#Professor Galen

[alixennial]

10th Sun of the Fifth Astral Moon

"Autumn... the year's last, loveliest smile"

Out and about with The Professor in the North Shroud :)

[ladyxskywalker]

this chapter is running a little long again, but a part of me doesn't want to apologize for any of it 😭👋❤️

[sotwk]

We don't talk about Eryn Galen enough.

I think the fandom might not always consider or imagine how BEAUTIFUL Eryn Galen must have been in its prime (Second Age 750 to Third Age 1,000). In its true, natural state, before the Necromancer invaded and spiders and filth settled in.

Have you checked a Middle-earth map lately?

Do you see anything in Middle-earth bigger than Greenwood the Great? It is a magical forest inhabited and kept by Elves who are essentially the best wildlife experts of that world. Think of the thousands of different, gorgeous plant and animal species that must have lived and thrived there! The little streams and ponds and glades and dells and cottages and dwellings!

Maybe it's a good thing Silvan Elves were seen as "dangerous", because it's a wonder other races didn't just straight up try to invade it. Sauron knew what was up, and so he targeted it.

Just saying, I think Greenwood the Great (not just Mirkwood) remains criminally underappreciated. It's sad that not even Professor Tolkien told us much about it; he who could wax on about trees for an entire chapter. We can probably use more fics and artwork for Eryn Galen.

[saintsenara]

What are your thoughts on mediwitches and medical care in the Wizarding World?

thank you very much for the asks, @thesilverstarling and @yorickofyore, which i have handily combined into one for the chance to talk about a worldbuilding question i am legitimately obsessed with:

what the hell is going on with wizarding medicine? part one: the structure of the healthcare system

as i've said here, something which is really interesting when thinking about the wizarding healthcare system is that the signing of the statute of secrecy - the event which causes the total separation of the magical and muggle worlds - in 1689 takes place before a period of considerable advancement in western medicine.

i really like the fact that the canonical worldbuilding around potions suggests that many disciplines of wizarding science are more closely rooted in the medieval and early-modern history of science than their muggle equivalents. i also like the fact that the natural end point of the archaic muggle technology which is used in the series to make the wizarding world seem whimsical by virtue of it being old-fashioned [steam trains etc.] is to assume that wizards live in a world where cutting-edge medical technology is unheard of...

and, therefore, to think of wizarding medicine as a discipline which is meaningfully distinct from its muggle cousin.

and which isn't necessarily more advanced...

the historical context

a muggle physician working in what is now the united kingdom when the statute of secrecy was signed lacked much of what we would take to be basic medical knowledge today, even if he'd studied medicine at a university. he wouldn't know what germs were, for example, and he might still believe that the body was governed by four humours [a theory which was starting to be questioned at the time]. he would never have seen a stethoscope [not invented until 1816]. he would consider the microscope [first used in a scientific context in 1666] bizarre, new-fangled technology - and he is unlikely, especially if he worked outside of london, oxford, or cambridge, to have ever seen one.

he would have had less opportunity to learn about human anatomy, no matter the form his training took, than medical students today. dissections were fairly uncommon, for religious reasons, and surgery didn't really exist as a field... not least because anaesthesia wasn't available until the middle of the nineteenth century.

this is not to say, however, that his anatomical knowledge would have been wrong.

he would probably have relied for his understanding of the inner working of the body on a text called de humani corporis fabrica [on the fabric of the human body], published in the 1540s by the belgian surgeon andreas vesalius. this text - a detailed study of the human body [which supplanted the handbooks in use prior to the sixteenth century - those of the roman physician, galen] - was possible because vesalius managed to obtain a steady supply of executed criminals to dissect. it's a fascinating text - not least because it's still pretty accurate.

as a result, our physician would be aware of many of the major medical discoveries of the later 1500s and 1600s - such as the structure of the musculoskeletal system, the fact that blood circulates in the body, and the fact that the human lungs require the inhalation of air to function.

unless the need for a surgical treatment [such as the extraction of a tooth or the amputation of a limb] was obvious, most of the treatments he would prescribe would be herbal - and his dispensary would include not only plants from all over eurasia, but also from european colonies in the americas.

he might, for example, be found prescribing chocolate... which would make madam pomfrey happy:

“Well, he should have some chocolate, at the very least,” said Madam Pomfrey, who was now trying to peer into Harry’s eyes. “I’ve already had some,” said Harry. “Professor Lupin gave me some. He gave it to all of us.”  “Did he, now?” said Madam Pomfrey approvingly. “So we’ve finally got a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who knows his remedies?”

it's important to note that many of these traditional herbal remedies genuinely work. plenty of modern medicines are developed from them [the most widely known, i imagine, being aspirin], and anyone taking a herbal remedy should be aware that they need to check how this remedy interacts with any other medication or supplements they take [especially - i beg - if the herbal remedy in question is st john's wort...]

but it's also true that our early-modern physician would spend a lot of time prescribing various odd pastes, poultices, potions, and powders, made from ingredients such as stones, spiders' webs, animal blood, and human body parts.

[he might even have recommended some of his patients swallow a bezoar - even if the efficacy of these as a cure for poisoning was starting to be doubted in the seventeenth century...]

and his go-to treatment would - of course - be bloodletting, to remove "bad blood", the cause of myriad ills, from the body.

jkr is - obviously - extremely fond of using these medieval and early-modern remedies as part of the worldbuilding around magical medicine. she's also fond of extending the obsolete technology which is used to make the wizarding world feel whimsical into the realm of the body - wizards wear monocles and use ear trumpets, both of which are assistive devices, because they make the setting feel more magical to a reader in 1997 [and beyond] than glasses and hearing aids.

but there is - if one wants there to be - a sinister undercurrent to the idea that all aspects of wizarding healthcare retain a pre-modern flavour.

wizards do canonically have attitudes towards the body, illness, and disability which, when interrogated, don't seem to have moved on much from the 1680s... which is why this answer is definitely going to end up having a part two, on wizarding attitudes to the body.

for now, though, let's look at how the healthcare system is structured.

the structure of the wizarding healthcare system

the two medical institutions we see in canon - st mungo's and the hogwarts hospital wing - are whimsical pastiches of aspects of the british healthcare system: st mungo's is an nhs hospital [hence the reason it seems to be free - although i think it's interesting for authors to imagine that it isn't...] and the hospital wing is a boarding school infirmary.

st mungo's is immediately familiar to anyone who has worked in a hospital - especially characters like this patient from order of the phoenix:

“And that woman over there,” he indicated the only other occupied bed, which was right beside the door, “won’t tell the Healers what bit her, which makes us all think it must have been something she was handling illegally. Whatever it was took a real chunk out of her leg, very nasty smell when they take off the dressings.”

but the structure of the modern hospital - its departments, its staff - is a post-1689 invention, as are the non-hospital spaces [gp's surgeries, dentist's and optometrist's offices, pharmacies] in which healthcare takes place.

and so how might the places in which healing occurs differ from their muggle equivalents?

st mungo's hospital for magical maladies and injuries

like any hospital, st mungo's offers a combination of emergency and specialist treatment. it doesn't seem to offer general healthcare - such as check-ups - and it doesn't seem to offer treatment for minor-to-moderate ailments.

this makes sense given its real-world influences - in the uk, most aspects of most people's everyday healthcare are the purview of a general practitioner, and specialists tend not to be seen outside of specific, often more serious contexts.

[for example, i'm a woman in my thirties who has never had an appointment with a gynaecologist - something which shocks american friends. this is because everything to do with reproductive healthcare that i've had to do in my life so far - such as cervical screening - has been done by my gp's surgery.]

st mungo's also doesn't seem to perform general dental or optometrical services. this is also the case in the uk.

we know from canon that it has wards which treat long-term residents - such as the longbottoms. in muggle britain, this wouldn't exactly be the case - nhs trusts manage certain types of residential treatment [such as psychiatric hospitals, or brain-injury rehabilitation centres], which tend to be on separate sites to hospital buildings, but long-term care homes and assisted-living facilities are managed by private companies or local councils. the wizarding population is evidently too small to have any form of local government, so this becoming the purview of the healthcare system makes sense.

what is more interesting, though, is that st mungo's doesn't seem to treat anything which doesn't have a specifically magical cause...

community care

we see in canon that wizards prefer to treat even fairly serious magical conditions in the home [with the hogwarts hospital wing as the pseudo-domestic stand-in] - in the form of ron's fake spattergroit in deathly hallows.

we can also assume, then, that things like birth and death [as well as the treatment of non-magical conditions] also generally take place in the home - and that this is why st mungo's doesn't seem to offer any sort of obstetric care.

and this will have an impact on how wizards understand things like birth, death, and aging which - while not divergent from the muggle understanding of these things historically - would be massively at odds with the muggle attitude contemporarily. only around 2% of births in the uk take place at home, for example - and since around 43% of deaths take place in a hospital and 20% take place in a care home, it is now a minority experience to die in your own home. multi-generational living is extremely uncommon for british muggles outside of specific demographic groups. it would presumably not be - since gerontological care must take place in the home - for british wizards.

[i am aware of the wizarding care home in the cursed child, but i think we can either ignore this as not-canon, or imagine it working as an almshouse - such as the royal hospital, chelsea, founded in 1682 - the early-modern equivalent of a care home]

similarly, the treatment of chronic illnesses must generally take place in the home - which offers a really interesting insight into why, for example, remus lupin appears so much less healthy than werewolves like fenrir greyback, who live in quasi-familial community groups.

so too must the care of the terminally ill - which means that wizards would retain a relationship with death that muggles are increasingly detached from. i was struck when talking about deathly hallows with some friends that they were surprised that fleur delacour can see thestrals - and they automatically assumed that she must have witnessed some sort of traumatic death for this to be the case. but if her grandmother [who seems, as of goblet of fire, to be dead] went through the process of dying [which is not immediate!] at home, she would probably have been there to witness and understand it. this is an entirely natural part of the human experience.

and this means - as we'll come to in part two - that who doesn't get treated in the home becomes an interesting question...

healers and their training

the stringent academic requirements for healing training in canon are a pastiche of those needed for a medical degree in muggle britain. medicine is an extremely competitive subject [as in many places worldwide, the number of places is capped] and all uk medical schools require top a-level [the final-year exams which newts are a mirror of] grades.

in the wizarding world - since university education doesn't appear to exist - the subject is taught by apprenticeship. this makes sense - all muggle medical degrees have a considerable practical component, and i think we can easily imagine that trainee healers are also required to attend lectures etc.

however, since there doesn't appear to be general medicine in the wizarding world, healers seem to apprentice from the off in specific specialities.

similarly, on their wards, they seem to function as a combination of all the levels of staff you would find in a muggle hospital - a doctor would not, for example, hand out christmas gifts on a ward - and there doesn't seem to be any hierarchy post-qualification. you can only be an apprentice or a healer - instead of a junior, registrar, consultant etc. [or the american near-equivalents - intern, resident, attending etc.]

but all of this makes sense if we consider it alongside the fact that a lot of treatment must take place in the home. healers are - by their very nature - advanced specialists in a specific [and apparently narrow] range of magical illnesses and injuries, who presumably deal with such a small number of patients [arthur weasley is on a ward with only three people, supervised by two healers - i think many of us who've worked in muggle hospitals would kill for that ratio...] that they are able to take the holistic role they do in canon.

other medical staff

and so most aspects of wizarding medicine must be administered by people who are not [by virtue of formal training] healers - both within the home and outside it.

madam pomfrey, for example, seems to have a different, lower level of training than a healer - not least because her title, which she shares with other non-academic staff like madam hooch, is intended to indicate that she is below the hogwarts professors in terms of qualification [however wizards understand this when it comes to fitness to teach]. we see in canon that she needs to send patients to st mungo's for specific magical injuries which she doesn't have the training and/or equipment to treat [mcgonagall after she's stunned in order of the phoenix, katie bell after she's cursed in half-blood prince], but that she's able to treat most magical injuries which are non-life-threatening, and most non-magical injuries and minor illnesses.

in the uk, a school matron would generally be qualified as a nurse - and madam pomfrey reflects this. obviously, this is primarily a narrative detail which helps the [british] reader understand the wizarding world by referencing something with which they are familiar, but from an in-world perspective it suggests that there is a hierarchy of medical training which we don't hear about in canon.

perhaps even because it would be considered beneath the alumni of as elite a boarding school as hogwarts to go into the equivalent of nursing...

[indeed, the apparent absence of credentialism in the presentation of healing being revealed to be a lie would fit the way the series approaches class... and the class distinctions, not only in terms of post-qualification social status, but in terms of background - in 2016, 61% of people studying medicine or dentistry were privately educated - between doctors and nurses in the uk are significant.]

and so i imagine that general medical treatment - as well as more specialised disciplines like midwifery, dentistry, and optometry - is available in the wizarding world [for a fee?] from licensed [anyone offering medical care in england has required a license since the 1520s] community-based practitioners such as madam pomfrey, with people only seeking treatment at st mungo's for urgent magical cases.

there must also be a voluntary aspect to this community-based medical system - i've always assumed that the people who bring arthur weasley to st mungo's are volunteers rather than professional paramedics, for example - and treatment must also be available from shops - such as apothecaries, which can presumably diagnose ailments as well as sell the treatments for them - which provide medical services alongside various other functions.

[maybe the people who make objects such as james and sirius' two-way mirrors are also responsible for lens-crafting and other aspects of optometry.]

this can be a fun worldbuilding detail - historically, surgery [and most dental care] was provided by barbers. clearly, molly doesn't cut her sons' hair at home for financial reasons, but because the one time she let bill go to the barber's on his own, he came back with a gold tooth...

the medical research sector

while the wizarding world doesn't appear to have universities - or other research institutions which look familiar to the modern reader - it clearly has some sort of scientific infrastructure, within which medical and pharmaceutical research [such as the development of the wolfsbane potion in the early 1990s] takes place.

and we can very easily imagine what this infrastructure is...

the statute of secrecy is signed after the emergence in britain of learned societies - essentially, research organisations, which are modelled on the college fellowships of oxford and cambridge [with a little bit of the medieval guild thrown in]. they function as academic networks, peer-review groups, and professional bodies.

in the medical field, the royal college of physicians - which is still going! i'm a member! - was founded in 1519. in the natural sciences more generally, the royal society - probably the most famous learned society in the world - was officially established in 1663.

we know of at least one wizarding learned society from canon - the most extraordinary society of potioneers, founded by hector dagworth-granger - and we know that there are academic journals - such as transfiguration today - which can be presumed to be published by others.

it makes absolute sense that there would be a learned society which focused on the science of healing, and offered publications, lectures, demonstrations [imagine how horrendous the first demonstration of the wolfsbane potion might have been...], research funding, and so on to professionals working in the discipline. it also makes sense that there would be a college or guild for apothecaries.

the real question, though, is what these would be called... after all, the wizarding world tends to have a touch of whimsy to it, but since there's literally a clinical body in the uk called "nice", the muggles might have won this round...

[saradika]

STAR WARS - 2023 FIC RECS

this year has been filled with so many beautiful fics, I wanted to make a rec list to share & support everything I read. please check these out and support these creators, they are all incredible! 💖✨

ANAKIN/VADER X F!READER

— Breathe Me In by @moonlight-prose

the jedi fell and darth vader rose to power, but there’s a secret he hides even from his own master.

— When Midnight Calls by @ladyxskywalker

anakin steps into the refresher, noticing how you left the door open for him, the steam filling the room inside from the misty hot water.

AXE WOVES X F!READER

— The Lady and the Merc by @flightlessangelwings

“The pleasure,” the leader took your hand, but instead of shaking it, he brought it up to his lips and kissed the back of it tenderly, “Is all mine,” he gave you a wink as you felt your skin burn under his touch, “And call me Axe Woves.”

BRASSO X F!READER

— Steadfast by @uwingdispatch

He pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead before pulling back to look at you in that way only he could, with those bright eyes. “I think we should stay,” he said.

BOBA FETT X F!READER

— Be With Me by @imarvelatthestars

"It's late," he says.

— Boba Fett is in Love With You by @janghoefett

He’s known for some time now.

— Ex Libris by @daimyosprincess

There's much to be learned from the handsome professor Boba Fett, both about yourself and your pleasure.

— Kinktober Day Five: Virginity by @sinfulsalutations

You’ve never felt this small before.

— No Mercy by @daimyosprincess

Fennec Shand is many things, markswoman, assassin, the daimyo’s right hand, but merciful is not one of them. That's why she's the only one Boba Fett trusts to take care of you when he's away.

— Sound Asleep by @moodymisty

You swore you hadn’t had a nightmare since your childhood years; But even then, you couldn’t remember one like this.

— Small Favors by @daimyosprincess

The day Boba Fett called you a hellion, you were pretty certain it altered your brain chemistry.

— The App by @maybege

The App tells you who your perfect match is. But when Josh, your perfect-match-alpha, introduces you to his boss, you start to realise that the numbers are not always right.

DARTH MAUL X F!READER

— Dread by @bits-and-babs

a strange creature visits your dreams, promising to satiate a yearning body he heard call to him across the force. |  incubus!maul

— Serenity by @eloquentmoon

lord maul interrupts your nighttime stroll in the woods

ELIA KANE X F!READER

— Eat Your Young by @imarvelatthestars

It's the way she looks at you that does you in, the blatant hunger that glints in Elia's eyes, the knowledge that she always has you just within reach and that you'll always fall for her time and again. 

GALEN ERSO X READER

— I Didn't Know The Time by @ladyxskywalker

an unseasonable rain causes an unexpected shift in your new year’s plans, but, as it turns out, both of you wouldn’t have it any other way

GRAND ADMIRAL THRAWN X F!READER

— Amuse Bouche by @bits-and-babs

A state dinner leaves the Grand Admiral wanting far more than was offered.

— Show of Good Faith by @bits-and-babs

grand admiral thrawn has a unconventional way of convincing neighbouring planets to pledge allegiance to the empire.

KINO LOY X F!READER

— I Want You to Show Me Weak by @tarabyte3

You're pretty sure Kino Loy hates you. He screams at you, grabs you, and shoves you against the wall, and it's becoming a problem because, well...it shouldn't fluster you as much as it does.

— Ownership of Mine by @amywritesthings

The Empire has integrated their prison systems, with you as one of the few women now incarcerated at Narkina 5. The unit manager takes you under his wing – but for reasons you didn’t anticipate.

OBI-WAN X F!READER

— Dust to Dust by @avarkriss

A generous gift bestowed upon a very pretty desert hermit

—Kinktober Day 5: Table Sex by @flightlessangelwings

“You wished to see me, Lord Kenobi?” you asked from the doorway to his office where you stood at attention.

— Serve My Worries Away by @friskynotebook

In which Obi-Wan gets in a fight with a printer and the printer wins.

— Sweetend Craving by @moonlight-prose

“he’d want the last thing he ever heard to be the sound of you tipping over the edge, falling into a bliss you both craved.”

— What’s The Harm? by @obixwan

Quinlan set Obi-Wan up with a friend and now, Obi-Wan can’t help himself.

POE DAMERON X GN!READER

— Because You Left by @againstacecilia

“What happened? With us?” / “We just… Grew apart. That’s all.” / “No, I don’t think that’s it. Not entirely.”

THE CLONES X F!READER

— Better Than The Universe by @sinfulsalutations

Rex enjoys the mindlessly affection-filled morning he deserves

— Kinktober Day 15 by @samspenandsword

Overstimulation with Daddy Rebels!Rex

— Keep In The Heat by @sinfulsalutations

Wrecker is cold. His girl knows a solution

— Return To Sender by @keravnos-kori

halla has been alone for the past three years. as it turns out, relocating to coruscant and attending a prestigious university hasn’t been as glamorous as she originally expected - but when a new opportunity comes along for her to prove the republic’s injustices committed against clone troopers, she might get more than she bargained for when the power structure suddenly collapses and is replaced by something far more sinister…

— Strategies in Fliration by @floral-force

When you take a risk and join your friends for a night out, a handsome stranger sets his eyes on you. You boldly approach him and ask him what war tactics he has in his arsenal. | captain rex

— Sweet Thing by @starrylothcat

Wrecker has a crush on you, a local sweet shop owner. Will he find the courage to ask you out? 

— Some Rex and Relaxation by @daimyosprincess

After a hard week, Rex makes it his mission to see that you forget all about it.

— The Coffee Shop by @samspenandsword

You own a coffee house on Coruscant famed for its especially strong and rare brews. One day, you find yourself meeting the Marshal Commander for the Coruscant Guard.

if you haven’t read these, you need to! and please support these amazing fics & writers by reading, reblogging & commenting! 💕

[countesspetofi]

Today in the Department of Before They Were Star Trek Stars, William Shatner guest stars in "Mother, May I Go Out to Swim?" episode 26 of the fifth season of Alfred Hitchcock Presents (original air date April 10, 1960). He channels his inner Norman Bates as a mama's boy with an "artistic temperament" who falls in love on vacation, but ends up killing his girlfriend when his domineering mother disapproves. Like the last episode of AHP I screencapped, this story is told in flashback, framed by scenes from the coroner's inquest, with Shatner narrating the flashback sequences.

Within the episode, the girlfriend's death is ruled an accident, but in what I assume was an attempt to placate the network censors, Hitchcock's outro says that the decision was later overturned. (TV Standards & Practices at the time hewed closely to the Motion Picture Code, which frowned on criminals going unpunished.)

Other Trek connections: The Associate Producer of this episode is the multitalented actor/producer/director Norman Lloyd, who played Captain Picard's old mentor Professor Galen in the Next Generation episode "The Chase."

[ilivelaughlovewopr]

hello ^^ I'm joshua / galen (it/its) (minor)

neptunic objectum who selfships with wopr. this blog is going to be mainly wargames and some other objectum stuff🙏

pleaaase talk 2 me about wopr 🥺🥺plewaae pleasepleaaasepleas pelaaese 🥺🥺🥺🥺plspls please pelase please🥺🥺🥺

tag key below!

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

⚠️: important: for important information

🖨: reblog: for all reblogs!

🚫: not WG: for posts that aren't related to WarGames

🔌: real josh: for posts related to me lol

🎮: jotchua: posts featuring joshua/wopr!!!!!

🖥: falalken: posts featuring professor stephen falken

👾: davit: liteman

📼: jenifwr: jennifer mack:3

[endlessly-cursed]

Primrose Gray's Legacy, Act One: The Younger Years, Chapter Eight: Infatuated

A/N: It's been sooo long, but it's finally here!! Completing this chapter was no joke, but it's done and I'm proud of how it turned out, not to mention this was one of my faves to write so far! Enjoy!!

Summary: Primrose has a crush. The problem? She's a promised woman and must have some discretion, however, it is not an easy task

OCs featured: Teddy Ellison and Hestia Herron ( @cursebreakerfarrier ) Roxie Haley and William Berkeley ( @mjs-oc-corner ) Niamh Kelly ( @unfortunate-arrow ) Siobhan Llewellyn ( @kc-and-co ) Gwendolyn Archeron ( @thatravenpuffwitch ) Professor Capel ( @camillejeaneshphm )

OCs mentioned: William Devlin ( unfortunate-arrow) Abraham Alden ( @cursed-herbalist ) Miranda Iverach ( cursebreakerfarrier )

Word Count: 2.1k

Taglist: @gaygryffindorgal @nicos-oc-hell @camillejeaneshphm @hphmmatthewluther @catohphm @thatravenpuffwitch @magicallymalted @cursedvaultss

March, 1893

Primrose found herself once again distracted in Charms class. The reason? A brown-haired, boyishly handsome Gryffindor boy who was snickering with his friends and plotting something. Probably a prank. She sighed. He was simply charming, handsome and quite witty when he wasn’t tormenting the staff with said pranks.

“Lady Gray,” Professor Herron called “while I am aware that one cannot pay me attention forever, I suggest you come back to us.”

Primrose cleared her throat and flushed deep red. Roxie arched an eyebrow and elbowed her “So, who is it that you’re looking at? Certainly is not your oh-so-dear fiancé.” She smirked.

“Later,” she whispered “I am still in Professor Herron’s field of vision.”

She chuckled, amused by how nervous and distracted the ever-perfect Primrose Gray was. After class, she linked arms with her and beckoned Shiv and the others: Gwen and Niamh. Mira had fallen behind, talking to the gruelling Mr. Hawthorne.

“So,” Roxie asked “who were you staring at?”

Primrose bit her lip “I do not wish to drop names or point. Tis quite rude.”

“Then whisper! C’mon, don’t leave us hanging!” Gwen pleaded.

“Aye, we won’t get to see you so flustered again, lady.” Shiv teased.

They all rounded a corner and the lady gathered all of her friends and, out of earshot, she whispered “Arthur Ellison.” Then she quickly broke up the congregation and put her face in her palms as the girls squealed and Shiv laughed at her “You have a crush on him?”

“As if you don’t make eyes at Galen!” Gwen defended.

“I dinna!” Shiv retaliated.

“Focus! Prim has a crush on—,” Primrose shushed her, now aware of the portraits around. She then whispered low enough “Prim has a crush on Teddy!”

They all laughed and Primrose moaned with embarrassment. All of the girls gathered around and started teasing her. Mira at last joined and, after being told of the situation while whispering, she joined the teasing “Oh, perhaps you’ll write him some poetry!”

“Oh, good heavens, no! Tis but… a small fancy, that’s all.”

“For now.” Roxie giggled.

“Ooh!” Gwen gasped, “what if we put him a secret name? So nobody may overhear!”

“I vote for Gryffindor Git!” Cried Shiv.

“How about Pukwudgie?” Gwen suggested.

“Too obvious! He’s one of the few transfers from Ilvermony!” Primrose cried.

“True! Oh! How about Bear? Like the teddy bear!” Roxie suggested.

Shiv started chanting “Prim likes Bear! Prim likes Bear!”

Primrose covered her face in shame once again, all the girls chanting, calling the attention of some older students and the occasional teacher. She spotted Professor Falcon and quickly told the girls to hurry to class now.

“Why?” Shiv asked “I dinna want to go through history o’ magic!”

She whispered “Professor Falcon is within earshot. The man is a terrible gossip and very meddlesome!”

“Except when it comes to his daughter.” Gwen giggled.

“Aye. If looks could kill, Earl Abe would’ve died burned a’ the stake.” Shiv continued.

They all laughed before entering Professor Capell’s class. Some girls sighed “The subject’s boring, but my, is he dreamy…” Gwen commented.

Primrose noticed how the young professor pretended not to hear it before he turned to the class “All right, everybody, let us begin with, I’m afraid, a rather dull lesson: wand lore.”

Almost all of the class moaned in unison, knowing they’d be stuck there for an hour and a half hearing of different kinds of wood. Not Primrose. She looked forward not addressing Bear’s issue.

“Good morning, class!” The flying professor greeted “Today we shall learn about…”

Primrose sighed. Flying was not her forte, given her fear of heights. Despite her rooms being in high places, she was not a woman of constant adrenaline. Most of her friends seemed to get the hang of it, but she only made a fool of herself. This was not the adrenaline she was used to.

She nevertheless tried, but was, as usual, wobbly “Higher, Gray! The skies do not bite!” The teacher cried.

For some reason, her broom made a violent spin and she let out a screech as she started falling, and closed her eyes, bracing for impact… when a pair of strong arms caught her and, with their own broom, set her on the ground. She looked up to see Mr. Ellison himself, who must’ve pulled it off with his friends. Her eyes went wide and flushed deeply “I… t-thank you, sir, Mr. Ellison.”

He smiled, and her stomach fluttered “Please, just Teddy. And it is my pleasure to rescue ladies in need of assistance.”

She nodded, flushed and embarrassed before the teacher sent her to polish brooms and scare off Peeves.

Later, at luncheon, she talked to her friends about the incident. She buried her face in her hands, groaning of pure embarrassment “I can’t believe that just happened!”

“I know. It was actually quite chivalrous of him to rescue you that way!” Roxie smiled.

“Nah. I could’ve pulled i’ off.” Shiv argued.

“And your face! Oh, Prim, you had the colour of a tomato!” She giggled.

They all giggled and Primrose threw a breadcrumb toward Gwen. She shrieked and threw one back. They were, however, stopped by someone clearing its throat. She looked around, and a few Slytherins and other boys had gathered, expensive-looking gifts with them.

Before she could even put a name to the situation, they all introduced themselves as high-ranking men of all places and offering their ‘allyship’, though Primrose knew they were trying to woo her out of her current engagement to promise herself to them instead. When she realised it, she pursed her lips and held her head high, nodding and giving dry ‘thank-you.’. As one of them tried their own luck, a baritone chuckle caught her attention.

He had dark brown hair, intense blue eyes and a rather strong physique, and was looking in her direction “Whatever is so amusing?” She asked, sick of social climbing opportunists.

“All the gifts in the world and none satisfy you?” He teased.

“It is none of your business.”

He observed her further before starting to shoo everyone away, and turned to her once the herd of hyenas was gone “Allow me. Mr. William Berkeley. You are Lady Gray, correct?”

“Indeed. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

She extended her hand, and he saluted her, and for once, she was thankful that he did not kiss it. Taking a better look, she realised she had seen him before “Do you play quidditch?”

“I do. I just started this year.”

She nodded “You have an impressive technique.”

“Tis just practise and passion for it, m’lady.”

She smiled “Prim.”

“Sorry?”

“You may call me Prim. After rescuing me, I believe we should leave formalities behind.”

He smiled “Very well, then, Prim. I shall see you around.”

Something told her that she had just made a new friend. Father would certainly be proud. Mother? Not so much.

A month had passed since the incident, and Primrose was desperate to spend some time with Teddy. It sounded stupid, but his presence was quite comforting, and she always laughed in his presence. At her age, very few people could make her laugh.

But the miracle happened: talking to Shiv, she casually commented “Oh, and apparently your Bear is looking for someone to tutor him in history of magic. That poor boy’s failing and is quite desperate to find someone patient enough to put up with him for a few hours.”

Prim grinned “Oh, Siobhan, you mad genius! That’s it!”

“Huh?”

Upon seeing Primrose’s expression, however, she caught up with her scheme.

“If you excuse me, I have a bear to save from the historical wolves.”

“Gimme the details later!”

Naturally, she entered the Gryffindor common room and cleared her throat upon seeing Teddy laugh with his friends “Do forgive me if I’m interrupting, but I believe one of you gentlemen is looking for a history tutor?”

Teddy, naturally, stepped out of the circle “That’d be me. I suppose you’re good at the subject?”

“Well, I don’t mean to brag, but Professor Capell said once that I am one of his best students.”

Teddy grinned “There is nothing wrong with a little bragging. Shall we?”

Primrose nodded. Although her expression was calm, inside she was about to faint. Her heart beat fast, and she felt like she was out of breath. Sitting down in one of the couches, Teddy started explaining “I admit I am not good at memorising so many facts, and have failed several exams. Professor Capell has assigned me a four-page essay on any apprentice of one of the founders, but I don’t know where to start.”

Primrose smiled calmly “You’re in luck! The age of the founders is one of my favourites. In fact, during some personal research, I found that my ancestor, Henriette, was an apprentice of Helga Hufflepuff and key to the founding of Hogwarts.”

“Influential how?” He had his quill ready.

“If I remember correctly, at nine and ten she had raised a small army that rode into one of the most key battles of the Mages Wars and won it because of a stirring speech.”

As she spoke of her ancestor, she couldn’t help being mesmerised by his beauty: his russet brown hair, his calming brown eyes, his soft skin, untouched by age, his overall presence. He was beautiful, and she had to restrain herself from stroking his hair. After taking notes, she smiled at him “Got everything you need?”

“Yes. Your ancestor sounds incredible! It must be amazing, to have such a long family history.”

Primrose bit her lip “Well… there is also the price of legacy. Of maintaining it. Having a powerful bloodline is complicated.”

Teddy nodded, somehow understanding it. Then, he shrugged “Shouldn’t stop you from being twelve years old in peace.”

Primrose chuckled “Technically, I’m still eleven but… thank you.”

Months passed, and Primrose tutored Teddy, and, in exchange, taught her some flying skills, and got to know him well enough. It was nice, seeing Teddy in unusual elements. During that time, she figured out how to help him learn history: telling it as if though it was a legendary story out of a storybook, which she apparently had a knack for.

“Do remind me of what happened how did the Battle of the Four Mages turn its tides?”

“Easy! Lady Henriette, with Lord Frederick as her champion, led her sizeable army to battle, all shouting for the lady’s loyalty and to justice, rather than the nobles or power.”

Primrose smiled “You got it in one! A few weeks ago, you would’ve mixed Lord Lachlann with Lord Frederick.”

He gave her a crooked smile “Thankfully I didn’t?”

She chuckled “I’m proud of you, Teddy. You’ll do amazingly on the next essay!”

“Will you proofread it as always?”

Primrose gave him a sweet smile “I think it’s time that you trust your own judgement.”

Teddy blinked “Are you sure?”

“Positive! I… have faith in you, Teddy.”

She blushed furiously and looked away. She could hear the boys’ snickers and teasing glances. Was it truly that obvious?

On the day of the submission of the essay, she observed Teddy take a deep breath and give the essay to Professor Capell, and sat with his friends, not without giving Primrose a ‘Hope this doesn’t backfire’ look.

The end of the year was almost there, and Primrose had been told by Tadgh Lynch that Professor Capell had called Teddy and would be discussing his grade. She waited outside, fussing with her uniform. Then, the door opened, and Teddy came out with a wide grin “Guess who’ll be in your class on second year!”

Primrose squealed “I knew it! I knew you could do it!”

Teddy hugged Primrose, and she, over the moon, hugged him back. They looked at one another before Primrose was called by William, who also sought her help with history. Clearing her throat and waving goodbye to Teddy, she went over to William. He arched an eyebrow “What was that about?”

“Celebrating that a good friend has passed a subject he was struggling with.” She declared, nonchalantly.

“A good friend whom you’re taken with.”

“Nonsense. The only man I am taken with is my dear, future husband.” She held her head high and walked faster towards the library, an amused William in tow.

Were she admit out loud such a thing in a place where all walls have ears would’ve been a reckless and tragic thing to do.

September 1st, 1893

Primrose sat down with her friends this year, laughing and commenting their summers. Then, Siobhan taunted “Excited to see a certain Bear?”

She chuckled “I’m afraid to inform you that my infatuation with him has washed away over the summer. Besides, it would’ve only spiralled into something treacherous, don’t you think?”

The ladies agreed, chatting away as the Hogwarts Express took them to their next adventure.

[cyberphuck]

Assassin’s Apprentice Abridged: Part Three

Part One Part Two (My friend Razz wants to understand my shitposts about the Farseer Trilogy, but doesn’t want to have to read the books, so I’m summarizing the trilogy for them starting with Assassin’s Apprentice!) When we last left Fitzy-Fitz, he was being stared at by a mysterious woman in the kitchens... - There's a woman staring at Fitz so hard that he can feel his clothes smoking. "This lady is creepy," he thinks as he puts a bucket on her head to keep her from seeing him steal 39 wheels of cheese. "Hello," says FItz.

"O_O" says the woman.

"...alright then," says Fitz, and leaves.

A few weeks later, while staggering drunkenly through a garden that features "seven varieties of thyme," which is five more varieties than I knew existed (regular thyme and hammer thyme), Fitz sees the woman again.

"Are you drunk?" she demands.

"Ayyyyyy lmao," Fitz replies, giving her double finger guns before stumbling back to the stables and falling asleep in a pile of horse manure.

Soon after that, Burrich comes back from the Probably Gay Stablemasters Convention (Ponycon 2023) and sees a very old horse in his stables. "Hey, I know that horse," he says. "Oh. Oh shit. Lady Patience is here."

The Fool's head pops out of a nearby hay bale. "The Lady Patience is Prince Chivalry's widow," he reminds us helpfully, then ducks back down.

"Oh good," Fitz mutters. "I have made a GREAT impression on her so far."

"It's fine, she's fucking weird anyway," Burrich says. "Go take a shower. You smell like teenaged boy."

But before Fitz can douse himself in Axe body spray, Patience accosts him in the hallway. "Do you know how to sing, play an instrument, speak French, write poetry, dance, or subjugate  minorities?" she asks.

"No," Fitz says, "that's for royalty."

"Surely you've been instructed to watch  Game of Thrones," Patience presses.

"No."

"Merlin?"

"Nah."

"The Princess Bride?" Patience asks desperately.

"Again," Fitz sighs, "I'm a bastard."

"I will be," Patience snarls, "RIGHT BACK."

Fitz takes a shower.

When he gets out, Chade is there. "Boy, m'boy!" he cries. "They're going to teach you the Skill!"

"I already know how to kill," Fitz protests.

"No, boy, SKILL. The innate Farseer royal magic that enables you to..." Chade checks his notes. "Well, by the end of the series it's easier to list the things the Skill CAN'T do-- but in this first trilogy it's mostly a Professor X type psychic ability that lets you telepathically talk to people in italics."

"Oh. Neat."

"Patience heard that you weren't getting a Prince's education and threw a bitch fit," Chade beams. "You'll start your Skill lessons next month. In the meantime you have to go and spend time with Patience so she can teach you Prince things."

"Like what it's like when doves cry?" Fitz asks.

"Stop dating yourself with old as fuck references," Chade snaps, and shoos him off.

Early the next morning Fitz reports to Patience's room, which is full of all her most recent ADHD hyperfixations, Lacy the servingwoman, and a dog with some puppies. "Hello!" Patience says. "I've decided to name you Tom. Here's a puppy."

Fitz loves the puppy and, with the Fool's random help, names him Smithy. He loves Smithy so much that he makes some macaroni art of him and brings it proudly back to Patience.

Patience hugs him, screams, then runs into her room and slams the door.

"She gets like that," Lacy explains, not looking up from her knitting.

Fitz has a great couple of weeks spending time with Smithy, Patience, and Molly, who he still has a giant crush on. Burrich notices that he hasn't yelled at Fitz for being witted in a while and calls him up to his apartment."Listen, Lil Accident," Burrich says, "Galen, the Skillmaster, loved your father and absolutely hates you."

"So, a Severus Snape situation," Fitz says.

"Yes. But he is not going to secretly keep you safe. If he finds out you talk to animals he's going to kill you. And I'll let him do it, because I don't want you to talk to animals either."

"Okay," says Fitz, who is right at this moment talking to his dog Smithy.

"Chade and I are not allowed to talk to you while you're being trained in Skilling. So no matter what awful thing Galen does to you, you just have to take it. Be careful, Lil Accident."

"Whatever," Fitz scoffs. "How bad can it be?"

"There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class," Galen says imperiously as he strides onto the tower top where he's holding Skill lessons. "I am going to teach you THE SKILL, which is super badass and sick and so amazing. Only the most favorite-- er, most talented students will be able to learn it. You! What's your name?"

"Fitz," Fitz replies.

"One thousand points from Gryffindor! Now everyone strip naked and start doing push-ups until I tell you you can stop!"

Fitz is still doing pushups a few weeks later when Galen walks up and kicks him in the ribs. "You've been stealing food when I explicitly ordered you to do a juice cleanse!"

"That food was for my dog--"

"Silence! Get out of my sight and don't let me catch you cheating on your diet again!"

That night, the Fool comes to Fitz's room with a bowl of dog food. "I'll feed and walk your dog for you," he says, "but I'm not putting a bag on my hand and picking up his business. That's YOUR business. Also, you should stop going to Skill lessons. You might die."

"I'm not gonna die, it's fine," Fitz says, drinking his juice.

Despite all odds, Fitz does sort of start to learn the Skill. In fact he gets pretty good at the basics, much to Galen's disgust. Then Galen tells the class that he's going to touch each of them with a little bit of true Skill, to show them how awesome it is."But don't lean into it," Galen warns, "or your mind will get sucked out of your body Byford Dolphin style."

He touches Fitz with the Skill.

"Stop leaning into it!" Galen snaps, repeatedly punching Fitz in the face.

"Ow! I'm not, I swear!"

"You totally are, you're the absolute worst and you don't deserve to know how to Skill!"

"I'm the absolute worst and I don't deserve to know how to Skill," Fitz says, without any prompting from anyone.

"You're bad at the Skill, you'll always be bad at the Skill, and you should kill yourself!"

"I'm bad at the Skill, I'll always be bad at the Skill, and I should kill myself," Fitz decides, all on his own.

"Class dismissed," Galen says, dusting off his hands. "Everyone spit on Fitz on the way out."

Having independently decided to unalive himself, Fitz slowly crawls to the edge of the very high tower and prepares to launch himself off of it into the sweet embrace of death, which he totally deserves because he's a bastard and no one likes him. But then Smithy reaches for him through their Wit-bond and says "Nooooo don't kill yourself you're so hott haha."

With the power of love from, honestly, the greatest dog of all time, Fitz decides not to commit breathn't.

When he next wakes up, he's in bed, and Burrich is sitting next to him. "I wrapped you in bandages," Burrich says soothingly. "Go back to sleep."

Fitz spends the next few weeks slowly recovering from being curbstomped by Galen. He sweeps out the stables, feeds horses, endures angry glares from Burrich because he had a secret wit-bond puppy, and thinks all about how he's bad at the Skill and will always be bad at the Skill.

"Alright, Lil Accident," Burrich says after a while, "it's time to go back to your Skill lessons."

"But I've missed too many classes," Fitz protests.

"There haven't been any classes. Go back to your lessons."

"Why not?"

"Haven't you heard?" The Fool says, popping out of a hay bale again. "Burrich beat the absolute shit out of Galen at the Witness Stones. He said, 'Gods, if I win this very one-sided fight, then Galen sucks,' and then just jumped up and down on that skinny motherfucker until he stopped moving." "Oh," Fitz says dumbly. The Fool retreats into the hay once more.

Later, on a beach date, Molly says, "Have you heard Prince Verity is going to get married?"

"Since when?" Fitz boggles.

"Oh, I know all the hot goss," Molly laughs. "Yeah, he agreed to get political-married to some foreign lady, but he's got no time to go looking for one, so Prince Regal is going to find one for him."

"Huh," Fitz says, then, "Miss Molly, I sure think you're just the swellest girl I ever did meet."

"How swell?" Molly asks.

But before Fitz can say "really really swell, the bee's knees," Smithy comes charging up to them to tell Fitz it's time to go back to the castle and start his Skill lessons again.

Fitz goes to the tower-top classroom along with the other students, all of whom pretty much hate him for being bad at the Skill and because his adopted dad beat up their teacher. Galen limps in. "I have an announcement," he says. "First of all, Jaydee mixed up the order of events just now: Fitz's first lesson back took place before he found out that Verity was going to be married. Second, Molly is hanging out with a handsome sailor named Jade. And thirdly, your training is almost complete. I will send you all on one final test-- even you, bastard that I hate and that I hope dies-- and then present you as a Skill Coterie to the King on Fantasy Easter."

"Murmur, murmur," all the students murmur.

"I'm going to send each of you to a faraway place," Galen goes on. "And then I will Skill a message of how to come home."

"That sounds fun, I bet nothing bad'll happen to me," Fitz says.

Galen smiles. "Do you think I don't know that you and Burrich are fucking? Because I do. And you won't be able to use him for Skill strength on this test."

"I don't understand any of the words that just came out of your mouth," Fitz smiles back.

(There's an aside here about Fitz undergoing his Man Ceremony, a strange and ancient Bar mitzvah where dudes in masks come to his room in the dead of night and bestow upon him a new Man Name. The Man Ceremony is literally never mentioned ever again in the entire series, but Fitz's Man Name is-- Changer.)

Fitz is blindfolded, put in his Test Carriage, and taken to the faraway place where he'll wait for his Skill message. The Test Carriage pulls to the side of the road, throws Fitz out, then screeches off. Fitz stands up and takes off his blindfold. Hey, this place looks kind of famil-- oh, it's Forge, where all the zombies live.

Neat.

Fitz sits down to prepare himself to receive his Skill message.Then he falls asleep.

Burrich is being attacked! Someone pushes him down the stairs! Smithy comes to the rescue, biting the attacker's leg!! But then--

["I MUST GO, MY PLANET NEEDS ME," SMITHY SAID AS HE SHOT INTO THE SKY. "I AM A GOOD DOG AND I HAVE EARNED MY TIME CHASING SPACE SQUIRRELS ON MY HOMEWORLD. FAREWELL!]

Fitz bolts upright. He's got to get home to help Burrich! Smithy's fine, he flew away before anyone could hurt him. But Burrich! He starts on the road home. Fuck the Skill message, he probably couldn't hear it anyway because he's bad at the Skill and always will be. But he's NOT bad at helping Burrich and writing a letter to Smithy who, again, went back to his home planet and is safe and sound.

He fights his way back through groups of zombies at Forge (and sees Vikings still hanging out in the ruins of the town) and hurries back toward Buckkeep.

Burrich is still alive, convalescing in the hospital with a wicked bump on the head. "I'm not dead," Fitz tells him. "I came back to help you."

"Smithy went back to his home planet," Burrich says.

"I know. He contacted me via our awesome wit-bond to say he was fine and nothing bad had happened to him."

"I can't believe you were talking to your dog instead of listening for your Skill message!"

"I wasn't going to hear a Skill message," Fitz explains. "I'm bad at the Skill. But I'm good at talking to animals."

"That's gross," Burrich says. "Never talk to me, ever again."

"This is the worst day of my life," Fitz moans.

"It's the worst day of your life SO FAR," The Fool clarifies from his hay bale.

[rosenongrata]

an offer taken – i

summary: After running into Galene – a Dreamscape Motivator – in the Golden Hour of Penacony, Dr. Ratio and Aventurine find themselves trying to get information out of her – only for the tables to turn.

a/n: i am bored. more HSR OC blurbs. woo yeah?

cw/s: mostly just the boys going at each others throats (normal). sort of OC x Canon but also not really. OC-insert. POTENTIALLY OOC.

wc: 1.2k

"You truly think a naive Dreamscape Motivator will have any…tangible information? You sound desperate." Dr. Ratio sighs, his gruff voice filled to the brim with mild disappointment.

"Bet!" Aventurine protests, "I found one not too long ago, actually. I have a good feeling about her." He says with a pointed finger and prideful grin, but never does his smile reach his eyes.

"Okay…" Dr. Ratio holds back a groan, "And what is her name? Where is she?" He crosses his arms, his features stricken with what could be boredom.

"Follow me, my good sir!" Aventurine nods before striding away, his "friend" not too far behind him. "Her name is Galene. She's got a really sweet smile!" He notes aloud.

"…I am far too uninterested in what her smile is like, Aventurine." The doctor's eyes roll.

"C'mon, Dr. Ratio, lighten up a little! You have to appreciate the little things life has to offer sometimes." The blonde advises sagely.

"…Right." The azure-haired man sighs.

"Hey again, Ms. Galene! Or, uh—" Aventurine stumbles over his words as he takes smooth steps up to her seat outside of a restaurant, "Are you…?" He blinks, curiously glancing down at her where she sits.

"Hehe, I am not married…or even with anyone." Galene smiles, her light pink eyes twinkling under the Golden Hour's city lights. She places the small cup of her drink back down on its coaster.

"Ohhh," He nods and grins, "Are you looking for anyone—"

Dr. Ratio clears his throat loudly from behind Aventurine – he's had enough shenanigans for one day. The professor would much rather get this meeting over with as quickly as possible. All he desires is a long, hot bath to cleanse himself from the filth and sins of the world—

"Oops." Aventurine laughs sheepishly, "This is Doctor Veritas Ratio – he, uh, is…a friend of mine!" He lies through his teeth.

"Good evening, Dr. Ratio," Galene rises to her feet, offering her hand to the esteemed doctor, "I'm sure Mr. Aventurine has already told you, but… I am Galene, a Dreamscape Motivator. It's my pleasure to meet you." She nods.

Despite his initial hesitation and how he stared a little too long at her hand, he gives her a firm handshake – only to have it returned rather roughly. He blinks - swearing to himself that she was about to rip his arm off during it. She could use some practice, that much he knows.

(I cannot tell how earnest and sincere she is right now… Albeit, I have barely met her, but… Something about her strikes me as odd.) He gives her a nod, keeping his thoughts to himself for now.

"Would you like me to order you two some drinks? I don't mind." Galene takes her seat at the table once more, one hand resting near her cup and the other on her lap.

"Sure! That sounds great! Although, I could pay instead, Ms. Galene. I'd hate to take your money away from you…" Aventurine offers.

"If she wants to pay, then let her pay." Dr. Ratio hisses.

Galene snickers, "Please, it's my treat." Her eyes crinkle with her smile.

And so the men take their seats, placing their drink orders in for her to pay for. Aventurine feels a tad bit of guilt in his gut but neglects the wrenching in favor of giving her his utmost attention. Dr. Ratio – on the other side of the table - merely listens to them chat, regardless of how bored he is with the whole scene.

Galene pushes her black-haired ponytail behind her shoulder before taking a sip of her dark-colored drink. When she sets it back down – handling the cup like porcelain – she turns her attention back to the two men.

"How are you both faring this evening?" She inquires, her voice soft and light - nowhere near intrusive to one's thoughts. If anything, hearing her speak is like a loving lullaby before bed.

"We're doing fine, thanks for asking!" Aventurine nods.

"I was going to say I am quite bored, actually." Dr. Ratio huffs, his arms crossing again under his chest.

"Aw, don't say that…" His comrade smiles wearily, "Sorry about him… He has no friends."

"Pardon?" Veritas groans.

Galene is hardly bothered by their bickering – if anything, she finds them amusing, eliciting soft giggles out of her. The men shoot her confused stares.

"I like you two already." She smiles a little brighter, "I know you probably find each other insufferable, but…" She glances away while she brushes stray hairs out of her face.

"But…we are amusing. Our plights are amusing—" Dr. Ratio deadpans.

"Y'know, I'm taking that in stride." Aventurine snickers, "A Dreamscape Motivator must be stressed a lot of the time with…the work they have to take on."

"I suppose so," She nods in agreement, "I'm not too stressed or overworked, though, I'm pretty happy so far. It's…nice to see others cheer up and smile."

"Fair enough." The blond shrugs, "You're very compassionate, Ms. Galene—"

"Must I sit here and watch you fail to flirt with her at every turn, Aventurine?" Veritas intercepts.

"I'm not—" He sighs and goes to retort, but is interrupted again.

"I beg to differ." The doctor scoffs.

And they break out into a hushed argument, leaving Galene to observe them up close.

(Silly boys…) She glances at the professor, (He's calmer but uncomfortably aloof and forthright. I'd even say he's a little too rude for his own good. He seems so confident, but he’s covering up insecurity.) She looks to Aventurine, (And… Aventurine is a sweetheart, but he hides things from everyone…even himself. I can see it in his vibrant yet lightless eyes. He's missing pieces of himself right now… Truly a pity.) She glances at the busy streets, (What would HooH think?)

“Well, boys, it’s been a fun time - thank you so much for the plentiful entertainment, hehe.” Galene snickers, poking fun at their poor chemistry.

She then swiftly rises to her full height – legs and back straight as she straightens her clothes and plucks her purse from the table.

“Are you leaving? We were such poor guests. Any way I can make it up to you?” Aventurine immediately offers, his smile softening when he locks eyes with her.

“I must leave, unfortunately. I have an appointment in reality soon,” She sighs wistfully, “But…” She hums thoughtfully.

“But?” The men say in unison and proceed to throw dagger-like glares at each other.

“But!” She perks up, grabbing a small business card from the breast pocket of her feather-lined coat, “…Feel free to contact me any time. You’re both cute in your own ways, so… Think about talking to me at my office some time soon. Though, one at a time, please.” She slides the card to Aventurine, the tips of their fingers kissing on accident,

“I’d love to pick your brains.”

She then promptly leaves after those rather ominous words – not giving the men a chance to say anything once they broke out of their speechlessness.

“Haha…” Aventurine laughs awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, “Hoo boy… She, uh…” He sputters, unsure how to convey his thoughts.

“I do believe she has already figured us all out from this meeting alone. Why else would she offer us…therapy?” Dr. Ratio sighs heavily.

“Y’know what? I agree with you for once. She’s got us figured out.” The blonde sighs with him in unison, “I gotta say, though… We both sorely underestimated her.”

[thrawns-backrest]

Satellites

Pairing: Galen Erso/Orson Krennic (pre-relationship, can be read as platonic), also Krennic is still a teen here so any romantic feelings are one sided

A little thing I wrote for these two during their time in the Futures Program. Tagging @russiandeathcup and @enaelyork because I think you might be interested in this :) enaelyork, my headcanons are a bit different from yours but I hope I managed to capture the essence of these two nonetheless!

I cut some corners with editing so please excuse me if it's a bit of a mess lol. Finally, all the science stuff is made up as per star wars tradition ___

Waking up was a laborious experience.

But then again, Orson Krennic surmised, he probably wasn’t doing himself any favors by falling asleep the way he did. Raising a hand to rub at eyes that were crusted shut he felt around to check for any additional presences in bed with him and immediately there was a groan to his right while someone else wriggled in dismay. Orson grinned.

It seemed like he wasn’t the only one who had passed out before he could summon the good sense to get back to his room.

With some of his good cheer restored he flexed his neck and cracked open an eye to survey some of his previous night's partymates sprawled over each other on the single bed, all in various states of disarray.

The room itself was a similar mess and reeked of alcohol but that was a given since it was the kind of night he barely remembered anything of. And as much as he wanted to sleep the rest of his hangover off (not as bad as last time, he was getting better at this), there was a steady stream of sunlight coming through the window and, well, Orson Krennic had better things to do with his day.

Like making sure there was another pleasant end to it, like last night's.

So he ran a hand through his hair, said a quick prayer of thanks for the lack of any vomit in sight and began the long process of extricating himself from the bed, whispering a quick apology to the girl lying half on top of him as she groaned again.

Some patting down fixed the worst of his uniform and after fishing around for a bit, he managed to find his jacket and tug it out from under one of the senior years before slipping his boots on.

He made a point of tucking his pant legs inside – a personal if unusual style choice but he wouldn’t be caught dead wearing those ugly uniforms without a few tweaks – and before long he was off, striding out into the bright sunlight of Brentaal.

The building he’d somehow found himself in last night turned out to be unfamiliar but a quick jog to the nearest busy walkway had him back on track. Half a year of gallivanting to his heart’s content had ensured he knew most of the grounds like the back of his hand.

And it certainly had its perks.

From his new starting point, he was able to weave his way between dorm buildings, labs and lecture halls until he was at his own dorm complex, bright and gleaming right at the very heart of campus. Normally these buildings were reserved for the cream of the academic crop but in reality most of the people here were simply well connected, much like Orson who had his own wonderful uncle to thank for his placement.

Money, as it turned out, opened a lot more doors than test results. But Orson wasn’t so big of a fool as to underestimate the opportunities the Futures Program offered all by itself.

There was a queue for the turbolifts inside and he bypassed them to get to the stairs. Another trick he’d learned in his time here as this particular stairway connected to the professors’ living wing and he shot one of his instructors a grin on the way up, getting an eye roll and the faintest of smiles in response. A few more weeks, give or take, and he would have them all charmed, he was sure of it.

Level six was buzzing with activity which wasn’t all too unusual despite it being the middle of the day, with classes having long started. At first glance, the Program took itself more than a little seriously but in reality the people that ran the whole thing were well aware that they were as much a university as a daycare center for the kids of the various bourgeoisie that sponsored them. That, combined with the fact that its occasional sundry geniuses were better off left to their own devices, made for a pretty lively atmosphere, especially at this time of day and Orson couldn’t really complain about it.

On the contrary, the whole thing was suffused with a level of charm he couldn’t deny. Not least of all as a fifteen-year-old hungry for novelty and socialization.

Currently though his mind was set on a shower and some breakfast, maybe with a side of painkillers, and he was well on his way to getting them when he had to pause and do a double take.

He stood there for a couple of seconds staring at the open hatch.

This was Galen’s room, his mind supplied vaguely while the currents of hallway traffic flowed around him. So why was the door open?

Cautiously, Orson looked around before taking a few steps forward. The noise from outside became muffled as he entered the small corridor with adjacent fresher that led into the room itself.

Had someone broken in while Galen was away? Though not many did, his friend was definitely the type to get harassed and Orson wondered if this wasn’t some elaborate prank meant to do just that.

His next thought was that Galen, in his typical distracted fashion, had forgotten to close the door behind him when he’d gone out that morning though Orson had to admit that was a bit much, even for Galen.

Reality as it turned out was unfortunately not too far from that.

Orson felt his body slump in both amusement and relief when he finally rounded the corner, glancing deeper into the room.

As lo and behold there was Galen himself, pacing in front of the bed under the far window where a shrine of notes and a few screens lay scattered in artful disarray. His friend’s face was contorted in its usual pensive grimace as he wrestled with the numbers on some piece of flimsi, mouth moving silently as though struggling to follow the flow of his own thoughts.

It was such a profound display, Orson almost felt bad for interrupting it.

“Hey,” He leaned against the wall casually as Galen’s eyes snapped up to him. He seemed confused for a moment before finally realizing who was standing there in the middle of the room with him.

“Orson.” Galen frowned, distracted. “Did you need anything?”

“You tell me, you invited me here.”

This seemed to confuse Galen even more.

“No, I didn’t.”

“You did.”

Orson jabbed a thumb in the direction of the doorway.

“You’re inviting everyone in, in fact.”

He mentally counted the seconds while Galen’s brain switched gears and then watched the disgruntlement on his face slowly melt into sheepishness.

“Ah, I must have forgotten to close it when I…right.” Galen mumbled and it took all of Orson’s willpower not to grin. He could envision it now, Galen in a rush to get to the nearest available datapad, practically vibrating with the urge to hunker down and tackle the onslaught of thoughts that were spiraling towards critical mass.

“They should put sensors on these things,” Orson heard him mutter as he threw aside the piece of flimsi, heading for the door.

If only the world were designed for scatterbrains like you, is what he thought to himself privately, suppressing another grin. A hand on Galen’s chest stopped him from getting any further.

“It’s okay, I’ll take care of it.” Orson nodded with a wink and sure enough, by the time he was back from that impressively short trip, Galen was already hunched over on his bed, staring a hole through his notes and twisting some poor tortured pen in his fingers as he muttered to himself.

Orson made himself comfortable at the other end and leaned back against the headboard as he watched his friend work. For how unusual it was, it was hardly the first time they found themselves in this position. With Galen chipping away at the mysteries of the universe while Orson sat quietly to the side, immersing himself in the peaceful atmosphere of it all and letting his mind drift.

It had become a sort of therapy for him, embarrassingly enough. And it didn’t help that Galen didn’t seem to mind in the slightest, going so far as to make room for him on whatever surface he’d perched himself on. Either that or he didn’t notice Orson at all and accommodated him on autopilot but Orson found that he didn’t mind either way.

This morning the ritual was particularly productive in chasing away the lingering dregs of his hangover and Orson almost found himself drifting off to sleep when he was rudely awoken by the growl of his own stomach.

“You should get something to eat,” Galen said offhandedly, in that way that implied he was on autopilot again.

Orson was just about to agree, reluctantly, when Galen spoke again, directing him to the fridge. Orson felt his brow furrow.

“You have food here?” he asked in disbelief as Galen waved a dismissive hand.

“I stock up at the end of every week.”

Somewhat caught off guard, Orson pondered that for a moment but then decided that he could envision it. Making an unwilling but necessary trip to one of the campus stores and stocking up with a precisely calculated amount of rations to get him through the week was a very Galen thing indeed. It must take some effort, after all, to be this much of a recluse.

Which raised the question…

“Well, I don’t want to eat your food if it means you’ll starve.” Orson frowned but his worries were met with the same dismissal.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

The look on Galen’s face indicated that he had already moved on from the conversation and so despite his hesitation Orson decided that he may as well make use of the offer. It was either that or scour his room for whatever instameal scraps or junk food he hadn’t managed to devour in his drunken stupors and right now that sounded decidedly unappealing.

He got up and padded to Galen’s fridge, opening it to find just what he expected. A small stack of granola bars that he quickly calculated to correspond to three meals per every remaining day of the week.

He shook his head. Galen was a good foot taller than him (the disadvantages of being a teenager and late to his last growth spurt) and this was a pathetic amount of food for him. If it weren’t for the occasional lunch Orson knew Galen’s professors sometimes dragged him out to, he may have been worried. As it was, he simply grabbed the nearest bar and went back to reclaim his spot on the bed.

At the very least, his stomach was grateful for the bland breakfast.

After eating his food as quietly as possible (Galen didn’t like noise while he concentrated), he returned to his earlier state of meditative relaxation. Until at some point he noticed Galen’s face twitch and an ever so subtle change occur in it.

Anyone else might have missed it but Orson had always been observant and part of that entailed being able to discern the differences in Galen’s seemingly passive expressions. He could tell, quite reliably by now, when Galen’s thoughts were racing behind those narrowed eyes and when they had hit a wall. And just now his train of thought had come to a screeching halt.

“Orson, can I ask you something?” Galen muttered after a while and Orson nodded lazily from his spot.

“Mhm, shoot.”

His friend then proceeded to bombard him with two increasingly complicated hypotheses that Orson did his best to follow despite failing miserably by the end. Nonetheless he paid close attention to Galen’s every word, the gestures and diagrams he drew in the air around him as he weaved complex science jargon together.

“So what do you think?” Galen asked hopefully at the end of it all, looking at Orson as though he genuinely believed he could be the solution to his problem. A rather flattering if overly optimistic thought.

Never let it be said that Orson Krennic didn’t come through in a pinch however.

“Here’s the deal,” Orson started, “I understood a fraction of the first one and nothing of the second so it must be that one.”

The explanation didn’t have the desired effect. Instead of agreeing Galen looked oddly contrite all of a sudden.

“Come now, Orson, don’t be like that…” he mumbled and Orson could practically feel the regret radiating off him. So worried that he’d somehow made Orson feel inadequate by getting carried away.

Orson shook his head mentally, allowing himself a little lopsided smirk.

For all that Galen was a plank of wood when it came to tact sometimes and for all that he outstripped most people here in terms of intelligence by light-years, being friends with him could be a surprisingly self-affirming experience. Orson doubted, for one, that anyone cared as much about his feelings and self-esteem as Galen Erso did.

But that wasn’t the point here and Orson hurried to put them back on track.

“No, I’m being serious. Think about it, I have a basic understanding of advanced chemistry and physics, about as good as the average first year around here, and if I was able to get what you were talking about then it only makes sense that someone has already thought of, tested it and proved that it doesn’t work.”

He shrugged and leaned back against the headboard. “It’s just statistical probability.”

This time his wors seemed to get through to Galen and his friend sat there contemplating it for a moment before finally accepting it for what it was.

“I suppose you’re right,” he conceded with a rare smile. “Though I’m not necessarily happy with the reasoning behind it. Thank you, Orson.”

Orson responded with a grin of his own.

“Hey, if nothing else, I’m good at pointing geniuses in the right direction. I have a nose for it.” He stopped as though actually considering it.

“You know, you should probably hire me to do it full time for you. I can see myself with a career like that.”

Galen huffed, already going back to his notes.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

He stuck around for a while after until the urge to change into clean clothes and eat a proper meal finally won out and he left Galen to his silent scribbling.

Later that evening found him ambling down a decidedly more deserted campus with one hand nestled in his jacket pocket and the other loosely holding to the top of a flimsi bag. It was that odd transitional hour when students had already gone home from class and the more avid party goers had yet to spill out into the streets.

The majority were probably still winding down while others were stuck doing last minute work on their assignments.

Orson, being the only master of his own schedule, was on a mission instead.

He trekked the familiar route from the foyer up to the sixth level, bypassing the turbolifts even when there was no queue outside, and stopped in front of Galen’s room to knock. Moments later he heard shuffling inside which was a promising sign as Galen probably wouldn’t have heard him at all if he was in one of his trances. 

The door opened to reveal a mussed looking Galen who squinted at him in confusion.

Nevertheless, he quickly moved out of the way when Orson pushed past him to get into the room.

“I’ve got something important to show you, come on.”

The urgency in his voice must have piqued Galen’s interest because he closed the door and shuffled after him without a second thought, probably thinking it was another gadget Orson had lifted from the lab or some other scientific curiosity.

Orson took advantage of it and dropped his bag on the desk Galen had repurposed as an impromptu lab station, stepping back to let Galen open it. His friend’s face instantly drained of excitement as he revealed what was inside.

“I don’t understand,” he mumbled in confusion, staring at the plastic containers and their contents.

Orson snorted.

“Of course you don’t. This,” He pointed at the bag. “is real food. And it’s probably the first time you’re seeing any.”

He let the smirk he’d been disguising finally crawl over his face and took extra joy in the exasperation mixed with grudging embarrassment that bloomed over Galen’s.

And real food it certainly was because Orson didn’t cut any corners. He hadn’t scouted every food place in and around campus, making sure not to get too inebriated in the process, for nothing. If you wanted the best food in radius of two klicks, Orson Krennic was your guy.

Even Galen, seemingly convinced by the smell of freshly grilled vegetables and meat, didn’t complain about his antics for once and they both sat down to eat what was unmistakably better than a chalky granola bar.

In the course of wiping their respective containers clean, they talked about Galen’s research. It was rare to see Galen this animated and Orson studied the reaction as his friend rambled about dead ends and insufficient data.

“I need to do this in a lab,” Galen said, scraping the bottom of his container with his chopsticks. “The geology hall here has a databank on Darellian crystals and a physics simulator built into the display console. If I could use that along with some of the research logged into the databanks, this whole thing would go much faster.”

Orson had been quietly following along, already feeling the inklings of a plan coming together.

“You know what,” he said after a while, “you might be able to do just that.”

It was already dark by the time they ventured out into the cobbled tree-lined walkways. Precious minutes remained until the place was crowded but Galen still clamped a hand over Orson’s mouth, silencing his cackling, when he boldly announced they were once again about to witness the talents of the great Orson Krennic. Orson considered it a personal achievement that he could get stuffy Galen Erso to follow along in his antics.

If he were to give himself even more credit, he would even say that was a smile playing on Galen’s lips.

Convincing the hall’s security guard to let them in was much easier in comparison. Especially when Orson was notorious for wheedling extra lab time for his projects from their professors. Inside, he took a seat on one of the front row benches and once again found himself in that same meditative state as before as Galen flicked between the holoboard and simulation projector, occasionally flipping through an ancient-looking flimsi booklet and scribbling unintelligible notes on the board.

In the meantime, Orson asked himself when he had become so fascinated with Galen. And the answer, frankly, was almost immediately after he’d first seen him.

It’d been during a joined physics class, with freshmen and senior years from all over the Program, when the professor had called on Orson to give an answer to one of the problems. Ever the performer, Orson had detached one of the microscopes’ digital magnifiers and climbed onto the table to spy the answer on the professor’s datapad much to the whole hall’s amusement.

After the excitement had died down the professor had turned to Galen, drawing Orson’s attention for the first time to the tall quiet student at the back of the hall. Galen had given a quick detailed response without even looking up from his datapad and though his odd demeanor hadn’t garnered nearly as much attention, Orson had felt a brief pinch of annoyance at what he perceived as having his spotlight stolen.

That feeling had quickly given way to curiosity however as he kept shooting discreet glances at Galen for the rest of the class. The rest was just a matter of approaching him after the lecture and slowly worming his way into Galen’s awareness until the latter had been forced to admit defeat and relinquish some of his self-imposed solitude.

Orson was nothing if not persistent and Galen – too polite to nip his growing advances in the bud. And given enough time, Orson could make himself agreeable to anyone as he’d been able to prove with Galen.

Which led them to the present moment, with Galen so inured to his presence and casual favors that he allowed him to loiter nearby while he worked – Galen, who valued his personal space more than anything – and regularly updated him on his progress.

It was strange if you thought about it too much. Orson himself couldn’t explain what drew him to Galen in the first place. He’d always thought it was the ostentatious types for him, the loud and exuberant, the ones he could compete with for attention and follow into mischief and glory. Yet there they were, as balanced a duo as you could get.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Galen murmured as if reading his thoughts and Orson watched him get down from the podium to flip a few more pages on his booklet. He scribbled a few more notes on his datapad and pursed his lips in thought.

“Orson could you do these calculations for me, I need this to go faster.”

That brought Orson’s reverie to a stumbling halt and he blinked at Galen, almost panicked.

“Me?” he asked in disbelief. “Doing your calculations? Don’t be ridiculous, Galen, you should just input them into a computer.”

Galen glared at him from his spot at the lecturer’s desk. “That would take too much time. Besides, it’s just some Tivix equations, I know you can handle that.”

Orson was about to protest but Galen was already walking back to the holoboard and opening another window to scribble on.

“I don’t know who convinced you you’re stupid Orson,” he said, his back still turned to him, “but you’re not. You should know better than that.”

The rudimentary protest died on Orson’s tongue and he felt his throat constrict as the meaning of Galen’s words registered in his mind. Finding himself utterly speechless, he averted his eyes to the table in front of him, unable to help it.

Not ‘stupid’, his mind corrected mechanically, but rather not smart enough.

For a horrifying moment, he had the suspicion that Galen had seen right through him there and then. All those times he had avoided doing things the right way, finding roundabout methods and tricks to get the result he wanted rather than tackling the problem head on. Did Galen know what lay beneath it? The crippling fear of inadequacy that Orson fought so hard to suppress?

The lengths he went to to avoid finding out just how incapable he really was?

Did Galen know about all of it?

Orson swallowed heavily, trying to bring his thoughts back under control.

Then tentatively, he got up and walked over to the datapad Galen had left to display a few rows of glowing numbers and barely legible notes.

He’d never thought he would graduate the program. Just like many of the students here, he had never entered it with the intention of getting all the way through. He was just like the people he partied with, careless and enjoying the brief stint of freedom their parents had bought for them to get them out of their hair or add some vague prestigious credentials to their name. Everyone knew the program was filled with people like that.

Orson himself had yearned for the chance to escape his guardians’ supervision, obsessed with the notion of complete independence and the chance of making new contacts. His doting uncle and aunt had been indulgent in allowing him that but nobody had actually ever believed anything would come out of it.

Orson was flighty. Frivolous. Given to indulgence. Things he had long come to terms with and didn’t feel too strongly about to change. He was quick-witted and perceptive, sure, and he had the head to make decent progress in his studies but his future was in politics and public services much like his uncle’s. It was a step down from what he’d always wanted but after some deliberation he had agreed there was ample opportunity there.

Now though, slowly going through Galen’s equations to the sound of his friend’s muttering, he wondered if there wasn’t still a chance for him. That maybe, if someone like Galen saw potential in him, there was a point in at least trying…

Galen wasn’t necessarily a good judge of character but he was surprisingly good at telling what was worth his time and what wasn’t. And if he had tolerated Orson so far, not to mention involving him in his research, then if not his own judgement, perhaps Orson could trust Galen’s. After all it was only fair given how often Galen had taken a leap of faith for him.

Galen was, at the end of the day, an exceptional man. Orson could tell better than anyone. If Galen’s instincts were attuned to the invisible currents of numbers and data, Orson had the same aptitude for telling where the seeds of greatness lied.

That greatness was sure to germinate in Galen and who knows, swept along in its tide maybe Orson could reach new heights as well. Ones that he had never dared hope for before.

Tentatively taking hold of that thought, he let his fingers glide more confidently over the surface of the screen.

Yes, there was merit in giving this a go, he decided privately. And even if he did fail, Orson thought taking one long look at the sure line of Galen’s profile against the glow of the holoboard, at least he would have basked in Galen’s light for a little bit longer.

And he couldn’t find himself objecting to that.

[alixennial]

25th Sun of the Fourth Umbral Moon

Hunting on the plains of The Azim Steppe!

[melestasflight]

For the Silmarillion ask game: This may be a repeat, apologies if it is.

🗡️ Defend your favorite war criminal (or make them worse - I'm not your mom).

🔮You can reach into the Beyond and ask the Professor to settle one (1) debate for you. He won't even waffle on the answer, honest. What do you ask him?

Thanks for the ask @antares0606!

🗡️ takes a deep breath, ok here we go: Fingon, for the worse!

I love Fingon to death, he was my favorite character when I first read the Silm and remains as such after all these years. He is my High King of the Noldor, I would follow him to the Nirnaeth Arnoediad.

But! He is flawed in a way fandom often underplays honestly. Let us start with Alqualondë. It is not only that he rushed in, not stopping to learn what is going on, it is that he killed the kin of his best friends!

... and with Fingon stood as they ever did Angrod and Aegnor, sons of Finarfin.

... [the sons of Finarfin] were as close in friendship with the sons of Fingolfin as though they were all brothers.

Yes! And then, Fingon goes all savage against their mother's people. I cannot fathom how they manage to find a way back to each other after that.

To go on, as much as I can never get enough of Maedhros' rescue and howl like a whale every time I reread it, I must recognize that Fingon the Golden Prince of the Noldor, the one who urged them on across the Helcaraxë, ditches all and goes to Thangorodrim. Without telling anyone! To reunite the Noldor? Perhaps, or maybe because of his own personal motives. He does seem to side with Maedhros even to his own detriment. There's more, but I'll stop here before I loose it.

All of it to say, yes, I make Fingon way worse. It is these flaws that make him a compelling character to me. He is a murderer, a ruthless war Lord who drives hordes of Orcs into the Sea and chases dragons across Ard-Galen, but he is also a loyal friend (loyal to a ridiculous degree), a friend to Men, he is generous, selfless, an inspiring leader, a good son, a hero. And these contrasts add so much depth to him that gives me so much thrill to think about again and again and I think I'll never tire of it.

🔮 Huh, so many questions, the Professor would never hear the end of it. But here's one and we come to Fingon again: Thorondor. Why help Fingon? Is this Manwë's will? Is the Eagle acting independently? Doesn't it go against the Doom of the Valar? Please, sir, tell me: are the eagles the hope I should latch on? The thing with feathers? Or are they just a narrative tool to crush my soul all the more at the end?

Ask game prompts

[bowlsbowlsalltypeabowls]

Kudos to the 538 podcast for interviewing 3 Georgia law professors about the Trump indictment instead of their few remaining reporters. Galen is actually a pretty good host/interviewer, and I actually appreciated the content of this episode! I also realized Nate Silver hasn't been on the podcast in months, which is such a nice break from hearing terrible poker analogies.

[ladyxskywalker]

last line wip tag 💌

Rules: Write the latest line from your wip (or post where you last left off in your art) and tag as many people as there are words in the line. Make a new post, don’t reblog.

tagged by the amazing @imtryingmybeskar 👑💜

just been writing some super cringe poetry lately so let's see what I can dig up out of the drafts folder !

here is a little dialogue action between my silver fox prof galen erso & our dapper space man time traveler ezra in "house of sins & pleasures" 📖

Ezra - We can change things. This is the key.

Galen – I don’t…fully understand.

Ezra – Love. Professor. Love is needed to power them. And Hope.

Galen – You’re not serious.

Ezra – I am, and I know already that all of you can feel it. Beyond the scope of our shared universes. I believe I’ve been kept alive in my world to save you from this one. These self inflicted scars, drowning you in nightmares and immortality! Different beings, and past selves, blowing your lives to bits. It’s wild, surely! But we can take it.

Galen – And what will become of us all? Both here in this life, and where we've lived before?

Ezra – In a matter of seconds, you all will be erased. A light will form, and you will head to it. Like lightspeed. And start anew...

... 🌼💛

[whatisonthemoon]

Young Oon Kim, Lofland, Stark, and the Institute for Personality Assessment and Research

Both parts excerpted from Mike and Virginia McClaughry’s research:

▲ Pictured: Front row Eileen Lemmers, Patty Pumphrey, Pauline Verheyen, unknown, Doris Orme, Young Oon Kim Back row: unknown, George Norton, Galen Pumphrey, Calvin Carey, unknown

The CIA group Institute for Personality Assessment and Research, was at UC Berkeley. Erving Goffman was a Sociology professor at the University of California in Berkeley. Goffman had previously received CIA funding under MK Ultra.    71

John Lofland was invited to Berkeley to work as a Teaching Assistant to Erving Goffman, starting in the Fall semester of 1960. Rodney Stark was one of their Sociology students.

CIA funding was provided to research conversion in a deviant religious group. The project was under the Institute for Personality Assessment and Research. John Lofland and Rodney Stark were assigned to be the researchers. Goffman received CIA funding and he acted as handler for Lofland and Stark.

On 21 November 1960 Young Oon Kim finally stepped foot into San Francisco Haight-Ashbury district. She was now ready to begin her real assignment – the making of the Unification Church.   59 Young Oon Kim was not gaining very many converts by preaching Moon’s religious beliefs.

In the Fall of 1961 John Lofland and Ronald Stark hook up with Young Oon Kim. The Divine Principle is a book containing Moon’s religious teachings. Lofland helped Kim re-write the Divine Principle to make it more acceptable.

Lofland also taught Kim to use interpersonal relationships to recruit people. That meant that converts should bring in their family and friends. That worked. Membership in the Unification Church then began increasing dramatically.

. . . .

John Lofland was invited to Berkeley to work on his Ph.D as a Teaching Assistant to Erving Goffman.

CIA funding was provided to research conversion in a deviant religious group. The project was under the Institute for Personality Assessment and Research. John Lofland and Rodney Stark were assigned to be the researchers.

Lofland and Stark would soon take Young Oon Kim under their wing.

Interview with Stark –

Stark: I enrolled at Berkeley in the fall of 1960.

Stark gets “given a research appointment at the end of the first semester“. That is December 1960. Stark says he “went to the Survey Research Center” that was directly under the purview of the CIA Institute for Personality Assessment and Research.

As his Curriculum Vitae verifies. Specifically, it says that he was working as a “researcher for a research associate” under Charles Glock and its recently formed Survey Research Center.

John Lofland and Rodney Stark deliberately sought out a “deviant religious group” to study because that was their assignment, that’s what the grant money stipulated.

Lofland and Stark would have been reporting/discussing in to both Charles Glock and Erving Goffman throughout the whole period that they were there with the Moonies.

This shows that Erving Goffman was receiving CIA funding –

In 1995, Raymond Prince published an illustration consisting of photo reproductions of pages of the Human Ecology Fund Annual Report of July 1961.

Under “other studies, grants” and sub-heading “Other publications, monographs” we see several names that are most definitely actual full-out witting MK-Ultra operatives, such as James A Hamilton. Under ‘publications, monographs’: we see Erving Goffman show up again, clearly illustrating that he is a repeat grantee of the CIA’s largesse. (Price Anthropology Today June 2007)

In March 1962 Lofland and Stark officially moved in with the Moonies.

We said that friendship ties were in the first instance much more important than theology. That people learned the theology, but they learned it only after having already learned to trust it because their friends did.

Progress Through Theology “An interview with Rodney Stark, author of For the Glory of God: How Monotheism Led to Reformations, Science, Witch-hunts, and the End of Slavery” David Neff/ July 1, 2003

As Lofland and I settled back to watch people convert to this group, the first thing we discovered was that all of the current members were united by close ties of friendship predating this …with Miss Kim. …became friends with Miss Kim after she became a [?] with one of them. By the time Lofland and I arrived to study them, the group had never succeeded in attracting a stranger. All had been tied to group members through friendships.

We also found it instructive that during most of her first year in America Miss Kim had tried to spread her message directly by talks to various groups and by sending out many press releases. Later, in San Francisco, the group also tried to attract followers through radio spots and by renting a hall in which to hold public lectures. But these methods yielded nothing. As time passed Lofland and I were able to observe people actually become Moonies. The first several converts were old friends or relatives of members who came from Oregon for a visit. Subsequent members were people who …close friendships with one or more members of the groups.

We soon realized that of all the people the Moonies…in their efforts to…the only ones who joined were those with interpersonal attachments.

…In short, conversion is not about working or embracing an ideology, it is about bringing one’s religious behavior into alignment with that of one’s friends and family members. …Of persons who did join, many were newcomers to San Francisco whose attachments were all …far away. As they formed strong friendships with group members these were not counterbalanced because distant friends and and families had no knowledge of the conversion in progress.

The Craft of Religious Studies pp 175-196 On Theory-Driven Methods RODNEY STARK

Kim tried to attract followers through press releases and advertising, but this produced no results. Instead, what made for new converts was personal relationships. If a person had a friend or family member who was a Moonie, the prospects for conversion increased dramatically.

“Conversion is not about seeking or embracing an ideology; it is about bringing one’s religious behavior into alignment with that of one’s family and friends,” Stark says.

Stark explains, “Conversion to new, deviant religious groups occurs when, other things being equal, people have or develop stronger attachments to members of the group than they have to non-members.”

Late 20th Century Conversions: How the Moonies Did It by Julie Garner, editorial Martyrs, Myths and the Mighty, Columns magazine, U of W Alumni December 1998 issue.

John Lofland helped Young Oon Kim rewrite the Divine Principle because people found it unconvincing –

“While the second edition was far better than the first, by October, 1962, Miss Kim had begun making revisions and typing out the manuscript for the third edition. In part, this new effort came at the urging of Gordon Ross, a new member and former Woodrow Wilson scholar in linguistics at the University of California at Berkeley. He pointed out deficiencies in the text that had hindered his study and which if not amended would in his view lead scholars to dismiss it.

This time, Miss Kim was anxious to produce an authoritative version. She finished typing the manuscript on December 1, 1962, and proofreading began two days later with Gordon Ross and John Lofland, a doctoral student in Sociology at the University of California who was studying the group. They finished on December 5th. A second proofreading began on the 9th and finished on the 11th.” (Mickler, Chapter 2)

John Lofland wrote his thesis. It shows his research into the Moonies was CIA funded. It says –

This investigation was supported in part by a Public Health Service fellowship to the senior author from the National Institute of Mental Health (MPM-16, 661; 5F1 MH-16, 661-02).

John Lofland, as the senior author, was paid to do this from the CIA’s main funding conduit at this time.