#Latitude Apartments

[wellnesscard]

its 57°F out and i found this silly ring and a monkey-see monkey-do while walking today

[natalievoncatte]

Lena squared herself up after she stepped from the elevator.

This has taken considerable work. She’d had to arrange for her absence from boarding school to go unnoticed, or at least, unremarked upon. If Lillian got wind of her running away, she’d have been skinned alive. Perhaps literally. Since her adoptive father’s death, she’d actually looked forward to school, and to being away from Lillian’s abuse. Lex was now the only thing keeping her from Lena, and Lex was preoccupied with his project.

Her brother had been away for school for some time, but they had summers off together at least. When Lex took over the company when he turned 21, he grew distant and aloof, spending more time with his friend Clark or at work than with family.

With his absence came Lillian.

Still, she had managed to build a support network. Frank, her bodyguard-slash-driver was Lex’s man, but he was useful. Lena had spent months buttering him up to participate in her plan: she needed wheels.

In the meantime she’d acquired blackmail material. The head master at the school gave her a broad latitude after she implied that she might expose certain proclivities of his. That gave her the time away she needed. She’d carefully negotiated a higher allowance from Lex in exchange for accelerating her studies in anticipation of beginning her undergraduate studies at sixteen, which was a triviality for her anyway.

Lena walked down the hall, heart pounding against the backpack clutched to her chest. Each step felt heavy, alive with portent.

She could turn back now. She could turn her back now.

What if she was wrong? Paranoid, addled, as crazy as her mother, just like Lillian said? What if she was about to not only blow up her whole life, but slander her brother. If this went sideways, she didn’t know what exactly would happened to her, but Lillian had once, while tipsy on whisky from Lionel’s stash, told Lena that if not for Lex, she’d have Lena garroted with piano wire and buried on the estate, and like any bag of trash, no one would notice she’d been disposed of.

When she told Lex, her hands shook like leaves. He looked at her for a long cold moment and she worried that he’d slap her or scream or throw her out of the house, but he simply said, “I’ll talk to her about it.”

He did. She never made another threat.

He also brought her a wooden box, ornate and polished. Lex sat next to Lena and opened the box, showing her the contents, lying on red velvet. A five shot snub nose revolver and two speedloaders.

“I’ll teach you how to use this,” Lex said, grimly. “I know you’re smart enough to know if you need to. If anyone tries to harm you, kill them. I’ll clean it up.”

Lena had been terrified of it for months, even as she enjoyed the shooting lessons from Lex, given in a remote part of the estate near a burbling creek, the shots cracking the morning peace and shaking dew from leaves.

She had the gun in her backpack, and her hands were shaking.

The other contents of her bag were a weapon far more devastating. She was about to fire it and she’d have to accept the consequences.

Finally, she stood outside the door. Apartment 18B. The name on the lease was Lois Lane, but according to Lena’s reconnaissance, Clark Kent had been living with her virtually full time for the last six months, not long after something changed in his relationship with Lena’s brother.

Lena’s hand hung before the door for a good minute before she knocked, weekly. She hadn’t considered what might happen if they were simply not home. Her legs felt watery and her eyes burned. She knocked again. She was committed now.

The door swung open and Lois Lane stood before her. She was beautiful in an understated way, obscured by limp hair in a chaotic bun, rumpled clothes, and the stink of coffee on her breath.

“Who- what? Kid, what do you want?”

“I need to see Clark Kent. Is he here?”

“Who’s asking?”

“Lena Luthor.”

There was a gust of wind behind her, and Kent stepped into view.

“Lena?” said Clark. “Lex’s little sister? What are you doing here?”

Lena’s throat went tight. She swallowed hard, and as she anticipated, his demeanor changed. He softened. He craned forward slightly, studying her intently, and his brows shot up when looked at her bag.

He was checking her vital signs and he’d spotted the gun. In the bag.

“He knows you’re Superman,” Lena choked out, “and he’s going to kill you.”

Lois glanced at Clark with a stunned, stunned wide expression. Then, she grabbed Lena and yanked her inside, slamming the door. Lena squeaked.

“How do you know that? Lex knows? Did he tell you? What do you mean he wants to kill Clark?”

“Hey,” Clark said, crouching beside Lena to bring himself to her level, resting a comforting hand on her slight shoulder. “Take a breath, Lena. You’re safe here.”

In Lena’s plan, she was going to begin explaining, starting with how she deduced his identity and lay out what she discovered in his files. That was her plan, but no plan survived first contact with the enemy.

Lena began to sob.

Superman knelt beside her and removed his glasses, and enveloped Lena Luthor in a warm, protective hug. She sobbed harder, burying her face in his shoulder.

“Jesus Christ,” Lois whispered.

She drew the gun out of the bag and checked it with professional, practiced familiarity, dumping the shells into her hand.

“I think she’s telling the truth.”

Clark nodded.

Over the next hour, Lena was swept to Lois’s big couch and sat in the middle while the pair sat on either side of her. When she was hungry, Clark went out to get her favorite guilty pleasure meal, a big greasy burger and fries, and a milkshake too. Between bites, she explained everything, telling them about her brother’s insane plan to turn the sun red.

They believed it all. Lena had receipts.

Eventually, Lena was exhausted, everything had been said, and she sat with dull shock on the couch and stared at the black mirror of a blank television set, marveling at how small and helpless she looked, like a drowned rat.

“Why don’t you lay down for a while?” Lois said, gently. “Here, I’ll put something on the TV for you.”

Lena didn’t make it ten minutes in before she was asleep, curled tightly on one end of the couch with a pillow under her head.

She woke sometime later. It was dark now and she heard voices on the far side of the apartment.

“I called Bruce. He said he’s in, and he’s bringing reinforcements. I’m going to try to get a Green Lantern on board. We have to move fast. Nevermind me, if Lex does this, millions of innocent people will die. We’ll have to move fast.”

“What about the girl?” said Lois. “She can’t go home now. We have to get her somewhere safe.”

“I have to get you both somewhere safe. I should probably come up with a reason to get the building evacuated. One Lex realizes he’s been caught out, he’ll come after both of you.”

“You’re right.”

“I want you to go out,” said Clark. “Make it look like you’re heading out to a convenience store. Bruce is sending Alfred to pick you up, he should be here in an hour. I have somewhere else in mind for Lena.”

“Where?”

“It’s better if I don’t tell you, just in case.”

When he emerged from the back bedroom, Clark Kent was resplendent, clothed in the persona of Superman.

“Lena?” he said, gently. “We have to go. I’ll take you somewhere safe, where your brother won’t find you.”

Lois joined him. “You’re going to put on some of my clothes, and I’m going to check your hair. You can’t take anything with you. Lex Luthor might have been tracking you the entire time.”

Lena’s stomach dropped. What if she was right? That might be a move Lex would play, tracking Lena so that he could use her against his enemy. Lex had become cold, single minded. Lena was wondering how long it would be until she was disposable.

“Okay,” said Lena.

“I’m going to have to fly you.”

Lena did as she was told. She put on an outfit that belonged to Lois, a hilariously oversized Gotham U sweatshirt and leggings. When it was time, Superman bundled her up in his cape.

“I’m scared of heights.”

“I would never drop you,” he said.

Lena screamed when he took off. She was glad for the cape, glad she couldn’t see the ground. She curled up around him and pressed her eyes tightly closed, wondering exactly how fast they were going.

The landing came surprisingly fast. He’d alighted on the grassy lawn of a lovely beach house. Lena smelled something baking and heard voices inside. Clark knocked on the door.

A girl, a little older than Lena, opened the door. Golden curls spilled over her muscular shoulders, and she wore an oversized pair of glasses that did nothing to dull the endless depths of her blue eyes. There was something profoundly sad behind the curiosity in those eyes. She looked at Lena with mild confusion.

Lena stared back. There was a wild stirring in her stomach, and she shifted uneasily on her feet.

Then, the girl addressed Clark in a rapid, clipped, and utterly strange sounding language.

It hit Lena like a shockwave.

They were speaking Kryptonian.

“Lena,” said Superman, turning to her. “This is Kara Zor-El, my cousin. The last daughter of Krypton.”

[logorrhea5mip]

As you might know, the sky is due to get a new star any time now, in a few months at most.

What is happening? The recurrent nova T Coronae Borealis, by far the brightest one known, is a star* in the northern constellation Corona Borealis that, once every 80 years or so, increases in brightness from completely invisible by naked eye to among the ~100 brightest in the night sky. This increase is called a nova, from the Latin word for new, as it looks like a new star has appeared.

Where can i see it from? Basically all human inhabited latitudes, all except the far south. In the northern latitudes, however it is visible the entire night, while near and below the equator you will need to 'catch' it at the right time of night, which in August and September is just after sunset.

How will it look? Let's not get your hopes up too high. It will, at the brightest, reach a magnitude around 2 at most, so about as bright as the north star, relatively unremarkable and completely unnoticeable as unique to someone who doesn't know where to look. But still, it's the most visible sudden change to the relatively fixed pattern of the heavens any of us will live to see, so you should still go give it a look.

Where is it? Currently, the constellation is best visible about 1 or 2 hours after sunset. You will need to be relatively far away from light pollution, so at least a couple dozen stars are clearly visible. While learning the constellations, and finding the star by orienting via those is imho half the fun, you could use one of many sky map apps and websites to tell you the star's location. If it didn't happen yet, there should be nothing visible at that location. However, if there is, congrats! You just did an astronomy™ :3

It will appear in the circle next to the star labeled ε

Why is this happening? Most stars spend most of their lives in a stable, hydrogen fusing state. However, when hydrogen in their cores begins to run out, they switch to helium fusion, which makes them swell up to enormous sizes, turn red due to lower surface temperature, and are thus called red giants. After this helium runs out, the star will (in most cases) throw off the inflated outer layers, while its hot, dense core shrinks and keeps on glowing due to how hot it is, while not actually doing any fusion and not producing any new energy. Those are called white dwarfs, and because they don't fuse, aren't technically stars at all, therefore the asterisk in the first sentence of this post. The T-CrBo system is a red giant and white dwarf binary, where the red giant has grown so big, that the parts of it closest to its partner aren't gravitationally bound to it anymore. Therefore, the gas falls and accumulates on the white dwarf's surface (which otherwise has no hydrogen on its own), untill a critical point is reached where the pressure of the gas causes it to all fuse at once, resulting in a huge thermonuclear explosion bright enough to be seen from over 2500 light years. The explosion however, isn't big enough to blow the dwarf apart, and it starts accumulating new matter from its partner right away. Because of this, it with re-explodes every 8 decades, and it is due to go any day now.

@green-mountain-goose @brightgreendandelions

[saturnianoracle]

Whole Signs v Placidus - which house system is better?

Ah yes, ye age olde debate... which house system to use?

When first getting into astrology, the majority will use the placidus house system whether or not they know it. Placidus is the default for modern/ pop astrology; every chart generation website automatically uses it. Nowadays, the most common runner up house system to placidus is Whole Signs (often used by traditional/hellenistic astrologers). Yet, there are many house systems...:

➔Whole signs ➔Placidus ➔Koch ➔Equal/ Equal (MC) ➔Porphyry ➔Regiomontanus ➔Morinus ➔Alcabatius ➔Campanus ➔Meridian ➔Vehlow ➔Meridian

In this post, however, I will give my own argument on why I use whole signs and why I disagree with placidus. If you disagree with me thats fine, but I hope to at least educate on how these house systems even work and the deeper meaning behind why using whole signs is improtant.

»»-------¤-------««»»-------¤-------««»»-------¤-------««

First, how does Placidus work?

The ascendant (as well as the dsc, mc, ic) is a mathematical point based on the on the sign on the Eastern horizon. Placidus works by marking the cusps of the houses into two-hour intervals starting from the time of your birth. This is then pushed every 2 hours for the 12th 11th 10th 9th 8th and 7th house cusps ( because by the 7th house cusp it has completed 6/6 of its daily solar arc ) and then mirrored for the houses below (already an...interesting method). It is a quadrant system.

How does Whole Signs (WS) work?

Whole signs is not a time based system like Placidus. Whole signs split the houses into equal 30 degree segments, much like how the zodiac signs are split, so each house is equal in size and all the signs start at 0 degrees. The ascendant point, MC, IC, and DC float within the house instead.

Main issues:

Historical

➥The maths for this was laid out by Ptolemy for the purpose of understanding primary directions, of which most people now believe was actually used to predict lifespan - not for a house system. And then eventually an astrologer called Abraham ibn Ezra interpreted Ptolemy's works as a house system which Placidus then came along and validated. ➥During the 17th century British astrologers took this and ran. The Church did not like Placidus' works and so the astrologers essentially pushed the system as revenge against the Church/a big F you to them, making it the popularised system to use. This sacrified accuracy. Placidus rests on a foudnation not even designed to be a house system in the first place which creates a lot of problems as we will see below. P.S. I would HIGHLY recommend reading this article on the popularisation of placidus for a more indepth, better explanation.

Functional

➥Placidus simply falls apart at extreme latitudes (which people ARE born at). Take this chart for example:

Is everyone born at extreme latiudes suddenly inherently special for having such a chart where the houses are so vastly unequal and inutile in size? How does one go about interpreting the significance of this? Houses are literally swallowed up/duplicated or are massive or tiny. Just because your houses might not change so much in WS or placidus does not mean its still valid - a house system has to work for everybody universally. In WS however:

This works and makes SENSE. It is not an issue of being able to interpret the so-called intercepted house (which placidus has the issue of as the maths for it was never intended to be a house system in the first place) or not, it is about being accurate in how to read a chart. ➥Notice how in the placidus chart it appears the ascendant is in the 12th house. This is another visual issue with placidus, for instance apps like CoStar will even tell you that your ascendant is in the 12th house... Placidus or not though the ascendant is always in or at the first house, the ascendant can never be in any other house - the 1st house is literally YOU. The cusps just looked messed up because of the intercepted houses. And chart generating platforms like CoStar relying on placidus mess up even further...

➥ Intercepted houses mean a sign/s is "swallowed up" and doesn't influence any house cusp, which contradicts the principle that every zodiac sign has a clear role in the chart (every house and sign matters whether or not a house is empty etc). The idea that a sign is somehow blocked or inaccessible is untrue, whether or not you think it relates to you (certain aspects in your chart for explain that feeling when read properly rather than this, either way astrology does not care about how you feel or how you wish your chart was; many people get upset that their sun sign moves from the 5th to 6th house for example in WS).

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿════✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

Rebutting common arguments for placidus

"Whole signs doesn't take into account the rotation and curvature of the earth!"

✣First, as explained above, WS houses remain consistent regardless of the observer's latitude, avoiding the distortions and inaccuracies systems like Placidus introduce, particularly at extreme latitudes. WS houses rely on the zodiac's natural, unchanging divisions, which are independent of the Earth's curvature and geographic location (as explained in this post), providing consistent and straightforward house boundaries. ✣WS matches the universe's system. The signs, and therefore the houses are all about the sun rising from zero (its declination/ going from 0 degrees of whatever sign up till 29 and into the next) as the system follows every 30 degree section of the ecliptic , and correlates with the length of the sign's period. If the ascendant involves the ecliptic meeting the horizon , the ascendant point is a specific coordinate that is located within the first house whose cusp starts at 0 rather than marking the beginning of the cusp. Why should the house system not match what is going on above from which we observe and practise.

"Why not a time-based system if astrology is all about predictive techniques and seems so time sensitive?"

✣ Time doesn't exist in space in the same way it does here, time is just our tool to pinpoint moments against a measurement from which we can organise things (generally speaking). Time is, however, crucial for predictions only in how translate what happens up there to below, less so for diving the sky which is basically already divided for us. ✣ Time-based divisions, like placidus, introduce unnecessary complexity without adding real astrological value, as the essential qualities of the houses are fully captured by the zodiac's natural 30-degree segments in WS anyway as explained above.

"The MC and IC cannot be in houses which are not 10th and 4th!"

✣ Yes they can, this is quite straightforward. In WS, the IC can be in the 2nd-6th house and MC in 8th-12th (extremely rarely it can be in the 1st/7th house too). It is a floating mathematical point (like the asc and dsc) and does not mark the beginning of the 4th house and 10th house cusps like in Placidus. ✣ This is because the MC is the point where the sun culminates at its highest position in the sky at a given location, corresponding to the local meridian. The IC is directly opposite, marking the lowest point below the horizon. The MC and IC are not tied to the zodiac signs but are based on the intersection of the ecliptic (the Sun's apparent path) with the meridian line of the observer's location. This intersection varies based on the time of birth and latitude, and these points can occur at any degree of the zodiac. Because WS houses are aligned with the zodiac signs and the MC/IC are specific points along the ecliptic, the MC and IC can fall at different degrees that don't align with the 10th and 4th house cusps. ✣ This adds more nuance to readings. For instance, if the MC is in the 9th house instead of the 10th, it might indicate that one's career/public life/legacy/how they come off is strongly influenced by 9th house themes like higher education, travel, or philosophy. Thus, they add more information to how 10th and 4th house themes manifest. ✣ Here is a must-read article if you want more information (thorough analysis of MC/IC through the houses) on this topic: Patrick Watson- What To Do When the Midheaven Is Not in the 10th Whole Sign House.

Ending thoughts

People find it difficult to move on from placidus because they think their placidus charts makes complete sense/they resonate deeply with it/ they simply prefer their house placements in placidus to WS. All this is because of, for lack of better wording, a skill issue. You think it makes more sense but thats because you don't actually know how to properly delineate a chart - end of. And that's fine, astrology is complex and interpretation requires a lot of practise and deep study, especially into hellenistic works for a richer understanding of astrology.

Using placidus makes readings and your understanding of astrology unnecessarily complex and undermines the true art of chart intepretation, allowing for pop astrologers to import their own 'psychological' analysis, for instance, onto you via astrology - a deep misuse. Astrology has never been about psychologically explaining yourself - it is a map of your entire life of which you will not always 'relate' to, especially at different points in your life because those energies simply won't be pertinent/obvious when we are 5 vs 50 for example. I have spoken about the problems of using "resonating" to determine the accuracy of your astrological studies in my introductory post already, but it is a point which keeps needing to be re-emphasised.

The Whole Sign system is the oldest of all house systems, used effectively by ancient astrologers for thousands of years. It provides consistent and reliable results, particularly in predictive work, without the unnecessary and inaccurate complications introduced by varying house sizes and interceptions. If you want to use profection charts for instance, or many other traditional techniques, placidus will not work.

Placidus (as well as modern rulerships and the ABC house system which I will make posts on later) will take a while to unlearn - it certainly took me a long time to adjust out of the grips of modern pop culture's inaccurate and misleading yet addictive astrology. This is okay. But at the end of the day, wrong is wrong no matter how you try to justify it.

However, it is your personal choice. Posts like mine can only hope to encourage you to explore the deeper layers of astrology. Things like WS can take a while to accept, or you may never accept it - but as long as you make that decision fully informed. Yours sincerely, an ex-Placidus user xoxo

[wonder-worker]

There are few English queens—indeed, few women in history—whose biographies have been as contested as that of Anne Boleyn. Even to this day, almost nothing about Anne Boleyn is agreed upon by either historians or novelists, from facts such as the year of her birth (1501 or 1507/08), to more vexed questions about how to interpret her reign and her downfall. Given that almost everything about the life, reign and death of Anne Boleyn has become a matter for debate, it is not surprising that she has become a favourite subject of novelists, poets, playwrights and, more recently, producers of movies, television shows and popular musicals. The elasticity of her story provides great imaginative latitude for historical fiction. Anne Boleyn’s life is just remote enough to render it a colourful subject for historical fiction, yet its very familiarity renders it strangely comforting. Even a schoolchild can remember the old rhyme"divorced-beheaded-died-divorced beheaded- survived” and place Anne Boleyn in her position as the scandalous second wife. Beyond the fact of her coronation and execution, however, the real Anne Boleyn remains lost to history, unable to inscribe any kind of coherent narrative on the bare facts of her life. Indeed, there is so much room for interpretative latitude that her story can lapse into incoherence: so various are the Anne Boleyns that we have access to, it is hard to ascertain what actually happened and what it means. Even Shakespeare seems confused: his Anne Boleyn is variously a devout and modest woman, and a sexual temptress who engages in double-entendre-laden banter. The constructedness of history and the impact of the subjective vantage point of the teller on our understanding of historical truth are rarely as transparent as when any attempt is made to impose coherent meaning on the story of Anne Boleyn.

Some have attributed the ongoing fascination of Anne Boleyn, and the temptation to reinscribe her into literature and culture, to the elemental or universal qualities of her narrative. In her account of the development of the mythology of Anne Boleyn, for example, Susan Bordo argues that the

story of her rise and fall is as elementally satisfying – and scriptwise, not very different from – a Lifetime movie: a long-suffering, postmenopausal wife; an unfaithful husband and a clandestine affair with a younger, sexier woman; a moment of glory for the mistress; then lust turned to loathing, plotting, and murder as the cycle comes full circle.

The recognisable, satisfying cycle that Bordo recognises here, quite apart from its purported resemblance to a Lifetime movie, perhaps accounts for the deluge of Tudor fiction that began to appear from the mid-twentieth century onwards. Other scholars have affirmed the seemingly timeless nature of the story of Boleyn’s rise and fall, with Julie Crane seeing a link between that narrative and medieval morality plays. She writes that the story of Anne Boleyn seems to be “a confirmation that the wheel of fortune was still turning, capriciously, dealing out favours as carelessly as the condemned Queen had been accused of doing.” However understandable the impulse to universalise Boleyn’s story might be, these attempts mostly fail to account for the very historic specificity of Boleyn’s narrative. Part of Boleyn’s appeal is surely her specific place within the court of Henry VIII and the rupture with the Catholic Church that Henry’s desire to take her as his wife precipitated. How can we account for a woman who apparently had so much sexual and emotional appeal she had the power to cleave King and country from the control of the Catholic Church, yet whose downfall was so complete she became the first English queen consort to face the executioner? What is clear is that no matter how the details of Anne Boleyn’s life and death are interpreted, whether she is the universal “other woman” or the powerless Tudor queen consort caught up in the web of a psychopathic, tyrannical king, she continues to speak to us as an avatar of feminine power and sexuality. Indeed, one might apply Joseph Roach’s concept of “it” to Anne: she has “the power of apparently effortless embodiment of contradictory qualities simultaneously: strength and vulnerability, innocence and experience, and singularity and typicality among them.” It is perhaps that ability to hold together contradictory meanings that has ensured the durability of her image as historical actor and celebrity. Anne can simultaneously be femme fatale and victim, predator and prey, religious reformer and cynic.

...Since her execution on 19 May 1536, Anne’s life and body has been a site upon which competing religious, political and sexual ideologies have been inscribed—a practice that continues to this day. In her 2017 Reith Lectures, Hilary Mantel, author of the award-winning historical novels Wolf Hall (2009), Bring Up the Bodies (2012) and The Mirror and the Light (2020), in which Anne plays a key role, addressed the ongoing fascination of the story of Anne Boleyn, arguing that “you can tell the story and tell it. Put it through hundreds of iterations. But still, there seems to be a piece of the puzzle missing.” The story of the rise and fall of Anne Boleyn, Mantel suggests, is so fundamentally strange and compelling that it resists inscription, even as it has been constantly revisited and reinterpreted by historian and novelist alike. That sense that there is something to the story that remains undiscovered, Mantel argues, accounts for the seemingly endless drive to provide the “answer” to the problem of Anne Boleyn. Of course, we can also account for the persistence of interest in Anne to the evergreen interest in the lives of royalty. However, Anne’s appeal does seem to transcend the appeal generated by other queens, and even other Henrician queens. Katherine Howard, for example, has not elicited the amount of interest as Anne Boleyn, even though they met the same grizzly end. As Sarah Gristwood has recently argued, too, the sixteenth century boasts no shortage of queens who were able to exercise political power in a variety of ways, but none has had anywhere near the posthumous glamour or appeal of Anne Boleyn. The image of a woman raised high, only to be (literally) cut down, is one that has had uneasy resonance across centuries, and there is something specific about the precise iteration of Anne’s rise and fall that continues to speak to contemporary audiences. In an age that purports to be socially progressive, yet still exhibits an obvious unease with the relationship of women to power, especially when that story is refracted through sex, Anne’s story seems to take on ever more symbolic weight.

-Stephanie Russo, The Afterlife of Anne Boleyn: Representations of Anne Boleyn in Fiction and on the Screen

[harrisonarchive]

Photo 1 by Express/Mirrorpix via Getty Images, photo 2 courtesy of Bridgeman Images.

Happy Mother's Day.

“My mum did encourage me. Perhaps most of all by never discouraging me from anything I wanted to do. That was the good thing about her and my dad….” - George Harrison, The Beatles: The Authorized Biography (1968) “George tried to teach himself [the guitar]. But he wasn’t making much headway. ‘I’ll never learn this,’ he used to say. I said, ‘You will, son, you will. Just keep at it.’ He kept at it till his fingers were bleeding. ‘You’ll do it, son, you’ll do it,’ I said to him. I sat up till two or three in the morning. Every time he said, ‘I’ll never make it,’ I said, ‘You will, you will.’” - Louise Harrison, ibid “[I’m into] Hoagy Carmichael, who my mother was also into.” - George Harrison,  Billboard, December 5, 1992 “My mother once gave me a Lichtenstein print called Reverie, where there's a girl singing, and in the speech bubble behind her, it says, ‘The melody haunts my reverie’ which is a line from [Hoagy Carmichael’s] ‘Stardust.” It stayed on my wall for years.” - Dhani Harrison, The Line of Best Fit, October 20, 2023 “My mother’s father, Esquiel Arias, was a singer, and dad recorded him singing these great Mexican songs. My mother’s mother was related to Jorge Negrete, who was a film star and singer, I guess at the same level as Elvis or Bing Crosby in Mexico. Dad was a huge fan and had him on the jukebox at home. There’s a long line of musicians on both sides.” - Dhani Harrison, MOJO, November 2017 “Well, it’s the craziest coincidence that our mothers were both named Louise, and had the same favorite song — ‘María Elena.’ Very popular, oddly enough, by Los Índios Tabajaras back in the '60s. I don’t know how George’s mother heard it. In California, you know, that would not be a surprise. But the fact that she had that album, and my mother had this album, in these latitudes so far apart, and yet we had this song that sort of bound us all together, our families together.” - Olivia Harrison, BBC Radio, October 1, 2023 (x)

[carefulfears]

it’s actually all about the beginning of piper maru when skinner tells scully that the fbi is closing the investigation into her sister’s murder and she falls into that empty sad righteousness she so rarely openly expresses and she says

“You know, it's strange. Men can blow up buildings, and they can be nowhere near the crime scene but we can piece together the evidence and convict them beyond a doubt. Our labs here can recreate out of the most microscopic detail the motivation and circumstance to almost any murder, right down to a killer's attitude towards his mother and that he was a bed wetter. But in a case of a woman, my sister, who was gunned down in cold blood in a well-lit apartment building by a shooter who left the weapon at the crime scene, we can't even put together enough to keep anybody interested.”

and then she goes down to the basement, to a man who has looked for his dead sister in every room for 23 years, and he asks her what’s wrong then backs off when she signals him to, and tells her all about this resurfaced boat. latitude/longitude and russian subs and radiation burns and researching the wind patterns and nuclear tests sites before anyone else got there that morning. and she tells him that she is “constantly amazed” by him.

SCULLY: You're working down here in the basement, sifting through files and transmissions that any other agent would just throw away in the garbage.

MULDER: Well, that's why I'm in the basement, Scully.

SCULLY: You're in the basement because they're afraid of you. Of your relentlessness. And because they know that they could drop you in the middle of the desert, and tell you the truth is out there, and you would ask them for a shovel.

how much it means, in a world where so many things are ignored or dismissed, so many people are ignored or dismissed, to spend your life working next to someone who could be dropped anywhere and just ask for a shovel. who never stops looking, never stops caring, never stops wanting more for people, just because he believes they’re made for more.

[gumnut-logic]

Hello! I'm wondering what happens when Alex finds out Virgil plays the piano?

Sweetapple Piano

Alexander Sweetapple Series | Alexander Sweetapple and the Volcanic Island

Apologies for the delay in answering this lovely ask. This is part of Alexander Sweetapple and the Volcanic Island, but because we are writing it out of order, I'm thinking probably chapter four.

Also, it is all fluff, complete fluff. Virg is a maestro and Alex is the fanboy.

This is m/m romance, so if that isn't your thing, this isn't the fic for you. The very beginning was posted yesterday as a WIP Wednesday (actually on Wednesday for once), so it may look familiar, but there is plenty more. I am soooo happy to be writing again.

Many thanks to the wonderful @onereyofstarlight and @womble1 for the readthroughs and amazing support. And I big thanks to those of you who continue to support our engineering geeky fanboy OC. Oh, and special thanks to @sailing-on-a-puddle for both asking this question in the first place and for writing her Glitter fic which sparked me to write more of Alex and Virg :D You guys spoil me rotten and I'm truly blessed to be part of the amazing Thunderfam ::hugs everybody and squishes for all::

I hope you enjoy the fic.

-o-o-o-

Virgil and Mrs Tracy set Alex and his mum up in two of the guest rooms in the Tracy villa that second night on Tracy Island.

It was an early one after a massive day and Alex was exhausted. Virgil kept him company, but it was obvious the rescue operative…his rescue operative…was also exhausted.

Regardless, it appeared they didn’t want to separate from one another. Virgil escorted him to his room, an amazingly spacious apartment with a view to die for, but instead of leaving, ended up sitting on the couch beside him just talking.

About anything and everything.

Sure, they had Siliwrap to discuss - it was their default topic, after all and a means to spend time together for so long. But now things were different, more open, with more possibilities.

Alex couldn’t help himself. He watched every movement of Virgil’s facial expression. His smile, his arched eyebrow, his concern, his lips…

His hands, which so often he found holding one or more of his. He should be alarmed. This was Virgil Tracy after all, Alex’s hero worship was a thing. But it seemed Virgil was just as attached to him. Ever so polite, always checking to make sure Alex was okay, and with a hesitancy that proved that this was as new to Virgil as it was to Alex.

And just as cherished.

But exhausted they were and both Mrs Tracy and and Alex’s mum checked up on them and mothered them enough to make sure they went to bed.

It was stupid to have his mother, now hopping around on crutches, tucking him into bed. He should be looking after her, not the other way around. But her smile and her kiss to his forehead, reminiscent of young nights now so long ago, it was obvious she had been as scared and as worried as he.

Yet, out of horror and disaster, Alex’s world had changed so much, and as she brushed hair off his forehead, with the murmurs of Virgil and Mrs Tracy in the rooms beyond, all he could feel was love.

“Love you, mum.” His voice was little more than a whisper.

She smiled down at him. “Thank you, Allie, for today.” She placed a quick shushing finger across his lips. “Sleep, honey, you need it. We can talk tomorrow.”

A brush of a finger to his cheek. “Sleep well, Allie.” Again with that all-seeing and amused smile, she turned and hobbled out of his room, shutting the door behind her.

He should be looking after her.

But the thought was overtaken by the exhaustion in every cell he possessed, and despite everything, he fell asleep before he could worry any more.

Which let to this morning.

The sun was bright in tropical latitudes and the morning early. He slept soundly and rose with less of the headache from yesterday. There were still protests from various parts of his body, but he felt energised, as if the sun was injecting energy directly into his system.

He padded down stairs in bare feet, dressed only in a borrowed t-shirt and long pyjama bottoms. He suspected he owed John Tracy a new wardrobe.

One aspect of the Tracy villa was accessibility. There were stairs, yes, but for each stairwell there was an accompanying lift. There was engineering in the design he couldn’t help but admire. The building was glued to the volcanic rock face, but used the rock in ways that maximised it as a building material, and the mechanical infrastructure meshed into it just as smoothly.

Whoever designed it was a bloody genius.

Finding himself staring at one of the lifts nested into basalt, he shook himself. Okay, Alex, you’re a fanboy. Stop with the catatonia. You’re amongst…Tracys. Genius was likely the norm.

Of course, that was the moment his feet landed on the hardwood of the main comms room and music floated into the stairwell.

Piano music.

He frowned. He had noted the grand piano the previous day, but with a day of so many other thoughts, he hadn’t questioned it.

Alex stopped just behind the wall that curved and supported all the portraits of the family. The music was lovely. Light and melodious, just floating gently on the air with happiness.

He shook himself. No coffee, day after a disaster that could have killed him, somehow that had him waxing poetic.

But the moment he stepped into the room and discovered who was playing the piano like a siren, he understood why.

It was Virgil. Of course it was Virgil. Dressed in a grey t-shirt and blue jeans, the man was lost in his music. His eyes were closed and he was just playing.

Realising he hadn’t been noticed, Alex crept forward, thankful for his bare feet, and sat down quietly on the floor, legs dangling over the edge of the sunken lounge. He watched those gorgeous hands dancing over the black and white keys, the shift of Virgil’s body as his weight moved with the music.

Alex had to admit that he had a thing for piano music. Mostly because his sister, Janie played, and played a lot. Janie had moved to Sydney, Australia, to further her musical studies (and possibly a fellow Aussie soloist who had more than caught her eye - his mother still liked to stir her about it every now and again). Alex did miss the sound of her playing. It had been a background to his homework and engineering studies for a good part of his learning years.

And this? It wasn’t enough that Virgil was a brilliant engineer, but also a pianist of calibre. Alex could understand that much. Janie came with many a recital and Alex had learnt good from not so good simply by osmosis.

And Virgil was good. Very good.

But then, he was a Tracy.

Alex’s fanboy heart fluttered.

But the man who had been kissed, just yesterday, so, so thoroughly? His heart swelled with just so…much.

The music suddenly stopped. “Alex?” Virgil was standing up from the piano.

Alex held up a hand. “No, no. Sit down.” Virgil’s eyes widened a little, but he obeyed and sat back down as Alex scrambled to his own feet and padded over. “That was beautiful.” He wanted to place his hand on Virgil’s shoulder but couldn’t work out if that was an okay thing, or where to place his hands really at all.

Virgil overrode everything by wrapping a strong arm around him and drawing him close. “Good morning.” He drew Alex down for a gentle kiss.

Oh.

That was never going to lose its thrill.

Alex found himself sitting on the piano seat beside Virgil, very much ignoring the piano completely.

No, definitely never going to lose its thrill.

Coming up for breath. “Hey, good morning to you, too.”

That brought a grin to Virgil’s face followed by a chuckle that was obviously in reaction to whatever was on Alex’s face.

But the grin eventually shifted to a gentle smile with enquiring and medically scanning eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“Pretty bloody good.”

Virgil snickered, and was that a blush?

Oh, god.

Alex swallowed and attempted to straighten himself out into something socially acceptable. “So, you play?”

Virgil blinked as if he had forgotten he was seated in front of the piano. “Oh, um, yeah.”

“That was amazing.” At Virgil’s arched eyebrow. “Your music, I mean.”

Virgil’s lips twisted into a lop-sided smile. “Thanks.”

“What were you playing?”

“Nothing in particular. Just felt like a bit of piano.”

“That was improvised?”

Virgil shrugged. “Yeah.”

Alex stared at him a moment longer. “Bloody amazing.”

And there was that gentle blush again.

Alex’s arm tightened around Virgil’s waist, drawing the big man closer until their temples touched. “I’m sorry. You’re just…” Amazing? Unbelievable? Beautiful? “…you.”

Another snort of laughter and they were kissing again.

Alex could so get used to this.

“Oh, god, my eyes!”

Alex felt rather than saw Virgil roll his eyes and their kiss suddenly changed to something far more performative.

Alex followed his lead and there were hands and wow, this was…his mind blanked.

There was another gasp of horror and disgust followed by stomping feet on stairs that disappeared into the distance. A plaintive ‘Grandma!’ was muffled by the house.

Virgil broke off the kiss. “Sorry, brothers.” His smile turned into a grin and Alex found himself giggling with him. They were like a pair of school boys into mischief.

“Which one was that?” By process of elimination, there was only a possibility of two…though the thought of Mr Scott Tracy’s reaction had Alex’s stomach roiling with a mixture of excitement and down right terror.

“That was Allie.” Virgil blinked at Alex. “Alan.”

Alex just smiled at him. “Play for me?”

A stare full of thought behind those gorgeous dark eyes. “Okay.”

Virgil turned towards the keys and Alex shifted enough to give him room, letting his hands free. “Any requests?”

“What ever you like.”

Another glance at Alex, before Virgil’s fingers touched the keys and notes filled the air.

Alex breathed in as music wafted up from the strings deep inside the barrel of the instrument, sent by the brilliant man beside him.

He let the breath out ever so slowly.

So bloody amazing.

-o-o-o-

[girlactionfigure]

🔅Thu morning - ISRAEL REALTIME - Connecting to Israel in Realtime

A good Chol HaMoed! Moadim l’Simcha!

🔘 SUMMARY TODAY 🔘

⚠️ HEATWAVE.. VERY HOT.  Don’t leave children in the car!  Check on elderly!  Beware heat stroke!

Israel is suffering a desert heatwave, temperatures very hot, very dry - and beaches, parks and the Kinneret are PACKED.  The temperatures should drop to normal spring temps tomorrow with a cooling trend late next week and even possible light rain.

🔘 LEBANON -  The ‘tit-for-tat’ pace of attacks has increased, again, with Israel striking more often, larger hits, more locations, and deep into Lebanon at Hezbollah sites.  Hezbollah has been firing larger rocket barrages, sending more drones, more anti-tank missiles, and is threatening to increase strikes to target northern Israeli cities.  How long can this go on before it goes too far?  Unknown.

🔘 GAZA -  Remember the food crisis and the demand for 500 trucks a day?  At 400 trucks a day Gaza is so awash in FREE FOOD that Gazans are throwing away the airdropped military meals, and vendors are selling (received free) products for 1/4 the price they would be found in Israeli supermarkets.  The major product in demand: cigarettes.

In a “LIE OF THE DAY” moment, in January Hamas put out videos of them digging graves in the Nasser and Shifa hospital parking lots.  In the past week videos when out of “OMG WE FOUND A MASS GRAVE IN THE HOSPITAL PARKING LOT - WHAT HAVE THE ISRAELIS DONE?”.  Of course UN horrified, investigation demanded, etc.  Complicating it, Israel did dig up the graves sites to check if any of the bodies were Israeli hostages, and then put them back after determining they were not.  Here’s a link from Al Jazeera of Hamas creating the “mass grave” that was just found -> https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2023/11/14/gazas-al-shifa-hospital-forced-to-bury-dead-patients-in-mass-grave

🔘 HAMAS -  Video of leader Sinwar touring above ground debunked, it’s from 2017.  Suddenly their political types are talking about flexibility and deal possibilities, after rejecting ridiculously generous terms from Israel.  They’re feeling some political pressure.

🔘 RAFAH -  It appears Israel is lined up and ready militarily to attack Gaza’s last city and Hamas stronghold Rafah.  What’s the hold up?  We hear of consultations with the U.S. and meetings in Egypt.

🔘 JUDEA-SAMARIA -  Daily attacks at security checkpoints and Jewish town fences and gates.  Conversely, the IDF is doing daily incursions into the larger Arab cities, battles with local terror groups and arrests in Jenin, Shechem, Tubas, Qalqilya, Jericho, Hebron among others.  The enhanced containment strategy is not enough, and the commanding general has quit.

🔘 PROTESTS & POLITICS -  A solid coalition of distraught hostage families and anti-government-coalition protestors has formed, with weekly sizable protests in Tel Aviv and occasional smaller semi-violent protests in Jerusalem.  The protest coalition doesn’t seem to be growing, but it does seem to be becoming more aggressive as they continue to have no effective impact - though some say they are directly having counter-productive impact as videos of the protests are used in Hezbollah, Hamas and Iranian videos to “show Israel falling apart under the onslaught of the axis of resistance”.  

For the most part these protests have been given wide latitude, particularly with the involvement of hostage families.  But as they are becoming more aggressive, the police have been in response.

The war coalition - the active government, remains remarkably stable and quiet in public for Israeli politicians.  There is a lot of public speculation and polls around future elections, parties and politicians.  All is speculation until the war and results settle.

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

The Orbitron

The Orbitron is a custom car built by Ed Roth and feared lost until its rediscovery in Mexico in 2007

A second generation to Roth's original Beatnik Bandit, which was built in 1960, the Beatnik Bandit II features a one-of-a-kind fiberglass body with PPG lemon meringue pie paint, stylized Rat Fink designs on the sides, and chrome by Metal Masters of Salt Lake City, UT. 

Beatnik Bandit II includes many unique design features, including an electronic console which operates the digital instrument panel and other features such as a digital readout of the car's latitude and longitude. 

The lack of a rearview mirror is not a problem on this car. A "TV mirror" video monitor is mounted on the console with the actual camera mounted in the rear panel. The bubble top is also lifted electronically. 

Beatnik Bandit II was built entirely by Roth, who credits "Revelations from Father in Heaven" for his achievement. The car has been shown in major U. S. cities, including Boston, Los Angeles, Chicago and Houston, as well as in Yokohama, Japan.

The Beatnik Bandit

Ed 'Big Daddy' Roth was an artist, cartoonist, illustrator, pinstriper and custom car designer and builder who created the hot-rod icon Rat Fink and other characters. Roth was a key figure in Southern California's Kustom Kulture and hot-rod movement of the late 1950s and 1960s The Beatnik Bandit was one of his first creations from the early 1960s. It was built from a 1949 Oldsmobile, the chassis was shortened 5 feet, the Olds engine was given the classic hotrod look with GMC blower and twin carbys, everything was chromed except the blower belt. The white interior featured single joystick, that operated turning, throttle and braking. The bubble top was created using compressed air to inflate a sheet of plastic into a dome in a pizza oven. On display at the National Automobile Museum in Reno

Mysterion

Ed Roth built the Mysterion in 1963, he got the idea from the multi engine dragsters he had seen at the dragstrips. He combined two Ford engines, two transmissions, plus two welded rear ends for the foundation. It featured an offset headlight and the typical Ed Roth bubble top. On display at Galpin Auto Sports.

The Road Agent by Ed “Big Daddy” Roth.

Mysterion

Custom builder and artist Ed "Big Daddy" Roth completed the Mysterion in 1963. The bubbletopped custom featured a completely original fiberglass body and twin Ford big-block engines. The weight of the engines was too much for the frame to bear, and the Mysterion fell apart. Tribute versions have been built, including this precise replica from Galpin Auto Sports.

The Surfink

The Surfink, created by Mark Glaz as a tribute to Ed Roth and Ratfink, features a large Ratfink figure atop a surfboard complete with a blown V-8 engine.

The Orbitron

Built in 1964, the vehicle was powered by a 1955 or 1956 Chevrolet V8 and was backed by a Powerglide automatic transmission. The body was hand-laid fiberglass, hiding Roth's extensive chrome work to the chassis. The cockpit, set at the extreme rear of the vehicle in the manner of a dragster, was lined with fake fur and featured an 11-inch General Electric "1-Touch" portable television inserted in the console. Topping the cockpit was a custom-made, hydraulically operated Plexiglas bubble top. One of a series of ordinary doorbell push-button switches atop the hood activated the top from the outside.

Other mechanical features included a 1956 Chevrolet rear end, dropped Ford front axle beam, Buickbrake drums and early Ford brakes. The frame was handmade of rectangular 2x4 inch steel tubing. The engine was a leftover from one of Roth's 1955 Chevrolets, having been removed to make way for a then-new Mark IV big-block given to him by General Motors. It was one of the very few completed cars Roth deemed to be a "mistake" because he felt the car did not show well since the heavily chromed engine and most of the chassis were hidden. The Orbitron was, in fact, one of his few customs to have a hood. Reportedly, the hydraulically operated hood did not fit well due to rushed fiberglass work.

The vehicle's most distinctive feature was its asymmetrical front end with red, green and blue tinted headlamps. It was thought that the three beams when combined would produce an intense white light; the idea came from the then-new medium of color television.

By Jerry Thompson - originally posted to Flickr as 2C7O4069, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=5973582

By Jerry Thompson - originally posted to Flickr as 2C7O4066, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=5973591

The Baja Bandeeto

Custom car builder and renowned painter Fritz ‘Spritz By Fritz‘ Schenck recreated with his bubble top roadster; the Baja Bandeeto.

[latitudeapartments]

Luxury Apartments at Latitude | Rent Apartments New Orleans

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The city exudes a unique cross-cultural charm making it a favorite tourist spot and a proud home to many enjoying its arts, unique entertainment profile, and French-accented Southern grace. Surrounded by water—the lake to the north and the Mississippi River to the south—and papered with parks, entertainment venues, and historic businesses and eateries. There are a lot of bars, restaurants, and coffee shops frequented by locals and tourists alike.

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Visit Us: 3100 Lake Villa Dr, Metairie, Louisiana. Call: +1 985 618 1600 Email: contact@latitude.apartments

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[shkika]

Putting this here because I can’t put images in asks. Basically if Pebbles and Moon are at a high latitude far from the equator (likely since the area becomes a tundra after Pebbles collapses and isn’t spewing heat into the area), then the sun would be at an oblique angle and so shaded citadel wouldn’t have to be directly below his can to be shaded. Also, far from the equator the sun doesn’t move around much, so it makes sense that it would be shaded constantly, especially if cycles don’t last a full day and all the scugs get into a shelter before they can see the sun move enough to let light through.

Also video game logic XD

-------

I GOT SO MUCH TAKES AND STUFF ON THIS I’ve been sweating profusely haha

I love the discussion though I’m glad people are having fun with it even if I think the devs just forgot. (not bad faith or anything I just find it funny if they did)

I think this take is super cool, but you are NOT going to convince me Pebbles fell sideways into it like a tower. Not only is his structure more wide than tall so that’d be impossible, but his insides get rotted before his legs so he’d fall apart from the middle down and split/crumble kind of like a rotten pumpkin (thanks for the mental image dragon <3)

The Saint campaign more or less confirms that a big part of shaded we traverse is right under him.

[spicymotte]

Pieces [Gigashark]

"You've had partners in your life?" The slightly surprised undertone in his scratchy voice hits a sensitive spot in her ego, causing her to slide back and forth on the old tree trunk she's sitting on. Rude.

"Well… not many, but yes, I did." Agnieszka replies, but with a little disgruntlement in her voice; was it so unthinkable that she had been with someone? "When I turned 18, they let me live in Gotham - under supervision, of course."

Nanaue makes a deep noise in his chest, thoughtful. It's unusual for a meta-human to be allowed to walk around the city like that. There was definitely more to it than just government-kindness towards an outsider.

Agnieszka snorts softly and bends down to poke around in the fire with her stick. Sparks fly into the night, dancing away in the darkness until they burn out. For a brief moment, they look like stars - before they reach the end of their lives and die out. The itching of the healing wounds on her neck is frustrating and makes patient conversation difficult, but it's still better than the silence. Anything is better than silence.

"I think they wanted to see if I could live normally without using my powers," she continues, following the flight of the sparks with her eyes. "Testing me. It worked for a while."

Nanaue remains silent, continuing to sharpen the machete in his hand. His arm moves slowly, with deliberate and controlled movements. The sound of the whetstone on the metal of the weapon is not exactly pleasant, but it is unavoidable when Agnieszka wants to suppress the screeching thoughts in her head with a conversation.

"Had a job in a movie theater. Had an apartment that was paid for by the government. I knew people - normal people. I had a completely normal, boring life." Her tone turns bitter at the thought of that long-gone time. "I was constantly watched to make sure I didn't make a mistake."

"And you went along with that?" She can clearly hear the surprise and a little displeasure in his raspy, deep voice. "After they tortured you for years?"

"Well, what can I say... It's not like I had a choice." replies Agnieszka and continues to poke at the embers. The fish wrapped in banana leaves cook slowly on the outer edge of the fire, smelling delicious. She knows that the demigod doesn't need to cook his meat, he is an absolute omnivore - but the fact that he does it anyway is a kindness to her. Because she doesn't know how to cook outside, in this climate, at this latitude. Without him, once again, she would be lost. She sighs.

"I behaved well so as not to be constantly punished in the institution where I grew up. So I got the privilege of living in the outside world." He makes another harsh noise and exhales deeply, the gills on his neck moving. She watches silently, but with interest. She'd like to have gills herself, they're cool. Use them to dive into the ocean and never come back up for air. "I had a small apartment, a job and friends. Even a-" She hesitates at the thought of Laura and swallows. "A girlfriend."

Nanaue doesn't react, listens, his eyes still fixed on his weapon, which he continues to sharpen.

Agnieszka, however, stops her words and buries her face in her hands. Talking is so difficult, even after all these years the Russian accent is heavy on her tongue and she has to search for the words to make sentences out of it. It takes a moment before she knows what she wants to say.

"A normal life is so-" She looks up, her gaze darting from the fire to the edge of the dense jungle that surrounds the abandoned resort. But even the thicket doesn't tell her how to put it, so she sighs heavily. "It's so boring. Feels wrong, like a lie."

Nanaue makes an approving noise. His life has certainly been anything but normal, but he seems to know what she means.

"Five years I lived in Gotham, among the people like a damn spy. I got up early in the morning, went to work and bought groceries. I went home to Laura and we cooked some dinner from a recipe she found online, and-" Agnieszka talks herself into a silent rage and her words falter briefly. She looks at her conversation partner, who returns her gaze from his deep, patient eyes. A silent assent to what she is about to say. "It was awful. I hated everything about it."

She can feel the electricity in her tense muscles, the crackle in her hair: a warning that she needs to calm down. All this happened a long time ago. The past can no longer hurt her in the here and now, even if it is painful to think about these things.

"I tell myself that Laura secretly hated me as much as I hated this life," Agnieszka continues. "That she called me a fucking freak, loathed me - but I think I only tell myself that to make it easier. So that it's less horrible that I killed her, just like that."

Now he pauses in his movements. Nanaue rams the machete into the wood of the staircase on which he is sitting - with ridiculously little effort. The blue eyes, almost lost in the black that surrounds them, silently scrutinize Agnieszka. She feels naked, seen through by this confession. He is far too massive to be afraid of her, even if he probably should be. But he looks at her, reassessing her existence based on this new information.

"I couldn't take it anymore," she whispers to her hands, which are clenched in fists in front of her mouth. The magenta eyes stare into the embers of the fire glittering in the darkness. "How can they expect me to live a normal fucking life after all they've done to me." Her voice is quiet, as quiet as the crackling in the thicket where an animal prowls. "How can all these normal people not understand that this life on the hamster wheel is just awful. A lie at that. It's crazy to pretend that I care about shit like taxes. Or which fall jacket is trendy this year. It's pure madness, if you ask me."

She exhales.

"Then they put me in the power station and used me as a fucking battery for a whole decade. Well, I guess you can see straight away what happens if you don't play the game." Now she looks at Nanaue. "That's why I'm worried that I might hurt you. That I might kill you - after you've been nothing but kind. For whatever reason that is."

A deep, harsh laugh escapes the shark and he shakes his massive head. The amused grin reveals three rows of sharp fangs, deadlier than many a weapon. It sends a sharp shiver down her spine, hot and exciting.

"I think I'll be fine. Besides-" His voice drops an octave, with a very dangerous undertone in it; dangerous but somehow... flirtatious, too. "How do you know I won't kill you first?"

[theoutcastrogue]

A letter from prison

My love, another letter from me, seeing as I’m stuck in here. You might think that being in solitary means silence. On the contrary, the row of cells here is full of noise, echoing with cries and clanks of metal.

This afternoon I imagined I was in a sailing boat out at sea. The daylight hours were shortening, the air cooler, the direction north. Days without wind, no movement in latitude or longitude, days skewered stiff as if by a butterfly collector. I refused to go out into the exercise yard for a breath of air. So I stayed in my cabin and gazed at the maps on the ceiling.

I recollect the years when I was locked up in cells with prisoners who toiled to turn them into studio apartments. Then the guards tossed them and turned them back into cells. It's better in solitary. There’s nothing to gather up nor put back in place. In here, you forget about being a body in this world.

In here, there’s a pile of reasons to stop believing in things. My solution is to stop believing in the cell.

— Erri De Luca, Impossible

[slightly abridged, I tweaked the official English translation]

[aifsaath]

Hey! What are your worldbuilding headcanons for First Men in your AU’s? You’re very good at building for Andals and Valyrians. I love the concept of rygos and the funeral rites for Valyrians and Andals. There appears to be a misconception due to Stark-wank that the First Men are incredibly progressive but from reading F&B it was the First Men that did the first night whilst it was unheard of south of the neck (apart from dragonstone) + that their 'progressive on women' whilst there hasn't been a ruling lady of winterfell in like 3 thousand years.

I think First Men were like any other human group: mostly neutral, had some great peeps and some absolute assholes. Now, i can't speak for GRRM, because I don't think his worldbuilding is showing realistic patterns when it comes to the populations, but I can run wild with what we got to work with.

We know that a) Westeros is the size of South America, ie - it covers vastly different biotopes from low UV tundra in the North to the scorching hot subtropics and dry tropics in Dorne. Mountainous regions with lower air pressure, regions ridden with disease-spreading mosquitos. You have the periodical extinction events. What i'm trying to say is that the moment they arrived, they became subject to various evolutionary pressures. I won't bore you all with my speculations about the Dornish Bottleneck event and the possible climatic conditions that allowed them to walk to Dorne (now that i think about it, the breaking of the Arm had to change the sea currents and the subsequent climate), but we know that they came 12k years ago, with horses and perhaps dogs and with some knowledge about bronze metallurgy (though my guess would be copper metallurgy at most instead of full bronze, we need to make the technological stasis at least somewhat plausible).

The First Men came from the southwestern region of Essos. We can extrapolate that they resembled the indigenous people of the same latitude - Dornish, Ghiscari. Only when they spread all over the continent and the natural selection started to be applied, we get the regional variations, like we got in real life.

We don't know if they were already agriculturalists or if they lived a more nomadic lifestyle. The fact that they arrived on foot indicates that they were quite mobile. We know little to nothing about their cultural practices, but some echoes are still there. We know they had their own pre-tree god pantheons (Elenei, Garth, Storm and Drowned god), we know that in the Reach there was a fertility-agricultural cult with Garth as the central figure. We know they had some deeply held taboos (guestright, kinslaying).

GRRM treats First Men as this one single unit, but that is simply not possible.The geographical scale alone renders it unrealistic. There is no way there was one Old Tongue - with the natural barriers preventing communities from easy communication, with the lack of widely used writing system and media. There had to be hundreds of languages at some point, hundreds of tribes, ethnic groups, each different from another.

Now, we all know the adage that only in North the First Men's blood runs strong. That's nice, but it's again, relatively unrealistic, since Andals were one ethnic group fleeing one kingdom and entering a whole ass continent that had been inhabited for quite a long time. While iron is advantageous on a large scale (easier to produce), the advantage wasn't THAT massive to completely override the whole continent. I can accept the Vale, the Riverlands and the eastern Stormlands and Dorne as having Andal majority, I can accept Andal nobility marrying First Men rullers, cementing their cultural impact, I can even accept proselytising holy wars happening later, bringing in the hegemony of the Faith in and Andal-based languages, but I draw the line of newcomers from a geographically restricted area completely suplanting the previous population, leaving only the North as the sole survivor. This is not Europeans vs Indigenous Americans situation, this is Yamnaya nomads vs Neolithic farmers analogy.

This obsessive tangent aside, when we want to know whether or not the First Men were more progressive, we need to look at both the few extant First Men groups , and the historical records.

If we consider the least Faith-based lands as the most culturally First Men, we end up with the a) Wildling, b)Northmen and..... the c) Ironborn. Even though the context is different, both wildlings and the Ironborn practice bridal kidnappings. Ygritte and Val can say what they want, but a dagger is not enough to make sure that you get to be tied to a man you really want. All that means is that a man will kidnap the woman he knows he can overpower and unfortunately, women are seldom blessed with Brienne's strength and even wildlings use ropes. In a society where might make right (wildlings, ironborn), women get the shorter end of the stick because the culture places the highest value on physical strength.

Now, Northerners are a bit of a special case. If it weren't for the trees, they wouldn't be that much different from their southern neighbours. And yet there is one significant key difference in the culture. Jonquil vs Danny Flint. One song speaks about chivalry, but the other one is a westerosi snuff poem. Mind you, the story isn't written by the supposed watch members (I'm very sceptical it ever happened), but it speaks about the northerners whose cultural imagination gave birth to the tale about a young girl wandering into a forbidden place full of men only to pay the highest price.

When it comes to the historical records, at least wildlings get their brownie points for having female leaderships. Northmen get just the Mormont pack and the rest is all a wiener fest and I can't recall any Ironborn lady, with the exception of Asha, who was treated with the same respect as the other men. And that's not even accounting their treatment of the lower class women.