#because you know who else was born and raised in the midwest?

[benicebefunny]

Ted Lasso, "Pilot" Rewatch

My key takeaway: Ted Lasso is not some country bumpkin too pure to understand (or participate in) social hierarchies.

There's an old feel-good comedy staple where a simple, salt-of-the-earth Hick goes to The City and meets Fancy Cityfolk. Not familiar with their fancy city ways, the Hick doesn't treat people according to this foreign hierarchy. He does things for himself rather than ordering around the butler. (He may even assume the butler is the Master of the House!) He innocently insults the Fancy Cityfolk by violating their social rules. He shakes the men's hands too hard. He invites the stuffiest matron around to go possum huntin'.

The Hick acts without respect to the Cityfolk's social hierarchies, because he doesn't understand them.

In the Pilot, it's clear that Ted is Not That Hick.*

Ted is a keen observer of power dynamics. Unlike the Hick who runs roughshod over social hierarchy out of ignorance, Ted is constantly negotiating social hierarchies. The Hick upends hierarchy. Ted is an active participant and often a beneficiary of hierarchy.

Ted has a brain that won't turn off and a fuckton of social privilege. And, by god, if he doesn't use both in the Pilot.

Example 1: Ollie, the Erstwhile Tour Guide Ted's first interaction on British soil with a British person is a bit of a fake-out. When Ollie (the cab driver presumably sent by Richmond) goes to take Ted and Beard's luggage, they refuse. Ted says no several times in a row, followed by, "We packed 'em, we'll carry 'em." Perhaps, for the briefest moment, we think Ted is That Hick. He doesn't want to be waited on; he doesn't want to watch someone labor on his behalf. He's opting out.

But then Ted immediately says, "Love to make a little pit stop though." After Ollie agrees, it's cut to: Ollie showing Ted and Beard the Tower Bridge. A thing that is very much not Ollie's job. A thing that Richmond is not paying him for. A thing that neither Ted nor Beard tip him for on-screen.

Ted seems uncomfortable with Ollie, a dark-skinned Black man, carrying his bags. He's wary of such a visible marker of class and racial hierarchy. The historical weight cannot be ignored.

However, Ted's fine with asking Ollie to play tour guide--something that literally is not Ollie's job and that he isn't dressed for (Ollie's removed his suit jacket in the sunshine of the water front). Moreover, Ted feels comfortable requesting a delay in their itinerary that could potentially lose Ollie further business with Richmond.

There's a connection between the refusal to let Ollie carry their bags and the request for a tour. It feels like a negotiation. We'll carry our bags; you give us a tour. The fact that Ollie is expected to carry his fares' bags becomes a bargaining chip. It buys Ted the good will necessary to get something he wants. (Which is so fucking Midwestern.)

In this interaction, Ted doesn't opt out of the racial and class hierarchy. He just alters the terms.

Example 2: Nathan and Nate Like Ted, I am also a Midwestern transplant. I understand the impulse for nicknames. Where I grew up, if you didn't have a nickname (preferably something ending with an -y sound), it meant people hated you. Or you were rich. Or both.

It was quite shocking to move to California and meet some Okie who introduced himself as "James."

Among family and friends, coining a nickname can signal affection, warmth, familiarity.

Among people who've just met, a white person inventing a nickname for a person of color is... bad, it's bad. Don't do it. It's wrong. No. I don't get to decide what their name is. Stop.

Nathan introduces himself as Nathan. Ted calls him Nathan a few times. But in their third scene together, Ted has started calling him by the diminutive, "Nate." By the time Nathan is driving out of the Richmond car park, Ted is calling him, "my man, Nate."

If I were in Ted's place, the moment Nathan dropped me off, I would call a cab, board a flight home, and change my own fucking name. I'd enter the Whiteness Protection Program so goddamn fast.

My point is: Ted is overly-familiar with Nathan. He takes liberties with Nathan. He redefines Nathan, shrinking him down into Nate. He exercises authority over Nathan's very identity.

Compare this with how George Cartrick calls Higgins, "Higgy Boy."

Contrast it with how Ted addresses Rebecca. He calls her Ms. Welton. When she corrects him, he believes her.

He doesn't call her Becca or Becky or Bex. He calls her Rebecca.

Because she's his boss.

Which is to say: he knows how power works at work.

Example 3: Tea Time? As a new employee, Ted is deferential to Rebecca. He is careful about staying in her good graces.

Ted initially calls Rupert a "good time" for being surrounded by champagne and groupies (a moment of casual sexism that Nathan would have criticized himself over). When Ted learns that's Rebecca's ex-husband, he immediately backpedals. He tries to save face and avoid offending his new boss.

Famously, Ted hates tea. He's never tried tea, but he hates it. When he receives tea by mistake at a restaurant, he returns it. When Rebecca gives him tea, he at least tries it. He views his rich boss Rebecca differently than the barista at Starbucks.

That last sentence may seem obvious, but it's a concrete example of Ted understanding and negotiating power.

The Hick would reject the tea from Rebecca, the same as at Starbucks. Ted doesn't.

Conclusion Ted is neither above nor oblivious to the flow of power. Ted is not pure in a world of filth. He's in the muck with the rest of us. He's not an innocent; he just has an accent.

In the episodes to come, Ted will use his understanding of power dynamics to create a more cohesive team. In doing so, he becomes complicit in those power dynamics and the harm they cause.

You can't win the game without playing the game.

*A deeper engagement with the Hick Goes to the City trope in other media may reveal that some (many or even most) Hicks are far more agile navigators of hierarchy than we are initially led to believe.

[spookyscarydemonbabe]

15 questions about me!

@esme-viridian thank you for the tag my love!!

1- are you named after anyone?

kind of 😅 when my mom was pregnant with me she was listening to Love Line (idk if anyone will remember what that is) and there was a guy that called in that had my name and she liked it so much she just decided on it

2- when was the last time you cried?

about two days ago 😂 i don’t cry often, but i was so overwhelmed with being sick for the first time in 2 years and i was in so much pain and i didn’t really know what to do

3- do you have kids?

NO absolutely not. i don’t want to have kids of my own but when i’m older i’d like to adopt older kids out of the system as soon as i have the means to. even when i was younger i never really liked kids, i only liked babies because at least they slept most of the time 😅

4- do you use sarcasm a lot?

not really :p i never really have a use for it

5- what’s the first thing you notice about people?

their attitude. i can always tell when someone wants to come into a situation with a bad attitude and i do my best to avoid them because you’re not about to ruin my good time

6- what’s your eye color?

i guess it’s like a grey blue 🤷‍♀️

7- scary movies or happy endings?

both i guess :p i love scary movies, it’s been my forever special interest so i can’t really remember a time when i didn’t like scary movies, but i do enjoy a happy ending every now and then

8- any special talents?

i’m AMAZING at trivia, and i love going out to trivia nights :p we actually played a trivia game at home a few weeks ago and i’ve been given the title of ✨Smartest Person in the House✨ don’t ever underestimate the amount of useless facts i know

9- what are your hobbies?

writing obviously :p but i also love reading, thrifting, and i’ve just recently picked up cross stitching again :)

10- where were you born?

Midwest born and raised 😍 my family takes pride on being white trash

11- do you have any pets?

i’m not much of an animal person but at home i’ve got three chihuahuas, all of them are old and really needy so they’re super snuggly :p i still live at home so they’re technically my parents dogs but i guess they’re also mine

12- what sports do you play/have played?

when i was younger my mom tried to get me into tons of sports but i’ve never been a sports kid. she put me in soccer, swimming, horseback riding, tennis, badminton. i think it’s been about 5 years since i’ve played an actual sport 😅

13- how tall are you?

i think around 5ft4 last i checked but i’m about 5ft8 in my favorite platforms 🥰

14- favorite subject in school?

i always loves english, writing has always been a passion of mine wether it was fanfics or short stories or essays. my parents would always say it was math but just because i’m good at it doesn’t mean i like it 😂

15- dream job?

i mean my DREAM JOB dream job would probably be to open up a halloween themed candy store but i know i’m never going to be able to get there 😂 i’ve never really liked considering writing a job, as much as i would like it to be, but if i had to pick a second one i would probably say my dream job is to be a horror screenwriter

i’m going to tag @imagine-all-the-imagines @aidansloth @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @manyfandomsfanvergent and anyone else who would like to do this 🥰 no pressure of course!

[longitudinalwaveme]

Random Flash Rogue Headcanons

Ideas that pop up a lot in my fanfics and fanart: 

-Mick Rory was a farm kid. 

-Roscoe Neyle Dillon is the son of Reginald Norton Dillon, a well-to-do banker, and Rosa Nicole Dillon, his rather pliant, weak-willed wife. Reginald held his son to punishingly high standards and was quick to criticize, berate, and threaten his son when he failed to live up to them. Rosa never intervened. 

-Roscoe grew up in North Ridge, a suburb of Central City. He is on the autism spectrum, but grew up before it was widely recognized. He was constantly bullied by his peers and was disliked by most of his teachers because of his odd behavior. He had a number of special interests but the most prominent was, of course, tops. 

-Roscoe is one of only three Rogues to attend high school and one of only two to have attended college. Lisa and Hartley also both graduated from high school, and Hartley also went to college. Roscoe studied (possibly has a degree in) physics. 

-Roscoe’s parents currently live in Bridgeville. 

-Mark (Marco) Mardon is the son of Patricia (Paloma) and Matthew (Matias) Mardon, and the younger brother of Clyde (Claudio) Mardon. His parents immigrated from Guatemala when he was a month and a half old and Clyde was about a year old. Both parents were college-educated, which made the process simpler than it otherwise would have been, and the family initially settled in Dunhurst, a suburb of Central City. However, they were never accepted there, and they eventually left the town after persistent harassment from the Clan of the Fiery Cross. 

-They resettled in Bridgeville, and Matias and Paloma went to great pains to hide the fact that they were immigrants, Americanizing their names and refusing to let their sons speak Spanish outside of the home. Patricia became the head of the local library, and Matthew took a job as a teacher of geography at the local high school. The family eventually settled fairly comfortably in the middle class. 

-Clyde was only 11 months older than Mark, so they were always in the same year at school. He was handsome, intelligent, popular, and athletic. Mark, by contrast, was painfully average. He couldn’t live up to the standard set up by his parents’ golden child, and eventually, he stopped trying, knowing that he would never measure up. He and Clyde were very close, but their relationship was often strained by the fact that Mark was so often compared unfavorably to Clyde.

-Mark dropped out of high school at 16 and ran away, eventually drifting into petty theft due to his lack of direction. Clyde, meanwhile, graduated high school early and earned a degree in meteorology. He started work on the Weather Wand when he was still in college, but didn’t finish it until he was 23. He died not long after of congenital heart failure, and then his shiftless younger brother strolled in and took the wand for himself. 

-Samuel Joseph Scudder was born to Percival and Martha Scudder. Unfortunately, Percival contracted cancer a few months before Sam was born and died when his son was only 7 months old, leaving his wife with dozens of medical bills. The Scudders had never been particularly well-off, so Martha was forced to move into an apartment complex on Baker Street, colloquially known as Skid Row, where she would raise her young son. 

-Martha was a talented seamstress, so much so that she was eventually hired by the Rathaways. While this provided steady work, the Rathaways were extremely demanding employers, and so Martha wasn’t able to be at home with her son as much as she would’ve liked.

-Young Sam loved cowboy movies and superhero comics. He was especially fond of the JSA and gathered a collection of JSA comics that he still owns (currently, he hides them in the Mirror Realm so the other Rogues won’t find out about them). He was also a boy scout and eventually became an Eagle Scout. He was highly intelligent and generally did well in school, and he was close friends with Jennifer Conners, who lived in the same apartment complex he did. When they entered high school, the two started dating, and even fantasized about getting married. 

-Unfortunately, life on Baker Street was less than ideal. Sam was embarrassed by the shabby state of his clothes and possessions, had to watch as his mother tried to figure out how to pay their bills, and was surrounded by violence. Fights were common in the apartment complex where Sam lived, and, when he was 15 years old, he and Jennifer bore witness to Jennifer’s father being brutally shot as they came home from school. Both were traumatized. Jennifer began a years-long struggle with PTSD, and Sam’s anxiety levels went through the roof. Not wanting to burden his mother and knowing that they didn’t have enough money for therapy, Sam turned to cigarettes, and then alcohol, in the hopes of relieving his anxiety. As he spiraled into addiction, he got mixed up with the school’s party crowd, and dropped out at 17. He drifted into a life of crime and was sent to prison at age 19 for robbing a convenience store. In this prison, he would mostly break his alcohol addiction, but his smoking habit only got worse. More importantly, however, while serving his sentence for this crime, he would discover the Mirror Realm. 

-Sam loves his mother, but he avoids her because he knows his actions disappoint and worry her. His ex-girlfriend, Jennifer Conners, though continually struggling with PTSD, managed to graduate from both high school and college, and currently works as a school counselor. Sam avoids her, too, but still holds a bit of a candle for her. 

-Mrs. McCulloch’s first name is Eva. She is devoutly Catholic, and, as a result, Evan is also devoutly Catholic (albeit a very confused Catholic). He goes to Mass at least once a week, believes priests are basically infallible, and will threaten to kill you if you so much as look at a nun funny. He goes to Confession at least once a month and would probably go more often if each session didn’t last three hours. 

-Giovanni Giuseppi (James Jesse) is the son of Helen and Alessandro Giuseppi, both of whom are the children of Italian immigrants. He has a very, very, very large extended family, most of whom are in the circus with his parents. Many of them speak Italian; while James isn’t fluent in the language, he can understand it quite well and speak it well enough to get by. The whole family is very emotionally demonstrative and physically affectionate, which is part of why James has no concept of personal space. His relatives include his Zia Catalina (who runs an Italian restaurant), his Nonna Gianna, his Nonno Antonio, his Nonno Aberto, his Nonna Lucrezia, his Zio Luca, his Aunt Stella, his Zio Angelo, his Zia Loretta, his Zia Lucia, his Zio Armani, his Aunt Karen, his Zia Bianca, his Zio Rocco, his Zio Romeo, his Aunt Olivia, his Zia Etta, his Zio Dante, his Uncle Fred, his Aunt Susan, his Uncle Harold, his Aunt Lydia, his cousins Bobby and Susie and Maria and Carly and Matthew and Frank and Julia and Freddie and Joseph and Lucy, and his cousins’ kids, Angela and Charlie and Stefano and Gian and Marsha and Rose and Kaitlyn and Steve. He’s not entirely sure how he’s related to most of them. James’ family is all technically Catholic, mainly because they’re all Italian, but only about half of them are practicing Catholics. 

-James invented the airwalker shoes when he was 13 years old. 

-There was a very large age gap between Leonard and Lisa’s parents when they got married. This is because Larry/Lewis Snart was a 40-year-old creeper who got a 15-year-old girl pregnant. Shirley married him because she had nowhere else to go; her parents kicked her out when she got pregnant. She dropped out of high school soon after, and, after several years of abuse, she ran away, leaving Len and Lisa alone with Larry/Lewis.

-Len is about 5 years older than Lisa; he dropped out of high school at 14 so that he could support her and left home at 18. He continued to send money to her after he left, even after she became a professional figure skater. 

-Lisa’s teenaged years were one long nightmare. She was a beautiful young woman, but because of her background, her mother’s reputation as a loose woman, and her father constantly calling her nasty names, she was demonized by the “nice, proper” people of her neighborhood as a temptress, someone who would lead their sons astray. (This in spite of the fact that they were often the ones making advances on her.) Her father also became increasingly abusive towards her, as Leonard had left the home and, as she got older, Lisa started to remind him of his wife. In response, she threw herself into her figure skating and tried to shut the rest of the world out. By the time she was 16, she was already one of the most talented skaters in the Midwest, and when she was 17, she left her father’s house and moved in with another girl on her skating team for the rest of high school. She graduated with a B+ average and was promptly snapped up by a professional figure skating team. Lisa had managed to escape-at least physically. Her teenaged years left her convinced that her beauty was something dangerous; something evil, and it took Roscoe over a year to break down her defenses when they met. However, once he did, she fell deeply in love. Finally, she had found someone who would never abandon her. 

-Roscoe, for his part, was equally in love. After years of being seen as a socially awkward weirdo, he had found someone who thought he was sophisticated and intelligent; someone who didn’t laugh at his tops and who didn’t seem bothered by his quirks. It was intoxicating. 

-Geraldine is 20 years younger than Hartley; she was born to replace him as the heir to the Rathaway fortune. 

-Hartley’s parents were in their thirties when he was born. Both of them came from long-established “old money” families; their marriage was more the result of a business deal between Hartley’s grandparents than any sort of romantic relationship. Prior to her marriage, Rachel was a Kane. Her uncle was the father of Jacob Kane (father to Kathy Kane) and Martha Wayne (nee Kane), making her the first cousin of Bruce Wayne’s mother. Red hair runs in the Kane family, and she passed it on to both of her children. 

-Similarly, Hartley’s paternal grandmother was originally a Queen before marrying into the Rathaway family. And that’s only the tip of the iceberg: Hartley’s at least a distant relative of most of the wealthiest people in the DCU. 

-Geraldine is on the autism spectrum; she’s able to mask her symptoms well enough that her parents haven’t decided to pull the “let’s fix her with expensive surgeries” trick that they used when Hartley was born deaf. 

-Hartley’s parents engaged him to a girl named Kathryn Kendell, the heir to a fast food corporation, when he was 18; nothing came of it because he got himself disowned before the marriage could actually happen. 

-Hartley’s parents are intensely controlling and basically make all the decisions in their children’s lives without actually asking them for their opinions. 

-Len Snart is prone to ulcers.

-Albert and Rita Desmond have an infant son named Alan. He likes to chew on his father’s Philosopher’s Stone. Alvin adores his “astral nephew” and kept showing up at Albert’s house uninvited to see him. Eventually Albert got tired of Alvin breaking in and put him on their baby-sitting list. Rita is less than thrilled by this but is at least pleased that Alan keeps Alvin from trying to ruin Albert’s life. 

-George Harkness has two half-brothers: an older brother named Tom Harkness, the son of Agnes and Ian Harkness, and a much younger brother named Walter Wiggins, the 12-year-old son of W.W. Wiggins and his wife. (All these characters are canonical, but it’s never actually been officially stated that this is the case.) 

-Jai West idolizes Jay Garrick and plans to take up his costume someday. 

-Josh Jackam-Mardon’s weather-controlling abilities are directly tied to his mood. When he’s happy, it’s sunny and he makes rainbows. If he’s cold, the temperature will increase. If he’s hot, the temperature will drop and it might even start snowing. If he’s sad, it rains. If he throws a temper tantrum, it creates a thunderstorm-and if he’s really upset, a tornado will form. 

-When Barry Allen was 13, he paid the admission fee that was required in order to meet the members of the JSA for both himself and a 9-year-old Sam Scudder. It’s one of both men’s fondest memories, and neither realizes that the other was the boy who met the JSA with him on that day. 

-Axel Walker is the son of Alan Walker and Alice Strickland. His father is a used car salesman who left his wife for Axel’s stepmother, Barbie, when Axel was 7 years old. Axel does not like Barbie and isn’t particularly happy with his father, either. Axel’s mother is Jewish. As such, so is Axel (although Axel doesn’t practice his faith much, if at all.) He can read a bit of Hebrew and speak a bit of Yiddish. 

-Eobard Thawne is convinced that he is an expert in 21st-century technology. The result: “This is a historical device called a toaster. It served as a primitive form of climate control!” 

-Abra Kadabra, by contrast, spends most of his time in the 21st century baffled by the devices used by these primitive savages. What sort of communication device doesn’t send a perfect three-dimensional copy of your body to the person you’re talking to? What kind of food-preparation device takes twenty minutes to cook a meal? Why don’t their hygiene devices instantly clean their bodies of dirt and odors instead of requiring water that’s never a comfortable temperature? HOW DO YOU OPERATE THIS ‘REMOTE CONTROL’? This makes him a very annoying house guest. 

-Mick Rory is an accomplished cook, home repairman, and knitter. 

-Albert Desmond is often so lost in thought that he puts his keys in the refrigerator. 

-All of the Rogues are more scared of Iris Allen than they are of Barry. And with good reason. 

-Owen Mercer is good friends with Joan Garrick. 

-Sam is developing the early stages of emphysema but refuses to admit it because it would mean having to try to kick his smoking habit. 

-Mick Rory’s body is covered by third-degree burns, and his voice is unnaturally raspy because of all the smoke inhalation he’s undergone over the years. 

-Mark Mardon is a horrible klutz. If he can trip over something, he will end up doing it. This is part of why he likes being able to fly so much. 

-Len Snart and Sam Scudder are huge fans of Central and Keystone City’s sports teams. Linda Park-West is among the few who can rival their civic pride in this regard. Evan and Digger are both big fans of rugby and cricket. Hartley is solely a baseball fan; the other Rogues don’t much care about sports unless betting is involved. 

-Mark Mardon watches the weather channel solely so he can make sure that the reporter’s predictions are wrong. 

-Digger loves the great outdoors and can hike for hours.

-Mark Mardon is terrible at cards but gambles constantly anyway. He’s lost more money than he’s ever stolen trying to win bets. James, by contrast, is a master cardsharp. 

-Sam and Roscoe spend more money on clothes (and more time in the shower) than the rest of the male Rogues combined.  

-Dexter Miles knows the birthdays of everyone in the Twin Cities. No one knows how he knows this, he just does. When it’s a Rogue’s birthday, the museum opens a exhibit exclusively about them for a few days. The Rogues don’t know this is intentional and it’s really starting to freak them out. 

-When the Rogues found out that the Flash Museum hires people to dress up as them and teach young visitors about science, Sam Scudder waited for a day when the museum’s ‘Mirror Master’ called in sick and showed up in his place. All the visitors to the museum that day were agreed that he was the best “Mirror Master” the museum had ever had. 

-James once went to the Flash Museum in full costume and stood right by one of the statues of him. He even posed in exactly the same way. He was immediately informed by a patron that he was much too blonde to be the real Trickster. James found the whole experience very amusing.

-Roscoe insists that all the statues of him at the Flash Museum make him look fat. Lisa thinks that’s ridiculous and says that they’re almost as handsome as the genuine article. Len agrees that the statues make Roscoe look fat and thinks it’s hilarious. 

-All three of the Flashes have, of course, been to the Flash Museum while in costume. Like James, they are often told that they don’t look anything like the real Flashes. Barry and Jay are baffled by this; Wally thinks it’s funny. 

-Mick Rory donated his chili recipe to the Flash Museum’s diner. It’s one of the more popular dishes amongst people who love spicy food. 

-Wally is trying to convince his wife to get the kids a pet cheetah. “Come on, honey! It’ll be good for the twins to have a pet who can keep up with them!” 

[theresabookforthat]

Asian American & Pacific Islander Heritage Month: Young Readers

May is Asian American and Pacific Islander Heritage Month and this week—May 3 to May 9 —is also Children’s Book Week with the motto “Every Child a Reader.” Therefore, we are celebrating the following glorious stories, for children and adults to share, that honor the rich cultural history of Asian Americans and Pacific Islanders: 

 THE MAGIC FISH by Trung Le Nguyen

NAMED ONE OF THE BEST BOOKS OF THE YEAR by the New York Public Library • Kirkus Reviews • Booklist • Publishers Weekly

This beautifully illustrated YA graphic novel follows a young boy as he tries to navigate life through fairytales. Tiến still enjoys reading his favorite stories with his parents from the books he borrows from the local library. It’s hard enough trying to communicate with your parents as a kid, but for Tiến, he doesn’t even have the right words because his parents are struggling with their English. Is there a Vietnamese word for what he’s going through? Is there a way to tell them he’s gay?

ANY DAY WITH YOU by Mae Respicio

Kaia and her family live near the beach in California, where the fun of moviemaking is all around them. This summer, Kaia and her friends are part of a creative arts camp, where they’re working on a short movie to enter in a contest. The movie is inspired by the Filipino folktales that her beloved Tatang, her great-grandfather, tells. Kaia hopes that by winning a filmmaking contest, she’ll convince her great-grandfather not to move back home to the Philippines.

PATRON SAINTS OF NOTHING by Randy Ribay

A powerful coming-of-age story about grief, guilt, and the risks a Filipino American teenager takes to uncover the truth about his cousin’s murder.

THEY CALLED US ENEMY by George Takei, Justin Eisinger, Steven Scott, Harmony Becker

A stunning graphic memoir recounting actor/author/activist George Takei’s childhood imprisoned within American concentration camps during World War II. Experience the forces that shaped an American icon—and America itself—in this gripping tale of courage, country, loyalty, and love. Available in a Spanish edition here.

 THE UGLY VEGETABLES written and illustrated by Grace Lin

In this charming story about celebrating differences a Chinese-American girl wishes for a garden of bright flowers instead of one full of bumpy, ugly, vegetables. The neighbors’ gardens look so much prettier and so much more inviting to the young gardener than the garden of “black-purple-green vines, fuzzy wrinkled leaves, prickly stems, and a few little yellow flowers” that she and her mother grow. Nevertheless, mother assures her that “these are better than flowers.” Come harvest time, everyone agrees as those ugly Chinese vegetables become the tastiest, most aromatic soup they have ever known. As the neighborhood comes together to share flowers and ugly vegetable soup, the young gardener learns that regardless of appearances, everything has its own beauty and purpose. THE UGLY VEGETABLES springs forth with the bright and cheerful colors of blooming flowers and lumpy vegetables. Grace Lin’s playful illustrations pour forth with abundant treasures. Complete with a guide to the Chinese pronunciation of the vegetables and the recipe for ugly vegetable soup! Try it…you’ll love it, too!

 WATERCRESS by Andrea Wang; Illustrated by Jason Chin

Driving through Ohio in an old Pontiac, a young girl’s parents stop suddenly when they spot watercress growing wild in a ditch by the side of the road. Grabbing an old paper bag and some rusty scissors, the whole family wades into the muck to collect as much of the muddy, snail covered watercress as they can. At first, she’s embarrassed. Why can’t her family get food from the grocery store? But when her mother shares a story of her family’s time in China, the girl learns to appreciate the fresh food they foraged. Together, they make a new memory of watercress.

The book is illustrated by award winning author and artist Jason Chin, in an entirely new style, inspired by Chinese painting techniques. An author’s note in the back shares Andrea’s childhood experience with her parents.

LAXMI’S MOOCH by Shelly Anand, Illustrated by Nabi H. Ali

A joyful, body-positive picture book about a young Indian American girl’s journey to accept her body hair and celebrate her heritage after being teased about her mustache.

WHEN YOU TRAP A TIGER by Tae Keller

WINNER OF THE 2021 NEWBERY MEDAL

WINNER OF THE ASIAN/PACIFIC AMERICAN AWARD FOR CHILDREN’S LITERATURE

When Lily and her family move in with her sick grandmother, a magical tiger straight out of her halmoni’s Korean folktales arrives, prompting Lily to unravel a secret family history. Long, long ago, Halmoni stole something from the tigers. Now they want it back. And when one of the tigers approaches Lily with a deal—return what her grandmother stole in exchange for Halmoni’s health—Lily is tempted to agree. But deals with tigers are never what they seem! With the help of her sister and her new friend Ricky, Lily must find her voice…and the courage to face a tiger.

DANBI LEADS THE SCHOOL PARADE by Anna Kim

An Asian/Pacific American Award for Literature Honor Book

Danbi is thrilled to start her new school in America. But a bit nervous too, for when she walks into the classroom, everything goes quiet. Everyone stares. Danbi wants to join in the dances and the games, but she doesn’t know the rules and just can’t get anything right. Luckily, she isn’t one to give up. With a spark of imagination, she makes up a new game and leads her classmates on a parade to remember! Danbi Leads the School Parade introduces readers to an irresistible new character. In this first story, she learns to navigate her two cultures and realizes that when you open your world to others, their world opens up to you.

FATIMA’S GREAT OUTDOORS by Ambreen Tariq; Illustrated by Stevie Lewis

An immigrant family embarks on their first camping trip in the Midwest in this lively picture book by Ambreen Tariq, outdoors activist and founder of @BrownPeopleCamping. This picture book debut, with cheerful illustrations by Stevie Lewis, is a rollicking family adventure, a love letter to the outdoors, and a reminder that public land belongs to all of us.

THE DOWNSTAIRS GIRL by Stacey Lee

By day, seventeen-year-old Jo Kuan works as a lady’s maid for the cruel daughter of one of the wealthiest men in Atlanta. But by night, Jo moonlights as the pseudonymous author of a newspaper advice column for the genteel Southern lady, “Dear Miss Sweetie.” When her column becomes wildly popular, she uses the power of the pen to address some of society’s ills, but she’s not prepared for the backlash that follows when her column challenges fixed ideas about race and gender. With prose that is witty, insightful, and at times heartbreaking, Stacey Lee masterfully crafts an extraordinary social drama set in the New South.

FRANKLY IN LOVE by David Yoon

An Asian Pacific American Librarians Association Honor Book

Frank Li has two names. There’s Frank Li, his American name. Then there’s Sung-Min Li, his Korean name. No one uses his Korean name, not even his parents. Frank barely speaks any Korean. He was born and raised in Southern California. Even so, his parents still expect him to end up with a nice Korean girl—which is a problem, since Frank is finally dating the girl of his dreams: Brit Means. Brit, who is funny and nerdy just like him. Brit, who makes him laugh like no one else. Brit…who is white. Desperate to be with Brit without his parents finding out, Frank turns to family friend Joy Song, who is in a similar bind. Together, they come up with a plan to help each other and keep their parents off their backs. Frank thinks he’s found the solution to all his problems, but when life throws him a curveball, he’s left wondering whether he ever really knew anything about love—or himself—at all.

 For more on these and related titles (for kids and adults) visit the collection Asian American & Pacific Islander Heritage Month

[oncethrown]

SPN Deserved Batter 1: Found Family

Imagine boy who loses his family at 4 years old. 

His mother dies in a fire and grief drives his father to be a different man, not a father so much as a commander. His baby brother, who he carried from the fire in his tiny arms even as his mother roasted on the ceiling, is left in his clumsy care as he spends his life moving from motel to motel and school to school. 

He never has a relationship, and the couple attempts he makes don’t pan out. He’s too wild. Too unusual. Too dangerous.  But it doesn’t matter, and it doesn’t matter that it’s not true, because he’ll always be out of their lives in a couple weeks. A month at the outside. 

And then, the little brother he raised, fed, cared for, had to be mother and father to- leaves. Just when they were getting old enough to be peers. Leaves their father and their lifestyle more than he leaves Dean, but it doesn’t feel like it. 

And then Dean’s father starts to leave him behind more and more. Splitting up in Montana for a couple weeks. Berating him for missing an easy kill when they go after werewolves together in Oregon and then taking off to deal with a lead on a demon. 

He joins forces with other hunters now and then. People who crash his case without a disguise as good or as useful as his. Idiots who only think they know what their doing. Lee Webb, for a while. A friend... or something. But it can’t last. 

And then, finally, his father goes on a hunting trip, and he doesn’t hear from him for days, and Dean is so alone, he breaks his promise to himself that he would let Sam go on and live a normal life. And he brings Sam’s life crashing down around him, and goddamn it, he’s a little relieved when it gets Sam back in the car. Back on the road. 

They hunt. They hunt for years. and they find themselves at the center of the battle between heaven and hell. They lose their father. They gain an angel. 

Their work is dangerous. Their enemies are powerful and merciless, and there is a version of this story where every new friend, ally and supporter dies. Where Sam and Dean only ever have each other to fall back on. Where they push too hard and sacrifice too much and have to watch the people around them die over and over. 

But. 

There are more things in heaven an earth than they have dreamt of. 

They learn that there are people who have been hunters for generations, and not just hunters who were born in fire and tragedy like they were. They find a roadhouse full of people who know the truth. Who work as hard as they do. They aren’t in Nebraska all that often, but it’s a safe place to have a drink and bunk down when they are there. They reconnect with Bobby Singer, who becomes more of a father to them than John ever was, though it’s still hard for Dean to admit it. 

Castiel, the angel who Dean hated least, becomes a friend. More than a friend, Almost a brother, Dean thinks. Someone... someone he can love differently than he loves Sam. Someone he, as an adult, as his own person, can choose to care about and take care of. 

And there are still worlds left to conquer. Every year there seems to be a bigger threat, more of the world in danger, but every year they have more people to rely on.

To love. 

They check in with Jo Harvelle when they are in the Northeast now. She’s mostly going to college, but still hunts here and there. 

Gordon... they work with Gordon when they have to. He’s dangerous... but you don’t bring a knife to a gun fight and hunters are not, by and large, cuddly. Gordon is at least more reliable than Bella, who is about as likely to help you as she is to double cross you, and every couple years they always need her too much to say no when she calls. 

Jody Mills calls when she knows she needs back up, and Dean and Sam don’t talk about how nice it is to be put up in her guest room and welcomed to her leftovers when they are there. 

The nerdy redhead surprises Dean. Charlie, who worms her way into his heart so fast. 

He thinks about her, sometimes, even in Purgatory, as he and Benny hunt for Castiel, and Benny stops asking who this angel is to Dean that makes him so important. 

When Dean escapes purgatory, but loses Cas, and doesn’t know what to say to Benny, he tries to find her, but lets go when he realizes that she might be the one person he can’t find if they don't want to be found. 

Years go by, and it turns out Hunters aren't the only monster hunters. Some hoighty-toighty bunker douche bags tried their hand at it too, and Dean finds himself, suddenly, with a home. 

It’s a creepy underground 50′s bunker... but it’s big. It’s even big as it starts to fill up. 

Castiel takes the room next to Dean’s. Sam doesn’t say anything when he picks a different wing of the barracks. 

When Jo drops out of college again, she comes to stay for a while. 

An encounter with spell work and fairies at a Larp Weekend bring Charlie back into the fold, and she grabs another one of the rooms in Sam’s wing. Claire Novak runs away to them more than once. 

It’s not as though it’s ever bustling, but it’s not as though it’s quiet. Jack, a child in a teenager’s body and a nearly all powerful being in a tee shirt, certainly keeps things interesting, but even he isn’t the strangest piece of their little compound when Gabriel comes back to life and Rowena, mother of the king of hell have... one bedroom, at least until they swindle, and possibly murder their way into a penthouse someone far away from the midwest. Charlie, after an extremely strange night, starts dating Dorothy from the wizard of Oz, and Sam’s side of the barracks fills up just a little more. 

And then, here and there... a monster. 

When Garth becomes a werewolf, he doesn’t know where else to stay. When Sam’s kitsune friend from junior high is being hunted, they hide in the bunker. They don’t stay forever, but they retreat there. To Sam and Dean. And Castiel. And Charlie. And whoever else might be a spare bedroom at that point. 

Dean doesn’t notice how much he’s changing until Amara brings back his mother. 

And suddenly he feels like he has to hide how he talks to and touches Castiel when she’s in the same room. And Charlie wants to talk to him about it, and he doesn’t know how. 

He finds himself telling Mary about John, and realizing that when he talks about his life with John... there is nothing else in it. 

Motels and monsters.

No learning to make old fashioned to get Cas to try whiskey. No sitting with Charlie at the computer for hours while she patiently explains something that she could do in her sleep. No Rowena smuggling cursed bones into the library when she promised she would stop. No trying to explain Scooby do to Cas, or reading a book that Cas leant him on their very infrequent days off. 

And then Sam meets a girl on a hunt. Eileen. And Dean can see how he lights up around her, and the way she smiles at him, and the way people look at Sam and Eileen, and then at him and Castiel, and then anywhere else. 

But it’s not the focus of their lives as they have to defeat the men of letters. 

and then another dimension opens up, and all of them are confronted with who they could have been. Hard, ransacked versions of themselves. 

Dean’s relieved he doesn’t exist in that dimension. He’s starting to think he knows what the version of himself would look like. He thinks it’s probably the version of himself who sold his soul for Sam. 

A man he no longer is. 

Eventually they win. 

Or almost win, because now, after everything, they have to fight god. But they do go home. They call everyone, and everyone starts driving to Kansas. 

But Dean goes to Charlie’s room, and he’s ready to talk about it, and she’s happy to hear about it. 

And then, even though it’s late, he goes to Cas’s room and he says something he’s barely been letting himself think. 

He stays there with Cas. All night. 

In the morning, they walk into the kitchen together, where Sam and Eileen are rather conspicuously drinking Bloody Mary’s very slowly, and Charlie and Dorothy are playing footsy under the table and going through some research with Pamela. Bobby is bent over a book and chugging coffee. So is Mary. Jack is eating some kind of sugary cereal the way a cat eats a bread bag tie, hunched over it like he’s worried someone’s going to take it away from him when they realize he isn’t supposed to have it. 

Dean sees Cas smile out over the room, and the way that all of them smile back. And he takes Cas’s hand. 

It takes time and work and struggle. But they do defeat God. They do win their freedom and their lives back. 

All of them. 

[pascalpanic]

Heyyy! First off, a big congratulations on the 1,000! I’m super happy to see you blossoming in this fandom.

And I’d like to request a pedro ship, thank you in advance~!

I don’t know if physical features does much for the ship, but I am kind of short. I have freckles, but that’s the only interesting thing about me physically. I feel like I’m a bit of a wildcard sometimes because of my personality. I’m a very, very anxious person so I tend to be shy and reserved. However, I’m so committed to being such a friendly person and loving to those who will have me. I was born and raised in a southern state, and I tend to be a little bit of a country girl sometimes.

By friends I’m told that I’m funny a lot of the time, but my comments are usually just said to make people laugh. I love making people laugh. I tend to have pretty horrible luck considering traumatic things keep happening to me, but I try to work past those issues with lessons being learned out of them. My favorite pastime is car rides with the window down, music helps keep me distracted from my worries. I’ve been doing that a lot since the weather has warmed up. I’m a huge lover of all animals, no matter how big or small. I’m the idiot who is convinced I could get a mean hog to love me if I gave it enough time. Or jumping into a cow pen after watching it run into someone else (okay I've done this one already...). I want to study flowers and animals as a hobby soon. I have a fear of space but I’m amazed by the stars. Sunsets are my favorite thing about Earth.

I don’t know what else to put so random facts: I have a fear of owls, I enjoy fishing, I like to roller skate but I have horrible balance, the idea of camping frightens me, and I love Dolly Parton. I once had a crush on peter pan.

who could this anon be??? i have absolutely no clue.

I would ship you with Frankie Morales!

Frankie is a southern boy at heart too. I like to think he was raised on a farm, and that part of his love of animals comes from that. He’s of the similar mindset that all animals are just really large or really small puppies, and that they all probably like belly rubs. This means the two of you will most definitely be frequenting petting zoos, because who doesn’t wanna hold a baby kangaroo? You and your Frankie certainly do. 

He’s also absolutely obsessed with your freckles. He thinks they’re the cutest damn thing and once, when drunk, he set out on a quest to kiss each and every freckle on your face. He lost count and had to start over like seven times, but Frankie baby tried his damndest and failed. He said he’d do it sober and promptly forgot about it and passed out. 

Frankie loves your sense of humor but also can see when you’re using it as a coping mechanism. He’s not afraid to have the heard conversations to better yourselves both as people and a couple, and his first and foremost goal is making sure you’re okay and taking care of yourself first. 

Sunsets are one of Frankie’s favorites too. He’d take you out to the countryside in his old truck, fill the back with pillows and blankets and snacks, and the two of you will watch the sunset together out in a field of... some southern crop idk I’m from the midwest. Of course, the drive home will be with the windows down, blasting some Fleetwood Mac!

it’s a party! send me a request and I’ll ship you with a Pedro character!

[scullysexual]

The 1836 Beaumaris County Gaol Riot

Because it got a good bit of support behind it I’ve decided I am gonna write the prison au (I’ll work out a schedule for it eventually so I can still do tch and the 50 prompts) I have to be honest, you might not like how it ends- you might not even like how it begins- but I’m here to write the stories I want to write regardless of how uncomfortable they personally make you or how different they are. I’m not a tropey-fandom writer, it’s rare you’ll find that stuff in my works. I like writing stories that is different than the norm, it’s just who I am as a person and as a writer. 

I’m going to do a similar thing here as I do with Time Can Heal. i.e. give you the chapters as they are then go back and sort out any inconsistencies or flaws when I edit. This is just to gauge your opinion of the overall plot. Because of this, I’m always happy to accept ideas of what to include if anyone has any but some things are going to be set in stone regardless.

Read on AO3

TWO MAJOR CHARACTER DEATHS!

@today-in-fic 

PROLOGUE (P.1)

The tray is balancing on his raised knee, the food threatening to fall off the plate as the lock is freed and the door is pushed open.

The room is mostly dark save for a few lines of sunlight that the curtains fail to keep out. William places the tray on the bedside table and smiles at the darkened figure still asleep. He heads over to the curtains, pulling them open and allowing the light to claim the bedroom. The man doesn’t stir and Will shakes him gently on the arm.

“Dad,” says Will. He shakes him again.

“Dad!” A little louder and still nothing. Usually he wakes at the slightest of touches.

A realisation comes over him as tears begin to pinprick in his eyes. His father has died.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Will is silent as the undertaker goes about his business. Sat at the kitchen table, he thought about all the things this would change, how strange it would be to walk around the farmhouse and know they were one person down.

“We should…” He sniffles, trying to think of the most practical things to do in this situation. “We should start going through his things soon as,” he says. “See what we can sell, what we can keep.”

Hannah is next to him, embracing him as much as her bump will allow. He leans back, seeking the comfort she’s offering.

“We don’t need to do anything yet,” Hannah says, her hands threading through his hair. Will shakes his head. He needs to do this.

.:.:.:.:.:.

With the spare boxes found in the basement, Will starts with the easy things on the shelves- books, candles, ornaments. It feels wrong to devoid the room of its items but it needs to be done, so he pushes his emotions aside and thinks practically.

“Don’t you think you’re rushing into this?”

He shakes his head as he takes the box away from her.

“It needs to be done,” is all he says.

He kneels on the floor, lifting up the covers and starting to pull the items from beneath the bed.

“Will—” but Will ignores her. The items beneath the bed were always a mystery to him.

He opens the box up, peering inside.

There’s not many things inside but Will reaches for the first thing he sees: A plain black book.

“What’s that?” Hannah asks, she moves from the doorway to sit on the bed.

Will also moves from his kneeled position. He sits on the bed next to her, opening the book.

It doesn’t take him long to realise it’s a sketchbook. Various drawings of objects and people litter the pages; faces and hands, a building on another page.

“I didn’t know he was such a good artist,” says Hannah.

“Me neither,” says Will. He flips through the pages, amazed at each little drawings he passes.

“He never told you?”

He hears the surprise in her voice.

“No,” Will answers, surprised himself. Why would his father keep something like this from him.

He turns the page and is greeted with a portrait of a woman. She’s looking at him, a tiny smile across her lips. As he scours the page, he finds small writing near the bottom- Scully with the date 03/04/1836.

“Who do you think she was?” asks Hannah.

“I’m not sure.” But he has a feeling. He’s about to turn the page when Hannah stops him and points to the date.

“It was drawn two months before you were born.”

Will takes note and shuts the sketchbook, tossing it to the side of him. He looks in the box again; just a book and a stack of yellow paper remains.

He picks up the yellow paper first and upon further inspection, finds…

“They’re letters,” Will says. He takes the band keeping them together.

“Who to?”

He takes the first one, scanning his eyes through it and finds no name attached.

“I think to himself.” He begins going through each one, finding them dated from 1831 all the way to now- 1869.

“Thirty-eight years,” says Hannah, reading the dates herself.

He begins looking for the letters dated around the same time of as the portrait.

“What are you looking for?”

But Will ignores her, looking for the letters he wants. When he finds the correct dates, his eyes immediately starts scanning through the letter, looking for the information he needs.

When he comes across it, in a letter dated on his birthday.

William brings the paper away from him, digesting this information.

He puts the letters down and picks up the sketchbook again, turning to the portrait page.

“I think she’s my mother.”

- - - 

@ariverofsongs @midwest-cryptid @baronessblixen @scullybythesea @impulsive-astrophile @improlificinsarcasm @knowleitall-super-soldier @tinglingworld @enigmaticxbee @mypanicface @foxscully @msrheadcanon @agirlcallednarelle and anyone else who would like to be tagged in future fics. If you’d like to opt out being tagged in this please let me know and I will do so. 

[kiwi-stan]

Southern Belle

Evelyn has always done exactly what her overbearing parents want, until she meets Harry, their new gardener. I’m a little nervous to post this because I’ve never written OCs in fics before, but I wanted to describe her appearance more and didn’t want to do that with a self-insert so I figured I would give it a shot. There’s probably two more parts to this but I didn’t want it to get too long. 

Eve woke up to the sound of the lawnmower roaring right below her window. She rolled over to see the clock on her nightstand to check the time. It was just after 7 am. In the 19 years he’d worked for the family, Gavin had never mowed the lawn this early. He saved it for the middle of the day so he didn’t risk waking anyone up. She burrowed herself beneath the covers and tried to sink back into sleep, but gave up after about ten minutes. She crawled out of bed and started getting ready for the day. It was her first full day back from college for the summer, and she’d been looking forward to sleeping in and catching up on all the sleep she’d lost during finals week. After breakfast she would go outside and have a word with Gavin. 

Even though it was early, it was a weekday, with Eve knew meant that her father had already left for work and that her mother was at yoga, followed by tennis, lunch with friends, and meetings for her charitable cause of the month. She was alone for the day. Or at least, as alone as she could be in a house so huge it required live-in staff to keep things running smoothly. Eve pulled on an outfit her mother would never approve of, cutoffs and a Barnard T-shirt both purchased when she’d been away at school, and made her way down the spiral staircase into the marble floored entryway. She could smell maple syrup and bacon coming from the kitchen and entered the spacious room to find Joyce standing at the stove making breakfast. 

“Good morning.” Joyce smiled up at her and slid a plate of waffles, eggs, and bacon into a place at the counter. Eve pulled herself up onto one of the barstools and waited as Joyce set a glass of orange juice in front of her. “How does it feel to be back?” 

Eve smiled up at Joyce. With her father always working and her mother always off with friends or getting her hair done, Joyce has basically raised her. She’d been hired as a live-in housekeeper, but once Eve had been born her duties had shifted to being more like a nanny. Now that Eve was older, she was primarily a housekeeper again, but Eve still considered her as a close friend and confidant. “Alright.” Eve said carefully. “A lot has changed though. Since when does Gavin cut the grass this early?” 

Joyce studied her. “Your parents didn’t tell you? He retired. Your father hired someone else. A young man. He’s been here for about a month. He likes to do it first.” 

Eve had spent a grand total of 20 minutes with her parents the previous night before her parents headed off to some dinner fundraiser and she collapsed into bed after a long day of traveling, her father spent 10 minutes criticizing her for finishing the semester with a 3.8 instead of a 4.0 and her mother manager to insult her appearance 3 times, so it wasn’t surprising that there were things they hadn’t told her. Seeming to sense that she’d touched a nerve by bringing up her parents, Joyce quickly changed the subject and began peppering Eve with questions about what college had been like. 

Eve finished her breakfast and Joyce swept the dishes away. The lawnmower was still roaring outside and she found herself growing increasingly annoyed with the sound. She tugged on shoes and headed outside with the intention of telling the new gardener to knock it off. The yard was so expansive that even though he’d been working for an hour, he was still only about halfway done. Eve tried yelling a few times to get his attention, but when that didn’t work she marched toward him and positioned herself directly in his path. He swerved around her. Eve watched him for a few moments to determine his path, then positioned herself so she was blocking his way again. He swerved around her again. This went on a few more times until he finally gave in and turned the lawnmower off. 

“Can I help you?” He asked. Although she’d lived in Atlanta her whole life, Eve’s parents and most of their social set had been educated in the Northeast. No one she knew had a true southern drawl (they’d kept Eve from developing one by hiring a nanny from the Midwest and docking Eve’s allowance anytime she dropped a g). His accent was straight out of Steel Magnolias. 

It took Eve a few moments to get her bearings. Now that he’d stopped moving and she could get a good look at him, she could see that he was much younger than Gavin had been, probably about her age. And cute. Very cute. Messy dark hair covered by a ballcap. Tall. Great body. And he was working without a shirt on. She tore her gaze away from his toned arms to look him straight in the eyes, which turned out to be a mistake since they were startlingly green and kept her tongue tied for a few seconds more. Finally getting a grip on herself, Eve drew herself up to her full height of five foot two and crossed her arms, trying to look as imperious as her mother did when dealing with “the help”. Then she realized she didn’t really want to resemble her mother in any way and she let herself slouch. “Um yes. I live there,” She pointed to the massive house. “And I don’t know if Gavin, the old gardener trained you or anything, but he always used to wait until the afternoon to cut the grass. You know, so people can sleep.” 

A smile slowly spread across the gardener’s face, which of course just made him look even cuter. “William mentioned that he had a daughter,” Eve bristled. Everyone who worked for her family called her parents Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery, and she was Miss Montgoemery to everyone but Joyce. It felt weird to hear someone calling her father by his first name, and she wasn’t sure if she liked the blatant disregard for authority it showed. “He didn’t mention she was hot though.” He continued, letting his gaze slowly rake along her body. 

Eve felt her jaw drop. She knew that, in theory, she should be flattered. One of the best looking guys she’d ever seen in her entire life was hitting on her. But this wasn’t the kind of flirting she was used to. After attending a private, all-girls school her entire life, most of her interaction with guys had been at formal dances and parties, where even the teenagers properly asked women to dance, avoided wandering hands, and grinding was strictly forbidden. “My name’s Evelyn. Or Miss Montgomery.” Eve rarely used her real name, but something about this guy made her want to act more formal, to put more distance between herself and him. 

“Harry,” He waved a hand to indicate the yard. “Anyway, I’m trying to get this done before it gets too hot. It’ll be boiling by the afternoon.” 

“I was trying to sleep.” 

“It’s,” Harry made a big show of checking his watch, a big ugly Timex. “8 am. Most people have to work and they’re up by now. We can’t all just live off our parents, Miss Montgomery.” He said, giving her the look-at-this-spoiled-little-rich-girl look she’d been getting her whole life. 

Eve felt like she’d been slapped. Even though most of her friends had parents who were just as wealthy as her, she’d been judged as the spoiled rich girl her whole life. And yes, she did have just about every material thing she wanted. But she would have traded that for a less lavish lifestyle and supportive parents any day. Being misjudged by people she didn’t even know and who never would understand her life never stopped stinging. 

She knew that he was just waiting for her to threaten to tell her father about the interaction. He probably had a joke about running to daddy when things went wrong or throwing a tantrum to get what she wanted at the ready. Eve refused to give him the satisfaction. She whipped around marched back into the house without another word. 

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

Eve spent the next few days avoiding Harry, barely seeing her parents, and waking up before 7 am to the sound of the lawnmower (he started it earlier and earlier every morning. Eve suspected it was just to annoy her). When she had been home for a week and had spent a grand total of twenty minutes with her parents, Eve walked downstairs one morning to find her mother standing in the kitchen, correcting Joyce’s omelette-making technique. Eve glanced down at her cutoffs and tank top and wondered if she had time to run upstairs and change. Her mother saw her before she even had a chance to make a move. “Evelyn! There you are. I’ve got to run to breakfast with the girls, but I wanted to tell you that we’re having a welcome back dinner for you tonight. We’ll eat out on the patio.” Her mother looked at Eve’s outfit and wrinkled her surgically-corrected nose. “Please wear something appropriate.” She said in place of a farewell before breezing out of the house. Joyce gave Eve a sympathetic look as she slid the omelette in front of her. She’d been witness to enough family dinners to know that they were rough for Eve. 

Eve spent the morning sulking and started getting ready for the dinner around 1 in the afternoon. She went through a complete self-care routine, shaving, exfoliating, moisturizing, then blow-drying and curling her hair. While both her parents had perfect golden hair, Eve’s had somehow come out a more reddish-blonde. Her mother had been trying to convince her to bleach it for years, but Eve refused. By the time she’d finished her makeup and dressed in a black shift dress and black heels, Joyce was tapping on her door to summon her down to dinner. Joyce escorted her out to the patio, which Eve had to admit looked beautiful. Harry was good at his job and the flowerbeds nearby bloomed and the hedges were neatly trimmed. The table was situated near the in-ground pool, which gleamed beneath the safety lights. The table was settled beneath a string of Christmas lights and a vase full of red roses sat at the center of the table. Her parents were already seated around the table, her father in a suit and tie and her mother in a long black dress, looking like Barbie and Ken.

Eve had only been sitting for a few minutes and Joyce hadn’t even brought out the first course when her father started talking. “I hope you’ve enjoyed your first week back at home, Evelyn.” 

“I did, daddy.” She said, sensing that the conversation was about to take a turn. 

“Good.” He nodded approvingly. “Now that you’ve had a little time to relax, you’ll need to start preparing for the next school year. We’ve hired a biology tutor who will come every day to help you.” 

“Daddy,” Eve began to protest but was interrupted by Joyce arriving with the salad. She knew better than to argue with her parents in front of “the help”. 

“Give Evelyn a little extra please.” Her mother spoke up. Joyce shot Eve an apologetic look, but knew better than to argue with her employer. “And no dressing for her.” 

“Mother-” Eve began. 

“Evelyn.” Her mother countered, with a look telling her not to argue. Eve bit her tongue. Once Joyce had walked away, her mother continued. “I think you gained weight while you were away at school. You’re not eating that dorm food are you?” 

“Only when I don’t have time for anything else.” Evelyn admitted. Truthfully, she’d spent most of her days eating in the dining hall on quick breaks from studying. She was grateful that her parents didn’t really keep an eye on her meal plan. “But I’ve mostly been using the food budget you gave me to find places in the city.” Eve had spent most of her weekends eating her way through the city. She realized pretty quickly that since her father paid the credit card bill, her parents could see where she was eating, but not what. She had to be careful to find places where there were lots of options, knowing that eating a place that exclusively served burgers would earn her a phone call from her mother and a lecture about her eating habits. But aside from that, she’d been having a good time with her parents not controlling her diet for the first time ever. She’d been careful to keep working out to keep her weight fairly static to keep her mother’s comments at bay, but evidently that hadn’t been enough. 

“While you’re here I’d like you to get back down to a two. Maybe you can start coming to yoga with me. We can’t buy you new clothes if you keep going up a size.” 

Eve caught herself before she rolled her eyes. That gesture was the thing her mother hated most in the world and it would surely earn her a lecture. Her family owned the largest house for miles and the residence itself employed more people than a few local small businesses. She could walk into Neiman’s and buy the entire store if she wanted to and not even make a dent in her father’s bank account. “I still am a two mother. We bought this dress three years ago remember? It still fits.”

“It looks tight.” 

“It’s not.” Eve said, though she’d had a bit of trouble getting the zipper to close and she could feel the fabric straining a bit at her hips. She flashed back to hitting up some thrift stores in New York over the winter when she’d found that some of her clothes didn’t fit (paying cash of course). Maybe she had gained weight. But it wasn’t that much. 

“Yoga sounds like a good idea,” Her father spoke up suddenly. “You could go with your mother then come home and work with your tutor.”

“Daddy, it was a high A minus in one class. I was just a few points away from an A but the professor wouldn’t bump me. She told me she never does. I told you that in my email.” 

“Evelyn, I know, but I want to see all As next semester. A tutor can help with that.” 

“Daddy, it’s summer.” Eve knew she sounded a bit whiny, even she recognized that. But she’d been the last 8 months free from her controlling parents. Slipping back into being the obedient daughter she’d been before wasn’t going to be easy. 

“Evelyn, eat your salad. We’ll talk about this more later.” Her mother broke in, making it clear that the discussion was over for now. Eve ate her dry salad in silence while her parents rattled off a list of events and activities they wanted her to attend with them during the summer. 

It went on like that for another hour and a half. Eve’s father spent the soup course rattling on further about boosting her grades. Her mother spent the whole main course (after instructing Joyce to give Eve a smaller portion than normal) telling Eve how should could fix her makeup, and how to dress in more flattering styles now that she was a little bigger, and if she was sure she didn’t want to bleach her “awful red” hair. By the time Joyce brought out dessert for her parents (her mother had said that Eve didn’t need any) Eve was looking to make a quick escape. 

“Joyce,” Her mother said before she could walk away. Eve watched longingly as her mother stabbed a piece of chocolate cake with her fork. Joyce’s chocolate cake was legendary. 

Joyce whirled around. “Yes, Mrs. Montgomery.” 

“Be in the kitchen at five thirty tomorrow morning. Evelyn will be going on a diet and I need to discuss meal preparation with you.” 

“Yes, Mrs. Montgomery.” She hovered for a few moments longer, shooting Eve an apologetic look.

“You’re dismissed.” 

Before Joyce had even entered the house, Eve spoke up. “Can I go to my room now?” She was feeling drained from two hours of being criticized by her parents and being unable to retaliate. 

“Evelyn, you know it’s rude to leave the table while people are still eating.” Her father said. 

If she’d had more energy, Eve might have commented that it was also rude to eat in front of people, but she was too tired to fight back. She zoned out as her mother rattled on about the city’s eligible young men that were back from college for the summer and how Eve should try to make plans with some of them. If she was lucky, her mother said, she could go off for her sophomore year in a relationship, date for three years, and be in the perfect position to get married right after graduation. Eve made little humming noises of agreement, though she’d secretly promised herself that she would get married before 30 over her dead body. When her parents finally finished eating and said that they were ready to retire for the evening, Eve was up in her room almost immediately. She kicked her shoes off and threw herself down on the bed, too tired to bother with showering or undressing, though she knew if her mother could she her she’d say something about Eve getting a face full of makeup on her clean white sheets. Thinking about her mother made her head hurt, so she rolled onto her back and tried to push that thought out of her mind. 

Eve was just starting to feel some of her strength come back when she heard something tapping on her window. She ignored it, figuring it was just the wind or a bird. When it happened again, she sat up. Her room was on the second floor, meaning no one should be able to reach it. She got up and walked over to the window to investigate. Harry was standing just below her window, illuminated by the pool’s safety lights. As she watched, he threw a pebble at her window. She waited for the little stone to tap the glass before pushing the window open. “What are you doing here?” She didn’t have the energy to chase him away. 

“I just wanted to see if you were okay. I heard some of what your parents were saying and-” 

“You were eavesdropping?” She whisper-yelled down to him, fully aware of the fact that everyone else in the house was asleep. “Hold on. I’m coming down there.” She said, aware that this was probably heading into argument territory and not wanting anyone to overhear her arguing with the gardner at almost 10 pm. Eve closed her window and opened her bedroom door. As expected, the entire house was quiet and dark. Not bothering to change out of her dress or put on shoes, she slipped out of her room, down the stairs, and into the backyard. Harry was standing there waiting for her, somehow looking even cuter than he had when she’d first seen him. His hair was tousled, like he’d gotten out of bed just for this, and he was wearing basketball shorts and a Hawks T-shirt (Eve’s mother had forced her to learn about all the area sports teams as potential conversation starters with local boys). 

“I wasn’t eavesdropping.” He said before Eve could even question him. “I’m living in the guesthouse,” He pointed to the small structure not far away. “I had the windows open and y’all were talking kind of loud. I was going to close them, but I-” He cut himself off. “Can you sit down actually? This is kind of a lot to explain.” 

Eve settled herself on the edge of the pool, dangling her feet in the water. She was annoyed that he’d been listening in a private conversation, and a little humiliated that someone had witnessed her parents berating her. But she wanted to hear his explanation. And, a tiny part of her was happy he’d come to check in on her. No one had ever done that before. “Okay. Explain.” 

Harry sat down next to her. “Okay. So this is kind of personal but my family, it’s just me and my mom and my sister. We don’t have a ton of money. It’s why I’m working here right now. I should be starting my second year of college.” Eve smiled a bit in spite of herself. Her assessment of him being about her age had been right on the money. “So when I got the job here and I saw this big house and a couple living there and they look like Barbie and Ken and she’s the perfect socialite and he’s some super high up guy in business and they have this daughter who also seems perfect, I just think everything in their lives must be flawless. So when I heard you fighting with your parents tonight it was just like of like ‘Okay things are kind of fucked up with them too.’” Eve cringed a bit. She wasn’t used to people swearing freely like that. Her mother didn’t think it was proper and had once actually washed her mouth out with soap when she’d used a curse word. “So I kind of liked seeing that, the whole everyone has problems thing. And because I liked it I kept listening. But I guess the conversation was personal. I mean, I know it was. I shouldn’t have listened. I’m sorry.” 

Eve shrugged. Most of her friends had similar relationships with their parents, but for some reason they all always pretended like they came from perfectly happy families. She tried to keep up the charade too. It would be kind of nice to have someone she didn’t have to pretend around. “It’s okay.” She bit her lip nervously as she looked at him. “You heard everything though?” 

“From when you sat down to when y’all left the table. Sorry.” He said, looking at her sheepishly. 

Eve sighed. “I just, can you not-” 

“I won’t tell anyone.” He finished for her. “And the whole thinking your life’s perfect thing, I guess that’s why I was so mean to you the other morning. I wanted to apologize for that too. You stormed outside of that huge house and were complaining to me and I just thought ‘This girl has everything in the world she could want and she’s still whining’ so my first instinct was to be a dick. But I realize that’s not the case now. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay. I was kind of overreacting..”

Harry got to his feet. “Stay here for a second. I have something for you.” 

Eve sat alone for a few moments, swirling her feet in the pool and watching the water eddy around her toes. Harry sat down next to her again, this time carrying a box of Twinkies. He held one out to her. “Since you didn’t get dessert.” 

Eve accepted it. “Thanks.” A Twinkie didn’t really measure up to Joyce’s cake taste-wise, but it was almost as good. Eve had almost never been allowed to have Hostess snacks when she was a child, so she associated them with more lenient relatives and her roommate back at school. She tore it open and bit into it, feeling the sugar and artificial preservatives hit her system. It tasted like heaven after the rabbit food dinner she’d eaten. 

“I’m a twenty year old single guy living alone so my house is basically junk food city. If you’re ever craving something, just come to the guest house. I can hook you up.” 

“Thanks.” Eve said again, half thanking him for the offer and half thanking him for not directly bringing up her diet. She took note of how he’d conveniently mentioned the fact that he was single.

“So,” Harry tore open a Twinkie for himself. “You never answered my original question. Are you okay?” 

“Oh!” Him first appearing beneath her window seemed like it had been forever ago. “Yeah. I guess. I’m used to it.” She said truthfully. She was so used to her parents’ insults that she’d grown almost immune to them, like she’d developed an exoskeleton. 

“That happens a lot?” Harry asked, frowning. 

“Oh yeah.” 

“Your whole life?” He sounded upset now. 

“Since I was like twelve maybe.” Eve said, thinking back. Her parents had never exactly been nurturing, and her mother had always fussed over her looks, but middle school was when the real pressure had started. She felt a little on edge. She didn’t talk about this with anyone really, and she hadn’t planned on talking about it with anyone. Talking about it with a virtual stranger who was not a licensed psychiatrist was unprecedented. “From how you’re reacting I’m guessing that’s not what your family is like.” 

Harry shook his head. “No. Not at all. Like, when I was a kid I would fail a spelling test and my mom would still put it on the fridge. When I brought home Cs in high school she would just smile and say that she would help me so I could do better next time. She felt awful that she couldn’t pay for me to go to college even though I probably wouldn’t have gotten in anywhere good with my shitty grades. When I told her I got his job she was ecstatic and I was like ‘Mom it’s just cutting some rich guy’s grass.’”

Eve laughed, which felt good after the night she’d had. She felt Harry watching her, letting her know that had probably been his goal all along. She was careful not to let her face fall when she thought about how different his life was from hers. She wondered what had happened to his father, but knew that despite the bonding they were doing they weren’t to that level. She’d been raised not to pry into people’s personal lives until you had a close relationship with them, and certainly not the second time you had a conversation with them. 

They were both quiet for a few moments until Harry spoke. “Evelyn?” 

“Call me Eve. My parents are the only ones that call me Evelyn. And you can guess how I feel about that.” 

“Eve, you know nothing your parents said is true, right? I mean, a 3.8, my mom would throw a party if I got grades like that.” He hesitated for a few moments and Eve could see his cheeks turning pink even in the dim light. “And I like your hair how it is right now. And your body looks really good how it is now. Not that I was just like staring at you, but you look great in this dress. You don’t need a diet or to lose weight or anything. I meant what I said that first morning about you being hot. Though I wish I hadn’t phrased it that way.” 

Eve smiled, letting the compliments sink in, feeling like rinsing the salt out of a wound after a few hours of being insulted. “Thanks. I think deep down I know they’re not right, but I hear it so much sometimes I start to question that.” She said slowly. She hadn’t even realized that until Harry had brought it up. 

“If you ever need someone to talk to I’m here,” He pointed to the nearby guesthouse. “Literally. In addition to being a junk food connoisseur I’ve been told I’m very good at giving pep talks.” 

“I might take you up on that. Thanks for listening to me. And thanks for checking in on me. No one’s ever done that before.” 

A sad look flickered across his face and Eve got the feeling that things were done very differently in his household when someone was upset. “Do you want another Twinkie? You can hide it in your room somewhere and eat it the next time you need a pick me up.” Eve accepted one gratefully. “And I meant what I said. Anytime you need to talk to someone just come bang on my door. Or come throw rocks at my window or something.” He said with a little smile. He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek before getting to his feet. “Good night, Eve.”

f“Night.” She said, watching him walk back to the guesthouse as her cheeks turned red.

[tsthrace]

White Knuckles

Awhile back, I asked y’all to send me a song so I could take its energy, lyrics, and/or feeling and write you a 1,000-word Clexa fic.

This one shot meandered way beyond 1,000 words. It’s based on White Knuckles by Tegan and Sara, as requested by @damiana-atx.

Angsty academia AU. No content warnings except for some swearing.

You can also find it on ao3.

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

“Fuck, this is good,” Clarke said aloud to no one as she tossed the journal on the table. She leaned back in her chair. Godlessness Centered: Negotiating Queerness in The Left Hand of Darkness by Alexandria J. Woods, PhD. When Clarke had first picked up the journal, she scoffed. The Left Hand of Darkness? Really? And queerness? How overdone.

But it was brilliant. A discourse on Le Guin’s own spirituality and how it defied casual dualities.

I should have thought of that.

She looked at her watch. Twenty minutes.

---

Lexa smoothed the lapels on her blazer, though they were already perfectly flat. She gazed at herself in the hotel mirror, staring at the buttons on her shirt. She had a choice to make—the choice of the one awkward button. Button it, and she would seem, well, buttoned-up, uptight. But unbuttoned, it was a bit...revealing. There was no middle ground.

She pushed her glasses up on her nose and took a breath. Then buttoned the button.

---

They met in Bloomington, Indiana. All the sci fi literature conferences seemed to be in random small cities in the Midwest. They were strange events. Mostly men in khaki and tweed carrying beat-up leather satchels, experts on Vonnegut and Wells (H.G., that is). But there was also the overt geek element. Undergrad boys carrying frayed copies of Asimov and Gaiman, their laptops covered in Star Trek and My Little Pony stickers, and the occasional girl wearing a Strong Female Character t-shirt.

Then there was Lexa, sharp in a plain black cashmere sweater and grey herringbone slacks, her glasses suggesting both intelligence and the ability to break you. The geeks followed her but kept an admiring distance.

Clarke, for some reason, seemed more approachable. As she sipped her gin and tonic at the hotel bar, the kids (as she called college students) would creep up to her, their eyes down.

“Dr. Griffin?” they’d ask.

“Call me Clarke,” she’d say, smiling.

“I just had some questions on your takedown of the Darkover series.”

Clarke would always give them about twenty minutes then politely end the conversation, turning back to her drink.

She had had three such conversations when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Clarke didn’t mind the attention, but she was getting tired. She spun around, ready to dismiss herself.

“Dr. Griffin.” Lexa stood above her.

“Dr. Woods,” Clarke replied, nodding politely. She had read all of Lexa’s work. She had to. They were two of the only feminist sci fi lit scholars who were regularly publishing. But they’d never actually met.

“I don’t really prefer the term ‘doctor.’” Lexa said, looking just past Clarke. “It’s a little....” She didn’t finish her thought. After a moment she tilted her head. “Do you really think we should stop reading Bradley because of her scandal?”

Clarke put her drink down. “Scandal is kind of an understatement. And I didn’t say we should stop. I just said it’s hard.”

Without invitation, Lexa sat down at Clarke’s table. “If we bring every artist’s personal life into how we engage with their work, we probably won’t be able to enjoy anything.”

Clarke raised an eyebrow. “I never took you for a modernist.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“That sometimes shitty people create amazing art.” Lexa’s eyes lit up with her smile, like she was issuing a friendly challenge.

“Are you flirting with me?” Clarke returned her version of the same smile.

Lexa sat back and shrugged. She took a sip of her martini.

---

A few hours later, Clarke was sprawled across Lexa’s bed looking up, her hair in tangles across the pillow, a corner of the sheet pulled over her midsection. Lexa was curled up next to her, sweaty and wondering what just happened. She took a few breaths, looking for words. She squinted to herself, couldn’t think of anything to say. She felt Clarke shuffle a bit and prepared for the awkward banter that would come when they’d get up to look for their clothes.

“Do you believe in God?” Clarke asked instead. She didn’t get up.

“Pardon?”

“Do you believe in God?” Her tone was so casual.

“I...I don’t know.” Lexa looked up at the ceiling. She suddenly felt cold and reached down for a blanket. “Why do you ask?”

“I think I do,” Clarke said, not answering the question.

“Why?”

“I just look around this world, and it seems pretty incredible to me. Like it wasn’t an accident. Someone had to have created all this. Created us. Then made us creators.” Clarke shook her head and looked past Lexa. “It all seems like such a miracle.”

“Are you a Christian?” Lexa felt her face crumple.

Clarke laughed. “I don’t know. I do like the idea of the trinity.”

“When I grew up, my parents took me to one of those born again churches.” Lexa looked down. “It was mostly Jesus. I mean, I know what the trinity is, but…” Why was she telling her this?

“No, that’s not what I mean.” Clarke shook her head. “Not like God as some guy who makes you love him or else you burn in hell. That’s bullshit.”

Lexa squinted.

“The trinity. It’s like a dance between these three ways God reveals herself.” Clarke smiled. “It’s beautiful actually.” She looked at Lexa. “Did you ever read A Wrinkle in Time?”

Lexa side-eyed her. “Clarke, I’m a sci fi scholar.”

“Okay, so there’s Mrs. Who, Mrs. Whatsit, and Mrs. Which…”

They stayed up the rest of the night, moving from L’Engle to Shelley to Jemisin and the spiritual worlds of their stories. Evil and suffering, goodness and hope. Retribution, sacrifice, and justice. Beauty and joy. Mouth to neck, hands to curves, skin to skin.

By dawn, Lexa had found God.

---

Lexa went back to UC Irvine and Clarke returned to her adjunct job at Georgetown, but they emailed constantly. Long, meandering messages about particular chapters of The Stone Sky and Spinning Silver. Clarke sent her Marilynne Robinson essays, and Lexa responded with questions. Together, they laid theologies over imagined worlds, mapped them out and connected them to other imagined worlds. They took down Ender’s Game, built up The Hainish Cycle, and even let themselves dabble in Stardust, which they both had to admit they secretly admired. Back and forth, tens of thousands of words over the course of months. They only talked on the phone a few times, but the emails were constant.

Not long into their messages, Clarke had mentioned how her father had died when she was young. Lexa hinted at being on her own at age 16. These details were wrapped in blankets of analysis and metaphor, the theological undercurrents of the imagined worlds they studied, the anthropology of beings who only existed on pages and in minds.

They made plans to meet in Cleveland to present together at a lit crit conference. A week before, Lexa bailed. “Sorry,” the text said. “An emergency came up.”

“Everything okay?” Clarke responded.

Nothing.

The conference was rough. Clarke knew it would be, but she thought she’d have Lexa’s powerful presence demanding attention. The lit crit crowd all secretly loved what they called “genre” fiction—sci fi and fantasy—but they publicly derided it as “unserious” or “not literary.” She held her own, but it wasn’t fun.

She texted Lexa when she got back to her hotel room. “Wish you had been here. Same straight white male bullshit as usual.”

Silence.

“Did I say something wrong?” Clarke texted a few days later. At that point, though, she knew Lexa was gone.

A heaviness set in on her. Clarke reread their messages looking for hints, but Lexa’s words seemed wide open, even joyful. What happened?

She immersed herself in a chapter she was writing for a textbook on book fandoms and lecturing on feminism and postmodernism in Harry Potter—not her favorite topic, but it was a popular course. She had almost let herself forget about Lexa when, six months later, she was flipping through Foundation: The Journal of Science Fiction and saw her byline in the table of contents. Justice & Joy: The God Revealed in the Feminist Imagination. By Alexandria J. Woods, PhD.

Clarke turned to page 137 and ran her eyes down the columns. She bit her lip. The essay was essentially a catalog of their emails, one idea bridged skillfully to another by Lexa’s pointed and lucid prose. But they weren’t just Lexa’s ideas. They weren’t just Clarke’s, either, but a stream of their thoughts flowing together like a river. It was beautifully done.

Clarke didn’t notice that her hands were balled into fists until she felt her nails cutting into the skin. She opened her laptop and pulled up the messages. Lexa had been careful to rephrase Clarke’s words, but it was all there, even with citations of Marilynne Robinson. The Death of Adam.

Clarke pounded out an email. How dare you...couldn’t even ask for me to be a coauthor...you hadn’t even thought about these things until you met me. She knew Lexa wouldn’t see it. She probably had blocked her address. She didn’t bother hitting send.

Her face fell into her hands. She remembered that night in San Diego. Lexa’s smile—that curiosity despite herself. The way her hands traced the skin over Clarke’s side.

That woman wouldn’t have done this. But there it was. Twenty-six pages of shared conversation now claimed for Lexa only.

---

Clarke’s department was buzzing about it the next day. The religious studies chair was also a huge geek who kept up with Foundation, and he had been blown away by how seamlessly interdisciplinary the article was. “I hadn’t thought to connect the Christian trinity and A Wrinkle in Time, but it’s really so obvious when you think about it.”

Clarke seethed. She thought about printing up the emails, sending them to Foundation and the UC Irvine Disciplinary Committee, but something stopped her. Allegations of plagiarism would ruin Lexa’s career as a scholar. And was it really plagiarism? Clarke wanted to be sure, but she wasn’t.

So she wrote instead. A deep and cutting rebuttal highlighting where Alexandria J. Woods’ religious arguments were rudimentary at best, illustrating how shallow her connections were, and then plunging further, mining Catherine Keller and other theologians for an even deeper exploration of the worlds of Butler and Clarke (Arthur C., that is). Foundation published her essay the next quarter. Lexa answered, bringing in Buddhism and Humanism. A spotlight grew around their debate, so they continued writing—back and forth between literary, cultural, and religious journals. WIRED magazine picked up the story: Feuding Feminists Shifting the Sci Fi Landscape.

That’s when the invites started rolling in. A conference on spirituality and pop culture invited them to speak on a panel together, but Clarke refused. She couldn’t bear to see Lexa in person. Instead, she accepted an invitation to lecture at NYU while Lexa spoke at Cal.

Clarke’s classes filled with long waitlists every semester, her success intertwined with Lexa’s and their endless intellectual feud. They both thrived. Lexa’s ideas sharpened Clarke’s, and Clarke’s sharpened Lexa’s. She couldn’t admit it, but she needed Lexa as much as she despised her.

---

Lexa was in her office when the call came.

“Dr. Woods?” A male voice.

“It’s Professor Woods.”

“Excuse me, Professor Woods,” he corrected himself. “This is Dr. William Porter at Georgetown. The chair of the Department of English.”

Lexa felt something jump in her chest. “Good morning.”

“I’m calling because a very generous donor has recently endowed a tenure-track professorship here specifically for women in science fiction studies.”

“You’re kidding me.” it felt like a prank, and a mean one at that. Lexa had never heard of such a thing.

“Uh, no.” Dr. Porter seemed thrown off. “We’re inviting only a few people to apply, and you’re on our short list. Is this something you’d be interested in?”

They hung up with lingering plans to arrange flights and meetings.

Lexa sat for a few minutes, her fingers tapping idly on her closed laptop. Clarke would be one of the other candidates—and maybe the only other candidate—she was sure. She looked down and shook her head, thinking back to that day when she made the worst decision of her life.

She had printed out some of the emails she had sent Clarke to reference them against some short stories when the dean knocked on her door. He noticed a copy of L’Engle’s Walking on Water open on her desk.

“What’s that about?” he asked.

“Uh, just a side project I’m working on.” Her face burned with the exposure of her new interest in religious studies.

“Mind if I look?” he asked, picking up one of the print-outs before she could answer.

She bit her lip as he read, his forehead creasing.

After a few minutes, he looked up. “Professor Woods, this is good stuff.”

She took a deep breath and let it out. “Thank you. I’ve been working with Professor Griffin at Georgetown—”

“But these are your words, right?”

“Yeah, what you’re holding. That’s mine.”

“You need to publish this. It could be really good for you and the department.”

“Yeah, Professor Griffin and I—”

“Lexa,” he said in that kind but firm I’m-A-Man-In-Charge voice, “there’s a distinction to be made between attribution and inspiration. I’m inspired every day by the ocean, by James Joyce.” Lexa hid her contempt. Scholars who pretended to understand Joyce were pretentious liars. “But I’m not citing them.”

“Dr. Titus.” Her voice was firm. “I couldn’t have written that without Professor Griffin.”

“Professor Woods.” He looked her straight in the eye. “This department doesn’t need a co-authored paper with someone from Georgetown. We need a win.” He tapped the paper. “These are your words. Are they the product of a broader conversation? Sure, but what isn’t?” He looked out the window at the budding trees. “We took a chance on your genre work. And I’m seeing some good stuff. But I need to see more if we’re going to keep you on.”

Lexa looked past Dr. Titus and took in a silent breath. Jobs in her specialty was rare. UC Irvine had invested more than most schools to create a department where someone like her could thrive. She nodded.

“Get me an abstract and outline next week,” the dean said. “The managing editor at Foundation is a former student.”

When he left, she took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. She would need to cancel her panel with Clarke in Cleveland. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever be able to look at her again.

---

Clarke let out a deep breath as she stepped into the crisp fall air. It had been a long day of interviews. She stopped on the stairs. She knew Lexa was close by. She had to be. They were the two people in the country most qualified for the job. She’d been on these interview panels before. Two, sometimes three, a day, candidates rotating between deans and panels. Clarke was surprised she hadn’t seen her yet.

She shook her head. Maybe she should have said something about that first paper. The job would be hers if she had. But would she even be considered without that paper? It had launched her career. Her public debate with Alexandria J. Woods, PhD, got her lectures around the country, a longform article in The Atlantic, and the keynote spot at conferences that two years ago would have never taken her seriously. Their refusal to appear together added to their mystique. Geeks and academics alike lined up on reddit and twitter to take sides.

Her success was bound to Lexa’s, two sides of the same double helix.

She bundled a scarf around her neck. It didn’t matter where Lexa was. Clarke loved the work she did, and she had rocked the interviews. But she was tired. It was time for a drink. She pulled out her phone to call a Lyft. Something about the fading purple sky changed her mind, though, and she decided to walk.

The cobblestones on O Street felt somehow comforting under her feet. Solid. Old. Not going anywhere. She thought about calling Dr. Reyes from the engineering department to join her—Raven was always good for either a loud night of much alcohol or a quiet night of raw, stinging truth—the latter of which was why Clarke had never told her all that had happened with Lexa. She shook her head. Maybe she just needed some gin and silence.

She sat at the bar at L’Annexe and ordered a Tom Collins. Bartenders always smiled curiously at her when she ordered one. Funny, you don’t look like a 75 year-old man to me. She’d smile back impatiently. Just make my damn drink. When the drink arrived, she took a sip and let out a deep breath as the gin started to glow through her. No one can fuck up a Tom Collins. It was simple and always felt good and sharp and bright going down.

She was halfway through her drink when a man sat next to her and ordered a scotch. Clarke glanced at his plaid scarf, wool sweater, and worn leather shoulder bag. Definitely a TA. He noticed her looking at him and smiled.

“I’ve seen you,” he said. “You teach that Harry Potter course.”

Clarke’s stifled a sigh. “That’s me.” She tilted her head back and drank the rest of her Tom Collins in one swig.

“Can I get you another?”

“No,” she said, picking up her bag. She made eye contact with the bartender. “I need to pay.”

“Whoa,” the man in the scarf said, raising his hands. “I’m just trying to be nice.”

“And I was just trying to be alone.” Clarke nodded towards the guy sitting on the other side of him. “Maybe you can be nice to him.” She dropped some cash on the check that had arrived and made her way to the door.

It was darker outside than when she’d arrived. And colder. She buttoned her wool coat and started making her way down Pennsylvania Ave. towards the bus stop.

---

Lexa was sipping a Syrah at a window table when she saw Clarke walk by outside. She took in a breath, remembering how Clarke’s eyes got soft when she asked, “Do you believe in God?” She shook her head. She could just let her keep going, and they could go on avoiding each other forever. Unless Lexa got the job.

Shit.

She grabbed her coat, leaving a $20 under her mostly full glass. By the time Lexa got out the door, Clarke was halfway down the block, almost lost in a crowd of loud students. Lexa didn’t button her coat, and it billowed out as she jogged down the street.

“Clarke!” she shouted as she got closer. She saw Clarke stop, her back straighten and stiffen. She didn’t turn around.

---

Clarke wanted to be angry. When she heard that voice, she wanted to spin on her heel and unleash a cascade of expletives that would make the passersby uncomfortable. She not only wanted Lexa to hear the words traitor, cheat, betrayed, she wanted her to feel the force of them rip through her body like a landmine.

But she froze. When she heard that voice, she felt tears sting at the corner of her eyes. She felt a slow storm in her chest, all rain and no lighting. She closed her eyes. She wanted to be angry, but all she felt was heaviness. She held her breath and waited.

When she opened her eyes, Lexa was in front of her, her eyes uncertain and her arms folded in front of her. “Hey…” she said after a few moments.

Clarke bit into her lip, hoping not to draw blood. She looked up, her blue eyes blazing, about to spark. She could tell Lexa was waiting for her to say something, so she stayed silent.

Lexa nodded. “I’m so sorry, Clarke.” She didn’t know what else to say.

Clarke’s eyes locked on Lexa’s, but she refused to respond.

“I don’t expect you to understand...” Lexa trailed off. “It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair.” She looked past Clarke to a stoplight turning from yellow to red.

Lexa’s open coat revealed a gray plaid suit, smart and uncompromising, the top button studiously and chastely buttoned. So she had interviewed today. In this moment, though, it all felt wrong. Lexa seemed so small to Clarke. She wasn’t the woman she met at the hotel that night, but she also wasn’t the woman who submitted that article. This woman was drawn in on herself, her hair falling around her face like a curtain. Clarke remained silent.

Lexa sucked in her lips. “I know you probably hate me, and I get it.” She looked down. “I hate me, too.”

“No.” Clarke’s voice was deep and quiet. “You don’t get to do that.” She felt confused when she saw a shadow of relief cross Lexa’s face.

“You’re right,” Lexa said. “That’s not fair.” She took a long, deep breath and let it out. “I’m going to tell them.” She looked Clarke in the eye. “I’m going to tell Georgetown, and I’m going to tell Foundation. I’ll—”

“Don’t.” Clarke cut her off. “It’s done.”

“But—”

“Fuck you, Lexa.” She barely looked at her as pushed past, a slow fire burning through her as she walked briskly towards Dupont Square.

---

Lexa was freezing by the time she got back to her hotel room. She had stood on the sidewalk for a long time, watching Clarke get smaller and smaller. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting. Forgiveness? Punishment? Clarke had given her neither, which is what she knew she deserved.

She had never written a paper more carefully, never thought about the ideas so closely, never danced so delicately around sentence structure and tense. In a twisted way, she was proud of it. It was sophisticated but accessible, and completely defensible. Even if Clarke had tried to accuse her, she was sure she would have won.

She shook her head sharply. That’s not who I am. But it was. She was intelligent and ambitious and ready for a breakthrough. She knew Titus had been threatening her, but she also knew that what she had been writing with Clarke was good. Really good. She had never felt so alive in her work as when she was in conversation with Clarke. No one had ever challenged or inspired her like that. Even after that first paper, her debates with Clarke from essay to essay were electric, almost feverish. Clarke tapped something in her that was insatiable.

She picked up her laptop and opened some of the first emails she and Clarke had exchanged after Bloomington. She couldn’t help but smile. There had been a giddiness to them, this breathless excitement to constantly share new discoveries, interesting connections. They had sent seven, sometimes eight, messages a day. Thousands of words.

And that night in Bloomington.

She closed the laptop. Was it worth it? For months, Lexa had tried to convince herself that it had just been one night, that she didn’t even really know Clarke. When she saw Clarke on that sidewalk tonight, though, she knew that was all bullshit.

They had been falling for each other the best way they knew how. Lexa had betrayed all of it.

—-

Lexa was sitting on the floor outside Clarke’s office when she arrived the next morning.

Clarke sighed. “Seriously?” She didn’t look at her as she slid her key in the lock. “What are you doing here?”

“I had a meeting to cancel.” Lexa shrugged, not getting up.

Clarke pushed her door open. “I don’t have anything else to say to you, Dr. Woods.”

“I withdrew my name.”

Clarke froze. “Why?” Clarke noticed jeans and a sweater under Lexa’s coat. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun. She was serious.

“You know why.”

Clarke’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I did,” Lexa said steadily as she stood up. The smallness from the night before was gone. She stood tall, her shoulders thrown back. “I don’t know who else they’re interviewing, but I’m not your competition anymore.” She swallowed and looked into Clarke’s eyes. “I don’t want to be your competition anymore.”

Clarke let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She wanted to say, Good luck, Dr. Woods, and close the door behind her, but instead she felt herself pushing the door open, heard herself saying, “Come in.”

Lexa bit her lip. “You sure?”

Clarke nodded and ushered her in. The door clicked as it closed behind them. Clarke set her bag down and sat at her desk. She shook her head, frustrated. “I just want to hate you. That’s all. I want to tell you to fuck off, and I want to go on with my life.”

Lexa sat in the reading chair in the corner of Clarke’s office. She nodded, looking down at her hands. “Then why don’t you?”

Clarke huffed, a cynical laugh. “I can’t get away. You’re everywhere.” She threw up her hands. “I saw you on the fucking New Yorker site this morning. How did you land that?” A rhetorical question. “I assign your essays for my classes. I have to. I hate how good you are.”

“You’re good, too, Clarke,” Lexa said quietly. She looked up. “Very good. I keep researching and writing because you keep responding.”

Clarke closed her eyes. She knew it was the same for her, but she didn’t want to say it. Finally she looked up. “Why did you do it?”

Lexa looked past her at Clarke’s diplomas on the wall. Undergrad at Cornell. She shook her head, almost said I don’t know, but she didn’t want to lie. “I wanted to do something big.” She gathered the courage to look at Clarke’s face. “I wanted to do it with you, but my dean pressured me to take solo authorship.” She closed her eyes, ashamed. “And I was a coward.”

“Yeah.” Clarke leaned back in her chair. “You were.”

Everything that came into Lexa’s head to say felt like an excuse, so she kept her mouth shut. They both did, the loud ticking of the cheap clock on the wall cutting through the silence.

Finally Clarke shook her head. A corner of her mouth curved up. “It was really beautifully done.”

Lexa looked up, her head tilted.

“I was so fucking angry, Lexa.” Clarke breathed out like she was letting something go. “I should have been a coauthor, but, fuck, it was well written. Like it was on a whole other level.”

Lexa’s green eyes were bright as they locked in on Clarke’s. “You inspire me, Dr. Griffin.” She sat back. “It’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” She paused and sucked in her lips. “I think we should write a book together.”

As soon as Clarke heard the words, she knew it was a good idea. Maybe the best idea. But all that would come out was, “Fuck you, Lexa.” It was almost a laugh.

Lexa’s face was stone, but her eyes were alive. “An editor already approached me. If I brought you on…”

“You can’t buy your way out of the shitty thing you did, Lexa.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Lexa ran her hand over her hair then looked up, her face suddenly soft. “I meant it, Clarke. I’m better with you.” She shrugged. “And I think you’re better with me, too.”

Clarke bit her lip. She took in a heavy breath, and let it out in a long sigh. She stood up. “Come here.”

Lexa squinted her eyes.

“Just come here, please. You owe me that.”

Lexa stood up in front of Clarke. Clarke lifted her hand to her face and leaned in, her lips barely touching Lexa’s. Lexa didn’t move, but Clarke felt her shiver. She leaned in and kissed her softly. Then she pulled back.

“I just…” Clarke didn’t know where the end of that sentence was supposed to go, and she didn’t tried to find it. Instead, she lifted her eyes and looked at Lexa as her chest rose and fell, rose and fell.

Lexa held her breath.

Finally Clarke smiled, almost laughing at herself. “That’s not a yes, Dr. Woods. But it’s not a no.”

[emeraldsiren19]

Don’t blame AD for your insecurities

Cancel culture is the modern equivalent of the junior high cafeteria pettiness. Most people outgrow it as soon as they graduate high school, but unfortunately many never get the memo. 

People are free and expected to skip whatever entertainment they don't want to see for reasons. Nothing wrong with that. But unless you are watching a straight up documentary, you are watching fiction. Same for books too. Because a film is made or a book is written does not in any way imply that the storyteller and actors involved are sympathetic to the cause. You can tell a great story and it's the most uncomfortable thing anyone sees or reads. Does that make it bad or that the actors share the views of the villains/protagonists? Of course not. It is ridiculous to even assume that is happening.

For reasons unknown to the general public or anyone with an iota of intelligence and logic, Adam Driver is the latest scapegoat of said cancel culture. 

His wife, who gets an insane amount of unwarranted hate directed toward her, said in an interview when he was starting his career: Adam prefers to make art that is uncomfortable and makes people think. 

Which is why Kylo Ren was such a huge divergence from his previous filmography of mostly indie films. At that point, he was thrust into the mainstream limelight with everything involved, especially chaotic folks claiming to be fans who get pissed when he doesn’t fit their mold of what an ideal actor/heartthrob should be. He’s not their imaginary husband or their personal porn star as some “fans” believe he should be. And don’t even get into the homewrecking angle of it that some attempt with no shame, even if it’s just verbal wishes. Those folks don’t deserve any piece of him. Find another actor to do what you do with. Adam deserves more respect than that.

He is one of the very few actors who make you fully believe for 2 hours that he is someone else entirely. It’s because he has a gift that the universe has blessed him with. He’s just that good. So he can portray anyone he wants to and no one else has the right to say a damn thing. Even if that’s a Midwestern man in mid-century America (he was raised in the Midwest so he is an expert, and even if he wasn’t, he could still pull it off with little effort) or a medieval knight falsely accused.

Which leads into why do modern American ideals and morals have to be the universal standard for storytelling? You miss out on so many good tales when you toss out the “problematic” ones just to appease a rare few clutching their pearls and who get offended by the sky being blue. What law says that an actor or storyteller has to condone and agree with the ideals and beliefs of their characters? You would have a crap ton of boring stories and out of work actors/writers that way. 

If you don’t like the story, that’s fine. But calling out an actor/writer for upsetting you is not ok because at least in this country (America), you have the freedom to not watch said movie or read said book. You don’t get to call yourself a fan if you cancel an actor because you explicitly do not like their career choices as they make you think and feel uncomfortable. Again, move on to someone else who fits your shallow ideal, and there’s a whole sea of them that no one cares about. 

Adam, sofar, has been gifted with choosing good films. I haven’t seen anything that I hated to the point of avoiding entirely even if I only liked his 2 minute role in it. Yes, his characters are gritty and make you use the part of your brain that most people aren’t aware exists. 99% of other actors don’t.  

He’s not an undercover KKK operative, he’s not a theater student accused of stalking, he’s not a Senator’s aide digging up dirty secrets, he’s not a misogynistic fuckbuddy, he’s not a womanizer, he’s not a medieval knight accused of rape, he’s not an average guy turned Communist officer, and the list goes on. People insist he is though, because their brains haven’t figured out what the difference is between reality and fiction, and they don’t want to see it. They want someone to project their hate toward and he’s an easy target because he chooses the tough, gritty projects that he does instead of the easy romantic comedies that every other actor does and then can’t get work because no one takes them seriously. 

Then you have the labels and trigger words tossed around like confetti when people don’t fully realize what they mean, because they’re never used in proper context. People know they are. Your “abusive��, “problematic”, “toxic” etc. The latest being “Communist” with his new project in the works after the Plague ends. 

Outside of schoolbooks and other media propaganda from before these people were even born, no one understands what it means because it is so outside of what they can comprehend. Not saying at all that Communism is right or wrong, but don’t judge something without fully understanding it, and don’t dare put Adam Fucking Driver in the middle of your debate because he is earning his living  telling a story for entertainment reasons.  

In the modern context, anything the GOP doesn’t agree with is automatically considered “Communist” and therefore evil because it’s trying to bridge the gap of the Grand Canyon social divide. That’s why people like Bernie Sanders (love him, hate him, don’t care, your choice) who are trying to put equality into action are so hated and labelled as such, just because it’s the popular thing to do. 

Adam is not Communist either nor promoting Communism in any form because he plays a character we know nothing about at this point. Don’t dare judge a film before you have watched it. You can choose to not watch it, but unless you do view it, you have nothing whatsoever to base your arguments on.

Cancelling actors/writers and their work is essentially a 10 year old’s temper tantrum because he doesn’t like what he was given. Your parents and grandparents just skipped whatever they didn't like and moved on to whatever they did without makng a huge fuss. This is just juvenile insanity disguised as “being a good informed fan” and failing miserably because the costume doesn’t hide any of the rotting flesh underneath.

[script-a-world]

Pylon Bios (An Update, with New Pylons)

Hello, lovely followers of script-a-world!

Please allow us to introduce ourselves! We haven’t had any sort of about-the-bloggers page available before, and now that we’ve added more to the team, we’re seeking to remedy that!

First of all, we call ourselves Pylons. What the heck is a pylon? Well, outside of this blog, it’s an upright structure for holding up something, usually a cable or conduit. When this blog was started more than a year ago (whoa), the group chose the word Pylon to describe ourselves collectively, as a fun little nickname. Whee!

Without further ado, meet the Pylons (and Mods)! (in alphabetical order)

Brainstormed: Hey there, call me Brainstormed, and you can find me at @thunderin-brainstorm. Any pronouns will do. I'm a student, illustrator, and world traveler. My home is in America, but I'm rarely there for more than a month at a time, so feel free to ask where in the world I happen to be! Worldbuilding has been my hobby for quite a long time and I'd love to give you some tips and tricks that I've learned, or take your idea and turn it on its head to perhaps show you a new perspective. The many projects I've developed have been lifesavers for me, as they allowed me to harness my Maladaptive Daydreaming Disorder and use it as a positive tool for creativity. Aside from drawing and daydreaming, I spend a lot of time biking, hunting for cool rocks and bones, binge reading any scholarly article that catches my eye, and memorising completely useless random facts that I spout at any given moment in lieu of remembering actual important information.

___

Constablewrites: My name is Brittany, and I'm a California girl living in the Midwest. I use she/her pronouns. I've always loved stories with rich and detailed worlds, whether in movies, books, games, or something else entirely. I'm the kind of writer who will spend hours researching to confirm a minor detail. Naturally, I not only write SFF, but my recent projects have all required worldbuilding on more than one axis (like multiple types of magic, or time travel on top of historical) because i am apparently something of a masochist. I'm a walking TV Tropes index and a whiz at digging up random useful knowledge, both of which come in handy as a Pylon. Other random facts: I'm a trained actress and singer, I used to work at Disneyland on the Jungle Cruise (among other attractions), and a laptop held together with duct tape is responsible for my day job in tech support. I blog about writing as @constablewrites and about random things that amuse me as @operahousebookworm.

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Delta: Hi! I’m Delta and I can be found @dreaming-in-circles or @thedeclineofapollo (writeblr), and I love sci-fi. Like, a lot lol. I work in NEPA compliance for a civil engineering firm in the USA, and have a lot of experience with infrastructure, bureaucracies, biology, and space (for unrelated reasons). I spend a lot of time haunting the astrophysics wikipedia pages, and my current all-consuming project is a novel that is angling to be about 150,000 words (at current projections). Can’t wait to hear your questions!

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Ebonwing: Hi, I’m Ebonwing. I’m currently studying IT in university. I’m a writer and worldbuilder, and sometimes a worldbuilding writer or a writing worldbuilder. I gravitate towards fantasy, though I’m not going to say no to the occasional stint in scifi, and as I’m also a giant language nerd, I enjoy making conlangs for my creations. Other than that, I’m also an artist and indulge in any number of other crafting hobbies, and if I’m not doing any of those things, I can probably be found playing video games.

___

Feral: Hi! I'm Feral, and you can find me @theferalcollection (if you enjoy feminism, socialism, or over-analyzed fiction) or on my writing blog theferalcollection.wordpress.com. I'm a Southern girl who likes fancy dresses, mint juleps, big hats, and using being-underestimated to my advantage. I work in the interior design industry and am currently in school for industrial design. I have previously earned degrees in comparative literature and theatre & drama. I'm a big nerd who really likes school. I've been world-building since before I knew it was a thing and writing almost as long. I’ve written mostly fantasy but the past couple projects have been science fiction. I'm ridiculously in love with the idea of being an astrophysicist but don't feel like learning calculus, so I just read about science a lot. My hobbies include martial arts, drinking too much coffee, and tabletop games.

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Lockea: Hello! I’m Lockea. You can find me all over the internet as @lockea or LockeaStone. I’m a leaf on the wind who currently enjoys the SoCal sunshine in Los Angeles where I work as an engineer and data scientist. I love street fashion (especially Lolita) and making jewelry. I have two kitties, Theodore and Cecelia, and I volunteer at the local animal shelter as a cat handler and adoption counselor. I know way too much about cat behavior, honestly, and will yap your ear off if you let me.

Worldbuilding wise, I have a deep affection for science fiction and I’ve consulted professional science fiction writers on developing technology and worlds through the explanation of science and engineering. My engineering specialization is extra-terrestrial  robotics, so if it has to do with space, planetary science, or robotics -- I got you. I’m also a fan of politics and really like developing political and socio-economic systems in fantasy and sci-fi worlds.

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Miri: Miri here, with my main tumblr @asylos and my writing tumblr @mirintala. I am a Canadian Pharmacy Technician by day and a small time ePublisher and gamer of many types by night. Mostly wandering around the Internet helping to organize events in the FFVII tumblr fandom (modding at @ff7central and @ffviifandomcalendar), and stumbling around within the Borderlands of Pandora. I use she/her pronouns.

—-

Symphony: Hey, I’m Symphony! Use whatever pronouns you feel like, any work. I’m currently living in Michigan with my fiance, and in-between jobs but I want to go to nursing school ASAP.  My favorite genres in fiction are horror, sci-fi, and really anything that holds my interest. In my own worldbuilding I've always felt myself most interested in developing societies on the macro level (politics, diet, customs, stuff like that), and the more esoteric, strange parts of my world. I like to make a place feel lived in, with secrets that may never be found and people who seek them out.

——

Synth: I’m @chameleonsynthesis on Tumblr, but that’s a mouthful, so just call me Synth. Any pronouns work. Born and raised in Canada, but living in Norway as of autumn 2007. Looking back, I’ve been worldbuilding since at least the age of four (in my early thirties now, so yeah), with a predominantly science-fantasy bent. I’m of the artsy creative type, with way too many projects on the go at any given time, and enjoy long walks through Wikipedia and getting caught in TV Tropes. The best thing is when I stumble across some strange factoid that can justify aspects of my many weird alien species. Stupid Synth facts: I have dual Canadian and Norwegian citizenship. My legal name contains a letter that does not exist in the English alphabet. I can curl my tongue into a cloverleaf shape, and wiggle my ears. My day job is musical instrument repair. I play French horn in a concert band, trombone in a jazz band, and don’t practice my flute or piccolo near as much as I should. Outside of band rehearsals and my job, I volunteer at the local cat shelter, work out at a gym, and attend events at my city’s newly established makerspace.

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Tex: I'm Tex, and you can find me on tumblr @texasdreamer01. Most of my hobbies are centered around fandom and worldbuilding for it, though I also like cooking and reading up on fiction and non-fiction whenever I have the time. I'm currently studying biochemical engineering, with a slant in nanotechnology and its medical applications, so I need to know a bunch about the different types of sciences, as well as projecting for the development of future fields.

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Utuabzu: Hi, I’m Utuabzu, I previously was part of ScriptMyth (RIP) where I tended to take the lead on Mesopotamia and Egypt related asks. I’m most of the way through a Bachelor of Linguistics, e parlo italiano und ein bisschen Deutsch. I have a deep and enduring interest in the history of the ancient world, particularly the ancient Near East, and I’m also a bit of a nerd for politics, which is helpful when it comes to worldbuilding. My random 2am research binges have resulted in my knowing a lot of odd things. I enjoy travelling and experiencing other cultures, however as I am Australian this unfortunately requires flying, which I hate a great deal. I expect to one day be crushed beneath a pile of my books. It is a demise I am ok with.

_____

Wootzel: Hi, I’m Wootzel, or @wootzel-dragon! I use she/her pronouns. I’m a recent college grad trying to figure life out. My favorite thing about worldbuilding is making things as realistic or pseudo-realistic as possible, and finding a justification for everything. Sometimes, this is also my least favorite thing about myself, because it can make things very hard! But, it can also be really rewarding when I get things to work out in a way that I enjoy.

My other hobbies include reading lots of fanfic while neglecting physical books, starting ambitious sewing projects on a whim, and wondering where all my time goes on a daily basis. I have changed major a few times, and I am still unsure about what I want to do with my life, except that it’ll always have writing in it somewhere.

[jullienfm]

jacob elordi. cis male. he/him.  ／  jc "jules" jullien just pulled up blasting ain't it fun by paramore  — that song is so them ! you know, for a twenty - two year old nhl player, i’ve heard they’re really naive, but that they make up for it by being so magnanimous. if i had to choose three things to describe them, i’d probably say well - worn skates sporting freshly sharpened blades, drops of blood collecting in a white porcelain sink, and small town roots kept intact against all odds. here’s to hoping they don’t cause too much trouble ! ( sam, 23, est, she/her )

it is i, sam, and i also write jack ( @devinfm​ ) buuuut here’s another character that’s almost exactly the same as the last one but with one or two small changes. feel free to message me if you’d like to plot!

i. stats

𝙛𝙪𝙡𝙡 𝙣𝙖𝙢𝙚: jean-claude valère jullien

𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙛𝙚𝙧𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙣𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙨: jc, jules

𝙝𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙤𝙬𝙣: dawson city, yt

𝙙𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙗𝙞𝙧𝙩𝙝: january 1st, 1998

𝙯𝙤𝙙𝙞𝙖𝙘: capricorn

𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣: idk heterosexual for now

𝙥𝙤𝙨. 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙩𝙨: magnanimous, solicitous, responsible.

𝙣𝙚𝙜. 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙩𝙨: naive, jittery, gauche.

ii. history

jean-claude valère "jules" jullien was born and raised in dawson city, a town in the yukon. his father is a miner while his mother stayed home with their eleven children. yes, you read that correctly, eleven kids, all boys. their ages range from the eldest being in his late thirties to jules, who is the youngest by a margin of about twelve years.

he was a high - risk pregnancy. his mother was in her forties and thought she was through with having children, so when he was born a bit small and premature but otherwise perfectly healthy, jules was immediately considered a miracle child and doted on accordingly.

he was sheltered from the start, homeschooled by his mother ( while his brothers attended the local public school ) and given a band aid and a kiss for every little bump and bruise. the fact that none of his brothers grew to resent him is a whole other miracle in itself, but to be honest most of them took after their parents and participated in coddling him, and those who didn't were at least old enough to not care that much.

jules learned how to skate before he even learned how to walk, and he's been playing hockey for just as long. he started out on the frozen lake in the backyard of his childhood home with a few of his brothers, and it quickly became apparent that he not only possessed a natural talent for the sport, but that he also genuinely loves it.

he was so good at hockey that he was allowed to play at the junior level in canada a year early ( he was the third player to ever be granted the privilege ) and from then on it became his entire life. at just fifteen years old he was breaking records, collecting awards, and garnering attention from nhl scouts in his first season alone. from then on, the improvement and accolades just kept coming.

he played his first international tournament in sochi with the canadian under - 18 team when he was 16, leading the tournament in goals and points and helping to win gold for team canada. he was awarded the chl's player of the year award following his final season playing junior hockey and is one of the most decorated players in the league's history.

jules was the first round, first overall draft pick by the los angeles kings when he entered the nhl. at the start of his second year, he was named captain of the team, making him the youngest captain in nhl history at 19 years and 254 days old. he's a three - time world championship gold medalist, a four - time nhl all star and last year, he signed an eight year / 12.5 mil per year contract with the kings, which is one of the highest in the nhl. he gets picked on for his age, and there are people who think he's overrated, but the fact of the matter is : he brings results.

iii. extras

it's jc or jules. no one ever calls him jean-claude because it’s just too much of a mouthful for no good reason.

jules is the team captain and plays center for the la kings hockey team, #98 as a nod to his birth year. he's a four time all star, well known for his speed, and a fun fact is that he's ambidexterous so he can shoot with both hands.

six foot five, 190 lbs...so, kinda lanky.

his mom is from quebec so he's semi - fluent in french and kiiiinda has a little accent. 

he's nice. so nice, that he's actually nice to a fault. a downside to his sheltered upbringing is that he's very naive, so he's an easy target for people especially pretty girls to use for clout and free stuff, then drop once he's served his purpose. it's happened many times and jules is none the wiser. he just thinks he has really bad luck.

he can be quite anxious. he’s had a lot of pressure on him for a while now and hockey is obviously something that he takes very seriously, so he’s kinda...tense. he can also be a little nervous in social situations and tbh he literally doesn’t know how to talk about anything except for hockey and taking pictures. 

he's gotten into basketball since he moved to los angeles, so he's a HUUUUGE lakers fan. catch him courtside at every single game he can make it to.

he’s also gotten into music! he really likes bands like blink and all time low and probably wants to learn how to play an instrument like the drums so potential wc

he's always had an interest in photography he got a camera from his parents as a teenager and it’s become a beloved hobby of his. it's nothing that he would ever consider pursuing seriously, but he's often seen with his camera and likes to take pictures of his friends, architecture, basketball games, concerts, or anything else he finds interesting.

might occasionally be seen with a book instead of his camera.

don't ask to take a picture of him, though — he hates being on the other side of the lens.

he's quiet and modest, but every once in a while he likes to flex a liiiittle bit.

iv. wanted connections

Dudebro™ best friend

non - Dudebro™ best friend

friends ( close friends, friends, friendly acquaintances )

someone he’s protective over

cousins ( most likely from canada or the midwest, but otherwise anything goes for this. )

fwb and one night stands

his celebrity crush / someone who’s crushing on him

exes ( some who have used him for clout / free stuff, some who didn’t, some who did and then regretted it, all of the above! )

( these are just ideas and i’m trash at coming up with stuff, so please don’t feel limited by what’s listed here. )

[thelanguageoflovers]

I Trust You, Theodore James Kippen

A one-shot for the amazing @tyrusflavoredtea in return for the masterlist she made me!

***

“Flight 283 out of Gate 32C has been delayed from its departure time of 4:50 to 6:00. I repeat, Flight 283 out of Gate 32C will now be departing at 6:00 pm.” The flight attendant’s voice was nearly inaudible over the quiet din of chatter throughout the gate. Cyrus rolled his eyes, sitting back in his chair and trying to get comfortable. He glanced up at the desk, watching yet another hopeful passenger be informed that there were no more flights out of DCA into ORD until 1:00 in the afternoon the next day.

“I apologize for the inconvenience, sir.”

“No, that’s alright. You don’t decide what flights go where and when,” the man assured her.

“Thank you for understanding, Mr. Tallman. The airline will provide you compensation for your time,” she promised.

“Oh? What kind of compensation?” he asked, leaning slightly over the desk with a nearly intimidatingly suggestive smile.

“Sir, I-”

“Please, call me John.”

“Mr. Tallman,” the attendant emphasized, stepping backward slightly. Cyrus sat up as he watched this happen, already standing up as John began to speak again.

“Oh come on, baby-” Cyrus was standing next to him in no time, beginning to open his mouth before he was beaten to the punch.

“Is there a problem here, sir?” A deep voice asked from the other side of Mr. Tallman.

“Yeah, there is, actually-”

“-Sir,” Cyrus cut in. “I recommend you stop right there. She’s clearly not interested, and I can’t blame her. Move on, and stop taking flights if you can’t keep it in your pants long enough to speak to a flight attendant.” Mr. Tallman opened his mouth to argue, but Deep Voice Guy was stepping in front of him, hand on his chest.

“Mr. Tallman. You either walk away or you face the No-Fly list,” he said, towering over the man. Who rolled his eyes and walked out of the gate, muttering something.

“I- would that even get him on the No-Fly list?” Cyrus muttered, mostly to himself.

“Well, no,” Deep Voice answered, turning to face him and holding out a hand to shake. “But he thinks it would. I’m TJ Kippen.”

“Cyrus Goodman.” They shook hands, smiling gently.

“Thank you guys, so much,” the flight attendant said.

“Oh, it was no problem,” Cyrus promised, hooking his thumb into the strap of his backpack.

“Not at all,” TJ agreed, smiling at her. “Do you need anything?”

“No, no, that was plenty.”

“Okay, then.” TJ turned to Cyrus. “Come sit with me?”

“I- um, I guess so.” Cyrus was weighing the possibilities of TJ’s status as a serial killer in his head, and not only could TJ tell, he also found it ridiculously endearing.

“Come on, I promise not to harm you.” TJ smiled wide, gesturing to an open row of chairs.

“I don’t think that was the right way to assure someone of your trustworthiness.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” Cyrus chuckled, sitting down next to him.

“What would you prefer, then?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well that’s not fair!”

“Life isn’t fair, Kippen.”

“Yeah, yeah. Who are you, my mother?”

“Who’s to say?”

“...You?” TJ asked.

“I respect that,” Cyrus conceded. “Anyway, is DC home, business, or pleasure?”

“School, actually. Georgetown. I stayed six extra weeks to take a history course.”

“Freshman?”

“Yeah, I am,” TJ laughed.

“Me too. Yale, though.”

“Then why the hell are you in DC? And going to Chicago?”

“Summer internship - Capitol Hill. And Chicago is home. Sort of. Chicago is home plus about four hours of driving.”

“Same. O’Hare is just the closest big airport to Shadyside.”

“Shadyside?” Cyrus asked, facing TJ.

“Yeah?”

“You’re lying, right?”

“No?” TJ promised, one eyebrow raised.

“You have to be lying. I’d know you if you lived in Shadyside.”

“Ah. You live there too?”

“No. I live there. You, on the other hand, are a liar.” TJ shook his head, reaching into his pocket for his wallet and pulling out his driver’s licence. He handed it to Cyrus with a smug grin.

“Shadyside, Midwest. Born and raised,” he said, only for Cyrus to chuckle at the card.

“Theodore James Kippen. Theodore. Theo Kippen,” Cyrus laughed. “Your name is Theodore.”

“Oh hush. You were named after a sculptor.”

“Not so. I was named after Cyrus the Great, Achaemenid-Persian King, and Cyrus McCormick, physicist. And who were you named after? Ted Bundy?” Cyrus deadpanned.

“Not funny! Theodore Roosevelt and James Joyce.”

“Oh. That’s… Not actually something I know how to make fun of.”

“Lucky me.”

“I like your shirt,” Cyrus said after a moment, smiling softly at the pride pattern.

“June’s almost over. I figured I should probably wear it a few more times before the hets get mad,” TJ joked, glancing down at Cyrus’s pride bracelet. “The same for you, I presume?”

“Nah. This bracelet never leaves my wrist; it’s been a part of me since my best friend made it for me.”

“And how long has that been?”

“Nearly six years. Since the day I came out to her.”

“You’ve got a good best friend, then,” TJ smiled.

“Two of them, actually.”

“Ah. Me too. Well, a best friend and a twin sister.”

“Good support system,” Cyrus approved. “Does your sister go too Georgetown, too?”

“No, UCLA. I haven’t seen her in far too long.”

“Reunion day tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” A smile came over his face as he spoke. “Marty, Amber and I haven’t seen one another since the holidays.”

“Marty?! That’s your best friend?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“He’s my best friend’s ex-boyfriend,” Cyrus gawked.

“So your best friend is… Buffy Driscoll! Then your bracelet maker is Andi Mack.”

“You are correct. And your twin sister is dating my best friend.”

“She is, yeah. And your other best friend dumped my best friend for… Someone else. Whoever she cheated on him with. I never got around to finding out who.”

“Buffy didn’t break up with Marty for someone else or cheat on him? She broke up with him because they were going off to schools on opposite sides of the country and she didn’t want them both to get hurt.”

“Marty said she…”

“She didn’t. Buffy’s not that kind of person.”

“How am I supposed to believe that?”

“I give you my word, Theo.”

“Is that gonna stick?”

“Are you gonna go after Buffy for cheating?”

“I asked the first question.”

“I asked the more important question,” Cyrus rebutted.

“Fine. I trust you.”

“Then I trust you, Theo.”

“Is that all it takes to buy your trust?” TJ crossed his arms.

“No, actually. My trust costs quite a lot more than that.”

“Like what?”

“Like… Your ID, the pride pattern on your shirt -  a gift from Marty when you two came out to one another. Your luggage tag, the watch you’re wearing - which just so happens to have been picked out by Andi while helping Amber shop for her brother. Your backpack, which you borrowed from Marty. Your shoes, decorated by Walker Brodsky, Andi’s ex boyfriend. Your varsity jacket - Grant High basketball. The music playing out of your earbuds - a playlist no doubt formed by Bowie Quinn, Andi’s dad.

“Your pants - bought at the mall five miles out of town. Your hair, which fits Amber’s description of her brother. The tattoo on your wrist of your little sister’s name; Molly passed away a few years ago, and you spoke at her funeral. I only met her once when Amber brought her along to hang out at the park, but she looks just like you. And the polaroid in your phone case. Amber put it there right before you went separate ways.”

“You collected all that information in one conversation?” TJ asked.

“My trust isn’t easily handed out.”

“Question - do you hyper analyze everyone you meet?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Tell me about that lady,” he said, looking pointedly in the direction of a woman sitting alone in a row of chairs.

“She just got back from visiting her kid at Howard.”

“How can you tell?”

“...It says so on her sweatshirt.” TJ glanced up to find that yes, she was wearing a Howard sweatshirt.

“Touché.”

“You just chose a bad person. That was too easy.”

“Fine. That flight attendant back there. She’s in uniform, so you can’t derive clues from that,” TJ said, a smug grin on his face.”

“Bad choice, Theo. She’s in uniform, but I know her profession and I’ve had an entire conversation with her. She’s engaged, and she hasn’t seen her fiancé in a few weeks. This is her last flight before she gets to see him in Chicago. And before you ask- she’s wearing an engagement ring.”

“That’s mildly terrifying. How do you pick up so much information so quickly?”

“All four of my parents are psychiatrists. You pick up the skill after a while.”

“Ah. That’s… fascinating,” TJ said.

“Well that was convincing,” Cyrus deadpanned.

“No, I mean it! That’s genuinely cool, Cyrus.”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s kind of my single defining character trait. Or rather, my single defining skill.”

“Oh, come on. You’re worth more than this one skill,” TJ insisted. \

“Like…?”

“Whatever’s in your bank account, I presume,” he teased.

“Theodore Kippen!”

“It was a joke, I promise,” TJ said, hands in the air as though pleading innocence.

“I know it was.” Cyrus smiled softly, a silent promise that he believed him.

“What are you majoring in?” TJ asked, opting to change the subject entirely.  Cyrus clearly noticed, raising an amused eyebrow.

“Doubling in Poli Sci and Philosophy. You?”

“Majoring History and a minor in German.”

“Are you fluent?”

“Uh, yeah. It’s actually my first language. We lived in Germany until Amber and I were 10.”

“Seriously?” Cyrus asked. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“My American accent is really good, I guess,” he responded, letting his natural German accent show.

“You should probably just be handed a German major,” Cyrus marveled.

“I don’t think that’s how that works.”

“You know, I think I actually prefer your natural accent to the American.”

“Is that a compliment?” TJ’s accent was thicker now - he was clearly starting to fall back into it after using a false one for so long.

“Of course it is!”

“Well then, I’m glad you heard it.”

“So am I. Goodness, do you think the plane should be at the gate by now? It’s… 4:45, and we’re supposed to depart at 6:00, so we should be boarding very soon.”

“Ja, das sollte es auch.”

“Pardon?”

“Hmm? Oh! Um, yes, it should be. Sorry, I wasn’t really thinking and-”

“Don’t apologize! It’s fine.”

“The plane should definitely be here,” TJ said, sidestepping the topic. He looked out the windows to where the plane should be.

“What do you bet it gets cancelled tonight?”

“Oh, definitely,” TJ agreed. “I’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop since the first delay.”

“So have I. The attendants at the desk even look like they know it’s going to be cancelled.”

“I feel so bad for them.” TJ glanced to the desk, a sympathetic look on his face. “Wait, look-”

“Hmm?” Cyrus looked to the desk, where the flight attendants were reading something and one was reaching for the microphone as another typed frantically into a computer.

“Cancellation or delay?” TJ asked.

“I say cancelled.”

“I say another delay,” TJ countered.

“Passengers of Flight 283 out of Gate 32C, Flight 283 has been cancelled. All passengers have been placed on one of two flights tomorrow and will be emailed the details. Passengers have also been awarded miles to be used for United Airlines flights. Thank you for your patience and flexibility.”

The other passengers at the gate all grumbled slightly, sighing and exiting the gate. Many said something about getting dinner. TJ stood up, pulling out his phone to look for rooms at nearby hotels.

“I’m gonna run up to the desk really quick, hang on.” Cyrus was gone before TJ could ask. Naturally, he followed.

“What can I help you with?”

“I was wondering what times the flights are tomorrow?” Cyrus asked, approaching the desk with a smile.

“Well, we’ve put all the passengers in coach on either the flight at noon or 1:00 pm. However, we can also put you and your boyfriend in first class at 4:00 pm instead of giving you complimentary miles,” a flight attendant said.

“I’ll definitely take that offer,” TJ said from behind him, ignoring the flight attendant’s assumption. Cyrus couldn’t help but notice that his American accent was back in full swing.

“Me too, absolutely,” Cyrus agreed. “Do we owe anything extra?”

“No, no.” The attendant from earlier stepped forward, overhearing their conversation. “You helped me out earlier, so consider it a gift from the airline. I’ll cover any extra fees,” she promised.

“Oh- are you sure? I’d be happy to pay-” Cyrus started.

“No, no. There’s truly no need.”

“Thank you so much,” TJ said, smiling at her gratefully.

“Thank you!” Cyrus exclaimed, turning to exit the gate with TJ. “Did you get anywhere on hotel rooms?”

“There’s only one room open at any hotel nearby.”

“Ugh, I guess that means I’ll have to drive out urther and come back in the morning.”

“...I mean, you could,” TJ said. “But it’s got two queen beds, if you’d rather stay nearby and split the cost?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, of course. I don’t particularly want to pay for a room on my own. Especially not at Chicago prices.”

“I don’t either, as long as you’re sure.”

“Eh, my twin sister really likes you,” TJ reasoned. “I’m gonna take the room.”

“Good, how much do I owe you?”

“Um… 60 dollars.”

Cyrus nodded, handing it to him with a smile.

“Now, should we go get dinner?”

“Yes, definitely,” TJ said. “Just- not in the airport.”

“Right. No 16 dollar burgers, got it. You know, I think I have an idea. There’s a place I really like nearby. It’s not much, really, but… any dietary restrictions?”

“Do you count penicillin as a dietary restriction?”

“No, you idiot! I meant like lactose intolerance or veganism.”

“Ah. Well, none of those things.”

“Good. Do you have a car here?”

“No, I took a cab.”

“Okay, I’m driving then,” Cyrus said, pulling his keys out of his pocket and waving them at TJ. “Shall we?”

***

“Have you ever had kebab?” Cyrus asked, handing TJ his food.

“I lived in Berlin for ten years! Of course I’ve had kebab. Never in America, though.”

“Ah, well… I can’t promise it’ll live up to Berlin’s standards. However, I say we eat it while it’s warm.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, then.” TJ feigned a toast with his kebab, biting into it in sync with Cyrus. “...Well. it’s no Berlin, but it’s good. And anyway, even if it was awful- I’d eat awful kebab a thousand times over if it means another date with you.”

“This is a date now. Theo?”

“Only if you want it to be,” TJ flirted.

“I don’t think I’d mind that.”

“Yeah?” TJ’s grin was enough to change his mind if he’d been at all on the fence.

“Oh, absolutely.”

They finished their food quickly, talking aimlessly about their friends in Shadyside. Before he knew it, Cyrus was walking up to the front desk of their hotel with TJ at his side.

“Hi, we have a room, under Kippen,” he said.

“Yes, of course, here it is. I’ll just need ID and a card for incidentals?” Cyrus handed his credit card over while TJ set his driver’s licence on the desk. “...And there we go. You’re all set in room 619. Elevators are around the corner to your left. Have a good evening!”

“You too, ma’am, thank you!” TJ said.

“Thank you!” Cyrus followed TJ to the elevators, racing him to push the button.

“You’re ridiculous,” TJ huffed, pouting as Cyrus beat him to it.

“I know,” Cyrus said. His face was still occupied by a smug grin as he stepped out of the elevator onto the 6th floor. He led TJ down the hall toward their room. Sliding the room key into the lock, TJ pushed the door open.

The room was full of white bedding and soft carpeting and the same air freshener employed in every hotel Cyrus had ever stayed in. He let TJ take his hand and pull him inside, let him simply stand and stare into Cyrus’s eyes, let him step forward and kiss him, let his back hit the door as he looped his arms around TJ’s neck.

“Thank you,” TJ breathed, still crowding Cyrus against the door.

“For what?”

“This. All of this. Letting me kiss you.” Cyrus simply shrugged, tugging TJ back toward him.

“I trust you, Theodore James Kippen.”

[themaddielorian]

Tagged by my love @m00kieblaylock 🥰❤️

1. Name: Madison but I go by Maddie (if you like Madison more you can use that!)

2. Zodiac: gonna go ALL out! Aries sun, Leo moon, & Scorpio rising (♈️ & ♏️ fit me best)

3. Height: 5’7

4. What time is it: 6am. I should 100% be asleep 🙃 (just doing this befor sleep)

5. Favorite musician or group: a couple rn! Hozier is number 1! Also Dermot Kennedy, Bright Eyes forever (& Conor’s associated acts), Lady Gaga, Fall Out Boy, Stevie Ray Vaughan (born & raised on him, his music feels like home, I can tell one of his songs just from a couple seconds of his guitar 🥰)

6. Favorite sports team: basically the only time I EVER get involved in any kind of sports is during the Olympics, and even then I only like certain events. So, I guess the women’s gymnastics, the swimming teams, & the snowboarders (primarily the USA teams because it’s pm the only time I feel patriotic lol)

7. Other blogs: uh does Instagram/Twitter count? If so, Twitter is wastelandmaddie and Instagram is wasteland_maddie come say hi!!

8. Do I get asks: No! I mean, I got DMs when I was trying desperately to sell the Hozier tickets, but nothing before or since

9. How many blogs do I follow: 34 but I’m pretty picky lol

10. Any tumblr crushes: I’m pretty sure everyone I’ve found everyone I follow who’s posted their picture to be incredibly pretty. I can’t remember if I’ve seen that any of the people I follow are guys? But the ladies are absolutely killing it

11. Lucky number: idk if I have a “lucky” number, but my favorites are 5 and 25 🤷🏻‍♀️

12. What are you wearing right now: well that’s very forward! It’s very cold here! Wool socks, leggings, sweatpants (my leggings aren’t thick), a long sleeved shirt, and my favorite super baggy Kings of Leon crew neck sweatshirt (it’s literally SO cozy and a really pretty light teal/turquoise color)

13. Dream vacation: I’ve wanted to go to Santorini, Greece for YEARS. It looks absolutely STUNNING. And also Ireland. I’d want to go all over. Beach sides, cliffs, the mountains, the plains (I’m from the plains here in the Midwest but Ireland’s look so much GREENER and more lush), take me all over. No Blarney Stone though, I will always skip that one...

14. Dream car: I like Subaru’s?? I guess they’re really safe. The kind of SUV ones look nice, and would be practical for having dogs (important consideration). Otherwise, I think Mazda’s are adorable

15. Favorite food: I never get sick of pasta. Even just like the simplest of pasta. Homemade mashed potatoes are to die for (best part of thanksgiving). One food I’ll always miss is my great grandma’s Belgian waffles (Omfggggg, SO worth waking up super early for), and this Danish pastry, passed down from my other great grandma on my dad’s side called Kringle. Idk how to describe it, but my great aunt used to make it every time we visited and she would literally have to slap my dad’s and my hands away from the hot pans because we loved them so much 😂

16. Drink of choice: just water!! I have a 32oz Yeti and refill it multiple times a day. I also fell in love with chamomile tea recently, and for soda, Mr Pibb is obviously the best, followed by Dr Pepper

17. Languages: just straight up English. When I’m having a bad migraine, sometimes that fails me 🙃 I know a few random words in different languages, but not more than that

18. Instruments: I actually used to be pretty good at violin! But forced every day practice and waking up really early during grade school (like 4th-6th grade) killed my desire to play. I wish I had held out, it’s one of my favorite instruments ☹️

19. Celebrity crushes: Hozier, Charlie Hunnam, Idris Elba, Robert Downey Jr, Edward Norton, Niall Horan

20. Random fact: i once owned 10 guinea pigs by accident........ so I got a guinea pig when I was 18, my mom got her a companion, it wasn’t a female like the humane society said. They ended up up having a litter of 3 and the humane society fixed the dad... but didn’t tell us about the necessary quarantine period. We ended up with a second litter of 5 before the first litter was fully grown. We ended up finding homes for them all (a lot of them went in pairs bc we took them all to an actual vet to have their gender checked and for some reason the majority were male)

I tag: @hozierinthewoods @hozierisginger and idk anyone who else wants to do it lol

[justanoutlawfic]

If you're out on the road: A Swanfire/Gold Family AU

Summary: Where You Lead Remix. In a world where Emma & Neal never broke up, but Wren & Neal's relationship was even more turbulent.

On the first day of Giftmas, I give...QueenOfTheMerryMen a Where You Lead AU where Swanfire raises Henry and 10 years later...Wren falls ill leading to some Golden Swan family moments. Something we talked about based on a This Is Us scene. Check out her stuff, it's awesome!

Also on AO3

Neal knew that he was ungrateful. Plenty of kids would want to be in his position. To live in a nice house, go to a school where things weren’t constantly falling apart and to have a chance to graduate from college without any loans. Yet, all of that came with a price: to be constantly judged and have your entire life planned out for you.

 Wren Gold wasn’t a bad father. He just…wasn’t the kind to give warm hugs or say that Neal had done his best at the end of the day. He expected top grades and for Neal to make the headmaster’s list every term. Anything less than success wasn’t tolerated in their home. Neal was expected to go to Yale, just like Wren had done before him. All of the Gold men had attended the Ivy covered halls and there was no way that he would be the exception. It didn’t matter that his dreams were to travel for the first few years after graduating. Wren always squandered that wanderlust, just as he did anything artistic that Neal had in his mind. Neal would become a lawyer or a doctor, just like his father. He would marry a cute girl from school.

 Neal’s entire destiny had been laid out for him by the time Milah got pregnant. His mom had buckled under the pressures of motherhood and taken off not long after. It was always just him and his dad against the world. At first, that was a good thing. And then Wren got stricter. More was expected of Neal. Suddenly, the fun times became less. His photography wasn’t as accepted. Wren enrolled him in etiquette classes, pushed him into cotillions and trainings for escorting girls at coming out parties.

 “You’ll be a proper Gold man, yet.”

 As if that was all his life amounted to. As if he was never destined to be more than that.

 Sure, there were good times. Like when Wren bought him his first camera right before their trip to Scotland when Neal was 10. It had been just the two of them, thankfully. Malcolm had some business to attend to in New York. Neal still had all the pictures from that vacation and looked back on them fondly. It was one of the last times he and his father saw eye to eye.

 Then when he was 14, a whirlwind of blonde curls and wild green eyes entered his life. Mary Margaret and David Nolan had moved from the Midwest after the latter’s cookie business had become lucrative. Their business was a success over night. After much pressure and persuasion, they had been asked to move to Greenwich to expand. With them, came their two children. They had their son, Benjamin, and their daughter, Emma. She hated the move with everything in her. More so, she hated Chilton Academy. She didn’t fit in with the snotty yet very smart girls. She couldn’t stand the uniform she was forced to wear.

They were like two bitter peas in a pod. Neal and Emma would ditch classes together, spending time in their empty houses, smoking cigarettes and stealing their parents’ good liquor. They talked about the dreams they had to travel after high school and ditch their parents’ plans for them.

 3 months later, Neal was still working up the courage to kiss Emma when she did it first in the 7-Eleven parking lot.

 “I just wanted to know what it would feel like,” she told him.

 They were even more inseparable after that, just with their lips. It didn’t take long for her parents to find them making out in her bedroom when Emma was supposed to be watching her little brother. To give them all the benefit of the doubt, Wren tried to give his son the sex talk. The Nolans did the same with Emma.

 It was all for nothing. A year later, Emma came to him, thumbs fiddling. Her face was paler than normal. A plastic bag stuck out of her LL Bean monogrammed backpack.

 “I think I’m pregnant,” she mumbled.

 People say when you die, you watch your life flash before your eyes. In that moment, Neal watched all his dreams go out the window. He didn’t even have the results, but he knew. They weren’t the most careful. Half the time, he forgot to bring a condom. They kept telling themselves that they kept getting lucky and if it didn’t happen last time, what were the odds it would again?

 As it turned out, sex on Neal’s balcony when they both tried to hide out from the awkwardness of his father and grandfather had done them in for good.

 At first, it seemed to be what would break them up for good. They had very different ideas of what they wanted out of the baby.

 “I can’t be a mother,” Emma whispered. “I have all these plans for after we graduate.”

“We can’t just give this baby up. He’s our future now,” Neal argued.

“He needs more than us!  He needs two adults!”

“We can grow up. We can do this!”

“You’re living in a fantasy world!”

“No, I’m trying to do the right thing for our baby!” He bit his lip, trying to remember some of the cases his dad had told him about. “And you can’t give him up without my consent.”

 Emma’s eyes locked on him and he stood firm. He wasn’t going to give up his son. He wasn’t going to be like his mother and he was certainly going to try to do better than his father.

 Telling Wren was like swallowing a hornet’s nest. The look of disappointment and shame. Watching as he tried to figure how they could hide it.

 “You’ll marry her,” Wren said, finally. “That’s the only way to fix this.”

Neal let out a shallow laugh. “Dad, she doesn’t even want to raise this baby. She isn’t going to want to marry me.”

“I’ll talk to her parents. They’ll show her it’s for the best.”

“No! This isn’t your choice to make! It’s ours!”

“You’re still a child!”

“I’m not a child anymore!”

“You’re barely sixteen!” Wren snapped. “This baby doesn’t change that fact!”

“No, what it changes is that you can’t control my life anymore and that drives you crazy.”

 To give them credit, Mary Margaret and David did try to talk some sense into Emma. Not about marriage, they thought that idea was insane. But they didn’t think she was fully ready to walk away from the baby either. Yet, Emma stood firm. She didn’t want the baby. She kept saying that she didn’t even want to look at he or she when they were born. Unlike Wren, they backed off. Neal wondered what that was like. To have parents that may not have agreed with you, but would steal support you.

 The months went by and Emma barely spoke to him. He went to every sonogram and watched as his baby grew. Emma barely looked at the screen, even when the tech would point out something new. She wouldn’t answer Neal’s questions and she stopped showing up to lunch. He could hear people whispering about her and he knew he got off easy. Emma was the one carrying the beach ball under her cardigan. He didn’t have a sign stamped on him. People could forget he was the father. Neal tried to be there for her…but she didn’t want him there.

 “It’s not just my fault, you know,” he said, one particular afternoon when she was angry at the world. They were leaving school and she was still refusing to talk to him. “It took both of us.”

Emma let out a bitter laugh and rolled her eyes. “Trust me, I know. No one is letting me forget it.”

“You don’t have to do this alone! I want to be there for you! Your parents want to be there for you! Why are you pushing all of us away?”

Emma turned to face him, tears in her eyes. “Because where are you going to be in a few months when he or she is here and I’m not raising it?”

 And Neal didn’t have an answer to that. Emma finished her walk to her yellow bug, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

 Wren still thought marriage would solve all of their problems. He offered to let Emma move in, offered to let Neal go live with the Nolans if they felt more comfortable with that. Neal didn’t want to talk about it. He knew deep down it wasn’t really his father’s fault and yet he blamed him for the distance. He found himself like Emma, angry at the world.

 And then three months later, everything changed.

 Neal was awoken in the middle of the night by the landline on his nightstand ringing. Mary Margaret told him that Emma was in labor. She had left a note behind and taken the bus. They were on their way there as they spoke, but they also knew that she would want him there. Neal woke up his father and off they went. Ready to meet the newest member of their family.

 Emma was already in the room by the time they arrived. She didn’t want anyone else in there. Even Mary Margaret and David lined the hall. They stood against the wall, Wren’s cane scraping against the floor. No one said a word, but Neal knew they were all thinking the same thing: everything in their life was about to change.

 An hour later, a nurse stepped out. “Neal Gold?” She asked.

Neal looked up. “Yes?”

“Emma would like to see you.”

 Neal stepped into the room and found Emma sitting up in bed. In her arms was a baby wrapped in the standard hospital blanket. She stared down at him, with a look about her that Neal had never seen. She was cooing at him. Emma Nolan could coo. Who the hell would’ve guessed that?

 “Emma?”

Emma looked up. “I wasn’t going to hold the baby.”

“I figured.”

“But then the doctor asked…and I did.”

“I just…he’s perfect.”

Neal paused. “He?”

She nodded. “It’s a boy.”

A smile broke out across his face and he walked closer to the bed, taking his son in. He was squishy, mostly, with no real defining features. Still, Neal found himself whispering, “He’s perfect.”

“He is.” Emma stared back down at the baby. “We can do this. Together.”

Neal looked up from his son to back to his…well, he wasn’t sure what Emma was to him anymore. “Really? You want to?”

“Just…not here. I can’t be in Greenwich anymore. I can’t raise him around people who point and stare. Who care more about money than being a good person.” She let out a sigh. “I love my parents and my brother, and we’ll still see them. Your dad too, if you want. But I need to get out of this town if we’re going to do this.”

 She was asking him to give up everything. It was stupid, it was reckless…

 It was the adventure they had always talked about.

 They didn’t tell anyone when they came into visit. All they said was that Emma had changed her mind and wanted to parent. Henry David Gold came into the world and changed everything.

 When Neal left to pick her up a few days later, he had packed up the bug with everything they would need. The clothes people had gifted him for the baby, some of his own and the stuff Emma had asked he swiped. He left the note in a place he knew his father wouldn’t find for a couple of days. Not until he wondered why he hadn’t heard from him at the Nolans.

 Neal picked up the two people he loved most from that hospital and they drove for only an hour until they found their new home. Stars Hollow.

 Main Street was lined with shops, two dedicated to cats. There was a diner named after a grandparent. People had white picket fences and there was a man singing with his guitar on the street corner with a small audience. Children ran around the park laughing. Couples walked around holding hands.

 Neal drove to the inn and did his first act as a father. He asked the owner Beverly Lucas for a job, any job. She took one look at him, then at his young girlfriend and newborn baby, then offered him a busboy position at her diner. She told Emma she could have an alternating waitress shift once the baby was older. She’d take a bit of rent out of their checks and in the meantime, they’d live in the tiny loft above the diner. It smelled like grilled onions and only had a living room, a kitchen and the bathroom was separated by a curtain, but it was home.

 They’d later learn that Beverly only did it because her own daughter had run away from home when she was 16. She also had a baby. It took her years to find her granddaughter, and that didn’t happen until Anita’s murder. She never knew if Anita and Ruby were safe during that time, but she naively hoped that they had someone like her looking out for them.

 The next 10 years were anything but easy. Mary Margaret and David tried to get them to come home often, especially after they saw the crappy loft they lived in. Emma stood her ground. Wren never stepped foot in Stars Hollow and it took Neal six weeks to give him a call. While Emma would grow to have a better relationship with both of her parents, Neal’s own with his father only became worse.

 They fought a lot those first few years in that tiny loft, figuring out parenting beliefs and how to best be a couple. There were times they broke up and Emma went to stay with Granny and Ruby, but it was never for very long. Four years after their start, Neal got a job as a bell boy at the inn and found a love for it. He started making repairs in his spare time, slowly working his way up the chain. Emma worked at the diner until she could get financial aid for Stars Hollow Community College. She got her associate’s in criminal justice and became a cop. They moved out of the tiny loft just in time for Henry to start kindergarten, into a place with two bedrooms. It wasn’t anything fancy, but no longer reeked of onions. And by his 8th birthday, they bought a house just off of Main Street.

 When Henry was 10, Neal gifted him a fishing trip that he had been asking for. Emma had the house to herself for the first time in forever. She wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. She could visit her parents or perhaps invite Ruby over. Instead, she decided to take a long bubble bath and catch up on some of her favorite comedy shows that Neal had recorded for her. Just as she was about to select a bath bomb, her cell phone rang with a number that she didn’t quite recognize.

 “Hello?”

“Is this Emma Nolan?”

“Yes.”

“This is Belle Gold. I’m your son’s step-grandmother.”

This took Emma by surprise. They hadn’t seen Wren since last Christmas and he hadn’t mentioned anything about a wife. “You’re shitting me.”

Belle paused. “I can assure you that I am not “shitting you”, Ms. Nolan.”

“It’s Emma, please. What’s going on?”

“My husband had a heart attack.”

Emma slid down onto the side of the tub. “Is he…is he okay?”

“They gave him surgery and they think he’ll be fine. He hasn’t asked for Neal but I know if it was my son…”

“You’d want him there.” Emma bit her lip. “Listen, he’s on a fishing trip with our son, but I’ll try calling him.”

“Thank you. He’s at Yale New Haven.”

 Emma hung up her phone and the lock screen returned. A picture of Neal, with his arm around Henry. Her partner rarely talked about his father. They saw him at the required holidays, Neal groaned through them. Henry was getting older and he would call his grandfather a bit more frequently. Even so, Wren was a touchy subject in their family.

She didn’t know what his response would be, but she found herself selecting his number and calling him anyway. It almost immediately went to voicemail. Of course. No reception on the lake.

 “Hey, I uh…I don’t know if I should leave this on here, but your dad is in the hospital, Yale New Haven to be exact. He had a heart attack.” She paused. “I know that you feel conflicted about him, but I got the call and I thought you should know…I…I’m gonna go there now. If you get this in time, meet me there. If not, have fun with Henry.” Another pause. “I love you. Always.”

 She hung up and let the bath bomb slip back into the basket Henry had made for her for Mother’s Day. Her relaxing day would have to wait.

 Yale New Haven Hospital was a good hour and a half drive from Stars Hollow, a half hour from Greenwich. Even so, Emma knew why Wren was there. He was a graduate of Yale. His entire life was that damn school. Even on his death bed, he’d want only the best.

 Emma checked in, fibbing that she was actually Wren’s daughter-in-law. She and Neal had never gone through with an actual ceremony; they hadn’t felt the need for it. It wasn’t like she was asking for personal information, just the floor he was on. Plastering the sticker on her red leather jacket, she headed to where he was staying.

 A petite brunette walked out of the room, her hand over her growing baby bump. Emma tilted her head in curiosity. “Belle?” She asked.

The woman’s blue eyes perked up a bit. “You must be Emma. I’ve seen pictures.” She looked around. “Is Neal…”

“I couldn’t get a hold of him, but I left word.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sure he’ll come as soon as he hears.”

“Yes, I’m sure he will too.”

 Emma tried her best not to stare at the baby bump and instead looked at the room in front of her.

 “Wren’s up for visitors,” Belle continued. “If you want to go see him. I was just going to go call his father.”

Emma grimaced. “I don’t envy you on that job.”

Belle chuckled a bit. “Thanks.”

 Emma walked into the room. Wren looked much weaker than he had the last time she had seen him. A tube ran through his nose and there were various machines there to keep him up. Emma hated hospitals. The last time she had been in one was when Henry broke his collar bone when he was 7. Scariest moment of her life.

 “Hey there, Mr. Gold.”

Wren slowly looked up at her. “Emma.” His voice was weak, but the Scottish accent shone through.

“I got a call from your wife.” She took a step closer. “And I see you’re going to give me a brother or sister-in-law. Any other secrets?”

Wren looked away again. “It’s not as if you and my son visit much.”

Emma knew she couldn’t argue there. “That’s between the two of you. I don’t keep him from you.”

“I never thought that.” Wren coughed a little. “I also never blamed you completely for what happened. It takes two to get into the mess you were in.”

Emma was a bit surprised to hear that come out of his mouth. “Well…thank you.”

 There was silence. Wren wasn’t going to ask about Neal. They were both so stubborn. If it wouldn’t make her a hypocrite, it’d drive her nuts.

 “Neal took Henry fishing early this morning,” Emma explained. “I left word on his voicemail but I don’t know if he got it yet.”

“Wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t show. Wasn’t entirely surprised when just you showed up.”

Emma sighed, shaking her head. “You both were stupid all those years ago.”

“I was the parent. It was my job to be responsible for him. Maybe if I had done more, if I hadn’t pushed him so damn hard…”

“You didn’t ruin him,” Emma interrupted. “He’s too strong for you to ruin him.”

 She thought of all the double shifts Neal worked those first few years, just so they could make it. He cheered her on through community college. He was never too tired to play with Henry, even after bussing tables or carrying bags to rooms or fixing the stairs at the inn. He was always their hero.

 No matter what Neal had to say about his past, it didn’t break him.

 “If anything,” Emma continued. “I think he took his past and chose to become an amazing dad and partner because of it.”

Wren nodded. “And I can’t take any credit.”

“No, you definitely can. Because there are times I see you in him and it’s not bad. There are times it is, but mostly it’s not.”

 Her phone buzzed. A text from Neal.

 We’re on our way back now. I’ll drop Henry off with Granny and Ruby, then go see him.

 Emma gently smiled. “He loves you. You two have a complicated relationship and he may not say it enough, but I know he does.”

“To be fair, you have to be taught to say I love you, Ms. Nolan. I don’t think I taught him.”

“And your dad didn’t teach you.”

 Emma settled into the chair beside his bed.

 “You two have a choice now. Turn shit around before it’s too late or continue to let it fester. I know you probably intend to do better with that little one on the way, but why not fix this mess first?”

[cvptivated-a]

( kim jongin, cismale, he/him. ) — EZRA YI has lived at the L.A Coterie for FOUR YEARS. he’s TWENTY-FOUR years old, and working as an DANCE TEACHER. Sometimes when you walk by their door, you can hear CAKE BY THE OCEAN by DNCE  playing. Depending on what neighbor you ask, he can be CONFIDENT and PASSIONATE, or BLUNT and FICKLE. But LOS ANGELES is their home, and he’s here to stay!

BASIC INFORMATION;

NAME: ezra yi AGE: 24 BIRTHDAY: may 30th STAR SIGN: gemini GENDER + PRONOUNS: cismale + he/him ETHNICITY: korean SEXUALITY: bisexual, biromantic OCCUPATION: dance teacher HOME CITY: lanesboro, minnesota

APPEARANCE;  

HEIGHT: 6 ft WEIGHT: 150 lbs BUILD: athletic HAIR COLOR: dark brown EYE COLOR: brown TATTOOS: none PIERCINGS: ears

ABOUT;

( tw: alcohol, neglect & house fire ) ezra was born and raised in a small town in the midwest.  he is the second oldest in a family of five children. his childhood wasn’t exactly a happy one, because his parents were at war with each other constantly due to alcohol problems and infidelities from both. ezra and his older sister had no choice but to look after their siblings, making sure they were fed and arrived at school on time. 

when he was 15, his parents tragically died in a house fire that the children luckily managed to escape from. his sister adopted her younger siblings. 

because they struggled a lot with money, ezra dropped out of high school to do some odd jobs and help his family out financially. unbeknownst to them, he also saved some money for himself, because he was secretly planning to move out of lanesboro asap so he could bury his problematic past and start a fresh elsewhere. 

at eighteen, he moved to los angeles in the hopes of pursuing a career in dance. while he’s talented and experienced, he couldn’t find a job that paid enough to sustain himself because living in la is expensive, so he went back to doing whatever job he could find, barista, pool cleaner, cab driver, lifeguard, bartender, stripper, he has done it all. currently, he’s working part time as a dance instructor, teaching children between eight and fourteen years old. 

he moved into the coterie four years ago, and is mostly known in the building as a major playboy. it’s in his nature to flirt, make innuendos and be attention whorey, my boy can’t help himself rip. 

though he can come across as an insensitive dick sometimes, he generally means well and really does care a lot about his friends. 

his hobby’s include dancing, hanging out at the beach with friends, partying, drinking, & getting into your pants.

i made a pinterest board for him which you can find here !

CONNECTIONS;

BEST FRIEND: self explanatory. could either be as wild as ezra and they’re enabling each other, or the polar opposite, someone who is trying to be a good influence on him.

OTHER FRIENDS: ezra is very outgoing, so i feel he would hang out with a lot of people

FRIENDS-WITH-BENEFITS: they have a ‘no-strings-attached’ arrangement thingy going on.

EXES: could be on good or bad terms

CRUSH: ezra has been flirting with them for a while, but they play hard-to-get with him because they know he’s a trash can. 

ANYTHING ELSE: if nothing fits or if you have a better idea, let me know! i’m open to anything.