#wayne national forest

[cavett]

my life in appalachia

[middleland]

Beechdrops (Epifagus virginiana) by Wayne National Forest

Via Flickr:

Come the start of fall, tiny spikes of purple and white flowers begin popping up around the bases of beech trees. These are the flowers of Beechdrops (Epifagus virginiana), a parasite that feeds on American Beech trees. There are several types of parasitic plants. The past two plants we shared (Ghost Pipe and Pinesap) were a certain type of parasite that feed on fungi living on plant roots. Other types of parasitic plants can feed on a wide variety of plant species. Beechdrops is an example of yet another type of parasite that only feed on one very specific host. In the case of Beechdrops, they only feed on American Beech trees. Beechdrops have specialized roots that are able to pierce the roots of beech trees to access and steal some of the food and nutrients flowing through the beech’s xylem and phloem. Will Beechdrops kill a beech tree? Nope! A “good” parasite makes sure it doesn’t kill its host, because without a living host the parasite itself won’t be able to survive. Beechdrops are very common throughout the Wayne National Forest. While not every beech tree will have Beechdrops growing around it, many do. Forest Service photo by Kyle Brooks         

[vintagecamping]

The Arthur Roberts family, from Huntington, West Virginia, camping at the Vesuvius Recreation Area.

Wayne National Forest, Ohio.

June 20, 1960

[plethoraworldatlas]

A new Bureau of Land Management plan to open 40,000 acres of the Wayne National Forest to fracking for oil and gas looks almost identical to one a federal judge rejected in 2020. The public can comment on the plan in writing or during online meetings Monday and Tuesday.

Fossil fuel companies have targeted Ohio’s only national forest for years and in 2016 the BLM first attempted to auction off oil and gas leases in the Wayne. The new proposal, released in late March, is nearly identical to the fracking plan blocked in 2020 after conservation groups challenged it in federal court.

“It’s hugely disappointing that federal officials are sticking with this climate-destroying plan to sell off Ohio’s precious public lands to the oil and gas industry, even as flooding, wildfires and heat waves intensify with climate change,” said Wendy Park, a senior attorney at the Center for Biological Diversity. “Our government needs to prioritize people, wildlife and our climate over corporate profits and block fracking in the Wayne once and for all. Ohio residents have the chance to speak out over the next few weeks, and I hope land managers get an earful about this reckless fracking proposal.”

Fracking threatens the Wayne’s rivers, forests and endangered plants and animals ― the same things Congress intended to protect when it created the national forest in the 1930s.

“Fracking the Wayne National Forest would seriously jeopardize Ohio’s ability to fight climate change. This single oil and gas project threatens to generate enough greenhouse gas pollution to cancel out all of the Wayne’s carbon storage services for the next 30 years,” said Nathan Johnson, senior attorney with the Ohio Environmental Council. “Leasing the Wayne to the fossil fuel industry will scar this public forest and pollute our air with toxic chemicals. We should be doing everything we can to protect the public’s access to safe and beautiful public lands — especially in Ohio, where public land is in relatively short supply compared to so many other states.”

[my-lifes-reward]

ATV Riding the Wayne National Forest Monday Trailhead - Part 2

This video is a visit to the Wayne National Forest in Southeastern Ohio. Specifically, it is an ATV/AVP ride on the Monday Creek Trailhead, the Main Corridor, and the Bowl Trail. The total ride was 14.7 miles.

This video is a visit to the Wayne National Forest in Southeastern Ohio. Specifically, it is an ATV/AVP ride on the Monday Creek Trailhead, the Main Corridor, and the Bowl Trail. The total ride was 14.7 miles. The State of Ohio and volunteer groups have worked hard to develop and maintain 50″ trails for some of the best in the country. These unique elevation changes are literally scaling…

[hawaii-ocean-photography]

Fun photos for today

New post and fun pics! Subscribe on the website for my (infrequent) blogs.

Is anyone else fascinated by buzzards (or vultures, whichever name you use)? These photos were taken in Wayne National Forest at Burr Oak Lake. According to mythology, Zeus was angry with Prometheus for giving fire to humans. As punishment, Zeus chained him on a mountaintop where vultures ate his liver and flesh; each night he would be healed and endure it anew every day. Prometheus was finally…

[purple-goo-writes]

Sooo been listening Mr. Creeps Park Ranger stories on YouTube and welll...

What if Danny became a park ranger in one of the national parks in Illinois near Amity? Could be a real National part or one made up.

After all he can't be an astronaut and maybe Sam dragging him to conservation rallies an other stuff influenced him. Sure he likes Tinkering and has a few patents like his parents do, but he loved the stars more and being able to see the clear stars from the Fire Watch Tower helped.

Plus all the weird and supernatural things that happen there, well Danny is as supernatural as one can get and at least it isn't a squishy human having to deal with something like a wendigo or rapid bear. Some things he can bargain or reason with, though others he had to either detour others from that area or sometimes Deal with himself.

(Sometimes he was glad he was already half dead and could heal, after reattached an arm. Looks like he had to add new rules to the book to teach the newbies)

So he has been at this for a few decades now, officially "retired" from hero work but not from dealing with the supernatural. By now he knew how to deal with the fae that made their home in the Grove near by, how to avoid certain entities or bargain with others or thr steps you needed to take to avoid confrontation, knew how to detour hikers and campers from the more blood thirsty residents of the Park and rescue those unlucky enough to lose their way from the trails.

Sadly he couldn't always save those who got lost, especially if they weren't near his tower when they went missing. But he tried his best.

He also had to deal with his fair share of Paranormal/Supernatural/Cryptid Hunters, groups of teens and young adults (sometimes older adults too) eager to find anything strange for clout. But most only found death if not careful. He had to rescue many from the more Ravenous residents. It was never fun for all parties involved and just annoying for Danny.

But his years of experience were going to be put to the test when dealing with this group of amateur hunters all nearly identical with their black hair and blue eyes (though only two didn't share this the youngest and the black teen who looked like he wished his siblings hadn't dragged him with them) who were there with a tired man Danny's age who shared their hair ad eye color. The Waynes (why did that sound familiar? He didn't leave the forest much, so didn't kep up with media) apparently were going on a small vacation/Camping trip and the eldest heard about all the cryptid and supernatural stories and wanted to check it out.

Danny could already tell he was going to have to fish one or two of them out of the golute of one of the beasties in the deeper parts of the Forest.

[fastcardotmp3]

future!steddie; long haul trucker Eddie; firefighter Steve ~1k words

It makes sense to Eddie, an obvious out when his world's gone to shit and he has to get away, that his escape route from Indiana is the same job his uncle left to settle down there and raise a kid with nowhere else to go.

Driving long haul means there's no one looking that close at a face that made it to the national news during his week on the run. It means living on the move, never stopping long enough to get stuck anywhere.

It means freedom.

It means loneliness.

He calls Wayne twice a week, coins in pay phones at rest stops while he's waiting for his hair to dry post-public shower, and that's enough for him.

Wayne has always been enough for him, and it would be hurtful to suggest otherwise; it would be disrespectful to the life Wayne helped him build, keeps helping him build with all that faith that had him never doubting an innocence questioned by everyone else in that God-forsaken town.

Twice a week. It's the only phone number he knows by heart.

Twice a week for weeks and then months and then years, driving cross-country and back again, it's freedom. He keeps telling himself it's freedom, that it's good, that he doesn't need anything more than that.

But driving long haul means there's a lot of time for thinking.

It means a lot of time for collecting thoughts up together and creating new meaning entirely.

It means that by the time he's twenty-one and twenty-five and thirty that he has tape after tape after tape where he's collected those thoughts aloud in the rumbling loud silence of an overnight drive.

Thoughts like who would I be if I'd stuck around? and thoughts like will they understand that this time running saved my life? and thoughts like I miss them, am I allowed to miss them, am I allowed to love them without ever really knowing them?

It means that when he stops for all but the first time in ten years, coming home to Wayne to find that Forest Hills is home to a couple more familiar faces than he expected, there's space for his words. His endless, looping thoughts.

Steve's got his own trailer these days, brings in Wayne's mail for him on the mornings he comes home from the night shift at the fire station and stays for coffee.

Steve's there across the way when Eddie drives up in a new-used flatbed truck he'd bought with his final paycheck on the day he hung up his hat and decided he'd been gone long enough.

Steve's there in stories Wayne only begins telling now that Eddie is home, endless retellings of a brand-new man who became a friend during a time when the name Munson was still a dangerous thing to carry.

Steve's there when Eddie starts transcribing all his dictated notes into something resembling narrative and character and prose and Eddie doesn't know the guy who jumped headfirst into another dimension, hasn't spoken to him since that week that forced Eddie to flee in the first place, but maybe he doesn't need to have those years under his belt.

Maybe it doesn't matter if Eddie knows a nineteen-year-old Steve Harrington, because he knows the twenty-nine-year-old one starting a matter of hours after he comes crawling back home, knows this grown and steady one who looked after Wayne when Eddie had to leave.

This Steve isn't stuck despite still living in the town that tried to kill him. He doesn't seem lost or without purpose.

He lives a simple life, working at the Hawkins FD and feeding stray dogs with the bowls he leaves out beside his porch. Robin comes and goes, seemingly dating her way through the Midwest's entire sapphic population and sleeping on Steve's couch in between live-in girlfriends.

There are old friends on the phone at near constant intervals in Steve's home, and there's that phone being pressed to Eddie's ear without giving him the chance to be terrified about what Erica or Dustin or Max might say to the guy who hasn't allowed anyone but Wayne access to him for a decade, what he might say back after so many years without proper human socialization.

Eddie has been moving for so long, stayed moving through the bulk of his acceptance of everything that happened to him, but there's a different sort of quiet here than what he found on the road, stillness, amongst the casual chaos.

There's similarities to life on his rig, sure, a certain routine to the comings and goings, only Eddie isn't hiding anymore and he's not thumbing through the same staticky stations anymore and he's not lonely anymore.

He doesn't know how to sit still yet, not really, but he stays up all night handwriting poetry on paper he once spoke onto tape on the porch of his uncle's trailer and sometimes when Steve gets home after dark, he'll sit with him.

He'll eat his dinner still in uniform and listen to the scratch of Eddie's pen and Eddie doesn't know him, Steve Harrington, but he's getting to know his neighbor Steve.

Ten years down the line and he's becoming solid right there in front of Eddie's eyes, becoming real, becoming something that can't possibly fit onto the tapes filled with nonsense and insights alike.

"You're never what I think you're going to be," Eddie admits to him one morning over coffee before Wayne or Robin have risen, before the phone has begun to ring, before the world wakes up and brings Eddie's life along with it, ready or not.

Steve smiles at him, amused and curious and cocky in the way he responds, "you're exactly who Wayne said you are."

It's an admission all its own, that Steve has thought about Eddie, spoken about him, in the time they've spent apart, even if it was only because he'd dared to keep Wayne Munson's company.

It's still an admission though, that in his absence, in his loneliness out on the road, Eddie wasn't forgotten by the watercolor skies over Hawkins, Indiana.

"Yeah?" Eddie breathes in those very skies, "and what did Wayne say I'd be?"

Ten years down the line and suddenly it makes sense to Eddie.

It makes sense in the morning dew on the lawn; it makes sense in the too-strong Harrington-brewed coffee; it makes sense in the wheels of his truck on a road that does end, eventually, and it makes sense in the collected thoughts and feelings, fears and dreams that he had to go away to decipher.

The freedom was in leaving, sure, but this? The coming home to Wayne and this porch and the man who lives across the way?

"Stick around, Munson," Steve Harrington dares on a morning like any other, "and maybe I'll just tell you."

Well. As it turns out, this might be the thing that saves him.

[wikipediapictures]

Cerioporus squamosus

“The mushroom Polyporus squamosus Huds. ex Fr. Photographed in Kinderhook Trail, Wayne National Forest, Ohio, USA. Notes: ‘On standing dead elm.’” - via Wikimedia Commons

[steviestits]

My God Longs For Me - Part 1.1

Written for an anon prompt, which can be read in its entirety on this fic’s masterpost.

Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Rating: T (E for later chapters) Summary: When Steve was a child, he was abducted and brought to the cult, the Hellfire Club, as he was prophesied to be the wife of the dark forest god they worshiped. Steve enjoyed his time there, especially the time he spent with the cult leader's nephew, Eddie. This wasn't meant to last however as Steve was eventually returned to his parents. Thanks to the deprogrammer that his parents hired and time, Steve has mostly forgotten the cult that raised him. That is until he goes on a camping trip and his friends start to get murdered one by one with the only connection between the killings being the ritual offerings to the cult's gods and the strange dreams Steve has before each one. Now Steve must piece together his past to discover who is murdering his friends in the present. (Inspired heavily by various horror movies and is a horror story itself.) Trigger Warning: Child Abuse, Feminization, Brainwashing Eventual Trigger Warning: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Ritual Sacrifices, Gore, Mpreg, Body Horror, Monster Fucking

According to his parents, when he was three, Steve had been abducted by a “satanic” cult called the Hellfire Club. If Steve was being honest, he barely remembered being taken. The only bit he did vaguely remember was playing on the swings while his nanny read her book when another little boy approached him. His name was Eddie, and he told Steve that he’d been chosen. Eddie took Steve’s hand then led him to a black sedan, where Eddie’s uncle and adoptive father, Wayne, sat waiting to drive them back to the compound.

The compound was located deep in the forest, forged from the ruins of an abandoned summer camp. They were all nice and welcoming. No one told him to sit up straight or to shut up because the grown-ups were talking. All of them wanted to hear what he had to say and treated him like he was special, almost to the point of reverence. It was different from home where his parents were gone all the time and his nanny ignored him in favor of her own interests. Almost instantly, Steve felt like he never wanted to go back to the Harringtons, that here was his home.

Steve was given new clothes to wear, tons of flowery hair accessories and earthy dresses. They let him grow his hair out, and once he got older, they showed him how to wear make-up. Steve loved it. He felt pretty, and when Eddie saw him, he’d say all sorts of nice things to him, like calling him beautiful. It could’ve been because they were promised to each other, as that’s why they’d taken Steve. He was going to be Eddie’s bride once Eddie took over the compound from Wayne. Still, the words made Steve’s insides flutter all the same.

Being promised to Eddie hadn’t felt like anything at first except the shared excitement that he’d get to be married to his best friend. Eddie created the best games for them to play, and he had such an amazing imagination, that it was hard not to be drawn to Eddie’s charismatic ways. All Steve wanted to do was spend every waking second with the other boy, so it was no surprise that feelings had started to develop once they reached puberty and the time of their marriage would be approaching soon.

It started out small, just holding hands during the summer nights and snuggling in front of the fire in the winter. Then when they were thirteen, they shared their first kiss. They kissed more after that, had even been talking about taking it to the next level, French kissing, but they never got a chance because that’s when the police finally tracked him down, separating him from Eddie to return him to his rightful home where he lived with the Harringtons.

How they found him was that the news had done a special on him, the ten-year anniversary of his disappearance. It had shocked the nation that a boy from such a high-income neighborhood could be taken without a trace, so the issue of safety plagued the minds of the upper-class as they worried about their heirs being snatched from the playground. The special went into all of this, showed his parents’ impassioned pleas for the kidnapper to return their son, and the video surveillance from the store across from where Steve had been taken.

As luck would have it, someone recognized the car as the one Wayne drove, and one police raid later, the Hellfire Club had been dismantled while Wayne was arrested. Steve didn’t know what happened to Eddie after that, as he was whisked away from the arms of the only boy he’d loved, only to be deposited into those of the Harringtons. They had been there at the police station with his mother crying when she saw his appearance, hugging him too tight and pressing rough kisses into his cheek while moaning about what they had done to her little boy.

The Harringtons then took away his dresses and makeup while forcing him to cut his hair. They explained to him that boys didn’t wear clothes that were clearly reserved for little girls. It was unnatural and made him a freak. That was how they knew the cult was evil and didn’t care about him, they said, as no self-respecting person would let their son be a freak, which is why they found the best deprogrammer to make Steve their kind of normal again.

Once he was presentable, the Harringtons started bringing him to news stations to do interviews about his kidnapping, so he could share his harrowing tale with the rest of the world. He didn’t tell his story as much as he sat there while his parents talked about satanic rituals and human sacrifices, how they were so lucky Steve didn’t end up as one. No one cared about what Steve actually experienced or about how nice they’d been to him or how he’d been promised to Eddie. They had their narrative, and Steve was supposed to nod along without complaint.

Steve went on every news and talk show that they had on air, paraded out in front of the audience who looked at him with sympathy, as if he’d been tortured for ten years straight. On top of television appearances, his dad met with important business executives and producers. He had sold the rights to Steve’s story, which would make them even richer than they already were, even if none of what they sold was true. Though he supposed no one cared if it was true as long as it made a good story and won them a couple of best drama awards.

All the while, Steve waited for Eddie to show up to save him. Eddie had promised that he’d always be there when Steve needed him, because husbands took care of their wives. He never showed up, however, and Steve started to believe that maybe his parents were right, that Eddie had never cared about him, that like everyone else, Eddie only cared about what Steve could give him instead of about his well-being. It felt like a piece of him had died when he realized that Eddie had abandoned him.

The sensationalism of his abduction did die down eventually, allowing Steve to return to what his life would’ve been like if Wayne had never taken him. Steve dressed as a boy, and he started dating girls, even if he never loved any of them like he loved Eddie. He also started going to school in their small town, and his dad picked out some boys for Steve to be friends with because their fathers were well-connected.

Unlike at the compound, when Steve had trouble learning, they didn’t slow down to explain it to him in more detail until he understood, but the teachers looked at him like he was an idiot who was wasting everyone’s time. And the boys that became his friends weren’t like Eddie. They were mean and cruel, but Steve was trapped. He had to comply or else, and he couldn’t just run away because the police would place him right back where he started.

Time passed, and before Steve knew it, he had barely graduated from college with a degree in finance, so he could work in his dad’s company. He was still friends with the same group of boys that his dad had picked out for him, too. They went to the same university, took the same classes, and were now all going to work together, because like him, their dad expected them to follow in their footsteps like the good sons they were.

Masterpost ~ Part 1.2

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

North To The Future [Chapter 4: Semi-Charmed Life]

The year is 1999. You are just beginning your veterinary practice in Juneau, Alaska. Aegon is a mysterious, troubled newcomer to town. You kind of hate him. You are also kind of obsessed with him. Falling for him might legitimately ruin your life…but can you help it? Oh, and there’s a serial killer on the loose known only as the Ice Fisher.

Chapter warnings: Language, alcoholism, addiction, murder, veterinary medicine, delicious Thanksgiving nomz, ANGST and let me repeat that last one in case you missed it ANGSTTTTTTTTT!!!

Word count: 5k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @elsolario​ @meadowofsinfulthoughts​ @ladylannisterxo​ @doingfondue​ @tclegane​ @quartzs-posts​ @liathelioness​ @aemcndtargaryen​ @thelittleswanao3​ @burningcoffeetimetravel​ @b1gb3anz​ @hinata7346​ @poohxlove​ @borikenlove​ @myspotofcraziness​ @travelingmypassion​ @graykageyama​ @skythighs​ @lauraneedstochill​ @darlingimafangirl​ @charenlie​ @thewew​ @eddies-bat-tattoos​ @minttea07​​

Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

Here’s the thing about the Ice Fisher: he doesn’t have a type. Ted Bundy liked girls and young women. John Wayne Gacy liked boys and young men. Juan Corona liked farm laborers, Belle Gunness liked suitors who answered the marriage ads she placed in Chicago newspapers, Robert Hansen liked sex workers who he would set loose in the Alaskan wilderness and then hunt down with his Ruger Mini-14. Everyone has their preferences. But not the Ice Fisher.

The first victim was a burly mid-fifties logger and recreational hunter named Josiah Wolfenstein. The second was nineteen-year-old college student Tammy Miller; she was from Sitka and studying psychology, a choice that now strikes you as ironic. The third and most recent victim was Carol Philips: forty-three, Garth Brooks superfan, amateur baker, and beloved soccer mom. They have nothing in common except for their manner of death. They reveal no pattern. They shed no light on who the Ice Fisher is targeting, and conversely who can consider themselves safe. Everyone is a potential victim. And there is no such thing as safe.

In between veterinary appointments, you watch the local news coverage on the grainy tv in the clinic lobby, your arms crossed instinctively over your chest, your face grim.

“You want some bear mace?” Jennifer says, showing you a small black cannister attached to a keychain. “My boyfriend buys a new one for me every time someone gets murdered, so now I have extra.”

You take it tentatively. “Bear mace?”

“Yeah, but it works on people too. It has a 30-foot range. You can spray that Greek guy with it.”

You laugh and clip the bear mace to your purse: a Coach patchwork saddle bag that your parents bought you a few Christmases ago. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Chief of Police Eugene Baker, a high school classmate of your parents, is holding a press conference on the television screen. “We believe this killer to be an adult male with considerable physical strength and knowledge of the outdoors. While the first two victims were found in Dredge Lake, Ms. Philips’ remains were recovered from nearby Crystal Lake, complicating the investigation. Police are patrolling the Tongass National Forest, but we simply do not have the manpower to surveille all Juneau-area lakes at all times. We therefore will continue to ask for the public’s cooperation in submitting tips and identifying possible suspects. To this end, we have set up an anonymous 24/7 hotline staffed by volunteers; the phone number is displayed at the bottom of your screen. We advise all Juneau residents to stay vigilant, particularly around strangers, and avoid leaving their homes alone after dark…”

Outside in the violet-and-amber afternoon light, there is the sound of tires slipping on ice. Aegon’s 1985 Chevy Nova drifts sideways into a parking spot; or, rather, into a position improbably straddling three separate parking spots. He and Sunfyre exit the vehicle.

“Oh, great,” Jen grumbles. She hides behind the reception desk so she won’t have to interact with Aegon. She busies herself with cutting pieces of paper into snowflakes, impaling them with paperclips, and arranging them on the miniature Christmas tree that you obtained for the clinic.

“Hey!” Aegon announces merrily as he breezes inside. He is dressed in his light-wash Levis, black Converses, and an oversized pale green sweater with holes in it; the white of the T-shirt he has on underneath shines through the gaps like stars. Overtop he has thrown the black parka you gave him, unzipped and peppered with melting snowflakes. Half of his hair is pulled back in a messy bun. Sunfyre—still wearing his cone of shame—trots along beside him, unleashed.

“Hey,” you return, smiling. “You’re early.”

“We weren’t catching anything, there was an orca pod in the bay this morning and it scared most of the fish off. So we docked the boat after lunch.” His spots the new addition to your purse. “What’s up with that?”

“It’s bear mace. For bears…or serial killers…or you. I haven’t decided which yet. What’s up with your hair?”

“It’s a man bun,” he says, somewhat defensive. “They’re very popular in Southern California.”

“That sounds fictional.”

“I’ll have you know that in the acclaimed feature film Mulan, love interest and all-around badass General Li Shang had a man bun.”

“Literally fictional.”

“Are you going to take the stitches out of my dog’s face or are you just going to mercilessly bully me? I’m very sensitive, you know. As an Aquarius, I hide this beneath a thin veneer of rebellious behavior and inability to commit, but at my heart I am a profoundly fragile man. I’m forever just a few seconds away from disaster. I’m a Christmas ornament in the unsteady hands of a five-year-old high on the jittery, saccharine rush of Kool-Aid.”

“Tropical Punch?”

“Cherry. But knowing you, every cup would have to be a brand new flavor.”

You’re still smiling; you haven’t stopped since he walked in. Aegon smiles back. Jen peeks over the top of the reception desk with wide, curious eyes. Sunfyre whines and scratches at his cone, as if to remind everyone about the true purpose of this visit.

“Bring the beast,” you say, leading Aegon back into the exam room. He scoops up Sunfyre with a grunt and places him on top of the table; the dog’s nails click against the cool, reflective metal surface. You liberate Sunfyre from his cone, then numb his muzzle with lidocaine and remove the stitches one at a time, snipping them with surgical scissors and then pulling them out of the flesh with tweezers. Aegon watches you with his hands in his parka pockets, his expression strangely vacant.

“He’ll have a scar, won’t he?”

“Yes, a small one. But that will just make him more rugged and attractive to all the lady-dogs. Or gentleman-dogs, whatever Sunfyre is into.”

“A scar on his face,” Aegon murmurs, then shakes his pensiveness away. “What should I bring to Thanksgiving?”

“Probably nothing. I think my parents have it covered…the appetizers, the dinner, the desserts…and also, you do not strike me as someone who cooks.”

“Yeah, I eat a lot of Lunchables. But I feel like I should bring something.”

Your eyes flick to his, playful. “Are you worried about making a good first impression?”

Aegon smirks, shrugs, says nothing. Sometimes you make an appearance at Ursa Minor, sometimes you don’t; sometimes you pick up when he calls, sometimes you end up spending hours in his apartment watching the X-Files or Law & Order or 60 Minutes. Other times, you fill your time with work, family, friends, flipping through the tower of travel magazines you have stacked beside your bed. It’s not that you’re ignoring Aegon. It’s that you’re trying to figure out what being with him would be like: what you would gain, what it would cost. He hasn’t tried to touch you since that night under the Northern Lights. You haven’t tried to pry into his many mysteries. But each unanswered question is like a landmine one careless step away from eruption, and they’re filling up that space that stays between you on his threadbare floral couch. At this precise moment, Aegon seems sober, which is highly unusual. There’s something quiet and boyish about him when he’s like this, something almost vulnerable. You can picture him wandering aimlessly through the Foodland, staring at mounds of Idaho potatoes and cans of gooey apple pie filling, having no idea what to do with any of it.

“My mom really likes flowers,” you say. “And obviously she doesn’t get to see them a lot this time of year. So if you want to bring something, bring flowers.”

“Okay. Deal.”

“No rum and Cokes today?” you ask, still removing stitches with sure, deft hands.

“Not yet. But I’m counting the seconds until we’re done here, believe me.”

You recall what he told you as you sat together in Ursa Minor under Christmas lights and strands of shimmering silver tinsel: I don’t do well when I’m sober. You pull out the last stitch and pet Sunfyre’s soft fluffy head. He pants happily, his tail thumping against the table, his trusting dark eyes gazing up at you, tiny starless universes. “Why did you buy the Nova if you’re almost always too drunk to drive it?”

“So I can take Sunfyre up to the woods on nice days. He loves the trails.”

“Um, I don’t think you should be hiking out there alone.”

“Relax. Killers never get the people who deserve it.” Aegon flashes you grin, digs around in his parka pocket, tosses you a gold key that you catch in fumbling, cupped palms. “Here.”

“What is this?”

“It’s a spare. Just in case you ever want to stop by and hang out with my dog. Or, you know. Me.”

You gawk at the key, at Aegon, back to the key. “You’re giving me a…? Why would…? How…?”

“Just so you know it’s an option,” Aegon says. He lifts Sunfyre down from the exam table and leaves like the sun at dusk.

~~~~~~~~~~

You love waking up at home on holiday mornings. There is the noise of clanging pots and pans, the scents of bacon and pancakes and rising Pillsbury cinnamon rolls, the sound of one of your dad’s rock albums spinning on the record player in the living room. Today, his Thanksgiving preparation background music is Third Eye Blind; you bound down the stairs as Semi-Charmed Life drifts through the house. After a swift breakfast—your mom has already set out a plate for you, along with a glass of ice-cold orange juice and a Flintstones multivitamin—the real work begins.

The turkey is slathered with butter and herbs and placed in the oven. The neck and giblets are boiled to make stock for gravy, and then you set them aside for Sunfyre. The rolls are baked, the potatoes are mashed, the yams are smothered with brown sugar and marshmallows, the green bean casserole is topped with French’s fried onions, the stuffing is Stove Top out of the box, the cranberry sauce retains the precise shape of the aluminum can it was jiggled out of. Once you and your dad have finished setting the table, you tell him you’re heading out to pick up the mysterious friend who will be joining you for dinner.

“Your friend doesn’t have a car?” your dad asks, not critical or suspicious, merely intrigued. You have been uncharacteristically cagey about this particular friend, and with good reason. You know practically nothing besides what your parents have already surmised: male, probably single, inopportunely sexy.

“No, he does. I just told him that I’d give him a ride.” In case he gets too hammered to drive himself home, which is almost a certainty.

“Okay, ladybug,” your dad says, folding the red cloth napkins into inelegant triangles, his scruffy grey eyebrows knitted together. “Whatever floats your boat.”

When you knock on Aegon’s apartment door, he appears dressed in his most festive attire: a blue Hawaiian shirt, black jeans, combat boots, a gold chain around his neck, his white-blond hair neat and mostly straight. He is holding a bouquet of roses that have been dyed a deep sapphire color, like the ocean, like biting winter cold.

“Wow,” you say. “You look like Leonardo DiCaprio in Romeo + Juliet.”

“I hope I get a happier ending.” He calls Sunfyre over. The golden retriever pads into view. He is wearing a meticulously groomed coat of fur and a blue bowtie to match Aegon’s shirt.

“Hey, buddy!” you squeal in delight, squatting down to scratch Sunfyre’s ears and cover his scarred muzzle with quick smacking kisses. “You are going to be so psyched when you see what we have for you. There’s a nice turkey neck…and a heart, and a liver…and a delicious gizzard…and maybe even some nice juicy kidneys…and I’ll slice it up all up for you into easily chewable little bites…”

“Calm down, Appletini,” Aegon says, grabbing his parka. “You wouldn’t want anyone thinking you’re the Ice Fisher.”

Back at your parents’ house, your mom and dad dash to the door to meet your enigmatic friend, clamoring like teenage girls at an Enrique Iglesias concert. Aegon beams and shakes their hands, thanking them graciously for the invitation. Your dad shoots you a furtive grin: This friend IS sexy! Sunfyre presents himself for pats and high-pitched coos of adoration.

“I’m Vince, and this is my wife Debbie,” your dad says. “But you can call us Mom and Dad, that’ll make things less confusing. That’s what most of my daughter’s friends do.”

“That is so totally cool of you. I’m Aegon.”

“Aegon?!” your mom blurts out before she can stop herself.

He sighs. “It’s Greek.”

“Oh, how exotic!” she recovers tactfully, then gasps when he hands her the bouquet. “For me?!”

“It’s the absolute least I could do. I hope you like roses. The options at the Foodland were roses, roses, or…let me think…oh yeah, more roses.”

“They’re lovely,” your mom purrs. “And such a unique color!”

“They reminded me of Alaska, all the ocean, and ice, and big open sky…and also Appletini. Because I always give her the blue mug.”

Your parents blink at him, confounded. “…Appletini?” your dad ventures, smiling.

“It’s a long story,” you say, suddenly shy.

“Well, come on in,” your mom courteously deflects. “There are deviled eggs, salmon dip, Ritz crackers, and pigs in a blanket just waiting to be eaten.”

As your mom and dad bang around the kitchen putting the final touches on dinner, you and Aegon assemble your appetizer plates and loiter in the dining room, nibbling and chatting, bathed in the flickering golden light of the woodstove and humming along to the red Third Eye Blind vinyl that is still rotating on the record player like a bloody planet. There are three unopened bottles of wine on the table. Aegon keeps glancing at them, his eyes gleaming and famished.

“Would you like a tour of the house?” you say. “An authentic Alaskan house? Come March you’ll probably never have this opportunity again. You’ll be jet-setting off to some other far-flung destination, probably somewhere warm where they have plentiful Taco Bells and internet.”

“I’m not a fan of the internet,” Aegon replies, piling a Ritz cracker worryingly high with salmon dip. “But Taco Bells are a must. Yes, lead the way, oh wise and prophetic Madame Appletini.”

You show him the kitchen where your parents are laboring (floral wallpaper), the study (more floral wallpaper), the living room (wood paneling), and the backyard (adorned with a salt lick for the friendly neighborhood cow moose). Then you take Aegon upstairs to your bedroom. He ponders the details for a nerve-rackingly long time as he gnaws on slightly-too-crispy pigs in a blanket: your stack of travel magazines, your veterinary books, your dark blue bedding, the photographs taped to your mirror, the plethora of posters tacked to your walls.

Aegon speaks without looking at you, still investigating. “Has Trent ever gotten to enjoy your extensive collection of Ricky Martin posters?”

“Not yet. Preferably not ever.”

Now Aegon turns to you; he is smiling. “I feel so sorry for him.”

“Dinner’s ready, kids!” your dad shouts up the stairs, and you obediently report to the table to eat until you are in agony, which to your understanding is the primary objective of Thanksgiving.

“Drinks?” you mom inquires as she lights the tall red candles. The blue roses are in a vase at the center of the table. “There’s Tang, and Snapple, and water of course, and Pinot Noir. Martha Stewart says that’s the best wine to pair with turkey.”

“Wine, please,” Aegon says. She fills his glass. It vanishes almost immediately.

Aegon is the perfect guest: he samples everything and offers enthusiastic compliments, even when he is clearly horrified (as he is by the green bean casserole): “The turkey is so moist and flavorful!” “The yams are like dessert!” “It’s so fun to poke this cranberry sauce!” “My, what a creative use of cream of mushroom soup!” Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Sunfyre feasts on a plate of turkey organs and a few slices of white meat. You have a glass of wine, and so does your dad; your mom has two; you lose count of Aegon’s glasses after four. He becomes increasingly uncoordinated, giggly, fogged like a window. Your parents do not encourage him to drink, but they don’t try to stop him either; they ignore his drunkenness like a ghost that stands in the corner of the room, silent, waiting, set ablaze by firelight.

“Do I detect a British accent?” your dad asks Aegon pleasantly. “So this must be a new experience for you. Did you grow up abroad?”

“I grew up everywhere.” Aegon smirks evasively, swigging his wine. “And yes, my exposure to Thanksgiving is extremely limited. But I like this. I like this a lot. I’m going to have to do it every year, wherever I am. Sunfyre will rebel if I don’t. He’ll call PETA to file a complaint.”

“You do quite a bit of travelling, I gather,” your mom says. She watches Aegon with an intense, mesmerized sort of interest. It’s almost unnerving. It’s like she is searching for something: fingerprints dusted at a crime scene, gold nuggets sifted from a river.

“All over. All the time.”

“What do you do for work?”

“Everything,” Aegon says. “Here I’m salmon trolling. In San Francisco I was a dockworker, in San Diego I was a lifeguard—you don’t want to know how little training it takes to be a custodian of human lives, it’s absolutely horrifying, they’d let a great white shark be a lifeguard if it looked good in red—in Phoenix I did construction, just outside of Denver I got a job working on a cattle ranch. In Dallas I picked cotton. In Portland, Maine I caught lobsters. I’ll try anything once. I just like to keep moving. As long as I can make enough money to have somewhere for me and Sunfyre to sleep at night, I’m happy.”

“You’re just like Jack Dawson in Titanic,” your mom sighs, smiling in a way that brightens her whole face. “All you need is the air in your lungs.”

“You work on the same boat as Heather’s brother Trent, is that right?” your dad asks.

“Oh, Trent!” your mom says. “He’s a hunk. He looks just like a long-haired Matt Damon.”

You squint at her. “Yeah, if Matt Damon did steroids.”

“He’s a nice boy, that Trent,” your dad says. “I mean, he won’t be winning Who Wants To Be A Millionaire anytime soon, but he’s solid.”

Your mom nods in agreement. “Dumb as a rock.”

“He’s a great guy,” Aegon says diplomatically. “Wouldn’t hurt a fly. Unless that fly was a salmon.” He laughs overly-loudly, sloshing red wine out of his glass and staining the tablecloth like blood on snow. Your parents pretend not to notice.

After dinner, your mom brings out dessert: one pumpkin pie, one apple pie, one plate full of Tongass Forest Cookies. Aegon samples both pies and gobbles cookies until his Hawaiian shirt is littered with crumbs, washing them down with more wine. Then he gets up to pull on his parka and let Sunfyre outside. Aegon lurches as he moves, clutching walls and counters and the backs of chairs.

“I’ll go with you,” your mom offers before you can. She helps Aegon down the icy porch steps and then plays with Sunfyre in the backyard: chasing him through the snow, throwing sticks for him to fetch, tossing snowballs for him to snap between his jaws. Aegon, wobbly but in good spirits, participates as much as he can. And the way that your mom looks at him…it’s an expression you can’t recall ever seeing on her face before. It is fascination and fondness and grief all tangled up together. The light in her eyes is beautiful; it is also breathtakingly sad.

Your dad taps one of the empty wine bottles. “He’s got a problem, ladybug.”

“I know.”

“You can’t fix that for him. He has to want to fix himself.”

“I know,” you say again, your voice a brittle whisper.

Your dad sighs deeply and clasps his hands together, stares out the window, contemplates something heavy and unseen. At last, he speaks. “I’ve loved your mother my whole life. And when she and Jesse got together, I thought it was going to kill me. It wasn’t the fact that she was with another man. It was what he put her through. There were fights, there were bruises, and then there were promises and apologies, past-due bills and handmade birthday cakes, locked doors, open doors, kicked down doors. I couldn’t get her to leave him, and I couldn’t watch it keep happening. I tried everything to get away from your mother. I joined the goddamn Marines to get away from her. Four years in Vietnam and I still couldn’t sweat her out. I came back to Juneau and used my G.I. Bill to go to the University of Alaska, and…I would never admit this to anyone except you, but you need to hear it…I waited for that marriage to fall apart. And it did, but it took Jesse drowning in the Gastineau Channel.” He looks at you with miserable, glistening eyes. “Watching the way your mother suffered with a man like that was hell. Watching you go through the same thing would be unbearable.”

There is silence: a silence as thick and perilous as the ocean. Your dad studies you, searching for understanding, for a rational consensus to be reached. You study the lines in your palms. There is nothing rational about what you’re feeling. Alaska is flush with eligible men who are not temporary, not secretive, not unrepentant alcoholics: pilots, truckers, fishermen, loggers, oil riggers, scientific researchers, park rangers. You don’t want any of them. You’ve never wanted anything the way you want Aegon. It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair.

The back door opens, and your mom and Sunfyre—elated and covered in snow—romp into the house. Your mom is giggling as she grabs a dishtowel from the kitchen and begins to clean the snow from Sunfyre’s fur. “You might want to…uh…retrieve Aegon,” she tells you. “It’s pretty cold out there.”

“What’s he doing?”

“Making snow angels.”

“Oh. Great.” You put on your own parka and head out into the afternoon twilight.

“Hey,” Aegon says from where he’s sprawled on the ground. He’s sweeping his arms and legs back and forth as stars rise in the sky.

“Hey. Are you having fun down there?”

“Yes.” His breath is a cloud in the frigid air. His arms and legs go still. “I love feeling small like this. Nothing matters. Not our pasts, not our accomplishments, not our mistakes. We’re all just bones with memories. We’re all just future space dust.”

“You don’t want to be remembered?”

“God no. What would be worth remembering? I want to be a whisper. I want to be the wind that blows over the ocean.” He cranes his neck to look up at you, thoughtful in that glazed, drunken sort of way. “You can remember me, I guess. I’ll allow that. But only you. No one else.”

“Assuming I outlive you.”

“You will obviously outlive me.” He holds his arms up in the air and you pull him to his feet.

“I think it’s time for you and Sunfyre to go home.”

“Oh no.” His face is filled with abrupt realization. “Do your parents hate me?”

“No, they like you. They like you a lot. They’re just worried about you.” And they’d be a lot more worried if they knew about the track marks on your arms or the fact that you can’t stay in one place longer than six months without being descended upon by maybe-metaphorical ghosts.

Aegon laughs wildly, almost hysterically. He reaches for your shoulder to steady himself and then stops short. He sways in the late-November air, his hair dripping from the snow, his hazy blue eyes all over you. You tuck his ever-errant lock of hair behind his ear. I love him, you think helplessly, like when you know you’re dreaming but can’t wake up. “Worried about me,” he muses without elaborating. “Worried about me.”

Your parents send Aegon home with warm hugs and Tupperware containers full of leftovers, including extra turkey meat for Sunfyre and a truly ludicrous helping of cookies. You drive to Aegon’s apartment building slowly so Sunfyre can stick his head out the back window and bark gleefully at every car you pass. It is dark when you get there, the sunset come and gone, the constellations visible in a rare clear sky: Gemini, Orion, Draco, Ursa Major, Ursa Minor. Your Jeep idles under the lusterless beam of a streetlight.

Aegon asks, a ghost of a smile on his lips: “You want to come upstairs with me?”

“Yes,” you reply. And if you do, you won’t leave until morning. “But not until I’ve talked to you about something first.”

“It’s important,” Aegon says softly, not a question but an observation, reading your face like a weather forecast: chance of sun, chance of storms.

“Yes, it’s important.”

“Okay. Let me take Sunfyre inside and I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.”

He doesn’t kiss you goodbye, he doesn’t even hug you. He reaches out with one hand and dusts his calloused thumbprint across your cheekbone, marveling at you like you’re a radiant horizon, like you’re ancient ruins: cave paintings older than the pyramids, pillars of stones and secrets. Then he gets out of the Jeep and staggers into the apartment building with Sunfyre scampering along beside him. He reappears moments later, his hands buried in the pockets of his parka. You were too anxious to wait in the Jeep; you pace back and forth beneath the dim ochre streetlight. Aegon watches you from several yards away, waiting for you to begin.

“Look,” you say. “I like you.”

“Cool.”

“No, I mean, I really like you.”

He smiles like the sun, like the Northern Lights. “So you are applying to be my Juneau girl.”

“Yes. But I need something from you first.”

His blue eyes are calm beneath the streetlight, beneath the starlight. “Name it.”

“I need you to get help.”

Aegon shakes his head, not understanding, his smile slowly dying. His lock of bone-white hair cuts his cheek in half like a scar. “What are you talking about?”

“You can go to rehab. I’ll help you find a program, I’ll take care of Sunfyre while you’re away.”

Everything about him changes, like the phases of the moon: his face darkens, his eyes go steely and sharp, everything you love about him is eclipsed. “I don’t need rehab.”

“Aegon, you obviously need rehab.”

He glares at you with savage distrust, with betrayal.

“I need you to get yourself together,” you plead. “I want to be with you, I want to let myself care about you, but I can’t do that when you’re killing yourself right in front of me.”

“I don’t see how it affects you.”

“It does. It will.”

“I’m a lot better now than I was two years ago.”

“It’s not good enough, Aegon.”

He looks down at his combat boots, then back at you. You barely recognize him. “So I’m not good enough.”

“That’s not what I said—”

“It’s what you meant, it’s what this whole fucking conversation is about, right?” he flares. “You not being satisfied with the kind of person I am. You thinking that you get any say at all in who I am. Are you delusional, are you that goddamn narcissistic? Have you staked some claim to me that I’m unaware of? Are you Christopher Columbus here to strip me bare and claim you discovered me?”

“Are you listening to me?! I’m trying to tell you that I l—”

“No, you don’t like me. You like some hypothetical version of me that you’re trying to convince yourself exists.”

You stare at him in heartbroken disbelief. “Why won’t you let me help you?”

“I don’t need your help. I don’t want your help.”

“But I thought…if you would just…we could…”

“When the fuck did I ever promise you a future?” Aegon flings like a blade. “When did I ever promise you anything? You think I showed up here to build you some cabin on the side of a mountain, get a desk job, give you Christmases and kids? That’s not me. That’s never going to be me. I’m not yours to use. I’m not a Ricky Martin poster to keep tacked up on your wall. I’m not the impetus to bail you out of your spineless, unfulfilling life.”

“Please stop.” Your throat is burning; there are hot tears slithering from your eyes. The icy wind stings against your face. “Please just stop.”

“I’m not the one who fucked this up,” Aegon hisses. “It was you, it was you, because I told you the truth but you refused to believe it. I’m not yours and I never was and I’m never going to be, so you better get that through your thick fucking skull. I’m not yours.”

“And why would I want someone like you?!” you scream into the darkness. He flinches away like you’ve hit him. His eyes are huge and glassy. “An alcoholic, an addict, a coward who runs away from anything worth living for? I’d rather die than waste my life on you. Wait, my mistake, waste the next four months on you, because then you’ll be fleeing to go terrorize some other girl in some other city. I don’t want you. I can’t wait to forget you.”

“Then go!” Aegon roars over his shoulder as he turns away. “Just fucking go!” He storms off into his apartment building; he disappears like the end of summer, leaving a jet-black endless void.

You retreat back into your Jeep, slam the door, and sit there under the silver-cold moonlight sobbing into empty, trembling hands.

[middleland]

Toadshade Trillium at Sunset by Wayne National Forest

Via Flickr:

Forest Service photo by Kyle Brooks.     

[le-fils-de-lhomme]

He's just out there antagonizing and otherizing the Oneida nation.

[dandelionsresilience]

Good News - April 1-7

Like these weekly compilations? Support me on Ko-fi! Also, if you tip me on here or Ko-fi, at the end of the month I’ll send you a link to all of the articles I found but didn’t use each week - almost double the content! (I’m new to taking tips on here; if it doesn’t show me your username or if you have DM’s turned off, please send me a screenshot of your payment)

1. Three Endangered Asiatic Lion Cubs Born at London Zoo

“The three cubs are a huge boost to the conservation breeding programme for Asiatic lions, which are now found only in the Gir Forest in Gujarat, India.”

2. United Nations Passes Groundbreaking Intersex Rights Resolution

“The United Nations Human Rights Council has passed its first ever resolution affirming the rights of intersex people, signaling growing international resolve to address rights violations experienced by people born with variations in their sex characteristics.”

3. Proposal to delist Roanoke logperch

“Based on a review of the best available science, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service (Service) has determined that the Roanoke logperch, a large freshwater darter, is no longer at risk of extinction. […] When the Roanoke logperch was listed as endangered in 1989, it was found in only 14 streams. In the years since, Roanoke logperch surveys and habitat restoration have more than doubled the species range, with 31 occupied streams as of 2019.”

4. Fully-Accessible Theme Park Reopens Following Major Expansion

“Following the $6.5 million overhaul, the park now offers [among other “ultra-accessible” attractions] a first-of-its-kind 4-seat zip line that can accommodate riders in wheelchairs as well as those who need extra restraints, respiratory equipment or other special gear.”

5. ‘The Javan tiger still exists’: DNA find may herald an extinct species’ comeback

“A single strand of hair recovered from [a sighting] is a close genetic match to hair from a Javan tiger pelt from 1930 kept at a museum, [a new] study shows. “Through this research, we have determined that the Javan tiger still exists in the wild,” says Wirdateti, a government researcher and lead author of the study.”

6. Treehouse Village: Eco-housing and energy savings

““The entire place is designed and built to meet the passive house standard, which is the most energy-efficient construction standard in the world,” says resident Wayne Groszko, co-owner of one of the units at Treehouse.”

7. 50 rare crocodiles released in Cambodia's tropical Cardamom Mountains

“Cambodian conservationists have released 50 captive-bred juvenile Siamese crocodiles at a remote site in Cambodia as part of an ongoing programme to save the species from extinction.”

8. The Remarkable Growth of the Global Biochar Market: A Beacon of Environmental Progress

“Biochar, a stable carbon form derived from organic materials like agricultural residues and forestry trimmings, is a pivotal solution in the fight against global warming. By capturing carbon in a stable form during biochar production, and with high technology readiness levels, biochar offers accessible and durable carbon dioxide removal.”

9. 'Seismic' changes set for [grouse shooting] industry as new Scottish law aims to tackle raptor persecution

“Conservation scientists and campaigners believe that birds such as golden eagles and hen harriers are being killed to prevent them from preying on red grouse, the main target species of the shooting industry. […] Under the Wildlife Management and Muirburn Bill, the Scottish grouse industry will be regulated for the first time in its history.”

10. White House Awards $20 Billion to Nation’s First ‘Green Bank’ Network

“At least 70 percent of the funds will go to disadvantaged communities, the administration said, while 20 percent will go to rural communities and more than 5 percent will go to tribal communities. […] The White House said that the new initiative will generate about $150 billion in clean energy and climate investments[…].”

March 22-28 news here | (all credit for images and written material can be found at the source linked; I don’t claim credit for anything but curating.)

[my-lifes-reward]

ATV Riding the Wayne National Forest Monday Trailhead - Part 1

This video is a visit to the Wayne National Forest in Southeastern Ohio. Specifically, it is an ATV/AVP ride on the Monday Creek Trailhead, the Main Corridor, and the Bowl Trail. The total ride was 14.7 miles.

This video is a visit to the Wayne National Forest in Southeastern Ohio. Specifically, it is an ATV/AVP ride on the Monday Creek Trailhead, the Main Corridor, and the Bowl Trail. The total ride was 14.7 miles. The State of Ohio and volunteer groups have worked hard to develop and maintain 50″ trails for some of the best in the country. These unique elevation changes are literally scaling…

[arobinwithoutbatman]

A VERY DESCRIPTIVE PROFILE OF YOUR MUSE. repost with the information of your muse, including headcanons, etc. if you fail to achieve some of the facts, add some other of your own!

NAME. Timothy Jackson Drake

NICKNAME(S). Tim. Timmy (Dick is the only one allowed to use that one). Timbo. Timmers. TimTam. Baby Bird (family only). Rob (team mates/friends)

TITLE(S). Robin

AGE. Verse dependent (Default is 16 years old)

SPECIES. Human

SEX. Cis male

NATIONALITY. American

ALIGNMENT. Not entirely sure because of my own lack of understanding of the nuances involved with the alignment grid. Soooo I'm gonna guess Lawful Good? Whilst also leaning on the border of Lawful Neutral? Possibly dipping a toe into Chaotic Good?

INTERESTS. Photography, Skateboarding, Video Games, Chemistry, Technology, Forensics, Psychology, Cryptozoology

PROFESSION. None, technically. He's still a student. Unless professional vigilante counts?

BODY TYPE. Lithe and toned

EYES. Blue

HAIR. Black

SKIN. White. Like... paper white. Snow white. Please for the love of God, shove this boy outside more often

FACE. I present to you, a lad

HEIGHT. 5'3 (He's due a final growth spurt but he's maybe gonna top out at 5'5)

VOICE: High tenor. His voice likely won't drop much further

SIGNIFICANT OTHER? Verse Dependent. (Default is Bernard, someone he met online)

COMPANIONS. Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce Wayne (Deceased), Dick Grayson, Barbara Gordon, Jason Todd, Cassie Sandsmark, Bart Allen, Connor Kent

ANTAGONISTS. Gotham's Rogues Gallery, League of Assassins, Court of Owls

COLORS. Forest Green

FRUITS. Apples (any kind he's not picky), Pineapple, Pomegranate, Raspberries, blueberries

DRINKS. Coffee, cocoa, orange juice (no pulp), water

ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES. Absolutely not

SMOKES? No

DRUGS? No

DRIVERS LICENSE? Teeeeeechnically? Okay so he got one as an emergency when his Dad came home from the latest dig site accident and had a whole bunch of doctor's visits because there was literally no one available to give him a ride otherwise but that was a year go and his Dad is now a bit of a hermit and doesn't have any more doctor's visits so that emergency license has probably expired? He kind of shoved it in a drawer and forgot about it.