavior is multifaceted. In the case of Maximus, it was curious that he had skipped some of the processes. Maximus would walk away when being ignored or would stay in his cabin for a couple of days and almost a week or many days. He sulks and this is what he meant by his isolation or maybe I was wrong. After all, I don’t know all the details of the dog's affair.

Two years have passed. I can say Max is now a fully grown-up dog, so many physical changes have happened. I am correct to assume that he is a big dog with big paws and short folded ears. But one afternoon Maximus ran away. I went on my search and imagined that he wandered all over the residential area and went to town in search of food or shelter, or maybe he went to the market and tried his luck there; why would a dog just leave like that? Max’s life inside the house was all working fine, with all this theorizing, I almost forgot that maybe I am overthinking, but since he cannot talk, it makes sense that all was and in between were only mere suggestions of his gestures, or perhaps Max is just a dog.

I went home and surrendered my search mission, which made me very tired. I laid down in a daybed, and my thoughts were quickly drawn in a pensive. There, I saw Max stopped in a shop and was thrown a piece of meat from passersby eating street food. He enjoyed it very much, and some of the bystanders threw leftovers, and eventually, more came. He enjoyed a banquet, feasting on what was left. The romanticized life there, however, only lasted for a moment. And with another twinkling, the image changed and dissolved into darkness. Another scenic place looked like a highway road except that no vehicles were passing by. There on the sidewalk, I saw Max walking slowly past a pile of food scraps but he just ignored the presence of it. I reckoned his solitaire swiftly in my mind, he fasted his cravings and preferred to go without food, I thought there he longed for my company. “Maximus!” I called him loudly and beckoned him to come over but sadly he swept aside his master's order and ran away so fast. I tried to follow him but the scene warped so quickly and transcended to another beyond.  

One afternoon after many days passed. My neighbor Nanay Auring brought kalamay for a snack, I received it with warm thanks, and after her funny gossiping performance act, she left. I dashed to my small kitchen and made myself a cup of coffee. I went onto my writing table and dedicated myself to scrawl pictures in my mind. That moment of my solitude I have forgotten Max for a little while. I went on to write as much as I could, and when almost half of the page was done, I heard scratching knocks at the door. I unbolted the metal lock and opened it. “You giant scamp! Where have you been all these days?” He curved his legs, tucked in his tail, and stood before me with a bowed head. I bent over to hug him, and he pressed his cold nose onto my neck, and I patted his fur. I pulled him inside and cleaned him up. I gave him his usual favorite dog food, and not too long he consumed the last dab from the feeder bowl. He climbed up and sat beside me. He looked at the screen of my computer. I swallowed the rest of the coffee with a gulp. I looked at him and asked, “What title do you think is pretty for this piece?” He barked loudly as he approved when I typed the name Maximus.

                                                         ***

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, events and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Copyright Statement : This work is the intellectual property of the author. Permission is granted for this material to be shared for non-commercial, educational purposes, provided that this copyright statement appears on the reproduced material. To disseminate otherwise or to republish requires written from the author.

GLOSSARY

*Auring: a coined nickname of Aurea, Aurora or Aurelia. *Kalamay: a variety of rice cakes in the Philippines. *Nanay: (n) mother / a female parent. *Okir: a design or pattern often rendered or curved in hardwood, brass, silver and wall painting in curvilinear lines and Arabic geometric figures. *PUV:  (abbr) public utility van / vehicle.

[anonymousanomieness]

Cheat the Church of Integrity — Strip the Sanctuary of Truth — Compromise the Cult of Society — Life is YOUR Game

Introducing The Games (Continued):

vi. The Time and Space Game What better way to control the masses than to contain them within a limited number of perceivable dimensions and parameters by perpetuating a fictitious narrative? The nature of Time has been pontificated since antiquity; yet, there’s not much to grasp.  Time is only an intangible concept — a product of the imagination that somehow became so pervasive, that the vast majority took for granted that it is merely a creative idea.   When does the ego become aware of the idea of Time? When one is a baby, or even a toddler, one is unaware of anything called “Time.”  Even when a child is becoming “potty trained,” it is debatable as to whether or not Time needs to be grappled with.  One may claim that a toddler has a sense of how much time there is to safely reach a toilet before having an “accident” — however, truthfully, the toddler is not thinking in terms of time, but rather, urgency.  If the toddler delays going to the toilet, then due to its body’s digestive system, the toddler will experience a biological sensation, which will then trigger a psychological feeling of urgency, which will grow more intense the more the toddler delays.  The mental sensation of urgency is a predictable outcome of the biological sensation within the digestive system — but either way, it is independent of Time.  After all, the toddler will experience these sensations regardless of whether or not it believes in Time.  If the toddler has an accident, the toddler will not likely believe that it “ran out of time”; rather, it will simply accept — perhaps after some emotional trauma — that its body gave into the biological urgency of the situation, regardless of Time.   Contrary to popular belief, urgency does not relate to Time; it only relates to a sense of importance and high priority stemming from strong convictions, or pressure.  Time is an extra imaginative factor that we subconsciously plug into life equations, usually to denote urgency.  If you eliminate Time from an equation, urgency still remains, until you eliminate what seems to be directly causing the sense of urgency.  The toddler’s sense of urgency will disappear when it finally releases its waste through the digestive system.  Likewise, the sense of urgency that a person feels when they are holding their breath will disappear once their body insists on exhaling and inhaling deeply to relieve the tension.  Time does not contribute as a risk factor at all; the person holding their breath risks losing consciousness not due to prolonged “time” without oxygen, but simply due to a quantitative lack of necessary oxygen — regardless of time. Yet, we insist on thinking of Time as some independent force that “moves things along” on its own, like some phantom glacier.  My least favorite cliché is, “All things change with time.”  Time does not change a thing; rather, objects, including living beings — and perhaps forces of nature — make any and all changes. (It can be said that objects and living beings are, in a sense, forces of nature themselves.) Any change that is made to your reality is either caused by your actions, the actions of some other object, or natural forces — all falling within your consciousness.  Time is not a force, but an idea.  Regardless of whether or not you believe in Free Will, all changes that occur within your awareness — for certain — are not initiated by anything with the name “Time.”  Similar statements like, “Times have changed,” only serve to make you feel powerless and useless.  Sure, it would be wise to accept that you cannot control everything, as you may not be able to stand up to a hurricane…but are you seriously going to base your life decisions on “the times you’re living in,” rather than allow your imperatives to determine and influence this timeless present moment of your creation? One would be wiser to consider that Time does not perpetuate us; rather, we foolishly perpetuate Time as a fixed idea.   The Operators within the Church of Integrity, or the Sanctuary of Truth, use the concept of Time to their advantage in order to control masses of people without them even realizing it.  To be fair, most commoners enjoy utilizing the idea of Time to their benefit as well.  This is tempting, especially when you want to instill a sense of urgency within your followers so they will prioritize your intentions and act according to your desires more readily.  Hesitation and procrastination do not actually demonstrate an augmentation of “down time,” but rather a diminution of personal desire and the will to act.  However, you can trick people into fearing you, and therefore cooperating with you, if you introduce them to Time, and explain that they will experience an undesired sensation if “time runs out” due to a “deadline.” We tend to fear potential consequences.  However, these are only spooks — contrived ideas based on the concept of “after.”  Etymology shows “after” to be derived from “off,” as in “farther off” or “further” — beyond the present moment.  When we start to worry about what may happen after, farther off, further down the line, beyond the present, etc., we are less capable of enjoying what is right in front of us.  “After” is only part of our imagination, since it has not occurred yet! Likewise, “before” is only a dream, because it is not happening anymore! Only the present is occurring now.

• • •

Another obstacle to contend with is space — that is, the concept of space as a measurable entity within our immediate perceivable environment.  The vast majority has trouble questioning the validity and significance of space, due to being so caught up in the five main senses, and the physicality of surroundings; in other words, we are so convinced by our perception that all objects surrounding us are undeniably “real” and external from the self, rather than entirely mental and internal — within the self. That being said, it truly does not matter whether you think your surroundings exist externally or internally.  You can believe that your surroundings exist as independent materials outside of your perception, yet still agree that the concept of space is nothing more than just that — a contrived concept.  Space, let alone time, is not a phenomenon that stands in its own right; rather, space and time are tools of our imagination that we utilize in order to make sense of our awareness, and how objects within our consciousness seem to behave. A widely accepted system that is easy to debunk is that of “orientation” or “direction.”  Terms such as “North,” “South,” “East,” and “West” were completely contrived by human minds.  They each simply seem to describe a general path that progresses toward or away from a given point of reference.  For example, “East” is the general label given to a path that progresses toward the rising sun.  It comes from Proto-Germanic “aust-,” meaning “toward the sunrise.”  “North” is the general label given to a path that progresses “left” of the sunrise, as the term descends from the Proto-Indo-European root “ner-,” meaning “left” or “below.”  The word “left” is thought to derive from the Kentish or northern Old English term lyft, meaning “weak; foolish”; or from the East Frisian term luf, or from the Dutch dialectical loof, meaning “weak, worthless.”  Of course, these would be referring to the arms or hands.  Usually, the “left” arm tends to be the weaker arm.  So, humans conjured up a metaphor comparing a contrived direction traveling away from the sunrise to a weak arm that seems to be pointing in that same direction, when one faces the sun at “dawn.”  The “tangible” objects involved here — if you will — are the sun and the weak human arm, based on the temporary perspective of a human looking towards the location where the sun was said to rise.  From observing these tangibles, humans have invented the intangible concepts of “North,” “South,” “East,” “West,” “Left,” and “Right” to assist with navigating awareness.   It is clear how significant of a role the Language Game plays here.  It is worth mentioning that languages borrow from one another, which means that concepts and terms across all languages — even if they refer to something global, such as “the ground” — do not originate simultaneously.  The vernacular spreads through globalization, imitation, and repetition, and continually evolves.  It becomes clear how most humans instinctively tend to imitate what they observe, rather than constantly innovate.  This makes sense, considering when we are babies we must imitate our caregivers to survive.  Language and communication certainly assist with surviving and thriving; but this does not mean that it is necessary to build a world in your mind that gives life to intangible, invisible concepts — and then impose your imaginary world upon the awareness of others, let alone your own consciousness.   Within the Legal Game, lawyers, judges, and jurors use the Time and Space Game in tandem with the reasoning process.  The word “reason” is part of the definition of the Latin word causa, and the Old French word cause.  When someone tries to determine the “cause” that led to some “consequence,” they are merely reasoning.  It might as well be said that they are seasoning, since all they are managing to do is sprinkle your awareness with arbitrarily imposed suggestions as to why you experienced something.   “Where were you on the evening of April 4th, 1995, at 6:32 PM, when the sun and the moon were at this or that position in the sky?” “Why, I was standing at such and such coordinates, facing just Northeast of the Eastern border of the territory formerly known as Yugoslavia!” What nonsense! This is nothing more than a sly game — a manipulative tactic.  Yet, we willingly choose to play this game every day, never stopping to question it.  There are no hours, days, months, years, borders, countries, provinces, coordinates, or cardinal directions! There is only one “time” and “space,” and that is this moment! Awareness does not need a map, nor a compass to thrive.  Consciousness is not a chronological web of events, all pointing the blame at one another.   The winds will continue to blow, whether or not we measure their speed, or where they go.   The sun will continue to rise and fall, whether or not we trace its journey, or keep watch at all. To be continued...

[yuvon-writes-letters]

To all,

In the few hours of planning, I have witnessed a letter appear in our shared mailbox, on a Tuesday.

For the record, I do not believe any of this nonsense, you could very easily be lying, both Yu, and whoever that “entity” is.

But Rai insists that it is all true, and despite his fragility, he always had this uncanny ability to tell when someone is spreading falsehoods or not, a knack for feeling if something is going wrong. The fact that he hasn’t quit sending these letters means that he wholeheartedly believes this, sci-fi narrative.

I trust him, so I’ll play along for now.

Trust me, this does not mean I trust you. For the time being, Rai will not be sending any letters, because he has apparently made himself a target, I cannot have that.

My name is. Actually, you don’t get to know my full name, it’s bad enough that you know my first anyways.

To, the entity, the letter that that was sent was matted in dirt, the words “I see you” were written in what is most likely blood, it was stuffed in an envelope along with the lily.

To Yu, Yuvon, thank you for being there for Rai these past few weeks, and fuck you, for making his life so much harder than it needs to be. He should be worried about portioning his time right to get more sleep, and doing his best to earn a living, not trying to keep a cursed pen-pal alive. Unfortunately, if what you do say is true, then I cannot blame you for his woes, you reached out, and like the hero he is, he takes the call for help.

I am currently in the process of reading the letters that were sent between you all, but, if you want to be in my good graces, a summary would help much more than hours of reading, I will not take kindly to secrets (Jake).

I will await a response.

Skie

Skie,

Most of the evidence I'd usually offer to assure people I'm not lying doesn't apply to you. It'll be a little more clear why when I get into the summary later, but I'm reeling a bit and I'm trying to take things one thing at a time.

Yeah. It's probably best if Rai at least isn't the first one to open these letters for a while. Please be careful too. I seriously don't know what this thing is capable of or what it wants, but it's very clearly violent. And entities (that's what we call these things, for lack of a better word) getting violent ends very, very poorly.

Best if we don't do full names, I agree. We've all sort of set a precedent where we use nicknames or screen names instead of our actual names.

(The ink turns dark enough that it seems to suck in the light around it.) My thanks for the description.

...Right. That just happened. I'm never going to get used to that.

You're welcome and I'm sorry. Truthfully, I've been pretty worried about Rai as well, and I sincerely apologize for any and all parts I played in Rai's problems.

Alright. Recap. This is gonna be long.

One day before I sent my first letter, I woke up in a clearing in a forest, with a note that told me that I could send letters to alternate universes with other people in the same situation I had left before arriving to the clearing on the ground in front of me. I marked the direction I was facing when I appeared and arbitrarily declared it "north". I did some exploring, and discovered that there was an invisible barrier all around the clearing, and that there were trees as far as the eye could see when I climbed a tree inside the barrier. After the first day, I sent my first letter.

Rai, though he went by Rainer then, was actually the first person to write to me, two days later. He was doubtful, obviously, but I shared specific details of the shared experiences that connect us across universes, and so did he, so we believed each other. We talked metaphysics and theories about what was going on for a bit, and Rai asked for details about my circumstances. I learned there were eight rooms off the central clearing, but five disturbed me so much that I lied and said that only three existed: a library (south), a game room (east), and a "comfy room" (west) with pillows and mattresses and blankets, etc.

Eventually, I realized there was an anomaly we've tentatively been calling the stasis over my version of the Duskwood group, where they went on with their lives but nothing actually changed. They didn't start to come to terms with emotional events that happened, they made no progress in their investigations, they didn't talk about anything important. Things were happening, but nothing HAPPENED, if that makes sense.

Rai encouraged me to tell one particular person from the Duskwood group I trust whole-heartedly, Jake, about my circumstances. That broke the stasis on him, and from then on, he and I started to work together.

We determined that the trees around my clearing are elder trees (symbolic of life/death/rebirth cycle) and completely generic trees. I theorized that I was stuck between a symbolic "death" and "rebirth", in a stasis of my own. I remain convinced of this theory.

On Father's Day, I spoke to the Duskwood group and lied to them in the process of cancelling an event I'd planned on that day for fear of giving myself away. Unbeknownst to me, that began to shake them out of their stasis slowly.

Someone named Liska contacted me then, informing me that they were sort of in an inverse situation as my own: They had normal contact with their friends and family outside of Duskwood, and they hadn't been kidnapped like I was, but Duskwood itself was almost completely frozen. There was some other weird stuff happening with the stasis, but that's not so relevant.

Lis started to get threatening calls from the perpetrator in the Duskwood case, worrying pretty much everyone, plus she didn't trust me, though I cleared the distrust up fairly quickly.

This is about when Rai started having issues, and warned us he wouldn't be able to write letters as often.

I sorta got stuck for a while, and Lis kept getting threatened. I figured out that someone would eventually join me in the clearing, but not who, how, or when, so I was obsessing over that. About then, Lis pointed out a small detail that showed I was lying about something, and that turned into a confession about the other five rooms. In brief:

North: A room with a countdown to when I can leave

Northwest: Another clearing where everything was dead with a silver goblet at the end, whole area gave off a magical sense of dread, I left without investigating further

Southeast: Altar w/ bloodstains, symbolism and text suggesting I could sacrifice my life to kill the ass terrorizing my version of the group (an alternate version of the asshole stalking Lis)

Northeast: Knife in the middle of a glade, can cut almost anything in here but the invisible barrier.

Southwest: 3 upside-down torches, one on each wall that wasn't an entrance, floor was a field of white lilies. Refused to enter initially due to overdose of symbols of death.

I discovered that my old family and my few non-Duskwood friends had all completely forgotten who I was. They still haven't remembered, but that's besides the point. I'm not just whining here, this becomes important later.

Anyhow, I started getting really worried about Rai, because he mentioned his head feeling fuzzy, he was having trouble understanding things, and his writing was disjointed. You probably know about when that was on the recent timeline.

Lis's next letter was concerning, and I asked in a cipher I won't disclose because at least one entity can't seem to understand it whether she was alright and offered a code for her to tell us if she was being watched.

Lis then sent two letters back to back: one where she used the code, and one when she wasn't being watched: she had been kidnapped by the stalker. We also made first contact with an entity we're calling "Goldie" or "Aur" (first few letters of their name) who is benevolent and has done their utmost to help Lis.

In addition, her Jake spoke to her over Tumblr, promising to help find her, and I got print-outs of the screenshots in an envelope. I contacted him as well, offering what advice I could, especially as we'd begun to theorize there was an entity working against Lis as well.

It wasn't enough. Lis was shot. And died.

And then her entity sent her back in time, alive, and with her Jake freed from the stasis much earlier.

As Lis started recovering mentally from that, I started messing on this plane again. Lis convinced me to test out the death symbol room and see if it was actually dangerous, so I first tried cutting my way out of the barrier with the knife (it failed) and then I started sorta using the Robin Crusoe method of testing the room for death, which meant I went very slowly.

During this, Rai finally admitted he hadn't been sleeping enough, and I tried to encourage him to actually fucking sleep and not worry so much about writing the damn letters.

Then

Okay, I'm not proud of this bit. Behind one of the torches in the room with the lilies and torches I'd been testing, there was a sheet of paper with a blood ritual on it. It promised an end result I'd like, and none of the other schmuck baits up to that point had actually hurt me, so I gave it a try. Imagine my shock when Jake appeared in the clearing. He's still here, by the way, we don't know how to get him back any more than me.

Rai brought up a theory (later confirmed) that the ritual brought Jake because he was what I most wanted to have with me right then. I began to work on trying to deconstruct the ritual and understand how it worked so I could confirm or deny, but was interrupted when I discovered that the Duskwood group had broken out of stasis, and I had to play damage control. They also became semi-aware the stasis had happened.

Lis sent another letter, and Jake came to the conclusion that her workplace is unsafe, and urged her to take a vacation, especially in the wake of further threats from the kidnapper. Also, Lis's stasis started to weaken, and she began passing messages between my version of Jake and her's. They proved to be surprisingly different.

At that point, someone named Jessy sent a letter in, who is one of the Duskwood crew. She was from a year in my future, shortly after her version of me, named Matt, was killed by the kidnapper and Jake was framed for it.

At this point, Jake raised the theory that Rai, Lis, Matt, myself, and all other counterparts across universes are somehow cursed, or gain more attention than we should from entities, and that's why so many horrible things happen to us. It... makes a lot of sense, honestly.

About here is when I started getting together a plan to get out. I was worried I might be mindread, though, so I went to slightly extreme measures to make sure my thoughts wouldn't give me away.

Then Jessy wrote again, and tried to convince Lis and I to run away from our respective Jakes out of concern. Along the way, she accidentally implied that her universe's Jake was being tortured in his incarceration, and I admittedly lashed out at her a bit in my response to her letter. It made me furious, obviously, and scared and upset, so I used those emotions to focus.

Lis grew concerned when I denied I had a plan. Repeatedly. And unconvincingly. Okay, it was more of a mantra. I sort of wrote "I have no plan" all over the paper and then didn't erase well enough, so you can see why she was concerned.

Now, I don't know everything that went down right there, but I'll take a guess. The entity, unable to interpret the ciphered messages I'd sent to Lis explaining why I was so insistent that I had no plan, asked Lis what my plan was, pretending to be benevolent like Goldie. Lis didn't believe it, and annoyed the entity in the process. It taunted her, claiming that Jake and I would be hurt because of her noncompliance, which was bullshit because the entity would've done what it did anyhow. Lis tried to send us warnings, but the entity blocked them and taunted her more publicly.

Unless it's essential, I'd rather not go into detail about what exactly happened when I tried to execute my plan. There's a letter that describes most of it somewhere in the past two weeks or more. Suffice it to say, I fell into a probably magic-induced coma for a few days, my face is still scarred to hell, and there's a small chunk missing from my right arm, though that's filling in because enhanced/faster healing here.

After the incident, while I was unconscious, everyone wrote in letters asking after me or offering advice, including Lis's Jake and Jessy, and Jake pretended to be me to keep the Duskwood group from suspecting anything. One of them figured it out, but she was sympathetic to both Jake and myself, so she kept the secret. In the meantime, Lis took a vacation and got out of danger, hopefully.

When I woke up, I was able to just... know a few minor facts about the entity. I still don't know how or why.

Anyway, I just sorta recovered and caught up for a bit.

Max contacted us to basically let us know that Lis was doing better (she was really torn up with guilt over the incident :( )

Very recently, Jessy contacted my parents, trying to determine if I was alright, and discovered that they didn't know who I was. That spawned a confession from me when I was confronted; that whole group is now in the know. Jake is still not entirely pleased with my decision, but I think he's mostly over it.

Then that new entity apparently sent out the letter, you contacted us for the first time, and now we’re back to the present moment.

Oh. One more thing that seems pretty important in hindsight. Rai sent me a crayon as an experiment. It arrived three different colors in one crayon: brown, green, and white. Take a wild guess what it was called.

Yep. White lily.

This is sort of reminding me of a character I made a million years ago, but the powers don't match up. It doesn't sound like the M.O. does either. Still, that character was a nasty piece of work. I hope it's all just a coincidence.

Anyhow. That's all for now. Talk to you later. Write to you later. Whatever.

—Yuvon

(The letter tucks itself in the paper clip with the others.)

[maryellenjunior]

There is a cutter whose name is Death

Geralt takes Ciri under his wing. That was the least he could do. Guilt fills his blood with every look he gives the young woman. He's bound her to him. Because he thought he stood above the gods, above destiny. So he fucked this child's life. What for? To finally not feel so alone anymore? They are silent. Both of them. Geralt is confused. Now that he has his child. This child that he strangely loves more than he's loved anything ever in his life. Now he doesn't know what to do. And it seems the gods are not smiling upon them.

War.

Nildfgaard has attacked and ravages upon the free lands like cancer. More often than enough they are waiting in supply lines, sneaking around borders. But of course they are not the only ones. Everyone is running.

Plague.

A good companion of war, Geralt thinks. They find their first plagued village a month after their union. Ciri is devastated. Geralt doesn't know what to say, how cheer her up. What can you say about death?

Death.

Geralt know death, plague and war. He's seen them. Often. His first Roach had died because he couldn't feed her. A cruel drought had killed the crops, made grass rot. His horse had simply died of hunger and he had been too young, too naive to kill her mercifully. Strangely that had been the first time he had seen death. It  had kneeled beside her. One cannot describe death. You just know it is. It doesn't frighten you. Or maybe Geralt has gotten used to it. Plague he had seen in a village near south. A small one. It hadn't paid its debts to its lord, so he had called a magician to set a warning example. It had worked. Geralt remembers vaguely that he had visited the lord. Immune to human sickness he had stolen a pair of gloves from this village. Oh...the warm handshake he had given the lord. The lord died horribly, while Geralt and the magician had been hunting several ghouls. War  he had first seen later in his life. War is not something to pull off easily. War costs money, soldiers, lives. Lives that normally would fill the halls with corn, apples, fill bellies of greedy lords. But still, Geralt had seen war. Burnt villages, burnt cities. And he knew...he knew it could rebuilt. The villages would bloom again, cities rise, strive again. But how do you explain something like that to a child? A child, that has seen too much for its eyes, too much death, to understand: death is the answer to life, not its enemy... Strangely he hasn't seen death on their path. Geralt wonders why. He pulls Roach a little tighter to him, while Ciri tries not to fall asleep on her. Their path leads to Oxenfurt. They need supplies. And though villages have more supplies... Cities have walls. It is a wearying game of what is a better way to survive. Actually Geralt hopes to find Yennefer there. He has heard rumors. That she had been fighting Nilfgaard, only some months ago. Maybe there are mages in the city-

Oh.

Death is in front of him. Standing on the bridge. On the bridge to Oxenfurt. Ciri gasps. It looks grotesque. They are hanging from the bridge, swinging softly in the wind. At least 200 men and women. That at least is what Geralt can count, from far. Death is giving him a look.

Oh.

They are hanging from the walls as well. A red cross on their gates. A red cross is one simple warning.

Plague.

"They must have hanged those who tried to flee from the sickness...," Geralt murmurs. Death is again looking at him. It doesn't have eyes. A mask is covering its face. It smiles. A smile of teeth covered in blood. He swallows, takes Roach's reign and turns around. Fear is burning his skin while he tries not to sit back on Roach and gallop with her far, far away, where death cannot find him. A small fire is crackling. Both of them can't sleep. Ciri glances at him. But he can't speak. HIs lips are tied. Why does the thought of a plagued Oxenfurt frighten him? Yen would have teleported herself out as soon as the word plague made the round and no one could have stopped her. She is too powerful for that. What is it with Oxenfurt? Yes, of course, he has never seen that city so utterly hopeless, Oxenfurt, the city of students, high education, the city of...

poetry. songs. ballads.

He gasps.  His body caught in a coldness he knows. The chill of death. Ciri stares at him. She opens her mouth. A shadow glooming behind her, Geralt reaches for his sword.  He makes the Aard Sign but a small brown hand turns it into nothing. Lilac and gooseberries fill the air. "Yen," he whispers. The magician's face looks tired in the crackling  fire. Shadows dance upon it. Ciri looks at him. He nods. When Yennefer sits down, Geralt watches carefully. Yen's face ...is not that of a young woman anymore. Wrinkles around her eyes and frowns upon her forehead. Her lips dry. Even her dress...it is simple, made of linen. She looks like a peasant woman. She sits down next to Ciri and expands her hand. "My name is Yennefer of Vengerberg. I am a friend of Geralt."

Again is Ciri glancing at him. He sighs. "You can trust Yennefer, Ciri." For a moment everything stills. Then does Ciri take Yennefers hand. Yennefer smiles softly. Then, she turns her head sharply at Geralt, her eyes cold and hardened. "Geralt," she spits, "you must go back to Oxenfurt, at once." She stands up and throws him his bag. "He is in there, Geralt. He didn't want to leave, said it would not become a fucking disaster and now the order of the fucking mages cut the magic from Oxenfurt. I can't get in." Yen's glare is cutting him into pieces, but a last look at Ciri gives him enough strength to say: "He is dead, Yen. If not now, then by the break of dawn. Trust me. They've hanged 200 men from the bridge. Their walls are covered by hanged people. The rest is dead from the plague. I will not leave Ciri-" "You fucking ignorant prick!" Her scream reminds Geralt of a panther that had watched its cubs murdered by hunters for fun. He doesn't know what she went through these last months. But she is not strong anymore. Desperation screams from her, it lingers like  a deadly poison on her whole appearance. He pities her. "Dont give me that look, Geralt!" Her hands are cramped into fists. "You have no idea what kind of shit I had to see these last months. Just fucking go there and see if he is alive." "I might be immune, but Ciri is not-" "Give her your fucking antibiotics! He is your friend!" Silence. This time Geralt doesn't really trust his voice. He coughs two, three, four times. "Yen," he tries, he really tries, this lump in his throat growing bigger and bigger. "I-" It is Ciri that takes his bag, desperately tries to put the saddle on Roach. "Let's go Geralt," she murmurs, her voice mere but a whisper. "Let's go back to your friend. He needs us." They arrive at the bridge at dawn. The dead are still hanging, silence having thrown a thick blanket on the whole city. And again Death is standing on the bridge. But this time it extends its hand towards him. He breathes. The smell of death making the air sweet. He wants to vomit. Yennefer is shivering and holding Ciri. Her violet eyes staring at him. "If I'm not back by noon-" Ciri hugs him by his hip, pushing her fingers harshly against his back. He kisses her hair. A small chill touches his back, little fingertips grasping at him. Goosebumps. The urge to vomit. To run. Adrenaline fills him worde than any poison he knows. One step after the other. Sweat breaking out on his forehead, the back of his neck. While he concentrates on nothing but smiling death, a grotesque hand covered in bandages , extended at him. The last step. He stands in front of the gate. Death standing next to him. He hasn't taken that hand. He looks at it. Never in his long life had he ever stood so close to Death. It's breath is sweet, its clothing covered in mud, no eyes, no nose, simply a mask with no features at all besides a bleeding mouth. It rises its left hand against the gate with such a soft gesture as if it is afraid to wake someone...or something. Geralt breathes. Closes his eyes. Takes one step, two steps... Opens his eyes. He's heard once of hell. A place where cruel souls that have not worshipped the gods, go to and rot, are tortured. Stories, he thought, stories people make up at night to have a little scare one in a while, to try to get people to be nice to each other. Or maybe these stories...are true. Because sometimes humans experience such vile, such cruel atrocities, but not done by humans, no...done by little bacteria that kill and kill and kill and kill... The city is a mass grave. He will not find Jaskier here. There are just too many. Too many corpses on the street, too many in the houses, too many piled literally piled upon each other in little shops. He goes through this city, take one step after the other, tries not to breath, not to think, not to feel. It seems they first tried to burn the houses that were infected. Geralt doesn't want to imagine the screams of terror,  begging to leave the city...

Oh. Death. standing there at the temple.

And a voice. Singing an old song.

There is a cutter whose name is death Whose powers come from the gods He grinds all his knives So they are cutting much better Soon he will cut us We just have to wait and suffer Beware my little dandelion!

Geralt sees him. He's sitting on the stairs of the temple, a blond girl in his arms. She is dead. Geralt can smell it. Her dead eyes are staring at him. She must have been expecting... Jaskier's eyes are closed. His face pale like a vampire, dark circles around his eyes, his cheekbones remind Geralt of a skull.

How many thousand are not count? Which dies under the cutter's sickle? Red roses, white lilies He will all cut you down, You imperial crowns! Oh! The cutter will get you all! Watch out my sweet buttercup!

Death is sitting next to Jaskier. It's watching him, its head resting on its bandaged hands.

"JASKIER!," he growls, sprinting forward. He must end this madness. All of this must end now. He can't anymore, he can't...all of this is wrong, it's so wrong... Blue eyes watch him deadly. Death still sits there. Only Geralt's legs are shivering while he holds a trembling hand towards Jaskier. "Jaskier. Please. Come with me." Jaskier coughs. Blood spills everywhere, around his mouth, down his neck, on his filthy shirt. No, no, no...please...please let this be a nightmare, please, someone wake me up. Little blood drops landed on Death's mask. It grins. "Jaskier. You are sick. We must get you out of here." "She's expecting my baby, Geralt, you know?" It feels like someone is cutting him with a deep knife into his back, again and again and again. Jaskier's voice is nothing more than a whisper. "Her name is Priscilla. I am way too old for her. But she refused to let go of the baby." "Jaskier...please." Jaskier shakes his head. "Just listen Geralt. I can barely stand. Just...listen, okay?" Death draws nearer to Jaskier, putting its head on his shoulder. Jaskier doesn't seem to notice. Geralt sits down. He takes Jaskier's right hand. It's cold and limp. The knives in Geralt's back don't stop. He wishes they were real, so he didn't have to feel anymore, think anymore... He takes a deep breath, smiles at Jaskier. "I will listen, Jaskier."

[jj-lynn21]

An Unexpected Adventure Ch 3: Nature

Ch 3:Nature 

  Ch 1: Booked   Ch 2: Teatime, Ch 4: Waterfalls

Tags:@rainbowmoosie, @melodys4029​, @loomiz​, @eliza123sworld​, @super-pink-a-palouza​, @bskarsgardlove92​, @dragsraksllib​ ,@0cean-witch​, @grandpa-sweaters​, @katieskrsgard​,  @sugiseto​, @badccaptain​,  @wikiss21​  @skrsgardspam​ @skarsgardsslut​  

Notes: fluff, shock, an ode to no cellphones

Genna tossed and turned all night having nightmares about not making her deadline. Losing every bit of the credibility and trust her first book brought to her career. Losing her friend and publisher to someone that obviously wanted it more than she did. All these thoughts did nothing to help her creativity level. When she woke, she was a void of any ideas what to really focus on in her writing as she had been since she got there. It was time to do something drastic. Just walk away for a while.  

The best way to clear her head was to take Istvan up on his morning walk offer. The fire had burned out over night, but her appreciation for him only burned stronger. She was determined to make up for how she had treated him when they first met. Put all the book writing thoughts in the back of her mind just for a few hours. Being in nature was bound to get ideas flowing once she got back to work. 

Genna put a pot of coffee in a large thermos and a zip lock of crackers in her backpack purse. She dressed in layers since it was cooler now but once the sun was high in the sky the forecaster called for an unusual swing back to the 70s.  She decided on her athletic shoes over her boots because they were more comfortable. The boots she wore there were made for fashion more than hiking.  

She took a deep cleansing breath as she walked out of the cabin. The air was fresh. Genna could smell wildflowers that had not given up their life to the overnight frost yet. She looked around for her guide. Istavan waved with a great big dopey smile on his face. She trotted over to him.

“Good morning, Istvan.”

“Good morning, Genna.” He had a backpack flung over his shoulder. “I’m glad you decided to join me. There is so much beauty here you cannot see from the small windows in the cabin.”

“Show me everything.” Genna adjusted her pack as she walked with him. “I brought coffee and snacks. And my cellphone to take some pictures. I am looking for inspiration.”

“I hope you find what you want.” He helped her up a particularly steep hill. “Just relax and take it all in without sharing with the world for once in your life. It is perfectly fine not to share every experience you have.”

“That is crazy talk.” She giggled joking.  

He smirked.  

Once they arrived at a paved trail it was easier to walk. “At the end of this trail there is a nice clearing to stop for a break. I have a blanket, coffee, water, and baloney sandwiches in my pack.”

“Between us we have quite a feast.” She did her best to keep up with him but two of her steps equaled one of his..

He nodded. “Stop right here.” Istvan put his hand up stopping on the trail. “Listen to what surrounds us.”

“What is it?” She was a little frightened by his tone.

“Shhhh.” He put a finger to his plump kissable lips. “Don’t be scared. Close your eyes.” Istvan walked around behind her. “Relax. Take a breath and just listen to nature.”

His voice gave her chills. She closed her eyes taking a deep breath of the fresh air around her. It smelled nothing like the big city. It felt nothing like the city. There was a light breeze. The sun kissed her face. Some squirrels squealed at each other in the trees. Birds were chirping not quite ready to leave for the south.  She opened her eyes as she grabbed for her cellphone to snap a memory.

He took her wrist lightly. “Don’t do it Genna. Just enjoy our surrounding. Let it just be ours.”

She looked at him like he was insane. “But shouldn’t everyone know the beauty here so they will come, Istvan? I am sure you have posted pictures on your accounts to help your business.”  

“I don’t have any social media accounts.” He admitted. “There is one website that does have professional photos of the cabins and the hiking trail. I like it here because it is free from all that. No one, especial strangers need to like what you are doing for you to enjoy it yourself. Just take it in.” He took a deep exaggerated breath in and let it out. “Stay here with me in this moment. Don’t disappear into technology, Genna.”

“All right.” She slid the phone back into the side of her pack.  

“Now really look at everything you could have missed with a phone in front of your face.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “Is this okay?”

She nodded yes.

“The squirrels we hear are right there chasing each other in that tree.” He pointed.

His beard tickled her cheek and she laughed. “Your beard tickles.”

“I’m sorry,.” He stood up straighter. Istvan had not really been close to anyone in months. It had been years since he felt like being as close to someone as he did her.  

“It’s all good.” She smiled and he smiled back. “What other things can you point out that I might not be catching?” She was trying to get fully immersed in the moment as he suggested.  

“Did you hear the rustling in the tall brush over there?” He gets closer again but tries not to let his beard touch her.

“Yes.”  

“I happen to know that a family of bunnies live there.” He gentle rubbed her arms. “If we are still and quiet maybe one will hop over towards the glen or many of them will. The younger ones seem to take chances like that even if I am here.”  

They waited. She leaned into him more, so he held her more securely. She did not giggle again when his beard brushed against her cheek. The bushes started rustling more in several spots. Then a little nose poked out sniffing. A few pairs of long grey ears with pink centers poked up. It was quick when they moved. Three curious baby bunnies made their way across the path right in front of Istvan and Genna.

Genna covered her mouth so she did not squeal in delight while the bunnies crossed. One stopped to look at them for just a split second before running off after its sibling. “They are so precious.”  

“Yeah, come on.” He led her down the trail more. “The clearing is right in the direction they went hopping.”

She stayed close to him. “Are there any dangerous animals around here?”

“Black bear, coyote, and a few different kinds of poisonous snakes in the wetlands.” They came to the clearing and walked a few feet in where Istvan laid out the blanket holding it down with his pack and hers. “I have a kit with anti-venom. Bears and Coyote are mostly afraid of people unless you leave food out at night.”

“I will hold you to that.” She takes her jacket and hoodie off to get more comfortable. The sun has made it warmer. She took out her coffee thermos and crackers.

He took out what he brought and takes off his hoodie also. “Sandwich?”

“Thank you.” She took one. “You can have some of these crackers with your sandwich.”

“Thanks.” He took a few from the baggy. After they ate taking in the nature around them instead of talking, Istvan laid back on the blanket closing his eyes. “It is nice to just listen to nature with eyes closed and your heart open.”

“I guess.” She glanced around at what seemed to be empty space. “Have you always lived like this, Istvan. Grown to be a Mountain man?”

He chuckled as he opened his eyes and held his strong upper body up on his elbows. “I grew up as a spoiled kid in New York City. My Dad was a Soap actor and my Mom a lawyer. We started coming out to the woods to camp when I was around ten. My Father built the family cabin himself. After I graduated high school my gift was building my own cabin.”

“Hard labor does not sound like a gift.” Genna interceded.  

“Yeah, I thought that at the time.” He continued. “It was the last time I really spent any time with him. He and my sister built the cabin you are staying in for her before she went off to college. She worked hard from the beginning as she always did in school. I did what I always did at NYU. I got in some trouble for fighting. Partied so much I can barely remember most of my time there. Still I managed to get passing grades in business school. When my parents got in a car accident driving here from the city in the dead of winter to set up for a family Christmas, they left the cabins to me and my sister.”

“That is …" She put her hand to her heart. “It is just so tragic. I’m sorry you lost them right before the holiday.”

“It was a lot to handle but helped me grow up.” He sighed. “My sister can barely deal with being here. I took over the cabins turning them into a business. That was five years ago. I ended up loving this place after a year. At this point I can’t even imagine going back to living in the city.”

“I do enjoy the silence when I work.” She laid down beside him.  

Istvan put his arm under her head lying back down with his eyes closed. “Now close your eyes, Genna. Take a deep breath and listen.”  

They laid there for a minute just silent and still. “This is maybe the best thing I ever felt.”

He leaned on his side. “Now that is a tragedy.”  

She opened her eyes to his inches away. Her heart seemed to skip at the weight of his stare. Then he glanced above her head before looking at her again.

“On the count of three I need you to get up as quick as possible.” He reached for the machete attached to the side of his pack. “One...”

“What?” And then she heard it. A rattle and hiss.

“Two, three.” Istvan pulled her up with one hand as he cut the head off the striking timber rattlesnake.  

She was in shock as he held up the body of the snake that was half his length. “It's okay now. It’s dead.” After dropping the carcass to the grown he put the machete away. “Are you alright, Genna?”

She nodded yes slowly even though she was still disturbed.  

[ibizastrology]

bts’ j-hope: chart interpretation

Hi guys! So I decided to have some fun and take a look at Hoseok’s birth chart. Let’s see what we can find here!

Disclaimer: this interpretation does not include house analysis, since I cannot accurately determine house placements in the chart without an exact and confirmed time of birth.

Please note: this is my personal view of the chart. Some of the interpretations are sprinkled with a bit of my own intuition and experience with certain placements. I am not a professional astrologer and I do not claim that these assumptions are 100% accurate for Jung Hoseok, since I have never met him and never had the chance to ask if my interpretations are correct.

Date of birth: 18th February, 1994 Time of birth: unknown (used standard 12PM) Place of birth: Gwangju (Gwangju-gwangyeoksi), South Jeolla Province (Jeollanam-do), South Korea Birth chart calculator used: Astrotheme Horoscope Chart

List of placements: Aquarius Sun Taurus Moon Pisces Mercury (Я) Pisces Venus Aquarius Mars Scorpio Jupiter Pisces Saturn Capricorn Uranus Capricorn Neptune Scorpio Pluto

Possible Rising (it’s a guess bro): Aries/Sagittarius

Asteroids and math. points (hypothetical):  Ceres - Taurus Lilith (Я) - Aries Vesta - Aries Pallas - Pisces Juno (Я) - Scorpio Chiron (Я) - Virgo

Aspects (without AC, MC and minor aspects)

Sun: conjunct Saturn, Mercury and Venus, square Pluto and Moon Moon: opposite Pluto and Jupiter, square Mars, trine Uranus and Neptune Mercury: conjunct Saturn and Venus, square Pluto Venus: conjunct Saturn, trine Jupiter Mars: square Jupiter Jupiter: - Saturn: square Pluto Uranus: conjunct Neptune, sextile Pluto Neptune: sextile Pluto Pluto: -

Interpretation (personal planet placement + strong aspects):

Aquarius Sun: weirdest sense of humor which is definitely Aqua culture because there’s no other explanation as to why we’re like that, might be strengthened by Aries rising (excessive “cute” behaviour, screaming out of nowhere, doesn’t know what’s happening but laughs anyway, basically an obnoxious little bean); square Moon - he needs love and comfort but often puts up a front, puts the “carefree” image he wants to portray over his emotional needs, making other people feel better (Aquarius) seems more important than allowing himself to enjoy good things (Taurus) (I think we’ve all seen that at MAMA with him breaking down like that, the taurus moon /and pisces energy/ snapped); conjunct Saturn - this might be what Yoongi meant when he said that Hoseok wasn’t as cheerful before debut as he is now, this aspect may have made him a bit more pessimistic, aware of the fact that you can’t have everything in life

Taurus Moon: PERSERVERANCE god the things this man has been through... attacked by antis, attacked by solo stans, almost left the band even before its debut but his perserverance helped him get through it, also methodical - he doesn’t just learn all those dances because it’s easy (spoiler: it’s not), but he has his own way of doing things (e.g. his adorable ‘pa pa pa’ instead of counting or dancing bare foot), he knows exactly what he’s doing but it’s more of a “I’ve done it so many times that now I can’t get it wrong”; opposite Pluto - this aspect doesn’t make it easy to open up about feelings, Pluto wants control over what people know, what people are allowed to see and what should be kept secret, and that want is generally driven by fear (however it’s a facade that can be broken, as I’ve already mentioned earlier); trine Uranus - everyone, and I mean EVERYONE feels accepted and understood around Hoseok and I find that to be truly beautiful, how e.g. trainees are all over him, even though he is a strict teacher, because no matter how many times they mess up and he gets angry, he’s still encouraging and supportive and just wants everyone to succeed; trine Neptune - compassion and understanding, also probably one of the reasons behind his passion for music since this is a very emotional and artistic aspect, vivid imagination is quite possible

Pisces Mercury (Я): a natal retrograde makes a planet feel hidden, expressed in a more internal way; good listener, really nice to talk to, can quickly go from soft and quiet to screaming mode (something we’ve all noticed a long time ago), knows how to read people in a way, quite in tune with other people’s emotions; conjunct Saturn - and here we have reached one of the sadder aspects in this chart, mainly because it proves that, even though he may seem carefree and confident, he does in fact care A LOT about what people think of him (boy didn’t avoid doing solo live streams for a year and six months without a reason, pls love him a lot), this is not a hard aspect but it can cause a lot of self-doubt and a need for praise, even if the compliments don’t seem to get to him - he needs them

Pisces Venus: very loving and sensitive, not only towards a partner, but towards everyone, commitment is difficult tho, even if he wanted to settle with someone it would probably take him a lot of time to make up his mind, might be one of those people who want to “heal broken souls” through love, but his patience isn’t unlimited; conjunct Saturn - traditionally associated with loneliness and/or late marriage, but can be interpreted as a cautious approach to romantic relationships, might be an outcome of previous toxic relationships

Aquarius Mars: original, unique, full of surprises, always knows how to get what he wants, actually loves being unpredictible and unusual, very independent, wants to give his partner their freedom as well; square Jupiter - might be very impulsive, reclusive when upset, seemingly moves on easily as an effect of ignoring bigger negative feelings

So that’s it! I might come back to this one day, but for now this feels like enough with the amount of information we have. This took way too long to finish, but it’s done, finally!

I don’t know if I’ll ever do any more of these, but... who knows! We’ll have to find out.

If you got this far this, thank you for reading! I appreciate it a lot <3

[everydayanth]

STARTING AT 21:48

TRIGGER WARNING: The thumbnail doesn’t convey the tone here. This is footage of anti-protestors “protecting” a columbus statue in a park in PA. Things get violent, over-sensory, and include mob-mentality stress. Shortly after the timestamp indicated, there is mad disrespect to Native history and culture, a lot of ignorance and generalizations about the local Black communities.

If you don’t want to watch it: I am referring to a point where many white Americans are challenging a journalist asking them about policing, BLM, and politics, and one, to paraphrase, is worried that the journalist is going to cut it to make them look racist and call them white Americans, and he wants to be clear that they are “white Americans of Italian descent with deep roots in the area!” When pressed about Native American roots in the area, they erupt in swears and cuss at him, the same guy yelling “what do you want me to do about it?” Throughout the exchange, another guy is riling them up about media twisting their stories while the journalist continues to explain that he is live streaming and it therefore cannot be cut up. The Italian flag can be seen on shirts, bags, and waving in the background.

I can’t stop thinking about this. 

I ran into this in every corner of the US except the deep south cus I haven’t really been there yet (teen years don’t count). White Americans who want to belong to a cultural community continue to cling to their heritage culture in often stereotypic ways as a a way to separate them from the “whiteness” of white America and belong to a local community.

I can’t stop seeing it everywhere. But I know there is no one line, its all grey, and belonging to something bigger than yourself is a powerful connection for humans, as social creatures with dynamic identities and emotions, it can be a grounding place. 

But when I see stuff like this, I wonder how the heritage cultures see it. What do you think video clip of this in Italy? 

What do the Dutch think of all the Calvinists and Dutch Reformed Church communities in West Michigan? I actually asked a few Dutch people once, and one old guy goes “well... they left for a reason, and no one stopped them for a reason” lol.

Cultural identities were assimilated harshly, or else held onto in unexpected ways. When I look at it, my Dziadzia is Polish, from Poland, but he was a baby when they came, or born shortly after, so his siblings speak Polish (you know I hung out with great aunts and uncles all summer), but he doesn’t, he was pushed to be American. Technically, he’s a first generation immigrant, and I’ve connected to a lot of Polish-Americans and Polish people through experiences and linguistic pieces I never considered to be Polish before. 

In contrast, my dad’s Dutch parents lived in the Dutch part of town and went to a Dutch church and read from the Dutch (well, Frisian, I was in my 20s when I learned what that meant or why it was important) family Bible and my nana spoke to us in her thick accent and the d and v sections of my schools were the largest (de- and van- surnames) and we did Tulip Time and renamed areas Holland and Zealand. So while they had assimilated, it was in a VERY Dutch area, and assimilation was quite minimal. Some of my aunts and uncles are very... white-American, while others and my dad (he’s one of 6, my mom is one of 8) are very much Dutch and stayed in the Dutch neighborhoods and churches. It took me a lot of training to start capitalizing proper nouns guys, you don’t understand, then I studied German and I turned in a paper to this really harsh English teacher and he made me stay after class and yelled at me because proper nouns had been left uncapitalized while regular nouns were capitalized... it was a bad day lol.

The Irish are critical of the Americanized St.Paddy’s day (understandably) and the souvenir shops seem to welcome Irish-Americans with open-arms and family crests on every type of knick-knack tchotchke you can imagine, while I have also heard Irish-American claims of identity dismissed in documentaries and series about Gaeilge as their own separate thing, with their own history that has become distinctly not-Irish in culture, location, language, or history (though the British enemy stayed the same).

There are tons of anglophiles in America who idealize England and watch the royal wedding and consume British media with glee. 

I’m not too sure about Spanish or French identities in America because growing up in MI, I learned the basic French from Canadian friends and their families, but I associated that with Canada, not France. When did it become different? Like Cajun, is it its own identity? Seems like it, tbh. And I associated Spanish and Portuguese language with friends from Central and South America because I didn’t really know of anyone from Spain or Portugal heritages and learned about them in school as the colonizers (along with Italian). Strange how that framing works to displace blame/responsibility, huh. In that Dutch school and I had to learn about the Dutch East India Trading Co from frickin’ Pirates of the Caribbean? Psh, says enough.

Bavarian has become the American stamp of German heritage, despite many families being from the lowlands or surrounding areas. A German friend got so fed up with the association one time, he yelled at everyone about electronic music, jumpstyle, and green energy so long that we ended up not playing soccer and just listening to him rant about what “German” was not. It was Oktober, and it was a college town, so I get it lol.

Eastern Europeans seem to often get stigmatized while Scandinavians... I dunno, seem to assimilate or keep to themselves? There’s a Danish population in a small town in MI that is very proud of its roots but beyond a parade and some flags, some round pancakes and me struggling eternally with the Danish language, there wasn’t too much of a focus on it. There’s also a large Finnish population in the UP (NOT Scandinavian, Nordic, I know, sorry), and they retain many Finnish words and phenotypic traits, flags wave over porches, but again, for the most part, they’re just... Michiganders. 

My view of this could also be very skewed because while I’ve lived in tons of states over the past 6-7 years, that doesn’t change the 20+ I spent growing up in MI, a place that is very insulated and island-cultured, making a steady clash of hot/cold and high/low-context cultures in a concentrated area.

Anyway, European friends (or anyone), do you think about this? Is this a conversation topic for you? How do you view white Americans who stand by or maintain ownership of a European identity? 

White Americans who know or claim a heritage often have a story about a family member who rebelled and came to America. Do you have those stories from the opposite POV, a wayward family member who left to America and was never heard from again?

For everyone: is there a point where a cultural heritage becomes an idealization? Where you are no longer an active participant but a bystander? Is there an American replacement or did assimilation remove that? Or did assimilation create it?

There’s an Ancestry.com commercial I think about a lot. The guy wears a kilt or Leiderhösen, I forget which one first, then does some research on ancestry, and finds that his family had their history wrong, so he traded in one for the other. Is this cultural appropriation? At what point do you lose ownership? Or do we always own our roots? What about when our roots get too tangled to trace, or cut off altogether, by our own family’s nonchalance (as in, not remembering or maintaining) or forced by a stronger power? 

Is it a different conversation when talking about personal costuming for an event vs anti-protests using their European heritage as a platform to deny change? Or is it the same act to different degrees or in positive/negative lights? 

If you are White-American, did you grow up with a heritage culture in your family or community? When did you start to notice it? How has it impacted your identity?

I know these questions also extend to BIPOC and immigrant/religious minority cultures in America, but due to histories of stigmatization, demonization, oppression, genocide, slavery, and appropriation, it seems like that has to be a different conversation. Clinging to roots when someone has cut you away or is trying to uproot you to assimilate is different than willfully leaving, which seems different than being forced out as a refugee or due to internal conflict/crises (famine, war, etc.), these are different conversations to me. 

I’ve just been thinking about this a lot. 

[theartofbeinganeldar]

The Art of Being an Eldar: Legolas x Reader Chapter 4

Summary: After discovering that you were stuck in the fantasy world you had no recollection of, your memory was jogged after weeks of depression: this land was Middle-Earth. A council of wizards and Elves was summoned, and Thranduil expressed his wishes of wanting you gone. Elrond agreed to take you in and Gandalf was excited to share in his adventures with someone who knew nothing of the world, quite like a Hobbit, but you wanted to stay in Mirkwood, with Legolas and Tauriel, of which you'd made friends with. Legolas leaves in three days to locate the orcs who enroach upon Mirkwood's northern flank, and the council sees this as a chance for you to prove your worth. If you fail, you are to leave Mirkwood...

Chapter No.: Chapter 4

Key: [Y/N]=Your Name [F/N]= Friend's Name [B/N]= Bro's Name [S/N]= Sis's Name [M/N]= Mom's Name [e/c]= eye color [h/c]= hair color [s/c]= skin color

Notes: I want to thank all my readers for their feedback, likes, and reblogs! I'm only on Chapter 4 and all of you combined have made me feel really good about my writing. I've gotta admit, I was a little scared of going through with this multi-chapter fic at first, because while a few people really liked and enjoyed my stories on DeviantArt, they never got the reception The Art of Being an Eldar has. I just thought my writing sucked for the most part. Thank you all so much!

Warnings: Fluff, angst, graphic depictions of gore and violence (Cuz of orc battles y'know?), more angst, slow burn, some light depression in the first few chapters, some amnesia about Middle-Earth because the Valar say you're not supposed to have foresight, hard-core language, feels, lots and lots of feels, mentions of NSFW content, maybe some eventual NSFW content, LGTBQ+ characters, Thranduil being a jackass at first because he's fabulous, Legolas being a hot edgy prince that nobody can handle, Kili being an innocent bean, Hobbits being smol innocent beans, except for Bilbo 'cause he's been through some tough shit, Bard being dad of the year, Thorin being one dumbass boi, The fucking Silmarillion, awesome dragons, awesome Nazgul, awesome scenery, awesome stuff in general, Elrond isn't listened to by anybody, confused Aragorn is confused,  Denethor's a bitch as always, brace yourself for creepy as fuck Cream of Wormtongue Grima Wormtongue, Boromir lives, Gandalf. (yes these are all legit warnings don't judge me.)

Pairings/Ships: Legolas x Reader, Legolas x you, Aragorn x Arwen, Faramir x Eowyn, Thranduil x Elvenqueen, Galadriel x Celery Celeborn, Boromir x OC, Thorin x OC, Fili x OC, etc. general LoTR standard shippings plus some of my own cuz I can't stand my boys being lonely

Word Count: I try to keep my chapters short, under 2000 words. Rating: Teen (14+) for now

"You what?"

Apparently Leggy didn't comprehend the concept of being accompanied by a suddenly Elvish human from another dimension.

With a sigh and a roll of your eyes, you repeated, "I said, I'm coming with you when you leave for your orc-hunting mission."

Legolas narrowed his eyes. "And who gave you permission to do this?"

"The council, that's who. So suck it up buttercup, I'm coming with your sorry ass."

Legolas rolled his eyes. "Very well. Tell me, aside from randomly swinging a sword, do you know anything about weaponry?"

You raised an eyebrow. Shit, you'd have to fight? "No, but I can say a mouthful of greetings in Elvish."

Legolas raised an eyebrow. "Nin ista, Sairen, but words are not mightier than fighting skill in battle."

You scoffed. "I can think of a pretty famous phrase from my world that totally contradicts that..."

Legolas shook his head as he sauntered past you, down the stairs of the bridge you'd found him on. The sounds of his bows and knife sheaths clanking together as he walked relaxed you. "Of course you do, mellon." He paused to look at you. "Are you not coming? We leave in three days. If you are intent on coming with me, surely you cannot believe I will let you go without even so much as learning the proper way to stab an opponent?"

You made a face, but followed him anyway. "I know how to stab."

"How, then?" He gestured to you pointedly and crossed his arms.

"Um..." You mimed the gesture you'd probably use while stabbing an orc in the guts. "Like... This? With a twist?"

"That may work if your enemy has the weak skin and flesh of a human, or even on an Elf," He pointed out, "But we are fighting orcs, Sairen. Their hide is as thick as that of a boar, and their flesh is equally so." With a flourish, he flipped out one of his long knives. He paused in handing it to you. "I am not letting you keep this, mellon. My mother gave them to me."

You froze in reaching for the weapon. "You have a mother?"

Legolas chuckled at your wide-eyed expression. "You thought I did not?"

You stiffened before hurriedly turning away. "No! Of course not! Why would you think that?!"

Legolas laughed as he followed you. "Well, I do have one. She has been away on the other end of the palace-city. I should introduce you to her."

"Is she as fabulous as your dad?" You ran the tip of your index finger along your eyebrows. "And maybe even with the same super dark eyebrows?"

Legolas smiled. "No, no. She is perfectly beautiful."

"So you're saying your dad's not?"

"What?"

"Nothing." You waved a hand. "Where's the training grounds again?"

Legolas grinned evilly. "Well, your training begins now, Sairen. See if you can actually get to said training grounds without killing yourself on that blade."

Your jaw fell. "Are you fucking kidding me?! That's child's play! Don't you think I already know how to not do that?!"

"That is a double negative sentence, but no, I do not believe you already know this skill." Blue-Eyes shot you another grin. "Besides, we are not taking the average path to the training grounds. They are outside of the palace, after all. We will go out and around, on the hardest path imaginable. For a human, they would be entirely impassable."

You stared up at him dumbly. "Uh... Do... Do you even realize I spent the last nineteen years of my life around people with the mindset of shit water I might die because I'm a-- I was a-- human? Also, I was never agile. I won't be able to make it over a log, if it's big enough."

Blue-Eyes gave you a disapproving look. "Do the humans of your world never traverse nature?"

You pretended to think about that

"Hm... Let me see... Uhm... Yeah, nope, pretty much never, unless you're one of those super outdoorsey kinds of people, and the true ones of those are rare. For instance, most usually wear really tight clothes and walk through parks with stone paths and everything primped to perfect condition so that nobody even gets grazed by a dandelion, and everything's sprayed to keep the bugs away and animals are limited to squirrels and bunnies, then they wanna act like they just walked the fuckin' Sahara Desert without water. Real outdoor people are rare. Steve Irwin? Real. Bear Grylls? Real. Josh Gates? Real. Hell, when I was a very tiny little girl I used to watch a kid's show with two brothers who pretty much lived in the jungle. But out of everybody, those are the ones I can think of right off the top of my head. Them, and the few tribal races still out there."

Blue-Eyes made a surprised face. "Well... I am glad you got a chance to experience what real life is like."

"Thank you, Blue-Eyes." You'd reached the front gates of the palace, which were opened by a couple of those ninja Elf guys. You and Legolas walked on through, and into the forest, with its pink and amber leaves, down here, nullified into black and gray, piling up in the muck of the forest floor.

You'd been surprised when you'd seen this part of Mirkwood. Apparently, only the northern half was unaffected, but the rest of the once-spectacular Greenwood the Great was now victim to a strange plague, orc attacks from the north, and giant spider infestations from the south, from an ancient ruin called Dol Goldur. Animals no longer lived here, the rivers had mostly gone thick with filth, and the trees rotted and groaned in agony. The forest would confuse you, threaten to swallow you up and make you lose your way...

If you weren't an Elf.

Luckily for you and ol' Leggy, the two of you were Elves, and he had been raised here. If you stuck close to him, you'd be fine, even if the forest did manage to confuse you. He could hardly remember a time when the slow-acting plague hadn't been part of some region of the forest, and Tauriel had told you that he was 2, 371 years old. That was a long time for a forest to be sick.

"What even caused Mirkwood to get sick? Do you even know?"

"It is a nameless malice," Blue-Eyes replied, stopping all show-offy on a thick, low-hanging bough that precariously hung over a small gorge. "The darkness stems from Dol Goldur. Now, there are rumors; rumors of a necromancer, who resides in the ruins of that ancient fort."

"Necromancer?" That hardly sounded good. In anything where it was used, necromancer usually meant one who raises dead. "That doesn't sound good. Have you investigated it?"

"Of course not," Blue-Eyes gave you an odd look, like you'd just suggested he drink out of the toilet or something. You struggled to get up the side of a log he'd just casually hopped onto. "Why should we? They are merely rumors, and the forest has been sick for a long, long while. Still... This darkness unsettles me, as it does to all Sindar whom reside here."

"Dude, then maybe you should check the fuckin ruins," You mumbled, but he ignored you and continued hopping around from flowertop to flowertop. You just trampled noisily and clumsily along behind him. "Don't you guys like, live for light? So shouldn't you see if the ruins really do have a necromancer now? Especially since this dark ooze comes from it?"

Blue-Eyes shook his head. "King Thranduil does not wish for time to be wasted on rumors when we have other matters to deal with."

"Oh, so you mean he's too busy having everybody vote on which crown of berries goes best with his eyebrows."

"What?"

"Nothing. You Elves are just stupid."

Legolas grinned. "Well, humans are equally intellectually challenged."

You paused in chasing after him, stunned. He turned to face you when he didn’t hear you following. "Did you seriously just do that?"

"Do what?"

"You literally just used big words to sound smart." You laughed theatrically. "Oh! Pardon me, fine companion, I meant to implicate that you utilize gargantuan idioms to fabricate intelligence."

He smiled slightly as you finally made it up beside him. "I suppose you are not so daft," He relented teasingly, "Otherwise you would not even have those words in your vocabulary."

You made a face and rolled your eyes. "Whatever, blondie."

The training grounds were closer than you remembered, even taking the roundabout route. Along the way, though, you'd fallen into a bog, got your face scratched up by evil tree branches, and tumbled head-over-heels down a steep ravine, getting battered and bruised all over your body.

Apparently Middle-Earth-- Mirkwood specifically-- was prone to give previously non-Elvish members of other worlds injuries.

You made quite a show; barreling through a thorn bush and landing flat on your face right on the edge of the training grounds. You heard all the Elves turn their weapons on you, in case you were an orc, but then they seen your sorry ass, and Leggy casually coming down the steep ridge as if it was just a flight of stairs.

"Mae govannen," Said Legolas cheerfully to the Elves. Casually, he picked up his knife, which you'd thrown away from you halfway down so you didn't impale yourself at any point during the fall. Still, it'd skittered down alongside you. "Sairen, it seems you've failed this test."

"I dropped it on the goddamn border..."

"Nevertheless," Blue-Eyes ignored your response. "We are here now, and forfeiting other forms of training for the sake of redoing one failed task is pointless. You will learn as much as you can here, until I say we stop."

You finally moved, trying to at least sit up on your elbows. "It's only noon. We've got till nightfall, yeah? I can do that. No problem."

Legolas grinned down at you. "Mellon, you are of the Eldar now. You are stronger than before and do not need sleep unless you wish to dream."

"I don't what?!"

"Elves do not sleep unless we have been injured and need to heal," He replied, and grabbed you by the underarms to help you up. "We are stronger and more resilient than the race of Men. You are no longer imprisoned by the necessities of the human body."

Instant headrush slammed into you. "Apparently not all human body shit..."

He raised an eyebrow. "What do you speak of?"

"Headrush, dammit."

"Oh," He grew amused. "Do you mean the Blackness? Unfortunately, that befalls us all."

You glared daggers at him.

Another Elf approached, with a slender face and long brown hair. "My lord, most of the training grounds are taken up. You may yet have mine, if you wish so."

Legolas smiled. "Ah, my thanks. [Y/N], this is one of the Elves that accompanied Lord Elrond here, Lindir."

You extended your hand. "Nice to meet you."

Both Blue-Eyes and Lindir looked at your hand in confusion. Lindir, with a glance to Legolas, slowly tried to hand you his bow. With a roll of your eyes and a shake of your head, you realized they didn't even understand what a handshake was. "No no no, sorry; that's called a handshake. It's what two people do when they meet each other where I come from. I didn't mean to confuse you. SO." You bowed in the Elvish way. "Mae govannen, Lindir of House Elrond."

Lindir and Blue-Eyes smiled. Lindir returned your bow. "Mae govannen, [Y/N] of House Thranduil."

"Lindir will be accompanying us to trace the orcs, and Erestor of Rivendell," Said Legolas, "As will another of our own house, Elros; I believe you have met him already. He was the Elf who lead you to the councilroom. From Lothlorien is a friend of mine, Haldir, and of course, with the other Elven Lords aiding us, Mithrandir feels he should send his own aid as well..."

Lindir's eyes widened. "Do not tell me..."

Blue-Eyes nodded seriously. "He is sending Naughrim to accompany us."

"Naughrim?" You asked. Of all names, that didn't sound familiar. "Who's that? Somebody not well-liked among Elves?"

Blue-Eyes fought a smile. Lindir answered you. "Mellon, Naughrim is our tongue for dwarves."

Your mouth formed an 'o' in recognition. "Ohhhh, now I get it. Elves and dwarves hate each other for no explainable reason. Got it. Who's he sending?"

Blue-Eyes shook his head in exasperation. "They are all of Erebor. Balin and Dwalin, two are named, and of the other, he is the most insufferable of dwarves; Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain. Mithrandir believes that this will be a good experience for him as it is for us, but he refuses to come himself. He's all but forcing the situation."

You looked from Blue-Eyes to Lindir and back. "How can he force you? Dwarves and Elves are both stubborn beyond all reason, and none of you seem to take him seriously."

Legolas shook his head and pursed his lips. "Unfortunately, Dwalin is as good a tracker as any, and Ada  is not permitting many of the Sindar on this journey for the reason that we are merely meant to find where the yrch dwell, and go no further. We will need all the aide we can find, even if it is in the form of unwilling dwarves. As for them, he has promised treasure, the details of which I know not; I can only hope it is not any of ours he has promised them." He smiled at you. "Shall we?"

Before you could follow, he walked off; you glanced to Lindir questioningly. "...Ada? Who's that?"

Lindir smiled softly. "It means father. He is referring to King Thranduil."

"Oh. Now I feel stupid."

"Do not, mellon, for the language of the Elves is not easily learned unless you were born speaking the tongue."

With a roll of your shoulders, which ached, you followed Leggy.

***

"Ow, goddamn it, and goddamn you, you stupidly perfect Elf."

At the end of the day, you'd been cut, pricked, whipped by a bowstring, nicked, dinged, and all kinds of other small injuries that added up to one big mess of drying blood and bruises.

Blue-Eyes had had you train deep into the night, until the silvery waning moon had all but left the star-filled sky. Now, as the sunrise approached, you both sat on two convenient boulders, and he bandaged your bloodied hands. In the eerie half-dawn light, he looked ethereal, and his pale hands and silver tunic sleeves compared to your now dark-with-blood-and-mud-and-bruises hands and black sleeves was a huge contrast. Your hands shook slightly, aching and stinging and pained on various sorts of levels, while his were perfectly steady as he wrapped them in soft green leaves.

"Stop shaking, mellon," Legolas told you gently.

"What was that?" Your head snapped up. "Are you feeling sorry for me? Don't feel sorry for me! This is nothing! I've been shot in the calf by an orcish arr--OW!"

The leaves had drawn too tight and released some kind of juice that stung like hell. His hands hovered over yours. "My apologies, but it draws out the infection."

"What infection?!"

"You are not yet used to your Elven body yet," Blue-Eyes replied, looking into your eyes. "Since you are the equivalent of a newborn, I would say you are very susceptible to infections, sickness, and injuries."

You looked off dramatically into the distance. "That explains why I can't stop fucking getting hurt..."

"That it does," He smiled at you, and something pulsed in your chest. Da fuck... You fought a flush. He stood, then held out his hand to you. "Shall we return to the palace? You may rest until sunhigh, and then we will continue your training." You took his hand, and he helped you up; you stumbled into his chest, and backed up quickly. He took no notice, but patted your shoulder before going to retrieve his bow and quiver. "You did well today, Sairen, even if you frightened off half of the other Sindar and Silvan training here."

You made a face. "Pfft. They just can't handle my awesomeness."

"If you say so, mellon," He said, and started to take the easy way back, to your relief. You followed closely behind him.

You looked up at the stars as you walked in silence for awhile, until finally, you broke it. Of course, you broke anything, really... "Where I come from, they say there's a star for every soul that's passed away."

Legolas glanced to you, then followed your gaze wistfully. "That is something our two worlds have in common."

"Scientifically," You added, "They're spheres of hot air and gaseous materials wound up tight by gravity that glow and put off heat, but the idea always felt nice to me... But where I come from... You also can't see the stars."

Blue-Eyes halted in his tracks as if you'd just said someone murdered his mother. "I... What? You can't see the stars?!" He actually looked genuinely horrified by that idea.

You shook your head. "No. Humans... They've polluted the atmosphere too much. Filled it with trash, and man-made lights and even remnants of smoke... You can't see them."

He watched you even as you watched the stars. "I've never seen them like this... They're beautiful." You could see bands of galaxies and clouds of distant nebulae, and the small silver fires glittered in the billions, even as the pink-orange glow of the beginning of dawn was starting to show in the east. You were in awe.

You jumped when Legolas took your hand. "What?"

He smiled at you. "Come with me. I will show you one of the best stargazing places in all of Mirkwood."

"Thranduil's pavilion?"

"Better."

"Whoa. Dude, count me in."

He lead you off of the trail, deep into the woods, through the easiest ways that probably were a pain for him, but he did it anyway. Finally, you stopped at the base of a massive tree, stretching so far up you couldn't see its top. Its trunk was pockmarked with holes and vines, and after slinging his bow onto his back, he threw you a smile over his smile. "Come, Sairen."

You couldn't help but smile back. You climbed, quickly, all the way up, past the canopy, into the uppermost branches of the tree, where the copper-gold leaves thinned out to allow for one thick branch to get a view of the night sky. The branch was thick enough across to allow for two or three people to sit side-by-side against the trunk, and Blue-Eyes sat quickly as he helped you up.

Here, no branches obscured any part of your field of view. You got a perfect view of the sunrise, and the starry sky. "Holy shit..."

You felt him put an arm around you, and you stiffened, just before he breathed in your ear, "I will not let you fall from this tree, Sairen. You've only just arrived in this world, and should another portal be below that is activated by a beautiful sunrise, I am loathe to let you go, for there is so much I want to show you..." The sun burst over the distant mountains beyond Erebor, sending fiery orange and red across the sky. "Such as this. Your world does not sound as if it could have any sunrise as wonderful as this one."

A warm feeling blossomed in your chest as you watched the sunrise, jaw slack. "No... Not like this."

Legolas smiled, and finally turned his focus to it himself. Your eyes slowly dragged off of the beautiful scenery to look at the Elf beside you, and the warm feeling worsened; your heart started fluttering. Eldar only fall in love once... Galadriel had warned you.

...Shit.

A blush crawled up your face, and you tried your hardest to focus on the sky rather than the Elvish princeling pressed close against your side.

***

"Mae govannen, [Y/N] of the Woodland Realm," Greeted Lindir kindly as you approached the group of Elves gathering in front of the front gates.

"Mae govannen, Lindir of Rivendell," You replied with a smile. The Elvish greetings rolled off your tongue easily now. After the sunrise you and Blue-Eyes had watched together, you'd spent the last two days training at obscene hours and resting. Now, finally, the group of Elves leaving to track the orcs were gathering-- there were only about fifty in total, of which there were those wearing Woodland garments, the red-and-gold of Lothlorien, and the greens, purples, and browns of Rivendell. Apparently Galadriel, Celeborn, and Elrond didn't agree with Thranduil sending what would've only been a dozen to track some very dangerous orcs.

You heard several of them muttering to each other about Naughrim, something all of them had in common.

You swung your light traveling pack off of your shoulders and by your feet, scanning the crowd for a certain platinum-blonde head-- unfortunately, most of the Elves from Lothlorien had blonde hair. You looked at Lindir. "Where's Legolas?"

Lindir glanced around. "He is on his way, I am sure. After all, it is he and Haldir whom are leading this journey."

You nodded. "I've never packed for something like this before... I hope I didn't pack anything weird or forget something."

Lindir looked confused, then recognition flashed across his face. "Oh. Forgive me, I had forgotten you do not have this experience. Tell me, what did you pack?"

You shifted your weight nervously, and lowered your voice. "Uhh... Two extra pairs of clothes in case these get ruined, some extra food, even though I've noticed I don't have to eat as much as before, and some water. Then there's these," You gestured to your back, where a quiver and longbow hung from your back. You felt its weight all too strongly, and that of the sword on your hip and the knives on your thighs. "And some of those special leaves that're used for bandages."

Lindir smiled and placed a hand on your shoulder. "Mellon, you have packed what we all have, and lightly, as well."

You smiled. "Thanks. Just consider yourself lucky that I don't know how to read Elvish, or I would've packed a book or two to keep me company."

Lindir chuckled and stepped back. "Well, for now, I am glad of it. On this journey you will learn much, hopefully, and by the time we return, you may be able to speak more of Elvish. It is harder to learn to read it, I have heard, much harder."

You ran a finger over your chin in thought. "I wonder if Thranduil would let me go to Dale or Laketown to get some books in English..."

"Forgive me," Lindir looked confused. "I do not know what that is."

You realized what you'd said a second too late. "Oh! Sorry. Where I come from, Common is just referred to as English."

"Oh, I see now. I am sure he would, and if he does not yet, then perhaps one of the Woodland Elves could bring some back for you. What of Legolas? Are you not friends?"

You blushed. "Yeah, I hope so. I've never been very good at making friends, though. Nobody's ever really liked me." You realized Lindir was staring at you with an absolutely terrified expression. Your own eyes widened in alarm, and you frantically patted your face. "What?! Is there something on my face?!"

Lindir shook his head. "I-I am not sure. Your skin has suddenly gone red, as if burned. Are you ill?"

"Uhhh..."

You were spared the embarrassment of explaining blushing by all the Elves gathered suddenly gasping and bowing in the direction of the stairs. Lindir saw the cause before you did, and his jaw fell. "By all the Valar..." He bowed deeply, and you followed his motion, but not before catching a glimpse of who it was. Thranduil, of course, and Legolas, following a she-Elf in a tunic that looked as if it were made of starlight itself, with flowing white hair and alabaster skin.

"Ui!" Shouted Thranduil irritably. "Ni telima lume, autauva!"

You leaned closer to Lindir. "What did he say?"

"He is forbidding her to join us," He answered quickly.

The she-Elf whipped around, generating a power almost as strong as Galadriel's. Legolas stepped forward. "Amal... Mecin."

She shook her head. "Yon, venno, nin carindo ier nin indo. Alye uva pusta ni."

"What did she say about pasta?" You whispered.

"Sh!" Lindir said quickly.

The woman looked at Thranduil and Legolas lovingly, before approaching Thranduil and placing both hands on his face. Thranduil closed his eyes in regret, and the woman kissed him; you looked away, embarrassed. That was the Elvenqueen.

That was Legolas's mother.

"Melinyel, Thranduil, alye ista si."

Thranduil sighed. "Melinyel, mela... Mecin ea girthonwed."

With that, Legolas reluctantly took his mother's hand and lead her down the stairs. They disappeared in the crowd, until you heard the Elvenqueen's voice. "Rise, all of you." Unsure, the Elves rose one-by-one. "Which of you hail from far places, whom rescued my son Legolas Greenleaf from the fate of an early death?"

The Eldar glanced to one another, realized it wasn't their neighbor, and slowly, like somebody who'd gotten called out in class, you were being stared at, and a path was made between you and her majesty, while Legolas stood beside her.

You swallowed hard, suddenly terrified. Lindir patted your shoulder. "You have been summoned, mellon. Go, I will make sure your pack does not get swapped with someone else's."

You tried to look and walk confidently, but you were terrified. She was beautiful and indimidating, and you had to admit, you were definitely intimidated. When you reached her, you bowed as deeply and respectfully as you could, a fist over your heart. "Elen sila lumenn omentielvo, your majesty." You didn't know what else to say. What you'd said to Galadriel and Celeborn was the most respectful thing you knew in Elvish, and you'd never been in the presence of royalty.

"You come from another world," She looked down at you indifferently, and you suddenly felt very small and very weak with everybody's eyes on you. This was nothing like Thranduil's fabulously indifferent look. "Yet still, you saved my son's life. After, you make the presumption that you can live and walk among us as one of us, freely, unburdened, merely because you came here by happenstance and you were allowed the reward of living. Do you feel as if this is the correct course of action for you to take?"

You glanced to Legolas, absolutely horrified. "Y-your majesty..." Your hot-headed tongue, a lot more toned down, popped into existence. "I saved your son's life because he didn't deserve to die. I was given the freedom to live, and to repay that, I mean to make the most of my time here by helping in whatever ways that I can. King Thranduil has given me the chance to prove myself worthy of living here by allowing me to join in hunting for the orcs. If I fail, I will leave Mirkwood, and go with Lord Elrond to Rivendell."

Legolas's eyes widened a fraction of an inch, before going back to their normal selves; he looked to you with almost a sadness, but you couldn't figure out why. Elvenqueen smiled, as if proud. "Then you are not what the rumours of your world have made you out to be. You are humble and grateful, qualities I did not expect from one of this Earth. You possess a unique personality, [Y/N]. Tell me, who are your parents, so that I may refer to you properly?"

"I have no father," You said quickly, relieved that she was just trying to scare you. "None I care to speak about. But I do have a mother, who I love very much. Her name is [M/N]."

Elvenqueen smiled. "Very well, [Y/N], child of [M/N]. Here, we, all of us, have a secondary name, such as my son; Legolas Greenleaf. During this journey, you may earn your own."

You smiled back, relieved beyond relief that she'd decided not to kick your ass for existing. "My thanks, your majesty."

She sailed away regally, and Legolas shot you a glare. "Why did you not tell me you would be leaving us?" He demanded.

You balked. "I-I said if I failed..."

"And you are most likely to do so," He snapped, sending your heart and soul plummeting to roughly the center of Middle-Earth. Without another word, he followed his mother.

"Mellon?" Said Lindir from behind. You turned around; He held his bag and yours, which you gratefully took from him.

"Thanks," You said, but your eyes followed Legolas's back as he disappeared into the crowd.

"Is everything alright?"

"Just fine," You shrugged. You were used to being abandoned.

Lindir looked doubtful. "Very well, if you say so. May I introduce you to those you will be most judged by?"

"Sure."

He took you through the crowd, to the guy who helped you find the councilroom. "Ah, [Y/N]. Mae govannen."

You bowed your head and returned the greeting to Elros in a monotone voice. "So your name is Elros?"

"Yes," He replied. "Son of Elrond."

If you were taking a drink of water, you'd've spewed it everywhere. "Huh? But isn't Rivdendell like, waaay over the Misty Mountains?"

Elros chuckled. "Yes, but those of the Eldar cannot always remain in one place. We yearn for far places, and even farther shores. Long years I have spent in the halls of my father, but I left for Mirkwood when my sister, Arwen Evenstar, left for Lothlorien, to spend a time with our mother's mother, Galadriel."

Your eyes were wide. "Galadriel is a grandma?! Your grandma?!"

Lindir and Elros looked at each other in amusement. "Elves," Said Lindir, "Live forever, so long as we are not killed by injury, or the wounds of the heart."

"Wounds of the heart?" You echoed.

"When love remains unrequited, it is sometimes too much to bear," Replied Elros, "And the victim suffers long before dying of a broken heart. Oftentimes, it is when a wife perishes during childbirth, or when war or battle takes the life of a beloved, and their souls pass into the Halls of Mandos. I still worry for my father, even though my mother has long since passed due to child-sickness."

Your eyes widened. "I'm so sorry."

Elros raised a hand. "She is at peace now. She resides in the halls where her mother lives, and many of my kin who have long since passed on."

"Is Elrond gonna be okay?" Now you were worried. You didn't even know the guy (Even though you probably knew him before your amnesia.) but you didn't want him to die of heartbreak. He was being nice to you, and offering you a place to live if Thranduil decided to be more of an ass.

"He is strong," Lindir assured you, and partially Elros. "He is stout of heart and fierce of soul. He will live long yet, that I can assure you with the utmost certainty."

Together, Lindir and Elros took you to where another dark-haired Elf in the Rivendell attire spoke with a Lothlorien Elf in red-and-gold armor. White hair was braided away from his stern face. Elros said something in Elvish, getting their attention, and they both bowed to you. "[Y/N], child of [M/N], may I introduce you to Erestor, Chief Counselman of Elrond, and Haldir of Lothlorien."

"Mae govannen," They both said.

Haldir regarded you warily. "I have heard you come from far lands, one beyond even Arda."

You tried not to look stupid. "Arda?"

"This world upon which we live," Haldir clarified.

"Oh!" Now you knew what they were talking about. "You mean this whole planet? Mine never had a cool name; Earth, that's it, with a bunch of different countries on it. Are there countries besides Middle-Earth here?"

Erestor chuckled. "Yes. There is Beleriand, just the remains of it, to the farthest west. Also in the west lie the Gray Havens, and across the Sea are the Undying Lands of Aman, far from Endor-- that is to say, collectively, Middle-Earth and Beleriand."

"Oh, cool! Where I come from, nowhere has cool names anymore, except for maybe Dubai, Greece, and Rome. In the past, there were hardly ever cool places, except for Egypt and Babylon."

The four Elves around you glanced to each other in amusement, as if you were a child just learning new things; and you pretty much were...

"Haldir," Said a familiar voice, and you perked up as Blue-Eyes stepped through the crowd. Your heart sank as he completely avoided your gaze. Damn, you should be used to this kinda shit by now. One small thing and someone abandons you. "We go to meet the dwarves. You have told your party, yes?"

"Of course, mellon."

"As have I," Added Erestor as Blue-Eyes went to ask. "None of us may like this, but it the word of a Maiar, of which the Noldor still yet revere. Worry not, Legolas."

Blue-Eyes nodded, glanced to you, and walked back through the suddenly-departing crowd as the doors opened. You hefted up your bag further onto your shoulder. "Mmkay, Lindir?" You fell into step with the purple-clad Elf.

"What is it?"

"Questions. Lots of them. What the hell is a Mayan and a No-door?"

Lindir chuckled. "Maiar, and Noldor. The Noldor are the oldest of the Elves. The Maiar are wizards, servants of the Valar; such as Saruman, Mithrandir, and Radagast."

"They met gods?"

"Yes," Said Lindir doubtfully, eyeing you. "Do the people of your world not know of their gods?"

You scoffed dryly. "You kidding me? Almost everybody believes in some bearded guy in white floating through existence and pointing to a random spot, then saying 'Let there be light!' Bam, universe created. Others have much more gruesome stories; like in Norse, Odin and his two brothers cut up a giant to create the world. Then there was Egyptian, where two godly people representing the earth and sky consummated and BAM, universe created again. They all say the gods came from the sky, which others believe to be aliens-- people from other planets entirely-- but I've always been an atheist."

"And what does that mean?"

"That I don't believe a goddamn word of any of that 'god' shit."

"You should not speak of them so, for they hear all."

"Yuck. Let's hope they don't find somebody on their wedding night."

Lindir's eyes bugged out of his head. "That was... Sudden."

You grinned. "I'm like that. Get used to it, Lindy."

He frowned. "My name is Lindir."

"I know that," You laughed. "It's a nickname. It's a sign of friendship."

Lindir smiled. "Oh. Then we are friends, then?"

"Sure! I've never been friends with so many people before!" You looked ahead excitedly, waving when you seen Legolas glaring at you. So what if he was pissed? You'd make him un-pissed.

Lindir gave you a sad look. "But you have only befriended Legolas and myself."

"And Tauriel."

"Still, that is only three people." He looked genuinely confused. "Do the people of your world not believe in friendship either?"

You sighed. "Not really. They're more interested in betrayal. Me, personally, I've had it all. Betrayal, death, abandonment... I've gone through some shitty times, that's for sure. One catastrophe after the next. One painful step at a time through it. I've been through hell and back, been shattered like glass and looked death in the eye, and somehow, I'm still standing. Sometimes it feels like I've lived a thousand lifetimes in only nineteen years." You gave him a sideways smile before looking back ahead of you, trying to block all of the flashbacks...

Lindir regarded you with newfound admiration. "I can... See it, in your eyes. I believe all of us can. The things that you have endured are marked on your stride, and not many could recover from what you have recently gone through so quickly. A human with your strength is... Unheard of."

You laughed. "Yeah, 'cause now I'm an Elf!"

Lindir laughed too then, as did a few other Elves and she-Elves near to you-- as you walked out of the doors of Mirkwood's palace, you got this strange, tingly sensation in your core... The odd feeling of people laughing with you, not at you. The feeling of not being judged. Of people realizing you've been through hell. Of people not automatically striking you onto their enemy list because you're different.

As you moved into the north, the light filtering through the leaves was golden, and everything seemed at once surreal and ethereal. But aside from those two feelings, you felt one stronger than any other. You smiled as you looked around at your new friends in this new world, which still felt so familiar. You were happier than you'd ever been. Even though you'd miss your family, you were glad the portal had been closed.

And there are many paths to tread...

Through shadow, to the edge of night...

Until the stars are all alight...

You passed Blue-Eyes, who'd climbed a tree to scout, and when he seen your awestruck, childlike expression, even he, who was currently pissed at you, couldn't help but smile at down at you. You smiled back. That warm feeling returned.

Finally, I'm where I belong.

I'm...

I’m...home.

Tag List: @tesserphantom​ @thedragonghostofmordor​ @hauntedsiriel​ @reclusive-chicken-nugget​ @naryamirie​ @legolasdeserveslove​ @escapingthoughtsandsecrets​ @sagabriar​ @brushwood-souls​ @taurlel​

If anybody wants to be tagged, just let me know!

Extra Notes: Elvish is SO FUCKING HARD. And yes I put the Elvenqueen in this. And dwarves are inbound. Don't guess the plotline, just DON'T.

Fun Facts: In Old Nordic mythology, there was a forest known as Mirkwood. There was also a dwarf called Durin, who created the line of the most power dwarfs, some of which, just to name a few, were Thorin, Fili, Kili, Dvalin, Balin, Oin, Oakenshield, and Gandalf. There were also many types of Elves-- Ljosalfar were the Light Elves, and Dokkalfar were the Dark Elves. In general, Elves were known as Alfar, and they lived in Alfheimr, "The Land of the Elves." Supposedly, Alfheimr had shining trees of silver and gold, like Lothlorien. Also, there was a dragon called Fafnir, a cursed fire-drake, coppery-red, who laid atop a mound of gold and guarded his wrongfully-taken treasure with his life. The original owner of this treasure was a dwarf, reduced to a husk of his former self, called Andvari, who, out of all of this treasure, loved most a golden ring, inscribed with runes. He cursed this ring, so that all who wore it would soon come into misfortune...

[allbeendonebefore]

Any headcanons for Oliver? I read the list of headcanons for some of the other provinces that you did and I’m very curious.

oh boy those were ages ago i’ll dig up a few so i can remember the vibe of the things i wrote

for those of you just joining us, my past headcanon posts

BC | AB | SK | MB 1 + 2 | NB

while other provinces are torn between living in one city or another or out in the middle of nowhere, oliver doesn’t have that issue. he lives in toronto and holidays in one of an entire network of cottages across the province and does not feel conflicted about that in the least. and he doesnt live “in toronto” in the gta, he lives IN toronto in some old annex style house and good luck getting rid of him.

he LOVES living alone, he relishes his independence, he does NOT miss being trapped living with jean NOT ONE BIT!! he does NOT create fake arguments over what should go over the mantle or what to make for dinner with the chattery squirrel outside because he’s LONELY.

Self indulgent headcanon but since he understands how difficult it is to live in the city and how valuable a good education is, he will occasionally rent out the basement to a quiet and tidy university student or two. He has a soft spot for kids who are trying to find their feet and figure out who they are away from their parents (as long as they do their chores).

Despite his downtown living and his urban elite image, he has experience working in factories and on farms and that tends to catch people off guard. He knows his way around milking a cow and he loves to tinker with machinery, getting his hands dirty doesn’t bother him even though he does love to mope and solicit pity. 

he just cannot physically help being overdramatic and bitchy, it’s just the tough outer layer he developed trying to survive american assimilation (and jean’s cutting words lol). he thinks his sarcasm is among his most endearing quality, since the people who Get It always laugh.

OF COURSE THERE ARE GRADES OF MAPLE SYRUP ??? why Wouldnt there be

he thinks his most relatable story is tfw you cut the bag of milk too open and it sloshes everywhere and doesn’t get the mixed reception at parties

It’s not that he doesn’t drink or that he’s against drinking, per se, at least, not anymore. He just likes being the designated driver because he likes the moral high ground, not because he’s secretly a mother hen who wants everyone to get home safe. 

he grew up in the southern... peninsula (you know that... sorry i get so confused about whats north and west in ontario.)Anyway it’s not that he doesn’t Also represent Northern Ontario, it’s just sometimes hard to pry him out of his original comfort zone and he sometimes gets stuck in his own head in the south. 

it’s not like mani would know what to do with all that space up there anyway, it’s just best that he takes care of it, it’s always best that he be left to manage things, he’s just more organized, he’s the brains, he’s the one with the vision, no he does not accept constructive criticism, what kind of leader would he be if he was openly questioned... that’s not how he was raised at all. imagine, entertaining other people’s ideas. 

Ollie likes to think he’s the rational one but pretty much every move he made in his early days was out of fear and anxiety; he can sometimes be overly cautious and people who just go out and do things just baffle him. 

He’s really open with his feelings (particularly when it involves complaining, which he loves) but he’s horrible at delegating tasks or asking for help. He also gets easily frustrated when people have given up on helping him without him having to ask, but he still insists on trying to do everything himself.

is it weird i cannot fathom him in anything but an mlm relationship lol

He won’t forgive rude behaviour, even if he appears like a doormat to an American. He remembers when he’s been rude to and compensates by being overly polite. The only person who’s immune to this seems to be Jean, who always seems to be getting away with being rude...

that said he drops way more f-bombs than most of the others and americans always either think it’s either adorable (and make fun of his perceived accent) or are SO SHOCKED that their INNOCENT BABY FRIEND would have such LANGUAGE!

has such. a weird. distorted. romantic idea of what road trips are. i dont know if he knows how to travel in places where rest stops arent cleaned every couple hours or if he’s ever had to pee in the bush or stay in a place without electricity in the time that he’s owned a car. 

he’s always been a huge natural history nerd, he loves spending time in natural history exhibits and geeking out over weird birds and fish and minerals. 

shakespeare in the park anyone?! shakespeare in the living room??? shakespeare over zoom conference? reciting shakespeare while outside oil painting the fall colours?! DID SOMEONE MENTION SHAKESPEARE.

he also loves sailing and swimming and he’s got a weirdly extensive canoe collection squirreled away somewhere. 

had a LOT of pressure on him as a kid to be the Good and Perfect child, not like those nasty yankees. He’s not very good at acting out and being rebellious, but he will absolutely stand his ground on an issue that’s dear to him, particularly if his control over something is threatened. 

anywhere you can’t take a train to is fake adn should not have been counted

he’s still an avid tea drinker and has lots of opinions about tea time and has been making the same recipes for literally 200 years (jean puts up with this because he cannot be assed to make his own little fine cakes, ok, and if ollie has extra for him to take home its to his advantage. if oliver makes extra specifically because he knows jean likes them, that’s for him to know. and same with homemade fudge and butter tarts and candy and ice cream, neither of them outgrew their sweet tooth) 

also he’s somewhat motivated by jean’s blunt reactions to his baking because thats how he’s going to survive the blue ribbon baking and jam making events against those tough and bitter old ladies, jean is perfect practice (although some of his best and most nuanced insults don’t translate very well)

his french is not bad nor is he embarrassed of it, he’s annoying in both official languages.

he gets mad when you say he’s practically interchangeable with matt but he still seems to think the things he does are things that all canadians do or like or have, i mean, why wouldn’t they? but they still owe him for that.

he compensates for his relative lack of interest or seeming inability to ask the others how they’re doing (because thats rude! and prying! and he’s sure they’re just fine! he doesn’t meddle anymore because people get upset when he rearranges their pantries) with an almost weird obsession with his self image and what’s happening internationally