#also is avery a bit like an encyclopedia?

[chippedshake]

(An expansion of a moment from this qprpbj fic I wrote a while ago)

Ponyboy smiles when he opens the door and finds Avery on the other side.

"Hi, Aves."

"Hey, grandpa," they say brightly, stepping inside.

Avery takes their backpack off and heads to the bathroom like they do every Tuesday. The twenty-minute walk from school to his house is just long enough for them to need to pee when they get there but not at school.

Ponyboy closes the door and sighs. It's nice to have company once in a while, even if it's just for lunch on Tuesdays. It gets lonely sometimes, when everyone's paired up with kids. Cathy got almost full custody over Katie and Johnny, so he's been alone for a while. Two-Bit and Marcia, Steve and Soda... They never stopped caring about Ponyboy and Darry, but they have other things to do. Married life to attend to.

Shame Darry's out today, he always likes to talk to Avery. Seems like they might be going down the accounting path, and Darry's good for advice on that.

"What's for lunch?" they ask, drying their hands on their skirt.

"I'm tryin' out this new recipe I found online..." Ponyboy takes the aluminum foil off of a pot and looks inside. "It's chili but it's supposed to have some sort of sweet twist? I dunno, the girl explaining it seemed really excited."

"Did you check the reviews like I told you to?"

"Yeah, they all said to use less beans or it would be too dry, so I did."

Avery gives him a wide grin. "Great."

Ponyboy carries the pot over while Avery sets the table.

"How's school been?"

He starts serving Avery a bowl.

"It's been fine. I did a math test today and I made some stupid mistakes — that's enough, thanks — and there was this one formula I forgot that woulda made everything a whole lot easier, but it went okay."

"That's nice." He sets his own bowl down in front of him.

"Actually, grandpa..." Avery trails off and avoids Ponyboy's eyes when he looks at them. "There’s something I need to talk to you about."

Ponyboy looks at them silently, urging them to go on, but they stay quiet.

"Go ahead."

"I'm aromantic. And asexual." They look at him, trying to gauge his reaction. "Aroace for short."

Ponyboy blinks at them once. Twice. "What?"

They give a dry laugh before answering. "Yeah, no, I didn't expect you to know. Aromantic means I don't feel romantic attraction. Asexual means I don't feel sexual attraction."

"Those are different?" The look Avery gives him is the same one he knows he used to give Sodapop whenever he asked him what the movie they just watched was about. "Sorry," he says, suddenly feeling meek.

"No, it's fine," they sigh, "They're kinda new labels, I guess. But yeah, they're different. Mostly people feel them together, but some people feel them differently. I just... don't."

Ponyboy had been about to eat a spoonful of chili, but freezes with the spoon halfway to his mouth.

"You... you can just... not feel it?"

On Ponyboy's first date with Cathy, they went out for dinner, and it felt kinda like going out with Two-Bit. Laughing too much and feeling like he was breaking some sort of rule all the time. It was nice, though.

He kissed her goodnight like he was supposed to, and it felt weird, but it was supposed to feel weird, right? They'd just started to go out.

Then they'd been dating for long enough for it to be expected for them to have sex and he didn't really want to, but Cathy wanted to and they were supposed to and it wasn't that bad, really. Just kinda boring.

"Yeah. I know it sounds really weird, and you might think I just haven't met the right person yet, but think about like, straight people. You know you don't like the same sex and no one ever doubts that, so this is like the same only I don’t like anyone. And it doesn't mean I can't have meaningful relationships or anything — I like my friends a lot, I love them a lot, and Charlie can be nice when he isn't being an annoying little brother, and there's even other types of relationships, like queer-platonic relationships, that aren't for me, but that other aroace people can want—"

"Calm down, Aves," Ponyboy says with a slight grin. He definitely know where they got that from. "I wasn't tryin' to make ya feel like I didn't accept you, I just... didn't totally get it."

"Oh." They're slightly out of breath. "Okay."

There are a couple moments of silence before they go on, "Well, in any case, I find sex and romance disgusting and when people tease me about that sorta thing it makes me uncomfortable. That's all I wanted to tell you."

They smile awkwardly.

Ponyboy feels himself deflate, but tries not to let it show.

"So then aromantic and— and asexual people find it disgusting?" So it's just me? It's just me that's broken, then.

"Oh, no, not at all. I just don’t like it, but there’s people who are fine with it. Some people even enjoy it."

"Oh." Not broken not broken not broken not broken "And can, uh... can anyone be– aromantic? And asexual?"

They look at him curiously, eyes flitting across his face to try and figure out what he's thinking. A flicker of understanding — and something like hope — crosses over their face before they settle back into a neutral expression.

"Well, yeah. Not anyone that feels sexual or romantic attraction, obviously, but, like, there's aroace people of all ages with all sorts of romantic and sexual histories and they're still aroace."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

The rest of lunch is spent in near silence. Every so often one of them asks a question and the other answers, but conversation never lasts more than a couple seconds. The silence festers around them, Avery looking around uncomfortably, Ponyboy trying to force himself to be comfortable. Ponyboy's washing the dishes while Avery cleans up the table when there's the sound of a key jiggling and the door opens, showing Darry standing behind it. His face lights up when he catches sight of Avery.

"Aves! I didn't miss you!"

"Uncle Darry!" He sets his bag down next to him a takes his shoes off.

"How'd your math test go?"

Avery's face scruches up. "I forgot about the tangent squared identity and had to deduce it from the sine squared plus cosine squared one."

Darry makes a similar face and clicks his tongue as he walks over. "Did it go well besides that?"

"Yeah." He goes to ruffle their hair but remembers the last time they complained about it and grabs their shoulder instead.

Avery checks their phone. "Oh shii— shoot. I'm late. Gotta run back now."

They slip their shoes on quickly and run out the door.

"Have fun!" Darry calls, and a muffled "I'll try!" makes it back through the door.

Darry looks at the closed door for a second, easy smile on his lips. "Seems like slamming the door's genetic," he mutters.

He wanders into the kitchen and stops dead in his tracks. The water's running over dirty dishes but Ponyboy's leaned against the opposite counter, scrolling down something on his computer.

He has the same look on his face that he had a couple days after his seventeenth birthday, when he came up to Darry and told him quietly that he was older than Johnny would ever be.

"Pony?"

Ponyboy looks up, blinking quickly, not bothering to try and close the tab.

"Hmm?" His voice is unnaturally high-pitched. The eye contact only lasts a couple second before he looks away, back at the screen.

Darry walks towards him slowly. "Everything okay?" He turns the tap off when he passes by it.

Ponyboy's staring holes into his computer. He can't look away, can't look away from the words that've been there all along. The words he didn't see fifty-something years ago — oh, god, he can't even remember how long it's been.

The computer's being taken away from him.

"Pony." Ponyboy looks up to meet Darry's eyes. "What's wrong."

"The— the words are there." He's on the verge of tears and he knows that Darry can tell with the pitch of his words, but he can't control it.

"What words, Pony?"

"A— aromantic. And asexual. And queer-platonic." Darry just stares at him, clearly in as much confusion as Ponyboy was a couple minutes ago. "You don't have to wanna date people. And sex. And Johnny—"

Ponyboy doesn't finish the sentence.

"What about Johnny?" Darry seems confused, and Ponyboy realises that he thinks he's talking about his son.

"Cade."

"Oh."

"We weren't friends. I always knew we weren't friends, I knew it was different, because I ain't never felt that way again."

Darry blinks. "You're saying you're... gay?"

Ponyboy shakes his head and he can feel the tears tickle as they roll down his cheek but it would be wrong to brush them away.

"It don't— It don't gotta be like that. You don't gotta choose between bein' friends or datin', those aren't the only options. And it— it's real." He buries his face in his hands. Darry wraps his arms around him and Ponyboy stoops down to burrow his head in Darry's shoulder. "I know it— it doesn't change anythin', that we were the same thing, that we were— were queer-platonic even if the word didn't exist but I wish it did.

"I wish it did because then maybe it wouldn't be so—" He can't go on.

Maybe it's because there's no words to describe what it means to find out what something was when it's so far in the past you no longer remember, but remember remembering. Maybe it's because the pain he'd buried so deep he almost forgot about it comes back in full force. Maybe it's because he's sobbing so hard the words can't come out.

And that's how it ends.

It doesn't end with "stay gold" and it doesn't end with his English theme. It doesn't end with a roadtrip to the sea so they can spread his ashes and it doesn't end when he's twenty and unhappily married.

It ends sixty years too late. It ends with something as irrelevant as a pair of words. It ends with closure. Closure that comes far too late, but eventually comes.

[sunshines-and-rain]

At Dickinson University in Virginia, here are some important characters.

Marina “Mari” (or Margarita when she’s having fun) Sanchez-Rivera is sun incarnate. She’s the mom friend who always has snacks. She’s pan, 21, she/her, and her favorite color is purple. Even though she has a favorite color, everyone associates her with orange. She has a bubbly personality, just wants to do right by her friends, and she’s struggling to balance school, theatre, her job, and her friends and family. Even though she and Avery have been best friends forever, Marina has to work hard to do well in school. Sometimes, Marina wonders what Avery sees in her to stay friends since middle school. Even though she’s following her dream with working at the bakery, she’s struggling to keep up with all the essays that come with being a business major (not by choice). It’s not all bad at least! Being a business major might help her set up the family business and really help them out. Although, she feels in her heart that psychology would be the way. But where will she get the money from to stay in school long enough to get her masters?

Avery Pham is a walking encyclopedia. They’re the single braincell of the group. They’re demisexual, 20, they/them, and their favorite color is blue. They are very protective of their time and who they spend it with. Marina crawled in their heart and made a spot in there for her and they’ve never been able to dig her out. They don’t mind though, Marina is one of the few people they can handle being around. Avery was valedictorian in high school, strived to be the best, and now in college they don’t really know what to do with themselves. The doctor path doesn’t seem to be working for them. Besides the existential crisis they’re usually going through, they also don’t seem to be attracted to strangers as quickly as Marina. Something that Marina doesn’t quite understand as she keeps trying to get Avery to meet new people. It’s not entirely her fault, Marina just doesn’t fully understand the circumstances.

Solomon “Sol” Brown is an absolute show off. He’s clearly in school for a D1 baseball scholarship. “Clearly” only because he walks around with a custom letterman’s jacket that says “D1 catcher” on the back of it. For as arrogant as he is on the field, he’s a very chill guy. Most people believe “Sol” is his legal name, but his legal name is Solomon. After years and years of having people think his name doesn’t fit him because he “sucks” at school, he started to go by “Sol” instead of the name he shares with the wisest king in the Bible. Once Sol transferred to this university, he found his people with Marina and Avery. Marina was his first friend who noticed he struggled with assignments in some introductory classes and offered to help him. Thank goodness she decided to help him, because without her he wouldn’t have sought out help and gotten a dyslexia diagnosis. Once he started hanging around Marina more, Avery came into play. Even though he and Avery fight like cats and dogs, he’s always had a soft spot for Avery. He’s just not sure if they feel similarly based on the way they joke around. Sol is 22 and LOVES baseball, but those are the only things he knows for sure. He doesn’t even know entirely if he’s a straight man anymore, but he knows he loves his friends and he loves baseball.

Leonard “Leo” Montgomery is still a wild card. He’s the newest in the group and he’s the quietest. No one really knows why they’re here besides they play baseball with Sol and they’re roommates with Sol. Are they friends with Sol? No. Not even one bit. Is it because they spend too much time together? Maybe. Is it because they’re mean to each other? That’s just how they’ve learned to communicate. Is it because Leo still holds bitterness for how Sol was able to transfer into the team and Leo had to go through a lot of conditioning to be the starting pitcher? Marina thinks so. Is it because Leo sees too much of himself in Sol and Sol is still early on in his journey? Avery thinks so. Whatever the reason, Leo and Sol have almost a Bert and Ernie routine with their love-hate dynamic. Despite this dynamic, Sol and Leo are the best team when they’re working together, hence the reason they’re typically the starting pitcher and catcher (notably neither of them are captain for a very good and very long winded reason). Leo is like the dark side of the moon, they try to keep themself a mystery. Sadly for Leo, Marina “I Read People Like Books” Sanchez-Rivera has made it her mission to learn more about them. Joyfully for Leo, Marina easily became his favorite human being after his first meeting with her. Ever since then, he’s held a torch that burned only for her. Of course, he can’t let her know that and if he’s suddenly really sweet on her then she’ll figure it out! So he sends a lot of mixed messages, which has certainly sent Marina for a loop. Leo is bisexual, 22, he/they, and is always associated with green. No one knows if it is their favorite color, but that’s on Marina’s mental bulletin board of information about Leo she wants to figure out.

[logicalbookthief]

Game Night

So I actually had most of this written before 15x18, and then the episode gave us great Maggie + B team moments, so I figured, well, now I have to deliver. 

Featuring drunk interns, Schmico, canon-compliant Jaggie (barely but for the sake of, yanno, canon) and teeny-tiny hints to potential future Caggie because @schmicoismysunsword has convinced me it ships.

Now cross-posted on ao3!

Maggie doesn’t make a habit of mixing her professional life with her personal one. Aside from the fact that her sisters work at the same hospital as she does, as does her boyfriend, and her ex-- Look, the point is, Maggie tries to keep her private life a private one, albeit not with the passion of Dr. Bailey. 

Just -- she has the unfortunate tendency to babble. Aloud. To anyone nearby, who might be listening.

Which meant unintentionally venting to interns, who were always around, and always eager to listen. It starts with Parker, who, if not sworn to secrecy, at least has the decency to pretend he isn’t hanging off every word that comes out of her mouth. Schmitt is one of the more eager of the bunch and he happens to be on her service today. 

“Game night,” she mutters long-sufferingly. “Why tonight, when Meredith and Amelia are busy, and apparently, I don’t have enough of a life where I have any excuse to be somewhere else.” 

“Oh, right, the football game is tonight. Nic-- Dr. Kim mentioned that was a thing-- a thing Dr. Avery does,” Schmitt stutters, casting some furtive, flustered looks her way. Honestly, Maggie isn’t paying attention.

“I hate when I have to pretend to care about sports on TV. You know what else is on tonight?  The Magicians. But you don’t see me making a night of it with friends.” Not that she has any, apparently. At least, any without kids or prior commitments. 

Maggie deflates, more self-conscious than she means to be. “April enjoyed watching sports. Or maybe she was better at pretending than I am...”

Something dejected in her tone must spark a bit of nerve in Schmitt, who clears his throat. “Hey, you could -- uh, you could come out with us tonight,” he says, shrinking a bit under her stare. “Uh, if you wanted.” 

“Us?” she echoes critically. 

“Oh, um, well there’s me, Doctors Helm, Qadri, Parker--” All interns, Maggie mentally concludes, at the exact moment Schmitt realizes he’s asking an attending to tag along with his friends. 

“Never mind, it--” Finding an extra burst of nerve, Schmitt spews out in a rush, “It’s trivia night at this pub we like and you’d make a great ringer.”

Then he goes on ahead to the next patient on their rounds, as Maggie blinks. Has she sunk so low to consider to hanging out with a couple of kids? 

Except, she thinks with a wince, that sounds exactly like something Kiki would’ve said to her. After all, it isn’t as if the interns are that much younger than she is. Maggie’s so far ahead it only feels that way. She was always the kid to talk to the adults rather than friends her own age. And when she attended her first year of medical school still in braces while her peers were all adults, she had no choice but to grow up fast. 

Sacrificing one night of professional integrity probably wouldn’t tarnish her career forever. And a trivia night is exactly the sort of brain flexing she would prefer over an evening of her male coworkers yelling about a ball not making it over the right line. 

“What happens outside of the hospital, stays outside of the hospital,” Maggie springs on a stunned Schmitt, ending any further discussion with a firm glance. “I’ll be there at 7.”

“Dr. Pierce, if you don’t mind me saying so,” Qadri begins, and then, with the utmost reverence, “You fucking rock at trivia.” 

Schmitt and Parker whoop in agreement. 

“I do,” Maggie asserts, flushed with victory. And it’s probably the jalapeno poppers, too.

“I can’t believe you argued with the guy asking the questions,” Schmitt admits. “And you won.”

“Well, if you don’t have an encyclopedia knowledge of Happy Potter,” she preens. “Don’t try me.”

Helm returns with the celebratory round of shots, including one for her. Is it unethical to take shots with your interns? While on the clock, yes, definitely. Then again, it’s a little unethical to sleep with interns, too, and yet--

Maggie downs the shot. 

Parker hisses as the burn of alcohol slides down his throat. “I need at least three more of those after the study session I pulled last night,” he says, winded. 

“Right, your intern exams are coming up.” A swell of fondness rises in her chest as she remembers toiling over her textbooks, the ease of assessment, the pride of passing with high marks. “You guys excited?”

A chorus of groans answers her question. Oh, right. Not everyone was a child prodigy who gloried in tests. Maggie flinches and figures to hell with it, she’s already in this deep. She orders the next round of shots. 

“I’ve read so much I wore out my contacts,” Schmitt mumbles, his cheek plastered against the table. 

“Did you fall asleep wearing them again?” Taryn huffs at his miserable nod. “Dude, you’re going to go blind.”

“And fail your exam,” Parker adds, prompting another groan. 

Maggie has the weird urge to pat his head consolingly. Luckily, Qadri does it instead. “At least if you fail you have a hot surgeon boyfriend to support you,” she mutters enviously. 

“You could be a house-husband,” Helm proposes, raising her glass at Maggie and Qadri. “Because it’s 2019 and that’s equality.”

Schmitt seems to consider this seriously.

“You wouldn’t have to shave fish,” Qadri tacks on, wrinkling her nose. “No offense.”

It takes a full minute for Maggie to realize the remark is directed at her. “Oh! None taken,” she says quickly. “I take no responsibility for that exercise. Or the smell.”

“Which still hasn’t come out of my hijab,” Qadri mourns. Seeing Qadri look any amount of sad, Maggie decides suddenly, should be a crime listed under do no harm. 

“I’m sorry,” she offers. “I’ll make Jackson buy you a new one!”

For some reason, that sets them into a fit of giggles.

“Drunk Dr. Pierce is the best,” Parker declares, and then blushes, bright and splotchy. “Except for, uh, sober Dr. Pierce. She’s the most wonderful, uh--”

“Careful, don’t hurt yourself,” says Helm, wryly.

“Sober Dr. Pierce would be at home, pretending to care about sports,” Maggie scoffs. 

“With Link, Dr. Avery and Dr. Kim?” Dahlia grins. “Sounds like a dream.”

“Pretty sure we’ve all had that dream,” Levi snorts. 

“Uh, hello?” Helm pulls a face, jerking a thumb at herself. “Lesbian.”

“Everyone except Taryn has probably had that dream,” he amends. 

“Her, and me,” Maggie says blandly. Alcohol loosens her tongue almost as much as bullies and outrage. “As if our free time isn’t limited enough by his projects, and my environmental research, now Jackson’s gone and bonded with his new buddy Link, who loves sports, and camping, and nature, and -- bikes, I guess?”

“Nico says Link’s got a man-crush on Dr. Avery,” Schmitt whispers in what’s not really a whisper. Parker snorts messily into his drink, which she finds weirdly endearing.

“Please tell me Kim also has one of those secret bro handshakes with Link?” Maggie begs.

Schmitt nods. “Yeah, no, they do. He tried to show me it once, but I, um, accidently hit his chin with my open palm.”

Fits of laughter overcome the group while Schmitt flushes. “Aw. Did you kiss it better?” Parker wheedles. 

“I don’t kiss and tell,” says Schmitt, tight-lipped. 

“You do so,” Helm snorts, shoving him in the chest.

“Hey,” says Qadri, noting how Maggie’s spaced out. “At least if he’s watching sports and -- I dunno, crushing beer cans? -- with Dr. Link and Levi’s ortho god, then you don’t have to act like you want to hear about baseball.” 

“Football,” Parker corrects. 

“There’s a difference?” Qadri wonders. 

Maggie would try to answer, except the implication has finally sunk in. “His ortho god?” she asks, gesturing skeptically at Schmitt. 

“Yuh huh. Dr. Kim is his boyfriend,” Helm shares with relish. 

“Oh!” What she means to say is congrats, yet what emerges is a clumsy, “Wow. Good job.” 

Schmitt only shrugs. “I don’t know how,” he confesses in a slightly dazed tone. “Sometimes I think I died in that freak windstorm and this is just the last of my synapses firing off one last wet dream.”

“Dude, that’s dark,” Parker murmurs. 

“I haven’t slept or had sex in...” Schmitt pauses, clearly wracking his brain. “What’s today?”

“Preaching to the choir,” Maggie mutters. Huh, maybe that has something to do with her mood. 

“Oh, God,” Dahlia exclaims, as if she just cracked the code. “What if that’s why. What if Link is sleeping with Dr. Avery??” 

Parker nods sagely. “That makes sense.”

“Oh, God,” Maggie echoes. After a couple shots of tequila, the theory seems totally plausible. “Oh, no, what do I--”

“Don’t worry,” Schmitt interjects, radiating a suspicious amount of calm. “Link is too busy fooling around with Dr. Shepperd to sleep with your boyfriend.” 

Maggie exhales in relief. Then it dawns on her, what he actually said. “Wait,” she yelps. “What? He’s sleeping with my sister?”

Schmitt blinks. “You didn’t know?”

“No, I didn’t know!” Maggie gapes. “How did you know?!”

“He’s fucking the other ortho god,” Helm and Qadri chime in. 

“Right,” says Maggie, slowly and with effort. “Right, okay, I’ve got to remember that detail for tomorrow. So maybe, only … one more round of shots?”

Helm’s eyes light up. “Dr. Pierce is the coolest,” she declares, and the rest unanimously agree. 

Maggie Pierce has never been named the coolest anything -- the most impressive, sure, and the most talented by far -- so she can’t help the thrill that shoots through her, headier than any glass of alcohol.

“We’re taking a Lyft.” Parker has emerged as de-facto leader of the drunk brigade, voted in as least likely to order an axe-murderer for a driver. “Levi, you in?” 

Schmitt shakes his head, wincing as it jostles his precarious balance. “Nico said he would pick me up if I wanted.”

Helm snickers. “House-husband,” she sing-songs at him. 

“Breadwinner,” Schmitt fires back. Neither of these are insults, Maggie notes, uncertain if she should point this out.  

“Ma--” Parker catches himself with another blush. “Dr. Pierce, do you, uh, need a ride?” 

“Hey!” Schmitt says like he’s had a full-on brainblast. “You can wait with me and Nico can get you, too.”  

“Really?” Maggie perks. It saved her the trouble of calling anyone liable to embarrass her; namely, either of her sisters or worse, Karev. “That would be fantastic.”

“Sure, he’s already at Jackson’s place,” Schmitt replies confidently. If she were slightly more sober, Maggie doubts that logic would hold up to scrutiny. As it is, it makes perfect sense to wait for Schmitt’s ortho god to drop her off at the place he drove in from.  

Turns out, Dr. Kim is a sexy sight to behold, even with a proprietary arm wrapped around Schmitt, who’s too busy mumbling grateful nonsense into his shoulder to notice the adoration in his boyfriend’s gaze. 

If he is surprised to catch Maggie in a similar state of inebriation, Kim has the decency to make no mention of this. Instantly, he’s her new favorite attending-level doctor. He is also a gentleman, offering Maggie his hand as she clamors into the backseat of his car, all the while still steadying Schmitt with a hand clasped over his waist. 

Maggie marvels at the coordination and strength, wonders if he could carry them both simultaneously, should the need arise.

“He’s awesome at carrying people,” Schmitt brags, meaning that, whoops, she said that aloud. 

Kim chuckles. “Thanks, babe,” he says, wryly. “But at the risk of oversharing, maybe don’t go into detail.”

“What, that it’s a sex thing?” Schmitt says in what he clearly believes is a whisper for their ears only, before he collapses back onto the seat, supremely self-satisfied. At exactly the same volume, he adds, “See? I can be discreet.”

“Great job,” Kim snorts, unimpressed. And yet unable to resist pressing a kiss into his boyfriend’s brow before he starts up the engine. They’re cute, Maggie thinks blearily, and hopes she managed to keep the thought inside her head. 

Judging by the grin Kim shoots her out of the corner of his eye, she probably didn’t succeed. 

Jackson looks surprised to see Nico at his door again, not that long after he left. “Hey, man. Did you forget something?”

“Nope,” says Nico, cheerily. “Just doing a drop-off.”

“You--” Jackson stares in bewilderment, until Nico moves aside, allowing his passenger to sidestep his bulk. “Mags?” 

Maggie stumbles to the door, using one of his sturdy biceps for balance. “Thanks for the lift, Kim,” she waves over her shoulder.

He nods, still smirking as he walks back to his car, away from the bewildered Jackson.

“Mags, are you -- you good?” He hovers close behind as she carefully navigates the stairs, forgoing the temptation of the couch for the queen-sized bed. 

“I,” Maggie begins, slurring with great dignity. “Fucking rock at trivia.” 

The morning-after is almost worth the hangover. Watching Jackson try to puzzle out what she got up to last night -- and exactly how Dr. Kim fits into the picture -- is too funny, since Maggie deigns to tell him only the bare minimum, lest she look as silly as she feels when she walks into work with a lingering stuffiness.

“Wow. You look as though you need at least a double-shot,” says a familiar voice, rippling with sympathy, but also a fair bit of humor. “Good thing I got you a triple.”

Maggie stares blankly at Kim and at the to-go cup suddenly placed in her hands. Truly he is a kind and benevolent ortho god. “What’s this for?” 

Kim grins. “Last night my boyfriend went on about how cool Dr. Pierce was, and how hungover you’d be, and that it was his fault,” he explains, obviously quite amused. “And this morning he groggily demanded I make amends by being especially nice to you this morning. Hence, coffee.”

“That is--” A level of thoughtfulness that made all boyfriends, including her own, seem like total jackasses in comparison. Nico smirks as if he knows exactly what she’s thinking and enjoys the high ground very much. “So unnecessarily sweet. Thank you.”

“No problem,” he says, and leans in, a sheepish twitch to his unfaltering smile. “I’d also appreciate if he didn’t get fired over whatever you may or may not have heard last night.”

Maggie laughs. 

“Honestly, I’ve forgotten a decent amount already,” she admits, for the sake of all three of them. “Except the part about Dr. Link and my sister?”

Kim chokes on his sip of coffee. “Ah, you didn’t hear that from me.”

“No, I heard that from your drunk boyfriend,” she replies, picking up the pace to follow his long strides. “But I absolutely need to hear more from you!”

At his reluctance, Maggie pulls out her trump card. “I’ll buy you a bagel.”

Nico stops to considers her. “Multigrain, veggie cream cheese?” 

Evidently, Kim has a price. Maggie appreciates in someone who is still, until further notice, her favorite attending.

Petition for more of what 15x18 gave us with Maggie and the interns? And for Maggie and Nico to become friends?? Hire me Grey’s

[andonewillbringhisfall]

Day 18. Stuck in a room together

For anyone who hasn’t read the previous chapters: instead of writing oneshots for Carry On Countdown this year, I’m writing an ongoing chaptered fic, where I incorporate as many of the prompts as I can into a single fic. There won’t be regular updates; I’ll just be posting whenever a prompt comes up that I was able to fit into my storyline.

Links to previous chapters: Day 2. Social media Day 4. Rainy day Day 6. Angst day Day 9. Flowers Day 10. Song inspired Day 14. Fairytale retelling

SIMON

Ms Avery, the librarian, looks surprised at my request.

‘Revealing spells? For someone who doesn’t want you to know who they are?’

‘Exactly,’ I say.

Penny said I might find some clues in some of the less obvious places in the library, but I have no idea where to start. I figured asking Ms Avery would be more useful than wandering around by myself.

‘It’d have to be powerful,’ says Ms Avery, ‘if they don’t want to be found.’ She narrows her eyes at me. ‘Should you really be doing this? I won’t pry, but…’

I shrug instead of answering.

‘Well, okay,’ she says. ‘I might have a few ideas.’

She types something into her computer, squints at the screen and then leads me through the rows of books to a spot in the back corner.

‘You’ll find what you’re looking for in this section,’ she says, then pulls one out. ‘Maybe try this one. I’m not sure you’d be able to pull this off at an eighth year level, I have to say.’

She winces as she says it, so I know she means she’s not sure an eighth year, especially me, could pull it off.

I shrug again.

‘Alright, I’ll leave you to it,’ she says.

‘Wait, what about fairy tales? Or why a spell from a fairy tale wouldn’t work? Or how could I know if it did work?’

‘Hm,’ she says. ‘You might want to look at some older texts for that.’ She points me in the direction of a little storeroom at the back of the library. She pulls an old-fashioned clip out of her hair and uses it to spell the door open.

‘Thanks,’ I say, stepping into the room.

She holds the door open. ‘What you’re looking for might be on the top shelf there,’ she says, pointing with one hand and returning her clip with the other. ‘But just be careful, a few of those encyclopedias there have a tendency to try to escape when no-one’s around, so the door won’t open from the inside. Make sure you close it on your way out, though.’

‘Okay,’ I say.

She uses her foot to wedge a wooden doorstop underneath the door, so it doesn’t close all the way. After she leaves I turn to look at the room. It’s small, just enough space for shelves along two walls and a desk no bigger than the ones we have in the classrooms along the third wall, and then the door. I turn back to the books on the shelf Ms Avery pointed at. I stare at them, reading the faded titles on their spines.

None of the titles jumps out at me, so I choose one randomly and set it on the table. I open it to the first page, already thinking that I’m wasting my time.

But I can’t give up, not until I’ve done everything I can to find him and convince him to give me a chance.

 BAZ

Snow is gone by the time I wake up in the morning. I try not to dwell too much on what he might be doing with his early start. Hopefully wallowing in disappointment and pining for me. Hopefully not about to figure out who I am.

I roll over, and the first thing I see is his flower – my flower – still sitting on the nightstand. I heard him running up the stairs last night, and I saw the silver glow, so I can guess what happened. The fact that Snow didn’t throw anything at me – Anathema be damned – shows that he obviously hasn’t come to the right conclusion yet. Hard to see how he could have missed it, given that I was right there, but that’s Snow for you.

I skip breakfast. I have no desire to see him again after last night, after he looked into my eyes the exact way he has countless times in my dreams. Instead, I go to the library, hoping for someplace that doesn’t smell like Snow or decaying rats (that doesn’t leave me any of my usual options).

Of course, as soon as I get there I spot Snow in one of the storerooms at the back. It wouldn’t be my life if it was this easy to escape him. It also wouldn’t be Snow if he was giving up on finding T that easily.

It almost knocks me over, realising how much he actually cares. If I thought I could show up for one romantic night and disappear forever and have him forget all about me, I was wrong. He’s not going to forget. I wasn’t just someone who happened to be there at the right time to give him a break from everything.

I don’t know what to do with this knowledge. I can hardly announce myself as T and have him forgive everything I’ve done to him for the person I was online.

I can’t break his heart like that, either.

I step into the room behind him, kicking the doorstop out of the way so he’ll hear me coming, and cross my arms, leaning against the door.

‘Shouldn’t the Chosen One be at breakfast?’ I say, sneering.

 SIMON

I startle when Baz speaks, the book dropping from my hands.

‘Great,’ I snap. ‘Now you’ve made me lose my place.’

‘How terrible,’ Baz drawls. ‘It must have taken you hours to read those five pages.’

I growl at him. I only got here ten minutes ago, but I don’t owe him an explanation. He can think whatever he wants.

‘Why are you here?’

‘To bother you, obviously,’ Baz says. ‘Or to plot your demise. Whichever works better for you.’

I roll my eyes. ‘For once could you just…’

He raises an eyebrow. ‘What?’

‘Just not,’ I snap. ‘Just not get in my way and ruin everything. This is important, okay?’

‘What’s so important?’ he asks. I’m probably imagining that his voice has gone softer.

‘Nothing.’

It’s Baz’s turn to roll his eyes. ‘Clearly.’

‘Could you just leave?’ I say through gritted teeth.

He stares at me for a long moment. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. (I can never tell what he’s thinking.)

‘Fine,’ he says, and reaches for the door handle. It doesn’t turn. He tries again. ‘Snow, what the fuck?’

‘Oh,’ I say. ‘The door doesn’t open from the inside.’

He turns around to glare at me. ‘And you couldn’t have warned me?’

‘You came in before I could!’

He doesn’t stop glaring. He pulls out his wand and tries to spell the door unlocked. It doesn’t work.

I gulp. ‘I think only the librarian can do it.’

He puts his wand away and knocks on the door sharply. He tries again, but no-one comes. With a heavy sigh, Baz sinks down and sits cross-legged on the floor, facing me. I turn away and open the book again.

‘Who were you dancing with last night?’ Baz asks abruptly.

‘What?’ I look up from the book.

‘Who was it?’

‘I don’t know,’ I mumble. I turn a page, but I’m not registering anything. Sighing, I close the book and sink down to the floor in front of Baz.

‘You don’t know?’ he sneers.

‘No,’ I snap. ‘Look, I – that’s what I’m doing. I’m trying to figure it out.’

He raises an eyebrow. ‘Right.’

I know I’m blushing furiously. ‘I know it sounds stupid. You won’t get it.’

He sweeps his arm towards the locked door. ‘We have time. Enlighten me.’

I shake my head.

‘Is it your secret email admirer?’ His tone is mocking. Of course it is. How does he even know about T? (I guess I’m not subtle. I’m never subtle.)

‘I – I – yes,’ I stammer.

‘And the flowers were for him too?’

 BAZ

Fuck. I shouldn’t even have said ‘him’. How would I know that, if I’d only seen him underneath the mask? (Though it would have had to be a very tall girl.)

‘Yes,’ Snow mutters, his face flaming bright red. It shouldn’t be as endearing as it is.

‘How romantic,’ I say. I can’t seem to drop this derisive tone. Let him think I think this whole thing is pathetic.

‘You wouldn’t understand,’ he says.

I pretend that doesn’t feel like a punch to the gut. I laugh. ‘But you don’t know who he is.’ I shift closer to him. Our knees are almost touching.

Snow shakes his head silently.

 SIMON

I want to punch him. Or go off on him, but then I’d probably take out all of Ms Avery’s precious old books too. There’s no room to move, and nowhere to look except him. His eyes. The greyness of them – grey that’s dark blue and green and oceans and stormy skies and everything in between.

 BAZ

‘So you’ve danced with him, and you talk to him, but you don’t know his name.’

Snow is glaring at me. I lean forward. (I shouldn’t. This is dangerous.)

‘Doesn’t that strike you as a little bit suspicious?’ I say. ‘He sounds like a tosser, if he won’t even show his face to you.’

‘Don’t say that,’ Snow snaps. ‘Don’t talk about him like that.’

‘What’s he so scared of?’ I continue. (Playing with fire.) His blue eyes blaze into mine. (I want to dance with him again.) ‘Why doesn’t he want you to know who he is? Maybe he has something to be ashamed of. Maybe he’s some fucked-up –’

‘Shut up,’ he growls. ‘He’s not. He’s amazing.’

My breath catches. I turn it into a smirk. ‘You don’t even know who he is.’

‘I do. I know him.’

I shake my head. Snow’s stare is determined, defiant, like nothing could shake him. Maybe not even me.

I breathe out slowly. ‘What if you found out he was someone you hated?’

‘I wouldn’t.’ His knees press against mine. ‘I know him. I wouldn’t hate him.’

I feel myself tipping forward, like I’ve jumped off this cliff and now it’s too late to turn back and gravity will get me no matter what I do next. Snow’s gaze is intense, and he’s not leaning away from me, no matter how close I get.

‘Do you promise?’ I whisper.

 SIMON

Grey eyes…

It can’t be.

 BAZ

There’s a flash of light and we startle apart.

‘Simon?’ calls Ms Avery. ‘Are you still in there?’

The door opens. Snow blinks.

‘Sorry, Ms Avery,’ he stammers. ‘I – we were just leaving.’

He abandons the book on the desk and rushes past her. I realise my hands are shaking.

[weaponized4wkwardn3ss]

Brief Dedication to Avery

As a kind of short disclaimer, this isn’t really for any one to read for entertainment purposes, like the rest of my posts (or more often than not reposts). If you knew him, I would love you to send me some memories, but all the same, this is mainly for his memory. I never posted anything on any social media about him, mainly because I didn’t think I could do it right. But, since almost no one knows me on this site, I feel a lot more at ease posting it here.

When Avery was killed over a year and a half ago, as is typically the case in these circumstances, it didn’t really hit home for a bit. I felt enough to know that I didn’t want to hear about how he was killed until later, when I had more time to process the information, but I didn’t feel a sense of loss yet, I only had conceptual knowledge of the fact that something bad had happened. As I started getting messages from friends asking if I had heard about him, it started to sink in a little more.

However, the real emotional impact hit during visitation and the next day at the funeral service. The familiarity of being in a church, waiting in a long line to talk to the family, and particularly the projected slideshow of pictures that documented his lifetime drove home the point that some one had died, and seeing so many of my friends waiting in this line, as well as seeing Avery’s pictures on the wall, drove home the point that it was him who had died. I had been told to try to keep it together when I talked to the family, but seeing them there, all long-time family friends, and Avery not being there with them made it impossible.

The funeral had a similar atmosphere, but with an added weight of finality to it. Hearing the stories told about him was, as you would expect, very bittersweet; Avery had an unmistakable personality, hard to miss. The bulletin says it best when it says “Quick with a kind word, a tender hug, a loud laugh, and sometimes the most inappropriate thing said at the most inappropriate time (...) Avery will always be remembered by those whom he loved as one who treated everyone as a neighbor, never met a stranger”. Hearing hymns about the joy of heaven was especially moving at the time, due to our shared belief in Christianity that I have since departed from. Though these things made the funeral emotional enough on their own, the saddest moment was the end. When the family stood up and walked from the front of the isle to the doors at the back, I saw Avery’s youngest brother Kale, and his expression. I could see the realization heavy in his eyes, knowing that he wouldn’t see his big brother again.

The three items in the picture are the main things I have to remember him by. The shirt (aside from being a UGA shirt, the Gaines are huge UGA fans) I had gotten from him after work one day, back when we worked at JDH roofing together. He was VERY excited to lend me some sort of encyclopedia of the legend of Zelda, and instead of waiting for me to get off work, he wrapped the book in this shirt and left it on the hood of my car in the middle of Chattanooga Tennessee x) The book was still there when I got off work, and while I rembered to bring back the book, the shirt had stayed at home, and now reminds me specifically of our time at JDH and of visiting his house on occasion for the big Tennessee vs Georgia game. The comic he gave me (the first I ever owned!) reminds me of similar memories, of the times I would hangout at the Gaines’ house or when he and his brother Jonah would come to ours, largely due to the time where I visited his house and did little other than read a copious amount of Batman comics. The bulletin reminds me mostly of the visitation and memorial service, though the previously mentioned summary of his personality does well to give me a large wealth of memories in which his personality shone through the most.

I still see him sometimes. Not literally of course, but I’ll be walking through a parking lot and I’ll see someone wearing a shirt that reminds me of one of his favorites, or otherwise I might hear an unnecessarily loud outburst of laughter and likewise be reminded of him. It’s always bittersweet; I smile remembering various antics of his, but also feel that sense of loss, as well as anger at the world for taking him way too early. He was one of the very first (if not literally the first) people to talk to me when my family and I moved to the area, and he was a fast and constant friend. I’m grateful for the time that he was in my life, and I hope that wherever he is now that he is as happy and boisterous as he always has been.

[hotelbones]

Chocolate-Dipped Brain Bites

This post was written as an assignment for Parsons Design & Technology Thesis 1 taught by Liza Stark and Ethan Silverman. It contains a self-bio, questions I generated over the summer, and prototypes I made before the beginning of the semester. 

Being

Last night I reserved tickets for a queer games meeting happening in Brooklyn on Sunday, August 25. As I finished writing my name and information I was prompted with two boxes asking the following: “Are you interested in showing a game?”, “Are you interested in giving a talk?”

I spent two days with this page open, unsure how to answer before leaving them empty and hitting ‘submit’.

You may be wondering how this is relevant to my thesis assignment at all, but its this moment that defines a lot of where I am at right now. I came to DT to make games on top of the theory I studied in undergrad, but instead, I only dug further into thinking about games alongside making them. Except I am not making normal games anymore, that is what makes things so difficult. 

Over the course of the last year, I explored games in a variety of fashions. I made games involving venting your feelings to your friends, games for me to explain my own trans trauma, games that questioned the act of play, and games that ask what a game really is. So, yeah I am at a pretty different place from when I came here hoping to make some cool video games. But the thing about the games I have been making lately is I am not sure where they fit in, and where the future of my work should fit in. I won’t figure that out in this blog post, but at the moment my games just feel a bit lost contextually. 

Outside of my work, I like organizing community events. This comes into form in the DT community most of the time but I am trying to figure out how to expand that range as I won’t be in DT much longer. I also really enjoy thinking critically about the worlds objects, and watching the reality TV show Terrace House. 

Part 1: Questions

How have the hegemonic ideals of game definitions limited affect, bodies, and expression?  

The games encyclopedia has completely stagnated under the powers of capital and computers. Now we think that games must exist as an aesthetic of “fun” or “rewarding” within a magic circle separated from the world that results in no consequences. By continuing to think of games with these beliefs, the military-entertainment complex maintains some form of control over who gets the ability to feel and why.  

Is conceptual art an avenue to continue experimenting in making games or should I depart from that area?

The past year I dove heavily into thinking about art, specifically conceptual and relational art. I saw a lot of parallels between the ways that games are constructed and those artifacts, and I wondered why games couldn’t be created in a similar manner. However, I’m starting to wonder if conceptual art isn’t the place where this conversation necessarily fits.  

Is queerness a lens I want to continue thinking about in my work?

I came to DT hoping to explore queer design and games but I hit a lot of roadblocks over the course of the last year creating queer works. My games 54 More and Immanent Blocks, both taught me that creating identity-dependent work is an entirely different form of emotional labor added on top of communicating a project itself. My MS1 project Game Changers also taught me that creating work as a minority in a community that isn’t focused on said subject means that it's hard to find valuable criticism to move you forward, and administrative figures typically won’t understand. Finally, if I make queer work is it isolating a larger conversation I want to have about the systemic constrictions games cultures have maintained? Guess I will find out.  

Part 2: Design Process & Prototypes

Prototype 1: Toilet Game (Huck Fuizinga)

For my first prototype, I decided I would try to create a game that does the opposite of everything Huizinga said in his book Homo Ludens. Why Huizinga? Because there are a lot of concepts I find in modern game forms that are constraining and prohibitive and I think that this book contains a lot of those ideas as it is a seminal text in the game studies field. That being said, Homo Ludens is a book about play. But, many of the things said about play in this book can be considered when thinking about games as well. So I pulled some quotes from the book and distilled them down to some values related to games then I created my design values from the opposite of these values. These are the values I came up with. 

So, due to the limited amount of time I had for this prototype, it was impossible for me to create a game that satisfied every one of these design values. So I decided to use these design values as guides, instead of requirements. I ran into the problem of considering what an action truly “integral” to life could be, but instead of overthinking it I decided to go with an easy one. Pooping. 

So I went to the bathroom for about an hour to two hours and sat on the toilet. During this time I thought about what could be an interesting experience to give players that fits within some of the other design guidelines. I wanted to make sure that the game was not something to be a tradition and something that may communicate moral values to the player. But how can you communicate morals through the act of doing your business? It is a very lonely act. I decided a way for the player to do this would be to leave an object behind for the next player to consider. I ended up with the following rule set. (You can find more of the document here https://1drv.ms/w/s!AiehfsctWGCih8MneP0PaMnK5PH4ew)

I decided the best place for this game to be played would be inside of a public restroom. So I got shipping labels and went out for a night on the town. 

A  downside to this being a bathroom based game is that it is a lot harder to gather feedback on how the users feel about the game. And honestly I didn’t from this one. It didn’t feel like it would be appropriate. But there are improvements I would make if I iterated on it such as the actions the players take, and the headspace the game asks them to be in. 

Prototype 2: The Nonbeing

For my second prototype I didn’t want to read through a bunch of theory again so I decided to make something more emotional. I took inspration from Avery Alder’s Variations on Your Body and Yoko Ono’s Grapefruit to create a game about feeling disconnected from your body. Essentially being de-embodied. One may say that these two prototypes are vastly different from each other. One is in a public restroom, another is a more poetic experience. But that’s fine. It really all is to help answer my questions. 

This game isn’t something that really works through pictures....because the game is just text. That is the thing about my games at the moment. They don’t necessarily need immediate forms because the forms are the people playing them. Yeah people could buy those toilet stickers or reprint them. There is definitely a form of this second prototype that could be fancied up and packaged. But the design is the embodiment of this specific headspace. 

Also note this game isn’t finished, I spent 3 hours and decided I had already gone over the allotted time so I stopped myself. A finished version of this game would need a back half that finishes. 

You can find the game “The Nonbeing” at this link. https://1drv.ms/w/s!AiehfsctWGCih8Mo-EPa51zOGxL4eQ