#And then no one else is probably gonna write a book on the actual scientific topic now because it was so unique so thanks a lot!!!!!!!!!!!!

[hevendor]

My Christmas wish is that I want "science" authors to stop using really interesting subjects that I'd like to learn about as nothing but a veneer to trick people into reading a book that is really just about their own "personal journeys."

[notwantedonthemoon]

I gave Lucy and Ham a design update! Originally I only wanted to do Ham but Lucy barged into the room and no one can make her leave.

Design notes:

• I really was not satisfied with their original colour schemes. I know that Lucy was described as wearing a rose-coloured gown but she’s so purple in my head. • And Ham should be more red. He’s associated with red in the novel (and his brothers with yellow and blue- they’re the primary colour brothers) and that image of Misa Amane in the top left corner was my original reference for him, but he simply doesn’t look right to me unless he looks like a walking Valentine’s Day card. Misa Amane’s picture got to stay because a). I love her and b). I’m gonna talk about her later. • His hair also had to change- I’m probably going to redo Hannah at some point. I was thinking of saving Ham’s original reddish brown colour for Hannah instead, and I don’t want them to look too similar. So now his hair looks like a fox- which is fitting for his character and also very funny because his wife is terrified of foxes. • Don’t ask how the darker ends work without hair dye, we’re going off cartoon logic here. • I am now certain that Lucy’s height exists solely to torment me whenever I want to draw her next to someone else. I was in tears drawing this, wondering why Findley couldn’t have been happy with a six foot tall angel. • Lucy is seven foot five. I have no idea if I drew her tall enough or if I ever will.

The part where Misa Amane is relevant

• Ham’s character felt like he was being set up for a much more important role than he actually got, and I was waiting for a twist or a character arc or something, but it never happened. This guy is determined to stay irrelevant forever. I saw a source somewhere describe Ham as less of a character and more of an excuse to introduce Lucy. It cracked me up so I had to include it in here. • Just to be clear: I do like Ham as is. He’s an entertaining and also very heartfelt character- one of his defining traits is just, ‘Loves Things A Lot’ (kinda reminds me of Pat of Silver Bush- everyone go read Pat of Silver Bush that book is fantastic). • But also: he could have been better. His character got 10 times more likeable to me when I realized that he kind of resembles Misa Amane from Death Note, so by that logic he’d be a better character if you just make him more like Misa Amane from Death Note. • Also: I only ever watched the Death Note musical and I know next to nothing about the anime. But I heard that Misa is pretty annoying in the anime? Shame. • The parallels are already there. Both characters have complicated relationships with death- Ham’s first action in the book is being forced to kill a lamb, Misa’s entire family got murdered- and then cheating death somehow; Ham spent his childhood nearly dying of like, plague or whatever, and a death god sacrificed his life to extend Misa’s time on Earth. They’re both characterized as being incredibly loving, with Ham defined by his “love of life so great that he could not bear to kill” and Misa being defined by her love for her family that drove her to pledge her loyalty and give away half her life to their unknowing avenger.

• If I were writing Ham I’d establish him as a character who is deeply loyal- to his family and to his values. He thought that that loyalty had to extend to his father be default- they’re family, despite their very very tense relationship. The sacrifice at the start of book one made him do an immediate 180 on that, and it was why he was so willing to throw his oar in completely with Lucy. • That 180 turn was motivated by an unbelievable amount of pent up rage and spite. In terms of general ideals I’d say Ham is pretty traditional and goes along with whatever’s popular because it causes less problems for him- the only principles he sticks firmly to are his scientific ones. He’s not like Lucy, who knows what she believes in and fights for it- him opposing Doctor Noyes is an emotional, reactionary decision, not based off of any deeper principles (other than the no-killing one) or self-reflection about his existing worldviews. • A lot of his development will be directly tied to Lucy, since she’s the more significant character out of the two. And being with Lucy would make him much more willing to make impulsive decisions; which actually isn’t very far from canon, Ham is pretty impulsive. When I first got to the two-day-engagement part of the book I was convinced that a love potion had to be involved somewhere, because I couldn’t wrap my head around the designated ‘logical scientist character’ making such a reckless decision. But then I got further into the book and Ham… runs into a burning building. Keeps on fumbling conversations by blurting out his opinion and immediately regretting it. So… he’s kind of just like that. That lines up. • For a scientist character he’s very emotional- which I like a lot! It’s a nice change of pace. Being a scientist doesn’t automatically make you more rational and reasonable than anyone else. Sometimes you can be a really good scientist and still have the emotional intelligence of a sea sponge. Ham strikes me as someone who doesn’t really ‘get’ emotions because he can’t logic his way through them like with most of the stuff he studies, so he ignores them until they explode ‘completely out of nowhere’. My conclusion here is that someone should hand him a book on mindfulness. • (The real question is why Lucy was down for the two-day-engagement; it’s not to survive the flood. She and Ham were engaged before Yaweh came up with the flood plan.)

• All this is setting Ham up as Lucy’s eventual closest ally and the most fiercely loyal friend she could ever ask for. He thinks the world of her and would do just about anything for her… but he wouldn’t kill for her. That’s a line he crossed once and wouldn’t ever again.

• And Lucy loves him. Of course she does. But sometimes she wonders if her friend’s loyalty is anything like her brother’s blind devotion to Yaweh. She doesn’t like that thought.

• In the novel their relationship is largely just. Very lacklustre, with no development or indication that they really care about each other. But since they’re such a blank slate I can do whatever I want with them, and what I want is Lucy the revolutionary and her aggressively supportive science bestie. • I like to think that Ham and Lucy’s relationship would be best described as a queerplatonic relationship- though they wouldn’t have the vocabulary to describe that exactly. I know that they’re married but… they really don’t have any romantic chemistry. I’m sorry to anyone who thinks that they make a good couple (if you exist. At all) but I simply do not see it.

• (If someone does have an interpretation of their relationship that is romantic I would absolutely love to see it. If someone has anything to say at all about this book I would love to see it.)

[blackwoolncrown]

I don’t know if this is going to spill over anywhere else but it has the possibility to do so which would be super bad

So I remember a few months ago this one check on TikTok was saying that she just had this feeling that there was gonna be like a female Kevin Samuels

And that has totally happened. There’s a lady name Princella and she is in the like black woman’s space but she just speaks for women in general and in general her message is decent it’s just about how men are not reliable partners they struggle to actually be loving empathetic partners, and that the way that relationships are set up is really just exploitative to women so women would be better off decentering men completely and not prioritizing dating men or marrying them

And on its face it’s like yeah that’s true but the problem is she also works in a lot of like stats to her stuff and has this evasive super pseudo-intellectual angle that is all about how men are biologically incapable of being decent people which is a red flag and then it kind of … Recently someone asked her basically like OK but where do trans an intersex people like fit into Your philosophies like are they good or the bad like how does that work?

And anyone who’s been around the block dealing with TERFS and stuff knows that that is what I like to call a bell ringing you ring that person’s bell on a particular subject because their response will tell you what you need to know. and this lady Did a very typical super evasive word salad about an answer that could’ve been as simple as I support trans women or I support trans people’s rights. instead it was just like ”let’s look at the scientific definition of cis and trans” And this whole posturing about how she doesn’t care about what’s good or bad she only cares about was intellectually ride or what’s intellectually wrong, and she doesn’t bother with feelings because that’s inaccurate (which I think is a really interesting thing that she repeatedly says because she also says that one of the problems with man is that they are emotionally stunted and emotionally unintelligent but she will repeatedly say that appeals to feelings or considerations of feelings are just like intellectually unsound)

Another black woman creator that I have seen speak on her who actually found her work more recently and has been reading her books and watching her podcast and talking positively about her work, responded to a couple of more recent videos that she did and I can see the problem forming Because she’s taking this ladies responses at face value- “oh well she didn’t say she was a transphobe she’s just getting into the intellectual nuance”

For a lot of these cis women who dates cis men The entire intellectual map around these kind of gender discussions is so new to them and the idea that their difficulties in relationships are actually being validated on an intellectual ground are also really exciting and new.

Unfortunately in this new territory they are not aware of pitfalls or pipelines

I’m writing about this the same way that I mentioned the same woman like two months ago because I could see the problem coming the way a queer person can see transphobia coming from a mile away after dealing w it so long

Tumblr and definitely the spaces that I’ve cultivated on it and this time are probably pretty insusceptible to being penetrated by this woman in particular but what I’m just trying to say is this if you start to see an uptick in what is already a heavy population and black trans phobic women in the coming weeks in months, it’s because there’s a female Kevin Samuels on TikTok now. Selling a book. Doing podcasts. Strangely referencing Jordan Peterson without much critique.

I guess be warned y’all. Sincerely, a canary.

[cazort]

I have complex feelings on this, as someone who was in two Ph.D. programs for Applied Math and Statistics and was literally begged to stay in each of them by the professors, and also as someone who has two parents with Ph.D's.

And I'm gonna say the thing that some academic people don't want to hear:

Ph.D. programs do not select for, nor do they train, the best researchers. Some of the things I personally experienced during grad school include:

Being continually pressured to hyper-specialize. One professor explicitly told me: "The purpose here is for you to narrow your focus enough to where you will become the world's foremost expert in that particular field, and there will probably only be about 6 people who will understand your work."

Being discouraged from reading too many books (in closely-related fields) because it would "distract me" from what I "should be focusing on".

Being met with skepticism or even openly criticized when I expressed that I wanted to do research that would be accessible to a more general audience (of scientifically-minded and educated people, not merely people with Ph.D's in my field.)

Being repeatedly told that questions I wanted to research "weren't interesting" and that I should research something else instead, when the questions I was bringing up were ones that were raised by other authors and arose naturally in various fields or aspects of society.

A professor who would look down on and explicitly criticize students for not handing in a project or assignment, which was due at midnight, at the last minute "because they should be using all available time to work on the project".

Professors who would rant about "when I was in grad school" and treated the program more as a hazing ritual to inflict suffering on the students, suffering they themselves had gone through, than a place of study and learning and giving the students actually useful research skills.

Overt sexism against female students in the programs, which, although I was closeted at the time, made me feel incredibly unwelcome as a transfem person who identified more with women than men. I saw things such as professors giving different scores to women and men for giving the exact same step-by-step solution to problems. At one shitty ivy league school up near Boston, that had given me an offer into a Ph.D. program, I was shocked to find an all-male professor staff and all-male student body, and to notice that the men would literally roll their eyes whenever a woman spoke.

Witnessing other professors verbally and emotionally abuse the grad students they were acting as advisor to. Watching professors often specifically select vulnerable students, such as international students who might run into severe consequences if they had visa issues, who were less likely to speak out against the abuse.

Becoming close to professors who were doing work that was accessible and had great value to a broad audience, and having them confide in me that they were not recognized or given any career advancement for this work, and that the only work that "counted" for purposes such as tenure and promotion was hyper-specialized work that was so esoteric it could only be understood by a tiny number of people.

If I broaden my list to other people I was friends with, in other programs and at other schools, I could write 50 times as much. Unspeakable things.

Yeah, in theory, a Ph.D. is "supposed to" mean what the OP says, but when you, like me, get into what is one of the top ranked universities and programs in the entire world, in a field that is highly competitive, and you see what a farce it is from the inside, when you see how broken the whole system is, it becomes very difficult to trust the Ph.D. degree.

Yes, I am still very wary of self-taught "experts". But I am also wary of people with degrees, especially ones from high-status research institutions like the one I attended and the other I got into and rejected the offer from.

I have learned that the only real credentials that can prove to me that I can trust you, are humility and intellectual rigor. If I see that you are continually skeptical of your own work, and your own conclusions, and if I see that you update your work when you receive valid feedback, and if I see that you are able to resist social and financial pressures and publish work that might push a few people's buttons from time to time, then and only then will I come to trust you as a researcher. And it doesn't really matter to me what letters are after your name, and what school that degree is from.

On average, people with higher educational credentials are more likely to be rigorous researchers. But there are far too many people with Ph.D's who don't have a clue what they're doing, for me to trust that degree to mean much of anything at all.

Really, all it means is that a person has jumped through a bunch of hoops in some super-specialized subfield of some academic field. That means very little for the person's ability to research things of consequence for the real world. It means that the person knows how to be submissive enough to the establishment for 5-7 years, a "keep quiet and don't rock the boat" type person. It might also make it slightly more likely that they're not a very nice person and are more likely to verbally or emotionally abuse others. They are probably more than normal to have a philosophy that you "put in your time" and then you "deserve" to be given more freedom and privilege. And as a result, they might be more prone to tolerate hazing behaviors even if they won't admit it. There is a lot of baggage that comes along with that degree and I think people who have the degree and especially people who work in the institutions awarding the degree desperately need to own up to these problems and start rooting them out if the degree is going to mean what some people claim it does.

I saw a [short-form internet video] today asking who people would trust more to learn from about a topic, someone with a PhD in that subject or a neurodivergent person with a special interest in it, and holy shit you guys we need to address this level of anti-intellectualism. I am the first person to point out that you don't need a fancy degree to learn and know things and that we need to be more open to non-academic expertise in many areas* but when it comes to reliable and trustworthy information, a researcher formally trained in their field should absolutely be considered preferable to a layperson who has studied independently. Not because you can't become an expert on your own but because the processes of academic qualification ensure that a person has both basic and specific knowledge of and training in the methodology and advances in their field, they are practiced in assessing the quality of sources and generating their own data, and they are subject to assessment by other experts. In order to get those fancy letters to go with your name you have to prove that you have the knowledge and skills to meaningfully contribute to the scientific conversation; the title is a reward for your hard work but it's also a kind of quality control seal.

Getting a PhD in any subject is really fucking hard. It's gruelling. Most of us do it because we love our research and want to know everything about our chosen topic. As a lot of commenters on that video pointed out, the PhD and the neurodivergent person are often one and the same! But especially in an era when mis- and disinformation is so rampant, we need to remember that although it is flawed, we do have a system to help us assess whether a person sharing information about something we don't know is likely to be reliable or not, and in the vast majority of cases, people who have passed through years and years of rigorous training and assessment should absolutely be our first pick.**

*my field of choice, popular romance studies, owes a lot of knowledge to readers and fans without relevant degrees or institutional affiliation who share their thoughts and observations through book reviews etc., and we're so grateful to them!

**obviously "experts" can be wrong or malicious and laypeople can have extremely valuable insight or experience that we should not dismiss out of hand. That's not what this is about.

[shurisneakers]

if you're taking ideas for harmless drabbles, i'd love to see one of bucky on one of those dates he mentioned and reader's shenanigans. if you aren't, feel free to ignore this!

a/n: are we really going to let a word limit define what a drabble is? is the vibe and spirit not enough? i say this bc this is 5.7k words long im so sorry. also hey thank you to everyone who piped in with their knowledge of violent geese and how apartment security works in new york!! also thanks to my bby @spiderrpcrker for reading this and telling me to publish this bc i wasnt going to fkjghfkj

warning: swearing, bad luck, dates, frustrated bucky, anxiety, mentions of gore but like only a sentence

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Catch up with the rest of the series here: Harmless Masterlist

Bucky returns only two weeks later. His mission lasted longer than expected and all he wants is to lie down and sleep for forty eight hours straight.

“FRIDAY?” he mumbles, kicking off his shoes. His jacket had already been discarded by his bedroom door when he walked in.

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?”

“How are ya?” He doesn’t miss a beat in asking, even though he’s exhausted.

“As good as ever. Did you have a successful mission?”

“If by successful you mean one sprained limb instead of two, then yeah.” He wasn’t really cribbing. His ankle was already starting to heal anyway and it was worth the roundhouse kick to a Nazi's face. “Do I have anything scheduled for this weekend?”

“You have a meeting on your calendar scheduled for this Saturday.”

“Could you send a text to Y/N and ask if we can push it to the next day?” His muscles feel sore and God, he could definitely use a hot shower but all of that becomes secondary the minute he feels the sheets under him.

“Would you like me to reschedule the other one as well?”

“What’s that?” He opens one eye in confusion. “There’s another one?”

“It’s on Sunday. You’ve labelled it ‘date’.”

Ah, fuck.

“Would you like me to change it?” FRIDAY never sounds like she’s judging him, which is nice. It also reminds him about how she, as an AI, can’t judge him, which is a rude wake-up call to how he doesn’t have friends.

“No,” his voice is muffled against the pillow, “no, let it be. Where is it again?”

“You’ve only specified diner, Sergeant Barnes.”

Public space, daytime, plenty of escape routes. Good on his less delirious self for selecting a diner.

“Thanks, FRIDAY.” Now that he’s a little more relaxed, he can feel himself slip in and out of consciousness.

“One last thing," her automated voice commands his attention again. "Y/N replied. She says sure and to take care.”

“Yay.” Not even a second later he’s out like a light.

____

“Did you bring me any souvenirs?” Is the first thing he hears as he marches into your lair.

“What could I possibly get you?”

“A postcard, a t-shirt.” You don’t look up from your tinkering.

“Decapitated finger, used bullets,” he continues, “cement blocks.”

“Ew.” You snap the lid shut on the thing you’re working on, spinning around on your chair. "That's not nearly romantic enough."

“That’s all you’re going to get from a Russian underground bunker.” He does a mini jog up the stairs of the platform to where you are.

“Does the finger have a ring at lea- oh hello?” You raise an eyebrow at the sight of him. “You look different.”

He peers down. The outfit was still all black. As always.

“Not your clothes, dummy,” you interrupt, making him look back at you. “Your face. What’d you do?”

He unconsciously raises a hand to his cheek.

“Did you wash your face? Is that it?” you squint at him. “Has it been a few months since the last time?”

“Wow, you’re so funny,” he drawls sarcastically.  “Top tier comedian right there.”

“No wait, it’s the beard.” You snap your fingers in realisation, completely ignoring his comment. “You trimmed it.”

“So what if I did?” He leans on your table.

“You going somewhere?” you ask, elastic snapping against your hands as you remove your gloves.

“It’s none of your busi-”

“Hold on a second.” A sly smile begins to make its way onto your face. “Are you going on a date, Bucky Barnes?”

His comeback dies down in his throat. That didn’t take you very long for you to figure out.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” You look smug, to say the least.

“Shut up.” A ray of light glistening distracts him. He traces it to the thing you were working on earlier.

“Where are you guys going?” You cross your arm across your chest, a small smirk on your face.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” It’s a silver box, engraved intricately with swirls that, when he observes carefully, looks like a skull. Wow, terrifying.

“I’m literally asking you.”

“What are those?” He shifts the conversation towards a more productive angle instead.

“Evil in a box and some other stuff.” You shrug offhandedly. “Is it a lunch date or just coffee?”

“Like Pandora’s Box?”

“A discount version, sure,” you confirmed impatiently. “Stop changing the topic, listen to me.”

He tilts his head, waiting for you to continue.

“Do you need a chaperone?” The sincerity in your voice for such a bullshit question has him scoffing.

“Good God- no, I do not need a chaperone. I’m 106 years old, I can go out unsupervised.” He reaches over and plucks the box off your table.

“Sir, you’re a geriatric."

“What are those?” He points to a few ray odd ray guns.

“Minor stuff you don’t have to worry about right now.”

He shakes the box in his hand. “What’s gonna happen if I open this?”

“Very bad things,” you whispered ominously before your volume returns to normal. “How’d you meet this person? Online?”

“She’s Natasha’s friend.” He turns the box over, seeing a small latch at the side. “What bad things?”

“Bad luck and misery. Don’t play with it, it’s dangerous.” You pull the box away from him. “Aw, is it a blind date?”

“Why do you care so much?” he shoots back, tugging the box back towards him.

“Just lookin’ out for you, Bucko,” you huff, adjusting your grip on your device. “Need to keep my favourite senior citizen safe.”

“I have a vibranium arm.” Whose force he could use to grab the box once and for all, but wasn’t. “I think I’ll be fine.”

“What if she has one too, huh? Then what?”

“She doesn’t.” As far as he knows, he’s the only one alive with a metal appendage made out of the strongest metal in the world. That could very well change by tomorrow but he's keeping the title for now.

“But what if she does? I swear to- stop trying to take the box!” You pull a little more forcefully, but he doesn’t relent.

“I want this to get over before this evening.”

“What time’s your date?”

“Why do you care?” He’s sure anyone who saw the dumb tug-of-war you both were playing would just automatically assume he was an absolute manchild, not an Avenger.

“Because.” You don’t explain further. “Tell me what time your date is, you weirdo.”

“Five o’clock, now let go.”

“Fine,” you say, suddenly loosening your grip. Clearly, it doesn't make much of a difference since he isn't struggling to keep his balance from the sudden loss of force.

“Fine.” He clears his throat, straightening up. 

You don’t say anything. He doesn’t either.

A putrid smell creeps into his nose, one all too similar to spoiled milk and decaying seaweed. He has to physically stop himself from gagging.

“Have a good day.” You smile and lean far back. Too far. It looks like you're almost going to fall out of the chair.

Through the tears that are threatening to line his eyelids, he looks down at the box whose latch you somehow managed to lift, leaving the box open.

“What the fuck is this?” He coughs, swatting at the air in front of him to clear it.

“I told you; bad luck in a box.”

“You can’t scientifically create bad luck, that’s bullshit.” He tosses the box back onto your table. You watch it slide past you, not making any effort to stop it. “What is it really?”

“I’m not lying.” You pull open a drawer, brandishing a small table fan that you set down beside you. “If you open it, you’re going to have terrible luck for the day.”

He glowers at you when you turn the fan on, forcing the fumes back towards him.

“Besides, that’s all I was doing today.” You kick your feet up. “So you can leave now.”

He doesn’t care if you’re lying about not having anything else to do today. You could burn down the world if you wanted to but he needs to take a stupid shower. Again.

“You’re the fuckin’ worst.” He tries airing out his shirt, hoping that the smell would dissipate as soon as possible.

“Have fun on your date, sarge!” you encourage him as he stalks out of the lair. “Remember to wrap it befo-”

He turns it into a sprint before you can finish.

____

Six hours later and he’s absolutely convinced he fucked up.

He isn’t used to having his weekends free.

He realises that this is the first time in months that he’s actually stepped out of the Tower for something that wasn’t directly mission-related. He should probably get some air. Touch some grass. See the sun.

His shirt thankfully manages to rid itself of the odour from the dumb box so he didn’t have to go take a shower. With nothing much planned and a few hours to spare, he heads to the coffee shop instead.

It’s a small place, bustling and alive with a crowd of people. They have a little bookshelf that usually is full of books donated by patrons, free for anyone to read.

The barista smiles at him. The coffee costs more than his high school education. He awkwardly smiles back.

He’s not a regular, but they’ve seen him enough times to know that he usually asks for black coffee in a to-go cup, later adding a sugar or two according to his own taste. They're nice to him, occasionally throwing in a cookie or something on the house. He can't tell if it's because of the Avenger status or the sizeable tip he leaves.

He picks up a random book from the shelf, fully intending not to read it but to just sit there and think. The book acted as a shield for his resting bitch face, resting murder face and his resting rage face. More often than not, a good combination of the three.

He sets the coffee down at the corner table he manages to nab in a quick second, along with the two sachets of sugar.

“Is this seat taken?” Someone asks from beside him. He earnestly shakes his head in a ��no’, gesturing for them to take it.

They give him a quick thanks and drag the chair away from his table.

He does a quick overlook of the book he picked up.

The Princess Diaries by Meg Cabot.

Well, now he’s too anxious to put it back. YA fiction it is.

He reaches for the sugar while glossing over the summary. He reaches a little further when it doesn’t come to his hand immediately, blindly running his fingers across the table.

Bucky peeks over the book, eyebrows knitting together when he notices that they’re missing.

He was sure he picked it up.

He looks underneath the table. It wasn’t there, neither under his seat. Strange, but okay. He picks up the book and the cup, walking back to the station to grab two sugars.

This time he makes sure to tuck it into his pocket, double-checking before going back to his table.

Which was now occupied. He wanted to groan.

His mind automatically reverts back to the box from that morning.

“Come on,” he scoffs quietly to himself. It was a coincidence. “Get yourself together.”

“A seat at the counter just cleared up,” the barista from earlier offers when she sees him standing in the middle of the store.

See? Good luck.

He shoots her a grateful look, venturing over to the barstool to take his place. It’s not the most comfortable, but then again, he wasn’t planning to stay there for very long.

He empties the sugar into the coffee, stirring slowly before opening a random page in the book.

He takes a long sip, ignoring how hot the drink was.

He chokes immediately. Because either he was losing his mind or his order had somehow got switched from ‘no sugar’ to ‘diabetes in a cup’.

He takes another small sip and his face immediately twists in disgust. Definitely too sweet. The sweetener he added only made it worse.

He catches the eye of the barista. She looks on in concern.

“Is everything okay?”

Fuck.

He’s not one to make a scene. He just wants to live as imperceptibly as he could.

“Yep.” The sweetness sticks to the back of his throat. “All good.”

He just closes his eyes and downs the rest of it without thinking twice, trying to hide the grimace in his face. He gives her a weak thumbs up. She doesn't look convinced.

He leaves the shop soon after, hands shoved in his pocket. Maybe he could go sit by the lake at Central Park, watch the clouds. It reminded Bucky of the lake in front of his hut in Wakanda and the hours he'd sit in front of it, feet dipped into the water as his goats fed. He misses it.

He makes a sharp turn at a corner, still thinking about his options when his ankle abruptly twists under him.

He stumbles rather ungracefully, almost hitting the ground, but manages to save himself through the newly built up immunity he has towards falling thanks to all his encounters with you.

His gaze lands on his hardcore combat boots. Their laces had come undone.

Now he just knew that was horseshit. He always double knots them; they had never loosened in the past before.

The box.

He shoves the thought out of his head, crouching down to tie them again. He tugs on them to make sure they’re secure before standing up again.

Central Park is a few blocks away but he’s glad he didn’t bring his bike. The weather was rather nice and the wind in his hair felt good.

He wanders around the park for a while, looking for the lake. He pauses at a board with a map of the park on it, assessing how far it was.

Once he's ascertained which path to go towards, he turns on his heel to go.

He fucking trips again.

“Are you serious?” he says furiously under his breath. “Cut it out.”

He’s half-convinced that he should tie it around his ankle like a sexy lace-up set of heels. He ties a triple knot this time, glares at it until he’s sure it’s fine and checks to see if anyone saw him humiliate himself.

Only a person on a nearby bench who looked like they were passed out drunk, given that their hoodie and sunglasses clad self was slumped over.

No witnesses. No 'You won't BELIEVE what the Winter Soldier did! Critics say it's his biggest blunder yet!' articles the next day on social media.

He manages to make it to the lake in one piece and no more falls, partly because he keeps his eyes fixed on his shoes to ensure no fuckery occurs.

There are a few people rowing and plenty of others lining the bank at scattered locations. There’s a mom and her kid at the place he ends up. She sends him a small smile in greeting and he returns the favour.

There’s a secluded bench that he takes a place on, letting out a small sigh. If he ignores the traffic and the skateboarders and the people in general, it’s actually kind of peaceful.

There are geese and their little goslings swimming around the water close to the shore. Maybe he should have brought some birdseed. Or kale.

The kid beside him is busy fashioning something out of leaves, only occasionally erupting into giggles when it doesn't pan out. His mom watches him fondly, pointing at twigs he could use. Everything seems kind of picture-perfect and his body automatically relaxes, easing further into the seat and closing his eyes for a second.

Until there's a large splash and loud distressed honking. He whips his head around to find the same kid staring straight ahead at the goose with a wide grin. His mother curses quietly, picking herself up off the ground and grabbing his hand, half chastising him for throwing something at an animal and half urging him to walk faster.

The goose turns to Bucky. With no one else to blame for the sudden attack, it logically launches itself at him. His smile drops.

He gets up in a rush. The dumb bird nearly comes for his head, but he deflects with his metal arm.

“I didn’t even do anything.” He swats at it swiftly, trying not to cause any real damage. The goose, understandably, does not speak English.

He flinches when one of them bites at his knee. He can punt it to the sun but he doesn’t want to.

“Stop that.” He sticks his hand out to shove the stupid thing away, retreating back to the road. “Jesus, why are you so aggressive?”

Among the barrage of feathers showering on him, he prays his damn shoelace doesn’t unravel as he shields his head with one arm, the other fending himself while he moves hurriedly away.

The goose honks angrily at him. He scowls at it, not exactly pleased with the reminder that these fucking overgrown ducks were constantly bloodthirsty.

It doesn’t leave him alone till he’s significantly away from where he was sitting. He wants to call it profanity but that’d probably piss it off more.

The box and its effects were definitely starting to feel real.

Fuck it, no more day out for him. The best plan he can think of is to just go to the diner he’s supposed to meet his date at.

The waiter greets him with a courteous nod, which Bucky can only imagine was the best he could muster when a dishevelled 200-pound man walks in covered in goose feathers and irritation.

He won't admit that he’s too scared to eat lunch at this point because he can’t rule out food poisoning. He spends the next two hours on his phone playing Fruit Ninja and plucking feathers that accented his all-black outfit.

Several glasses of water later and a second before he’s about to beat his high score, someone taps on his shoulder, breaking him out of his concentration.

Motherfu-

He clenches his eye shut, inhaling deeply before turning around.

“James?”

“Hey, yeah, that’s me.” Bucky almost falls over the table with how fast he stands up, clearly underestimating his size. “Leah?”

“Hi.” She smiles and he finds himself smiling nervously along with her.

“Hi.” He steps out to pull out her chair for her and she laughs. "Nice to meet you."

“How long have you been waiting here?” she asks while setting down her bag.

“Around ten minutes.” He clears his throat to hopefully hide the fact that he was lying through his teeth.

“Just give me a second, I need to tell my friend I reached,” Leah pulls out her phone and he nods.

“Another glass of water for you?” The waiter seems less enthusiastic about Bucky’s 8th refill.

“Yes,” he answers, hoping he doesn’t call him out on it, “please.”

“You must be really dehydrated."

Bucky turns to look at him slowly. “I like the taste.”

He can’t really blame the guy. Bucky’s been there for hours without ordering anything solid, just leaching off their free water and complimentary bread basket.

“So, James.” She tosses her phone back into her bag, leaning forward on her palms easily. “Tell me about yourself.”

He had rehearsed this a million times. He could do this.

“I, uh,-”

“Menu?” Okay, so someone clearly had a vendetta against him.

“Thank you.” She takes it with a smile.

His morning debacle with the coffee flashes through his mind. Suddenly the idea of a diner didn’t seem so smart.

However, she’s already placed her order and George is standing beside him expectantly, daring him to ask for another glass of water, so he places his usual order and hopes that your stupid bad luck thing wore off.

He quickly learns that his date is laid back, and it isn’t hard to fall into a rhythm with her even though she’s the one asking most of the questions.

“How’d you meet Nat?” Is his attempt at one.

“She used to come in for lunch every week at the place I work.” Leah leans back in her chair. “She can really handle her alcohol.”

He’d be worried about Nat day drinking if he didn’t know about her complete inability to get drunk. She might as well have been downing glasses of lemonade.

“Yeah, she’s-” Intimidating, scary, cool “-really something.”

“She mentioned that you like movies.”  He definitely spends a lot of time watching them. “You got any recommendations?”

It’s easier to figure out how different things are or how much he missed out over the years through them. He’s glad he sat out the early 2000s, judging by their fashion sense and hairstyles.

He's watched several movies over the past few months, a few of them critically acclaimed and others who were just there for the cult following.

But now everything goes blank and the only thing that he can remember are the biopics made about Steve that were somehow hilarious for gifting him the mental image of Freddie Prinze Jr. dressed in the stars and stripes, and highly distressing for the number of historical inaccuracies. Contrary to popular belief, Stevie did not, in fact, consider running for president after he took up the shield, nor did he start his own bar chain.

He can’t name Oh Captain, My Captain starring Channing Tatum as his favourite movie on his first date and hope to make a good first impression.

“Despicable Me was kinda fun.” He wants to kill himself. “I mean, it’s the last one I saw.”

Her face twists in mild disgust, but he can tell it isn't ill-intentioned. “It's a good movie, but God, that just gave me some intense flashbacks to my aunt’s Facebook page. Don’t think I can look at a minion ever again.”

He sniggers with her. He doesn’t know what the context is.

He’s a little awkward, and he can definitely tell he isn’t the most open book but she laughs at some of his attempts at jokes. There’s a distinct discomfort he has lingering at the back of his mind prodding at him, telling him over and over again that he isn’t ready for something like this. A warning bell, asking him to leave as soon as possible because he was in a dangerous situation.

He remembers what his therapist told him about breathing and remembering that the resources he had available were greater than his anxiety and he tries to get out of his head. It takes a few minutes of acting like he's fine but he manages to do it.

Other than the one time he scalds his tongue on the coffee but played it off with a pained smile, shoving down thoughts of your stupid invention, things actually went okay.

It was nice, even though they decided by the end that it was better if they both gelled together better as friends. It lifts the strange fear he feels and he can hear Dr. Mendoza say she's proud of him for taking this step before spending three hours psychoanalysing why they decided to stay platonic.

Bucky promises to visit her sushi shop with Nat soon and she says a bottle of sake awaits him for a drinking game. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that Nat and he share the same tolerance for alcohol.

He makes sure to leave George a tip. A big one. It’s the first time he sees the guy smile the entire evening.

He’s waving goodbye to Leah outside and he thinks that maybe it was a good end to the day and that things actually turned out fine.

Until he turns around to leave, only to have someone walk straight into him with an iced tea.

The cold comes as a bit of a shock, making him jump slightly. He stares at his shirt, using his fingertips to pull it away from his body.

The person melts into a series of apologies immediately, offering to dry clean his shirt but Bucky just forces a shake of his head and says it’s okay even though he can feel the sugar making the shirt stick to his chest. Goose feathers and iced tea. Was there anything else that would like to attach itself to him?

His fists clench and his teeth grit and he has to physically control himself from sprinting to your lair because God knows what else is in store for him and he didn't want to add in any way.

The door to the lair is locked. Fuckin’ brilliant.

When no one answers after minutes worth of waiting, he fishes for his phone and realises that maybe two hours of Fruit Ninja was not the best idea, especially on a phone known for having shitty battery life.

There’s roughly 2 percent left. By the time he opens his app to give you a call, his phone screen goes black.

He groans. He’s desperate at this point and under any other normal circumstances, he would have never, ever considered doing this.

But ten minutes later he’s outside your apartment building. You’re aware that he has your address; no doubt that it was in the SHIELD file he had gotten, and he knows that you know but it was still weird.

The buzzer has your last name listed next to it. He’s sure that he’ll break it if he keeps pressing it at this rate but he really needs you to let him in.

“Who the fu-” your voice comes through the intercom.

“I’m sorry for showing up like this, my phone died and I couldn’t reach you,” He breathes out as soon as he hears you. “But I need you to fix this.”

When he doesn’t hear a reply, he wonders if the thing actually worked. He’s about to start pressing it again-

“Bucky?” You sound a little surprised to hear him. “You’re at my house. Why are you at my house?”

“I need you to fix whatever this is.”

“What are you- fine, I’m buzzing you in,” your voice, initially confused soon trails off into something more dismissive.

There’s a soft click from the door, allowing him to push it open. The elevator is already on the same floor as him so he just uses that.

The elevator goes up a floor or two. His feet tap restlessly against the carpeted floor.

The lights turn off and everything comes to a standstill. His foot stops tapping.

He should have known. He should have fucking known.

Thirty seconds pass. He’s still in pitch darkness with the elevator showing no signs of moving.

In fact, he’s resigned to his fate. He sits down on the ground, only one step away from completely laying down and hoping someone finds his body here someday.

It’s six minutes of plain silence. He might as well get comfortable if he’s going to get stuck here for the rest of his life. Did he change his will? Does he even have a will?

There’s finally a whir. He thinks that maybe he’s going to plummet to his doom as the perfect end to this day, but then the light switches on and it starts moving upward.

It stops at the floor with a ding. He doesn’t get off the ground, only eyes the door wearily. With his luck, it wouldn’t open.

But it does and within a second he’s on his feet, scrambling to get out before it changes its mind.

He remembers your door number, basically charging down the hall to get to it.

The door is white and the paint is starting to chip off it. The handle itself is dented in a few places and he wonders if it was your fault or someone else's.

His knocks are rapid, agitated even. He doesn’t stop until he hears your loud shouts telling him to cut it out.

“What the hell were you doing, trying to break down my door?” It swings open, revealing you in your pajamas. “Haven’t you done that already? And where were you, I’ve been waiting for like, ten minutes.”

He honestly feels bad for showing up uninvited and highly flustered. He can’t imagine it’s a pretty sight either. "This bad luck shit- fix it. My whole day’s been fucked up.”

“What are you-” Your eyebrows knit together in confusion, taking in his appearance.

It takes you a second to realise what he’s talking about but when you do, your face settles.

“How was your date?” You lean against the door frame, arms crossed over your chest.

“Really,” He glowered at you, “that’s what you care about?”

“Yes.” You nod. “Did you have fun?”

He hesitates. “I guess?”

“Was she nice?”

“Yeah.” Where was this going.

“Good, I’m happy for you.” The smile on your face is genuine. “Look at you go, Casanova.”

“We agreed to be just friends, but that’s not the point here. Y/N,” he whines. “I have a mission next week, I can’t afford to fuck up. My whole day was off and I don’t want it to carry over.”

“Your whole day?” you questioned, standing up instead of leaning against the wall. “Buck-”

“Just fix it.”

“Okay.” You lift your hand up, extending it towards his face.

He waits for you to do something.

You flick him on the forehead.

“There,” you declare, going back to your previous position. “you’re cured.”

What.

He says exactly what he’s thinking.

You laugh. “Dude. I was fucking with you.”

Huh?

“Well, actually maybe just like, three things and then I got bored.”

He’s confused.

“You know,” you begin when he doesn’t reply, “taking the sugar packets, switching your coffee order when you were looking under the table, took your place when you left, the shoelaces.”

“The shoelaces?”

“Yeah.” You nod. “That’s the other ray gun you saw this morning. Unties your shoelaces. I stopped after that because I thought you figured it out.”

His face scrunches in puzzlement.

“I mean, you looked right at me and told me to cut it out.”

He racks his brain about what you could possibly be talking about before it hits him. The hungover person on the goddamn bench in the park.

“You were the one in the hoodie and sunglasses.”

“I just followed the Avengers’ code of disguise.” You shrug. “Turns out it kinda works. Also teleportation. So helpful.”

He forgot about the teleportation. That's why you could do all of it so fast without him noticing you were even there.

“What about the fucking geese?”

You pause for a second. “The geese?”

“And the elevator.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” The confusion on your face is apparent. “What geese and elevator? I have no idea what you’re saying right now.”

“Everything’s been a mess today,” he grumbles. “I don’t know what’s real or not.”

“I swear I had nothing to do with it other than what I mentioned.” There’s indignation on your features that quickly gives way to delight. “Holy shit, did I just accidentally invent portable bad luck?”

“Okay-” his palm finds its way to his forehead in exasperation, “-then what the hell was the smell?”

“What smell- oh, the one from the box?”

He nods briskly.

“Secretions Magnifique.” You snorted. “It’s a perfume. The worst rated one I could find.”

“Perfume?”

“With notes of milk, seaweed and sandalwood.”

“It wasn’t an inator?”

“No, it wasn- did you get vibe checked by a goose at the park?” You stifle a laugh when you notice a stray feather on his thigh.

“What does that even mean?” he asks in despair.

“I can see why it attacked you. You got bad juju.” You raise an eyebrow. “Maybe if you stop staring so much-”

“So I just have shit luck.” Is that a fucking relief or even worse?

“Well,” you begin but decide not to continue.

Even with all the irritability masking it, you could see that he genuinely was just not having a good time.

“Wait here a second.”

You leave him at the door. He shifts his balance and sighs, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He still had to walk back to the Tower. Maybe he could grab a slice of pizza along the way since he skipped lunch.

“Okay, here.” You return with a large glass of water. He only looks at it. “It’s just water, I promise. You look like you ran a marathon."

He takes it from you sceptically, pushing away the urge to sniff at it. It’s gone within a few gulps.

You wait until he’s finished to point at his arm. He draws his eyebrows together, but you only curl your index finger and beckon for him to give you his hand.

He reluctantly extends it towards you.

“Don’t laugh,” you warn him, taking his metal arm. “This usually helps me.”

You tie a small bracelet around his wrist. It has a few beads, which he realises represent the colours of the solar system.

“Keep that for good luck.” You pat it gently after securing it. “I think you just had a bad day; those don’t last very long. Do you want to charge your phone before you leave?”

“Uh-” The bracelet’s pretty, the colours shine against the dark vibranium. “-no, I’m good. I’ll just leave.”

“Okay. Anything else I can help you with or will you be fine?”

He narrows his eyes. “You’re being suspiciously nice.”

“I’m not evil all the time.” You huff. “My hours are in the morning.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he says again. “I’m gonna go then.”

“See you next week.” You give him a little wave. “I’d say break a leg on your mission but knowing your situation...”

He scoffs. “Thanks.”

You make a move to close the door when starts walking down the hallway towards the exit.

He adjusts the beads slightly so he can see them better. The Earth one has glitter in it. He thinks it’s cute.

“Bucky.”

He turns around.

There’s a hint of a smile on your face.

“Take the stairs.”

He doesn’t have to be told twice.

Next part

[ellesliterarycorner]

Character Growth vs. Character Development

I love creating characters. Writing them and watching them grow is one of my favorite things about my books. I actually didn’t know there was a difference between character growth and character development, but someone requested this post, so researching it was really fun! I’ve definitely been guilty of using these word interchangeably even though as I recently found out they aren’t, so here is an explanation of the difference between character growth and character development, and why you need both in your story!!

Character Growth

Character growth relates to the obstacles a character goes through and the obstacles they overcome throughout the course of a story. At the end of a character growth arc, the character has improved or “upgraded” in some kind of way. If a character lacked confidence, love, or family at the beginning of the arc, at the end of the growth they have it. The character hasn’t necessarily changed, but they’ve leveled up or been added onto it. But, even though they’ve grown, they still might make some of the same choices they made at the beginning of the arc.

I’m gonna use a science metaphor, so please bear with me guys. There’s a scientific law: the Law of Conservation Mass. Matter cannot be created or destroyed. It just is. The amount of mass and energy in the world never changes. It always stays the same. Character growth is kind of like that. Even though the character grows and goes through all sorts of obstacles and tests, at the end of their growth arc, they are still fundamentally the same person, and they could still revert back to the person they originally were no mater how much they’ve grown. And, note to self: Ailey is no longer allowed to use scientific metaphors 😂

Character Development

On the other hand, we have your character developments which in another almost scientific metaphor is like a caterpillar turning into a butterfly. 

Characters have to make choices. That’s what makes a plot. A character encounters a terrible conflict, forcing them to make a really hard choice, this choice leads to an irreversible change that not only affects the plot but also affects your character. Thus, we have our caterpillar making the choices that affect whether or not it ultimately changes into a butterfly. Same goes with the development of your characters. Yes, the character at the end of the arc is the same person, but to some of their friends or the reader they may seem completely unrecognizable, from the person they were at the beginning of the arc. Unlike character who simply grow from their experiences, developed characters never make the same choices that they would have made earlier. They have either learned better or suffered so greatly that the option isn’t even available to them. At the end of the arc, characters have their big moments when reader’s see all the character’s choices build up to a final choice that affirms who the character has become as result. They’re a butterfly now, and there’s no going back to being a caterpillar. 

So, Which One?

Well, in my opinion, you need both. Characters that grow and characters that develop are equally important for differing reasons.

Unchanging characters who only grow provide us an anchor in the world. They work as symbols for values and morals that we believe as readers can believe and invest in. Like the symbol for a rebellion, we can always look to our unchanging characters as a means for hope when everything else goes to shit. Lots of people’s comfort characters are unchanging characters. We like them because we know they’ll always be the same throughout the book, and since human lives tend to be crazy and unpredictable, we like a sense of unchanging, static, normalcy. Lots of superheroes fall under this category. Take Captain America for example, he goes through a lot, and he most certainly grows. But, he doesn’t change who he is or what he stands for. 

Conversely, characters that change allow us to find characters who have the same struggles as us, who have to fight to change their faith in a corrupt belief system. Characters who develop and change, are often some of our favorite characters. They’re our characters who get corruption or redemption arcs like Zuko from ATLA. We love these characters because we see all the changes and choices these characters have made to get where they are, and we identify with them or at the very least sympathize with others in those situations. You cannot tell me that Zuko from Season 1 and Zuko from Season 3 are the same person. Season 1 Zuko would have undoubtedly tried to murder the shit out of Season 3 Zuko, and we as viewers recognize that and love how far Zuko has come and how much he’s sacrificed to develop in this way. Like caterpillars to butterflies Zuko goes through a transformation that makes him completely unrecognizable from the person he was at the start of the story, and the change is pretty damn irreversible.

I hope this helped someone, and I’m so sorry y’all had to put up with my science metaphors. I wanna promise it won’t happen again, but knowing me it probably will 😂

[introvert-no-chameleon]

Of Monsters and McGuckets

Fiddleford just wanted to have his morning coffee in peace, but Gravity Falls and the Stan brothers had other plans.

AO3

Fiddleford Hardon McGucket considered himself to be a patient, level-headed individual. One had to be if they ever hoped to survive Gravity Falls, and, even more daunting, live with Stanford and Stanley Pines. Keeping them in line was an occupation in itself. His co-workers were two of the most chaotic and morally questionable people he’d ever met in his life. (Then again, as someone who had once made a giant robot to terrorize his ex-wife in an admittedly misguided attempt to get her back, maybe he shouldn’t be throwing stones in that last department).

The point is, when it came to dealing with uncommon and frustrating situations, he usually managed to keep a straight head. But on one deceivingly lovely morning, just when he’d went out to the porch to sit back with a nice cup of coffee and the sun had just begun to kiss the horizon, he saw two large monsters sprinting towards the shack, and. Well.

It was only reasonable that he’d react the way he did.

The first thing he did was spit out his early-morning coffee, ruining his only clean tie in the process. The second thing he did was dash into the shack like the Devil Himself was on his heels. Lastly, he slammed the door shut, locked it, and began combing the living room for the shotgun he knew for a fact Stanley kept around. He thanked the Lord Stanford wasn’t here, lest he’d be chastising Fiddleford for “harming” (defending himself against) a perfectly healthy specimen. Never mind the fact that half of these subjects of study had tried to eat him, no sir. Scientific discovery was always more important.

(Sometimes, Fiddleford wondered how on God’s green earth Stanford Pines hadn’t fallen to his death into a ravine or some other nonsense in pursuit of an anomaly. Heaven knows the man, while undeniably brilliant, was severely lacking when it came to common sense).

A bang rattled the wooden door of the shack. Fiddleford yelped, dropping the pile of books he’d been in the process of moving in his scramble to find the gun. He eyed the secret lab entrance and wondered if the door would hold them back long enough for him to make a dash for it.

“Fidds, we saw you run in, will ya just open the door?”

Fiddleford froze. That voice, while even more gravelly than usual (a thing he hadn’t thought possible) was definitely familiar.

“Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit,” he said, dazed, as he walked over to the door and unlocked it. “Stanley?”

Upon closer inspection, he couldn’t deny that the square-jawed face that peered down at him belonged to Stanley Pines. There were some…notable…differences, such as the fact that he had glowing orbs for eyes, all his featured seemed to be carved from stone, he had ridiculous pointy ears and fangs to boot. He’d be right at home next to the gargoyles from those pictures of cathedrals he’d studied for his History of Western Art course.

“Took ya long enough,” said Stanley, ducking his head under the doorway and lumbering inside. Each step made the floorboard groan loudly, and for a few seconds Fiddleford thought the man would break through the wood floor. “Thought we’d never get back.”

“Stanferd, do ya have…fur?” said Fiddleford, stepping away from the door to let the other man in.

Stanford—it couldn’t be anyone else, not with that straight-backed posture and furrowed brow peering over thick-rimmed glasses—walked in behind him, hands behind his back.

 Hearing the question, Stanford adjusted his glasses, with a large, six-fingered paw. His facial features were lion-esque, as was his entire body, save from the colorful green, blue and red feathered wings that trailed behind his body. He even had a cute little lion tail poking out from a hole in his pants. “It appears so, yes.” He cleared his throat. “We may have a…problem.”

Stanley, who had gone to the fridge to get a beer, came back glaring at Stanford with those bright yellow orbs. “No shit, Sixer. I hadn’t fucking noticed.”

Stanford’s ears flattened against his skull. Fiddleford would’ve found it amusing if Stanford wasn’t now 7 feet tall and didn’t have large, sharp teeth. “Language, Stanley.”

Fiddleford considered grabbing some alcohol as he took in the situation. After a few attempts at forming words, he finally settled for the question he found himself asking on a near-daily basis. “What in tarnation did ya two get yerselves mixed up in now?”

“Oi, don’t look at me,” said Stan. He jerked his clawed thumb at Stanford. “Mr. Science here was the one who just had to walk right into a mysterious, glowing lake that he almost drowned in.”

Stanford’s tail twitched, and he growled. “We almost drowned, Stanley, because you turned into 300 pounds of moving stone.”

“I was only in the lake because you started flailing around growing a tail and screamin’ for help!”

Ford sniffed, chin held up in that way it got whenever he’d start getting defensive. “Swimming with wings is incredibly difficult.”

“Yeah, I would know, I have them now.” Stanley stretched out his bat-like wings for emphasis.

Judging by Stanford’s bloodshot eyes and Stanley’s slouched posture, along with the fact that they seemed even more short with each other than usual, Fiddleford guessed that they’d been arguing on and off about this for a while. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Now see right here, the two of ya best calm down, you’ll tear the shack apart if you start fighting bein’ like this.”

The two of them, while far from calm, quieted down.

“Right,” said Fiddleford. “So ya discovered some magic water that turns folks into monsters?”

“Yup,” said Stanley. “We found it in some hidden path behind some bushes and a couple of boulders.”

It’s almost as if it was hidden away for a reason. “Did ya at least remember where the path is?”

“Of course,” said Stanford, having the audacity to look indignant. “What do you take me for?”

“An idiot who got us turned into two walking Summerween costumes because he couldn’t just collect the water in a cup and some gloves like a normal scientist?” said Stanley.

“As if you would know what a “normal” scientist does,” said Stanford, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Alright, fellas. Let me just get some food in me and then we can go back out and get some samples,” said Fiddleford. “I need me some caffeine to deal with this.”

Stanford opened his mouth but Fiddleford stopped him with the same withering glare he’d give his son whenever he tried to step out of line. “Stanferd Pines, if ya think I’m gonna run around the woods with the two of you, in this here state, on an empty stomach, yer sorely mistaken.”

“Fidds has got a point,” said Stan. “You probably haven’t had anything other than that piece of toast since you woke up.”

“I suppose some food wouldn’t hurt…” said Stanford. “I did have an incredibly strong urge to maul a deer we spotted on the way over.”

Fiddleford was getting some bacon out of the fridge when he heard the end of the sentence. He straightened up and slammed the door with more force than strictly necessary. “Y-ya did?”

Stanford seemed to come to the same conclusion Fiddleford had, because he raised his paws up. “Oh, n-no, rest assured. I don’t have any inclination to eat you.”

“Thank the Lord…”

“After all,” said Stanford, rubbing his chin. “According to mythology, sphinxes only consume humans if they are unfortunate enough not to know the answers to their riddles.”

“Don’t I feel better,” said Fiddleford, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Do ya reckon ya can still have some bacon and eggs?”

“Yes, that’ll do,” he said. “Oh! I must write down our findings in my journal. Now, where did I put it…” Stanford went up the stairs, muttering to himself the entire way.

“Ya know, he actually started running on all fours at least twice on the way over.” Stan grinned through another sip of beer. “was the funniest thing I’ve seen all week.”

Fiddleford sighed. That would explain the fighting. He rolled his eyes as he saw Stanley reach in the fridge for another can and shut it before he could. “Stanley Pines, it is 8 o’clock in the morning.”

“Ooh,” Stanley raised his eyebrows. “Two last names in less than five minutes, it’s a new record.”

“Stanley.”

Stanley pouted, and even with his new…physical features, Fiddleford still found it endearing. “Aw, come onnnn, Fids, I’m emotionally distressed!”

“Yer no such thing.” He smiled a soon as back turned to the other man. He took out their skillet and placed it on the stove.

“Y’know, I gotta hand it to ya. You’ve gotten a lot more assertive since we’ve met, it’s kinda hot.”

“Yer flattery will not sway me into lettin’ ya get another drink.”

Stanley laughed behind him. “Yeah, yeah. I’m still bein’ serious. Ford didn’t even try to fight you about getting breakfast. If it was me, he’d be yelling at me by now about how we were wastin’ time and crap.”

“It doesn’t take much for the two of ya to get at each other’s necks.” Fiddleford cracked an egg on the edge of the skillet. Anyhow, that’s because he’s hiding away scribblin’ field notes. The moment he’s done, he’ll be tryin’ to drag us on out of here.”

“Eh, true.”

For a moment, the eggs sizzling and snapping on the pan filled the warm silence. His stomach grumbled as the savory smell of cooking food reached him. “Stanley, can ya hand me the coffeepot?”

The floorboards creaked behind Fiddleford. A shadow loomed over him. “Stanley?”

“…You’re not, uh, scared of me or nothin’?” Stanley’s voice had gotten so quiet Fiddleford had hardly heard him.

Fiddleford glanced back at Stanley, who despite his size was hunched over, looking mighty small for someone who was now a literal boulder.

“Why on earth would I be?”

Stanley blinked meekly. He gestured towards his entire body. “Uh…’cause I look like this?”

Ah. He did try to threaten them with a shotgun. Some of the unease he’d gotten rid of returned, but he tried his best not to show it. He swallowed down his fear as best as he could. “Should I be?”

Stanley frowned. “Eh, I mean, I feel different, but not in a “eat somebody” kinda way. I do have a very strong urge to perch on the roof and attack pigeons.”

“Fascinating.” Even without his caffeine, his scientific curiosity was finally starting to get the best of him. “Well, gargoyles are known as guardians meant to ward against evil. Perhaps you’ve developed some sorta protective instinct…”

He stopped mid-ramble. Even without eyes to speak of, Fiddleford could tell Stanley was avoiding his gaze.  

Fiddleford brought his hand to Stanley’s cheek. It felt warm, to his surprise, like rock that had baked under the afternoon sun. Stanley peeked up at him. “Darlin’, the only thing I’m afraid of is the damage you’ll cause around the lab if we don’t turn ya back. Yer like a bull in a china closet as it is.”

Stanley chuckled, leaning into Fiddleford’s touch. “Somebody has ta make things interesting around here.”

Something crashed overhead, quickly followed by a string of curses. A series of heavy objects thumped against the wood overhead.

“I’m alright!” called Stanford’s voice. “I simply knocked a bookshelf over my person, but this new form is surprisingly durable!”

“Things are interestin’ enough as it is,” said Fiddleford, his brief moment of curiosity gone as soon as it came. “Where in tarnation is the coffeepot?”

“Relax, Fiddlenerd, I’ll make ya a fresh one.” He went over by his side, giving him a playful shove that sent Fiddleford to the ground. “…Oops. Sorry, uh, forgot about the whole…stone thing.”

Fiddleford glowered up at his boyfriend, taking his hand as he helped Fiddleford back up. “Yer lucky a got a soft spot fer ya, else I’d be mighty cross.”

Stanly gave him the gentlest peck on the top of Fiddleford’s head. “Once I have my human body back, I’ll make it up to ya.”

Stanley gave him a cup of his precious lifeblood, black with two sugars, just as he liked it. Smirking, Fiddleford took a sip, getting warmed by more than just the coffee. “I’ll hold ya to that.”

*

Somebody please give Fiddleford a raise. 

Comment on what monster you all think Fidds should be, and I may do a second part. I've read some people make him a scarecrow, and I considered making him a centaur.

[pertinax--loculos]

Update

Gonna try a new thing. I've seen these weekly updates from other writeblrs and it appeals to me because I can blather about writing or lack of writing (if it's been one of Those weeks), I can also include anything else I want, and it's a manageable goal to have for a start.

Tentatively breaking it up into writing, reading OR watching, real life (if applicable), and possibly excerpt (again, if applicable).

So! (Warning: This is long. I seriously babble like nothing else.)

Currently Writing Absent That Night (tagged: WIP: ATN)

wordcount: no clue, it's all on my phone and I've been writing scenes I'd previously written snippets for, so it's a mash-up. (Which reminds me I need to back it all up at least onto my computer.)

Proud of the short summary I did for my pinned post, so repeating it here:

Agent Latrell has been chasing the thief known as Nox for more than three years; but when bodies start turning up at his crime scenes, he’s the only one who believes Nox isn’t responsible. Unfortunately, he’s also the only other suspect. In order to clear his name, he’s going to have to find the real killer; and the only way to do that is to team up with a criminal who, it turns out, he knows absolutely nothing about.

still love love LOVING this WIP. I've got pages and pages of notes, and it is probably getting a wee bit too complex with subplots and suspects etc, but I'm an overwriter anyway so if I end up with a 200k word draft then shrug. More to work with

dunno if I mentioned or just thought it was obvious because I know it so well, but it has an enemies/rivals-to-allies(lovers?) (sub?)plot. So I've been pulling out a lot of threads there

technically I'm up to about halfway between the catalyst and break into two. Definitely not hardcore plotting but I do have an idea of the beats I wanna follow in the back of my head

Nox is still a fucking mess. I should probably stop piling trauma onto him, poor guy

my favourite creation this week is Mark Gault, who is a secondary/minor character who is amazing in every way. He is both essentially a ruthless mercenary and the "I LOVE MY WIFE" guy. (I also keep calling him Grant, instead of Mark, because he's actually the father of a character who first appears in Phase Two of CASCADE. (!!!))

basically happy with how it's all going this week. Regular writing is getting the juices flowing and it's easier to come up with ideas even when I've only got a vague notion of what is supposed to happen in the scene.

guys i am such an overwriter this is ridiculous please send help this scene was supposed to be like 2.5k total and it's turned into 4-5 scenes and is like 10k long dear god--

Currently Reading Blue Lily, Lily Blue by Maggie Stiefvater, book three of the Raven Cycle

I have not just jumped in at book three of a series, I have read the previous two.

in the last week.

I've read eleven books in the last five weeks, so that's... something.

they have all been thrillers except for this series. (And also Girl One, which despite being marketed as a thriller was definitively NOT a thriller. Which, yes, I should've guessed from the tag line, but I'm still mad about it.)

I am in love with the prose. It feels similar to mine, but Better, and I have been unconsciously mimicking it.

(which may be a problem when I finish it and am still writing ATN, but that is an issue for Future Pockets)

ngl I was not a fan of the way the first book ended. Not only did I have to reread the final line multiple times in order to even begin to grasp it, but I kinda think it's a dick move to end on a cliffhanger, even for an established author and clear indications this was gonna be a series

(but you bought the next book, didn't you? DIDN'T YOU??)

very very much enjoying the series, to be concise (ha!). Love the characters and it's all pretty tightly paced. The overarching series arc kiiinda maybe feels a bit slow/irrelevant, and some of the motivations annoy me, but I keep reminding myself it's YA in which the motivations are in character, so

not far into this one yet but so far so good

I wrote this earlier this week and since have begun thinking the series arc is becoming more relevant, but am reserving judgement. Reading slower with work and reading but still enjoying it all

Real Life

continues to be mostly a pain in the ass. Apps in for a second job, research on next year ongoing

update: may have the dream second job, basically waiting for confirmation (fingers crossed!)

one of my housemates is the literal devil, although even that is being quite kind to her. The nice one is moving out because of it. People keep asking how I've lived in this house for three years. I have no answer.

enjoying writing time in evenings and feeling mentally pretty good thanks to exercise

Excerpt Long, nearly 900 words, but a favourite of recent pieces and also something I coincidentally wrote today. Nox and Latrell's third meeting, when Latrell is still, uh... resistant to the idea of working with him:

"Why me?" Not at all the way Latrell had intended to phrase it, but he couldn't take it back. He continued, quickly, instead, jumbled thoughts pouring out of his mouth. "Surely that's the least you can give me. You come to me and ask me to fucking help you after you've made the last three months of my life living hell, you can at least fucking tell me why the fuck that is. You owe me that much. I'm not letting you fucking walk away until you fucking answer me that."

Nox was silent for a long moment. He ran a calculating gaze up and down Latrell, as if searching for something; it wasn't apparent whether or not he'd found it when he said, softly, "And if I don't?"

Latrell was abruptly very aware of the weight of the handcuffs in his back pocket. He would have to move quickly. There was every possibility Nox would see this coming, especially if he'd been arrested before. But Latrell was quietly confident. He inched his hand back, keeping it subtle, eyes on Nox's face.

"In that case," he said, as evenly as he could. His fingertips brushed warm metal. "Perhaps we should try something--"

Everything went white.

For a moment Latrell thought he'd somehow lost consciousness; that he'd underestimated Nox's affinity for violence, that the man had punched him or otherwise managed to incapacitate him without otherwise moving. Then it occurred to him that he was still thinking, which essentially took unconsciousness off the table, and he realised, vaguely, that it was an illusion.

It was very, very convincing.

The entire world was an endless expanse of emptiness. Utterly, absolutely white, a whiteness that could not and should not exist. Latrell was overcome by a sensation of falling, of plummeting into nothingness; he had to concentrate to feel his feet still on the ground, to know he was still upright. He had nothing to orient himself. There was no up, no down, no left or right. Just that endless expanse of a lack of colour. He was hanging in nothingness, or everything.

"You forget who you are dealing with, Agent."

Latrell swallowed down nausea. Nox's voice came from startlingly close, the sound of it somehow wrong, which objectively he knew came from the fact that his brain was convinced it should sound small and insubstantial in this endless void but it sounded normal because he was actually still standing in the alley. It was academic knowledge only. He still felt like he was tipping or falling or rising, weightless and disoriented. He had no voice, no ability to open his mouth.

Experimentally he tried to take a step. He couldn't lift his foot off the ground. Physically, he was sure he could -- he could still twitch his fingers, if he thought about it -- but his mind was convinced that there was nothing to step away from, nothing to step onto. Just nothing, nothing, nothing. A brightness that wasn't a light, a void constructed of the pieces between atoms.

Nox's voice came from his other side this time. "I have attempted to do this civilly, but there are other options."

It was a struggle to concentrate on his words, close as they were. Latrell tried to narrow his focus to only sound, tried to ignore the nothingness he was suspended in, tried to tell himself it was all an illusion. Just something Nox wanted him to see. The Orn, threaded through his eyes or brain or soul, acting upon Nox's orders.

It didn't help. He was still in freefall.

"Do not," Nox's voice came, a bare whisper in his ear, breath brushing Latrell's neck, "Presume to test me."

Abruptly the white disappeared. Latrell was back in the alley, trying to adjust to the change of light, trying to find where Nox had gone. Turning his head made the ground roil beneath him and he staggered, utterly disoriented.

Fingers closed around his forearm, steadying him, and Latrell looked up to find Nox inches away.

"Easy, Agent," he purred. His smile was more a baring of his teeth.

Latrell wrenched away from him, staggering until his back connected with a comfortingly solid wall. He was dizzy, brain still adjusting to reality, but he managed to straighten his spine and set his shoulders. He kept his hands in front of him. In Nox's view.

"Do we have an understanding?" Nox said, still silky and low.

"Screw you," Latrell said, voice faint and alien.

Nox's smirk sharpened. "I thought so. Lovely chat, Agent Latrell." He sauntered past where Latrell stayed pressed against the wall, hesitated at the corner of the alley. "Keep up the good work."

He stepped forward and disappeared from view.

Latrell's breath left him in a rush and he doubled over, bracing himself on his knees. His head still spun, the unpleasant sensation he'd come to expect from vertigo. The backs of his eyelids were painted with a stark blank white. Every time he blinked he was engulfed.

It was far beyond any illusion he'd ever experienced. It was approaching the type he'd only ever read about in scientific articles.

You forget who you are dealing with, Agent.

Perhaps he had. But this assault supplied more than a reminder.

It also provided a piece of the puzzle.

[topherfoxtrot]

Resilience

Here's the third part of my thunderbolts au. Emil Blonsky scaped his long imprisonment but he didn't went after the Hulk. Where did he go? The answer is bellow the cut. There's an original character here too. I'm not kin of OCs but I didn't find any character who would fit the role I wanted. Said oc will only be a part of this episode so consider it a special guest appearance. I've realized I've been writing more and more with each installment. Sorry about that, I'm getting more comfortable with the whole precess and I like to challenge myself. Continuing the trend, this chapter has a widely different vibe from the previous ones. As usual if you enjoyed please like, share or comment something.

Episode one

Episode two

Emil woke up from a nightmare. It was a fight. From as long as he could remember all Emil did was fight. Now even when he's not awake he's still fighting. He sat on the bed breathing heavily. Wait, where am I? He thought.

"You must be confused." A female voice was heard nearby.

Emil looked around looking for it. The cabin was small. The bedroom, the living room and the kitchen were all occupying the same space. There were two doors, one of them was probably for the bathroom. The woman was sitting at the kitchen table. She dressed a knitted sweater and rabbit slippers.

"My name is Charlie Reznik." She pointed at the soup, "Are you hungry?"

"Where am I?"

"Alaska. Three hours driving from Barrow."

Emil sat on the bed. He was naked. He covered himself with the blankets not for modesty but because they were warm.

"You weren't using any clothes when I found you and you don't seem like the kind of person who would wear my clothes. I hope the blankets kept you warm."

"Found me?"

"Yeah. You were screaming a lot. And throwing trees around." Charlie chuckled, "Eventually you got tired and just fell asleep right where you were. I was thinking about calling the police or something but when you started to shrink I decided to bring you here."

Suddenly Emil looked at himself realizing he did indeed shrink. He didn't look like that anymore. Still, the bones in his hands and abdomen were more prominent than they should be. He took his hands to his back to feel his spine was also prominent. That made him think of the super soldier serum, of the Hulk and of the prison he just scaped.

"I need to contact someone." Emil got up only to fall on the ground.

"Are you okay?" Charlie approached him with caution.

"I think I'll have the soap first actually." Emil muttered realizing how weak his body was.

***

The soup made with vegetables reminded Emil of his childhood in Russia. He had almost no recollection of those few years before he moved to England. He mostly remembered the cold and his mother's soap.

"I need to ask you but.. it's gonna sound weird." Emil was at the table tangled with the blankets, "What year is this?"

Charlie looked him in the eyes to decide if he was being serious or not. Emil didn't flinch so nor did Charlie, "It's 2023."

Emil pressed his lips and started to breath heavily. He was sleeping this whole time. They kept him asleep without ever giving him a chance to explain himself. No consent and no agency.

"No one has heard anything about you since 2008 Mr Blonsky and now you show up in the middle of the forest not knowing the year?" Charlie seemed genuinely curious.

"You know me?"

"I didn't recognize you at first. There isn't much footage from big you. But the sketch from witnesses matched pretty well. They call you the Abomination."

"Abomination?" Emil suddenly smashed the wooden table with enough strength to crack it. Charlie quickly moved her left hard to somewhere under the table. They locked eyes. For the first time Charlie didn't seem warm and inviting but rather fierce and absolutely ready to react. Emil closed his eyes a bit before recomposing himself.

"I'm sorry."

"I also think the name is impolite." Charlie brought her hand back, "But no one knew anything about you except you were military assigned to find Bruce Banner. I had to make some phone calls and turns out my guess was right! You are indeed in the accords database. Quite high level threat.

"What accords?"

"Alright." Charlie put her hair behind her ears, "I need you to be honest with me Mr Blonsky. What's the last thing you remember?"

So he said. He fought the hulk on Harlem, fell unconscious and woke up in Alaska. Charlie brought a computer from a big bag under the bed and put it on the table in a way that both of them could see it.

"The world changed a lot since 2008 Mr Blonsky. Put on your seatbelts."

Charlie then gave him a contemporary history class the best way she could while showing videos and pictures whenever she felt necessary. She talked about the avengers assembling in 2012 to stop an alien invasion caused by a norse god. She talked about the genocidal robot destroying a whole country in 2015. She talked about Wanda Maximoff killing those people back in 2016. She talked about the Sokovia accords and how that made the avengers disassemble. She talked about Wakanda opening up to the rest of the world. She talked about the avengers coming together again to fight yet another alien invasion. She talked about the snap and the chaotic years that followed. She talked about the blip and the even more chaotic year that followed it. Emil listened to everything in silence. It was a lot but he was smart.

"They put me to sleep for fifteen years." He whispered.

"I'm so sorry about that. It's unfair."

Emil had finished his soup but he stayed exactly where he was. Thinking about everything.

"I became strong. I became as strong as I could and still... they defeated me with bed time."

"You're being unfair."

"How come?"

"I don't think strength is really what you think it is."

"How would you know?"

Emil looked at Charlie's small stature with unconscious disdain. She picked on that and wore her fierce eyes again.

"With all due the respect Mr Blonsky..." It was possibly to hear the rage under her words, "You have no idea how strong I am. Thanos snapped my whole family! I wasn't even at home when it happened. Do you have any idea how much strength I needed to gather to simply get up every morning? I may not have big muscles like you -in fact no one does Mr Blonsky - but guess what? You could not have went through what I did. I'm sure of it!"

Emil got up aggressively and so did Charlie.

"You're really pulling the trauma card?"

"Wanna compete?"

"I think I do." He showed his teeth.

Charlie walked across the cabin stepping heavely. She sat on the bed. "Enlighten me."

The challenge got Emil off guard. He hesitated.

"I don't need to tell you anything."

"Of course you don't. If you tell me how traumatized you are, I'll tell you how traumatized I am. Then you will have to admit that none of it gives you permission to do the shitty things you did!"

The cabin merged in silence. Outside there was nothing but the cold wind running through the trees.

"I know your type." Charlie continued, a little calmer now, "Though childhood huh? No perspective of a future so you joined the military. Felt good to explode some heads didn't it? It felt powerful."

Emil remained in silence. He still looked mad, but remained in silence. Charlie went to the kitchen and grabbed a photograph from one of the drawers. She gave it to Emil.

"You're military." Emil studied the photo of Charlie and other soldiers smiling inside a tent.

"Used to be. Came back in 2019. The welcoming party wasn't exactly a party as you can imagine. My house was empty. As I said both my parents and my little brother got snapped. That's when I found this cabin."

"It's not yours?"

"Nah. I don't know who it belongs to actually. It was a cold night and I was just driving aimless. I don't know why exactly. Everything just seemed so meaningless back then. I felt weak."

Emil put the photograph on the table and they both locked eyes again. Not with anger this time though.

"It's cold but it's isolated enough. I could cry and scream as much as I wanted without anyone knowing. And did I need to scream! Scream at Thanos, scream at my parents, scream at myself. A part of me wish it could've been me, y'know? Trust me I would give my life for theirs in the blink of an eye! Yet, here I was."

Charlie sat at the table again. The temperature of the cabin went from 20°C to 40°C and then to 20°C again. Emil felt sorry about the table but most importantly he felt sorry for making Charlie mad.

"There's no much to say." He started, "Though childhood. No perspective. Joined the military. After everything I've seen, being strong is honestly the only option. It's survival."

"I get it. I really do. But strength is not on your muscles."

"Don't come with this heartfelt bullshit."

"It's not." Charlie chuckled, "Trust me I won't fall for that bullshit either. It's something else."

She got up and grabbed an old book from the shelf near the bed.

"All those things were already here when I got here for the first time. There was water, gas, energy, the bed, the blankets. It's like whoever lived here had just left. I've known this place for couple more than three years now. No one is ever here except me, yet the feeling never goes away."

The old book was covered with leather.

"Self help book?" Emil asked.

"In a way." Charlie tilted her head, "This book is about the universe. But not like a scientific encyclopedia. This book is about the whole universe, about the energy that comes from different parts of the multiverse and how to harvest and manipulate them. Essencially, magic!"

"Alright it's a self help book. Magic is not real."

"I was honestly hoping you would say that." Charlie smiled, "Check this out!"

Charlie put her hands in front of her and took a deep breath in order to focus. She moved her hands vertically and a orange string appeared from thin air. Charlie's hands drew a circle in the air and the string curved itself in a circumference. Charlie closed her hands as if grabbing something and with another gesture polygonal forms started to draw themselves in the magic circle. Charlie snapped her fingers with both hands and the whole thing started to spin like a magical ferris wheel.

"You discovered magic!" Emil whispered.

"Of course I didn't! People have been studying that for a long time. I just happened to find a weird book." The magical strings disappeared as Charlie stopped focusing so much on them, "You know when you are depressed so you set a simple goal just to give yourself a little achievement?"

"No, actually. But that's seems like solid advice."

"It is!" Charlie chuckled, "Anyways I read this whole book in like two days and I didn't understand shit. But I was super interested and started to dig the internet and beyond for anything related to all the weird concepts I found. I read the book more two of three times after that. Each time I learned something different and gained a new perspective over myself and the universe around me."

"So it is a self help book!" Emil laughed.

"As I said, it is but in a weird way. I mean look around. There's aliens and gods and the multiverse. When you think of all of it don't your problems seem way smaller?"

"I'm not sure."

"Here's how it's gonna be. I go to Barrow buy you some clothes and you think about everything I just said." She grabbed a jacket and wore boots, "But you have to pay me back alright? Otherwise I'm gonna hunt you and I'll find you. Remember: I know magic!"

"Okay, that's fair!"

Charlie grabbed a ring with slot for two fingers in a kitchen drawer. "That was one of the things I found here. Magic becomes weirdly intuitive once you learn some basics."

She made that focused face again and started to draw circles in the air with her right hand. The air in the middle of the cabin heated up and started to sparkle. An orange circle (much like the one she conjured with the hand gestures) appeared but in the middle of it was possible to see an alley.

"What is this?" Emil was shocked.

"Fast travel!" Charlie winked before passing through. The portal was gone as soon as she was gone and Emil found himself alone in the cabin.

***

There was a small mirror in the bathroom. Alone, he could check his own body for the first time. His face looked pretty much the same, he hadn't aged one day in the past fifteen years. Besides his hands and shoulders and spine, his elbows were also abnormally prominent. Was he the Abomination after all?

The power felt good, he remembered. Felt god-like. But the cost was too high. Emil became too dangerous and lost control over his own life for more than a decade. He wanted to blame Ross and Banner but would it be even fair? Emil was the one who accepted to take the serum in the first place. He actually pointed a gun at that scientist. He begged to become as strong as the Hulk is.

Emil left the house still covered in blankets. The cold snow made his feet burn but no enough to bother him. He was strong after all. Or maybe he enjoyed the pain in a sick way of reinforcing his own superiority belief. An orange portal opened nearby after a while.

"Aren't you feeling cold?" Charlie asked coming with a bag of clothes.

"A little."

"Come. See if any of those fit you. They're from the local thrift shop by the way."

"I've wore worse."

Charlie bought a simple jeans, two shirts, a flannel and boots. Really simple stuff just to protect Emil from the cold. It fit well.

"Thank you." He said.

"You're in debt, Mr Blonsky. Don't you forget that."

"You know magic." He chuckled, "I can't allow myself to have you as an enemy Ms Reznik."

They both laughed. Charlie sat at the table and started to type something on the computer.

"The feds are all over town." Charlie commented, "They're looking for you."

"Listen," he said, "I need to ask you a favor but first can I go for a walk?

***

Emil took a deep breath before jumping as high as he could. He could not see above the tall trees so he jumped again but grabbed one of the trees this time. Even with his bare hards, the wood bowed to his will. He kept climbing until he got to the highest part of the tree. From up there he could see the whole forest, including the trees he threw around the day before.

He jumped to the ground again. The snow splattered around him. His hands and knees started to bleed but he didn't care because he would break soon enough. He felt powerful and smiled without realizing it. Not a happy smile, bur rather a challenging one. Hey jumped a little before running in the direction of the destruction he caused. He started slow (more like jogging actually) but quickly escalated to marathon running and super human running. The cold wind cut his face like knifes but he didn't care. He just kept going faster.

When he finally reached the glade he jumped again. Even higher this time. When he landed his feet felt bigger. Breathing heavily he looked at his own hands and realized they were indeed getting bigger and muscled. Without wasting any breath he took off all his clothes and started running again. The cold started to bother him less and less as his body grew in size.

He started to scream so he could liberate his anger. He jumped high and landed with his fists causing the ground to crack bellow him. Emil grabbed a fallen tree and threw it to the air. He picked big boulders and threw them around at will. In the middle of the chaos he also started laughing. He was strong. He could destroy anything he wanted. He was as strong as he could be.

When Emil finally felt satisfied with his own display of power, he grabbed the trees and rearranged them back into the ground as best as he could. He picked the boulders and put them back where they were. So when the glade resembled the glade it once was, Emil sat on the ground next to his new clothes.

He started to think about everything Charlie said. Yes, he was big and could destroy everything is his way. But there were gods and aliens and robots and uncontable planets and entities across the universe. He was big and strong but he was also small and weak.

His strength though wasn't on his muscles but on his ability to survive. He survived his childhood, he survived the military and he survived the Hulk. Just like Charlie survived the snap and the aftermath. Like Charlie found new meaning in magic so could Emil find new paths to follow.

"I'm big and I'm small. I'm strong and I'm weak. I'm still here." Emil whispered to himself.

His body started to shrink calmly. Once he achieved regular size he wore his clothes and walked towards the cabin. Charlie smiled when he entered.

"Had fun?" She heard the screams obviously.

"Yeah actually. Thanks for everything."

"No problem. Remember, you're still in debt! So what favor do you need?"

"I need a portal but I also need an address. I believe you can find the person I'm looking for in the Sokovia accords database."

"Hm alright. What's the name?"

"Ava Starr."

[gonewiddershins]

i have time to kill  and a brain that needs to be distracted from the looming void of the pointlessness of life so here is an ENTIRE ask meme (part 1)

What book are you currently reading?

A bunch of them, as always. I’ve been dragging myself chapter by chapter through little women for like a couple of months now (i really like the prose, i’m less than convinced by about half of the subject matter and I know Louisa May Alcott likely had the same opinion), There’s a bullet journal guide that I’m forever putting on hold because sigh there are reasons why I need a bullet journal. I’m re-reading The Scum VIllain’s Self Saving System, mostly because the donghua was excellent and gave me cravings. I’m about a third of the way through a halloween anthology and i wasn’t into the latest story so its been like that for a while. I’ve read a couple of chapters and pages each of The Queen of the Tearling and Evensong’s heir respectively and I haven’t gotten back to them but I also don’t want to drop them because they are fine so far. I;m halfway through mexican gothic and I like it but it’s a bit slow-moving so I’m getting twitchy. I’m also about halfway through this segregated magic system urban fantasy thing which would be really good if 90% of the dialogue wasn’t exposition and I have some critique notes for the author about that.

What book did you recently finish?

Another danmei webnovel. And another transmigration novel. This one was both. There was some interesting worldbuilidng and character stuff in the beginning and then it dropped most of the plotlines and devolved into sex scenes I now know how Shen Yuan felt when he was reading proud Immortal Demon Way because SO MANY dropped plot points guys so many.

What’s a book that’s been on your to-read list for a long time? 

Rhythm of War? Hopefully I don’t approach this with excitement that fizzles out before I actually start on it like with Oathbringer. I don’t think that’s gonna be the case but I cannot predict the vagaries of my mood reading.

What’s the next book you’re hoping to read?

Eh. Probably RoW again. I do want to read Dawnshard before I read RoW but I’m not entirely sure if that’s going to be possible. RoW takes priority as of now.

Is there a book you own, but aren’t planning on reading?

*gestures vaguely at shelf full of classic novels I am probably never actually going to finish* People keep getting me these things because I “like reading more than anything else” and reading clearly means reading classics.

What was your favourite series as a kid? Would you still read it now? 

Animorphs! And yes. I periodically re-read random books from the series for kicks. Not all of it holds up well but enough does to make it a fairly enjoyable experience.

What’s your favourite series now? 

I don’t actually do favourites anymore because I’m indecisive and there are way too many metrics to calculate and sometimes I like different books for very different reasons. 

Fantasy or sci-fi? 

I like both, but I generally prefer fantasy. That said I’m more interested in the applications of weird magic/tech and social consequences than I am in anything else; which means I adore sci-fi like say- The Vorkosigan Saga and Imperial Radch while disliking more standardized/hero-focused fantasy like The Faithful and the Fallen (I STILL DON’T KNOW HOW PEOPLE LIKE IT). It’s a spectrum.

I think someone once mentioned on this very site that they liked fantasy which took a scientific approach to magic and sci-fi which took a magical approach to science and you know what I kinda feel that statement.

What’s a book you want to buy? 

Fence: Disarmed. There are disaster gays everywhere.

Have you ever judged a book by its cover? 

I've definitely decided to read a book purely because of the cover. Sometimes it works out and sometimes it doesn’t. Same with book titles.

Have you ever bought a book because of who the author was? 

I have a small list of auto-buy authors I scream about all the time so Yes. Is Horror not generally my genre but is T. Kingfisher writing some weird horror shit? I’ll take it thank you very much.

If I do find an author I like I generally go through their entire backlist because while quality may vary between earlier and later books (*coughSANDERSONcough*) there are repetitive motifs/tropes I really enjoy which i think the author also enjoys.

Have you ever read a celebrity memoir? If so, whose was it? 

Nah. I’ve probably tried to read a couple marketed as funny but I didn’t find them very funny so I gave up. I do have Know My Name by Chanel Miller on my to-do list but I don’t think that qualifies as a celebrity memoir. Oh, and I suppose I’ll get around to reading Trevor Noah’s memoir eventually. Or Bassem Youssef’s.

Are you a fan of autobiographies? 

I think that probably depends on the autobiography in question. I remember reading the first part of Gandhi’s autobiography and thinking “wow you are hella judgemental, dude” before I got anywhere hear the Independence movement stuff. I remember starting Booker T Washington’s Up From Slavery with every expectation of giving up halfway through and then powering through it in like a day because it was that good. So. //shrugs

Fiction or non-fiction? 

Fiction for long-form stuff and non-fiction for short form stuff. I struggle with short stories, but I can breeze through essays and articles. On the other hand, give me a non fiction book and I’ll brood over it for seven years like I’m trying to hatch a basilisk.

Favourite fiction genre? 

I usually say fantasy but a more accurate term would be speculative fiction because I like “how does X change affect society” stories a LOT.

Favourite non-fiction genre? 

History (caveat: no biographies, please- just more anthropology-like history) and science. And I do mean science, not technology.

Historical fiction: yea or nay? 

generally yea but it really depends on the author and the subject matter. I’m not all that invested in monarchy-based historical fiction (monarchy based fantasy fiction i’ll take), for example. And I really like survivalist fiction so historical survival is a big win in my book.

Do you read the book or watch the movie first? 

Ha. Watch a movie? What do you take me for a philistine? (I will however, quite possibly watch a animated series before reading the book it’s a thing.)

Paperback or hardcover? 

Paperback. I’m hell on hardcovers. The state of my copy of Goblet of Fire would make anyone with an ounce of sympathy for books weep.

Do you read e-books? 

Almost exclusively, at this point.

How many bookshelves do you have? 

Physically, not that many. Just two? Everything is crammed in two layers deep though.

How do you organize your books?

Author (Firstname, Lastname) > Series > Series Position. Nonfiction is sorted either by Topic (I HAVE NOT ORGANIZED THIS SUBSECTON WELL ENOUGH IT PREYS ON ME CONSTANTLY), author names I recognize, or books in a series.

Do you prefer borrowing books from friends, borrowing books from a library, or buying them?  How willing are you to lend your books to other people?

I guess buying them if I really like the books? I’m a compulsive re-reader. I don’t really like borrowing books from people because I get stressed about forgetting to give them back. I do like lending books to people though. If I have a backup copy in ebook format, anyway.

I don’t really have any libraries I can borrow non-Classics fiction from alas.

In what condition do you keep your books? 

“it’s Okay I guess” to Poor. A couple are in “WHAT MANNER OF HIDEOUS BEAST RAVAGED YOU” territory. I need to cover books or I inevitably start wearing down on the corners it’s like i exude an aura of non-lethal but constantly-eroding destruction that affects everything I come into contact with I thank my electronics from the bottom of my heart for their service.

What’s the biggest book you’ve ever read, and how many pages did it have? 

I’m reasonably sure it’s this webnovel called Rebirth of the Malicious Empress of Military Lineage because DEAR GOD IT TOOK ME WEEKS even when i was near-constantly reading I think it was even longer than Tian Guan Ci Fu/Heaven’s Official Blessing but idk how long bc webnovel and the pagecount (for the whole novel) is not listed on Goodreads.

[ladyreapermc]

Fic: This isn’t a rom-com (1/?)

Author’s notes: So this was basically the first thing I started writing when I got back to Keanu fandom after Parabellum, but it remained sitting on my files because it still felt weird to write and share rpf. But after so many rewrites, I think I’m finally ready to do it. I’ll be posting new chapters every Monday and I’d love some feedback. The entire thing is set in 2013.

Wordcount: 2174

Warnings: none for this part

Part 2   Part 3  Part 4 Part 5

As Lilah stood outside the address given to her, she took a deep breath and asked herself for the third time what was she thinking when she let Isaac talk her into doing this. She had so much to do.

Sure, she had the morning off since her advisor was out of town for a conference, but Lilah still could have been prepping her Monday class or even reviewing her paper.

But Isaac knew her too well. He argued that it had been ages since she had taken a day to herself and as soon as the words movie set came out of his mouth, she dropped everything else and came running. The prospect of since the cinema magic working up close was too good to pass up.

So, she waited outside the set, waiting until Isaac finally showed up, dark curls sticking to his reddish face, probably from jogging through the building. He flashed the security staff a quick bright smile, before ushering Lilah inside, guiding the way through a maze of corridors, walking so fast Lilah barely had the time to take a proper look at everything.

“Thanks so much for doing this, Lih! You’re a lifesaver,” he commented over his shoulder. “One of our extras just didn’t show up today and we’re behind schedule already.”

“It’s fine,” she said as they stopped by a table where an agitated looking brunette sat with a clipboard and walkie-talkie. She checked Lilah’s ID, before collecting her contact information and telling Isaac to take her to the wardrobe department to change.

Before Lilah could even finish shoving her ID back in her pocket, Isaac was whisking her away.

“So, what kind of movie is this?” Lilah asked as she exchanged her street clothes for the costume, a beautiful red dress, and some killer heels. “It’s not a rom-com, is it? Izzy, I’ll kill you if you’re making me play extra in a rom-com.”

“It’s an action flick, relax,” he replied, and Lilah could actually hear the eye-roll in his tone. “I will never understand your hatred for rom-coms.”

“What’s to like about them?” she asked stepping out of the dressing room. “They sell women unrealistic, almost pathological expectations for love and romance, also…”

“Lih, this isn’t your dissertation. You don’t have to always take it so seriously.” Isaac said cutting her off as he led her to the hair and makeup chair.

“I mean, one can appreciate all the clichés without really thinking it’s gonna happen to them. I mean, how many couples do you know that started as two unlikely people that are perfect for each other having that first meet-cute then moving on to silently pinning over each other. Then having the classic love triangle that might lead to the epic conflict and break up so they can have a heartfelt reunion later, with the grand romantic gesture, the speech and finally their happy ending…”

And even though Isaac’s words pointed out the improbability of it, his dreamy tone told Lilah he still hoped it could happen to him someday.

Lilah rolled her eyes fondly because he was such a hopeless romantic.

She, on the other hand, prided herself on being pragmatic. She believed in love, of course. She wasn’t that jaded at twenty-nine; but to Lilah, love wasn’t something that just happened. You didn’t just stumble on the love of your life by accident someday.

“You look smoking, honey!” Isaac declared, snapping Lilah out of her thoughts. “Come on! Chad and David are already on set and ready to shoot.”

Lilah only had time to grab her bag before he was leading her once again through the maze of corridors to and ample room that looked a lot like a speakeasy, from the jazz band on the stage, to the smoky air, dim lighting and leather booths.

“Now all you have to do is sit still and look pretty.” He flashed her a teasing smile and ignored her eye-roll. “I’ll check on you during lunch break.”

Lilah waved her goodbye and watched as he moved to a pair of men standing by some monitors talking. They exchanged a few words, before Isaac disappeared again, probably off to run another task.

They filmed for around two hours straight. Lilah couldn’t see much of was going on because her table was facing the band and away from the area the camera seemed to be focused on and she couldn’t exactly turn to see, even if she really wanted to, but she managed to sneak a couple of glances whenever they called cut.

“Ok everybody, let’s take 15,” one of the directors announced.

Lilah stood up, stretching her back to work out the kinks of being sitting still for too long in an uncomfortable chair.

She took a few moments to search for Isaac, but he was nowhere around the main room and Lilah didn’t want to risk getting lost in the building. Instead, she picked a water bottle and a protein bar from craft service and looked for a quiet place to wait for filming to resume.

Lilah found a hidden corner in of the set, out of the way from most of the staff and quiet enough that she could pull out her book. She settled on one of the free chairs to read a little. Soon, she was absorbed by the text, shutting off everything else until a passage caught her attention, and Lilah couldn’t help but snort at it and offer a counterargument under her breath.

“Are you pro or against dualism?” Someone asked from just outside her line of vision, probably catching the cover of her book when Lilah held it closed while digging for a pen in her bag.

“Against obviously,” Lilah replied with a small snort as she looked up, her eyes going wide at the sight before her. Shock making her drop her pen and book, which he picked up.

“Really?” He asked with a curious frown. “Why?”

Lilah as she stared at him, she couldn’t get her throat to work.

He was so much taller than he looked on the screen, with broad shoulders and a strong chest. His dark hair was slicked back with gel, the tips touching his nape. He was spotting a well-trimmed beard, some fake bruises, and a black three-piece suit. Lilah didn’t think anyone could be this handsome, but she was obviously wrong.

“Where are my manners…” he said offering a hand. “Hi. I'm Keanu.”

The gestured kickstarted Lilah’s brain again and she shook his hand with a quick, embarrassed laugh.

“I’m sorry! Hi. Lilah,” she rushed to say. “I’m Lilah.”

“Nice to meet you, Lilah,” he said with a warm smile.

“So, you don’t believe in the mind…” he commented, handing her pen and book back and Lilah did her best to smooth the wrinkled edge.

“As an immaterial entity that exists apart from our bodies like Descartes proposed? Not really. I mean, let’s face it, he just gave it a pseudo-scientific look to the idea of a soul.”

Lilah looked up from her book, catching the way he was watching her with a smile.

“Sorry,” she huffed a breath with an embarrassed smile. Was she really babbling about dualism to Keanu Reeves?

“No, no,” he assured, taking a seat next to her. “Go ahead.”

“Uh… well,” she hesitated, glancing at him again. “I mean, it’s been what? A couple of thousand years? Probably more, but we still can figure out what the mind is.”

“I always thought of it as what makes us human. Theoretically, of course.”

“Ok but wouldn’t that be more like what it does than what it is?” she pointed out. “But let’s run with it, anyway. How does a mind make us human?”

“Well, for one, isn’t it supposed to give us a conscience, intelligence, all that…” Keanu trailed off with a hand gesture and Lilah smiled.

“But those brain functions. Are we saying the mind is the brain?” she couldn’t contain the way her smile widening even more. This was fun.

She loved talking philosophy, but Lilah rarely had the chance of doing it outside a classroom. And here she was actually talking dualism with fucking Neo!

“If it was the same thing, why would we need two concepts?” he inquired, brow furrowing in a small thoughtful frown.

“You just made my point for me,” Lilah said, and Keanu chuckled. “And it can’t be part of the brain either, because theories seem to agree that the mind isn’t material and our brains are very material.”

“Maybe there’s another dimension out there,” he offered with a shrug, leaning forward on his elbows which brought him closer to Lilah.

She bit her bottom lip to suppress the urge of making a Matrix joke.

“Ok, but then how is something that is immaterial influences our very material selves?”

Lilah watched as Keanu paused, considering her argument, that thoughtful frown returning, and Lilah took that time to admire him. If her teen self could see her now, she would probably have a heart attack. Keanu had been her movie crush for as far as she could remember, ever since she watched the Matrix for the first time.

And here he was, in the flesh, just talking to her. It was almost surreal. Was this a dream? Was she going to awake any minute in her bed?

“Alright, you got me,” he said with a smile, catching her attention. “I have no idea, but don’t you think there should be something there? Shouldn’t a man be more than just atoms and chemicals? Something more transcendental?”

“What? You’re a Kant man?”

The words were out of her mouth before she could contain herself. Her tongue slipping on the pronunciation, making it sound like a completely different thing and Keanu busted out laughing, turning bright red.

It took a second for Lilah to realize how it sounded, but when she did, she covered her face with her hands, mortified.

“Oh my God! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean…”

“It’s ok,” he assured, still chuckling. “It’s fine. Really. I am not a Kantian, no but I can see the value in his transcendental man theory.”

Lilah tried to make her mouth work, to say something else but all she managed was an embarrassed chuckle. She could feel her cheeks burning.

“I’m so, so sorry…” she managed, voice coming out muffled. “I just…”

“Sometimes you forget to double-check what are you saying before putting it out there?” He asked with a soft smile and she nodded. “I do that all the time. Don’t worry.”

“Is there a way to fix that?” she asked, finally lowering her hands.

“I’ll let you know when I find it,” he replied with a little smile, before he ducked his head, letting out a small chuckle.

For a moment they just sat there, still chuckling together, cheeks red and awkwardly avoiding each other’s gaze, until someone cleared their throat behind them and making both turn around to look.

Isaac stood there with his hand pressed to the earpiece he wore and a clipboard in hand. Lilah could see he was barely containing his smirk as he looked between her and Keanu and she winced, wondering how much he had heard.

“Sorry to interrupt. Keanu, Chad needs you.”

“Thank you,” Keanu said getting up and turning to look at Lilah. “It was very nice to meet you, Lilah.”

“You too,” she replied with a small smile, watching as he walked away before turning to look at Isaac with wide eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me you worked with Keanu Reeves?”

“I don’t work with him, I work around him,” Isaac pointed out with a frown. “Also, that was the nerdiest flirting I’ve ever seen.”

“What are you talking about? I wasn’t flirting.”

“Yeah, right!” Isaac snorted in disbelief. “Come on. Break’s over.”

Lilah followed Isaac back to the main area of the set and the same table from before. This time, she caught a glimpse of Keanu chatting with one of the directors. She thought his lips quirked into a smile when he saw her, but she was probably just imagining as she sat down again.

“Shit! I should have asked for an autograph. Or is that too weird?” Lilah asked Isaac.

She was doing so well, but that Kant thing threw her off and she went right back to that strange awkwardness she usually had around people she found attractive. Lilah really thought she had outgrown that.

“It’s not weird. Extras ask for autographs all the time,” Isaac said with a shrug. “And maybe while you at it, you can ask him out.”

“Haha.” Lilah rolled her eyes at the way Isaac wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Isaac, no! It’s Keanu Reeves. Are you nuts?”

“Fine,” he replied with a huff, but the glint of amusement in his eyes didn’t fade. “But you do know what that felt like right?”

Lilah frowned in confusion and he flashed her an excited grin.

“It felt straight out of a rom-com.”

­­­tbc

Go to part 2

Taglist (give me a shout if you want to added.)

@poisonedjoinery @ringa-starr @curly-minnie @i-cant-remember-my-old-login

@caryled @beyond-antares @kathorax @krazycags01 @meetmeinthematinee

@red-pill-blue-pill @baphometwolf666

[captainofthefallen]

Earth, moon, Pluto, Deimos?

earth: rivers or seas? RIVERS!! I enjoy the ocean but I’m a whitewater rafting guide. Rivers are wonderful.

moon: do you play any instruments? I do! I technically play the flute, though it’s been a while, I play the saxophone, I know enough about the piano to play a few songs though I cannot sight read on it, and I sing.

Pluto: I’m gonna come back to that one in a second because I’ll probably need to put it under a cut. (edit: tumblr was stupid and put the whole post under the cut. Ugh.)

deimos: if you could go to space, would you? With the caveat that I’m allowed to come back, yes. I love space, I think it’s awesome, I’d love to be able to see the earth from above and the stars with no atmosphere, but unfortunately for me there’s too much stuff on Earth that I like to leave it behind for good.

All right. So.

pluto: is pluto a real planet or fake? I apologize if you didn’t realize you were opening a Can of Worms. I have a Pluto rant, and you have just asked me about it, so here we are.

The short answer: Pluto is a planet and y’all can fight me.

The long answer: I majored in astronomy, specializing in planetary science. I actually wrote a paper on this topic. (Not a scientific study, just a research paper, it was for a science writing class.) There is no scientific reason that Pluto shouldn’t be a planet. I understand the need for the distinction. Pluto was discovered in 1930, and at the time it was closer to a planet than anything else that had been observed, so it was also a planet. (It’s more complicated than that but this is already going to be a Rant I won’t bore you with the details.) However somewhere around the 90s, astronomers started discovering more things like Pluto in the outer solar system. Wonderful! Awesome! More things we didn’t know about in our solar system!

This, however, gave rise to a Problem: are we just going to keep adding these things to our list of planets? What if there are more? What if there are dozens? Hundreds? Are we going to make our schoolchildren memorize 200 planets (this, I believe, is mostly hyperbole, though the number 200 was floated as a guess on how many other dwarf planets might be out there. The solar system is a big place)? Or do we need to start making categories?

We started making categories. The International Astronomical Union (IAU) had a vote in the year 2006 about how to classify Pluto and these new bodies. The vote concerned a) the definition of the term ‘planet’ which hadn’t had incredibly specific parameters up until that point--planets were the round ones that go around the stars, and b) where Pluto and these other bodies would fall in terms of that definition.

The definition is this: In order to be a planet, a body needs to meet three qualifications: It needs to orbit a star. It needs to be massive enough to be spherical. And it needs to have “cleared the neighborhood around its orbit.” [x]

What does that mean? Excellent question. Pluto fits the first two criteria, as do all the other dwarf planets. The third one is a little more vague, and I’m still decently sure that they just came up with something convenient that would disqualify Pluto and the others, for simplicity’s sake. Essentially, what it means is that a planet needs to be the dominant object in its orbit. There can’t be anything else in its vicinity (in relative terms, since everything in astronomy is fuckin huge) that could compete with it gravitationally. Pluto is in the Kuiper Belt in the outer solar system. There are a lot of other objects in the Kuiper Belt, many of which are in and around Pluto’s orbit. Several of them (in the Kuiper Belt, not necessarily on Pluto’s orbit) are other dwarf planets.

If this sounds vague and confusing, it’s because it is! But wait there’s more. If you actually followed my link to the IAU press release, you will have noticed that there was another resolution, something about “classical planets.” This resolution proposed that, instead of removing Pluto from the category of ‘planet,’ there should be subcategories: ‘classical planets’ and ‘dwarf planets.’ This would allow for the 8 ‘classical planets’ to be taught in schools, known by the public in general, etc., while the dwarf planets could be reserved for nerds like myself to research on their own time, but they would still be planets.

This resolution was rejected. Which I understand, I suppose--the wording is vague, what’s a ‘classical’ planet anyway, what does that mean? But I think the idea is sound and could’ve been workshopped. It makes far more sense to have the broad category of ‘planets,’ and then have ‘dwarf planets’ be a subcategory. What doesn’t make sense is to call a series of objects ‘dwarf planets’ and proceed to tell everyone that ‘dwarf planets’ are not, in fact, planets. I asked my roommate about it when I was writing this paper, and she didn’t even realize that ‘dwarf planet’ wasn’t a subcategory of planet. It isn’t. But it should be. It makes more sense.

As far as the science I’ve interacted with, there’s no reason to even make a distinction. If we discovered a dwarf planet in another solar system we would have no reason to make the distinction. Particularly because it’s almost arbitrary. A Pluto-sized planet in a smaller solar system could very well be gravitationally dominant in its orbit. I understand the need, within our own solar system, to make a distinction, but creating a subcategory of ‘dwarf planet’ and then saying they’re not planets is absolutely ridiculous. (If you want an alternative, I saw a term floated, I believe in Mike Brown’s book How I Killed Pluto and Why It Had It Coming, of a plutoid. Which would accomplish several things, first of which creating a category for these objects that doesn’t create confusion, if you’re really dead set on them not being planets, second of which paying homage to everyone’s beloved Pluto by naming an entire category after it. But I digress.)

tl;dr: the fact that they named this category of objects ‘dwarf planets’ and yet insist that they are not planets is absolutely ridiculous and makes no sense. I understand what they were trying to achieve, I can even agree with the need, culturally, for another class of objects in this category, but there are way better ways they could’ve accomplished it. Therefore until they fix it: Pluto is a planet. Fight me.

[lingthusiasm]

Transcript Episode 35: Putting sounds into syllables is like putting toppings on a burger

This is a transcript for Lingthusiasm Episode 35: Putting sounds into syllables is like putting toppings on a burger. It’s been lightly edited for readability. Listen to the episode here or wherever you get your podcasts. Links to studies mentioned and further reading can be found on the Episode 35 show notes page.

[Music]

Gretchen: Welcome to Lingthusiasm, a podcast that’s enthusiastic about linguistics! I’m Gretchen McCulloch.

Lauren: And I’m Lauren Gawne. Today, we’re getting enthusiastic about syllables! But first, Gretchen’s book is out now. If you haven’t bought it yet, you should buy a copy!

Gretchen: Yes! It’s very exciting to finally have other people being able to read the book and talk to me about memes, and emoji, and punctuation, and all of the internet linguistics things that I’ve been thinking about for three years. We are doing a very special Q&A episode for the book. This episode goes up on August 15th. You have until August 15, so you have some number of hours until it is no longer August 15th in any time zone. You can check ahead to Hawaii and maybe gain a few hours that way to send in your questions about things to do with internet linguistics, the book-writing process – and then we’ll do a very special behind-the-scenes bonus episode about that.

Lauren: I’m looking forward to everyone else’s questions. I have a bunch of questions about how the book-writing process went. I’m looking forward to that Patreon bonus episode. Also on the Patreon we have a new $15+ tier. Several people have been asking for a way to support us even more than the $5 a month for bonus episodes. At our $15 Ling-phabet tier you will receive your very own symbol of the International Phonetic Alphabet, which you can get through either a super scientific quiz or just merely saying that you have a favourite.

Gretchen: Then, we will add your name and symbol of choice to our Lingthusiasm Supporter Wall of Fame on our website. We’re happy to put your name or any other name within reason. If you want to give this as a gift to somebody, that’s also a thing you can do. And if you join this new level before August 15th – this is the same time zone thing that you’re running into right now – you can also get a signed book plate, which is a custom Because Internet sticker that you can stick into your copy of Because Internet, which I will sign for you and I’ll put your name or whatever name you want. You can stick it inside your book and then you have a signed copy of Because Internet. If you join that very soon, you can get that as well.

Lauren: Of course, even if you don’t listen to this episode within the first 24 hours of it going up, you can still buy Gretchen’s book from all good and bad booksellers – preferably good ones. You can also support us on the Patreon.

Gretchen: Yes. There are some other ways to get an actual, physical copy of the book signed, but this is probably the easiest one. Hopefully, you have a chance to do that.

[Music]

Lauren: Gretchen, I am going to test you. Everyone can play along. I’m gonna give you some pairs of words and I want you to tell me whether they sound like English words.

Gretchen: Okay. Sounds good.

Lauren: They’re made up – some of them. The first one is “blick” and “bnick.”

Gretchen: “Blick” sounds like a pretty reasonable English word. I don’t know what it means yet, but it could mean something. “Bnick” – I’m not so sure.

Lauren: I actually even have trouble saying it. I feel like I’m saying “buh-nick” – “buh” ... “nick” all at once.

Gretchen: /bnɪk/ – B-N-I-C-K. Not something I’d expect English to turn into a word – no.

Lauren: No. The B and the N together don’t really work that well. What about the word “copter” versus the word “pter”?

Gretchen: Yeah, “copter,” I mean, is an existing English word – could continue to be an existing English word. Seems legit to me. “Pter” – yeah, the P-T thing, again, not really doing it for me.

Lauren: Because that’s the – like when you say “pterodactyl,” I know that it’s P-T, but I can never say that P.

Gretchen: Or like the Greek “Ptolemy” is just /taləmi/. It’s not /ptaləmi/ even though that’s how they said it back in the day.

Lauren: In fact, “helicopter” is from Greek “heliko-pter” – “spinning” and “flying” are the two roots there.

Gretchen: It really seems like it should be from “heli” and “copter,” but it’s “heliko-pter.”

Lauren: Which is not how my English brain can divide that word up.

Gretchen: No. No. It really isn’t. But the Greeks are really happy to have /pt/.

Lauren: Okay. Next two are “fneeze” and “sneeze.”

Gretchen: “Sneeze” seems like it’s doing fine. But with the F – “fneeze”?

Lauren: I’m really glad that you recognized “sneeze” as a word. We’re doing well. Good work.

Gretchen: My vocabulary is really good. I know the words “helicopter” and “sneeze.” Yeah, “fneeze” – also not so much.

Lauren: “Fneeze” was the original way that English speakers said “sneeze.”

Gretchen: That is amazing.

Lauren: Then, when they started printing it, that "F" looked like that long "S" that you get in ye olde printing times.

Gretchen: And people started pronouncing it much more sensibly as “sneeze.” We don’t have any words in English that begin with /fn/.

Lauren: Yeah. We literally had, like, three of them. And two of them are now gone, and people turned “fneeze” into “sneeze” because it felt more like the shape of an English word. Okay. Next one is “sing” versus “ngiss”.

Gretchen: “Sing” – again, an English word. I recognize it. Seems very English-word-like. But “ngiss” – I don’t think we have any English words that begin with /ŋ/.

Lauren: No. But we do in languages like – a lot of Australian languages and also Syuba, the language I work on, has that initial /ŋ/ sound. Even though I know this, I really struggle to pronounce it because it’s not where it goes in English. We have it at the end of a word. I know I can make this sound. But I really struggle to make it at the start of a word.

Gretchen: You have it in Vietnamese at the beginning of words. And Cantonese, I think, sometimes you see it in people’s last names – but not at the beginning of words in English.

Lauren: The final pair is “heat” and “tih.”

Gretchen: “Heat” – also an English word. Seems like it works. “Tih” – with the "H" at the end, I can make it, but it kind of reminds me of when I was studying Arabic and I had to learn how to make words that ended with an "H" sound because that’s not where we’re used to saying it in English. Even if you write an H – like “Ahh!” – you write it with an H, but you don’t say /ahh/ unless you speak Arabic, maybe.

Lauren: H goes at the start of a word for English, /ŋ/ goes at the end of a word, and when you try and put them in the other spot, it’s really hard to say and it’s really hard to hear as well.

Gretchen: That’s something that I find really interesting because when we think of the sounds of a language, it’s easy to be like, “Okay, here’s a list of the sounds in this language,” but it’s not just about which sounds you have, it’s also about how you can combine them with each other – which ones can go at the beginning of the word, which ones can go at the end of the word. Not all languages let you do all possible combinations.

Lauren: That’s because different languages have different structures for their syllables and what sounds can go together in a syllable, which is like a chunk of sounds together.

Gretchen: A word is made up of syllables and that kind of determines what one you can do. If you talk about words that are just one syllable long, that kinda gives you the maximal picture of what sounds can combine in that language.

Lauren: What sounds can combine and what spots they can go in within that structure. In fact, the word “syllable” comes from a Greek word that means “goes together” or “what goes together,” which is a really nice – I kind of like that, that “syllable” means what can hang out together.

Gretchen: That’s very nice. Also, just to clarify, we’re not talking about signed languages here because signed languages don’t have sound-based rules for how they go together because they don’t have sounds.

Lauren: They’re not stuck with this narrow-minded problem of linear time in the way that sounds are when they all have to follow a string.

Gretchen: Sounds only exist in one dimension. Signs exist in two dimensions. They’ve got their own constraints, and we’re just not gonna get into them in this episode. Yeah! Different languages have different shapes for their syllables – different ways they like their syllables to be constructed. I like to think of a syllable as kind of like a burger.

Lauren: Awesome.

Gretchen: It’s a very delicious metaphor. I’m sorry if anyone’s hungry right now. You have your pieces that go together like the patty and the bun, and the various toppings, and cheese and so on that you might add to your burger. There’s various different kinds of ways you can do that when you’re looking at the syllable-burger as a whole.

Lauren: Different languages allow you to put different things in the burger and in different orders.

Gretchen: Yeah, and some people – there was a lot of controversy about the burger emoji a while back because people were annoyed that some versions of it had the cheese below the meat instead of on top of the meat. The order is important when you put things in a burger.

Lauren: And what you include and how much you can include in a burger definitely varies from place to place.

Gretchen: It can be political sometimes. I don’t know what you guys put in burgers in Australia that is different.

Lauren: Well, a classic Australian burger has beetroot in it.

Gretchen: Oh, okay. See, I would definitely not think of beets as a thing you put in burgers.

Lauren: It’s delicious.

Gretchen: It probably is. I’ve never tried it. Languages are also often faced with syllables that they can’t necessarily handle through their own internal resources. They have a couple options. One of those is to say, “Okay, there’s so much here that I’m actually gonna split this across two burgers” and another of which is to say, “Look, there’s so much here. I’m just gonna take some stuff out and completely discard it.” One very salient example to English speakers sometimes is when Spanish borrows a word from English. In English, you can start a syllable with a sequence of sounds like /sp/ or /sk/ or /stɹ/. You can have an S and then a consonant or some consonants after it at the beginning of a syllable in a sequence like “Sprite” or “school” or “scheme” or “street” or in a name like “Stephanie.” But in Spanish, this combination of S and a consonant at the beginning doesn’t work. You can have just S at the beginning, but you can’t have S and then a consonant at the beginning of a syllable. It’s just not something they’re keen on. The way that that they deal with this is they say, “Okay, if you try to put S and then a consonant at the beginning of a syllable, you’re gonna add a vowel in before the S.” Now, the S belongs to the previous syllable and the consonant belongs to the next one. You’ve split them across too different sorts of burgers. You get things like “Stephanie” becomes “Estephanie.” Or “Sprite” becomes “Esprite.” Or “school,” which goes back to the Latin root “schola” becomes in Spanish “escuela” rather than “scuela” or “schola.” In all of these cases, you’re adding the E at the beginning to kind of rescue this S and allow it to stay because otherwise it’s not something that works for speakers of that language to pronounce.

Lauren: Nepali speakers do the same. But instead of E at the start for their burger, they use an /i/ burger. So, it’s “/iskul/” instead of “/ɛskul/.” They don’t like S and K in the same burger, so they move the S over to another little burger with an /i/.

Gretchen: I like to think of the vowel in the middle as the meat or the patty or the portabello mushroom in the middle of the burger. Then, you have your consonants on the other side, which are kind of like the buns. It’s like “No, we’ve got too much bun. This bun is too big. We need to give it its own patty – its own vowel – by adding an extra vowel." Another example of this is – so Hawaiian, which is really – the largest syllable that it will let you have is just a consonant and a vowel all by itself. When the expression “Merry Christmas” was borrowed in Hawaiian, it got converted into “Mele Kalikimaka.” “Merry” becomes “mele” because they don’t have an R in Hawaiian. That’s pretty straightforward. And then “Christmas” – so that has a /k/ /ɹ/, /kɹ/, but that’s too much in Hawaiian, so you get “kali” rather than /kɹ/ to break up that sequence as well.

Lauren: Hawaiian is like when you choose to eat lots of individual, tasty, smaller cheeseburgers rather than one big burger full of stuff.

Gretchen: Yeah. It’s kind of like the sliders of syllables. Everything’s just a bunch of small, open-faced sandwiches.

Lauren: I think the important thing here is everyone still gets to eat plenty of burgers.

Gretchen: It’s interesting because there’ve been some studies that show that some languages have syllables that are smaller – that just have maybe, maximum, a consonant and a vowel, or a consonant and a vowel and a consonant and no more. Those languages tend to pronounce their syllables faster because there’s less information in them. Whereas, a language like English, the most dense-syllabled word in English is the word “strengths,” which has got three at the beginning S-T-R, and at the end it’s got /ŋ/ /θ/ /s/. “Strengths” – three at the beginning, three at the end.

Lauren: That is a very large and full hamburger situation.

Gretchen: It’s a very large and dense – there’s a lot of toppings and stuff on this hamburger. So you say those a bit slower because they’ve got more information in them. When you count by syllables, it seems like some languages are faster, but it’s because they’ve got smaller syllables. If you count by bit of information, they actually end up averaging out to about the same.

Lauren: I learnt Polish, which also is a language that allows a lot of stuff in a single syllable burger. But it allows different stuff to English. It took a long time to get my head around that. I know we don’t normally try and apologise for how badly we speak languages on the show but, like, I really do feel it’s been a long time since I’ve worked out my Polish consonant cluster mouth. A word like “wstrząs” which means “shock,” has multiple consonants before that vowel that we don’t normally put together in English.

Gretchen: Yeah. I don’t even think I can produce it – /vəʃɑnt͡s/ – yeah. I’m definitely dropping some of them just to –

Lauren: Just to try and make it fit within the kind of burgers that you’re used to.

Gretchen: One thing I could do if I was trying to say that is /vʃɑnt͡s/ – I’m gonna drop one. Or I could say /və-ʃɑnt͡s/ and try to add a vowel in between to split it up.

Lauren: A bit like Hawaiian speakers do with “Kalikimaka” for “Christmas.”

Gretchen: Exactly – add a vowel there. English speakers, sometimes we drop stuff. Sometimes, we don’t. You can see this in words that we’ve borrowed from other languages. Like with “helicopter,” you don’t need to do that there because it’s in the middle of the word. But in a word like “pterodactyl,” you just drop the P. Or “psychology,” you just drop the P there. Or “xylophone,” which was originally /ksɑɪləfoʊn/ because that’s what sound an X makes.

Lauren: Oh, yeah. I never thought about that. Most of you just get used to saying words how you say them.

Gretchen: Yeah, exactly. In French, for example, they’ve also borrowed these words from Greek, but French is more okay about saying those consonants at the beginning. In French, you say, “la psychologie” and “xyloph” – I don’t know if you do it with “xylophone” – /ksiləføn/. You definitely say /psikələʒi/ in French. You don’t say /sikələʒi/. Sometimes, in English we drop it. And sometimes, in English we add another little vowel to kind of rescue all of the consonants. In words from Russian, some English speakers can say things like “Vlad” and “Ksenia,” but a lot of times you’ll get /vəlæd/ or /kəsɛnjə/ in order to try to keep both of the consonants there.

Lauren: A bit like Spanish speakers and Nepali speakers with /iskul/. We move that initial /v/ in “Vlad” to its own /vəlæd/ syllable.

Gretchen: To try to say the whole thing. Japanese does this as well. In an English loan word like “picnic,” because in Japanese they don’t like consonants at the end of a syllable unless it’s an N or an M, so “picnic” becomes something like “pikuniku” because you wanna rescue those Ks by giving them their own vowel.

Lauren: The start and the end of a syllable have their own characteristics. We’ve been talking around the kind of burger part and what can go before or after the burger. But that can differ. With Japanese, you can only have an M or an N after that central part.

Gretchen: Exactly. I think this is one of the reasons I like a burger metaphor in particular because a sandwich also has a central part with the filling and two pieces of bread, but what makes a burger distinct is that it’s asymmetrical. You’ve got a top of a bun that’s different in shape from the bottom of the bun. Languages often let you do different things with the start of the syllable than they let you do with the end of the syllable. In many cases, at the end of the syllable, you can’t put as many consonants there. Sometimes, you can only put a few, like M and N, or you can’t put any, like in Hawaiian. Or in English, you can put the /ŋ/ at the end of a syllable, but not at the beginning. Or you can put the H – the /h/ – at the beginning of the syllable but not the end.

Lauren: Yeah. We definitely can’t put it at the end as we discovered at the start of this episode.

Gretchen: /ŋah/, / ŋah/, what a great word! “Hang” – totally good word. /ŋah/ – not a word.

Lauren: /ŋah/ for English is the equivalent of serving a burger with the bun upside down. An English speaker would just be like, “What is happening?”

Gretchen: “What have you done?”

Lauren: “What have you done with my burger?”

Gretchen: It doesn’t even sit on the plate. The top is curved, so it doesn’t even sit there. It just kinda falls over.

Lauren: It could be a perfectly good burger in many other languages – a very confusing burger in English.

Gretchen: Right. What you think of as something that belongs on the top, or what you think of as something belongs on the bottom. I think there’s also so room for some individual variation. Do you put the ketchup on the top bun or the bottom bun? I don’t know. In general, languages do have this asymmetric relationship between what can go before and after the vowel.

Lauren: The vowel being that really central – it’s hard to – a burger without the patty in the middle is a salad roll.

Gretchen: Yeah, if you have – I was trying to think about this as well, because you need to stress test your metaphors before you commit to them. I was thinking, back in the day, when I was a student and not very organised, and I was a vegetarian and I was trying to get enough protein, sometimes I would just eat a veggie burger with some carrot sticks or something, or a salad or whatever, because I wouldn’t have the buns. That’s something you can do when you’ve still eaten, by some definition, something of a burger. I think if I just had the bun by itself, I have not eaten a burger.

Lauren: No, you’ve eaten a roll.

Gretchen: You’ve just eaten a roll. You’ve eaten a bun. By no definition is this a burger. Whereas, if you just eat the patty, you have kind of still eaten a burger even though it’s a very small burger.

Lauren: Overwhelmingly, when people talk about syllables, the vowel that’s in the middle is a really central anchor point for almost all languages.

Gretchen: You need this anchor point of something to make the syllable. It’s generally a vowel, but it’s not 100% a vowel because there are some words in English, for example, depending on how you pronounce a word, like “bottle,” you probably say /bat-l̩/ and it’s just really just an L – /l/. You could say /battəl/, which might give you vowel there. You could just say /baʔl̩/ or /baʔn̩/ and that might just be /n/ – the N itself – that’s the second syllable and there’s no vowel to speak of.

Lauren: That N is the portabello mushroom of burgers.

Gretchen: Yeah, exactly. It’s kind of the centre of it, but you don’t normally think of it as a prototypical burger.

Lauren: As a vegetarian, I am really sick of portabello mushrooms as burger. But as a language speaker, I love syllable nasals and syllable Ls.

Gretchen: Well, I also kind of think of – so you have can have in the middle one vowel, but you could also have several vowels. You could have something like “bike” has /ɑɪ/, which is a diphthong, which is kind of two vowels smooshed together. So, maybe that’s kind of like a deconstructed burger – something that’s got multiple pieces inside of it.

Lauren: You can order two patties in a burger if you want a really meaty burger – yeah.

Gretchen: The other reason I really like this burger metaphor is that if that you wanna serve a burger with only one bun, you probably take the top one off because that’s the one that’s the weirder shape, and you can still leave the bottom part of the bun and the patty part on your plate. There’s also kind of a different relationship that this vowel has with the consonant or consonants that come after it versus the ones that come before.

Lauren: It’s a very fancy restaurant that you’re eating in if you have to use cutlery to eat a topless burger.

Gretchen: You can have an open-faced sandwich. People don’t often have an open-foot sandwich. What’s the opposite of an open-faced sandwich, where you only have the top?

Lauren: An “open-bottom sandwich,” which is, I think, why they don’t say it. It sounds ridiculous and it looks ridiculous, and it’s even more ridiculous to eat.

Gretchen: It’s very messy.

Lauren: Although, it totally works fine for syllables. So, we found, finally, the first thing where the metaphor really doesn’t hold.

Gretchen: Yeah, the metaphor doesn’t hold in the sense that you can have a syllable like /ba/, which doesn’t have a bottom thing. But there is this closer relationship that the vowel has with anything that might come after it, because when we talk about what are different kinds of poetic devices you can do with languages or what are interesting kinds of ways you can play around with sounds – so you can have things that rhyme, which means that the vowel and any consonants that come after are the same. Or you can have alliteration, which means that just the initial consonants are the same. You don’t often get something where the first consonants and the vowel are the same, but the latter consonants are different.

Lauren: As a poetic device. Obviously, we can do this, but we’re not as into it.

Gretchen: You have “bad,” “mad,” “sad,” “glad” – these all rhyme. It’s great.

Lauren: Excellent.

Gretchen: Or you can have “bad,” “big,” “Ben,” “brigand,” “boxes” – and all these begin with B. You could make some sort of “Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers” sort of thing out of them. But “bad,” “bat,” “bag,” “back,” “ban” –

Lauren: They’re technically more alliterative because they all have B and A. But we don’t necessarily find them any more compelling than anything that was just a B at the start.

Gretchen: Yeah. The extra vowel doesn’t seem to gain us anything, as opposed to “bad,” “mad,” “sad,” “glad,” which is like, “Yeah! This is great! This is really doing something. Now we’re in a Dr. Seuss story.”

Lauren: So satisfying. We’re really into rhyming as a poetic device in contemporary English. But Old English was really into alliteration.

Gretchen: In Old English, it’s all about those initial consonant sounds, and they didn’t really care about the ends. This is a distinction that seems to be relevant in a lot of languages – the rhyming part of the syllable as compared to the onset part, which is just that initial set of consonant or consonants at the beginning.

Lauren: You need to understand how this rhyme part works, not overtly because obviously people can make rhymes without sitting there going, “Hmm, I must make sure that the vowel and the information following it is all the same in order to create a successful rhyme,” but you see even really young kids are great at understanding if something rhymes and also are really good at Pig Latin, which requires you to take the onset – so that top of the burger – off and then put it on the top of another, new syllable burger, which ends in A. I am terrible at Pig Latin.

Gretchen: Oh, I did it a lot as a kid. You have, like, “Pig Latin” becomes “Ig-pay Atin-lay.” That “ig” that’s left over is your rhyme. And then you’ve taken the onset – the P – and put it at the end. So, example, my name “Gretchen” and you put it into Pig Latin, it’s “Etchen-gray” because you’ve taken both the G and the R – because that’s the whole onset – and put it at the end.

Lauren: Having “Retchen-gay” would be very bad Pig – like, I would not be Pig Latin-ing correctly.

Gretchen: Yeah. That’s not how you Pig Latin. People are sensitive to this distinction even though most people don’t know the word “onset” or think about it in those terms. It’s something that is very intuitive from a language game. There’s also Latin games like “Ibbish” or "Obbish” where you put “ib” or “ob” in between the onset and the rhyme. In a word like – oh, I can’t do this one at all. In a word like “pig,” you would “pib-ig” or something like that – or “pob-ig.”

Lauren: This makes me so much happier to know that the kind of on-the-fly processing that you need to do for things like Pig Latin really are learnt behaviours because you can’t just immediately do it with another one.

Gretchen: I can do Pig Latin really fast, and the other ones I didn’t learn as a kid. You’ve gotta make sure that your kids acquire Pig Latin when they’re young enough because otherwise they’ll never get them.

Lauren: I missed the Pig Latin acquisition window, clearly.

Gretchen: I know. It’s terrible. I missed the Ibbish/Obbish acquisition window. This is something that people are really sensitive to. And yet, there’s not alternative version of Pig Latin where it’s like – I don’t even know how you would do it. You’d have to be like...

Lauren: P-A-/gə/.

Gretchen: Well, I’m trying to think – so what if you take the last consonant and you put it at the beginning – “gepi”? “Latin” would become “Naylati.” This is just not a thing that language games do.

Lauren: I never had much luck learning Pig Latin, but understanding how syllables work has made me much more aware of going learning other languages when it comes to – because we focus a lot on learning the sounds of a language, but it’s rare to be explicitly taught how to combine those sounds into syllables.

Gretchen: I think that was something that I noticed when I was learning Arabic that I had to learn how to make this H at the end of the word – when I was learning German – because they have not just /ʃtɹ/ but you can also do something like /ʃm/, which is less common in English except in a few loan words. Another interesting example of this is in Dutch where they have this combination of /s/, which is very straightforward, and /x/, like the German C-H sound – /x/ – but together it’s like /ʃx/ and I just can’t do it. I have tried a lot. There’s a city – and this is a very unique sound combination to Dutch – and there’s this city, which I’m gonna pronounce wrong, but it’s like “Scheveningen” – maybe. This was used as a shibboleth during the second World War to distinguish between whether somebody was Dutch or not. They would try to get them to pronounce this name because it’s really hard if you’re not Dutch.

Lauren: It’s a bit like when I was learning Syuba and other Tibetan languages that have that initial /ŋ/ sound. It was very frustrating to know I can make this sound. I’ve made it in English my whole language-speaking life. But putting it at the start of the word suddenly becomes a challenge for the shape of the mouth.

Gretchen: It’s the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. The combination of sounds is an additional thing that can be really interesting about language even apart from the individual sounds that are there.

Lauren: Just like it’s fun to bring people to Australia and introduce them to burgers with beetroot in it, it’s really fun when you learn a new language to figure out what combinations of sounds it allows.

Gretchen: Yeah. Linguists have a lot of fun drawing diagrams to represent the information about – okay, what can go in the onset of this syllable? What can go in the rhyme? How can we divide the rhyme further between the nucleus, which is the vowel, and the coda, which is the consonants that come after? How can we represent this information in a way that makes it easier to talk about the differences and similarities between languages?

Lauren: Of course, diagrams are fun. But hamburgers are more fun.

Gretchen: Maybe linguists should draw their syllable diagrams as if they were actually hamburgers – new proposal.

[Music]

Lauren: For more Lingthusiasm, and links to all the things mentioned in this episode, go to lingthusiasm.com. You can listen to us on Apple Podcasts, Google Podcasts, Spotify, SoundCloud, or wherever else you get your podcasts. You can follow @Lingthusiasm on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, and Tumblr. You can get IPA scarves, IPA ties, and other Lingthusiasm merch at lingthusiasm.com/merch. I tweet and blog as Superlinguo.

Gretchen: I can be found as @GretchenAMcC on Twitter. My blog is AllThingsLingustic.com. My book about internet language is called Because Internet. To listen to bonus episodes and help keep the show ad-free, go to patreon.com/lingthusiasm or follow the links from our website. Recent bonus topics include animals, unique words that you use with your family, and direction words like “right” “left” “north” and “south” in different languages. You can also sign up to the Ling-phabet tier where we will assign you your very own symbol of the International Phonetic Alphabet, based on our super-scientific personality quiz, and add your name and symbol to our Lingthusiasm Supporter Wall of Fame on our website. Can’t afford to pledge? That’s okay, too. We also really appreciate if you can recommend Lingthusiasm to anyone who needs a little more linguistics in their life.

Lauren: Lingthusiasm is created and produced by Gretchen McCulloch and Lauren Gawne. Our audio producer is Claire Gawne, our editorial producer is Sarah Dopierala, and our editorial manager is Emily Gref, our music is “Ancient Cities” by The Triangles.

Gretchen: Stay lingthusiastic!

[Music]

[bigskydreaming]

I dont want to intrude on your convo with your friend but I've been reading all your posts about your changelings verse since you started making them. Is the Alicia you mentioned next to Boyd in the poart about the changeling market meant to be Boyd's little sister from TW? What's her change, if you don't mind telling??

LOL no worries, and you’re not intruding, I don’t mind comments or weighing in on any post I make ever, unless its specifically under a cut and I’m like ‘plz dont reblog Im gonna delete this in ten minutes anyway, IM JUST HAVING A MOMENT OKAY’ lolol.

So yeah, you’re fine, and if you follow me because of TW which you obvsly know well enough to recognize Alicia’s name, you probably know how much I love exploring minor or barely ever used characters, haha. Alicia Boyd is no exception and I have a ridiculous number of headcanons and places I’ve used her in various unposted WIPs considering that she made all of one appearance on the show and it was a hallucination/flashback. BUT WHATEVER.

Anyway, Alicia’s Change is one of my faves, and given that she’s such a barely there presence in TW, she’s a character I’m pretty comfortable keeping just as she is in my TW changeling headcanons, when writing the official ‘to be published’ stuff in this ‘verse. 

All Changelings’ physical changes and magic are in some way related to their personalities and individual traits, even if that connection isn’t immediately obvious. And even though the Changelings are supernatural in origin, given that their magic reflects who they are and who they are is a product of a 21st century modern society, I wanted some of them to have changes and magic that seems in some ways almost sci-fi or technology based, even while still definitively being magic at its source.

So for no particular reason other than just its my head, I’ll headcanon what I want, I’ve always pictured Alicia as a STEM girl, very much into science and math, and her change and magic ties into that.

Basically, she looks just like she did before she was Changed, so she’s a fourteen year old black girl who’s just a slightly older version of the character we saw briefly on TW….except for the fact that she’s at all times surrounded by what appear to be like…ghostly versions of herself.

Like, at any given time there’s a half dozen to a dozen different versions of herself, totally intangible and somewhat faded/transparent like a photo that hasn’t been fully developed….and they’re all ‘orbiting’ her, for lack of a better term….kinda like the electrons of an atom orbit it.

And these other versions of herself all look slightly different upon closer inspection - different hairstyles, clothing, a couple have glasses, etc….and some appear like they’re floating in mid-air, others like their feet are sinking into the ground….and most of them usually look like they’re just hovering or flickering around Alicia like half-formed images or ghosts that are all moving, doing something - whether appearing like they’re talking, walking, fighting, reading, any number of things….and all of them seemingly paying no attention to what’s going on around Alicia here and now, if they’re even aware of it.

Which they are though, because the thing is, these ‘satellite versions of herself’ are all alternate versions of herself existing currently in other parallel universes where the Change still occurred and they all ended up with the same magic as this Alicia.

So essentially, there are between ten and sixteen versions of Alicia, spread across an equivalent number of parallel universes….who are all Changelings with the exact same magic….which connects them all.

Just like they appear like ghostly images of this Alicia here, this Alicia appears as one of the ghostly images hovering around each of the other versions of herself in their realities.

And despite them always looking like they’re doing their own thing for the most part and oblivious to anything happening in a different reality, that’s just a matter of them learning after a loooot of practice and trial and error, how to primarily just focus on their main reality and only keep a vague/back of their mind awareness trained on what’s happening with the other versions of herself via their magical connection.

Whenever something big happens to one of them though, no matter which reality, like if one of them is in danger, the others can immediately stop what they’re doing in their home realities and pay attention to the one who’s actively in danger….because all the Alicias can communicate with each other, share knowledge and life experiences and skills with each other, and so whenever one of them really needs the others, the others can all focus on them and come to their aid or support them in a variety of ways, even without being physically present.

And some of these parallel universes are more similar than others, and some of them are just sliiiiightly out of sync with the others….like one of the Alicias lives in a universe that for the most part is almost identical to this Alicia’s universe….except its timeline is like, thirty seconds ahead of this one’s.

Meaning while its not foolproof, due to the very very minor differences in realities resulting in the people in each reality making slightly different choices….that 30 seconds ahead Alicia tends to for the most part be able to give this Alicia a 30 seconds heads up to any unexpected danger. 

And there’s a bunch of other ways their magic is helpful too….each of the Alicias’ has their own fields of study…remember since Changeling magic reflects the person, the fact that these Alicias all have the same magic is because all of these versions of her are precocious little science and math prodigies in some way….but they all have slightly different interests and scientific and mathematic pursuits they’ve applied themselves towards or decided to study in earnest. Which means any one of them can at any time draw on the knowledge possessed by one of the others due to studying a specific field that the other one doesn’t know a ton about. Or they can just talk to each other directly, ask each other questions about something, or use themselves as a sounding board or to bounce ideas off of each other. 

So sometimes Alicia will just stop in the middle of talking to other Changelings in town here to be like hang on a sec, I need to get this….and appear to just be talking to one of her own flickering reflections in the middle of the sidewalk, while anyone who knows her well is pretty used to this and just chills like someone waiting for a friend to finish up on the phone after she had to take an urgent call, lol.

And since the Alicias don’t have to be in the same or similar physical space to still appear as satellites of each other Alicia in her home reality, one Alicia can be physically present at one side of town and really need something like….from a book she left at home on the other side of town. And one of the other Alicias is usually bound to be at home and by focusing on her, Alicia can just ask her to read from her own book what this Alicia needs to know, or like, check something online, or solve a problem real quick for her and give her the answer while she focuses on doing something else urgent at the same time, etc.

Then there’s the fact that some of the Alicias have a lot of self-defense training and teach the others some tricks, and a couple are very practiced with a variety of weapons they can pass along expertise about….one Alicia excels at picking locks, which comes in handy as this Alicia, along with about five of the others, is kinda like….the Nancy Drew of their respective Bordertowns, the pint-sized, precocious PI that other Changelings often turn to despite her age, because Alicia (all the Alicias, really) is damn good at what she does.

Also via their connection to each other’s realities, when they focus they can basically see what’s going on around one of the others, so for instance, when this one is in danger or running from someone or something like that, and a few of the others are safe and sound at home, they can just focus solely on her and everything going on around her, and its like Alicia has preternatural awareness of her surroundings then, because she’s got five or six other versions of herself flickering around her head and at her back like ghostly shadows…and all of them are shouting instructions to her or to look out for this or that or turn here, etc. So there’s basically six pairs of eyes looking out for her and keeping her apprised of everything that’s going on in her vicinity at the moment. 

That really comes in handy. 

Everyone can see the other versions of herself that are most present via her connection at any given moment, given that that’s the nature of her physical Change, but since its her magic specifically, only she can actually hear the other versions of her or interact with them….with very rare exceptions. None of them have quite figured out yet how the connection totally works, in the sense that some of them are in sharper focus at times than others, like, there’s always some connection between all of them, but at different times some feel further away and are harder to communicate or interact with than others. And they’re not sure if that’s because like, their different universes are engaged in some kind of movement or orbit or rotation relative to each other, or if there’s some other reason for it, but a few of them are always working on that particular puzzle at any given moment, lol. 

But on a related note, on three separate occasions, when one of the Alicias in one reality was in extreme danger, another Alicia was able to temporarily ‘jump into the driver’s seat’ of that Alicia’s body, via their connection….one time was when one of the skilled fighters jumped into one of the Alicias who was being attacked by someone she’d followed during one of her investigations and turned out to be more dangerous than she’d expected….another time one of the other Alicias jumped into the body of an Alicia who’d been knocked unconscious in an accident and the other Alicia was able to assume control of her body and get her out of danger until she woke up and it bumped the other one back into her own body….and then the third time, one of the Alicias saw that this Alicia was about to get hit by a car that she didn’t see coming, and the alternate Alicia tried to warn her by projecting through their connection as hard as she could, to look out….and somehow accidentally jumped fully into this Alicia’s body and threw her(self) out of the way, before almost immediately being slingshotted back into her own body.

Except none of them have figured out how to do anything like that on command, despite it vexing a number of them. They just know it most likely has something to do with the intensity of a life or death threat or situation making it possible…even though it doesn’t always seem to happen, so they try not to rely on it.

And on one particularly memorable occasion that none of them have the faintest clue why or how it happened, eight of them went from flickering around this Alicia like satellite ghosts….to manifesting physically around her in this reality in their own bodies, and shocking the hell out of the guy trying to intimidate her, who was not at all prepared for the teen girl to suddenly be just one of a literal crowd of nine girls all staring him down. So he turned tail and ran, and they all almost instantly winked back into their home realities and returned to just being afterimage-esque glimpses of them still orbiting around her.

None of them have any idea how that happened or why, let alone how to make it happen again, which irritates the crap out of most of them because ugh, screw magic, there has to be a logical explanation for at least the mechanism of this, damn you supernatural forces with no coherent consistency!

(All the Alicias rant quite often about their inability to pin down firm rules for a lot of Changeling magic and how and why it operates the way it does. Big fans of logic, the Alicias. Not so much the bafflement).

Sooooo….she’s a LOT of fun to write, even though she’s very challenging to…maneuver around, narratively speaking, if that makes sense, lol….but like, yeah, I have a blast writing her. 

The main Alicia, the one who’s always front and center, is snarky but never in a mean-spirited way. More like….her mind is always twenty steps ahead of everyone around her, sometimes literally, lol, and so she rolls her eyes a lot and sometimes makes a show of being exasperated that she has to slow down and wait for everyone to catch up, but its not because of “oh I think everyone but me is so stupid” or anything like that, its usually just….pure impatience on her part. 

The second she figures something out she wants to go, go, go, move on to wherever that leads. She winds up getting in various less than totally safe situations purely because she doesn’t want to stop and grab someone to go along with her when checking something out, but also just because the nature of her magic means she’s never truly completely on her own, and she sometimes forgets to factor that in, or remember that her other selves aren’t usually physically present and able to help her out of a jam. 

She’s so used to their presences that every so often she just genuinely forgets that they’re not right there in the room with her, which has caused some confusion to more than one person when meeting her for the first time and realizing those silent movie-style images of her are actually real and she’s actually communicating with them, not just talking to thin air.

Fortunately, she’s smart and capable in her own right, so when you multiply that by a factor of twelve to fifteen similar minds all attuned to all of their best interests….there’s very few situations she isn’t capable of getting out of on her own. Not that this makes her big brother facepalm any less when she blithely handwaves off a recent escapade as no big deal and something she has no idea why he’s getting so worked up about.

(I mean, she does totally get his concerns and isn’t lacking in self-awareness, its just that she’s also committed to giving him gray hairs before he’s forty. She is, among other things, still a little sister after all.)

Due to her many alternate selves, and the vast array of personality differences between each of them, that many of her close friends are at least aware of by proxy, given that even though they can’t hear her other selves, they’ve all heard her casually talk about them often enough to know them in a sense as well….

Anyway, so a lot of Changelings have nicknames based on their Changes or magic, and she’s no exception. She goes by her own name and just introduces herself as Alicia, but its not uncommon to hear others address her as or reference her as ‘Sybil.’

When asked how she feels about that name, she tends to just shrug and stare off into the distance contemplatively. “I don’t know,” she’ll say at last. “Part of me loves it, and part of me hates it.”

And then she’ll just grin as everyone around her just groans, because she’s just Like This, and just looooves being literal in little ways like that - given that she’s literally acknowledging that half of her alternates feel the one way, and the other half feel the other way. 

Another common line of hers is something like “Hey, I’m only problematic on Thursdays,” or “that wasn’t me, that was Alicia Number Nine, its not my fault she hates you.”

Her magic is just weird enough and behaves just erratically and unexpectedly enough, that its hard to be entirely sure when she’s just bullshitting you and when she might actually be telling the truth and some weird power snafu had one of the other Alicias in her body the last time you interacted with her and she was short with you.

There’s never a dull moment with her.

[apparentlynotreallyfinnish]

Do you have any advice on how to develop a long fic plot? Most of my ideas have little plot, and I have no idea how to come up with one. My simple ideas might be okay for a 2000 word fic, but not a 75,000 word one. My ideas are like Rhett and Link go to a fancy restaurant, or Rhett has a backache and Link massages him. They aren’t these big, multifaceted ideas that make a whole story like good writers (like you!) seem to have. I wish I could figure out how to get better at ideas and plotting.

Hello, lovely anon. I’m gonna describe my process plot planning Let Me Be Your Light. Maybe that will help you. :)

This became quite long, sorry…

It started with the idea of Rhett being a lighthouse keeper. That was the starting point. (I’m pretty sure I was heavily influenced by @its-mike-kapufty‘s tmoy fic that was posting around that time and wanted to do a grumpy Rhett.) I don’t remember if Link being a helicopter pilot was the first thing I thought for him but it was one of the firsts. I wanted them to meet intermittently so there would be plenty of pining (lol). I decided on a monthly meeting and figured a year would be a good timeline. So, originally the fic was supposed to be 12 chapters long. 

I started by doing some research on lighthouses and decided that it would be located on Canada. I did some weather research and figured that near St. Johns would be best fit for the mood of my story (or the mood I had in my head at that point). I actually found two islands names North and South Bird Island and made up a third one for Rhett. ^^

I did some research on the area’s flora and fauna and what kind of unusual weather they might have etc. Some of it is used in the story, most is not. I had about 4-ish pages of notes on Newfoundland after I was done with my research. (Side note, don’t get too caught up on this part. There’s always more stuff to research. You gotta stop at some point and actually plot plan/write.)

The grumpy Rhett premise kind of naturally lead to a ‘hate to love’ story but that’s something to decide. What excites you? What kind of fics do you love to read? What would you like to read but haven’t seen?

I wrote little character bios for Rhett and Link. Not sure if anyone cares but here they are (some stuff was added later after developing the plot):

Rhett: writer, phd in some scientific field, a marine biologist. Lives off of book money and writing scientific excerpts for magazines.  Was married. Wife died (was pregnant) when he was 33. They were in the car together. He has severe ptsd and survivors’ guilt. They’d been together since high school. Been alone for 8 years. Been at the light house for 6 years. A colleague helped him to rent it. The lighthouse itself is automated. He does do little maintenance stuff like clean the solar panels and change parts etc. Is probably like a 1-2 in Kinsey scale. So mostly straight but…  Being alone is kind of a punishment but also something he needs, because people and crowds freak him out. He was like that even before the crash, but it made it worse. Also, can’t deal with people anymore. Especially happy people. Is basically afraid of happiness.

Link: a helicopter pilot, the supply runs are a monthly sidegig. Usually flies a medical helicopter. Openly gay. Dating a lot, a few longer relationships but nothing really serious.  Always felt like something didn’t add up. Generally happy person with childlike wonder. Very impulsive and emotional. Open book. Often speaks before thinks. Has a lot of buddies but not many close friends. Always felt it was hard to feel connected with a person. Might be because was in a closet for a long time and always felt like he was lying to everyone around him. Has been out for 10ish years now. After he came out, kind of went to the other extreme and constantly threw his gayness in other people’s faces. Is still a bit like that but not so much. Loves flirting and getting a reaction, but really just wants everyone to be happy.

I would probably do this for other major character but didn’t have many in this fic. Stevie and Alex kind of sneaked their way in later. :D

I’m a visual planner so at this point I took a big sheet of paper and divided it into 12 section. I wrote the beginning (they meet for the first time) and the end (the proposal) in boxes 1 and 12. Then I added some bits: this is where they fight, this is where Link can’t come, this is when they have sex for the first time, this is where Rhett needs to go to the hospital etc. Then I looked at my researched and did some shuffling around to match the weather appropriately. The beginning month was purely decided on the fact that I had to have Link stay the night during the Nor'easters (storm) that are the worst between November and March. There were other stuff too, like when was the best time to see the icebergs. I went a bit crazy here and actually looked at weather history form 2017 (or 2018, not sure anymore) to get exact weather information for the dates. So while I was writing I knew exactly what the weather was like. :D

Little by little I added bits and pieces. This took a few days. I can’t really give advice how to exactly do this. I just think of stuff up and try it out. When I had something for every month I started to write.

I can’t have a too detailed plan. Usually I have a sentence or two per chapter; the main thing that needs to happen. Otherwise I won’t feel compelled to write. But this may be different for you. Some people need the detailed plan.

The plan changed a little when I started writing. After I wrote the first chapter I added the stones. At first I searched for a new stone every time I wrote a chapter but after like 4-5 chapters I made a plan and figured all the rest, so I had a list of those. The last few changed though when the whole ending changed.

I updated my chapter plan as I wrote. I write in order. Some people write the bits they are most excited about first but I could never do that, I’d never finish the boring parts after. I need the good stuff as a motivation to get over the writing lulls. 

I got @sass-and-panache as a beta after I had written the first chapter. She helped immensely with the plot planning. We brainstormed together when I felt stumped and she regularly reigned me in when I went OOC with my characters. Sometimes I get stuck on a tiny idea and refuse to realize it does not work in the story. She was very good in telling me when I did this. There were a few things we disagreed on, though. ;) And when that happened I just did what I wanted. (Because I’m stubborn AF.)

Gosh, this became obnoxiously long… Sorry. Not sure if there is anything useful here. Maybe I’ll try to bullet point a bit:

1. Think of a premise. A couple dynamic you want to explore or an interesting setting or maybe a certain kind of ending.

2. Do some research if you can. It might spark some plot points you wouldn’t have thought otherwise.

3. Get to know your characters.

4. Make a plot plan. Visual or written. Don’t consider it written in stone. It will change.

5. Write.

6. Talk to someone about your plot. Get a beta if you can/want.

7. Re-plan if necessary.

8. Write some more.

9. Get stuck researching puffins (oh, sorry, that’s just me…whoops!).

10. If something doesn’t seem to work, don’t be afraid to scrap it. I’ve written whole chapters again when I’ve realized they didn’t fit the story. (If you do this, save the scrapped bits on another document. Sometimes you can use parts later.)

11. Write some more.

12. Cry when it’s done.

13. Write a way too detailed description how you planned the fic that no one wants to read. Think about deleting it and replying something else. Be too lazy to do so.

I hope this helped. Or if it didn’t, I hope this amused you a bit.

[chubbyooo]

Old Wounds part 2 - A Blurred Lines Spinoff

My writing brain is going crazy right now so here we go with the second part of the spinoff after this things will be back tied up. This will also be the first time I’ve told a story from an existing characters perspective so hope it’s ok

Lana tries her best to run the alliance exasperated with the advisors who are seemingly absent and hears a voice she hasn’t heard in a long time

5-7 years later…

Lana shut off the holo with a audible sigh, she put her hands on her forehead slumping in her chair

From the corner the protocol droid D3-EZ coked its head “is everything ok miss Beniko?” she looked to the droid grumpily

Lana shook her head “no Ezzy I just need a minute” Ezzy nodded staying still, Lana sighed protocal droids never got the message “that means leave Ez” Ezzy nodded leaving the room without a word.

Lana dragged her fingers down her face this was not what she needed right now, Zakuul were finally leaving the alliance saying they could ‘make it on their own’ they had been threatening to do it for months but she thought they were bluffing. It wasn’t that she was afraid they could ‘make it on their own’ they were bound to come crawling back but the alliance couldn’t afford with this war on the horizon and the alliances place in the galaxy being questioned. She clenched her fists against the desk it certainly didn’t help that the alliances two other advisors had decided to disappear now out of nowhere. She had hoped the commander would be much help but Kyradia was clearly ‘affected’ by whatever falling out she had with Kavaraa and was choosing to just sign whatever Lana put in front of her. Lana had never wanted to be in charge of the alliance but she had to do her best for the galaxy she just wished everyone else would do the same. She held her fingers on the bridge of her nose she couldn’t remember the last time she got a break and Kavaraa and Theron go off on a surprise ‘honeymoon’ sure that’s fair. Just because she was alone she didn’t get a chance to take holidays? She didn’t blame Theron though he was following her for love Lana could understand that but did all this have to happen right now it’s like the universe was cruelly mocking her.

She looked through documents for a couple minutes before she saw a holocall from Theron Shan flashing on her display. Speak of the devil she answered the holocall as Theron flashed in to view looking stressed, that certainly made two of them.

Lana folder her arms “Theron, good to hear from you is this ‘honeymoon’ nearly over I can’t handle everyones paperwork you know” Lana could hear what sounded like distant discussion with a signature excitable tone familiar to her as the Jedi Basen’thor

Theron looked away “uh well not exactly we found a kid” Lana frowned a kid? so what

she was not in the mood for excuses “and is this kid stopping you from coming back?” Theron coughed awkwardly as Lana bore down on him

Theron mumbled “he found some sort of map it leads to knowledge or some force stuff and now Kavaraa wants to find it” Lana let out a long sigh of course knowing Kavaraa they were probably already on their way

Lana frowned at Theron “you know I can’t just run this all by myself” Theron nodded clearly understanding

Theron tugged at his collar “yeah I know Lana but this could give us information to stop powerful people like maybe Malgus” Lana had to admit he had a point but he wasn’t getting out of this so easy

Lana leant forward messing with the console “ok but this is no longer a vacation for you so here’s the deal you help me with running the alliance like normal and I wont rat you out to your wife about calling me with updates sound fair” yes it was technically blackmail but she was running an alliance and Theron would have done the same to her

Theron squirmed “well you’ve got me in quite the box here Beniko fine I guess this i what I get for being friends with a sith” Lana raised her eyebrow well that helped a little with the workload “so what’s been going on with the alliance then so I’m up to date”

Lana held her forehead remembering the situation “bad news Zakuul finally went ‘independent’ today” Theron grimaced messing with a datapad

“why they don’t have the infrastructure the planet’s gonna fall apart” Lana was fully aware those people had never know a hard day in their life before the eternal empire was brought down so now they blamed the alliance how do you break down that kind of ego?

Lana sighed “believe me Theron I know but you know how people can be” Theron nodded

Theron rubbed his forehead “how long till they come crawling back” Lana had done a rough calculation and explained it to them but they were vigilant her scientific data was somehow incorrect

Lana shrugged “the bottom line is too long we could really have used Zakuul even without the fleet” Lana’s mind drifted to Koth and the gravestone she wondered if they would be in a different situation without his interference with it.

Theron sighed “of course they had to do this right now when everything is so fractured” Lana nodded the alliance should be better than squabbling but clearly some people didn’t feel the same way

Lana frowned “well that’s not exactly our fault is it Theron” Theron reluctantly nodded “we have to end this argument between them Theron it’s petty and it seems like most of the ill will is on your wifes end.” Lana knew the fight was coming but she hoped it wouldn’t do this she hoped it’d clear the air so they could move on but clearly she had overestimated the two of them.

Theron grimaced “I’ll try my best Lana but you gotta admit she has good reason to be mad” Lana nodded Jedi were always like this stubborn and set in their ways well except a few.

Lana sighed “I’m not asking for a miracle Theron but just try to point her in the right direction” she ended the call and leant back. Theron would help with paperwork that was something one less thing on the incredibly long list of things she had to do, she wasn’t very confident Theron would change Kavaraa’s mind she was stubborn and Theron was in love with her. He’d probably follow her into anything she kinda got it she had been in love before but that was a long time ago, she’d never admitted it to him either so no point getting into it.

But that was 5 years ago this was now she had work to do, she heard the comm suddenly breaking her out of her daydream as the robotic voice of Ezzy came through “Miss Nadia Grell to see you Miss Beniko” Nadia? Kavaraa’s old apprentice? what did she want?

Lana responded “send her in Ezzy” she sighed an advisors job was never finished. Nadia walked into the room shuffling to the chair awkwardly

she looked away “um hello miss Beniko I uh just came to uh tell you about a distress call from the uh Basen’thors temple” wow she was nervous she shouldn’t be that was a perfectly fair thing to tell her.

Lana nodded “thanks for bringing this to my attention Nadia I’ll have someone investigate right away” she had a great idea for who perfect way to get Kyradia feeling nostalgic

Nadia cleared her throat “I actually wanted to ask for permission to go myself actually” Lana smiled that was sweet but she had a feeling Nadia and Kyradia would not get on well

Lana shook her head “no don’t worry about it I’ll make sure to get some experienced people to deal with it, don’t want to drag you away from your work” Nadia nodded seemingly understanding Lana believed she worked in the archives.

Nadia smiled “well uh thanks for the help and I’ll uh be going” Lana nodded as Nadia left. She took a second staring at the door ok no one else to talk to? good she could take a second. After a few minutes she got up she had to tell Kyradia about the mission to Yavin.

later…

Lana entered her quarters tired after a long day, the commander had taken the mission and was on her way to Yavin IV meaning she was officially the only one left. This was gonna be a grueling couple of weeks, she opened up the fridge she still had some leftovers good she really had no time to cook today. She got herself a cup of tea and sat down on her couch, she sighed another day another problem at least she had a little time to rest. She flicked through the news and was unsurprised to see an article about Zakuul apparently they were having longer and longer power cuts since departing from the alliance and now the support was entirely gone, part of the city was blacked out for a full minute. Lana chuckled big surprise there, she sipped her tea in the silent quarters she certainly had made them her own but it still felt kinda empty it certainly was more homely than her old acolytes chambers. Between then and now she hadn’t really had any other solid homes, could be worse though she didn’t live in a ship once the leftovers were finished she used the force to pull a holobook out of her tiny bookshelf. She liked books a little escapism was always good this one was about a tribe completely unaware of the galaxy around them, she imagined that could be quite nice certainly a lot less stressful the struggles were all quite simple but still felt real and there was a lot less politics. She continued to read until her eyes fluttered closed falling asleep curled up on the couch but then sometime later she was awoken suddenly.

“LANA!” a voice wrung out in her head the voice was deep and basey but she recognised it in a second

She looked around the room “D-Dzûsa??” she could see no sign of him the man she hadn’t seen in over seven years.

The voice, his voice spoke in her head “I d-don’t h-have long come to Zakuul I’m u-und…” the voice trailed off she sat up flustered

Lana tried her best to respond “Dzûsa where are you?” she shouted into the chamber but there was no response. Lana took a deep breath was she crazy? she couldn’t have heard that right? but it was definitely him the man she hadn’t spoken too since Sullust. ‘Come to Zakuul’ was he there? how could he be they had scoured that planet for prisons they would’ve found him she certainly thought she would’ve sensed him. She had only given up hope on him once Valkorion was defeated, in every prison they went to she searched and searched but to no avail, she had tried and tried to sense him but it was like he was somehow gone. What should she do she couldn’t just leave the alliance but he was well he could be alive and he may be what the alliance needs right now hero of Tython and all that. She sighed she had to try even if it lead nowhere she could put the issue to bed for good, she quickly put on her sith robes and headed out the door.

later…

Lana brought her ship down into the Zakuul spaceport as she dialed up Senya Tirall on her holocommunicator, a tired looking Senya appeared within a minute

Senya frowned “yes Lana was this so pressing it couldn’t wait till the morning” Lana wasn’t usually the one to do crazy things it felt very strange to be the one leaving without a word

Lana tried her best to smile “uh well yes I’m not on Odessen I’m uh looking into something on Zakuul so I would very much appreciate it if you could look after the alliance” Senya gave her a curious look

she chuckled “you’ve been spending too much time with Theron and Kavaraa, why me?” Lana chuckled understanding the irony of the situation

Lana grinned “well you raised the Tiralls this’ll be a piece of cake by comparison” Senya laughed

Senya nodded “very well I can look after things” she turned off the holo phew someone she trusted was in charge, at first she thought Hylo could handle it then she realised how terrible it would be to leave the underworld in control of the alliance.

She left her ship in a hurry making her way out the spaceport and towards the spire as she walked she could she the lights flicker on and off this power situation was bad. However at the spire she saw Indo Zal waiting there with a few guards

he proceeded to shuffle up to her awkwardly “um Miss Beniko as I told you before Zakuul is now independent and you wont convince us otherwise” Lana stood still her eyes narrowing at Indo

Lana kept the scowl as Indo squirmed “don’t worry Indo I’m not here for Zakuul don’t think yourself so important to me that I’d come here myself” Indo seemed to stifle his anger aware of Lana’s power good “I just need to get into the spire I think I have missed something” she walked up to Indo standing over him “are you going to stop me?” Indo shook his head

he gestured to the lift “r-right this way miss Beniko” Lana made her way into the lift closing it before Indo could join her, she didn’t hate him but she did hate the ego of the people in charge of this planet acting like they ruled the galaxy.

The lift slowly rose up the spire soon arriving at the seat of the eternal throne, Lana made her way out the whole room was dusty it had been abandoned after everything that happened. Once the most powerful place in the galaxy now just a dusty old relic, she chuckled kinda like Valkorion. She remembered the fight for the throne protecting Kyradia from Skytroopers while Kavaraa battled the old emperors wrath they fought as one back then what had changed. That’s not what she was here for though she got a datapad out hoping to slice into the blueprints of the spires she must have missed something. She had just got them up when the room suddenly went dark, she watched as the lights on Zakuul began to flicker out nearly the whole city went out this time. She couldn’t help but smile maybe her calculations had been wrong they were in dire straights.

She stared at the datapad trying to find some inconstancy “Lana you made it” she heard the voice again she looked around as the power turned back on

Lana tried to see if Dzûsa here but she’d be able to see the huge form on the pureblood “Dzûsa are you there?” she waited but there was no response damn it she nearly had him. He was here though two times was a coincidence three times was evidence, she turned back to her data pad as the power dipped again.

she noted the points she had already checked “I’m here, I’m below” Lana heard his voice again below below where? she frowned he had spoken to her during the power cuts he had to that was no coincidence and he was below. She looked at all the power plants they had cleared she chuckled remembering Koth’s insane idea to save the power station during the rescue of Kyradia. But that wasn’t the only power they had right, she followed the power lines down there were a few transformers relatively near to the core for geothermal power. Lana frowned that would be crazy there was hardly any way to get there, but one was below the spire maybe the lift had some secret function?.

Lana went back over to the lift there had to be something she could do, she began trying her best to slice into the console by the force she wished Theron was here he’d have it open in seconds. After a few minutes the lift had locked her out, she lashed out at the wall in anger creating a small dent, huh maybe she didn’t need to slice it this was dangerous but definitely achievable. She closed her eyes reaching out with the force, she channeled all her anger for Zakuul, for Valkorion for everything that lead her to have to do this and began pulling the lift down with the force. The lift shot down reaching the bottom of the spire within minutes but now what if she went deeper, if there was nothing it’d just break the lift a bit. She pushed down and to her surprise it kept going a burst of anger flowed out making the lift descend even faster slamming down against the bottom of the shaft with a bang. Lana staggered forward feeling the force of what she had just done, so much for subtlety as she forced the doors open she sensed Dzûsa’s presence it was here nearby.

She could hear the sounds of magma close by they must be really far down, Lana crept out making her way through the chamber until she came to a large door that slid open as she got near.

She held herself steady against the wall listening in to two voices “I’m sorry sir I’m trying everything but we don’t have the network to support the power surges anymore” well that at least explained the blackouts

A deep terse voice responded “I don’t care about keeping Zakuul powered Valkorion has stated that this is more important so do as I say” the voice sounded familiar from where she had no idea

the other voice responded “that’s the problem I don’t have the power to do that anymore are you sure we should still be doing this we haven’t got an update from up top in over a year” well she knew why that was did they seriously still think Valkorion was in control

The deep voice sneered back “I said DO IT so DO IT got it” Lana crept into the room her eyes widening as she did, the room was an open walkway magma was flowing behind glass and in the middle of the room shackled to what looked like a four pronged transformer was Dzûsa. His hair was greying with a few white streaks he looked so much older and weaker, Lana saw him turn to him with a very slight smile. She felt a tear well up in her eye she couldn’t believe he was here after she had given up on him used as a god damn power source for Valkorion. She felt her sadness wash away replaced with a white hot rage, she turned to the console where the figures were arguing and her rage only deepened as she saw the face of Dûshto Zâtan shouting at a human male.

Within seconds she pulled in into her grip her hands tight around his neck his eyes widened as he noticed her face “remember me bitch” Dûshto’s face was wracked with shock as he tried to escape the grip. Lana felt every bit of the pain she’d felt over the last 5 years come back as she chocked Dûshto this man had kept Dzûsa prisoner after the Eternal empire was defeated and why for some sick vengeance.

https://open.spotify.com/track/1fl5TvpPkPjx8zo45HY0UQ?si=iXzAJ4IeQomp5RoIi-Pftg

Dûshto’s face crept into an eerie smile as he grabbed a knife stabbing her in the side “yes Blondie it’ll be a shame to have come all this way to fail how disappointing” Lana dropped Dûshto holding her side. She gritted her teeth fighting through the pain as they both ignited their lightsabers, she lunged forward with three slashes that caused Dûshto to stumble back as he parried each strike.

His unnatural grin only increased “you’ve waited all this time why not be with your precious Dzûsa” Lana felt herself thrown towards the transformer as she crashed against one of the prongs she felt the current flow through her causing her to writhe in pain. She felt her rage explode but knew she had to channel it she focussed on the electricity beginning to gain control over it as it flowed through her arms. She dropped to the ground to see Dûshto looking at her wide eyed she clicked her neck letting out a volley of crackling energy that surrounded him. He shrieked out in pain as she threw him against the glass wall, a small crack appeared in the wall as she slammed him against the wall again and again, she could feel the electricity waining as the glass broke with her next hit. Magma flowed in to the room leeching out to that side of the chamber stopping just before the console, Dûshto narrowly managed to avoid it with a roll landing across the room from her. Lana threw her saber at Dûshto as he sprinted towards her, once he was close Lana jumped over him pulling her saber back into her hand she landed behind Dûshto and went to slice at his back.

She made a laceration along his back as he cried out in pain turning around with a snarl “ok then Blondie let’s get serious” she could see him reach out with the force pulling another of the transformer prongs out of the ground then throwing at her. She wasn’t going to dodge though she could do this she reached out with the force her rage taking control of the prong throwing it back around towards him. To her disappointment he dodged as the thing speared into the glass crackling with electricity while the magma melted the metal, Dûshto looked from her to Dzûsa and then smiled he pulled the other two prongs out of the ceiling throwing them to the side.

Dzûsa began to fall towards the magma but Lana quickly reached out with the force trying to pull him away but Dûshto also had his grip on Dzûsa holding him in place, he chuckled “not so tough now Blondie your powers or my brother you choose” Lana did her best to hold Dzûsa steady but she couldn’t do it forever she could see the magma getting closer and closer. Dûshto swiped at her clumsily as she parried equally clumsily this was completely throwing off both their abilities with the force.

Lana’s eyes widened she knew what to do she smiled at Dûshto “who said anything about the force” with that she jumped into the air bringing her leg round for a vicious roundhouse kick against Dûshto’s face, he was caught completely oof guard and staggered back as Lana kicked him again he fell back into the magma with a cry. Lana felt Dûshto’s concentration on holding Dzûsa up falter and she quickly focussed her attention on catching Dzûsa holding him up just before he hit the magma. She lifted him across as she could hear Dûshto’s cries of pain from behind her, Dzûsa landed on the ground breathing heavily Lana immediately rushed to his side to see if he was ok.

She was suddenly pulled into a big hug as Dzûsa pulled her off the ground swinging her around “hahahaha I knew you’d understand” his deep voice boomed well he may look older but he still had the same energy that was good.

Her set her down immediately taking a tired knee Lana held his hand “are you ok?” seemed like a silly question he certainly didn’t look ok but she had to ask

Dzûsa smiled warmly “I’m fine that was just kinda taxing probably shouldn’t have done it” Lana had missed that smile she pulled him into a long hug “absolutely worth it”

She felt her rage melt away as tears entered her eyes “I’ve missed you so much” she felt Dzûsa move his arm in force like motion what was he doing

Dzûsa laughed “why we never even went on a date” Lana glowered at him

Lana lightly punched his arm “we both know it was more than that even if I was too embarrassed to admit it” Dzûsa smiled nodding. Lana noticed the screams had stopped she turned around to see Dûshto not burning in the magma but unconscious on the walkway burnes covered his back and lower half. She turned back to Dzûsa “you’re still letting him live” she was ready to kill him five times over how was Dzûsa ok with this.

Dzûsa nodded “I know but I’ve had a lot of time to think, that man is not my brother not anymore but if I am every to see my brother again he needs to find it himself, there is no part of me that wants vengeance on anyone not anymore” Lana leant in and kissed him, he was just the same just as kinda hearted it had been years of torture and he was still that sweet big oaf.

Lana pulled away “I’ve missed that, come on let’s get out of here” Dzûsa nodded as Lana helped him to the elevator. Lana remembered oh no would the lift still work? she pressed on the console and to her relief it whirred to life and slowly began to rise up.

Lana turned to Dzûsa “sooooo this lift is gonna take a while” Dzûsa turned to Lana colour seemed to be returning to his face as he began to be able to stand by himself

Dzûsa frowned “here right now?” Lana nodded kissing him maybe Theron wasn’t so wrong about that romance thing

later…

Lana made sure her robes were all in order as the lift finally opened, it was much slower without her force power but she hadn’t minded that. She could see Indo still waiting there looking surprised to see two figures exit the lift, she noticed the power begin to dim and go completely out now well that was awfully unfortunate at least the lift had still worked.

Lana raised her eyebrow at Indo “my my Zakuul certainly seems to be prospering without the alliance” she pushed past Indo back towards her ship

Indo stuttered “um Miss Beniko if we could just talk for a sec-” Lana was not gonna deal with this right now

Lana smiled “if you want to discuss alliance matters you know how to contact me Indo but I doubt you would want to after leaving” with that she lead Dzûsa back to her ship where they quickly took off leaving Zakuul to its problems.

After she put the ship into Hyperspace she made sure Dzûsa got some tea and a blanket, she sat down next to him. Lana shuffled awkwardly “so I don’t know how to ask this but uh what happened to you?” Dzûsa sipped his tea quietly

he cleared his throat “when I last saw you I got a lead saying a clue to Vitiates whereabouts was on Nathema and uh the clue was from my sister” Lana nodded ok that at least explained why his crew didn’t know where he was “Naturally I barrelled off into danger without a second thought and once I arrived I found the uh testing facility for Vaylin I think your familiar with her” Lana nodded “and Vaylin to put it simply completely outclassed me I quickly lost and Vaylin would have murdered me if Valkorion hadn’t stepped in” Lana nodded remembering her own encounters with Vaylin she wasn’t too surprised “instead Valkorion decided the ultimate revenge would be to make me power the very city he controlled, some kind of cruel irony” Valkorion, of course killing his enemies would never be enough “he constructed what you and Dûshto destroyed to torture my every moment and sap me of my force energy making sure I’d never be able to escape” Lana nodded she felt bad for acting like her last five years were bad by comparison they were great “and that power was turned into electricity somehow, about a few months in I got a new supervisor Dûshto I think Valkorion thought it was a cruel joke, apparently he had surrendered just to get a chance of finding me. Dûshto then made it his mission to make my life non stop pain. As I’m sure you guessed he kept me there even after the empire fell I think he would have done it forever just to satisfy his need for revenge” Lana could see the hurt in his face Dzûsa clearly still cared for Dûshto she had no idea why though.

Lana gasped “I couldn’t sense you because of the force draining right, I’m so sorry Dzûsa especially about your brotherI wish I could have done more” Dzûsa smiled back at her as he gulped down his tea

he wiped his chin “it’s ok it actually has helped me gain perspective I don’t want forgiveness anymore I’m happy just to live” Lana nodded not totally understanding but happy he wouldn’t go running off on an adventure “and I hope I can still fit into yours you seemed like you wanted that in the elevator I guess we can finally have that date” Lana chuckled of course he’d say that

Lana walked over to him giving him a long passionate kiss “of course you do Dzûsa you are exactly what I need right now it’s a date” Dzûsa smiled she really had missed that smile it seemed like she was wrong about the next few weeks they’d be the best in years…