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alisaiakovleva · 11 months ago

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Adams-Bass, V. N., Bentley-Edwards, K. L., & Stevenson, H. C. (2014). That’s Not Me I See on TV . . . : African American Youth Interpret Media Images of Black Females. Women, Gender, and Families of Color, 2(1), 79–100.

The article showcases how portrayals of black women in popular media are perceived by young African-American students. The authors find that an overwhelming majority of the target audience find many images of black women in media offensive, negative and false. The study argues that such trend can have a detrimental effect on how the community views black women and may promote negative stereotypes further damaging the sense of perception of people’s own identity. I found this research highly valuable, as a media creator myself it is important for me to portray demographic groups with accuracy and respect. It is necessary to critically analyze media portrayals and their reception in order to grow and learn from mistakes and implement a positive portrayal that will be accepted by communities.

2. Balela, Majed S. and Darren P. Mundy. (2015) “Analysing Cultural Heritage and its Representation in Video Games.” DiGRA Conference.

The article sheds light into the relationship between cultural heritage and video games, analyzing how video games have become platforms to showcase various cultures and history of real life people. The authors use “Assassin’s Creed 1” as an example of how game developers approached representing the Middle Eastern culture in the game. Game development process in some instances can take years and require the help of historic specialists if the developers want to make an accurate portrayal of any culture. I believe that video games have the capacity to preserve cultural heritage and it is important to represent cultures properly and accurately.

3. Biscop, K., Malliet, S., & Dhoest, A. (2019). Subversive Ludic Performance: An Analysis of Gender and Sexuality Performance in Digital Games. DiGeSt. Journal of Diversity and Gender Studies, 6(2), 23–42.

The article explores how certain games allow their players not to conform to heteronormative roles by blurring the lines in terms of sexuality and gender. Despite broader representation of LGBTQ+ community in the game industry, the romance options still feel limited as they are usually created as part of the story narrative. The authors bring examples of The Sims video game franchise and Life is strange. They analyze how these games are fostering diverse gender performances. In the Sims, the player has the freedom of choice and can develop romantic relationships with characters of any gender. Life is Strange allows players to pursue male and female characters as well. This theme is essential for those who want to create meaningful game narratives that can accommodate feelings of a wider audience that will feel connected due to related experience.

3. Dasu, Keshav & Kuo, Yun-Hsin & Ma, Kwan-liu. (2023). Character-Oriented Design for Visual Data Storytelling. IEEE Transactions on Visualization and Computer Graphics. PP. 1-11.

The authors of this article argue that the story is told through the characters and that they are the key elements in a narrative. They have analyzed more than 160 data stories where they identified features that distinguish characters in media. It is said that story telling narrative can be expanded through the character design as the medium creator can incorporate various symbolism and meanings into that said design. As a concept artist I could relate to the ideas in the article as I focus on character design and believe that a good design carries meanings and extends the narrative.

4. EMERSON, D. L. (2019). Mythology in Children’s Animation. Mythlore, 38(1 (135)), 259–266.

This article explores the way different mythologies are portrayed in visual media for children. Some cartoons may have only subtle elements of mythology – for instance “The Little Mermaid” or “Aladdin”, where as others can be solely built around a certain mythology. The prime example of that could be the animated movie by Disney “Hercules” based on ancient Greek heroes and myths. The author argues that such experience can have a positive effect on the younger audience as mythological symbolisms in children’s cartoons pave way to teaching children more philosophical advanced themes. I feel that folklore and mythology are timeless concepts and make great media narratives for people of all ages.

5. Lynch, T., Tompkins, J. E., van Driel, I. I., & Fritz, N. (2016). Sexy, strong, and secondary: A content analysis of female characters in video games across 31 years. Journal of Communication, 66(4), 564–584

The article analyzes the way the portrayal of female characters in games has shifted within the time period between 1983 and 2014. The authors found that through the years the sexualization of female characters in video games has diminished, however secondary female characters are still often portrayed in an objectified way. It was also revealed that sexualized female characters are more present in the game genres that are more associated with being male-oriented, such as fighting games like Mortal Kombat or Street Fighter.The authors also conclude that sexualization is not the contributing factor of success and that there is a positive progress made in the gaming industry. As a woman, I found the research educational. As someone who wants to pursue working in the games industry I find it my mission to portray female characters in a respectful way that would foster positive portrayal and role models for people.

7. Marie-Laure Ryan. (2015). Transmedia Storytelling: Industry Buzzword or New Narrative Experience? Storyworlds: A Journal of Narrative Studies, 7(2), 1–19.

The research in this article explores transmedia storytelling. The author mentions such popular media as “Star Wars” by George Lucas, “A song of Ice and Fire” by G. R. R. Martin and “Lord of The Rings” by J. R. R. Tolkien and says that these well known works are immensely successful and can serve as proof of transmedia storytelling being the most crucial form of storytelling. However, the author argues that the expansion of a medium should be dictated by the necessity in storytelling rather than marketing strategy. She believes that the audience will be more interested in continued form of media rather than something new – for example comic book fans are more excited about a new comic book issue rather than a TV show based on that. The article is highly relevant as today the media space seems to be dominated with big franchises whose narratives transcend various forms of media, such as Marvel.

8. Nyssen, L., & Harris, R. P. (2018). Storytelling in Siberia: The Olonkho Epic in a Changing World. The World of Music, 7(1/2), 215–219.

The article explores how the Native Siberian Sakha people are keen on maintaining their epic folklore Olonkho despite Russia's policies to erase native peoples of their identities. The epic is an ancient set of poems of great heroes that existed in oral form. Nowadays, successful revival attempts have been made: the epic Olonkho has been adapted across different forms of media, such as cartoons, written novels and even games. The author argues that the deliberate attempts of such a small-sized nation implementing cultural elements in their day-to-day lives have played a signifcant role in maintaining the sense of identity and helped to preserve the unique Arctic culture. This research is extremely important to me as a Sakha person, I believe that the traditions and culture of native people are underrepresented in media and maintaning them in forms of different media is essential for shaping the sense of identity for future generations.

9. Przybylski, A. K., Weinstein, N., Murayama, K., Lynch, M. F., & Ryan, R. M. (2012). The Ideal Self at Play: The Appeal of Video Games That Let You Be All You Can Be. Psychological Science, 23(1), 69–76.

The article questions the reasons behind immense popularity of video games and asks what the driving factors behind their appeal are. The authors of the article argue that due to immersive nature of video games people are able to visualize the idealized version of themselves and accomplish things in the virtual environment that they are not able to do in real life. Thanks to direct interaction with the in-game world players are able to fully immerse themselves and develop a strong affective connection with the narratives portrayed in video games. The study conducted in this article is conclusive, tackles relevant issues in the gaming industry and gives coherent answers.

10. Totten, C. W. (2017). Game Levels as Works of Art, Architecture, and Design. In T. Funk (Ed.), Video Game Art Reader: Volume 1 (pp. 11–18). Amherst College Press.

In this article the author compares intricately and skillfully designed game levels in video games to architecture. He introduces the concept of “architecture as affect", stressing that architectural decisions are capable of invoking emotional response from people and adding to aesthetical pleasure arguing that some game levels have advanced to a point where they can possess the same qualities. Therefore, game levels could be viewed as work of art. What makes this form of art stand out from other traditional art media is that the viewer or the player in this case is able to directly interact with space environment in level designs sometimes even changing and altering it. I found the article interesting as my specialty lies in the intersection of game levels design and can be helpful to better understand how to implement concepts that are found in more conventional forms of art into my work.

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evoldir · 2 years ago

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Fwd: Conference: UBath_UK.EvoKE_EvolNetworking.Jul3-5

Begin forwarded message: > From: [email protected] > Subject: Conference: UBath_UK.EvoKE_EvolNetworking.Jul3-5 > Date: 26 April 2023 at 05:42:27 BST > To: [email protected] > > > > Dear Colleagues, > > We are pleased to announce that the EvoKE 2023 meeting at the University > of Bath, UK, from 3 - 5 July 2023, is now OPEN FOR REGISTRATION. > > Register at EvoKE 2023 and: > - Network with international and interdisciplinary partners to develop > and boost your evolution education and outreach projects > > - Develop your skills in public engagementin science, evolution > education and outreach > > - Share and discuss your experiences in evolution education and outreach > and get inspired by our speakers and other participants > > - Contribute to further develop EvoKE and to shape its future directions > and lines of action > > EvoKE 2023 will bring together researchers, educators, science > communicators, journalists, policymakers, artists and anyperson interested > in fostering networking around evolution literacy and strengthening its > impacts on society. > > EvoKE 2023 inspiring plenary speakers are: > > Dr Adam Rutherford - Geneticist, popular science author and radio > presenter. UCL, UK. > > Dr Louise Mead - Education Director for the BEACON Center for the Study > of Evolution in Action, USA. > > Dr Joana Moscoso - Co-founder and Director ofNative Scientists and > Co-founder of Chaperone. > > Jonathan Tweet - Author of "Grandmother Fish", the first book to teach > evolution to pre-schoolers and creator of twoevolution-themed card games. > > Develop your skills and network with others through our workshops that > are detailed at: https://ift.tt/X8gtqhP > > In addition to our speakers and workshops there will be poster sessions > and the EvoKE General Assembly. > > Find more information about EvoKE 2023 at: https://ift.tt/WfqwdAC > > Register for attending at: https://ift.tt/kgs0uxq > > If you have any questions, contact us at: [email protected] > > Dr Alex C. Jeffries, FHEA, Senior Lecturer > > Department > of Life Sciences > University > of Bath > > Building 4 South, Bath, BA2 7AY, UK | Telephone: +44 (0)1225 > 386263 | Email: [email protected] > > Alex Jeffries

#IFTTT #Email

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godtruth · 3 years ago

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WHICH UNPOPULAR ARCHETYPE ARE YOU?

callie’s result . . . the dark horse.

who would’ve guessed it’d be you? after all this time, it’s really you? when you were little, nobody knew your name. for so long, you’ve lived as a shade amongst shades. written off, cast aside, overlooked. you did your best work in the shadows. it took you so long to bloom, some thought you would never emerge at all. but now’s your time in the spotlight. all the heroes have failed, but you’re still standing. in the darkest hour, you came in to save the day. you’re our last hope, dark horse!

personality : clever, determined, quiet / counterpart : the killer.

TAGGED BY : @revup, my darling. TAGGING : you, you and you! tag me in your result.

#c . adams foster‚ study.#dash games.#ur absolutely right!!

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decayent · 5 years ago

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callie adams foster.

⌜ •° ✦ °• — maia mitchell + she/her + cis female + the fosters / good trouble . ┆ this is your stop . welcome to 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒 . you must be CALLIE ADAMS FOSTER . a little birdie told me you’re looking for COZY CORNER , it’s not too far from here and i’m sure your INDEPENDENT , GUARDED + 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓 self will lead you down the right path . you’ve had TWENTY FOUR years of experience anyway . what were you saying ? you DO NOT remember MOVING INTO 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄 ? oh well, good luck with that ! hey , before you go , has anyone ever told you that you give off a BIRD TRAPPED IN A CAGE OF IT’S OWN MAKING, CLASS AND RUIN ALL IN ONE, 𝐀 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐄𝐋 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐄 vibe ? i better get going , enjoy your stay !

q . from what part of the canon did you take your character from ?

the beginning of good trouble. with the premise of the pilot, callie being fresh out of law school and moving to a new city with her sister, mariana, with promises of furthering both of their careers.

q . what gender is your character , what pronouns do they use and what do they identify as sexual / romantic orientation speaking ?

callie is a cis gender female who uses she / they / her pronouns. she is pansexual ( previously leaning more toward demisexual due to certain past events ) and panromantic. as someone who identified as heterosexual for most of her teen years, callie began noticing her attraction towards women throughout her time at university. being focused on her work and her alone, she never acted on it.

q . anything else you’d like to add ?

while anyone familiar with the fosters will know about the shipping of callie with her foster brother ( and at this current point in time canon, her adoptive brother ) i do not condone it, nor do i see it as even remotely romantic. it was inc*st. it was blatant abuse of power and incredibly toxic. not to mention, it was very disrespectful towards adoptive families. my portrayal is heavily divergent in what occurred and how callie perceives it now. she will not ever treat her ‘relationship’ or that time in her life as a fairytale. not that she ever has in the show, but here it will not be romanticized in the slightest.

introduction.

trigger warnings: mentions of death, intoxication, abuse

callie’s mother died when she was ten years old. her step - father was intoxicated behind the wheel of the car and they got into a crash that took her life. with her father in prison, callie and jude, her younger brother, were sent into foster care. they were in a total of seven homes throughout their years ( and some were unforgettable in the worst ways possible ). callie acted like more of a mother to jude, refusing to be separated from him no matter what. she was sent to juvie for causing a distraction when one of their foster parents gave him a beating for finding jude wearing one of his ex wives dresses. they wouldn’t find out how bad it could have been until years later, when the next person to be placed into his care was beaten to death.

through juvie and being taken out of his care, callie and jude would meet the fosters. it took years of being denied at court, callie’s years of preservation and inability to accept that she deserved anything good, her self - sabotaging and reckless behavior before they were legally adopted. it was singlehandedly the happiest day of callie’s life.

she always had a streak of putting the needs of others before herself. she would put herself in danger to do what was right ( and that included breaking the law several times ), especially since she grew up being so exposed to the injustice surrounding the legal system. she had a love of art and photography. and the talent it would take to get her places, but her heart lied in activism. she found her way to law school and graduated in an impressive four years.

around twinrivers, callie can be found around cozy corner. she has picked up her hobbies again in her freetime, often sitting with a glass of wine and sketchpad by a window or somewhere quiet. she paints whenever she gets the chance, especially when she finds herself stressed, and never misses an opportunity to appreciate all the beauty of twinrivers. maybe even in some places she ought not to look.

tag drop.

‹ ` * c . adams foster › ━ visage. ‹ ` * c . adams foster › ━ musings. ‹ ` * c . adams foster › ━ character study. ‹ ` * c . adams foster › ━ headcanons. ‹ ` * c . adams foster › ━ aesthetic. ‹ ` * c . adams foster › ━ threads. ‹ ` * c . adams foster › ━ starters. ‹ ` * c . adams foster › ━ answered. ‹ ` * c . adams foster › ━ task.

‹ ` * c . adams foster › ━ ft. character name.

#trhq:intro #+ tag drop #‹ ` * c . adams foster › ━ visage.#‹ ` * c . adams foster › ━ musings.#‹ ` * c . adams foster › ━ character study.#‹ ` * c . adams foster › ━ headcanons.#‹ ` * c . adams foster › ━ aesthetic.#‹ ` * c . adams foster › ━ threads.#‹ ` * c . adams foster › ━ starters.#‹ ` * c . adams foster › ━ answered.#‹ ` * c . adams foster › ━ task.

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southeastasianists · 4 years ago

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Since the Board of the Substation’s official announcement of the closure of the premise, in July 2021, countless tributes from Singaporeans from diverse artistic backgrounds have poured across social media, describing how they have benefited from the premise and its programs for the past three decades.

For me, the Substation filled the indescribable intellectual and cultural void of my late teens, and its relevance became strong during my years in military conscription. Gigs at the venue were also a critical site for a more meaningful multicultural encounters and interactions, particularly with the Malay-Muslim dominated punk-rock community. Subsequently these experiences became integral to my scholarly research. Relevant publications I have based on this foundation over the past two decades include topics on Singapore’s youth subcultures, alternative music scenes and more recently the Substation’s role in exhibiting Singapore’s punk heritage.

My Subs-rhythmic journeys

The Year 1991. The “Evil Empire” of the Soviet Union became history. In the General Paper of my “A” (Advanced) Levels examinations, I mistakenly attributed Deng Xiaoping’s “To be rich is to be glorious” quote to Margaret Thatcher (probably the reason for my “C” grade). For Singaporean teenagers like me, the “kinder and gentler” nation envisioned by the new Prime Minister Goh Chok Tong meant Hong Kong’s “Category III” soft-porn movies in local cinemas. The year was supposed to end well with a slow dance in a Junior College prom-night over Bryan Adam’s “Everything I do, I do it for you” the theme song of Robin Hood (1991) broadcasted ad-nauseum over the radio.

Everything seemed fine. That was until I was introduced by my friend Harold Seah to the Substation. Entering the “Garden”, my senses were immediately overwhelmed by the chaos of growling vocals, thumping drums and swirling guitars on the stage, with audiences diving from the stage into a maddening prancing human crowd. Stagediving, slam-dancing and mosh pits were actually banned by the Singapore authorities in 1993. Ten minutes into the gig, I handed my friend my house keys, spectacles and wallet for safekeeping and I melted into the mosh pit.

Established in 1990 with the playwright Kuo Pao Kun (1939-2002) as its first Artistic Director, the Substation took its name from the venerable colonial era electrical facility at 45 Armenia Street, located within the officially zoned as “Civic District” of museums, galleries and cultural institutions in downtown Singapore. I was not aware of the dynamics then, but it was only at Substation that a former political detainee, playwright, the first Artistic Director of the venue, Kuo Pao Kun met and created artistic possibilities with a new generation of ethnic Malay working class youths. Recalling Kuo’s approachability, band member of Stompin’ Ground, Suhaimi Subandie said, “You have long hair, short hair or no hair, he talked to you the same. ”I have never met Kuo Pao Kun in person. But through the Substation, he gave me new possibilities and connections.

My experience is probably not isolated. As a converging and germinating site for otherwise fringe artistic and creative activities, the Substation has presented an intellectually fertile ground, especially for Singaporean academia, to find critically meaningful narratives and engagements with artists and social activities. As a platform for countless avant-garde exhibitions, performances and screenings, it has provided a poignant alternative narrative to the scholarly literature on themes relating to Singapore culture and society.

Until the 1990s, mainstream academic perspectives on Singapore society reflected on the postcolonial port-city’s rapid economic development as part of the “Asian economic miracle,” under the premiership of Prime Minister Lee Kuan Yew from 1959 to 1990. This triumphant sentiment was encapsulated in the collection of more than fifty chapters in Management of Success: The Moulding of Modern Singapore, published in 1989 under the editorship of Kernial Shandu Singh and Paul Wheatley (Singh & Wheatley 1989). Responding to this discourse from a different perspective are non-Singapore based scholars are “soft authoritarian” portraits of Singapore’s as the party state.

It was the Substation and its accompanying activities that another generation of scholars, raised in post-independent Singapore like myself, found possibilities of transcending existing scholarly binaries, critical cultural nuances and resilient communities.

Like the arts, this “Third Space” for Singapore academia can perhaps be attributed to the momentum set out by the vision of Kuo Pao Kun. After his release from political detention, Kuo moved from pursuing direct political criticism to fostering creative diversity. Such possibilities evident in the three decades of the Substation, which started from the age of the fax machine to that of the internet and smartphone.

The incubatory, experimental and liberal spaces that the Substation has provided a multitude of fringe artistic and aesthetic activities, alongside the communities that grew from them, has also been actively mirrored in academic writing. The Substation is relevant to academic enquiry on a wide multidisciplinary spectrum. From semiotics and performance to politics and society, individual creative works and cultural scenes that have occupied the venue inform theoretical discourse and critique across scholarly fields.

Central to academic interest in the Substation are the artistic autonomies and possibilities that it has created within postcolonial Singapore’s highly interventionist, soft authoritarian political climate. Alongside this political juxtaposition, on the academic radar are the stark contrasts between the cultural autonomy emanating from the non-descript former colonial power-station and architectural showcases like the Esplanade in 2000 and the National Art Gallery in 2015.

Scholarly attention to the Substation is both archival and current, capturing interviews with Kuo Pao Kun in 1993, and memorializing his legacy; reaffirming the site’s uniqueness in the new terminology “Affective Paragrounds”. In addition, several academics have also been actively involved with the establishment and governance of the Substation, most prominent amongst them Professor Tommy Koh, Singapore’s Ambassador-at-large who is the venue’s Patron. The venue’s Artistic Directors like Audrey Wong, Lee Weng Choy, Woon Tien Wei, have either held doctorates in the Arts, been engaged as educators in tertiary institutions or contribute actively to academic publications. Over the decades, in various capacities as speakers and discussants at its public events, the local academic community has also made active intellectual contributions to the Substation.

Although there are investments in arts centres, schools and initiatives in existing universities, their significance to Singapore arts and culture is evidently dwarfed by that of the Substation. Unlike the former, which are often inconveniently located on university campuses and cater for confined audiences of student communities, the Substation has greater artistic autonomy to serve a more diverse public. As such, especially for the locally based academic community, the Substation provides more exciting platforms for broader public engagement, social interaction and scholarly collaboration and research.

Punk rock gigs have been staged in campuses of universities sporadically over the decades, but organisers, performers and audiences there will always be a place for them at the Substation. The Singaporean artiste Loo Zihan may be familiar with arts institutions and centres in Singapore. But, it is perhaps only in the Substation that he could comfortably stage the mixed media performance Cane (2012), a re-enactment of the controversial 1994 event in which Joseph Ng in openly cut his pubic hair in a mall, as a symbolic protest against police entrapment of gay men in Singapore. Like the annual Substation Conferences held in the 1990s, the Substation has encouraged substantially critical dialogues involving academics and the arts community.

The Substation’s artistic leaders recognised the value of connecting with the scholarly community. Artistic Director Alan Oei (2015-2020) actively sought closer academic-artistic collaborations. For example, I collaborated with Oei in integrating the Visual Methods Conference held in Singapore in 2017 with a parallel Substation exhibition, Discipline in the City.

As a moderator to the panel “Great Expectations: What Does It Mean To Make and Hold Space for the Arts In Singapore?” in “Space, Spaces, Spacing 2020” (Substation 2020), I had the honour to meet one of the speakers Subhas Nair and his sister Preetips Nair (within the audience). The Nairs were given a police warning several months ago for an “offensive rap video”, in response to a Brownface public advertisement. Unfortunately, that may just be my last academic service to the Substation as it plans to close by July 2021.

Among the local academic community. I am confident that those who have committed to Substation have done so purely as a labour of love, with no expectations of institutional acknowledgment from their universities and schools. On the contrary, some of us ponder what repercussions might follow our commitment to a venue that is associated more with critique than cheerleading.

Jason Lugur included the Substation as one of the few “Spaces of Hope” in his study of Singapore’s cultural landscape. The Substation gave me my foundations as a scholar in Cultural Studies and it has only been right for me to reciprocate in keeping this space of hope alive in my own small ways. The Substation as we know it may be history. But, in fostering a unique relationship between independent arts and critical scholarship for the past three decades, its significance should not be written as an obituary. It should remind the academic community, particularly in the Humanities, of its public commitments to arts and culture in Singapore. Through generating critical knowledge from its research, documentation as well as other forms of collaborations with the arts communities, I hope that the academic community will continue its affective missions in finding and serving in new spaces of hope in Singapore.

#Southeast Asia #Singapore #The Substation #Culture #Academia #Arts

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compneuropapers · 4 years ago

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Interesting Papers for Week 6, 2021

What You Don’t Know Can Hurt You: Uncertainty Impairs Executive Function. Alquist, J. L., Baumeister, R. F., Tice, D. M., & Core, T. J. (2020). Frontiers in Psychology, 11, 2647.

Localized inhibition in the Drosophila mushroom body. Amin, H., Apostolopoulou, A. A., Suárez-Grimalt, R., Vrontou, E., & Lin, A. C. (2020). eLife, 9, e56954.

A universal scaling law of mammalian touch. Andrews, J. W., Adams, M. J., & Montenegro-Johnson, T. D. (2020). Science Advances, 6(41), eabb6912.

The Interplay of Synaptic Plasticity and Scaling Enables Self-Organized Formation and Allocation of Multiple Memory Representations. Auth, J. M., Nachstedt, T., & Tetzlaff, C. (2020). Frontiers in Neural Circuits, 14, 59.

Mice Preferentially Use Increases in Cerebral Cortex Spiking to Detect Changes in Visual Stimuli. Cone, J. J., Bade, M. L., Masse, N. Y., Page, E. A., Freedman, D. J., & Maunsell, J. H. R. (2020). Journal of Neuroscience, 40(41), 7902–7920.

Distinct patterns of surround modulation in V1 and hMT+. Er, G., Pamir, Z., & Boyaci, H. (2020). NeuroImage, 220, 117084.

Computational capacity of pyramidal neurons in the cerebral cortex. Georgiev, D. D., Kolev, S. K., Cohen, E., & Glazebrook, J. F. (2020). Brain Research, 1748, 147069.

Identifiability of a Binomial Synapse. Gontier, C., & Pfister, J.-P. (2020). Frontiers in Computational Neuroscience, 14, 86.

The Synapse Diversity Dilemma: Molecular Heterogeneity Confounds Studies of Synapse Function. Grant, S. G. N., & Fransén, E. (2020). Frontiers in Synaptic Neuroscience, 12, 45.

Attention-related modulation of caudate neurons depends on superior colliculus activity. Herman, J. P., Arcizet, F., & Krauzlis, R. J. (2020). eLife, 9, e53998.

Learning to avoid looking: Competing influences of reward on overt attentional selection. Pearson, D., & Le Pelley, M. E. (2020). Psychonomic Bulletin & Review, 27(5), 998–1005.

Combining the senses: The role of experience- and task-dependent mechanisms in the development of audiovisual simultaneity perception. Petrini, K., Denis, G., Love, S. A., & Nardini, M. (2020). Journal of Experimental Psychology. Human Perception and Performance, 46(10), 1105–1117.

The influence of reward magnitude on stimulus memory and stimulus generalization in categorization decisions. Schlegelmilch, R., & von Helversen, B. (2020). Journal of Experimental Psychology. General, 149(10), 1823–1854.

Cortical and striatal circuits together encode transitions in natural behavior. Sjöbom, J., Tamtè, M., Halje, P., Brys, I., & Petersson, P. (2020). Science Advances, 6(41), eabc1173.

Vision for the blind: visual psychophysics and blinded inference for decision models. Smith, P. L., & Lilburn, S. D. (2020). Psychonomic Bulletin & Review, 27(5), 882–910.

Experience-dependent plasticity in an innate social behavior is mediated by hypothalamic LTP. Stagkourakis, S., Spigolon, G., Liu, G., & Anderson, D. J. (2020). Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 117(41), 25789–25799.

It’s new, but is it good? How generalization and uncertainty guide the exploration of novel options. Stojić, H., Schulz, E., P Analytis, P., & Speekenbrink, M. (2020). Journal of Experimental Psychology. General, 149(10), 1878–1907.

Purpose-Dependent Consequences of Temporal Expectations Serving Perception and Action. van Ede, F., Rohenkohl, G., Gould, I., & Nobre, A. C. (2020). Journal of Neuroscience, 40(41), 7877–7886.

Alternating sequences of future and past behavior encoded within hippocampal theta oscillations. Wang, M., Foster, D. J., & Pfeiffer, B. E. (2020). Science, 370(6513), 247–250.

Metabolic tuning of inhibition regulates hippocampal neurogenesis in the adult brain. Wang, X., Liu, H., Morstein, J., Novak, A. J. E., Trauner, D., Xiong, Q., … Ge, S. (2020). Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 117(41), 25818–25829.

#science #Neuroscience #computational neuroscience #Brain science #research #cognition #cognitive science #neurons #neurobiology #psychophysics #scientific publications

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dd20century · 4 years ago

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Trailblazing Hollywood Architect Paul R. Williams, Part One

“I wanted to prove that I, as an individual, deserved a place in the world.” – Paul R. Williams

Architect Paul R. Williams is usually noted as “Architect to the Stars” because of the many Hollywood Stars on his roster of clients. To remember Paul R, Williams solely as the builder of elegant mansions would do his legacy a great disservice. Williams was the first successful African-American architect in Los Angeles, and first African-American member of the American Institute of Architects (AIA) (1), and “the first African-American of its gold medal”(2). He faced the same prejudice that talented, ambitious members of his race faced in the United States early part of the Twentieth Century. Despite this he was responsible for some of the most recognized and important buildings and homes in Los Angeles. Williams’ legacy is endangered, as many of his buildings have been demolished, his working papers tragically destroyed, and the architect himself, unfortunately, is now mostly forgotten.

Charles Alston, Paul R. Williams Illustration (1943). National Archives. Image source.

The Early Life of Paul Revere Williams

Paul Revere Williams was born in 1894 in Los Angeles to Chester and Lila Williams. The Williams moved to Los Angeles the previous year with their young son, Chester, as Mr. and Mrs. Williams suffered from tuberculosis and were searching for a cure (3). Chester senior’s efforts running a fruit stand were unsuccessful; he died of his tuberculosis in 1896. Lila succumbed to the same disease two years later when Paul was only four years old. Now orphaned, Paul and his brother were sent to live in separate foster homes (1,4). Although separated, Chester and Paul remained close until Chester also died of tuberculosis in his early twenties (3).

Paul was later adopted by “C.D. and Emily Clarkson, who were highly supportive, educationally and, later, artistically, of him”(4). Young Paul helped his adopted family financially by working as a newsboy selling papers in downtown Los Angeles.3

Young Williams’s Education and Early Challenges

Paul attended the highly selective Polytechnic High School” (3) where “a teacher advised him against pursuing a career in architecture because white clients would not want a Black architect” (6), and he would not be able to find “enough Black clients” (4) in Los Angeles to provide him with a decent living (2,4). Paul believed in himself and his talents, securing internships and jobs at prominent, local architecture firms immediately after high school in 1912, despite prevailing racial prejudice (1).

Williams first studied at the Los Angeles Beaux-Arts School and then went on the University of Southern California’s School of Engineering to study architecture (4). In 1919 he became the first African-American graduate of that institution (1).

During this time, Williams met Della May Givens through a church youth group. Della had previously dated William’s older brother. In 1917, Paul and Della married and eventually had two daughters. Della took full responsibility for running all aspects of the household and for raising the girls, allowing Williams to focus all of his energy on his career (3).

Paul R. Williams Begins His Career

Williams gained recognition for his work by entering several architectural competitions, winning The White Pine Architectural Competition in 1918, and The Los Angeles Brick Company Competition the following year (1). The competitions gave Williams the opportunity to promote his work without a link to his identity as a Black man (3). Williams worked for architects “Wilbur Cook, Reginald Johnson, Arthur Rolland Kelly, and John C. Austin” (1). Austin was influential not only creatively, but also socially, Austin’s powerful contacts in Los Angeles society of the time allowed his young protégé networking opportunities (3).

Paul R. Williams, Design for a White Pine House (1918). Unbuilt. Image source.

William’s first influential position came in 1920, “struggling to gain attention, he served on the first Los Angeles City Planning Commission (6). The following year he was licensed as an architect in California (5), and in 1922 Williams opened his firm, ten years after his high school teacher tried to discourage him to become an architect (3). He “became the first Black member of the national [American Institute of Architects] AIA in 1923” (5).

During the 1920s, the local economy was booming due to the film industry in Hollywood. Many of the stars and movie executives had come from other locations to working Los Angeles, and some, like Williams, had belonged to ethnic groups that been looked down upon by white Anglo-Saxon America. They were willing to give the brilliant architect the opportunity to design their dream homes. The iconic silent film star Lon Cheney was one or Williams’s first Hollywood celebrity clients. Sadly, Cheney died of pneumonia before he could move into the home. One of William’s most notable homes designed in this period was the Jack Atkins House. Since the house was heavily influenced by English manor houses, it was rented out often for use in films. The home appeared in the film Topper (1937). Tragically, the house was destroyed in 2005 in a fire that occurred during renovations (3).

Paul R. Williams, Jack Atkins House (1930), Pasadena, CA. Image source.

Williams Becomes the Master of Many Styles

Williams’ often received criticism for not embracing the architectural styles of the day, much like another California architect Julia Morgan. The main reason was that he felt fortunate to have his clients and wanted to build homes for them directed by their needs and tastes. Also during that era, it was very unlikely that his white clients would tolerate being dictated to by a black architect. Williams, therefore, became adept at many styles and mastered them all, much like Julia Morgan had done (3).

Paul R. Williams, Clark H. Edwards Duplex (1925), Los Angeles. Photo credit: Michael Locke. Image source.

“Modern interpretations of Tudor-revival, French Chateau, Regency, French Country, and Mediterranean architecture were all within his vernacular” (6). The 1922 George Holmes Kinsey house was built in the Spanish Mission style, as was the 1923 John B. Browne House and the 1924 Frank Putnam Flint House. Williams’ Jay Paley House (1935) was influenced by English Georgian architecture. The Douglas Mitchell House (1924) is a fine example of Williams’ mastery of American Colonial architecture. Williams built several homes in 1926 that exhibit English Tudor influences: The Howard T. Wayne House, The Crowell and Katherine Havens Beech House, the Philip Rothman House, and the John L. and Janette Adams Garner House (4).

Paul R. Williams, Jay Paley House (1935), Los Angeles, CA. Image source.

Although Williams’s homes reflect many styles, there are features that are unique to his homes. Many homes feature elegant grand staircases (for stars who wish to make a dramatic entrance). Circle and curve motifs appear in most homes, and can be seen in the use of curving staircases and circular windows. Williams liked to employ tall narrow windows in many homes in order to bring more of the southern California light into the interiors (3).

Read about Paul R. Williams’s community activity and commercial work in the 1950s and 1960s in part two.

References

LA Conservancy, (2020). Paul Revere Williams, FAIA (1894-1980), https://www.laconservancy.org/architects/paul-r-williams

Budds, D., (13 December, 2016). The Overlooked Legacy Of Pioneering African-American Architect Paul Revere Williams, Fast Company (online), https://www.fastcompany.com/3066503/the-overlooked-legacy-of-pioneering-african-american-architect-paul-revere-williams

Public Broadcasting System, (6 February, 2020). Hollywood’s Architect [Documentary Film]. https://www.pbs.org/video/hollywoods-architect-3prwsa/

Brane, K.D, (15 January, 2020). Paul R. Williams, Black Listed Culture, Issue 2. https://blacklistedculture.com/paul-r-williams/

US Modernist, (n.d.). Paul Revere Williams, FAIA (1894-1980), https://usmodernist.org/pwilliams.htm

Wikipedia.com, (10 December, 2020). Paul R. Williams, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paul_R._Williams

For Further Reading

Hudson, Karen E. (1993). Paul R. Williams, Architect: A Legacy of Style. New York: Rizzoli. p. 240. ISBN 0-8478-1763-6. LCC NA737.W527 H84 1993

Hudson, Karen E. (1994). The Will and the Way: Paul R. Williams, Architect. New York: Rizzoli. pp. 64. ISBN 0-8478-1780-6. LCC NA737.W527 H85 1994

#Paul R. Williams #architecture #california #mid-century

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minicoopdetat · 5 years ago

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character study.

BASICS

FULL NAME: August Levi Cooper

HOW IS IT PRONOUNCED?: August like the month, Chicken Coop- ER

IS THERE A MEANING BEHIND IT?: His mom loves a good hippy-esque name and fall is her favorite time of year. Fall’s a shitty name though and her choice was between Autumn and August, depnding on gender.

NICKNAMES: Coop. Cooper. Coop deville. Coop de Tat. Mini Coop. (( all of which he came up with))

AGE: 23.

DATE OF BIRTH: April 2.

ZODIAC SIGN: Aries.

PLACE OF BIRTH: Salinas, ca.

HOMETOWN: Salinas, ca

LOCATION: Dayton, California

NATIONALITY: American.

EDUCATION LEVEL: BA in Biological Science.

OCCUPATION: Vet Tech at the local Animal Clinic

MENTAL CONDITIONS: Undiagnosed ADHD

PHYSICAL IMPAIRMENTS: None

ADDICTIONS: Sex. Sexting. Saying the work Fuck or any variation of it. Partying

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

HEIGHT: 5′10

BODY TYPE: fuckin ripped. that’s all you need to know

EYE COLOUR: Hazel

HAIR COLOUR: Brunette

HAIR STYLE Geled and combed to bedhead perfection

STYLE: varies, very party boy chic, but can clean up well if need be.

PIERCINGS: none

TATTOOS: he has seven ‘dragon balls’ in various places ( 1:inner wrist, 2: inner wrist, 3: shoulder blade, 4: hip , 5: behind his ear, 6: back of neck 7:ass); nightwing symbol (ankle); squirtle squad shades ( coming soon )

PERSONALITY

POSITIVE TRAITS: loyal. optimistic. passionate. outgoing. confident

NEGATIVE TRAITS: loud. tactless. gullible. dramatic. reckless

WHAT DO THEY CONSIDER TO BE THE BEST AND THE WORST PART OF THEIR PERSONALITY?: Best part? His confidence. It’s something he was picked at for as a kid. He was way TOO MUCH and there were times he felt bad about his high energy, but he’s grown to embrace it and wear it that EXTRANESS like a fuckin gym badge. Worst part? What do you mean worst part? It’s all great. Unless you count the part where he can get over whelmed/overstimulated. Or you know, the fact he gets conned on the regular due to his trusting nature.

ARE THEY MORE EXTROVERTED OR INTROVERTED?: Extroverted.

ANY TALENTS?: He’s a 3rd degree blackbelt and speaks Japanese. His epic pkmn battling skills.

WHAT ARE THEIR FEARS?: dying alone and forgotten. skeletons.

ANY ALLERGIES?: none

DO THEY HAVE ANY PHOBIAS?: not the universe its self, but the idea that one life is nothing but a speck, maybe tinier, in the grand scheme of things

WHAT IS THEIR SOFT SPOT?: friends & family. animals. underdogs. his ears and his collar bone.

LIST 3 PET-PEEVES THEY CAN’T STAND: shoes in the house. shoes in general. passive agressive behavior.

PAST

BEST MEMORY: When his entire family came out to his last soccer game to be his cheering section despite being ousted by the rest of the team. He sat the bench, due to the fight, but they made a big deal out of it anyway.

WORST MEMORY: His first panic attack. He was in 4th grade and being sent to the principal’s office. It was a rainy day, so they’d been stuck inside the entire time and gym wasn’t for another hour or so. It was the classic struggle for him and Ms. Donaldson. She wanted him to sit still and well-- he needed to move. In kindergarten, pacing around, wiggling, bouncing, all that might’ve been excusable cause Kindergarteners were little. They couldn’t help it. But a nine year old? She had trouble giving him the same leeway so to make an example of him, she sent him to the principal’s. Fine. He didn’t care until he got half way down the hall and suddenly it felt like his chest was on fire. It tightened and he found himself struggling to breathe, leaving him light headed and trembling. He thought he was fucking dying and it didn’t help that he could see a class coming from the computer lab. So rather than let anyone see him, he ducked into the nearest broom closet and shut the door. Didn’t help. It was small. Too small and he tried the door. It didn’t budge. He tried again. Nothing. The room felt like it was getting smaller and smaller, his chest tighter to the point he was sobbing and banging on the door. He was going to die in there. He was sure of it. And he had so much to do. He hadn’t finished the last Saga of DBZ. He needed to take his black belt test. He never even got to ask Chelsey C out to get ice cream and he was so so sure he could score at least a kiss on the cheek and he leaned against the door, fists slamming on the door one last time before it opened, and he tumbled out into the floor. The principal, along with a good chunk of the his class were standing there as he crumpled and curled into a ball. Two minutes. That’s how long he’d been gone and how long it took for him to derail the first half of his school year. He did his best to ignore the teasing and generally did a good job. It wasn’t his last incident, but it was certainly the worst.

BIGGEST SECRET: He could’ve been a dad a few years ago. It was a random hook up and he was scared shitless, but planned on stepping up to do the right thing. She had a miscarriage though and he still wonders what his life would be like if she hadn’t.

BIGGEST WISH: To live life to the fullest, help animals out and have a strong support system. Oh and to prove Carol Baskin murdered her husband.

BIGGEST FEAR: Dying without anyone truly seeing him. He’s accepted himself, mess and all. He refuses to let anyone change what makes him him and refuses to beg anyone to see past his loud obnoxious self, but sometimes it’s all so exhausting. the idea of dying, and being thought of as just another insignificant fuck boi is fucking crushing.

FIRST KISS: Chelsey C. at the park across the street from the ice cream shop.

FIRST LOVE: Samantha Ruiz.

CHILDHOOD BEST FRIEND: Adam Birch. Danielle Fitzgerald

CHILDHOOD PERSONALITY: Cooper was even more loud and showy than he is now. He had the energy of five Energizer bunnies and reeked havoc on the school. He actually had a special room dedicated to him at one point that the teacher just let him get his energy out in. Most of it was positive, though there were moments he became overwhelmed, angry or distraught. At first it was seen as dramatics, but it quickly snowballed to the point his teachers were requesting medicine of some sort. His mother enrolled him in therapy and they worked on rounding out his moods. It worked well enough that he was able to get by aside from a panic attack every once and a while. Other than that, he was and still very much is a high energy guy.

ROMANCE & SEXUALITY

TURN ONS: Daddy kink. Confidence. Doe eyes. Independence. Glasses. Eye contact. Dirty Talk. Honesty. Wax play. Playful banter/teasing/laughing during sex. Having his hands restrained. Marking. Boldness. A pulse.

TURN OFFS: Bathroom play. Indifference. Judgement. Cynicism. Bullies (emotional or physical)

MISCELLANEOUS

SPEAKING VOICE CLAIM: Gregg Sulkin

SINGING VOICE CLAIM: N/A

MOTHER’S NAME: elizabeth cooper

RELATIONSHIP WITH MOTHER: His mother is his biggest supporter and he loves her to death. She was there for him when he was struggling most and let him know it was ok to be him, no matter what other people thought or felt.

FATHER’S NAME: maxwell cooper

RELATIONSHIP WITH FATHER: His relationship with his father isn’t as close as he and his mother, but they love each other and have their own way of showing it.

SIBLINGS: maxwell cooper jr (36), summer cooper (34; heartborn), dawn cooper (32), buzz cooper (30; heartborn), willow cooper (28), skye cooper (26; heartborn)

PETS: Satoshi; “foster” dog

ROLE MODELS: His parents. His brother. Joe Exotic. Goku.

FAVORITE PLACE: The animal shelter.

FAVORITE ANIMALS: White Tigers. Otters.

FAVORITE BOOKS: Most comics. The Giver.

FAVORITE MOVIES: Most of the Bond Movies. Hunger Games. Clue. Cabin in the Woods.

FAVORITE MUSIC: Anything by Usher. Childish Gambino. Doja Cat. MJ. Anything and everything really.

FAVORITE FOOD: Mexican. Steak. Crab Rangoon. THE RANGOON MOTHER.

QUIRKS

ARE THEY RIGHT OR LEFT HANDED?: Left Handed

WHAT’S A WORD THAT’S ALWAYS ON THEIR LIPS?: Fuck. DIck. Fuck Me.

WHAT LANGUAGES DO THEY SPEAK?: English and Japanese

DO THEY CURSE?: Excessively.

WHAT’S THEIR WORST HABIT(S)?: Talks about his dick too much. Clicks his tongue. Can’t sit still long periods of time. Trusts anyone and everyone.

DO THEY DRINK OR SMOKE? HOW FREQUENTLY?: Yes, but not often.

ARE THEY AN EARLY BIRD OR A NIGHT OWL?: Both. But leans toward Night Owl.

HOW TIDY IS THEIR ROOM?: Incredibly tidy as is the rest of his place.

HOW LONG TO THEY USUALLY TAKE GETTING READY?: About an hour on a good day. He’s got a routine and he doesn’t sacrifice quality for speed.

#::|| headcanon ||::#::|| character study ||::

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fromchaos · 5 years ago

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okay these were the gangsey children i came up with back in august. might change them a bit/give pynch more children bc why not

here’s the captions from twitter:

wren is pretty shy and bookish, but she is lowkey rebellious and witchy. she and isla are both psychic. wren loves chilling in gansey’s study with a book, hiding from isla and noah’s shenanigans.

isla is a goth style icon. she is bff’s with emma and is v obviously in love with her, but emma doesn’t notice At All. she pretends to be aloof and apathetic, but is super easily riled up, especially by noah’s 12 y.o. nonsense.

noah named himself, and blue and gansey were like “oh i always liked that name.” (c’:) they play a lot of minecraft, listen to a lot of bad electronica, and love going on stream walks looking for frogs. overall, one good bean! but way way too much energy help

adam and ronan started fostering emma when they were 4 and adopted them a few years later. they are homeschooled and their best friend (after isla) is a cow. they do not own a hairbrush. emma calls opal “aunt opal.”

#for the record the sargents are sarchengsey children not just bluesey children #trc kidfic cinematic universe

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rckfllrs-blog · 5 years ago

Photo

☁ * ⋆ : aw, look at this photo! it’s ORION ROCKEFELLER with their family! they’re an ARCHITECT, right? this photo must have been before HIS SON WAS BORN, but after HE RENOVATED ROCKEFELLER MANOR. i heard that when they were younger, they used to DRAW/PAINT – i can’t imagine them doing that now! man… i wonder if their family knows they ARE SUFFERING FROM UNDIAGNOSED PTSD. ( c, 18, pst. )

hellllooo everybody! i’m c ( the shawn mendes mascot on the main ) and this is my dorito of a muse, orion rockefeller. i’ve been working him up in my mind ever since we started working on goldstone and i am so freakin’ hyped to be able to finally write him with u all <3 so pls, keep reading for some info about him! ( and buckle up, bc it’s kind of a wild ride! )

tw: death, mentions of ptsd.

orion was born on february 14th, 1979 which makes him an aquarius, and also a valentine’s day baby

he's a GIANT goofball. ever since college, he's always been sort of a social butterfly and a people pleaser

genuinely one of the most caring people on the planet??? as a kid he'd get into fights with bullies who were picking on the smaller kids

has the DEEPEST divide between his private and public life. even his own son is mostly unaware of his childhood/background

he's an architect, and designs buildings/infrastructures for communities and stuff like that. he's won tons of awards for his work and travels a lot for conferences and things like that

his mother passed away during childbirth, so he never got to meet her, but her name was emily rockefeller ( originally adams ) and from what his father told him about her, she was a lovely, kind, but passionate woman and she would’ve loved him fiercely. ( his father also often told orion when he was being particularly stubborn that orion reminded him of emily, and that he has her eyes. )

his father was james “jimmy” rockefeller, a decorated US airforce pilot. he was also a descendant of the rockefeller family ( if you’re not from america/not too versed in american history, the rockefellers are considered the richest family in american history — john d. rockefeller was a stupid wealthy man! )

growing up without a mother was difficult, but he and his father were extremely close, and james made sure that he was close with his mother’s family, especially her sister and her parents. as for his paternal family, he didn’t know much about them growing up, besides the fact that he’s distantly related to america’s first millionaire. he was also pretty close with a lot of his father’s friends from the military and their children as well.

orion had a relatively normal childhood, save for the slight melancholy around mother’s day every year. his father did his best to deter him from any sort of toxic masculinity, and made sure he was getting the best education possible. when his father was away on assignment, he was usually in the care of his mother’s sister. he rarely got into trouble at school except for the occasional fight when he’d stick up for the smaller kids who were getting picked on.

his father was rarely away on assignment, maybe only once or twice, and when he was he usually returned within a few months. in the summer of 1990, he was deployed to iraq to serve in the gulf war, and he promised orion it would be his last deployment.

in february 1991, when orion was about to turn twelve, his aunt picked him up early from school one day, and said they were going to see one of his father’s military friends. orion thought it was odd, but he wasn’t going to complain — what kid doesn’t want to leave school early? when he got there, the home was full of people he didn’t recognize, all with solemn looks on their faces. his aunt had to turn away as they bore the news.

that afternoon, one week before he turned twelve, orion learned that his father had passed away. he was spared the details, but learned later in life that the plane he’d been piloting had been shot down in a freak ambush.

orion doesn’t remember much of the next few years of his life. they were a blur of a young boy learning how to mourn all over again, and trying to grow up at the same time. at first, he was placed with his mother’s sister, but as a traveling artist, she was deemed unfit to care for him. he was then sent to a distant uncle on his father’s side somewhere in rural Iowa who treated him like he wasn’t even there. orion attempted to run away twice, and succeeded on his third try when he made it all the way to chicago. he survived there, somehow, for a few weeks before he was found by a few federal agents — lo and behold, his uncle ( who probably wasn’t even his uncle, but orion doesn’t remember ) refused to take him back. so, orion, at the age of fourteen, was put in the foster care system.

on paper, nobody would’ve wanted him. riddled with the deaths of his parents and a habit of running away, coupled with the fact that he missed the “desirable adoption age” by about thirteen and a half years, most people didn’t even want to try. the ones that did, decided he would be too difficult to handle after they met him and saw the cold isolation in his eyes, and the stubborn set to his jaw.

he was moved from foster family to foster family over the next four years, all over california, and had been re-placed five times by his eighteenth birthday. but all the while, he managed to get through school and save as much money as he could, selling five-minute portraits in downtown LA and getting small gig jobs here and there. by the time he turned eighteen, he was determined to have enough to go to college — or at least move out on his own and finally do something on his own volition for once.

little did he know, someone would come knocking on his foster home’s door asking for him a few days after he turned eighteen. they represented the rockefeller estate, and they wanted to have a chat with him about his father.

james had left him his entire estate. all of it. every penny, everything he’d ever owned, all of his mother’s belongings — and on top of it all, the massive manor passed down through the rockefeller family located just at the edge of goldstone, california. his hometown.

he used some ( a relatively small portion ) of the money to accept his offer at university of california, san diego as an architecture major, and was at the top of his class there all the way up until he graduated as part of the class of 2001.

in his junior year of college, like any other guy, he slept around a bit, and thought nothing of it — up until a girl he’d slept with months ago approached him in the middle of his senior year and told him she was pregnant. she didn’t want to keep it, but it was also too late to terminate the pregnancy, so she was thinking of putting the baby up for adoption. immediately, memories of his entire adolescence flooded back to him, and he begged her not to — instantly, he offered to take full custody of the child, and she could visit whenever she wanted, if she wanted to at all. she agreed, and lo and behold, branwen rockefeller was born. ( he named him branwen after somebody his father had told him about when he was a kid — he doesn’t remember the story, or if he was related to him, but he remembered the name. )

he then went on to pursue a masters in architecture, and his main project was actually renovating the rockefeller manor — obviously, after 22 years of being owned by a bank, and many years before that of no upkeep, it needed some renovation. orion spent his entire MA studies renovating it and actually presented the whole process to receive his masters degree, which he did.

he spent the next few years traveling — with branwen by his side, they’d stay in goldstone for most of the school year, but every chance they’d get to take a vacation, orion would take them somewhere he’d always wanted to go as a kid.

finally, in 2014, when branwen was starting high school, orion figured it would be a good time to completely settle down in goldstone, stop travelling so much and pour his attention into the one thing he’d left unfinished — the manor. it wasn’t unfinished from a construction perspective — it was stunning actually, fully furnished with a gym, a home theater, countless bedrooms, and fully ready to be lived in — but for orion, there was one thing he’d always wanted to do when the timing was right: give kids who felt lost a place to call home. give kids who were like him, back in the day, a place to call home.

so that’s what he did. he spent months gathering the proper licensing and credentials to finally open rockefeller manor to the public. he’s a licensed social worker now, and rockefeller manor offers a place to stay to anybody between the ages of fourteen and twenty one, so long as they display a significant need for help. ( orion often ends up taking the “tougher cases” — the ones with nowhere else to go. and sometimes, kids just show up on their own, nobody to represent them — and who is he to turn them down? )

now, he divides his time between architectural projects for work ( he’s designed countless buildings all over southern california, and is incredibly busy designing new projects all the time ) and taking care of the manor, whether that be the kids that live in it or the building itself.

( as for his secret, he’s experienced symptoms of ptsd ever since his dad passed, but never really knew what it was. it worsened when he began moving around, unable to ever really call one place home, and now that he’s completely boxed away the memories of his adolescence, he’s completely compartmentalized it and honestly made it worse whenever he does get around to thinking about what he’s been through. he’s also never told anybody about his background -- the furthest he’ll go is that his father was an air force pilot, and he grew up in goldstone. he’s always just tried to push through it and ignore it, but when he’s under significant stress or there’s a lot on his plate, he’ll tend to shut down or even spiral into a panic attack. he keeps himself so busy because he can’t be by himself for too long, as his past has drilled into him an innate fear of being alone. during these episodes, he’ll often shut himself in his office with the door locked until it passes, terrified that one of the kids will see him like this — too stubborn to let any of them, especially the ones who look up to him, see him as weak. )

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

obvs, the kids from the rockefeller manor !! he's definitely a parental/paternal figure to them and runs a pretty tight ship to keep everybody in line, but he also knows when it's time to just let them be.

childhood friends?? he lived in goldstone until he was twelve and then disappeared after his father passed until he was in his thirties, essentially. so it would be interesting if there was somebody who knew him as a kid and can see the huge difference in him now (he used to be really irreverent and rambunctious and is now a Certified Gentleman)

his personal assistant !! this one is on the wc page on the main, but he has an assistant that helps him organize his work as an architect. they're probably the closest person to him other than his own son, so maybe they've caught glimpses of his ptsd episodes??

friends!!! he def has a lot of friends around town, he's a pretty familiar face throughout goldstone

perhaps??? a past love interest??? he swore himself off from dating after he had branwen, at least for a while, bc he wanted to focus on being a dad and taking care of the manor, but uh .... love doesn't work like that buddy pal ! hehe

literally anything else i am a heaux for plots

#goldstoneintro #this got ... agregiously long !#i apologize #it's also very sad #am sorry

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lunawish · 1 year ago

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tag drop part 3

S. ADAMS FOSTER : inchara. S. ADAMS FOSTER : images. S. ADAMS FOSTER : study. S. ADAMS FOSTER : hc. S. ADAMS FOSTER : rel. lena adams foster. S. ADAMS FOSTER : rel. callie adams foster. S. ADAMS FOSTER : rel. mariana adams foster. S. ADAMS FOSTER : rel. jesus adams foster. S. ADAMS FOSTER : rel. jude adams foster. S. ADAMS FOSTER : rel. brandon foster. S. ADAMS FOSTER : rel. mike foster. S. ADAMS FOSTER : rel. sharon elkin. S. ADAMS FOSTER : rel. frank cooper. S. ADAMS FOSTER : rel. tess bayfield.

P. GELLER : inchara. P. GELLER : images. P. GELLER : study. P. GELLER : hc. P. GELLER : rel. rory gilmore. P. GELLER : rel. lorelai gilmore.

A. MONTGOMERY : inchara. A. MONTGOMERY : images. A. MONTGOMERY : study. A. MONTGOMERY : hc. A. MONTGOMERY : rel. lauren bloom. A. MONTGOMERY : rel. remy hadley. A. MONTGOMERY : rel. mellie grant. A. MONTGOMERY : rel. mark sloan. A. MONTGOMERY : rel. derek shepherd. A. MONTGOMERY : rel. meredith grey. A. MONTGOMERY : rel. callie torres. A. MONTGOMERY : rel. jake reilly. A. MONTGOMERY : rel. henry montgomery. A. MONTGOMERY : rel. amelia shepherd. A. MONTGOMERY : rel. charlotte king. A. MONTGOMERY : rel. alex karev.

A. ROBBINS : inchara. A. ROBBINS : images. A. ROBBINS : study. A. ROBBINS : hc. A. ROBBINS : rel. callie torres. A. ROBBINS : rel. eliza minnick. A. ROBBINS : rel. carina deluca. A. ROBBINS : rel. teddy altman. A. ROBBINS : rel. amelia shepherd. A. ROBBINS : rel. mark sloan. A. ROBBINS : rel. sophia robbin sloan torres.

C. YANG : inchara. C. YANG : images. C. YANG : study. C. YANG : hc. C. YANG : rel. meredith grey. C. YANG : rel. teddy altman. C. YANG : rel. MAGIC.

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porkchop-ao3 · 6 years ago

Text

Unpicking

Here is another character study type fic that nobody asked for, this time mostly focusing on Tailor Rick. This one delves into his back story, his marriage to be precise. It’s a little angsty... But I.C makes an appearance towards the end for some fluff :)

Some fics that I reference in this include this masterpiece by @hoodoo12, and this one by myself that is NSFW (this one was mentioned real subtly but what’s the harm in some self promo, huh?).

5.5k words. Enjoy!

Tailor and I had been going non stop all weekend. He'd been nominated for an award at a men's fashion event, and it'd been non stop dinners, networking events, talks, presentations, cat walks, interviews… all sorts. He wasn't doing well, I could tell that much. Despite his fame, Tailor really didn't 'do’ people. He liked to keep to himself, being surrounded only by people he trusted and could tolerate; but this weekend he'd been hassled by hundreds of people he didn't know from Adam and I'd watched him get more and more agitated as the event went on.

He didn't even seem to cheer up after he'd been announced as the winner. He was brought up in front of a crowd, expected to give a speech. When the time came, he walked up to the microphone and said;

“I'm not one for long speeches, and I know none of you really want to sit here and listen to me thanking a bunch of people who I supposedly wouldn't be here without…” He'd started wistfully, everyone in the crowd was rapt, hanging on every word as he stared at the etched glass plaque in his hands. We were all expecting a 'but’, followed by an inspirational outpouring, someone so articulate such as Tailor would surely leave a lasting impression!

“So, thank you for the award.”

Then he just gave a nod, and walked off stage.

There was an awkward stretch of silence. I began to clap, and as social cues were hard to ignore, so did everyone else.

And now we were in an almost empty bar, far from the event (not even on the same planet), and Tailor was necking glass after glass of whiskey. I was still on my first glass of wine, unable to keep up with him even if I tried. I'd attempted to make conversation, but he was responding in grunts and nods, clearly exhausted. If not physically, mentally. So now I was quiet, enjoying the music playing in the background. It wasn't like music from earth, it was more tinkly sounding and didn't have any lyrics; just this constant, calming burring sound that changed in pitch with the beat.

Tailor made me jump, slamming his hand down on the table to push himself up. I noticed him swaying on his feet, but he managed to get himself over to the bar to order another glass. I frowned. What was with him? He'd won an award, had been showered in praise and congratulations all weekend. Surely he was at least a little bit happy? Instead he was looking like he was drowning his sorrows.

When he came back and slumped down into his chair, he leaned his head in his hands, staring down into his glass boredly. I leaned forwards on my elbows and looked at him for a while before deciding to speak.

“Hey.” I said quietly. He didn't even react. “Everything okay?” I asked.

“Everything is perfect.” He told me.

“Then why've you got a face like a slapped arse?”

That got his attention. His gaze snapped up to me, a frown creasing his brow.

“I'm just having a quiet evening, okay? Leave me be.” He grumbled, his voice a little slurred but still stern as usual.

“You don't look happy.”

“I'm not particularly happy.” He admitted.

“Why's that? Aren't you pleased about your award? The prize money alone must be good.” I asked tentatively, keeping my tone careful; I didn't want to set him off.

“Money is inconsequential.”

“Oh.” Was my pathetic response. What was I to say to that?

“Sure, I'm pleased I won. Though it was a no-brainer. I'd have been offended if any of the others had won over me. It'd be an insult.” He murmured, though it sounded like he was talking mostly to himself. “I'm just sick of being pestered. I never started this to acquire fame. I d-don't particularly want it.”

“I get that.” I nodded sympathetically and he narrowed his eyes.

“Do you, now?” He hissed in annoyance. I thought about it for a moment, and shook my head.

“Well, no, but I understand why it would bother you.” I corrected myself. Despite being by Rick's side for most of the event, nobody had batted an eye at me. I couldn't comprehend being actually famous, the center of attention, the object of a whole crowd of people's undivided admiration.

He grunted an unaffected, wordless response and swallowed down half of his drink.

“Why don't we go back soon, hmm? Just get in bed and sleep it all off. It's done now and we're going home tomorrow.” I suggested.

“You wanna go? I c- I can portal you back, no problem.” He replied, his expression never shifting from a combination of boredom and irritation.

“No, it's okay.” I sighed, if he was going to drink himself stupid, I thought it best I be here to help him get back. Not that I had a clue how to work his portal gun.

We fell into silence again for a long time, and I finished off my wine. Tailor seemed to be taking this glass of whiskey a little slower, for which I was grateful. I picked up a coaster from the table; it looked incredibly familiar in that it was cardboard and reminding me of the kind we had back at home in the pubs. Stained and dog eared and advertising alcohol; though there wasn't a Fosters logo in sight. This was all in a foreign language I couldn't understand. Still, it reminded me of home, and I wondered if that's why Tailor picked this place of all pubs in the universe.

“They asked me about my marriage.” Tailor broke the silence and I was startled into looking at him. “At- at that interview this afternoon, the one you weren't allowed in for.”

“Your marriage?” I repeated.

“Yes. Y-you are aware I was married, aren't you? Six years.”

“Yes, I know. You've never really said a lot about it, though.” I nodded slowly, my attention completely grasped by the topic. I had always wondered about his marriage, but never dared ask.

“Hmm. Well in that interview I- I-” He stopped and sighed. “It was the first time I simply didn't know what to say.” He admitted.

“That's okay. You don't owe anyone answers about your private life.” I said leaning my cheek on my fist as I watched him twist the ring on his middle finger.

“While that may be true it- it caught me off guard. I told them I wouldn't be answering anything like that and they moved on, but it completely cocked up the rest of the interview. I couldn't answer anything properly, I-I-I just sounded like a blithering idiot, stumbling through my words.” He heaved a sigh and slumped back in his chair roughly, his body going lax in a way I'd never seen before. He looked startlingly like any other Rick I'd ever seen, no longer holding himself with his particular brand of poise.

“I'm sure it wasn't like that; we tend to remember things being much worse than they actually were.” I tried to reassure him but he flicked his hand at me, waving away my response.

“That isn't my point, dear.”

“Oh. What did I miss?”

“Nothing. I suppose I am just surprised and irritated by how much it affected me. It was such a small thing, a thoughtless question that I was under no obligation to answer. And yet I…” he was spinning his ring again.

“I don't know anything about your marriage, but whatever happened, it's understandable that being asked about it at such an unexpected time would be jarring. Don't beat yourself up. Your marriage… it’s personal.”

He looked at me for a while, his brow arching in mild worry; he very rarely showed any emotion on his face other than annoyance, and it was weird. His bottom lip twitched once, twice, then he cleared his throat and picked up his glass, finishing off its contents.

“My marriage. You wanna hear about my marriage? P-put it this way.” He lifted his hand, the back of it facing me. The gold band around his middle finger caught my eye. “I s-still wear the ring as a reminder to never, ever do it again.”

My face must've betrayed my surprise, and I continued to stare at the ring even when he lowered his hand.

“But not on your ring finger.” I observed.

“Absolutely fucking not.” He seethed, narrowing his eyes. I could feel his bitterness permeating the atmosphere, and I couldn't help but pity him despite knowing the last thing he wanted was my pity.

“I think we should go back to the hotel.” I said. I was expecting him to lash out, but instead he nodded his head. He searched around in his inside suit pocket to retrieve his portal gun, then hauled himself to his feet unsteadily. The man was hammered, I'd seen him tipsy before but never like this.

He fired the portal gun at the nearest wall and slowly made his way through it; I followed close behind, poised to act if he stumbled. It was pretty sad, actually, seeing him in such a state. Tailor always carried himself with so much dignity and class, he never appeared anything but perfectly composed, it was difficult to swallow watching him stagger across the floor of our shared hotel room to collapse face first on his bed.

“Christ, I am fucked.” I heard him mutter into his pillow.

“Yeah, don't puke in here cause I'll use your credit card to book out a room at the Ritz for myself.” I warned, deadly serious. He grunted in response. “Take your shoes off. And your tie, I don't want you strangling yourself in your sleep.” I added, slipping my own shoes off and leaving them by the door.

He sighed heavily and pushed himself up just enough to wriggle out of his suit jacket. He let it drop to the floor, soon followed by his tie. I picked them up for him, knowing he'd freak out if he found them like that in the morning; that was if he wasn't too hungover to notice. I hung them up in the wardrobe for him, then turned to watch him attempting to remove his shoes. He was on his back, and when he lifted his leg up, his hands missed his foot once or twice before he managed to get ahold of it. Eventually he managed, throwing both shoes over the end of the bed. I sighed defeatedly and made my way over to my own bed.

There were two single beds in the room, placed a couple feet apart. Tailor'd been pissed about that when we arrived, complaining that we might as well be sharing, but he didn't seem to care anymore. I took a seat on my bed, leaning up against the headboard with my legs stretched out in front of me. I looked down at my toes, wiggling them back and forth to try and stretch out the arch of my foot; we'd been on our feet practically all weekend and they were aching terribly.

“I wanna dirty kebab.” Came from beside me, startling me a little. I thought he'd fallen asleep.

“A dirty kebab.” I repeated incredulously. Copious amounts of shredded, reformed lamb drizzled in thick garlic mayonnaise, perhaps with a little salad and wrapped up in a pitta bread, served in a yellow polystyrene tray… was not exactly the type of meal I pictured Tailor ever going near. But then, everyone had to treat themselves once in a while…

“I could see if they're still doing room service?” I suggested, searching around for the menu they'd given us amongst the pile of papers on the bedside table; all itineraries and leaflets we'd collected over the weekend.

“Th-they won't be. But I want a kebab, I-I-I'm craving doner meat.” He slurred, rolling onto his side to face me. His hair was messed up, his shirt ruffled and unbuttoned down to his chest… my stomach seemed to drop at the sight. I'd never seen him look anything like that and I was ashamed to realise that I felt a seed of something frighteningly close to arousal blossom in my gut.

So, sue me. Blame it on the fact that with the messy hair he looked just a little more like my boyfriend; I.C.

“What do you want me to do about it?” I asked, quirking a brow.

“Call them. C-call down to reception and tell them to bring us one- two. I'm not eating alone.” He instructed, regaining just a smidgen of his composure and let's face it; his authority over me.

“Will they even do that?” I questioned.

“Sure they will. They'll have some useless gorm go out and fetch it, tell them to charge whatever they want for it a-and the delivery.” He murmured, sitting up and mimicking my position, leaning against the headboard.

With a sigh I picked up the phone. I suppose it was far better to just do it myself than insist he do it if he wanted it so much… I dreaded to think what he'd be like speaking to hotel staff drunk. He was rude enough sober.

To my surprise the hotel staff were extremely accommodating, and had no trouble agreeing to the odd request. Though I did wonder what figure would come up on the bill. While we waited we put the TV on and sat staring numbly at it, mostly in silence until, surprisingly, Tailor broke it.

“S-so how're things with Mr. Whippy?” He murmured. He didn't really seem interested in my answer, but he rarely seemed interested in anything and I now just chalked it up to his mannerisms.

“I.C? He doesn't know what that nickname means, by the way. He's always so confused…” I mused. Bless him, the adorable man. “But things are fantastic. They always are, he's a sweetheart.”

“You mean you haven't told him what it means?” He questioned, then rather uncouthly snorted. “Good, don't. He looks cute when he's confused.”

“Oi.” I warned, turning to narrow my eyes at him.

“What? I-I-I can't compliment your boyfriend? Don't worry, my dear, I'm not interested in stealing him from you. H-he's too nice for my taste. Bit of a doormat, I presume.” He explained monotonously, rolling his eyes at me. “But I do see what you see in him. That little bow tie is just darling.”

“Damn right it is. He's the cutest thing ever.” I said, twisting my fingers in the bed sheets below me with this weird sense of frustration… maybe it was because he wasn't here and I wanted him to be.

“Besides I think you two are good together. As much as I can't stand to be around you two when you're acting like you do… perhaps I'm just a little happy for you. You seem to have found happiness in each other and not many people manage that. Well done.” He told me dryly, like he wasn't even taking notice of the words coming from his mouth.

“Oh, I don't know. I'd say it's pretty common. Lots of people are in relationships.”

“Relationships don't equal happiness. You'd be naive to think everyone in love is as happy as you are.” He retorted a little scathingly. “You're one of the lucky ones, don't forget that.”

I looked down at my feet and pressed my lips together, uncomfortable and not sure how to respond. I didn't bring this up, Tailor did. I heard a sigh coming from beside me, then a rustling sound as he rolled over to face me.

“H-hey. Don-don't listen to me. I didn't mean to make you feel bad just for being happy, okay? Ignore me. I'm just a bitter old bastard who didn't have it so good.” He slurred. I glanced over at him, taking in his forlorn expression, the down turned edges of his mouth and his furrowed brow.

“Do you want to talk about something? I know you- you've mentioned some stuff before and I get the impression you're kind of dripping all this information because you…” I paused, taking a breath and considering the best approach. “Because maybe you want someone to listen.”

“No. It's fine. I'm fine, forget about it.” He grumbled, rolling onto his back.

A knock at the door signified the arrival of our food, and I got up to answer it since it didn't look like Tailor was going to. The smell of doner meat hit me as soon as I opened it, and my mouth began to water. We hadn't eaten much all day, just snacks since breakfast, so I was ready to demolish anything. After a short exchange with the hotel staff, I closed the door and handed Tailor his box of cholesterol. I would've sat at the little dining table in the corner, but when I saw Tailor was happy to eat in bed, I just shrugged and joined him. He was one of those people who somehow managed to pick up the whole thing inside the pitta bread and eat it like a sort of sandwich. I always had to use a knife and fork, my hands were too small and I'd end up wearing more than I ate otherwise.

Our earlier conversation hung in the air, and I wasn't exactly sure how to shift the mood. If Tailor didn't want to talk about it then that was up to him, but I couldn't help but feel a little sad; I knew just from looking at him that he wasn't happy. All this stuff bottled up from his marriage clearly had him hurting, and as his friend I felt powerless to cheer him up when I didn't actually know what the problem was.

I'd managed to get garlic mayo down the side of my hand, and was licking it off when Tailor spoke.

“Alright. I suppose I can trust you with this information. Lord knows I know enough about your relationship, you flaunt it enough.” He rambled, staring straight ahead at the TV.

My mouth was full and so I simply waited for him to continue. It took him a while, but he did.

“My marriage dissolved a long time ago now, before my business really took off. At the time I was working out of an old laundrette; bit of a shit heap, really. But that's besides the point. Di- My wife. She… wow, she was something.”

A small smile formed on my face as I watched his expression change at the thought of her. It was softer than it usually was.

“She had me wrapped around her talon.” He snorted, that softness gone in an instant, replaced with resentment. “Fucking bitch, sh- she- God, I loved that woman like nothing else. Would've had my knob chopped off if it meant she'd smile; hell, she probably would've. She'd have been doing the chopping.”

The room went quiet, save for a thud in his tray when a piece of doner meat dropped from the pitta bread he was holding, but not eating.

“Six years we were married. We had the wedding when she was pregnant; everyone at the ceremony knew that was why it was happening. But I was over the moon. Maybe I knew she'd never marry me otherwise, I thought I was lucky, that the universe was being kind to me by having her fall pregnant.” He sighed, dropping his kebab back into the box and leaning back, deciding to just pick at the meat instead. “I don't know, maybe that was selfish of me, being happy about the fact she was trapped between me and our kid. I should've seen it coming really.” He muttered.

He didn't continue for a long time; so long that eventually I felt the need to prompt him.

“Seen what coming?”

“Isn't it obvious?” He questioned dryly, glancing over at me. My blank expression gave him his answer. “I came home to her bouncing around on top of some sweaty fat bastard in our bed. Stupid, dumb whore.” The poison in his voice was palpable, and I recoiled. I had to remind myself that he was well within his rights of insulting her in such a way.

“Rick.” I said softly. I didn't know where I was going with it, but I didn't need to go anywhere cause he spoke again.

“Then it turned out she'd been doing it from the start. Fucking other men left and right, before we even had Beth. Sh-sh-she was so fucking honest about it too, like she had no shame. It was people I knew, half the time. Fuck!” He slammed his head back into the (luckily) cushioned headboard. “I'm surprised I n-never fell into that gaping hole of a cunt of hers.”

I felt a little sick, suddenly losing all interest in food.

“An-and for a while, I didn't even know if Beth was mine.”

“What?” I hissed. Somehow, that was the most shocking thing I'd heard.

“She wouldn't let me have a paternity test, wouldn't tell me if she knew. That nearly- shit, I've never said this out loud before, b-but that nearly killed me. To this day, I don't have any physical evidence. The only reason I believe she's mine is because I found other Ricks. Y-you know most of them have Beths, right? Your boyfriend does, doesn't he?”

I nodded my head.

“So unless all Dianes are cheating slags, well… well Beth's gotta be mine.”

“I'm sure she is. Either way, though, you're the man who brought her up. She's your daughter no matter what.” I said softly. He didn't respond verbally, he just sighed and plopped another chunk of meat in his mouth. “Where is she now?” I asked.

“Fuck knows. Last I heard she'd moved to Spain with her new fella.” He told me boredly. “Even Beth hasn't seen her for years. I'm glad about that; at least she hasn't managed to turn her into a poisonous clone of herself. My Beth's a princess.” He mused quietly.

“Does she take after you?” I asked, a little smile forming on my face as I tried to steer the conversation more positively.

“Thankfully, yes. She's got a good head on her shoulders, she's a vet, you know?” He explained, and I nodded. Just like I.C's daughter. “For a while I wished I'd never met Diane but then I wouldn't have Beth. It might've screwed me up royally, but at least some good came of it all.”

“How did you meet her, if you don't mind me asking?” I questioned and he glanced over at me. He looked at me silently for a while before deciding it was safe to answer.

“Sh-she was a client of mine. She was a bridesmaid at a wedding and they all came to me for the dresses. I thought as soon as I saw her that she was the prettiest thing I'd ever laid eyes on. I should've known. Nobody's that attractive without being a total cunt.”

I winced again at his language.

“Is this why you told me you don't date clients?” I asked, remembering when I had my dress fitting with him, right after we first met. Tailor snorted.

“I told you that because I had to tell you something, and – I’m completely terrified of women – just didn't seem to cut it.” He admitted dryly.

“Is that true?” My eyes widened. Tailor terrified of anything just didn't seem to compute in my mind. He sighed.

“What do you think? Did you ever see me responding to the countless come-ons from women this weekend?”

“Well, no. I thought you thought you were better than them.” I replied, causing him to scoff in mild offence. “I never thought it was cause you were scared of them.”

“I'm not scared of women in the sense I'd run away from them, screaming at the top of my lungs. I just don't trust them. Quite frankly I think the majority of them are evil. My mother included. Present company…” he gave me a suspicious look. “Possibly included. I haven't decided yet.”

“Huh. Well I guess that makes sense that you'd feel that way. And for the record I hope you don't decide I'm evil and toss me out of your life.”

“Why's that? So you can slowly destroy me from the inside out?” He cocked a brow. I couldn't tell if he was joking or not.

“No. Cause I've grown to like you, and I consider you a friend.” I told him seriously. He gave me a brief dirty look, then turned to his kebab.

“Well I suppose I can divulge that my estimated odds of you being a soul sucking she-demon are only at around twenty percent.”

“I love you too.” I smirked. We fell into silence again and each of us finished off our kebabs. I took his trash from him and binned them both. He was laying with his eyes closed, his head tilted back and up towards the ceiling. “Are you going to sleep? Shouldn't you brush your teeth and get changed first?”

“One night won't kill me. I'm fucked.” He murmured.

“Alright.” I shrugged. I wasn't his mother.

I peeled my socks off and tossed them onto the floor and shimmied out of my jeans. Tailor had seen me in my underwear multiple times during dress fittings and such, so changing into my jammies in front of him didn't bother me in the least.

“Rick?” I said, before he could fall asleep. He hummed in acknowledgement. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Telling you what?” He tiredly mumbled.

“About your marriage. It's nice that you opened up to me, even if I couldn't exactly say or do anything to make it better.” I explained. He hummed again.

“Well, I'm drunk and sad and I overshare when I g-get like this.”

“It's okay. I won't bring it up when you're sober.” I promised, pulling on the oversized t-shirt I wore to bed.

“Much appreciated.” He opened his eyes and sat up a little. “Next time we drink together, I'm getting you totally rat-arsed.”

I snorted. “Yeah, I'd like to see you try. When's your next sesh?” I asked.

“I’m planning on heading back to that bar I dragged your whining ass to before. The one with the bar-lady who quite clearly wanted a slice of your boyfriend.”

My eyes narrowed at the thought and I hmphed in response.

“But I'm not extending the invitation to you. It's quite the Rick hotspot and I need to get myself laid. It's been a while.” He admitted to my surprise.

“Wow. We're real open tonight.” I observed.

“Well it's like you said. You won't bring it up when I'm sober.” He said – no – warned. “Shut up and turn everything off, will you?” He grumbled, rolling onto his side and flipping the duvet over himself.

“Fine.” I sighed, turning the TV off, then the light. I fumbled my way towards the bathroom to brush my teeth. “Night, Rick. See you in the morning.” I called behind me.

I was used to his non-verbal responses, and smiled when I saw him waft his arm dismissively in the dark, letting loose an irritated grunt.

…

It was good to be home. The journey back Tailor was acting his usual self; nothing of the night before had been mentioned. I knew that would be the case, so it didn't come as a surprise and I certainly wasn't about to be the one to bring it up. Tailor had put his trust in me; opened up and told me his pain and that took a lot. So quietly I felt closer to him; and despite his silence on the subject I could feel a slight change in him. He appeared a little more relaxed around me, and it was nice to see.

He'd dropped me off at my home and left with a simple nod as his goodbye, and I told him to drive safely. A statement he always rolled his eyes at like I was an overbearing mother. Thankfully his sarcastic responses had died down over time.

When I entered my house I.C was already there; I'd been expecting him, but it still set my heart racing when I laid eyes on him. I wordlessly crossed the living room carpet and climbed onto his lap, sitting sideways and wrapping my arms around him, burying my face in his neck.

“Tell me about Diane.” I whispered to him. His ex wife was someone who had come up in a number of conversations since we'd been together; it was to be expected, she was the mother of his daughter. Still, I didn't know an awful lot about their relationship, and I was curious now more than ever.

“Diane? Wh-why'd you want to talk about her?” He asked, completely befuddled.

“I wanna make sure she treated you right.” I explained, leaning back so I could look him in the eye. He chuckled softly at my reasoning.

“She did. She's a nice lady, perhaps one of the nicest I've met.” He admitted, looking down at an invisible spot on my chin. “But she wasn't my forever. And I wasn't hers.” His shoulders lifted and gently dropped.

“So your divorce wasn't a bitter one?” I asked, tilting my head as I played with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Oh, not at all. W-we parted mutually when we realised that being together was only holding each other back from what we wanted to do. I wanted to travel a lot for my business, she wanted to stay put, she hated that I was all over the place. Never wanted to come with me or anything, so towards the end we barely spent any time together.” He trailed off, looking back up to my eyes. “So we realised we were incompatible and simply moved on as friends.”

“Do you still talk sometimes?”

“Occasionally, but we both have our own lives now, really the only thing we have in common now is Beth. When we see each other, it's when doing something for her or the grandkids.” He explained. “She's still dear to me, of course. She always will be, but like I said. She wasn't my forever.”

“What is your forever, your business?” I questioned. He laughed at some silent punchline.

“Baby, I hope you're joking.” He smiled.

“No, why? Your business is everything to you, you've put so much into it-”

“I'm hoping that it's you, truth be told.” He interrupted. “I'm no spring chicken, I'm getting to the point where I just want to enjoy the rest of my life with my favourite person, and that's you. So, as far as I'm concerned, you're my everything. For as long as you'll keep me.”

I blinked at him. Rick and I's relationship had blossomed rather suddenly, and falling for each other had taken no time at all. Things just flowed between us, it all fell into place. So in a way, I wasn't surprised by what he was saying. Conversely and somehow at the same time, I was completely and utterly surprised. He just came out and said it so easily, didn't stutter once. Sometimes it astounded me just how open and honest he was, never scared to share his feelings. I thought about it for a moment and realised that was a big part of why I loved him.

“I'm not planning on tossing you out anytime soon. I think I kinda like you.” I mumbled in response, feeling my face heat up as I struggled to deal with his words. He smirked in amusement, then pressed a kiss to my cheek.

“I’m glad.” He whispered. “God, it's good to have you back. I'm starting to resent that guy for keeping you away from me.”

“Don't go too hard on him.” I giggled.

“I th-think we need to work out a schedule between us; for how many hours he gets versus me. I'll have more, of course. I have boyfriend priority.” He told me and I snorted, shaking my head. He grinned and leaned in to kiss my neck, his goatee tickling me like it always did.

“Or maybe I need to get a second job being your assistant.”

“Hmm are you sure that's a g-good idea? Remember last time?” He pulled back to give me a meaningful look. My thoughts immediately turned to the time I tried making an ice cream cone in his truck, and promptly blushed.

“Good point.” I nodded. He licked his lips, his expression turning just a little flirtatious.

“We'd never get any work done but it sure would be fun.” He said, his tone low and rumbling in my ears so wonderfully. I shuddered.

“I should probably stick to juggling rolls of fabric for Tailor.” I chuckled.

“Maybe it's for the best.” He agreed. “As long as you can put up with me turning up as soon as you clock off every day.”

“Hmm, I'm sure I can deal with that.” I nodded, leaning in for a kiss before my huge smile had a chance to fade.

#rick and morty #rick sanchez #rick sanchez x reader #my ocs #ice cream rick #tailor rick #oc ricks #fanfiction

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rocketwerks · 6 years ago

Text

Gretter House

209 North Twenty-Seventh Street Built, circa 1894 VDHR 127-0192

April 2019 — showing 209-211 North Twenty-Seventh Street, 209 at right

Home of a talented artist, who faded from fame.

(Library of Congress) — Beers Illustrated Atlas of the Cities of Richmond & Manchester, 1877 — Plate H — showing the Andrew Ellett property comprised of lots 117 & 125

Among the few houses dating from the late ’twenties is the Andrew Ellett house, built in 1829 by William C. Allen. By early March, 1830 it was occupied by Fleming James, a prominent business man who nearly twenty years later was to build the eastern half of Linden Row. In 1835 Allen sold the property, which at that time ran back to Broad Street, to Orren Williams. From that time until 1937 it remained in the hands of the same family: Williams left it in 1841 to Cornelia Hull, who, three years later, became the wife of Andrew E. Ellett.

[HOR] — Andrew Ellett House, 2702 East Grace Street

There is no more charming old house of moderate size left in Richmond than the Ellett house. The Greek Revival had hardly begun to influence Richmond architecture when it was built: the little porch with two small columns and a tiny pediment are the only signs of it here. The house is fairly well preserved. The front is painted a light grey, with white trim, and it is shadowed by a big tree. Even to those who are not versed in Richmond’s past, this is a house that makes them say, “I wish I could live there!”

The Ellett family continued to make this their home until the death of Caroline H. Ellett, Andrew Ellett’s daughter, in June, 1929. [HOR]

(Library of Congress) — Sanborn Fire Insurance Map from Richmond (1905) — Plate 43 — showing 209-211 North Twenty-Seventh Street

However, at some point in the mid-1880′s, the Ellett family decided to divest some of their property holdings and subdivided lots 117 and 125 into eight smaller parcels. They retained the largest one for the house at 2702 East Grace but created four lots on Broad Street, two on Twenty-Seventh Street, and one next door on the East Grace Street corner.

New neighbors quickly appeared. 207 North Twenty-Seventh was built in 1888, 2700 East Grace Street and 2701, 2703, 2705, 2709 East Broad Street were all constructed in 1890. The last entry was a double-house in 1894, 209-211 North Twenty-Seventh, on the smallest lot that stood on the alley that now ran completely between Twenty-Seventh and Twenty-Eighth Streets.

(Find A Grave) — marker of Frederick Pleasants Gretter at Shockoe Hill Cemetery

That same year, 209 North Twenty-Seventh was occupied by the Gretter family: Frederick, his wife Mary, and daughter Florence. Combined, they constitute its longest occupancy by a single family. Frederick is listed as the head of the household on the 1920 census and died in 1922 at the age of 80. Mary replaced him on the 1930 census, dying in 1936 at the age of 84, and was followed by Florence on the 1940 census.

Interestingly, although they are the family most closely associated with the house, the Gretters were renters, not owners, during their long stay. This may explain why both Mary and Florence had to take in boarders following Frederick’s death.

(Chronicling America) — Richmond Dispatch advertisement — Thursday, January 29, 1891

The Gretter’s status as renters may have had much to do with Frederick’s occupation as a clerk in the dry goods store Levy & Davis, which seems to have paid the bills but did not afford him the opportunity to own his own home. This was further complicated by the death of Abraham Levy in 1894, and the closing of the business.

It is unknown where Frederick landed in the aftermath, but he lived another 28 years and continued living in the same place, so it’s safe to assume that he found another gig. Dry goods stores were everywhere on Broad Street in those days. There was Temple, Pemberton, Cordes & Co., which eventually became J. B. Mosby & Co., plus there was Miller, Rhoads, & Gerhart which became Miller & Rhoads, and this other company called Thalhimers.

Due to the volatility of the dry goods business, Frederick may have played things conservatively when it came to living arrangements. He did not skimp on his daughter, however.

(Chronicling America) — Richmond Times illustration of Florence Gretter — Sunday, February 11, 1900

Between 1897 and 1900 there were occasional pieces in both the Richmond Times and the Richmond Dispatch about Florence and her emerging talents.

Talented Young Artist Who is Gaining Fame Miss Florence E. Gretter, one of Richmond's attractive young women, is establishing for herself quite a reputation as an artist at the Cooper Institute, New York. About three years ago it was discovered that Miss Gretter possessed great talent in this direction and she decided to cultivate that talent at the above-mentioned institute. She has received the highest praise from her instructors, and although Miss Gretter will not be graduated from the Institute until spring, her name is already known, and even as far as England have her praises been sung. Miss Gretter's especial favorite is miniature painting on ivory, and an excellent picture of Fitzhugh Lee is now on exhibition at the Woman's Exchange. (Chronicling America)

Here’s where the mystery of Florence Gretter takes hold.

(Cooper Union) — Foundation Hall at Cooper Union

Her father, a former Confederate Private living in Lost Cause/Jim Crow Virginia, sent his southern belle daughter north to an art school in the East Village of New York City for training as an artist. The more you think about it, the more it makes you scratch your head.

Cooper Union (also called the Cooper Institute) was then and remains today a prestigious art school. The fact that she went there raises many questions. How did they know to send her to a specific school in a northern state? Who in Richmond would have recommended it to them? What prompted her parents to conclude that she was sufficiently talented to spend the money for her to live in New York City during her studies? Where did she stay? Did life in the East Village and the Big Apple affect her outlook?

Intriguing questions, but in many cases, there are no answers, save one. Cooper Union originally offered free courses to students until a formal four-year degree program was created in 1902, and then switched to granting those students full scholarships. Aside from rail fare, room, and board, Florence’s education in New York was as cost-effective as a dry goods clerk could hope for.

(University of Richmond Museums) — Untitled [Female Model] — charcoal on paper — artist, Florence Gretter, circa 1899

One thing, however, is crystal clear — the woman had talent. In 1990, the University of Richmond was the beneficiary of a surprise donation of seven charcoal sketches made by Florence during her studies at Cooper Union. Each is signed with her name and numbered, indicating that they formed part of a portfolio submitted for a grade.

This figure study represents an idealized female form at the turn of the nineteenth century. The model’s body is rendered smooth, even porcelain-like, and her hair, pinned loosely on top of her head, suggests the Gibson girl hairstyle which was popular at the time. Although this image, created by a female artist, does not suggest any sort of sexualized content, the hairstyle and the sensitively rendered female form reveal pressures upon women at the time to aim towards perfection in their appearance. (University of Richmond Museums)

(Find A Grave) — Major Norman Vincent Randolph

The truly sad thing is that these sketches are Florence’s only known extant work.

From newspaper articles, we know that she had commissions for miniatures at various times. The 1900 Richmond Times article above references commissions from England and for a portrait of Fitzhugh Lee. A Richmond Times-Dispatch from Sunday, June 28, 1903 states

A beautifully executed miniature of the late Major Norman V. Randolph has been painted by Miss Florence Gretter of North Twenty-seventh Street.

The miniature was shown at R. E. Lee Camp to Major Randolph's comrades who greatly admired it. It represents the Major in his Confederate uniform with his hat on and with the animated expression his face wore when in health. The coloring of the miniature is exceedingly fine. (Chronicling America)

Outside of these mentions and the charcoal sketches at UR, there is no other public record of this artist’s work.

(Virginia Museum of History & Culture) — from a glass plate negative of Florence Gretter — Foster Studios — early 20th century

Miniatures are a subset of portraiture with a devoted following — witness The Miniature Artists of America. You would think that someone, somewhere would have some mention of what she produced. However, Dr. Carol Aiken, a portrait miniature conservator and scholar, maintains a database of miniature artists and has never heard of Florence Gretter.

This is all the more intriguing because it appears that Florence continued working on her artistic chops, even after she no longer attended Cooper Union. An article in the Sunday, October 28, 1906, Richmond Times-Dispatch mentions her plan to show her miniatures at the Jamestown Exhibition that year. It goes on to say that she had recently traveled to Boston to spend some time perfecting her work in oil painting.

Why Boston? With whom did she study? How long was she there, and what, if anything, did she produce from this encounter?

(Rocket Werks RVA Postcards) — The Virginia Club, AKA Adams-Van Lew House

Sadly, however, it seems that the excursion to Boston was Florence’s last public foray in the pursuit of excellence. The Richmond newspapers continue to reference her activities, but except for Boston, they are focused primarily on her Church Hill neighborhood.

At the time, Church Hill was still a leader in social Richmond activity. The westward expansion of the city was full-bore by 1900, but as the oldest area of the city, Church Hill still had gravitas.

A Richmond Times article on June 16, 1900, describes a Banquet at the Virginia Club where a Handsome Reception Tendered the Ladies Last Night and stating that the Affair was a Great Success. Miss Florence Gretter was among the named attendees.

(Virginia Museum of History & Culture) — from a glass plate negative of Mrs. Mary V. Gretter — Foster Studios — early 20th century

Aside from these mentions, she participated in the Star Club (Richmond Dispatch, Sunday, November 16, 1902), where she played the role of the Hostess of the Inn; assisted in closing exercises of the higher department of Miss Robinson's School (Richmond Times-Dispatch, Sunday, June 12, 1904); participated in the Delightful Musicales of Miss Effio Aylett Cofer, singing The Norse Maiden's Lament with six other ladies (Richmond Times-Dispatch, Sunday, June 17, 1906); and for hosting the Fortnightly Flinch Club (Richmond Times-Dispatch, Sunday January 8, 1904), so named for a card game based on stockpiling.

However, beyond this, her focus on art is either lost or no longer covered by the Richmond newspaper society columns. By 1922 her father had died, leaving her mother Mary little choice but to take in boarders in order for them to continue paying rent.

(Newspapers.com) — Richmond Times-Dispatch — Sunday, October 27, 1929

Even so, Florence appears to have kept her hand in the game. Aside from her obituary in 1957, her last mention in the Richmond newspapers was in 1929, just three days after Black Tuesday ushered in the Great Depression when she was 53. It doesn’t say much, but the photograph shows her at work in her studio still painting portrait miniatures. It goes on to mention a recent miniature of Major Norman V. Randolph.

This in itself is telling. She first painted Major Randolph’s portrait in 1903 (above). By 1929, she is still painting it, which suggests that she might have had a regular clientele for leaders from the Lost Cause.

April 2019 — Protestant Episcopal Church Home, 206 North Thompson Street, known today as The Windsor

Towards the end of her life, Florence contended with her own boarders until they, and the 18 stairs to the second floor where she slept, became too much.

Prior to moving to the Protestant Episcopal Church Home, she reached for a life-line in neighbor Eugene Markham. Florence had hoarded the sketches from Cooper Union as trophies, clinging to a time of creativity in which she still held pride, and gave them to him to keep them from the dust bin. Her plan succeeded. On Eugene’s death, his daughter discovered them in his attic, rolled up in wallpaper sheets, and nearly threw them away until she realized what she’d found. There is probably a Princess Leia-Death Star Plans analogy to be made here, but let’s not.

Not every college hoopster goes to the NBA or even the G-League. Not every artist, no matter how talented, finds a patron, or an art community in which to thrive. Florence Gretter did not transform into Georgia O’Keefe in the steel canyons of New York City; she had game but never found (or at least there is no record to show that she found) a larger audience than the Richmond society that she’d grown up with. A pity; she was quite skilled. One wonders what she’d have achieved in a different environment.

(Gretter House is part of the Atlas RVA! Project)

Notes

Rocket Werks gives a big shoutout to Page Hayes of House of Hayes. Scans of old newspaper photographs and articles tend toward extreme graininess. Page was able to take the 1900 sketch of Florence Gretter from the Richmond Times and turn it into a thing of beauty. Outstanding.

A shoutout of equal voice is given to Mrs. Jean Heath. Mrs. Heath is the daughter of Eugene Markham, and it was she who discovered the hidden charcoal drawings that are Florence Gretter’s legacy and bequeathed them to UR. As a ten-year-old Mrs. Heath knew Florence when she was still dressing up in Colonial costume at St. John’s Church, making Sunday dinner rolls for her neighbors, and cheese sandwiches for the boarders for whom she cared — a witness to the perigee of Florence Gretter’s life. Without her, much of Florence’s legacy would be lost to history.

Print Sources

[HOR] Houses of Old Richmond. Mary Wingfield Scott. 1941.

#mustseerva #rva #rvahistory #twentyseventhstreet #cityatomic #atlasrva

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godtruth · 3 years ago

Text

HOW ARE YOU RUINED?

callie’s result . . . ruined by trauma.

you cannot get over the past. you are constantly remembering, never forgetting. you can’t live in the moment because the moment is not what brought you here. you are birthed, raised, and killed in the past. you will never get over what was done to you, be it big or be it small. you cannot escape what you refuse to confront.

#dash games.#c . adams foster‚ study.#lil too specific

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officialgesco · 3 years ago

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