#Ended up writing a dissertation on my fan plane

[jtannerposts]

Valaran

Valaran is a plane dominated by truly massive arcologies, completely self sufficient, self contained cityscapes dotted across the landscape. Some are massive spires reaching into the heavens, others are spheres residing beneath the oceans or buried pyramids beneath Valaran’s surface. While no two acrologies look alike they all share the same traits of self sufficiency, being built over confluxes of mana. Even the smallest acrology contains hundreds of thousands of souls, supported by mage engines that convert mana into matter, conjuring material from the aether.

While each arcology has their own governments all are in practise mageocracies, given that their vital systems are supported by the magical expertise of mages every arcology is dominated by mages. Whether it’s by political philosophy, economic power, or sheer intimidation mages comprise the majority on ever political body of note. To be born with magic is a golden ticket to a life of plenty, to be without is to be doomed to be looked over. Even democratic and progressive arcologies have mage lead councils and presidencies, the sheer power and importance of mages in Valaran society ensuring their supremacy. 

The world outside the arcologies is a landscape dotted with ruins, once home to a truly massive plane spanning Empire, the rise of the arcology spelt it’s downfall. The old Empire relied on a monopolization of resources to maintain it’s hegemony, encouraging a massive trade network that linked continents across the globe to establish an economic dependence on it’s markets. When the arcologies were built, their self sufficient nature provided an alternative to the Empire’s tyrannical rule. Slowly tensions mounted as arcologies began to sprung up across the globe, decades of labour going into their construction, draining resources and entire cities of population into them. Eventually the arcologies declared independence from what they saw as a failing Empire that had been imposing it’s culture and beliefs on the world for too long. 

Most of the arcologies declared a mutual defense pact, some stayed neutral or even declaring loyalty to the Empire. Each had developed distinct cultures of their own over the years but the majority all decided that the time had come to break away and become their own political entities in their own right. Each arcologies free to rule it’s people as they wished.

The war raged for nearly a hundred years, slowly swinging in the favour of the arcologies as more and more were completed, people flee behind their defenses for shelter from the war. Powerful magic was tossed around by both sides, the megaspells of the Divines devastating the very land for centuries. Desperate weapon projects were started and abandoned in equal measure by all factions, littering the plane with rouge war machines and horrific monsters that still roam Valaran today. This proliferation of weapons would finally break the back of the old Empire, by the end of the war the overwhelming majority of the plane now resided inside the safety of the arcologies, the once great cities of the Empire being reclaimed by nature and the land was seething with monsters lurking in the shadows.

In modern times most people are born and die in their acrologies, growing up on stories of how dangerous the outside world is. In theory each arcology is capable of support all it’s inhabitants equally, in practise every arcology experiences a massive inequality in the distribution of resources. While people with magical talent make up barely a quarter of the any arcology, they take up over 70% of most the resources in most arcologies. Massively opulent and hedonistic parties are thrown from golden towers while non magic’s busy themselves with making a living Most people live comfortable lives and public education is a mandatory policy in every arcology so that only the poorest reach adulthood illiterate.

Because each arcology is self sufficient traffic beyond the walls is an uncommon occurrence. But it’s not unheard off; for the fabulously rich, mostly mages, they travel across the land in massive ariships, cruising through the sky on personal party barges. Everyone else is force to travel by caravans, hiring a small army of mercenaries for protection, or if they can afford it hiring a Hunter. Aside from tourist Mages the people most likely to travel are Adventures looking to plunder ancient ruins of the Old Empire for valuable scraps, travelling merchants and performers, or people just desperate enough to risk life and limb for a taste of opportunity somewhere else.

And that opportunity is found in two places the Freeholds or the Frontiers. The Frontiers communities of people who for whatever reason leave the arcologies to eek out an existence in the world beyond the arcology walls. These townships usually spring up around major trade routes, if a community can survive the initial few years and establish themselves with the patronage of an Arcology they usually grow into small cities of a few tens of thousand souls. The Frontiers act as extensions of an Arcology, many Frontiers reliant on their parent arcology for advanced magic and resources. While more equal they still suffer from the class inequality of the arcologies. But most people who live in the Frontiers prefer their harder life of honest work makinging a life to toiling in a mage’s sweatshop. 

The other option for people who want to leave their arcology but want to truly break free from the yoke of the mages is to venture out into the wild and join a Freehold. Freeholds are rough communities of people who wish to live apart from their Arcology. No two are the same, some are hardy pioneers taming the land free from the yoke of their mage overlords, others are hives of scum and villainy. Religious convents worshiping a Divine, secretive cults, Arcane research facilities that the mainstream discourse dream unethical, Freeholds are a broad classification that covers any settlement not subservient to an Arcology. While they rarely grow beyond a thousand souls, most dying out in a few decades, a rare few survive to truly establish themselves as real cities. The Free Cities are often less corrupt than the Arcologies but with the added drawback of resource scarcity. Most are forced to trade with Frontier townships for resources and the number of truly established Freehold cities is less than a hundred.

Monsters and the old warmachines are a constant threat for these communities, even the arcologies regularly maintain purges on their surrounding lands least anything infiltrate their walls. Which is where the Hunters step into play, mercenary professionals who travel between the Frontiers, Freeholds and Arcologies taking contracts on monsters or occasionally providing protection to travelers.

Hunters are an offshoot of an old super soldier program from the plane’s history, centuries ago in the twilight years of the old empire a cabal of mages banded together to create the perfect fighters. Children were taken and experimented on with alchemical and magical concoctions, out of a hundred only 10 would survive the procedures. But those that did developed superhuman reflexes, mental acuity, stamina and strength. They were made resistant to all manner of disease and toxins, taught a small amount of magic and purposely had their empathy dulled. Expensive, brutal and highly lethal these soldiers were also rendered infertile, least the mage’s weapons slip their leash and breed a new race of superhumans.

Effective as they were their numbers were simply too small to save the failing empire and as time went on they all died out. Or so the world thought, in reality a squad of these soldiers saw the writing on the wall in the empire’s final days and disappeared into the growing wilderness, emerging over a century later to offer their services. In their self imposed exile these soldiers had survived in the wilderness, learning how to fight the roaming monsters of the new world.

They formed the Hunter Guilds, becoming a group of mercenary organizations selling their services for gold and supplies. They still follow the Procedures that created them, taking in orphaned children or purchasing them from the desperate. Even centuries later the odds of survival are no better than when the Procedure was first invented. Often a parent who sells there child never learns of their fate, and in the vanishingly rare moments it is often bittersweet when they do cross paths. The Hunter often either carries a chip on their shoulder at being abandoned, or doesn’t even recognize their parents.

The origin of the Divine Exalted is a mystery as records indicate they predate the even the old Empire, but what isn’t is the forms they come in, seperated into Holy and Unholy shards of White and Black mana. On Valaran angels and demons don’t just emerge from the plane’s mana, instead a shard of energy is formed called an Exaltation. This Exaltation seeks out a soul that fits it’s profile and merges with the person’s soul, granting them fantastic power. A person is chosen for how they act in the moment of exaltation, regardless of the actual content of their character. Angelic shards pick people performing Heroic or monumental tasks, while Demonic shards pick for profoundly selfish or cruel acts. Because of this it is not unheard of for Angelic Divine to go drunk with power and Demonic Divine to be overcome with guilt, but the majority of Divine play to type. 

The Divine barely number more than 600 in total, a combination of the rarity of their creation and the tendency for new exalted to take massive risks while still riding the initial wave of power. The Divine are to the best knowledge of the plane immortal, the Exaltations keeping the bodies of their hosts sturdy and strong. The Angels and Demons of Valaran share some traits with their counterparts across the multiverse, but the biggest divergence is that the powers of the exalted is determined by the abilities of the host as the Divine shards boost it’s host’s abilities beyond what is possible by mere mortals. A mortal swordsman can parry an axe, with training an Exalted can parry magic. A mortal mage can throw fire, an Exalted mage can incinerate cities. The Divine look mortal, capable to manifesting their otherworldly nature at will, the only signs that a person of more than mortal is the tell tale glow of their eyes. Angels possess glowing golden pupils while Demons possess similar violet pupils. Many an arrogant mage or conniving trickster has sought to mimic this through illusion magic, though many Divine loath impersonation and most use this strategy sparingly to avoid retribution.

For this reason the Divine are venerated far and wide, with many setting up massive cults of personality around themselves. On Valaran most Arcologies have at least one patron Divine, or multiple. For the most part though the Divine don’t factor into the daily lives of the people and are content to enjoy the mind boggling luxuries afforded to them.

[xoruffitup]

I Once Had This Top-Quality Adam Dream...

(I just made one long-ass text post but now I’m going to make a second one, oh no....)

So I just made a post reflecting on visiting London, and then I saw a couple Sackler posts on my dash, and the two combined made me realize I really need to write out this incredibly detailed, epic dream saga I once had where I lived in a London townhouse and Adam was the landlord (literally don’t know whether to call him Driver or Sackler because he had major characteristics of both). This was like some full reader-insert fan fic shit all in one single dream, but it was SO detailed and amazing I really need to get it all out:

True to life, I was in London for grad school and looking for a place to live. I heard from classmates about a nice but affordable house in the outskirts of town where students from past year classes had stayed.

I go out to the house and meet Adam, who lives there but rents rooms in the huge place out to students. He’s dressed in scuffed jeans with messy hair and doesn’t look rich enough to own a house like this in London. When I ask, he dodgily says his parents left it to him before they stopped talking. 

I move in a couple weeks before the normal semester starts, so it’s just me and Adam in the house. I live in a basement room, and his bedroom is on the first floor, right next to the kitchen. I see him coming in and out when I’m cooking. He doesn’t seem to have an office 9-5, he just does odd repair, painting, or carpentry jobs. Now and then he comes back totally grime or oil-streaked, like he’s been working under a car all day. 

I’m super curious, so the first time we’re eating at the same time in the kitchen I ask him what his deal is. By now we’ve talked enough that he knows a fair bit about me, so he finally opens up that his parents worked for the US military as contractors designing navigation and other tech systems for military planes. Growing up on military bases, he learned all their specialized knowledge about both designing tech and fixing the mechanical nuts and bolts of planes, helicopters, or even ground vehicles. But as he got older, he realized a military life was the last thing he wanted. At 18, he’d come with them to an assignment at a British base, when he decided he wanted no part of it anymore. His parents had left him the house to try to stay in his good graces and perhaps someday lure him back, even though he’d barely spoken with them in years. He doesn’t outright say it, but it’s implied he learned not-so-savory secrets of their work with the military, and for moral reasons broke off from them; Leaving him as a drifter with a big, empty house in the London suburbs.

Before we really know each other, we sleep together. It’s just us in the house. He looks hot when I see him come in all dirty from some handy man job; I’m apparently a bit more level-headed and less annoying than the undergrads he usually rents to; we’re both single so why the hell not? It’s a really, really good habit for a few weeks.

The semester starts and a few other students move into the house. We’re not official or anything and Adam doesn’t seem to want the others to know he’d been fucking a tenant so the sex mostly stops. But we like being around each other, so instead of sex we end up spending a lot of time just talking in the kitchen or watching random movies together in the living room. Sometimes I tell him about my long-term career anxieties, sometimes he tells me about his unresolved feelings towards his family and his lack of direction. There’s still an occasional makeout on the couch or quickie when the house is empty, but the quiet times when we’re just talking start to become even nicer. I also casually mention my age at some point (I was 22 in grad school) and this seems to trouble him a bit. He’s only 27, but I get a sneaking suspicion that the gap makes him a bit uncomfortable when it comes to sex.

The other girl sharing the basement with me is none other than Maisie Williams. (Yes, totally weird and random but I’m not complaining.) Sadly, the three other people in the house are all annoying and/or assholes. Two of them are girls who not-so-subtly have their eyes on Adam; Seeing that he’s young, apparently single, and cohabiting with them. I almost choke on laughter a few times witnessing them flirting with him, only for him to be either completely oblivious, or disinterestedly shut them down. (He is almost a total grump 90% of the time to the other residents; When they even see him.) They do notice there’s there’s ~something between me and Adam, and they annoy me for details, but there’s nothing I would want to divulge. There’s nothing official between us, but at the same time, there is something tangible and real - Something these girls could never understand; Something of a lot more value than just casual (even if really good) sex.

The other guy living in the house is the worst. He hardly talks to anyone, until the time he intrudes into the living room late one night while I’m watching TV. Having no clue he was interested in me, he kisses me out of nowhere. He pins me when I try to pull away, and my attempts to yell are loud enough for Adam to hear from his room. When Adam appears, he pulls the guy off and socks him in the mouth, furious. “Gather your shit and get the fuck out of my house.” It’s late and the guy won’t be gone until morning, so Adam asks gently if I want to sleep in his room. I do, and for the first time we sleep together in his bed - Just sleeping. 

From here on, the relationship takes a turn almost towards wholesome big brother/little sister. We spend more time than ever together and I trust him completely, even while nothing sexual happens for a while. 

One night, I’m out at a club in central London when a girl I’m with had something put in her drink that makes her so sick we have to take her to the hospital. I’m really shook up; my two friends and I waiting to make sure she’ll be okay. It’s 2 AM when the doctors say we should go home while she stays the night. I can’t even think clearly about how to get home - I’m so tired and upset and worried, so I call Adam.  “She drank something really bad. We’re at the hospital and the doctors say we should go home, but I-I don’t know what to do...” “Do you want me to come there?” “Yes, yes I do. Please.” When he gets there, I break down a little in relief to see him and he just holds me for a minute. After we talk with the doctors one more time, Adam puts an arm around me and says I should come home. The friends with me are as upset as I am, so Adam takes us all outside, asks for their addresses, and puts them all in cabs home. Then he holds my hand on the tube ride back to the house.  Without talking about it, I come to his bedroom when we get back. In his bed, I whisper, “It could have just as easily been me that drank it.” “No, it couldn’t. Because you’re not fucking stupid enough to drink something that was out of your sight.” I look at him - His words are harsh, but true. They’re what I needed to hear. Finally, I relax and sleep, with him close. 

It’s getting towards the end of the school year. I’m working on my dissertation, and I’m stressed to the max. Adam listens to me bitch a lot about it. Rather than getting bored, he tosses ideas back and forth with me and helps me develop my arguments. He even reads some of an early draft when I ask him to. He gets annoyed once, when I ask for his opinion on a day when my confidence is low and I’m talking about abandoning the whole thing. He says: “What the fuck are you even asking me for? You go to the fucking fancy grad school. What do I know?” “You know me.” We’re both quiet for a long moment - It’s the first charged moment there’s been between us in a while, since we stopped sleeping together. He takes my laptop and goes back to reading my draft.

As the end of the year nears, some of the students move out - Leaving only me, Adam, and Maisie. (Yup, she’s still there.) Adam bursts into the kitchen in a panic one day, saying he forgot there would be some kind of inspection the next day to keep his house in the renter’s market. The house is definitely not in the tidiest shape, so the three of us bust into a major cleaning spree together. It’s hot and there’s a lot of dust, so Adam starts cleaning shirtless. “Well fuck that, we’re hot and dirty too,” Maisie says, and that’s how the three of us end up cleaning the whole house without any shirts on. 

The date is set when I’m going to move out and go back home to the US. I text Adam the date, and then I don’t see him in the house all week. It’s the day before I’m going to leave, he’s still nowhere to be found, and I’m getting a little pissed with him. Then one of his friends drops by the house. “Adam’s been on a job the last couple days, but he asked me to bring this by for you, and he said you can keep it.” It’s Adam’s fancy high-powered laptop - The one you both gamed or watched movies on together some late nights; The one I kept longingly saying I could make such good use of, instead of my years-old, decrepit one. When I go on the laptop (yes, I know his passwords) the first file I stumble on is an anxiety self-help document. I doubt he meant for me to see it, but it reminds me why he might be avoiding me on purpose. Why it might be too hard for him to say goodbye. I’m not mad at him anymore. 

Just as I’m getting ready to leave, he shows up in the kitchen. He’s out of breath, like he decided at the last minute to try to catch me. “So, today’s the day,” is all he says. I nod, find myself tearing up a little, and rush to hug him. I hold onto him for a long time, savoring how tightly he’s holding me too and resolve not to cry. It won’t help anything. He finally kisses me long and purposefully, then we untangle and he carries my bags outside for me. 

A few years pass. Even though I think of him a lot, we only text occasionally. We’d always been like that - Even though we spent so much time together and came to know each other so deeply, the relationship had never been one that translated to digital expression. I only date casually, always finding myself wondering whether he’s met anyone; Whether he ended up going back to work with his parents. 

Three years later, he texts me out of the blue that he’ll be visiting Washington DC, where I live. He doesn’t give any more details, just asks if I might want to meet up. I respond within minutes: Of course. 

He looks exactly as I remembered (just add a bit of a beard), and the sight of him slams me so strongly I practically jump on him when I hug him. It’s awkward just at the beginning: “Hi.” “Hi!” “You look gr-..” “You look wonderf...” “I didn’t want to get in your way if you..”  “Just tell me if you’re too busy to...” Until I ask him why he’s in town, and he says it’s for job interviews. He’s still not willing to work directly for the military or the Department of Defense, but he’s been contacted by some private companies that want to use military-grade navigation systems for other uses; Systems Adam knows how to build. And then I ask him about his parents, about the house back in London, he asks me about my work, and then it all starts flowing right away again. 

He doesn’t have a place yet in DC. Although he booked a hotel, I bug him until he cancels the reservation and comes to stay with me. I might have thought of him a lot over the past few years, lying in this bedroom, and I can’t be denied the chance to have him here. He keeps making gruff comments about not wanting to bother me or be a nuisance, but something about seeing my place and being there with me makes his protests stop.  “I’ll just take the couch...” “No, no, you’ll stay in the bed with me.” He goes still and looks at me evenly for a long moment, then his voice is soft when he agrees. The way he’s looking at me seems different than how I remember. It’s not bad - There’s still every bit of familiarity and fondness that I remember, but there also seems to be some newly kindled spark. It’s been 3 years and I’ve grown up a bit. 

When the lights go out in the bedroom, the bed seems to automatically tilt me towards him. Once I reach out first and he feels my hand brush his arm, he lets out a rush of breath and closes the space immediately. Both of us had yearned for this familiar intimacy, but at the same time the years that have passed have added an edge of novelty, wonder, and hunger. “Are you sure?” he asks in a whisper while we’re kissing. I’d missed this about him - The way he relapses into revealing how very unassuming he is beneath his shell. “Completely. It’s been years and I haven’t stopped-.... Yes.” We have sex twice. 

After his interviews, he goes back home to London. He tells me the next week that he received a good offer he’s thinking of taking - A job in DC. My heart’s speeding so much, at first I don’t even know what to say on the phone to him. He’s talking some nonsense -  “Of course, even if I take it, I wouldn’t assume that means anything for us... You have your own life and I don’t want to get in the way. You have so much going for you and I...” “Shut up, you idiot. Do you want the job - Not thinking about where it is?” “...Yes, I think so.” “Okay. Then you should take it.” “Yeah?” “Yeah. And when you get here, we should look for a place together.” “..... I don’t know if that would be best...” “Ugh, would you stop with this annoying thing where you act like you know what’s best for me better than I do?” “That’s not what I’m doing. I just don’t want to drop back into your life and-... I just... don’t want to get in your way or hold you back...” “Adam. I thought about you all the time during the years we were apart. Yes, I dated, but I’ve never trusted anyone the way I trust you. I never will. The only reason I didn’t talk to you that much while we were apart was because I know you hate texting, and you hate writing about your feelings even more.” (He makes a snorting sound on the line.) “But don’t make any mistake - I want to be with you. I know it, and I’m dead sure of it. I’ve had three years to think about it.” “...You always were determined, when you knew what you wanted.” “And you’ve spent a long time trying to figure out what you want. Can’t you let me help you find it?” Adam’s quiet for a long moment, until: “You think I don’t know what I want? That I haven’t known this whole time? I’ll admit, when it comes to work, in that regard you’re right... But four years ago, a certain girl moved in here, and ever since then the rest of my life’s become very clear.”

And just before that assumedly happy ending is where the dream ended. :’) Thank you very much, my weird, wonderful dream-brain. I’ve been wanting to write this all out for ages - Hope one or two people enjoyed sharing it!

[jae-bummer]

My Idol: Part Twenty Seven

My Idol From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

My Idol is a South Korean competitive reality dating game show. It currently airs on Wednesday nights on Jae-bummer’s blog. First broadcast in 2016, the show offers the opportunity for a lucky fan to go on seven blind dates with seven idols. The idol plans the date with the show throwing in specific missions to complete during the day. At the end of the initial dates, the show opens up an audience vote to decide what three idols will move on to the second date.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15 - Part 16 - Part 17 - Part 18 - Part 19 - Part 20 - Part 21 - Part 22 - Part 23 - Part 24 - Part 25 - Part 26 - Part 27 - Part 28

Taehyung was stretched across the table, playing anxiously with your hands. His own were so much larger than yours, so much stronger, and yet you couldn’t imagine him hurting anything with them. 

Your eyes traced his arms slowly, along his shoulders, and up his neck. They slid along his jaw line and around his lips, the ones you’d sincerely miss kissing. Finally, they came to rest on his deep, brown eyes, causing him to smile sadly. 

“It’s okay. Really.” 

The words echoed through the room. 

“It’s not,” you whispered. 

Instead of being whisked away as you were during the first voting special, the producers allowed you to spend a short amount of time with Taehyung in private. The audible gasp from the crowd was enough to fuel the tears streaming down your cheeks as soon as they announced Jay’s name. The votes had been close. Single digits close. And it wasn’t that you were unhappy by the thought of another date with Jay. You realized you’d have to do a certain amount of damage control in that arena if he were to even show up for the date, but you had to get through one tragedy before being able to properly focus on another. 

You were unsure who would be voted off, but couldn’t really imagine a future without any of the three men in it. 

“We can still be friends,” Taehyung cooed, petting your hand. “According to the contract, I can contact you in three months. It’ll be fine. There will be no pressure. We can just be...friends.”

Your heart stung at the word. Friends. 

You had gained a lot of famous “friends” through this experience, but you hated the circumstances. 

Taehyung reached up and gently began wiping away at the tears that had clung to your cheeks. “The audience just thought we weren’t the best match...and that’s okay. It doesn’t mean it’s the end.”

You sniffed a bit, nuzzling into Tae’s hand as it remained cupped around your cheek and he continued to speak. “People tell me all the time that I’m not a good match for Bangtan, but I’m still there and my members still think I fit. It’s the same with us. Just because people say we shouldn’t be together, doesn’t mean we listen. After this is all over, then we get a fresh start. Whether it’s as friends, or a couple, or even if we do nothing more than cheer on each other’s lives from the sidelines...that’s our decision. Not some crowd of people I’ve never even met.”

You nodded, trying to let the heavy feeling lift from your chest. “How’d you get to be so smart?”

“To be honest, that was the speech Namjoon hyung gave me last night in case I didn’t make it,” Taehyung chuckled. “It made me feel better so I thought it would make you feel better too.”

“You were right,” you giggled tearfully. You found yourself slowly rising from your seat and crossing the room. You threw your body into Taehyung’s already outstretched arms and sighed. You breathed him in for one last time. 

“It’s not a goodbye,” he whispered. “It’s a see you later.”

“Isn’t that from-” you began slowly. 

“Shhh,” Taehyung cooed. “You can tell me how smart I am again for thinking up these things.” 

You grumbled as you slid into the backseat of the My Idol SUV. You struggled as you tugged in your luggage behind you and up onto the seat. With a loud huff, you leveled a stare at the back of Armpit and Sweaty’s heads in front of you. They had been little to no help in your past five hours of travel. 

When you had embarked on the weekend dates, you never thought that would mean traveling to other countries for a few days. You were amazed as you stood in the airport terminal and were handed a ticket marked for Thailand.

With anxious breaths and sweaty palms you attempted to center your thinking as you peered out of the window and into the streets of Bangkok. My Idol had brought you heartache and anguish, so much so that it was easy to forget the small moments. While you had lost your fair share of tears on My Idol and the contestants involved, you also got to experience breathtaking scenery, visit extraordinary places, and make interesting memories you could always think upon fondly.  

Hopefully you could come out of all of this relatively unscathed and have the capacity to truly appreciate it for what it was. 

Your eyes couldn’t remain focused long enough to really pay attention to the scenery around you as the SUV began to move at an increasing speed. You found yourself wincing every time a motorcycle or scooter got a little too close to the vehicle, but quickly became used to the erratic driving (and when you didn’t, you could just close your eyes.) Before long, you began to hear the sound of airplanes yet again, becoming even more perplexed with your adventure. 

“Uh, not to point out the obvious,” you hummed, halting Sweaty and Armpit’s conversation before you. “But didn’t we just come from an airport?”

“You’re right,” Armpit deadpanned. “We must’ve made a giant circle. Park must’ve not shown up. Time to go home now.”

Your heart skipped a beat as the hefty camera man spoke Jay’s name. “J-Jay is the first date...? Was?  Did he really not show?”

The thought had crossed your mind millions of times on the way to the airport and during the five hour plane ride here. What if you were going to see Jay, but he didn’t care to see you? What if he stood you up? You knew he was still brooding over your exposed secret meeting with Top during the voting special, but surely he wouldn’t abandon you. He did stay for the results after all. 

“If he just would let me explain-” you began quickly, your eyes growing wide as you spun around, focusing on the producers behind you. “Are we really going back-”

“Don’t listen to them,” one of the producers sighed, rolling his eyes. “We’re at a private air strip. It’s the only way to get to Koh Kood.”

“...Koh Kood?” you whispered cautiously. 

“90 minutes on a private jet,” the other producer nodded. “To get to Thailand’s least populated island.”

“This is starting to sound like I signed up for Laws of the Jungle,” you giggled uneasily. 

“Don’t worry,” Armpit grumbled. “It’s also home to some resort.”

“Not just some resort,” the producer hissed. “One of the world’s most exclusive.”

You blinked heavily, trying to internalize the information that had just been fed to you. 

“I have to get on a plane again?” you squeaked, feeling the color begin to drain from your face. You didn’t hate flying, but wouldn’t complain if you got a break from it for a bit. 

“Well, you got a car ride in between,” Sweaty chuckled, almost as if reading your thoughts. 

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. Sure, a fifteen minute car ride was just enough to settle your nerves. 

You held your stomach, busy flip flopping from a mix of emotions and travel. As soon as you had disembarked at Koh Kood, you were ushered onto a small speed boat that would take you to your destination. You thought it was an unnecessary amount of travel just to get to a resort, but as soon as you saw the beautiful blue waters lapping the shore of the island, your irritated thoughts seemed to float away. 

For a second, you had even forgotten that you were on a reality television show.

You struggled onto the steps of the dock from the small boat with the assistance of several staff, smiling for the first time since your adventure had began. 

“I missed being on my own two feet,” you whispered to no one in particular. 

“Miss it all you want, because you’re about to be swept off of them,” a familiar voice chuckled. You looked up in surprise, noting that at the end of the line of staff that had assembled, stood Jay, dressed in white from head to toe. 

“Jay,” you breathed, completely taken off guard by his presence. 

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he hummed, his smile fading from his lips. “I can still change my mind.”

You closed your mouth, which you hadn’t realized had fallen open, and nodded. You were completely taken aback by the lengths he went to in order to provide a memorable date. Of course everyone could write a dissertation about how lavish his spa outing had been, so you had a difficult time being able to think how he could possibly top that lavish experience. 

And yet, here you were. On a remote island in Thailand at one of the most private resorts in the world. 

“You are so extra,” you muttered, taking Jay’s hand and allowing him to help you up the steps. 

“Thanks?” he muttered, lifting a brow. 

You winced, not intending to actually say the words. You could feel the awkward air between the two of you, completely different from what you were normally used to. Usually upon seeing Jay, your heart and stomach began to flutter and your body melted beneath his touch. This time, you could feel the rigidity in both of your motions. Your stomach felt like it was fighting to fall victim to the vice grip currently secured around your heart. You attempted taking a deep breath, but felt as if the breath didn’t truly inhale, leaving your gasps short and nervous. You didn’t like this feeling. Not with Jay. 

“Do you want to see our room?” Jay asked cautiously. 

Your eyebrows immediately shot up as you looked at him. “Our?”

“I mean, there’s like two couches I could use for a bed,” he said quickly. “Or we could make a pillow barrier between us...we just...”

He leaned in closely, his breath tickling your ear. “We just have to make it through this weekend and then you’ll never have to see me again...okay?” 

You choked on the saliva in your mouth as he spoke the words. Normally when he was that close, what he said into your ear would make you blush, but this was not a side you were happy seeing out of him. 

“We need to talk.”

You closed the doors on Sweaty and Armpit as you stomped through the beautiful villa you and Jay were supposed to share. Not being able to truly appreciate the sights around you until you got this strange weight off of your chest, you tugged Jay along as well. You finally halted as you reached the bedroom area, and pushed him down onto one of the many promised couches. 

“Look, I could’ve not come at all,” Jay grumbled, crossing his arms and looking away from you. 

“Then why did you?” you nearly shouted. You began to pace in front of him. You were angry that he brought you to such a beautiful place, only to taint it with his negativity. 

“I don’t quit,” he said simply. “Not ever in my life have I quit anything and i don’t plan to start now.”

“Right,” you spat, rolling your eyes. You didn’t feel it necessary to bring up his torrid past with JYP, and held your tongue as the words so desperately wanted to escape your lips. “That’s why you’re here. I forget, you have an image to uphold. Is that what this is all about to you? An image?”

“Oh yeah,” Jay chuckled bitterly. “You have us Jaebums pegged. Here to further our careers. Maybe I have a girlfriend too, is that what you think of me?”

“Of course not!” you gasped, halting your pacing to stare at him. “Never have I once thought you had someone else outside of My Idol.”

“I wish I could say the same,” he whispered, refusing to return eye contact. 

“Here we go,” you laughed. “Let’s just say it. I met with Top before our date. No beating around the push and avoiding the topic anymore, Jay. I. Met. With. Top. I took time away from you and gave it to someone else. Is that all you’ve been thinking about for the past week?”

“Well...yeah,” he whispered, his eyes finally meeting yours. “And it really fucking sucked. In case you didn’t know.” 

You sighed, collapsing onto the couch beside him. Your head immediately fell into your hands and you let out a few breaths before deciding to speak again. “I was wrong.”

“Understatement,” he muttered. He shifted to put just a little more space between the two of you. 

“Not an understatement,” you countered. “What I did was wrong, but I don’t deserve this level of petty over it.”

“Petty?” Jay croaked. “Babygirl, you ain’t seen petty yet.” 

“Look,” you groaned. “Top asked me to meet with him. And I wanted to...”

Your memories shifted back to that day in the park. You were so nervous as you sat there, knowing that the minutes you wasted on that bench so rightfully belonged to Jay. “I wanted to because I had to let him know to leave me alone. He didn’t make it to the next level of dates. He cared so desperately about me and I owed it to-”

“You didn’t owe him shit,” Jay argued. “You had one date, Y/N. One. Homeboy is crazy to fall head over  heels after a few hours. If he was smart-”

“If he was smart he would’ve broken the rules to see me more often?” you grumbled. “Between the two of you, neither has played fair.” 

“But I made it through,” Jay whispered. “You owed me your time. Not him.”

“But you didn’t!” you gasped, your own words freezing the blood in your veins. You rapidly tried to recover as a new expression of hurt crossed Jay’s face. “I picked you Jay...you didn’t make it through.”

He pushed his tongue against his teeth as he nodded. “Maybe I should leave then. If I don’t deserve to be here like Jooheon.”

“Did I say that?” you sighed weakly. “Jay...I picked you. You are the one person in this whole competition I got to choose myself. You are the one person who has tirelessly chased after me after I turned you away so many times...if that doesn’t show you I care...I don’t know what will.” 

“Then why did you do it?” he hummed. 

“Do what?”

“Pick me...and meet with him when I was supposed to be more important to you,” he whispered. 

Your eyes looked carefully over Jay. Park Jaebum. Your expression softened as you noted the muscles in his jaw ticking and his face reddened from the argument. You tilted your head to get a better look at his eyes. His brows were furrowed, and his lash line dangerously close to bubbling over with tears of frustration. As much as he would never admit it, you knew Jay felt everything so very deeply and had battled with the wall he had built for so long. He portrayed such a tough and sarcastic facade to the media. It was easy to get Jay Park and Park Jaebum entangled within each other - which they were to an extent. Jay Park was confident, he was sexy, and he would never be hurt. Park Jaebum, on the other hand, loved ferociously, put his all into everything, and was devastated just as equally as he had felt. He needed verbal affirmations just as any other human did.

“Jaebum,” you hummed, calling him by his formal name for the first time since the competition had begun. This immediately caught his attention, causing him to focus on you. “I will tell you...just as I told Top that day. You managed to do something no other man has done in this competition. You made me like you after you knew I wouldn’t. You knew you would have to struggle to make me fall for you, but you never once gave up. It’s admirable what you did. Yes, I questioned if you were really here for me a few times, but I know in my heart...you...Park Jaebum, have always been one hundred percent with me. It is no one thing that made me pick you over the other men who had been eliminated that night...and it ultimately boils down to the same thing I told him...

You have to trust me. We’re all each other have got...And if you don’t trust me...well...then what are we doing here?”

You held your breath as you finished your speech, painting a similar picture to Jay that you had for Top. In the end it had been the final effort to push the eliminated man away...but would this be the last attempt at making Jay stay? 

“I think the only person who calls me Jaebum is my mom,” he said softly. “And maybe Gray.” 

You chuckled, letting a few tears begin to slip from your eyes. What a strange adventure this had all been. 

“I worry sometimes...” Jay continued. “Sometimes I sit in bed and stare at my ceiling. I wonder what the point is to this. If my feelings are being felt alone. When you said you met with Top...that kind of validated how alone I felt when I was on my own. It was easy to believe you didn’t care and it didn’t take much to convince myself. I wanted you to fight for me. I guess that’s why I showed up here today...because I wanted to see if you would fight...

...well, that and I couldn’t get a refund on the tickets.”

Jay gave you a casual side eye to gauge your reaction before taking a deep breath. “I guess I never realized...You’ve fought from day one...you just want someone who’s here for you like you are for them...and I want to do that.”

You both sat in silence for a moment as the heaviness of your conversation began to solidify in your mind. 

“So...so you’re going to stay?” you whispered. 

“Of course I’m going to stay,” he grumbled, tilting to face you on the couch. He gripped the back of your neck and pulled you in until your lips were only centimeters apart. “Did you not hear the part about no refunds?”

To Be Continued...

[theteej]

7. Knowing Little and Learning Much

I had no idea growing up that I’d end up building a career studying southern African history. Growing up as a mixed black kid in Southern California, I’d had scant direct introduction to the continent more generally and to South Africa in particular.  I remember being overwhelmed by The Poisonwood Bible and Cry the Beloved Country as a high schooler, but I think it’s telling that my first two major memories were through books written by white folk about the continent.  It wasn’t until my junior year of college that I decided I should take a leap and study abroad somewhere far away. I chose somewhere as far from what I thought I knew as possible—Pietermaritzburg, KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa.  That’s how I found myself anxiously looking out over the dry stretches of scraggly fields with trepidation one July afternoon in 2004 as a twenty-year old undergraduate readying himself for a semester far away from home.  That semester changed my life in ways I’m still beginning to understand, twelve years later.  Moving to South Africa put so many things in sharp relief; I was unaware of how much of the world that I saw as ‘normal’ was instead based on everyday cultural conventions that didn’t follow me beyond America’s borders.  I first heard isiZulu.  I began to think about how a country ten years out of apartheid could reconcile its brutal past in its quotidian present.  I began to think about how to be a historian for the first time.  I made friends from a variety of groups—from astonishingly talented singers, to brilliant actors, to snarky writers, and beyond.  I began to learn how little I knew, and how much I wanted to learn.  When I stepped onto my college campus again in January, I cried for so many reasons.  I cried for missing this new place and who I’d become in a semester.  I cried because I’d begun to get the tiniest inkling of how little I knew.  I cried because I’d fallen in love with a place and I wanted to spend my life getting back there.

I didn’t make it back to South Africa for another five years; in the interim I’d graduate with bachelors and masters degrees, taught high school, and moved to rural Illinois to start a PhD.  I was twenty-five and desperately eager to go back and learn.  I had so much to learn.  I spent three months in 2009 back in Mzansi, and began my time back in Pietermaritzburg, but the place couldn’t be more different.  I was part of an intensive isiZulu language program, and while I spent part of my time back at the University of KwaZulu-Natal where I’d studied abroad, this time my classes were all in isiZulu.  I lived first in a residence hall, then in an urban township (iMbali), and then later in a rural community miles away (Manqongqo).  This time made me keenly aware of the ways in which history and my own positions had prepared me to hear and perceive so much of the world around me on wildly uneven terms.  The majority of the residence of KwaZulu-Natal spoke isiZulu as a first language, but I had really understood none of it in 2004.  Much like in Southern California, the predominant language and cultural formations happened all around the white, colonial hegemons of English. It was as if a radio had been playing at a frequency beyond me, at full volume, and I suddenly became aware, ONCE AGAIN, of how little I knew. Of how wrong I was. Of how much I had to learn.

I returned two years later for a full academic year to do the archival research for my PhD.  I was twenty-seven, more tired, more wary, more cynical, and yet my positions changed again.  I was now in South Africa for the closest thing to business.  This time I lived in Durban, the larger city by the sea, located nearly fifty miles (80km) away from the smaller capital of the Pietermaritzburg, and I tried to learn how to be an academic for reals.  I struggled to think of my own positionality as a North American academic with so many thoughts and quick analyses and schemas, I wracked my brain trying to think of the ways in which language and culture and colonialism linked my existence and those of the people I encountered every day, I made friends who shaped my life profoundly.  To the cynical surprise of someone who spends most of his time critically assessing the myriad transformations wrought by settler colonialism, I found myself feeling at home in Durban in some ways.  This feeling made me realize the complexities of travel, of building lives, of claiming identities, but also steeled me for thinking through how to live in a space shaped by centuries of inequality, and to think about how I could take all of this overwhelming knowledge home with me.  I ate loads of bunny chows—brilliant, red curries stacked in fluffy white loaves of bread.  I drank cup after cup of espresso in local roasteries.  I pored over pages of dry government reports and sanctimonious missionary publications, sifting through the arrogance of colonial words for indigenous voices, humanity, complexities of the violent collisions that shape our daily lived reality.  I fell more in love.

I returned once more in 2015, this time shocked to be a full “grown-up,” a professional academic at thirty-one, on a university funded research trip.  I struggled to be back in a town I’d loved, and to make connections three years after the fact.  I despaired of ever finding the right material for my book—I felt the rush of imposter syndrome as I wondered whether or not I could even turn that hard-won dissertation into a readable tome.  But I had an amazing month.  I saw people I loved, I made new connections, I laughed and went on adventures and tried to record it all down in journals and photographs for the next iteration that would come back, as I always did, to Mzansi.

I boarded a plane for South Africa yet again on June 12, 2016.  Ten days before, my boyfriend had broken up with me over the phone.  The day before a man had murdered nearly fifty people at a gay club, most of them people of color.  As I stood at the gate with my boarding pass in my hand, my phone rang.  It was my grandmother, who as far as we knew, was in perfect health.  She had eight weeks left to live.  

“I’m on my way to the store, but I wanted to call and wish you the best,” her soft voice crackled over the static of her car’s speakers.  I could picture her winding around California streets on a sunny afternoon in pursuit of groceries.

“You never forget to call, do you?”

“Of course not! Be safe. Learn things.  You always come back with something wonderful, don’t you?”

“I’ll try, Grandma.”

I returned to South Africa this time feeling bereft.  Things were falling apart all around me.  I knew my life was about to be very different without Benjamin (and had no idea that my grandmother’s denouement was awaiting).  I was even more cynical about me wanting to return to a location to be inspired and challenged, and had been writing more and more about settler presumptions.  It felt familiar, and I felt nervous about the whole endeavor.

I was not prepared for the realization of how absurdly fortunate I was.  I returned to Durban, and immediately fell into the arms of three people I loved at the airport—Mark Daku, my constant Canadian travel companion, and Shéla McCullough and Darren van Niekerk, dear friends who were about to be married.  We laughed and bantered and chattered on, my spirits lifted despite the nearly thirty hours of travel fatigue I was battling.  I immediately threw myself back into being in a space I loved.  I walked the streets of Glenwood and remember being handed a free coffee as I walked into the Bean Green.  “No charge today,” the barista said.  “You’re home.”  I teared up, even as I cynically wondered where home could be, and if such a thing could be true apart from colonialism.  I drank the coffee with gratitude and salt-streaked eyes.

I spent two intense weeks in archives, back among familiar pages to flip through.  I stared at the Indian Ocean’s relentless fanning of the sandy shore. I got my possessions rifled through by curious tree monkeys. I thought about this being my fifth time in such a transformative place, thirty-two and feeling more than a little bit broken by life around me.  This trip was about love, hope, and possibility.  I found new documents that excited me.  I got to see dear friends who held me as I cried and let me feel less alone or overwhelmed .  I got to embrace folk whose words I’d loved on the internet and couldn’t wait to chat with in person.  2004, 2009, 2011-12, and 2015 all crashed up against 2016 for me, and I saw myself at all those other times, and realized how much I still didn’t fucking know.

I watched Shéla and Darren get married on a winter’s afternoon in KwaZulu-Natal, the warmth of family near and far mingling with the joy of people who had become part of a chosen community that stretched across continents.  I laughed out loud as Danni Bowler blasted Drake at full volume as she maneuvered through the streets of Johannesburg, insisting I sing along.  I danced until my legs ached with Dean Hutton, Mvelase Peppetta, and Dexter Sagar in a tiny Cape Town club.  I played a card game with Lauren Beukes and her amazing daughter on a chilly evening.  I insisted on a road trip for schnitzel in the Midlands with Lauren Jarvis and Liz Timbs, each of us egging each other on to belt another Beyoncé song at the top of our lungs.  I sat over dinner with Charl Blignaut, Sekoetlane Phamodi and Louise Ferreira and remembered that in moments of great pain are also moments of incredible love (and scintillating wit).  I affectionately called Marc Kalina dad and listened to brilliant musicians at a historic anti-apartheid jazz club in Pinetown.  I woke up every day emotionally overwrought, impossibly sensitive, and deeply grateful.  I drank loudly and laughed harder with Mbali and Hlanganani than I’d done in ages.  I got to tour Dean’s brilliant and devastating art exhibit that got me banned from facebook for a day.  I sobbed while standing on Table Mountain in the rain with Amber Abrams and reconnected with my doppelganger Damien Williams over copious glasses of gin.

I remain deeply suspicious about the ways in which one can imagine being home in a space that is already occupied by others.  But I also am eternally grateful for the opportunity to return to a country where I feel embarrassingly loved, deeply cared for, included in the lives and hopes and dreams of others so very dear to me.  South Africa has transformed me as a student, as a thinker, as a writer, and as a person.  I keep coming back to a place that teaches me how very little I know, and makes me hunger for the chance to learn more and more.  This year was painful, but it was also beautifully reassuring that connections continue, that friends endure, and that life continues to hold love and meaning.

Ngiyabonga kakhulu, abangane bami.

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This is the tenth of sixteen short essays about things that have changed for me this year. Stay tuned for the (finally) remaining few as time goes on. #Teej16