#sometimes its arguments or insults over things i relate to and its just shocking because im reminded

[caffeinatedopossum]

I hate that I'm literally chronically online but I don't really have a choice. I'm chronically ill, disabled, have very severe anxiety and agoraphobia. I can't just go touch grass and fix everything. I'm just trying my best to stay sane because that's really all I can do

[teaveetamer]

The things about anyone who sides with Edelgard is fine actually (tm) interesting and I agree I remember seeing a Twitter post about what a bad character Monica was and the reply was "She actually has a lot of depth and plot relevance because she’s a lesbian. Hope that helps" That doesn't make her a better character? These are the same people who dislike the other simp characters right? They even said it's an insult to compare her to Faye. Why because it's Edelgard she simps for?

God “she’s a lesbian so she must be a good character” gives me the same vibes as “this story is deep because a girl got sexually assaulted” vibes (ETA: See the edit below for further explanation on this one). Like for some people that’s where the whole depth begins and ends. It’s mere existence within the narrative is somehow enough, no need to justify its existence with actually good writing or sensitive handling or meaningful integration into the narrative.

She is fundamentally exactly 0% different from the Faye archetype. Her simping for a girl over a guy does not make her somehow deeper than that. And why should it? Being a lesbian isn’t some deep or profound experience in itself. It’s literally basic biographical information about who you like to kiss/bang. The interesting parts are how it informs your world view and the person it makes you. Which, and I cannot stress this enough, is given exactly zero focus in Monica’s story. So no, it does not make her interesting or better than the other Fayes.

ETA, since it might be unclear why I'm making this comparison in the OP:

It’s the same principle to me: predominately straight, predominantly cisgendered, predominantly men co-opting the experiences of women/queer people under the false impression that it creates narrative depth, while refusing to understand or portray those narratives in a way that is meaningful or relatable to the people they presume to be representing.

I suppose I could have used something different, but SA was simply on my brain because I watch quite a lot of horror games (happy October!), and sexual assault is a very common theme in the genre. It’s frequently treated as a writing crutch, the “easy button” to portray a horrific experience (since naturally all decent people are horrified by it) but it doesn’t say anything. It’s there to create shock value rather than to be a meaningful exploration of women’s experiences with sexual violence or the culture that helps perpetuate it, and thus its use in story or in argument winds up coming off as cheap. The women who experience it in these games are often portrayed as if that is the ONLY thing about their experience that matters, and you are often given no further detail beyond their name (sometimes not even that) and the fact that they were assaulted. It’s incredibly uncomfortable and dehumanizing to hear the meta-message: “The important thing about this character is the fact that they’ve been assaulted. Nothing else, just that. When you are assaulted, there is nothing meaningful about you aside from your experience with assault and thus we feel no need to engage with your experience further.” Not to mention it can have very sexist undertones, but that can be a story for another post.

(Note that I am not saying all portrayal of SA in media is like this. But you can usually tell when a writer is attempting to approach a subject with sensitivity and grace and when a writer is leaning on it as an emergency writing crutch. I’m also not implying that only women experience SA, however in the horror genre this type of writing is disproportionately applied to female characters and is often very gendered).

Similarly, being queer is frequently treated as a meaningful character trait in itself with no need to explore further or engage meaningfully with the experiences of queer people. It can come off as tokenism and dehumanizing to be told the meta-message: “The important thing about this character is the fact that they’re queer. Nothing else, just that. When you are queer, there is nothing meaningful about you aside from who you love and/or who you bang and thus we feel no need to engage with your experience further.” I shouldn’t have to say this, but queer people are complete human beings with a depth of experience and being reduced down to our sexuality, by people who frequently do not look like us I might add, is certainly something. Heterosexual people are never treated as if their experience starts and ends with their sexuality, and I simply believe we deserve the same respect. And being queer should not be treated as a shield against character criticism. Being queer does not make you better or worse than anyone else.

[This part in response to someone claiming that the statement in question in the anon was a joke]

And I’m sorry, but I can’t know whether someone is joking when they say stuff like “being a lesbian gives you depth” on the internet. I don’t know if they’re gay, straight, man, woman, enby, cis, trans, or anything else. It’s not as if every person who says that kind of thing is joking. So I’m approaching it with a serious tone, because even if this particular person is joking and is the kind of person who understands the queer experience, this is still a mentality that is often found in media representation of queer folk and it does warrant discussion from that perspective.

[koko-bopp]

Arrogance

kim dongyoung x male!reader

word count - 1.4K

genre - Fluff? | College!au | enemies to lovers!au

warning(s) - Some sexual tension, arguments, arrogant reader, a kiss, competitive relationship

synopsis - You're determined, driven and a student who carries himself with confidence, never accepting second place as an option. Doyoung mistakenly gets himself into your bad books, and yet he also finds himself crushing on you.

“You got the answer wrong.”

He frowns, looking up at you from the economics papers and at you, “Excuse me?”

You two were a good six feet away from each other; this was his dorm, so you took it upon yourself to at least be respectful around his own comfort-space, what would normally be back and fourth insult-banter kind of just because ‘you do what you need to do and I’ll do this, but only if you beg for my assistance, I’ll help.’

You two were only freshman and it honestly started off with you to just striking up a casual conversation. A ‘hi’ ‘hello’ ‘why’d you pick econ?’ ‘i don't know’ ‘you don't know?’

"I'm actually doing Politics, Economics and Philosophy," you huff, grinning at Doyoung, but shifting in your seat to fix your sweater, "This is just my elective."

"Ah," Doyoung nods in approval, "Smart boy."

You can’t really remember why or how you two started getting really standoff-ish, it kind of just started happening after you two were looking at the first-exam scores at the pin board after the class. 

“How do you think you did?” Doyoung asks, having stepped next to you since you both wanted to look at the paper properly after the crowd around it had lessened.

“Very well, it seems,” You respond, not looking at Doyoung but a triump smile on your lips as you just stared at the result.

The answer confused Doyoung, he instead decided to shift his gaze from you and onto the pin board. 

[Y/N] [L/N] — 100%

A hundred? You got a full score? Doyoung was really surprised, especially because he’s only seen you take a handful of notes in lectures and barely go to see the tutes while he’s already gone through so many lecture notes and– how did you get a hundred? Doyoung turned to you again, his eyes wide, “Did you cheat?”

You frowned, turning to Doyoung, “Was that an accusation?”

Doyoung realised what he said, then immediately tried to back-track, “No, I just– you know, it’s just unlikely to get a full score.”

You fully faced Doyoung, your chest facing him as you spoke, your eyebrows were knitted and your hand was in your pocket, your whole aura giving off a ‘as a matter of fact’ tone, “I work hard to be where I am, Kim,” You state, his name rolling off your tongue with dislike, “And more imporantly, I don’t need unethical methods to be better than you.”

Doyoung didn't know how to react to that, he was kind of shocked. You two had been a little competitive during beer pong over at Johnny's party, sure, he also joked about doing better than you in the Econ paper, and maybe he also took a bet he could get nurse's number because he was kinda cute but surely... surely, you never took any of that to heart.

It just had become a hate-love relationship after that. If Doyoung noticed you were stuck on something; he'd give you the answer, you get him coffee on Thursday's because you know he spends the night playing videogames with Johnny on Wednesday, Doyoung makes snarky remarks about your outfits and you'll make insults about his. You guys don't hate each other, but one will always have something to disagree with when it comes to the other; Doyoung's competitive, but as a joke. You're competitive, you want to win, but you're also a huge asshole about it.

Like, you always want to win, but you make sure Doyoung— and anyone you're competing against for that matter– knows that you're always four steps ahead before they even have a chance to look in front of them. You're a tease like that, you answer questions with a question, you make comments that stimulate questions that aren't related to the topic just to throw people off-track. İt has to be the political and philosophical part of your subject, you carry all this whit like a postman does with letters and just distrubute it when you feel like it. 

But, it wasn’t long before Doyoung had identified that he may have a crush on you.

It made a bit of sense. You’re beyond attractive, and even more when you’d furrow your eyebrows to focus on a task, of bite down on something not even realising you’ve done it. There was a time you were chatting with Mark who was sitting behind you that day and someone thought it would be a smart idea to have a go at you; watching you tear them limb by limb just from your words and facts? Your confidence just, its just admiring, watching you answer questions with the will to learn and engage and sometimes even educate. 

And if it wasn’t intellectually, then definetly physically. Sometimes he’s catch you at the gym close to campus, and just, you know, stare for a moment too long, maybe? He’d sat next to you one time at a tute and your hands just looked super nice for some reason, maybe they’d look better around his neck, though.

Maybe it’s is your attitude. The way you carry yourself, your passion to be the best and do the best in everything you do. Dedication is an admirable strength and it’s very evidently a quality you posses.

Yeah, maybe it’s just that.

"I said," you mocked, leaning forward, throwing the pen on the bed, "You got the answer wrong."

"Oh, yeah, smartass? Why you so obsessed with me? Don't you have your own things to do?" He barks.

There was a joking tone in his voice, You picked up on it. "Don't jeopardise my scores. I'm relying on you just as much as you are on me."

He scoffed, re-reading his answer on the case-study paper before looking back at you, "Nothing's wrong with it."

"Okay," you sigh, a bit dramatically, "If you say so."

Doyoung goes over it one more time. There's nothing wrong with it, and he was getting more and more mad at you questioning his credability, “Seriously?”

You don’t even look up from the paper you were holding, he just watched you highlight one of the passages from the text in the neon yellow as you spoke, “Don’t worry about it, damn, I just made a mistake, Doyoung.”

Doyoung threw the paper back onto his desk before getting up from his seat on the chair of his desk and walking over to you. You were sitting on the edge of his bed, and he took the paper out of your hand and disregarded it anywhere just to get your attention. 

Doyoung frowned angrily, looking down at you as you rolled your eyes, placing your hands behind you so your palms were holding you up while also gazing up at the male, “What?” you ask, a bit more rhetorically than not, “You’re seriously upset because I thought you made a mistake?”

“No, this isn’t just about that,” he spat, “This is about you always pushing me into the second place box because you can’t handle anything less than number one. This is about you being so damn pretty that I literally don’t want to beat the shit out of you because of it. This is about you acting like this so often that there’s times where you’ll walk past me and I’ll get worried as to why you’re not flicking the back of my head!” Doyoung just kept going on with his rant, and while you sitting there just watching him and actually, maybe, listening to him for once was making it a bit easier, “All because of a joke in freshman fucking year, you just— I don’t even know! You just hate me because I humoured your integrity? [Y/N], for fucks sake, you always act like you’re better than—”

Doyoung didn’t even know what happened next, he had suddenly landed his knee in between your legs while the other kind of hug off the bed, a hand on your shoulder and the other clutching on the fabric covering your chest as a support. You’d pulled him down from the center of the blue and white stripped t-shirt he was wearing, just to place his lips onto yours.

Doyoung was beyond shocked at first, his eyes had flown open but the feeling became so gentle and mellow that he couldn’t even stop his body from relaxing and his eyelids fluttering shut. Was this what he was waiting for? For you to just give up your arrogance for a minute and just kiss him already?

Your lips were so,,, soft. 

Was that what you wanted? To kiss him? because it seemed to be something he wanted without even knowing it.

You pulled away a few moments after Doyoung had relaxed into your touch, opening your eyes slowly and carefully, then rolling your eyes at the male, "Also, I feel like you should know, that I got the nurse's number, and I was gonna wait until I knew what I wanted as my prize," you said, still keeping a hold on Doyoung's shirt.

He scowled, hitting you on the shoulder, "You kiss me and then you just–! How heartless are you!? That was literally my first–! You know what–?"

"Go on a date with me," you interrupted, "That'll be my prize."

Doyoung could feel his heart in his chest, his cheeks flared pink at the demand but he was also deeply touched, "Are you... are you seriously?"

You chuckled softly, looking at the male you just kissed, "I should really get going."

"You– you're an asshole," Doyoung pouted, his grip on your shirt never leaving.

You winked and grinned at Doyoung, "I'll pick you up at three tomorrow," you stated, before adding; "Don't be late."

[allbeendonebefore]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[morkhan]

Will Byers is Gay: The Evidence So Far

With the release of Stranger Things 3, there has been a lot of discussion kicked up about the character of Will Byers and his sexuality (or lack thereof). I've seen a lot of takes about what "it's not my fault you don't like girls" was intended to mean, many of which seem to take it in isolation, so I wanted to make a post putting it into what I think is its proper context; not an isolated incident, but the latest carriage in veritable train of queer themed language and imagery that has followed Will Byers since episode one of season one, and before that. You ready? Alright, let's go.

Season Zero: the Montauk Files

Before Stranger Things became Stranger Things, it was called Montauk. Like many would-be show makers, the Duffer Bros put together a "show bible" describing the premise, setting, tone, and characters of the show they intended to make. Like many shows, a lot of these ideas changed or were lost on their way to the screen, but it's always worth looking into their original concepts. Here is their description of Will Byers in the Montauk show bible:

Obviously, the major whammy there is in the first line "sexual identity issues." But there are some other interesting notes, like his "colorful clothes" that you might want to keep a lookout for on your next rewatch. Now, onto...

Season 1

The thing to pay attention to regarding Will in season 1 is in the language used to refer to him when he is not present (which he isn't for most of the season).

Episode 1: the subject of bullying comes up right away in the conversation between Joyce and Hopper. "The kids, they're mean. They laugh at him, laugh at his clothes, call him names." "What's wrong with his clothes?" "I don't know!" This harkens back to the Montauk show bible, but it's arguable, since it's never made clear what about his clothes draws ire.

She also mentions that he is "sensitive," "not like most," and that his dad said he was "queer" and called him a "fag." Hopper asks "is he?" to which she replies "He's missing is what he is!"

Episode 3: Troy says he's not missing, he's dead. "Probably killed by some other queer."

Episode 4: Troy, again "Will's in fairyland, flying around with all the other little fairies, all happy and gay."

Sensitive, queer, fag, fairy, and gay are all used to describe Will in season 1, but perhaps more notable is the fact that they aren't used to describe anyone else. If the show were truly period accurate, let's be real; the whole party would've been called queers on a pretty regular basis, because "queer" doubled as a generic insult back then. But in season 1, these words are only ever used in relation to Will, with one exception; in episode 6, Steve says to Will's brother, "I used to think you were queer." So it's not even an active accusation in that moment; it's used in the negative.

Hell, Troy walked up to Lucas mockingly proposing to Mike and proclaiming his love for him, and he still didn't call them queers. That language is reserved for Will.

Now granted, most of these are used as insults by characters who don't like Will, but still; as a writer, if you want your audience to remember something, repetition is an excellent way to embed it in their minds. There's a reason for the specificity of language surrounding Will, and a reason that language keeps coming up over and over and over again.

Season 2

Season 2 retires much of the homophobic language used to insult Will, replacing it with "Zombie Boy." The only homophobic language used in season 2 is the word "faggot," used by Billy's father to refer to Billy, who expresses a clear interest in women (and an arguable interest in one particular man, but that's the subject of another post).

Still, there is an arguable bit of queer theming in Will's conversation with Jonathan regarding the benefits of being a "freak" and how normal people never accomplish anything. Jonathan even invokes bisexual icon David Bowie to make Will feel better about his "freakishness."

The clearest piece of queer theming for Will in season 2 comes in episode 8, in this beautiful speech from Joyce to Possessed Will:

"When you turned eight, I gave you that huge box of crayons, do you remember that? It was 120 colors. And all your friends got you Star Wars toys, but all you wanted to do was draw with all your new colors. And you drew this big spaceship, but it wasn't from a movie. It was YOUR spaceship; a RAINBOW Ship, that's what you called it. And you, you must have used every color in the box. I took that with me to Melvald's, and I put it up. I told everyone who came in, 'My son drew this.' And you were so embarrassed, but I was so proud. I was so, so proud."

This is one of the most powerful memories of her son that Joyce has, an image so strong and distinct that she uses it to invoke his true identity against the monster that is slowly subsuming him. She notes very specifically that it's not something he copied, but something that came entirely from Will himself, an image that she felt represented him so perfectly that she took it with her to work and proudly touted it as his to everyone she knew. The Rainbow Ship is Joyce's picture of her son's very heart, and surely I don't need to explain to you how powerful a piece of queer imagery the rainbow is.

Some subtextual stuff; in episode 9, when the girl asks Will to dance, he stammers "I... I don't..." and only goes to dance with her when Mike literally pushes him towards her.

During the final montage, the scene cuts to different characters in time with appropriate lines from the song: "every move you make" cuts to Mike and El (as he is teaching her to dance), "every vow you break" cuts to Nancy dancing with Dustin (as she technically cheated on Steve with Jonathan), "I'll be watching you" cuts to Lucas dancing with Max (as she has playfully called him 'stalker' all season). What line cuts to Will? "Every smile you fake," specifically on the word fake, while Will dances with a girl wearing this expression:

That is not a real smile, that is not a comfortable boy, and that is not an accident; Noah Schnapp is one of the best actors in the entire show, and of the young boys, he is the one the Duffers trust most to do dramatic heavy lifting.

Do you want it to be a little more explicit? Okay, here is that scene in the script:

I mean, that pretty much speaks for itself. It's less explicit in the actual show, but it's still there, you know?

Season 3

And now, the biggest and most explicit thing to date; The Scene. I mean, you could discuss the obvious subtext in the simple fact that Will is the only male main character who has yet to find a girlfriend or express any interest in girls whatsoever, but that pales in comparison to The Scene.

The setup for The Scene is pretty simple; after declaring "a day free of girls" in order to get his friends to run the D&D campaign he's probably spent a significant amount of time creating, his friends have blown him off to continue bemoaning their girl troubles, so Will has decided to leave. Mike, realizing too late that he has genuinely upset his friend, chases after him to try and get him to come back.

A back-and-forth argument ensues, where Will accuses Mike of ruining the party and abandoning his friends in favor of girls, and Mike, in the heat of the moment, responds with "It's not my fault you don't like girls!" After which, everything stops. There is a full second of silence, and a close up on Noah Schnapp's face so you can take in his reaction.

There is a lot to unpack here. Now, acting is up to interpretation to a degree, but to me, that expression conveys two primary emotions; shock, and betrayal. That face says "how could you?" Because here's the thing; regardless of what Mike does or doesn't know about Will's sexuality, Mike knows for a fact that Will has been called a queer all his life by everyone from his school bullies to his own fucking dirtbag father. By invoking even the specter of that, Mike has crossed a fucking line, and he knows it. And we know he knows it, because he immediately backtracks and tries to mitigate the damage. But it's too late. The damage has been done.

I also think there is a tinge of fear in that image. Just a moment of soul raking panic that pretty much every closeted queer person knows intimately. It's very brief. But I think it's there, if you look.

This scene sends Will into an emotional tailspin that culminates in him tearing down the literal last bastion of his childhood in a fit of sorrow and rage. His innocence has been destroyed. He cannot regain what he has lost, and he can never go back to the way things were before. This is the emotional climax of his arc for season three. It's a powerful one-- shame it comes in the third of eight episodes, but that's neither here nor there.

And that's pretty much it for now. Any one of these things taken in isolation could be very easily dismissed, but here's the thing; they aren't isolated incidents. They are part of a clear and consistent pattern, one that goes all the way back to the show's inception, before even one minute of footage was filmed. And this pattern points to one very obvious conclusion; the Duffer Brothers have always intended, and continue to intend, for Will Byers to be gay.

Now, for the obvious question; why haven't they made it explicit yet?

The answer is as unfortunate as it is obvious; I don't know.

It's entirely possible that there is some external force that the Duffers have to answer to that is preventing them from actively pursuing this particular storyline. This happens all the time in Hollywood, and it could be anything from Netflix to Noah Schnapp's parents to Noah Schnapp himself just being uncomfortable with it. Many are the creators who dream Big Gay Dreams only to run into the horrors of our Forced Hetero Reality. If the Duffers ultimately submit to these pressures, I hope you won't be too hard on them. This shit is harder than you think to get to the screen sometimes.

But it's also possible that they just aren't ready for it yet. That they have been saving this for a future storyline, that they just want their characters (and the actors) to get a little older before they pursue this particular storyline explicitly, but they've been busily laying groundwork for it so that anyone paying attention will know it's coming.

I don't know. Only time will tell for sure.

For now, I can tell you this; I see a great deal of evidence that the Duffers still intend for Will to be gay, and precisely zero that they have changed their minds.

I hope that holds true.

[outshinethestars]

Falling Gently (Hetalia)

Life is a succession of moments, one following from another, small, ephemeral things, like dust blowing in the winds of time.  Sometimes there are no grand turning points, no transformations.  Love and growth and change occur by degrees, infinitesimally, and you are unaware of your own movement from one mode of existence to another, until the world has shifted beneath your feet, and you have found yourself somewhere new and look back.

But in that light of hindsight there are some moments suspended in memory, no more significant than those around them, perhaps, but typical of others, steps reminiscent of a journey, like lights along the path.

So, these are moments.

You are still his servant, and you hardly know him at all.

You resent him, of course you resent him.  You resent his snobbish pride, his arrogance.  You resent that you must serve him.  You have always been proud.  You resent him for having power over you.  Your practicality, though, is greater than your pride.  You are willing to bend and bend and bend so long as you do not break, because above all you refuse to break.  And so you are willing to bow to him.  Willing to reshape yourself to gain his favor, because you are determined to take from him all you can.

But, one day he is playing the piano, and you don’t think anyone has ever played anything as beautifully as he does (and you resent that but you enjoy it too.)  And he looks up at you and smiles a little, and says, “Thank you.”

Later, in memory, you will not recall what you were doing or what he is thanking you for.  It could have been any number of inconsequential things, he always is scrupulously polite.

But there is something in the way that the light hits his face, the resonance of notes fading as he pauses in his playing to speak to you.  Something in the small, soft, almost-shyness of his smile that feels so genuine.  You look at him in that moment and you think Oh.  Oh, he’s handsome, isn’t he.

You feel your cheeks heat up and you duck your head down into a curtsy and hope he doesn’t see, and mumble something polite and servantly to him before retreating from the room.

You have never had a crush before.  It strikes you as a very silly girlish sort of affliction, and if you could choose to be attracted to anyone in such a way it certainly wouldn’t be him.  

***

It is the evening after your wedding.

The marriage is one which you are amenable to, because you hope it will grant you greater power and agency.  It is a matter purely of politics, but then so are most marriages, and anything, you think, might be better than being his maid.

You are dancing with him at a ball in honor of your marriage, and you are dressed in the most beautiful and costly dress you have ever worn.  Perhaps it is the dress, or the music, or your own imagination, but when he looks at you there is a light in his eyes that usually seem so distant and cold, and you think he might be in love with you.

It catches you off guard, this thought, this fancy, the possibility, though perhaps it should not.  You have, after all, served him humbly, shaped yourself so as not to offend him.  It is not strange, in a sense, that this self which you have created, in part to please him, since embracing your womanhood, should be a person he would fall in love with. 

But you had not expected it, because before now it had never occured to you to think of him in such a way, as a man with a heart and feelings, who might fall for a girl who cleaned his house and brought him tea, who wore embroidered aprons and a flower in her hair because she thought they were pretty.

You knew he was gentle with you because he is a gentleman, but it has not occurred to you  until this moment that perhaps he likes you.

You dance.  And you see the way he moves in relation to you, observe the angles of him, how he reaches to you almost reverently, the tautness and the restraint of him.  He wants you, but he knows you do not reciprocate.  He wants you, but he will not take you by force, not when it comes to this.  He respects you.

His hands in yours are slender and smooth and soft.  They are the hands of a musician and a nobleman.  Your own hands are rough from washing and calloused from fighting with sword and bow.  You have the hands of a woman and a warrior.

When you were a girl (or a boy) you had respect only for men who were like yourself, men whose hands told the tale of their work, whose skin was touched by dirt and sun, who could hold their own in a fight.  

He is a different sort of man, one of sly intelligence and refinement.  But he has a strength and cruelty of his own.  Power is no less powerful for being won by treaties and marriage alliances than by the sword, and there is something to be said beauty and music as well.  You have come to know him well over the time you have lived in his house, and you have learned to respect him, also.

He is a gentleman and you are a lady and you dance together.  You are husband and wife, and maybe he loves you.  He respects you and you respect him and that is far more than most have.  If you must marry anyone, you are glad to have married him.  You grant him a kiss, and he blushes comically beneath your lips.

***

It is after a battle with Prussia, and he is not even there.

You and Prussia are meeting together as you often do after having torn each other to pieces in battle (or in this case, after you have torn Prussia to pieces), reminiscing and boasting and telling tall soldiers’ tales, and arguing tactics and strategy without ever giving away anything important, in the bright, comfortable way of old enemies who are also friends.

Your conversation wanders, and you tell Prussia a story involving Austria and a bit too much beer and your own slightly inebriated attempts to keep him from embarrassing himself entirely, and Prussia laughs until he winces with pain.

“Fuck, Erzsebet,” he says, “You can’t break my ribs and then tell a story like that.  It’s not fair.”

You just grin smugly at him, “It’s not my fault you’re a fucking wimp.”

“Fuck you,” he says, eyes still laughing, and the two of you descend into a companionable silence.

But then he’s looking at you, considering, in that way of his, as though he’s trying to take you apart in his mind, examining you like the inner workings of machinery that he can disassemble and put together again to understand how it works and make it better.

“Do you love him?” he asks.

The question startles you, coming from nowhere as it does.  He does not speak of such things, is not interested in feelings and relationships, or perhaps he is simply not adept at them.  It is not the sort of question he would ask, but then again, he never fails to say what he wishes to, however indelicate.  

As for you...

You are not an honest person.  Your heart is your own to govern, yours immutably in a way that little else is.  And it is such a complicated question asked so simply.  That is just like Prussia.  He is such a straight-forward person, and always demands simple answers where there are none.  But you would tell him it is none of his business, because it isn’t.  That is what you mean to say.

Except.

Except.

Perhaps it is the blue sky above you, the green grass beneath, the golden daisy you worry between your fingers.  Perhaps it is the blood under your fingernails and the warmth of triumph, the settled feeling after a satisfying battle.  In moments like this your life is brought to a point, there are no important dignitaries, no matters of state, no complications.  Regardless, you have always had little need for pretense with Prussia.  Somehow, you are without your facade in this moment, and there is no overshadowing of what ought to be, or what might be best for your purposes, only what is.  And what is is simple.

“Yes,” you say, “Yes, I do.”

Your heart pounds with the truth of it.  It is a strange revelation, and you do not know what to do with it.  Do not know where it came from, how this came to be.  But you do love him.  You do.  It is obvious in your heart, and you do not know how you never noticed it before.

“Well shit,” Prussia says, “I never took you for a madwoman.”  His tone is jokingly scornful, but his shoulders relax just a little.  He is relieved.  He is happy that you are happy, that you have not been forced into an unhappy marriage against your will all these years.

This is much more comfortable territory for you, strange as it may seem to most who know Prussia.  You had not realized he was so worried for you even still, but it is not a shocking revelation.

“It’s sweet of you to care so much,”  you say, because it is, and because you enjoy teasing him.

“Ugh,” he says, wrinkling his nose up in exaggerated disgust as his cheeks grow pink in true embarrassment, “How could you?  I don’t believe I’ve been so insulted in all my life!”  And you laugh at him cheerfully.

Love is such a strange thing, tossed on the careless waves of time, lost beneath the troubles and ambitions and concerns of life.  Fitting in to place between waking and sleeping, growing slowly in the spaces between smiles and arguments.  Moments follow moments, flitting away without trace.  You look back and try to find the thread, but it is woven so skillfully into the tapestry of time, and there is no pattern for you to grasp.  You love him.  You cannot find the reason.  Perhaps it is because he is handsome and charming, but it cannot be only that.  Perhaps it is because he loves you.  But you are not so kind hearted to let that sway you on its own.  Perhaps love is not a thing bound to reason.  Or perhaps the reasons are countless and forgotten and insignificant.  Perhaps what matters is simply what is.

Austria is your husband, and he falls asleep in your arms, and you love him. 

[haphazardlyparked]

the Exchange

regret everything part one  (prequel here)

“Have you heard?” the Dowager asks, obliquely, from her chair behind the secretary’s desk. Sometimes she sits in on Kan’s meetings, acting as his secretary and relegating his actual, useful secretary to the unobtrusive standing table-desk in the corner of Kan’s small audience study.

Kan looks up from the briefing he’d like to tear his eyes out over. The Dowager has an impeccable sense of timing. Setting the briefing aside, Kan rubs tired eyes and asks, “Heard what, Mother?”

“The Samrans want to send an ambassador.”

“The Samrans call me the devil spawn of a tyrant and a tramp. Begging your pardon, Mother. Why do they want an ambassador here?”

“Am I the tyrant, or the tramp?”

“Both, I think,” Kan guesses. “Last I heard, they were claiming you grew me in a test tube, and that Father was paid for his donation.”

“How creative,” the Dowager laughs. “They still want access to our trade alliance. They've asked a bright young group of exchange students to make their case for them, you know. And I’ve heard Samran is a popular language choice for the impressionable youth of the Institute these days.”

Kan’s eyes narrow. “I approved that program hoping it would change Samran minds about us. Instead, they seem to like enticing our children into their camp while still hating my guts.”

“And mine,” the Dowager reminds Kan, her mouth curved into one of those sly, amused smiles. “I can't allow you to throw yourself a one-man pity party, darling boy.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Kan drawls.

“I couldn't abide such a pathetic event.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Kan repeats, more flat this time.

The Dowager flaps her hand at him twice -- you're welcome, you're welcome -- and then says, “Anyway, darling, I brought it up because I moved your meeting with the southern councilmen. Those exchange students should be here in about ten minutes.”

“What?” Kan’s secretary hisses from his corner. “Dowager, I didn't --”

“-- It’s fine, Sem,” Kan assures the other man. “Please send the councilmen my sincerest apologies--” Kan doubts his mother observed such niceties “--and offer them a visit to one of the Hovering centers. I’ll see these students now.”

The students are early, ambitious things that they are. They're mostly second and third years from the High Institute, but their leader is a recent graduate Kan recognizes.

“Sadura, isn't it?” Kan asks, before any of the party can introduce themselves.

The boy Kan saw on his last day at the Institute is taller and has grown out of the stork-like limbs of his youth, and is clearly surprised by Kan’s memory.

“Lord Kan,” Sadura says, bowing politely. “Yes. I’ve recently joined the junior diplomacy department.”

“You did well on those exams, it seems,” Kan comments. Government positions require fives on a majority of Institute exams.

At his secretary’s desk, the Dowager arches a brow at Kan — she never forgets a face. Kan, who learned that from her, ignores her pointed look. He doesn’t need his mother’s judgement to tell him what he already knows: where gangly Noki was a cute boy Kan teased like a younger brother for the short window they had spent together, the young diplomat Sadura is tall and slender, with skin darker than Kan’s, determined pale eyes, and more or less exactly Kan’s type.

“Sir,” Sadura says, almost shyly. But Kan sees something else under that hesitance, something that wants. “I took some good advice, and was inspired to do better.”

Adorable. Ambitious. The advice definitely didn't come from Kan.

Kan smiles, and leans forward in his chair. “And so you have,” he congratulates Sadura warmly. Then says, carelessly, “Now tell me, diplomat, what arguments has Samra stuffed you full of and sent you to deliver?”

Sadura’s pale eyes narrow, sharp and angry. He straightens indignantly, hiding his shock behind stiff politeness.  “Lord Kan,” he says coolly, all hesitance and deference of the moments before gone. “I am here with my own opinions, built on my broad range of experiences and interactions in Samra. You’ll find that each of these students has developed their own opinions based on their own experiences too. We’re none of us mindless propaganda mouthpieces.”

Sadura nods to the oldest of the students, but he does so stiffly, like an angry cat with its back arched. The student’s eyes widen in surprise -- Kan suspects Sadura had planned to say more, perhaps extol the virtue of the exchange program a little, before introducing the students.

“Lord Kan,” the first student says, recovering from her surprised. Her voice is little high-pitched but otherwise respectful. “Sir. I am Abat Hona. I’m a third-year, and one of the current exchange students.”

Kan waits for Abat Hona to go on. She does not. After the expectant silence continues for just a beat too long, Abat Hona nudges the kid next to her, who jumps a little.

“Uh, Lord Kan, sir, my name is Abat Mal. I’m a second year, and also an exchange student, along with my sister.”

The other three students -- another pair of siblings, and another Sadura who looks like a younger, female version of the diplomat Sadura -- take their turns introducing themselves, while Kan wonders if it’s wise that so many pairs of siblings are being sent over to the Samra. Are the Samrans sending siblings back? It’s something that hasn’t been mentioned in the filtered reports that finally make it to his desk. Perhaps it’s time to look into the High Institute again. It has been nearly five years since he’s graduated.

“Don’t we have any only-children at the Institute these days?” the Dowager asks critically, leaning against the secretary’s desk with her chin propped in one of her palms. “Whatever happened to selfish, spoiled, ambitious little brats? Really, I think they would benefit most from such an exchange program.”

“I’m right here, Mother,” Kan says, and the Dowager favors him with a brilliant smile.

“They like siblings, madam,” Kan’s actual secretary, Sem, pipes up, “Because Samra places a great deal of emphasis on the family unit and family values.”

Kan reads between the lines and shares a look with his mother. “Ah, yes, family values,” she says. She turns her eyes towards the ceiling and adds in a murmur, “It’s a good thing I hypothetically had that alleged test tube destroyed.”

“Mother,” Kan complains. He remembers walking in on his parents in the act, and knows perfectly well that no test tubes or syringes full of genetic material were involved in his conception.

“Actually, madam, sir,” Noki interjects. He’s still stiff and annoyed, but confident now in this subject. The confidence looks good on him — he stands straighter, chin raised so all the narrow angles of his face are on display, and Kan should probably stop ogling him and pay attention to what he’s saying. “The problem is not the idea of the test tube -- for you know Samra allows union between any two consenting adults, regardless of the childbearing capabilities of either party. The issue the Samrans have with the Dowager is rather one of fidelity.”

Noki doesn’t stutter or stumble with ums or ahs as he tries to figure out the best way to phrase something so delicately; instead he relies on formality and ultra-proper language that gives him the time to choose his words wisely. The Samrans must love him.

“Thank you for the explanation, Sadura,” Kan grins. “I suppose there’s nothing we can do about that tiny issue of fidelity.” Kan may have only walked in on his parents once, but he walked in on his mother with various lovers at various other points in his life (and regretted it deeply each time.)

“You’re going to have to be the responsibly monogamous one, darling boy,” the Dowager says, with mock sympathy.

“Please, Lord Kan.” It’s Abat Hona again, who looks quickly at Sadura for approval before continuing. “The exchange program doesn’t select siblings specifically, but it does tend to be a self-selecting process… Um. But that’s not the point. Samra really wants to improve relations. They’re ready to send a single, only-child ambassador, as a gesture of how they’re willing to adapt a little to fit in with the alliance’s norms.”

“An ambassador?” Kan repeats, brows rising in feigned surprise. “Since when were we talking about an ambassador?”

“Sir, it’s in the proposal we’ve submitted for the yearly Congress,” Sadura steps in quickly. “The exchange program as a whole will be advocating for the establishment of a Samran ambassadorial position in Tasak.”

“Weren’t you all going on about bilateral trade last year? Is an ambassador a downgrade or an upgrade for your cause?”

At last year’s annual Congress, a stuffy old government official had argued, in the most anesthetizing language available, for the opening of trade talks with Samra. Since Samra bans the purchasing or sale of a good three-quarters of Tasak’s technology exports, and regularly insults its ruling family, the Congress had clapped and laughed at Kan’s swift rejection of that nonsense.  

“Sir?” asks Sadura.

“An ambassador,” Kan repeats. “Is proposing an ambassador your acknowledgement that last year’s idea was utter shit, or are you doubling down on this whole thing with Samra? Come at it from a different angle, get any foot in the door, so to speak, and soon we’ll be two happy neighbors?”

The young diplomat doesn’t frown this time, but Kan can tell he’s offended.

“Sir, the inclusion of an efficient, civilized society into our trade alliance can only benefit the alliance as a whole. And the development of diplomatic relations between two societies which could mutually benefit from each other should be a foreign policy priority that would hopefully result in increased economic and social ties.”

“So it’s not just bilateral trade you want,” Kan translates coolly. “The ambassador is just preliminary step to to get Samra into the alliance.”

“Lord Kan,” one of the other students tries, “last year the Exchange had hoped a bilateral trade deal could be an objective starting point on which to build better relations, and potentially open accession talks between Samra and the whole Tasak Trade Alliance. But Samra understands the need to re-introduce themselves to our coalition of nations, and know they will have to make concessions to earn this privilege. Samra is ready to repeal their ban on the majority of Tasak tech in exchange in preparation to enter the alliance, and we at the Exchange are all hoping that more Tasakese will be interested in learning about Samran craftsmanship and agricultural practices.”

The student says Exchange with a capital E, like it’s something more than an educational year abroad. Kan hides his interest behind a smirk, and drawls, “Are they ready to apologize for their insults to my mother?”

The Dowager snorts. “Darling boy, there’s no need to be uppity on my account. I’m perfectly willing to shake hands with people who think I’m a tramp.”

“And a tyrant,” Kan reminds her cheerfully. “All right, Exchange students,” he continues, adopting the capital. He smiles widely at the Institute kids. “I accept your application. I’ll see you all on the Congress floor in three weeks’ time.”

The students look at him, stunned by the quick approval; even Sadura, the full-fledged diplomat that he now is, is a little surprised. Also a little suspicious, like he thinks Kan has given in too easily. Kan winks at him.

“Thank you for your earnest advocacy,” Kan dismisses the group politely. “Tasak’s future will be a good one, as long as our youth keep pushing for positive change.”  

“That is very kind, sir,” says Sadura. “On behalf of the exchange program representatives--” and now he says it with a careful lowercase, an educational program and nothing more “--we thank you as well. Students?”

As a group, they nod and say their polite words and leave Kan’s office. Sadura, the last one to go, turns and bows formally.  

“Thank you, Lord Kan,” Sadura says with grave politeness, “for your objectivity and wisdom.”

“Don’t thank me yet, Sadura Noki,” Kan advises him. “Maybe I’m hoping to see you all crash and burn again.”

Diplomat Sadura doesn’t squeak and flee like young Noki did all those years ago. This Sadura straightens from his bow and appraises Kan carefully, pale eyes sharp.

“Sir, I’m not sure you mean that,” he accuses at last -- and then leaves before Kan can defend himself.

(next - part two)

tagging: my list of (1) one @gingerly-writing who loves dialogue and politics and has been my cheerleader even though i’m kind of a shit <3 

[herramblingthoughts]

A long ramble

“I was scrolling through tumblr during a much needed distraction session, and it leads me to ask, is anyone really mentally healthy?

Literally the last 3 years or so of my life has tested my...”

________________________________________________________________

As I was getting ready to take another emotional dump, I got distracted by the “personal” tag on tumblr. And boy, was this distraction fruitful. Reading through some of the posts I came across the statement that really set it all off. 

  “Passive aggressive people think other people have hidden agendas”

So whilst I’ve thrown that statement around when describing people, situation and events I realised that I don’t really know what it means exactly, or even if I’ve been using it correctly.

My google search led me to an article on “Psychology Today” titled something along the lines of “5 behavioural habits of a passive-aggressive person”. As I was reading I realised there were behaviour traits on there that I did not think were as toxic as they were. Mainly because I’ve been dealing with that my whole life. Okay that may be a bit of an overreaction mainly because I don’t think I fully understood or felt the impact of it until I hit my 20s. Until I started adopting similar habits and it started affecting my relationships. 

The silent treatment - Seeing this on the list shocked me more than it should have really. I grew up in a household where I never saw my parents argue, now that’s not to say it was a all happy, singing household all the time. There were enough deafening silences and followed by flowers and gifts to indicate a rift.

As a teenager, hearing my friend’s complain about their parents arguing and seeing how it affected them, I was grateful that my parents’ disagreement was all behind closed doors. My mother once commented that the best way to solve an argument is not argue back but give the silent treatment and it worked a treat, indicating the flowers (I may have wrote about it a few years back on this blog as positive thing).

But having been at the receiving end of such treatment gave me a fresh perspective. You wouldn’t know what bought on the treatment or what you had to do for it to be lifted. Apologise? What exactly for? Was it what I said? What I did? Why did you find my action offensive? Why do you disagree? Do you even disagree? 

There were more questions than answers, and out of no where the treatment would be lifted and life would go back to how it was. Without a trace of there ever being an issue. 

The subtle insult - To be honest, whilst this happened I can be pretty oblivious unless things are pointed out. I don’t tend to dwell on how things are said so that could have easily flown over my head. Does being compared to others count? 

Sullen behaviour -  subtly grumpy, sulky, gloomy, or moody. Sums it up perfectly. Alongside the silent treatment would be the sullen behaviour. I pick up on that the most and it is just emotionally draining. Like literally. It made the atmosphere so uncomfortable and there was nothing you could do to lift it. And believe me I tried. That would explain why sometimes I feel like I have the be the jokey loud one. 

Stubbornness - This relates to holding a view with arguments for it that can’t be disputed using reason. I felt this the most, and its why every other month felt like a new battle. To be fair in the last two months things have been a little calmer. But I cannot forget the psychological damage the last three years have left on me. 

Failure to finish tasks - To be honest, this doesn’t really apply.

As I read more on the impact of being exposed to such behaviour I found an explanation for why I am the way I am. It explained a lot. My walls, my guilt, my anxiousness, and my actions. It is definitely not an excuse, but this revelation will stop be going down the same path. I literally started crying when I was reading all of this, because for so long I kept blaming myself and not knowing how and why I turned out like this. Now don’t get me wrong I’m not looking for someone to shift the blame on to, but it helps me identify my inherited toxic behaviour and way of thinking. So I can keep myself in check if I fall back on those ways.

Anyways this was a long one, and I really just needed to get it all off my chest. 

- L

[thisdaynews]

Mayor Pete: Portrait of the B.S. Artist as a Young Man

New Post has been published on https://thebiafrastar.com/mayor-pete-portrait-of-the-b-s-artist-as-a-young-man/

Mayor Pete: Portrait of the B.S. Artist as a Young Man

The very traits that usually impress—his fluency in political language, the go-getter’s resume, intense ambition carried in the vessel of a calm, well-mannered persona—increasingly are being greeted with skepticism and even derision. Notably, this is coming from his peers.

“Buttigieg hate is tightly concentrated among the young,” a writer at the Atlantic observed. “Why Pete Buttigieg Enrages the Young Left,” read a headline in POLITICO Magazine. “Swing Voter Really Relates to Buttigieg’s Complete Lack of Conviction,” said the headline in The Onion. The satirical site has been vicious toward him for months, in ways that evoke the wisecracking cool kids at the back of the class mocking the preening overachiever in the front row.

The Buttigieg backlash, by my lights, flows from origins that are less ideological than psychological. I noticed it some time ago with some—certainly not all—younger journalistic colleagues in particular. He torques them in ways that seem personal.

They are well-acquainted with the Buttigieg type. They find his patter and polish annoying. They regard his career to date—Harvard, Oxford, McKinsey, the mayoralty—as a facile exercise in box-checking: A Portrait of the Bullshit Artist as a Young Man.

Above all, they wonder why the artifice and calculation that seems obvious to them is them is somehow lost on others.

These Buttigieg skeptics in my experience typically overlook another possibility: His admirers aren’t oblivious to fact that he’s partly B.S.-ing. It just doesn’t much bother them. I’ll go a step further: Viewed in the right light, his teacher’s-pet glibness and implacable careerism are desirable traits.

The essence of modern American politics in recent years is contempt. The decades-long erosion of respect for nearly all institutions—the federal government, business, academia, the media—was what tilled the soil for Donald Trump’s election. His insults of adversaries, his gleeful shattering of familiar norms and precedents, are the living expression of the contempt Trump backers feel toward an established order they believe is not remotely on the level.

The opposite of contempt is a deferential faith that, on balance, the established orderison the level. Its most prestigious prizes are worth the effort, worth the ass-kissing along the way. B.S. ultimately is a form of respect. The fact that Buttigieg has spent a lifetime standing on his toes to pluck these apples—president of the Institute of Politics at Harvard, a Rhodes Scholarship, and now a shot at becoming the youngest person ever to reach the White House—is the living expression of that faith.

It’s not just young people who have ambivalent feelings—a stew of admiration, disdain, envy—toward his precocity and candlepower. Sure he’s smart, but probably no smarter than Ken Jennings; no one is asking the Jeopardy champion to run for president. The question is: To what end are intelligence and ambition harnessed?

“The words are great, but he has no soul,” said one senior Democrat whose name would be familiar to any POLITICO reader. “All head and no heart,” said an operative who helped make Bill Clinton—another young man in a hurry, for whom smoothness sometimes came off as slickness—president a generation ago.

The questions about Buttigieg’s B.S. quotient, however, are the same ones that might go to any politician, or arguably to successful professionals in any field in which words, argument, the management of image (as opposed to measurable statistics like runs batted in or ordnance dropped on target) are coin of the realm.

Buttigieg was born in 1982. I was born a couple weeks before the JFK assassination in 1963. Thinking about his birthday, it dawned on me that I was about the age he is now—after years as a reporter that included a long stint covering the Clinton White House—when I began to realize that almost everyone in Washington is a semi-fraud.

There’s a big difference, of course, between whether the emphasis is more on “semi” or on “fraud.” The point is that most people in the political arena are wearing an impressive uniform of some sort—senator, White House aide, news anchor—that from a distance disguises infirmities and insecurities. Up close these are plainly visible.

It was initially a shock to learn that the presidential chief of staff who I initially had found so imposing was made fun of behind his back by his own staff for being substantively over his head, or insecure about losing influence, or unduly vain about media coverage. When I became an editor, after years of being a reporter, I was startled to learn that some well-known Washington journalists were not fully on the level—they might be good at filling up a notebook with news, for instance, but the actual stories that appeared under their bylines were heavily rewritten.

At some point—usually at an age older than those young political activists who find Buttigieg insincere and presumptuous—one learns to shrug at these contradictions, or even genuinely to appreciate them. The fact that Buttigieg in his 20s was probably wagging his tail at landing a job at McKinsey—another validation that he is one of the smart kids—and this achievement now is a source of embarrassment in a party that has turned anti-corporate is kind of funny. But it is hardly an outrage. He served in Afghanistan; does it matter that he was well aware the military tour would be good for his political career? Just because someone may be slightly unctuous in his or her ladder-climbing doesn’t mean they have no genuine convictions, or their achievements aren’t impressive.

Activists on the left are surely correct that Buttigieg does not represent the disruptive spirit of the age, nor is he an especially plausible vessel for the kind of foundation-shaking change they seek. Looked at through the prism of temperament and character, as distinct from his policy positions, he may be the most conservative candidate in the 2020 race, Trump included.

Buttigieg surely would be too conservative for his party and the moment alike—too establishment, too cautious, too Clintonesque—were it not for two things. The first wave of coverage that greeted his early presidential campaign tended to emphasize the potential of his campaigneven thoughhe is young and gay. It’s clear over time that both these are essential elements. Imagine tweaking those parts of the bio. A 48-year-old straight former mayor of a small city would hardly be quickening pulses on the 2020 presidential campaign trail.

Two radical developments made it safe for someone like Buttigieg to be conventional in most respects. One of the developments—the legal and cultural embrace of gay marriage—is now so accepted that it’s hard even to recall that twenty years ago it was unthinkable, and even a decade ago it was a bridge too far for Barack Obama. The other radical development—Trump and his presidency—is even more consequential. If Trump hadn’t shredded the concept of plausibility, turning“I can’t imagine something like that happening”into an obsolete phrase, few people would find Buttigieg plausible in 2020.

But Trump did shred the old standards, and Buttigieg is plausible. What’s more, as he makes the turn from “mid-30s” to “late 30s,” it’s a little easier to ask: How young is he really?

He is one year younger than Al Gore was when he first ran for president, in 1988, and just a few years younger than Dan Quayle was when he was elected vice president that year, or when Theodore Roosevelt was when he was elected vice president in 1900, and ascended to the presidency less than a year later. Or, in a 2020 context, he is eight yearsolderthan Joe Biden was when he first became senator, and the same age that Amy Klobuchar was when she was elected top prosecutor for Hennepin County, Minnesota—a jurisdiction with more than eleven times the population of South Bend.

Too young, too impatient, too nakedly ambitious? Maybe for some voters, maybe not for others. But on Mayor Pete’s birthday, admirers and skeptics are both right on one count: We’ve seen his type before.

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Small Lies That Escalated Into “This Is My Life Now”

• Found out a coworker was from the same city I grew up in. He asked what my "old man's" last name was. Being an unmarried woman, I assumed he was asking about my father to determine if he knew my family back home. Apparently he was asking about my non existent husband, so until he quit I carried on the facade that I had a husband from back home.

• My mom gave my sister a chocolate orange about 15 years ago and she kind of embarrassed the family by saying it was gross. I didn't want to make my parents feel bad so I said that I'd eat it. It was gross but I pretended to like it. Now every year for Christmas I get a chocolate orange.

• Pretended to be a girl on World of Warcraft for a solid two years. I didn't actually set out to do it, just never corrected anyone when they assumed I was and by the time I thought to come clean it seemed too awkward.

• I convinced pretty much everyone in my life that I was allergic to coconut at a young age. I simply just didn't like it at all and it was a good way to avoid eating it (logic of a pre-teen mind). My mom played along. It wasn't until about 3 years ago when my mother in law had a surprise birthday party for her husband and she made a german chocolate cake. The kicker here: she did HALF of it coconut and half without so I could enjoy the cake and not have an allergic reaction to it. I broke down. Laughed. Told them it wasn't true and I actually am not allergic. Her face melted. I hadn't realized how long I had kept up the lie until that very moment.

• When I was 12 years old, I lied about my age and made myself older for about 3 years, so I could still be somewhat cool in WoW. Now some of my WoW friends settled over with me to other games, and whenever I meet someone new, they're likely connected to them. At this point it's too awkward to explain that I'm not the oldest, but in fact the youngest in our friendgroup.

• Told one guy i was canadian bc they asked why i apologized so much. That was in 1st grade, im now a junior in highschool and people are shocked when they find out im not canadian

• I dated a guy who's father was a minister. I liked this guy a lot. I knew their church was one of those loud, dancing talking in tongues churches and his parents asked me to come to church with them. The dad did this whole long ass sermon about premarital sex and being saved. The guy I was dating kept nudging me and his family kept smirking so when they asked who felt the Holy Spirit and wanted to be saved I walked up to the front, everyone was jumping around and people were getting popped in the forehead and going into convulsions on the floor. I pretended to feel it. They smacked my forehead, I fell back, I just laid there with a few other people on the floor with my eyes closed wondering if I should twitch or something. Afterwards everyone was hugging me and his parents were crying.....

• I was working at a small company about 10 years ago, around the holidays. It was approaching Thanksgiving, and the ladies in my department had organized a pot luck luncheon. I was adding my contribution to the sign-up sheet when I noticed that one particular co-worker had signed up to bring brownies. She was a nice, single, older woman who had many pets at home (2-3 cats and as many dogs) and was regularly covered in a layer of pet fur. The day of the party had arrived, and everyone was going around filling their plates. There they were on the dessert table - the brownies. I didn't want to eat any of them, but I also didn't want to be impolite - so I told her I couldn't have any because I was allergic to nuts. Fast forward 9 years, and I am out with a friend (who had also been a co-worker at this company) I had kept since that job. After a few drinks, I tell her, tearfully, that I have a confession to make - I'm not really allergic to nuts. She burst out laughing, thinking it was going to be something much more serious than that. She is the only person I have made this confession to.

• A dude I knew was giving this girl some shit and she kicked him in the nuts. Ok, extreme reaction, but such is life. He doubled over in pain, but since he was kind of a douche anyway, no one cared much. The next day (a Friday) his dad took him out of school for some reason. Then when he returned on Monday he learned that the big rumor was that his balls ruptured from the kick, and he had to get emergency surgery. Rather than correcting anyone, he went along with it. This went on for years. People made fun of him, and he just joked about it. There were idiotic songs people sung about him. He laughed about it. Never denied it once, in fact participated in some of the joking at times. Finally, one day about 3 years later he comes clean. She didn't even actually kick him in the balls, just in the gut and it really knocked the wind out of him. After all this time, the dude who got kicked in the balls was basically his identity. Strange turn of events.

• When I was 16, I humored some Mormon missionaries to make my best friend and his family happy (they were Mormon). So after a few home "lessons" about the LDS church I had already showed a lot of fake support and interest. Being awkward, I didn't want to admit to not being interested. When they asked if I wanted to be baptised weeks later, I said yes, imagining I'd eventually back out. I didn't. Became an athiest Mormon. After months of living this double life, attending church, etc, my mom decided to show support by becoming Mormon. I was mortified. My recovering Catholic dad pulls me aside and asks me if I really believe this stuff. I explained everything to him and he thought it was hilarious. I also made him promise not to tell Mom because, again, awkward and too far deep. She asked me to baptise her and I refused. This insulted her. Fast forward a year or so and I distanced myself from church people while still maintaining the close relationship with my friend and his family. It's been 12 years now, and we still hang out weekly and nobody considers me Mormon. I never explained this to him.

• The second or third week of college my freshman year I stumbled into a room where a newly acquired friend and his roommate were playing kingdom hearts. We briefly talked about how much they loved the game, etc. Eventually, I fall asleep on their futon from general college induced exhaustion. An indeterminable amount of time later, I wake up to them quietly talking about what to do with the person napping on the couch. Not wanting to be rude, I tell them "Oh sorry - I wasn't really napping" They call me out on my buffoonery, and I decide to double down that I WAS NOT NAPPING. We get into a pretty heated argument about what constitutes a nap and the specific things that I was doing if it were not napping. I do not back down and start essentially yelling at them that I was not napping. This grew into an uncontrollable inside joke where whenever I would go anywhere with these guys they would say something like "man, its a good thing bendernas doesn't take naps", he'll be the life of the party. Or some shit. This slowly spreads to basically everything we did (small school of ~ 3000 students, where most people had some sort of obscure connection to most other people) and I eventually became known as the person who didn't take naps. (edit: i love naps) A few years later we became roommates and the proceed to wake me up basically every single day whenever I took a nap.

• When I got out of college, I got accepted in an internship. After that internship, they hired me. When they asked about my diploma, I said the truth, that I needed a few more general classes(French and PE) to finish and get my diploma. They said: No problem, but you have to get your diploma. I said(the beginning of the lie): It's alright, I'm already registered for the classes next semester. They said: Ok but make sure you get it soon! Then never asked about it again, even after changing HR management twice since then. I've been working here for 10 years now, never went back for my diploma. I know it's stupid, but let's hope I end my career here or something.

• Living in a College Town, every year around spring graduation there's one or two "I'm here to see my kid graduate, but I haven't been able to locate them" families. Usually kids that stopped going, pocketed their parents money, and/or just gave up and couldn't handle telling the family. It ends sadly sometimes. That's a big lie/deception to deal with and maintain. It almost always comes to a head.

• My first relationship. A few days in, then-girlfriend tells me she isn't ready to go public just yet and if we could just pretend we weren't together for a few days then she would be ready. Six months later, I had lied to so many people for her I can't tell whats real anymore and any time I asked her if we could stop because it was messing with me she refused and argued her way out of it. Looking back on this fucks with my head to this day. Amazing how much things like that can snowball.

• One time someone who I wanted to be better friends with showed me a metal gear solid meme and me being me I pretended to understand it. I then was forced to research all the games and their plots, Easter eggs, quotable characters, and other memes to better fake understanding. I still have never played a metal gear solid game.

• My fiance has a great one. She's a picky eater, and rather than tell her best friend that she doesn't like bananas, she told her "I'm allergic to bananas." For YEARS, her best friend would make sure everything was banana-free. From cakes, to desserts, to even clearing her house of anything banana related. After close to 15 years, my fiance finally told her "Hey, I just don't like bananas." Nervous, thinly veiled hatred in the form of laughter ensued.

• One teacher at school said my name wrong and I was too anxious to correct him. Long story short it’s almost been a year and I’m in too deep to say anything else.

• I live in Cambridge, UK and my go to answer to those "interesting-facts-about-you" moments (you know, corporate icebreakers or interview stuff) is that I got knocked over by Stephen Hawking whilst on the pavement near my house. Partly true as in he lives in the city, travels out and about on said streets. Truth is I just saw him on a path once. I was driving. People love that it's a bit different so imma keep using it.

• A buddy of mine's dad had a funny ongoing joke of sometimes referring to his son's friends by similar, but incorrect names. Trent became Trevor, Scott became Sam, Ethan became Eric. Just silly stuff like that. So in that vein he starts calling me 'Donald' (jesse is my middle name, my first one starts with 'D'). At first I thought he was joking, but he just. Didn't. Stop. Its been years, and now that we're all moved out and on our own I rarely ever see him. But he still calls me Donald whenever I do, and at this point its way too late to correct him.

• This is a small thing, I don't go by my full name but when I sign up for classes at my gym, it's done through an app and shows up on the roster as my full name. I never thought that anyone there would eventually know me by name, so when the instructor would take attendance I just never corrected in. But now I'm a year in and I'm casually friendly with most people there and I'm in way too deep to correct them now. It's not that I mind my full name that much, I have just never really gone by it.