#new ohio review

[taylorbyas1]

New duplex of mine in New Ohio Review! Shoutout to Jericho Brown forever for the form. To hear me read the poem:

[tieflingkisser]

Officer faces murder charge in shooting of pregnant Black woman who was accused of shoplifting

COLUMBUS, Ohio (AP) — An Ohio police officer was indicted Tuesday on murder and other charges in the shooting of Ta’Kiya Young, a 21-year-old pregnant Black mother who was killed after being accused of shoplifting last August.

[...]

In the video, an officer at the driver’s side window tells Young she’s been accused of shoplifting and orders her out of the car. Young protests, both officers curse at her and yell at her to get out, and Young can be heard asking them, “Are you going to shoot me?” Seconds later, she turns the steering wheel to the right, the car rolls slowly forward and Grubb fires his gun. Moments later, after the car comes to a stop against the building, they break the driver’s side window. Police said they tried to save her life, but she was mortally wounded. Sean Walton, the family’s attorney, said the law is clear on when an officer can use deadly force. “In no scenario does someone shoplifting contribute to their murder by a police officer,” he said. “She bears no responsibility.” Some departments around the U.S. prohibit officers from firing at or from moving vehicles, and law enforcement groups such as the Police Executive Research Forum say shooting in such circumstances creates an unacceptable risk to bystanders from stray gunfire or the driver losing control of the vehicle.

[...]

The encounter between Young and police was among a troubling series of fatal shootings of Black adults and children by Ohio officers, and followed various episodes of police brutality against Black people across the nation over the past several years.

[...]

Blendon Township Police Chief John Belford said the department has started a disciplinary review now that Grubb has been indicted. A full-time officer with the township since 2019, Grubb has been on paid administrative leave since the shooting. His personnel file showed he had no disciplinary history on the job, his first as a police officer.

[lonestarbattleship]

USS OHIO (BB-12) anchored in the Hudson River, during the Atlantic Fleet Review.

Photographed on October 3, 1911.

NARA: 55171562

[ohwowthats-awesome]

I’m bad at keeping up with new music and I mainly just listen to the same artist old music over and over again so I decided to challenge myself to listen to as many new music as I can. I mainly just gonna try to keep up with 2024 album releases. If y’all have any artist that you like that will be releasing an album this year feel free to let me know! I’ve already listened to Ariana Grande, Beyoncé, Kali Uchis and The Black Keys albums. And I am ranking too!! At the end of the year I’ll post my top 10 songs too and my ranking of albums all together!

First Album I heard this year was Eternal Sunshine by Ariana Grande! This is my rankings 🔻⬇️🔻

1. True Story

2. We Can’t Be Friends

3. Eternal Sunshine

4. Don’t Wanna Break Up Again

5. I Wish I Hated You

6. Supernatural

7. The Boy Is Mine

8. Imperfect For You

9. Bye

10. Ordinary Things

11. Saturn Returns

12. Intro

13. Yes, and?

9/10 (spoiler alert this is still my highest reviewed album!)

(My fav Ariana Grande album!!)

1-7 i have on repeat!!!

[mywifeleftme]

341: The Waitresses // Wasn't Tomorrow Wonderful?

Wasn't Tomorrow Wonderful? The Waitresses 1982, Polydor

The Waitresses were such a peculiar project: considered a borderline novelty band based on their two hit singles (no wave-y stripper anthem “I Know What Boys Like” and wondrous ska noel song “Christmas Wrapping”), their membership connects dots between the ‘70s Akron scene (Devo, Tin Huey), Television, the Psychedelic Furs, and John Zorn, and featured an actual waitress on lead vocals. Said waitress, Patty Donahue, was a true natural at the post-punk sprechgesang thing. For other singers, a flat affect was often a way to mask shyness or to de-emphasize the vocalist’s personality. Donahue was cool enough to simply be herself up there, sarcastic, fabulous, smart, and messy. She makes the lyrics sound so natural you assume she’s basically singing her diary—which is why not a day goes by without some bright young woman, who’s felt utterly seen by a song like “No Guilt,” giving a startled “Oh!” at the realization the very much male Chris Butler wrote all the words.

Their debut Wasn’t Tomorrow Wonderful? is often nearly as prog as it is punk (try to follow the zig-zagging “Quit” or “Heat Night”), the songs crammed with wild hairpin tempo changes and skronky bridges that somehow still sound like something you might hear playing over the PA at the grocery store. They need all that busy-ness to accommodate Butler’s absurdly verbose lyrics, which have the respect for meter of a jazzy spoken word recital (so none, I mean). The musicians need to really have their working boots on to keep this stuff feeling poppy, but for the most part they nail it with panache.

And those lyrics! I can think of few albums as legitimately clever as this one, even forty years on. Donahue’s glib performance of a young woman getting her shit together on “No Guilt” could describe any number of girls I knew in college and, from what I glean from social media anyway, still works for the present generation. And truly, today’s assembly line of singer-songwriters trying to score clout by writing the most withering lowercase boy-bye diss (see Kara Jackson’s damp “therapy” for one) wish they could do what Butler does with “Jimmy Tomorrow.” The potshots are sparkling (“There's nothing that's wrong with me / That money can't cure / But I don't want to be somebody else's / Learning experience / Some rich kid's way to spend his allowance”), but Butler understands that the woman in the story’s more intriguing than the bad ex, and by keeping her the focus of the monologue he finds both a pithy diagnosis of her social ailments (“It's what happens when your choices / Are narrowed to fashion or violence”) and her emotional ones (“I guess I set impossible goals / And I don’t know when to quit / Is that it?”). On an album with no ballads and little sentimentality, Donahue’s vocal finds something really resonant in these lines, even as the band absolutely goes off behind her. But for the Waitresses, angst was always best used as a springboard for a brilliant punchline, and they end the album with an all-timer: “My goals? / My goals are to find a cure for irony and make a fool out of God.”

The band didn’t last long (two LPs and an EP), and it’s not clear whether their very specific brand of schtick could’ve survived the transition from new wave to alternative rock without losing its dazzle. But Butler and Donahue deserve to be mentioned when the all-time great lyricist/vocalist tandems are discussed, because like a good kitchen / front of house pairing, they make a very complex business look seamless.

341/365

[untilthenexttee]

GolfForever Congratulates World No. 1 Scottie Scheffler on His 11th Career Victory, and First as a Father, at The Memorial

GolfForever Tour Athlete’s fifth win of the 2024 ignites Father’s Day promotion Aspen, CO – GolfForever, the Official Golf Fitness System of the PGA TOUR and leading at-home golf training system that helps golfers play without limits, congratulates GolfForever investor and Tour Athlete Scottie Scheffler on his fifth victory of the season at The Memorial. The World No. 1 golfer posted rounds of…

[jupiterswasphouse]

WASP REVIEW - CAZADORES (FALLOUT: NEW VEGAS)

[Image IDs: Two images of the Cazadores from Fallout: New Vegas, one being a render of the in-game model and the other being an official illustration /End IDs.]

This one's an interesting one! While the vast majority of fictional (non-ant/bee) wasps are based on Vespids such as the paper wasps, yellowjackets, or hornets, the Cazadores of the Fallout universe are based on spider wasps (Pompilidae), more specifically the genus Pepsis, one of two genera of tarantula hawk wasps (the other being Hemipepsis), a set of species that is, in fact, found in the deserts of the southwestern US, in which New Vegas is set.

[Image Source: Wikimedia Commons, Niklas299 | Image ID: A photo of an almost blueish black tarantula hawk wasp with orange and black wings, Pepsis grossa, on a leafy green plant /End IDs.]

They share many of the most famous features of these insects, such as their black coloration, curled antennae (in females, the opposite of paper wasps, whose males are the ones with curls), orange wings (although some species of the aforementioned genera have entirely black wings), and a similar body shape. These wasps also have some features, however, that don't match up with their inspiration, such as their red eyes (in-game), jagged wing shape, and much more pronounced setae (hair/fur), perhaps being adaptations brought on by the extreme radiation of the wastelands, or instead by something else entirely, which we'll be getting to later in this review.

They also have another key difference from their inspiration! Real world spider wasps are solitary and will either create or reuse existing underground burrows, whereas the Cazadores are eusocial! They create basket shaped nests out of an indeterminate material, very similar to the paper nest building hornets or tree-dwelling yellowjackets, but with multiple cells that have individual baskets and entrances, like that of a mud dauber nest.

[Image Sources: Ohio State University, Joe Boggs and Brisbane Insects | Image IDs: Three images, including one render of the Cazadores nest, and two photos of real world nests, those being the paper nest of the bald-faced hornet (actually a type of yellowjacket) and the mud nest of the vase-cell mud dauber /End IDs.]

"Well, why?" is what I asked when I first heard that this solitary wasp was suddenly eusocial, something that's not easily explained even by heavy amounts of fictionalized mutation-inducing radiation. Well, this may be best explained by the work of our resident brain-in-a-jar Think Tank robot, Doctor Borous. His work in the Z-14 Pepsinae DNA Splicing Lab of Big MT is what directly lead to the creation of the Cazadores, potentially having been spliced with the aforementioned hornets, yellowjackets, mud daubers, and possibly many more species, permanently altering their DNA and behaviors!

The idea of this is fairly fantastical, but highly likely in this universe, given Borous' other experiments, which lead to the creation of the Nightstalker, a mix of rattlesnake and coyote DNA.

Doctor Borous himself, meanwhile, seems completely unaware of his creation's prevalence throughout the wastelands of New Vegas' Mojave, content to deny their existence elsewhere and even their ability to reproduce. This fact, of course, is easily proven through the multitude of individuals you find throughout the desert and the eggs you might find alongside them.

[Image ID: A render of the model of a Cazador egg /End ID.]

Our good Doctor claims to have castrated the individuals he had in captivity within the research lab, but this only further goes to show his confident incompetence, implying he either: Heavily botched the procedure, or outright neglected to do so to female specimens.

You may think that these wasps would be incapable of reproducing, should the males be successfully castrated, however, a female wasp can still produce an unfertilized egg. This unfertilized egg, in Hymenoptera, will always contain a male, making it that much more likely to be able to reproduce with the females of its kind, creating fertilized (female) eggs, and thus the cycle continues until you have a desert full of wasps!

Finally, as for their defense techniques, Cazadores seem pretty standard for eusocial wasps, attacking potential threats to the hive when they get too close with repeated stings from multiple individuals, while having a notably higher than normal level of aggression (I would too if I was created by a supremely incompetent yet skilled mad scientist and/or floating brain like Doctor Borous). I have to wonder what their hunting techniques are, and what they go for as well. The adults would presumably still feed on nectar, but, being such large insects, might need to turn things up a notch in terms of what they collect for their young... A tasty radscorpion, perhaps?

In any case, I actually don't doubt a genetically engineered superwasp's ability to incapacitate or kill a human in a few stings, with such a large stinger doing massive mechanical damage to the skin and possibly the internal organs and presumably scaled up venom built to deal with larger creatures!

In conclusion, the Cazadores are fascinating creatures, and, while not entirely accurate to their original inspiration, New Vegas does a fantastic job making them make sense within the world they created, inaccuracies and all, clearly putting some thought into these creatures! Plus I quite appreciate the more unique and fitting choice of inspiration.

-

Overall: 8/10

-

This wasp review was suggested by @cupidtheartsy ! Leave your wasp review suggestion in the replies, tags, or askbox!

Make sure to tune in next week when we cover the Zingers from the Donkey Kong series!

[mindblowingscience]

Venting when angry seems sensible. Conventional wisdom suggests expressing anger can help us quell it, like releasing steam from a pressure cooker. But this common metaphor is misleading, according to a new meta-analytic review. Researchers at Ohio State University analyzed 154 studies on anger, finding little evidence that venting helps. In some cases, it could increase anger. "I think it's really important to bust the myth that if you're angry you should blow off steam – get it off your chest," says senior author Brad Bushman, a communication scientist. "Venting anger might sound like a good idea, but there's not a shred of scientific evidence to support catharsis theory."

Continue Reading.

[mayakern]

upcoming store stuff & why we're doing a super sale

omg hiiii it's devin again, and this time i'm bringing store news

the short version: we're moving ourselves back to minnesota, and we're moving order fulfillment to a fulfillment center

wow, that's big news! maya and i are so so so excited to be closer to our minnesota friends (and also my family lol). i'm hoping to be back in northeast minneapolis, but let's be real we're probably gonna get priced out and into the suburbs

in addition to that, due to a variety of reasons i'll explain in more detail below, we're transitioning from in-house fulfillment to working with a fulfillment center (or 3pl, short for third-party logistics). we're at an awkward size that makes staffing difficult and have had issues with extended processing time. the 3pl should be set up by september, and we're working on the back end to have fulfillment centers in australia, canada, the UK, and eventually the EU. if tax authorities work with us we should have all that ready by december 2024!

to prepare for that we're doing a super sale. ash told me not to call it liquidation but she said that like 30 seconds after i hit send on the marketing email, sorry about that. items that we don't want to pay to move to the 3pl are discounted by 25-70%, with some of them priced at cost. under no circumstances will anything ever be 70% off again

if you're nosy you can read the q&a i made up in my head while eating pigs in a blanket:

how are the labor protections at the 3pl?

pretty good! we were shocked to find anything even halfway decent in the US; we went looking for a fulfillment center in the EU to handle all international fulfillment, and the one we found just so happened to have bought a US location two years ago.

they're located in ohio, pay $19/hr, and provide health insurance and 401k matching. that seemed too good to be true so we dug through employee reviews on places like glassdoor, and while there were some bad reviews those were all dated prior to when the facility was purchased by this new company. they also have a very low turnover rate which is a HUGE green flag

why are you transferring to a 3pl?

the serious

sometimes we have a high volume of sales, and it makes sense to have two full-time employees plus a part timer! but usually we have a low-to-medium volume of sales. we can float by on that, but it gets risky, and the economy is in a bad enough state that we're concerned about the longevity

related, the 2023 holiday sale showed us some major flaws in our fulfillment process. if the same issues were to happen this year the business probably wouldn't survive

we're moving cross-country in early 2025 and would've had to close this location anyway

the dumb:

i'm sick of dealing with commercial landlords and if i have one more wall leak i'm going to throw it into the river brick by brick

what about your staff?

unfortunately we will have to say goodbye to our office staff. they have been given 3.5 months notice and no-questions-asked PTO for interviews with a small severance

why are you moving back to minnesota?

troy was always meant to be a temporary move. initially the plan was to move to vermont or massachusetts, but after being out here for 7 years we just kinda want to go home. the weather in troy is perfect for us, we love the mountains, and we have some great friends here, but for some goddamn reason we want our eyelashes to freeze together.

will you be returning to midwest cons?

if we return to cons at all it will be with ariel and/or ash running the booth, maya will not be involved. this would likely be in california and/or in the northeast US.

my friends are begging me to go to CONvergence as an attendee so ig you might see me there? maya has pledged death before crowded venues tho

will you do any local events in minnesota?

we might do sample sales. honestly idk what we're gonna do with the samples we have in troy, most of them are terrible. do you want samples of the strangest low rise bell bottom pants ever created? please take them from me. my bush hangs out

also my kid brother has gotten really into library events and if he asks nice enough we might do some of those

is there anything else?

i mean probably, but i started this last week and i haven't had any other ideas on what to include

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 6: Athena, Goddess Of Wisdom]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 5.2k

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Here at the midway point in our journey—like Dante stumbling upon the gates of the Inferno—would it be the right moment to review what’s at stake? Let’s begin.

It’s the end of August. The delegates of the Democratic National Convention in Chicago officially vote to name Aemond the party’s presidential candidate. His ascension is aided by 10,000 antiwar demonstrators who flood into the city and threaten to set it ablaze if Hubert Humphrey is chosen instead. At the end—in his death rattle—Humphrey begs to be Aemond’s running mate, one last humiliation he cannot resist. Humphrey is denied. Eugene McCarthy, dignity intact, boards a commercial flight to his home state of Minnesota without looking back.

Aemond selects U.S. Ambassador to France, Sargent Shriver, to be his vice president. Shriver is a Kennedy by marriage—his wife, JFK’s younger sister Eunice, just founded the Special Olympics—and has previously headed the Office of Economic Opportunity, the Peace Corps, and the Chicago Board of Education. He also served as the architect of the president’s “War on Poverty” before distancing himself from the imploding Johnson administration. Shriver is not a concession to fence-sitting moderates or Southern Dixiecrats, but an embodiment of Aemond’s commitment to unapologetic progressivism. Richard Nixon spends the weekend campaigning in his native California, a gold vein of votes like the mines settlers rushed to in 1848. George Wallace announces that he will run as an Independent. Racists everywhere rejoice.

Phase III of the Tet Offensive is underway in Vietnam; 700 American soldiers have been killed this month alone. Riots break out in military prisons where the U.S. Army is keeping their deserters. The North Vietnamese refuse to allow Pope Paul VI to visit Hanoi on a peace mission. President Johnson calls both Aemond and Nixon to personally inform them of this latest evidence of the communists’ unwillingness to negotiate in good faith. Daeron and John McCain remain in Hỏa Lò Prison. The draft swallows men like the titan Cronus devoured his own children.

In Eastern Europe, the Russians are crushing pro-democracy protests in the largest military operation since World War II as half a million troops roll into Czechoslovakia. In Caswell County, North Carolina, the last remaining segregated school district in the nation is ordered by a federal judge to integrate after years of stalling. On the Fangataufa Atoll in the South Pacific, France becomes the fifth nation to successfully explode a hydrogen bomb. In Mexico City, 300,000 students gather to protest the authoritarian regime of President Diaz Ordaz. In Guatemala, American ambassador John Gordon Mein is murdered by a Marxist guerilla organization called the Rebel Armed Forces. In Columbus, Ohio, nine guards are held hostage during a prison riot; after 30 hours, they’re rescued by a SWAT team.

The latest issue of Life magazine brings worldwide attention to catastrophic industrial pollution in the Great Lakes. The first successful multiorgan transplant is carried out at Houston Methodist Hospital. The Beatles release Hey Jude, the best-selling single of 1968 in the U.S., U.K., Australia, and Canada. NASA’s Apollo lunar landing program plans to launch a crewed shuttle next year, just in time to fulfill John F. Kennedy’s 1962 promise to put a man on the moon “before the end of the decade.” If this is successful, the United States will win the Space Race and prove the superiority of capitalism. If it fails, the martyred astronauts will join all the other ghosts of this apocalyptic age, an epoch born under bad stars.

The night sky glows with the ancient debris of the Aurigid meteor shower. From down here on Earth, Jupiter is a radiant white gleam, visible with the naked eye and admired since humans were making cave paintings and Stonehenge. But Io is a mystery. With a telescope, she becomes a dust mote entrapped by Jupiter’s gravity; to the casual observer, she doesn’t exist at all.

~~~~~~~~~~

What was it like, that very first time? It’s strange to remember. You’re both different people now.

It’s May, 1966. You and Aemond are engaged, due to be married in three short weeks, and if you get pregnant then it’s no harm, no foul. In reality, it will end up taking you over a year to conceive, but no one knows that yet; you are living in the liminal space between what you imagine your life will be and the cold blade of the truth. Aemond has brought you to Asteria for the weekend, an increasingly common occurrence. The Targaryens—minus one, that holdout prodigal son, always glowering from behind swigs of rum and clouds of smoke—have already begun to treat you like a member of the family. The flock of Alopekis yap excitedly and lick your shins. Eudoxia learns your favorite snacks so she can have them ready when you arrive.

One night Aemond takes your hand and leads you to Helaena’s garden, darkness turned to twilight in the artificial luminance of the main house. You can hear distant voices, chatter and laughter, and the Beatles’ Rubber Soul spinning on the record player in the living room like a black hole, gravity that not even light can escape when it is wrenched over the event horizon.

You’re giggling as Aemond pulls you along, faster and faster, weaving through pathways lined with roses and sunflowers and butterfly bushes. Your high heels sink into soft, fertile earth; the air in your lungs is cool and infinite. “Where are we going?”

And Aemond grins back at you as he replies: “To Olympus.”

In the circle of hedges guarded by thirteen gods of stone, Aemond unzips your modest pink sundress and slips your heels off your feet, kneeling like he’s proposing to you again. When you are bare and secretless, he draws you down onto the grass and opens you, claims you, fills you to the brim as the crystalline water of the fountain patters and Zeus hurls his lightning bolts, an eternal storm, unending war. It’s intense in a way it never was with your first boyfriend, a sweet polite boy who talked about feminist theory and followed his enlightened conscience all the way to Vietnam. This isn’t just a pleasant way to pass a Friday night, something to look forward to between differential equations textbooks and calculus proofs. With Aemond it’s a ritual; it’s something so overpowering it almost scares you.

“Aphrodite,” Aemond murmurs against your throat, and when you try to get on top he stops you, pins you to the ground, thrusts hard and deep, and you try not to moan too loudly as you surrender, his weight on you like a prophesy. This is how he wants you. This is where you belong.

Has someone ever stitched you to their side, pushing the needle through your skin again and again as the fabric latticework takes shape, until their blood spills into your veins and your antibodies can no longer tell the difference? He makes you think you’ve forgotten who you were before. He makes you want to believe in things the world taught you were myths.

But that was over two years ago. Now Aemond is not your spellbinding almost-stranger of a fiancé—shrouded in just the right amount of mystery—but your husband, the father of your dead child, the presidential candidate. You miss when he was a mirage. You miss what it felt like to get high on the idea of him, each taste a hit, each touch a rush of toxins to the bloodstream.

Seven weeks after your emergency c-section, you are healing. Your belly no longer aches, your bleeding stops, you can rejoin the living in this last gasp of summer. Ludwika takes you shopping and you pick out new swimsuits; you’ve gone up a size since the baby, and it shows no signs of vanishing. In the fitting room, Ludwika chain-smokes Camel cigarettes and claps when you show her each outfit, ordering you to spin around, telling you that there’s nothing like Oleg Cassini back in Poland. You plan to buy three swimsuits. Ludwika insists you get five. She pays with Otto’s American Express.

That afternoon at home in your blue bedroom, you get changed to join the rest of the family down by the pool, your first swim since Ari was born. You choose Ludwika’s favorite: a dreamy turquoise two-piece with flowing transparent fabric that drapes your midsection. You can still see the dark vertical line of where the doctors stitched you closed. Now you and Aemond match; he got his scar on the floor of the Breakers Hotel in Palm Beach, you earned yours at Mount Sinai Hospital in Manhattan. There are gold chains on your wrist and looped around your neck. Warm sunlight and ocean wind pours in through the open windows.

Aemond appears in the doorway and you turn to show him, proud of how you’ve pulled yourself together, how this past year hasn’t put you in an asylum. His right eye catches on your scar and stays there for a long time. Then at last he says: “You don’t have something else to wear?”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Labor Day, and Asteria has been descended upon by guests invited to celebrate Aemond’s nomination. The dining room table is overflowing with champagne, Agiorgitiko wine, platters of mini spanakopitas, lamb gyros, pita bread with hummus and tzatziki, feta cheese and cured meats, grilled octopus, baklava, and kourabiethes. Eudoxia is rushing around sweeping up crumbs and shooing tipsy visitors away from antique vases shipped here from Greece. Aemond’s celebrity endorsers include Sammy Davis Jr., Sonny and Cher, Andy Williams, Bobby Darin, Warren Beatty, Shirley MacLaine, Claudine Longet, and a number of politicians; but the most notable attendee is President Lyndon Baines Johnson, shadowed by Secret Service agents. He won’t be making any surprise appearances on the campaign trail for Aemond—in the present political climate, he would be more of a liability than an asset—but he has travelled to Long Beach Island tonight to offer his well-wishes. From the record player thrums Jimi Hendrix’s All Along The Watchtower.

When you finish getting ready and arrive downstairs, you spot Aegon: slouching in a velvet chair over a century old, hair shagging in his eyes, sipping something out of a chipped mug he clasps with both hands, flirting with a bubbly early-twenties campaign staffer. Aegon smiles and waves when he sees you. You wave back. And you think: When did he become the person I look for when I walk into a room?

Now Aemond is beside you in a blue suit—beaming, confident, his glass eye in place, a hand resting on your waist—and Aegon isn’t smiling anymore. He takes a gulp of what is almost certainly straight rum from his mug and returns his attention to the campaign staffer, his lady of the hour. You picture him undressing her on his shag carpet and feel disorienting, violent envy like a bullet.

Viserys is already fast asleep upstairs, but the rest of the family is out en masse to charm the invitees and pose for photographs. Alicent, Helaena, and Mimi—trying very hard to act sober, blinking too often—are chit-chatting with the other political wives. Otto is complaining about something to Criston; Criston is pretending to listen as he stares at Alicent. Ludwika is smoking her Camels and talking to several young journalists who are ogling her, enraptured. Fosco and Sargent Shriver are entertaining a group of guests with a boisterous, lighthearted debate on the merits of Italian versus French cuisine, though they agree that both are superior to Greek. The nannies have brought the eight children to be paraded around before bedtime. All Cosmo wants to do is clutch your hand and “help” you navigate around the living room, warning you not to step on the small, weaving Alopekis. When Mimi attempts to steal her youngest son away, he ignores her, and as she begins to make a scene you rebuke her with a harsh glare. Mimi retreats meekly. She has never argued with you, not once in over two years. You speak for Aemond, and Aemond is a god.

As the children are herded off to their beds by the nannies, Bobby Kennedy—presently serving as a New York senator despite residing primarily on his family’s compound in Massachusetts—approaches to congratulate Aemond. His wife Ethel is a tiny, nasally, scrappy but not terribly bright woman, five months pregnant with her eleventh child, and you have to get away from her like a hand pulled from a hot stove.

“You know, I was considering running,” Bobby says to Aemond, chuckling, good-natured. “But when I saw you get in the race, I thought better of it! Maybe I’ll give it a go in ’76, huh?”

“Hey, kid, what a tough year you’ve had,” Ethel tells you, patting your forearm. You can’t tear your eyes from her small belly. She has ten living children already. I couldn’t keep one. What kind of sense does that make? “We’re real sorry for your trouble, aren’t we, Bobby?”

Now he is nodding somberly. “We are. We sure are. We’ve been praying for you both.”

Aemond is thanking them, sounding touched but entirely collected. You manage some hurried response and then excuse yourself. Your hands are shaking as you cross the room, not really seeing it. You walk right into Lady Bird Johnson. She takes pity on you; she seems to perceive how rattled you are. “Oh Lyndon, look, it’s just who we were hoping to speak to! The next first lady of the United States. And how beautiful you are, just radiant. How do you keep your hair so perfect? That glamorous updo. You never have a single strand out of place.” Lady Bird lays a palm tenderly on your bare shoulder. She has an unusual, angular face, but a wise sort of compassion that only comes from suffering. Her husband is an unrepentant serial cheater. “I’ll make you a list of everything you need to know about the White House. All the quirks of the property, and the hidden gems too!”

“You’re so kind. We’ll see what happens in November…”

“Good evening, ma’am,” President Johnson says, smiling warmly. He’s an ugly man, but there’s something hypnotic that lives inside him and shines through his eyes like the blaze of a lighthouse. He pulls you in through the dark, through the storm; he promises you answers to questions you haven’t thought of yet. LBJ is 6’4 and known for bullying his political adversaries with the so-called “Johnson Treatment”; he leans in and makes rapid-fire demands until they forget he’s not allowed to hit them. “I have to tell you frankly, I don’t envy anyone who inherits that den of rattlesnakes in Washington D.C.”

“Lyndon, don’t frighten her,” Lady Bird scolds fondly.

“Everyone thinks they know what to do about Vietnam,” LBJ plods onwards. “But it’s a damned if you do, damned if you don’t clusterfuck. If you keep fighting, they call you a murderer. But if you pull the troops out and South Vietnam falls to the communists, every single man lost was for nothing, and you think the families will stand for that? Their kid in a body bag, or his legs blown off, or his brain scrambled? There’s no easy answer. It’s a goddamn bitch of a quagmire.”

Lady Bird offers you a sympathetic smirk. Sorry about all this unpleasantness, she means. When he gets himself worked up, I can’t stop him. But you find yourself feeling sorry for President Johnson. It will be difficult for him to learn how to fade into disgraced obscurity after once being so omnipotent, so beloved. Reinvention hurts like hell: fevers raging, bones mending, healing flesh that itches so ferociously you want to claw it off.

LBJ gives Lady Bird a look, quick but meaningful. She acquiesces. This has happened a thousand times before. “It was so nice talking to you, dear,” she tells you, then crosses the living room to pay her respects to Alicent.

The president steps closer, looming, towering. The Johnson Treatment?? you think, but no; he isn’t trying to intimidate you. He’s just curious.

“Do you know what Aemond’s plan is for ‘Nam?” LBJ asks, eyes urgent, voice low. “I’m sure he has one. He’s sworn to end the draft as soon as he gets into office, but how is he going to make sure the South Vietnamese can fend off the North themselves? We’re trying to train the bastards, but if we left they’d fold in months. It would be the first war the U.S. ever lost. Does he understand that?”

“He doesn’t really discuss it with me.” That’s true; you know his policies, but only because they are a constant subject of conversation within the family, something you all breathe like oxygen.

“We can’t let Nixon win,” LBJ continues. “It’s mass suicide to leave the country in his hands. The man can’t hold his liquor anymore, getting robbed by Kennedy in ’60 broke something in him. He gets sloshed and shoves his aids around, makes up conspiracies in his head. He’s a paranoid little prick. He’ll surveille the American people. He’ll launch a nuke at Moscow.”

You honestly don’t know what he expects you to say. “I’ll pass the message along to Aemond.”

“People love you, Mrs. Targaryen.” LBJ watching you closely. “Believe it or not, they used to love me too. But I still remember how to play the game. You’re the only reason Aemond is leading the polls in Florida. You can get him other states too. Jack needed Jackie. Aemond needs you. And you’ve had tragedies, and that’s a damn shame. But don’t you miss an opportunity. You take every disappointment, every fucked up cruelty of life and find a way to make it work for you. You pin it to your chest like a goddamn medal. Every single scar makes you look more mortal to those people going to the ballot box in November. You want them to be able to see themselves in you. It helps the mansions and the millions go down smoother.”

“President Johnson!” Aegon says as he saunters over, huge mocking grin. He thumps a closed fist against the Texan’s broad chest; the Secret Service agents standing ten feet away observe this sternly. “How thoughtful of you to be here, taking time out of your busy schedule, squeezing us in between war crimes.”

“The mayor of Trenton,” LBJ jabs.

“The butcher of Saigon.”

Now the president is no longer amused. “You’ve never accomplished anything in your whole damn life, son. Your obituary will be the size of a postage stamp. I’m looking forward to reading it someday soon.” He leaves, rejoining Lady Bird at the opposite end of the room.

You frown at Aegon, disapproving. You’re dressed in a sparkling, royal blue gown that Aemond chose. “That was unnecessary.”

Aegon is wearing an ill-fitting green shirt—half the buttons undone—khaki pants, and tan moccasins. “I just did you a favor.”

“What happened to your new girlfriend? Shouldn’t she be getting railed in your basement right now? Did she have a prior commitment? Did she have a spelling test to study for? Those can be tricky, such complex words. Juvenile. Inappropriate. Infidelity.”

“You know what he brags about?” Aegon says, meaning LBJ. “That he’s fucked more women by accident than John F. Kennedy ever did on purpose.”

“That sounds…logistically challenging.”

“He’s a lech. He’s a freak. He tells everyone on Capitol Hill how big his cock is. He takes it out and swings it around during meetings.”

“And that’s all far less than admirable, but he’s not going to do something like that around me.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he’s not an idiot,” you say impatiently. “He was perfectly civil. And I was getting interesting advice.”

Aegon rolls his eyes, exasperated. “Yeah, okay, I’m sorry I crashed your cute little pep talk with Lyndon Johnson, the most hated man on the planet.”

“I guess you can’t stop Aemond from touching me, so you have to terrorize LBJ instead.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Aegon hisses, and his venom stuns you. And now you’re both trapped: you loosed the arrow, he proved you hit the mark. He’s flushing a deep, mortified red. Your guts are twisting with remorse.

“Aegon, wait, I didn’t mean—”

He whirls and storms off, shoving his way through the crowd. People glare at him as they clutch their glasses and plates, sighing in that What else do you expect from the worthless son? sort of way. You’re still gaping blankly at the place where Aegon stood when Aemond finds you, snakes a hand around the back of your neck, and whispers through the painstakingly-arranged wisps of hair that fall around your ear: “Follow me.”

It’s not a question. It’s a command. You trail him through the living room, into the foyer, and through the front door, not knowing what he wants. Outside the moon is a sliver; the light from the main house makes the stars hard to see. “Aemond, you’ll never believe the conversation I just had with LBJ. He really unloaded, I think the stress is driving him insane. I have to tell you what he said about—”

“Later.” And this is jarring; Aemond doesn’t put anything before strategy. He grabs your hand as he turns into Helaena’s garden, and only then do you understand what he wants. Instinctively, your legs lock up and your feet stop moving. Aemond tugs you onward. He wants it to be like the very first time. He intends to start over with you, the dawning of a new age in the dead of night.

Hidden in the circle of hedges, he takes your face roughly in his hands and kisses you, drinks you down like a vampire, consumes you like wildfire. But your skull echoes with panic. I don’t want him touching me. I don’t want another child with him. “Aemond…”

He doesn’t hear you, or acts like he doesn’t, or mistakes it for a murmur of desire, or chooses to believe it is. He has you down on the grass under the vengeful gaze of Zeus, the fountain splashing, the sounds of the house a low foreign drone. He yanks off your panties, but he doesn’t want you naked like he always did before. He pushes the hem of your shimmering cobalt gown up to your hips and unbuckles his trousers. And you realize as he’s touching you, as he’s easing himself into you: He doesn’t want to have to look at my scar.

You can’t ignore him, you can’t pretend it’s not happening. He’s too big for that. It’s a biting fullness that demands to be felt. So you kiss him back, and knot your fingers in his short hair like you used to, and try to remember the things you always said to him before. And when Aemond is too absorbed to notice, you look away from him, from the statue of Zeus, and peer up into the stone face of Athena instead: the goddess who never married and who knows the answer to every question.

“I love you,” Aemond says when it’s over, marveling at the slopes of your face in the dim ethereal light. “Everything will be right again soon. Everything will be perfect.”

You conjure up a smile and nod like you believe him.

“What did LBJ say?”

“Can I tell you later tonight? After the party, maybe? I just need a few minutes.”

“Of course.” And now Aemond pretends to be patient. He buckles his belt and returns to the main house, his blood coursing with the possibilities only you can make real, his skin damp with your sweat.

For a while—ten minutes, twenty minutes—you lie there on the cool grass wondering what it was like for all those mortals and nymphs, being pinned down by Zeus and then having Hera try to kill them afterwards, raising ill-fated reviled bastards they couldn’t help but love. What is heaven if the realm of the immortals is so cruel? Why does the god of justice seem so immune to it?

When at last you rise and walk back towards the house, you find Mimi at the edge of the garden. She’s on her knees and retching into a rose bush; she’s cut her face on the thorns, but she hasn’t noticed yet. She’s groaning; she seems lost.

You reach for her, gripping her bony shoulders. “Mimi, here, let’s get you upstairs…”

“No,” she blubbers, tears streaming down her scratched cheeks. “Just go away. Leave me.”

“Mimi—”

“No!” she roars, a mournful hemorrhage as she slaps your hands until you release her.

“You don’t have to be this way,” you tell her, distraught. “You can give up drinking. We’ll help you, me and Fosco and Ludwika. You can start over. You can be healthy and present again, you can live a real life.”

Mimi stares up at you, her grey eyes glassy and bloodshot but with a vicious, piercing honesty. “My husband hates me. My kids don’t know I exist. What the hell do I have to be sober for?”

You weren’t expecting this. You don’t know what to say. “We can help make the world better.”

“The world would be better without me in it.”

Then Mimi curls up on the grass under the rose bush, and stays there until you return with Fosco to drag her upstairs to her empty bed.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next afternoon, you’re lying on a lounge chair by the pool. Tomorrow the family will leave Asteria and embark upon a vigorous campaign schedule that will continue, with very few breaks, until Election Day on Tuesday, November 5th. The children are splashing and shrieking in the pool with Fosco, but you aren’t looking at them. You’re staring across the sun-drenched emerald lawn at the Atlantic Ocean. You’re envisioning all the bones and splinters of sunken ships that must litter the silt of the abyss; you’re thinking that it’s a graveyard with no headstones, no memory. Your swimsuit is a red one-piece. Your eyes are shielded by large black Ray Bans aviator sunglasses. Your gaze flicks up to the cloudless blue sky, where all the stars and planets are invisible.

Jupiter has nearly a hundred moons; the largest four were discovered by Galileo in 1610. Europa is a smooth white cosmic marble with a crust of ice, beautiful, immaculate. Ganymede, the largest moon in our solar system and the only satellite with its own magnetic field, is rumored to have a vast underground saltwater ocean that may contain life. Callisto is dark and indomitable, riddled with impact craters; because of her dynamic atmosphere and location beyond Jupiter’s radiation belts, she is considered the best location for possible future crewed missions to the Jovian system. But Io is a wasteland. She has no water and no oxygen. Her only children are 400 active volcanoes, sulfur plumes and lava flows, mountains of silicate rock higher than Mount Everest, cataclysmic earthquakes as her crust slips around on a mantle of magma. Her daily radiation levels are 36 times the lethal limit for humans. If Hades had a home in our corner of the galaxy, it would be Io. She glows ruby and gold with barren apocalyptic fury. You can feel yourself turning poisonous like she is. You can feel your skin splitting open as the lava spills out.

Aegon trots out of the house—red swim trunks, cheap red plastic sunglasses, no shirt, a beach towel slung around his neck, flip flops—and kicks your chair. “Get up. We’re going sailing.”

“I don’t want to talk to anybody.”

“Great, because I’m not asking you to talk. I’m telling you to get in my boat.”

You don’t reply. You don’t think you can without your voice cracking. Aegon crouches down beside your chair and pushes your sunglasses up into your Brigitte Bardot-inspired hair so he can see your face. Your eyes are pink, wet, desperately sad. Deep troubled grooves appear in his forehead as he studies you. Gently, wordlessly, he pats your cheek twice and lowers your sunglasses back over your eyes. Then he stands up again and offers you his hand.

“Let’s go,” Aegon says, softly this time. You take his hand and follow him down to the boathouse.

Five vessels are currently kept there. Aegon’s sailboat is a 25-foot Wianno Senior sloop, just roomy enough for a few passengers. He’s had it since long before you married into the Targaryen family. It is white with hand-painted gold accents; the name Sunfyre adorns the stern. He unmoors the boat, pushes it out into the open water, and raises the sails.

You glide eastbound over the glittering crests of waves, slowly at first, then faster as the sails catch the wind. Aegon has one hand on the rudder, the other grasping the ropes. And the farther you get from shore, the smaller Asteria seems, and the Targaryen family, and the presidential election, and the United States itself. Now all that exists is this boat: you, Aegon, the squawking gulls, the school of mackerel, the ocean. The sun beats down; the breeze rips strands of your hair free. The battery-powered record player is blasting White Room by Cream. When you are far enough from land that no journalists would be able to get a photo, Aegon takes two joints and his Zippo out of the pocket of his swim trunks. He puts both joints between his lips, lights them, and passes you one. Then he stretches out beside you on the deck, gazing up at the September sky.

You ask as your muscles unravel and your thoughts turn light and easy to share: “Why did you bring me out here?”

“So you can drown yourself,” Aegon says, and you both laugh. “Nah. I used to go sailing all the time when I was a teenager. It always made me feel better. It was the only place where I could really be alone.”

You consider the math. “Wow. You haven’t been a teenager since before I was in kindergarten.”

“It’s weird to think about. You don’t seem that young.”

“Thanks, I guess. You don’t seem that old.”

“Maybe we’re meeting in the middle.” He inhales deeply and then exhales in a rush of smoke. “What do you think, should I get an earring?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“It might shock Otto so bad it kills him.”

“I’ll get two.” And then Aegon says: “It’s not cool for you to mock me.”

You are dismayed; you didn’t mean to hurt him. “I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were. You were mocking me. You mocked me about the receipt under my ashtray, and then you mocked me again last night. I’m up for a lot of things, but I can’t handle that. Okay?”

“Okay.” You turn your head so you can see him: shaggy blonde hair, stubble, perpetual sunburn, the softness of his belly and his chest, flesh you long to vanish into like rain through parched earth. “Aegon?”

He looks over at you. “Io?”

“I don’t want Aemond to touch me either.”

He’s surprised; not by what you feel, but because you’ve said it aloud, a treason like Prometheus giving mankind the gift of fire. “What are we gonna do about it?”

If you were the goddess of wisdom, maybe you’d know.

[libraford]

"Foreign interference" bullshit. Foreign influence from where? Tell me what country.

They're mad that they pulled every dirty trick in the book to keep it from passing and STILL lost.

[goldfades]

✮ 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞, 𝐢 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞. 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞, 𝐢'𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | prologue jump then fall au

au masterlist! masterlist!

♡ ─ word count | 1.7k

♡ ─ summary | adam was resisting the idea of hiring a nanny despite luca's insistence that paloma needed one. they met with a potential nanny who had good credentials and reviews. they decided that cece may be the right person to care for paloma, even if it would take time for adam to fully trust her.

♡ ─ warnings | mention of a troubled past, the hard time opening up, nothing else really!

♡ ─ taglist | TBD! let me know if you want to be in the JUMP THEN FALL AU!

♡ ─ ev's notes | oh my gosh, i haven't been this excited for an AU in a while. i have been so de-motivated for so long and i'm so happy that i'm finally back on my grind LMAO!! but on another note, thank you v @drysdalesv for helping me with this au, i love you and you're so amazing and creative HEHHEHEH. anyway, enjoy!!!

"Adam, come on." Luca sighed as he leaned his head back in annoyance. "She's two, she can't survive on her own and you can't take her to every practice, or game."

Adam sat on the couch of his brand-new apartment as he listened to his brother trying to convince him to get him a nanny. He's been trying ever since the move and he understood why but he wasn't sure he was ready. "People are weird these days, Luca, I'm not gonna just hire someone off the street-"

"Adam, there are websites, background checks and so much more. You're not gonna hire some random person to take of her, I get it, but what do you expect?"

Adam, torn between his protective instincts and the practicality of the situation, sighed. "I know, Luca, I just… I've never been comfortable with the idea of strangers around Paloma. She's my everything."

Luca leaned forward, his voice gentle but firm. "Look, I get it, man. But we can't do this alone. You've got a career to focus on, and I've got my own life to manage, I can't be driving up here everyday and mom and dad have their work. We both love her, but we can't be with her 24/7."

Adam ran a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of responsibility settling on his shoulders. He knew Luca was right, Paloma was his top priority, and his hockey career demanded a lot of his time. It was his dream but he had to make sacrifices sometimes.

"I know, I know. It's just… What if something happens? What if the nanny isn't right for her?" He's heard the stories of those crazy nannies who abuse their power and doesn't even know what he'd do if anything like that happened to Paloma.

Luca put a reassuring hand on his brother's shoulder. "We'll find someone who's perfect for her, someone we can trust. And we'll be there to oversee everything. Paloma deserves a chance to socialize, learn, and grow."

Adam nodded, the corners of his lips lifting slightly as he scoffed playfully. "You always know how to talk me into things, Luca."

Luca grinned happily. "That's what brothers are for, right?"

Adam glanced at his draft photo on the wall, picture of him holding Paloma in his arms, both of them wearing matching smiles on the second best day of his life. It was a simple reminder that Paloma's happiness and well-being were his top priorities. And the more he thought about it he realized that maybe, just maybe, he could find someone who would fit perfectly into their little family.

"Alright, Luca. Let's start looking for a nanny."

──

The air was warm and the scent of flowers filled the outside area of the Cafe Adam had chosen to meet with the new nanny one of his new teammates had told him about. She was around his age, maybe a bit younger, and was currently a student at Ohio State. She seemed like an ideal fit, with a schedule that matched Adam's needs—available Monday through Saturday from 9 am to 2 pm, perfect for morning practices. She also had many positive reviews from previous employers.

Seated outside, Luca observed his brother, who repeatedly checked his phone. Luca couldn't help but let out a soft sigh. "What?"

"She's late," Adam replied, his anxiety evident. He was usually laid back but right now, Luca could tell he was nervous.

"Since when do you care about punctuality? And it's rush hour, she's probably stuck in traffic." Luca replied as he tried to calm the boy down. She was the fifth nanny they'd met with in the span of a few weeks and he still hasn't found a match. Practice was going to start next week and this girl just had to be the right fit or he wouldn't know what else to do.

Adam tried to calm his nerves, playing with his keychain to try and calm his nerves. "Yeah, you're probably right. I just want this to work out, you know? Paloma deserves the best."

With an encouraging smile, Luca affirmed, "And she'll get it, Adam. We'll find the perfect fit for her, someone who'll love her like we do."

Adam nodded, appreciating his brother's reassuring words. He knew Luca was right; they would eventually find the perfect caregiver for Paloma, someone who would care for her as if she were their own.

Just as Adam was about to voice his concerns about the potential nanny's tardiness again, the cafe's entrance door chimed, and a young woman stepped inside. She scanned the outdoor seating area, her gaze locking onto the table where Adam and Luca sat. With a friendly smile, she approached them, her demeanor friendly and sweet.

She was pretty; that was the first thing Adam thought as he looked at her. She had a backpack on and it was obvious she had just come from a lecture, she looked the tiniest bit of tired but Adam thought that made her somewhat more attractive.

"Adam, Luca?" she inquired, her voice warm and welcoming. "I'm so sorry for being a little late, I got stuck in traffic on the way here."

Adam couldn't deny that Cece had a certain charm about her, and he appreciated her honesty. "No worries, Cece," he replied, offering her a warm smile. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Adam, and this is my brother, Luca."

Luca also greeted her with a friendly nod and smile. "Good to meet you, Cece."

Cece settled into the chair across from them, her backpack placed beside her. She seemed at ease, and her friendly demeanor put Adam's initial concerns to rest. It was important that the person they chose to care for Paloma was not only qualified but also someone she could feel comfortable around. The fact that Cece had come straight from a lecture also signaled to Adam that she was hardworking, which he appreciated.

"So, you go to Ohio State?" Luca mumbled playfully as he looked down at his Michigan sweatshirt. Cece let out a soft laugh at that and nodded.

"Yup, buckeye through and through." Cece faked a southern accent which made them both let out a soft chuckle, "Well not really. My entire family has went to Michigan, I'm the first to break the tradition."

As the conversation flowed, Adam couldn't help but steer it towards the topic that mattered most to him—Paloma. He had to know if Cece could connect with his daughter. With a warm smile, he began, "So, Cece, have you worked with toddlers before?"

Cece nodded, "Yeah I have. I worked with a toddler last year but they moved. I also have a little brother and some nieces and nephews.” A smile engulfed her face as she mentioned her family and Adam couldn’t help but be drawn to her genuine warmth. 

"That's wonderful," Adam replied, his own smile growing. "Family means everything to us, and Paloma is like our little princess." 

Luca chimed in, "She's a sweet kid, but she's been through a lot. We want to make sure she's comfortable with whoever takes care of her." Adam couldn’t help but stiffen at the mention of their hardships. He looked down at the table.

Cece sensed the change in the atmosphere as soon as Luca mentioned Paloma's hardships. She couldn’t help but wonder exactly what those were but she wasn’t going to ask anytime soon, it was obvious the wound was still fresh.

"I understand," she said softly, her voice filled with empathy. "Paloma's comfort and happiness will be my top priorities. I'll do my best to create a safe and loving environment for her, so she can heal and thrive."

Adam, still struggling with the memories of the past year, nodded slowly. It was difficult for him to open up about their challenging journey and even Luca still didn’t know the entire story with him and his ex. 

Luca placed a reassuring hand on Adam's shoulder, silently letting him know that they were in this together, and that Cece might just be the right person to help them move forward as a family. 

Adam leaned forward, "That's what we want, someone who can give her love and security. She's the most important thing in my life." Cece could tell how much Adam loves Paloma and she admired that. Her gaze softened as he spoke, it was so heartwarming seeing a father so involved with his daughter. 

Cece met Adam's gaze with sincerity. "I promise you, Adam, Luca, I'll put my heart into making sure Paloma feels loved and safe."

In that moment, as they discussed their shared commitment to Paloma's well-being, Adam felt a sense of hope he hadn't felt in a long time. Cece's warm and genuine personality made him believe that they might have found the perfect person to care for his daughter. Sure, it’d take a while for her to fully gain his trust, (if ever), but he had hope for them.

As their conversation came to a close, Cece, still smiling warmly, glanced at her phone. "I hate to cut it short, but I have to head to my next class soon. Is there anything else you'd like to ask or talk about before I have to leave?"

Adam exchanged a quick look with Luca, silently before nodding. With a smile, he replied, "No, Cece, I think we're good. Thank you for coming to meet with us, and for your willingness to be a part of Paloma's life."

Cece's smile widened, and she stood up, picking up her backpack. "It was my pleasure, Adam. I'm really looking forward to getting to know her better.”

As Cece left the cafe, Luca turned to Adam with a grin. "I think we found our nanny, Adam."

Adam chuckled, a weight lifted off his shoulders. "Yeah, I think so too. She’s good.”

“That’s all you’re gonna say? She’s perfect, Adam.” He chuckled as he picked up the water and took a sip. “And she’s just your type.”

Adam rolled his eyes and groaned at Luca’s insinuation as he laughed. He wasn’t wrong, she is exactly his type and not just on paper, she was sweet and caring and- Adam stopped himself before he got too ahead of himself. “Remember what we both said not even two weeks ago?”

“No girls,” they said in unison and Luca let out a dramatic sigh. They had to focus on family and hockey, their main priorities before getting into any serious relationships. It was mostly Adam, though - after what happened with his ex he felt as if he couldn’t even think about relationships. Hockey and his family, more importantly Paloma, were his top priorities and love was simply a distraction. Right now, at least.  

-> make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated! <-

thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[superlinguo]

Review: How to Talk Language Science with Everybody, Laura Wagner & Cecile McKee

I was delighted to get the chance to review a new book from Laura Wagner & Cecile McKee all about doing lingcomm through hands-on demos and conversations at museums, science fairs and other public events. There's a lot in the book for anyone who wants to start or refine the way they share linguistics with different audiences, particularly those that do face-to-face interactive work.

I have written a full review that is in Language. Below you can read a couple of excerpts from the longer review.

Communicating about linguistics to non-specialist audiences (lingcomm) is a specialist skill set in its own right. Equipping more linguists with these skills is vital if linguistics is going to stake a claim for its relevance to people’s lives as more than a passing curiosity. Until now, this skill set had to be learned mostly through emulation of existing practitioners, online resources and informal networks. Thankfully, Laura Wagner (Ohio State University) and Cecile McKee (University of Arizona) have distilled their extensive experience running lingcomm activities and events into a clear and practical book. How to Talk Language Science with Everyone (Cambridge University Press) illustrates the best of lingcomm practice; it is informed by linguistic research as well as insights from related fields, including psychology, education and anthropology. It also illustrates the best of the lingcomm community more broadly; it is accessible to those new to the practice, encouraging in tone, and passionate about introducing more people to how great linguistics is (a fact taken as given in this book). The closing worksheets of each chapter are a sequence of activities that allow the reader to work towards what the authors call a ‘doable demo’, a well-planned hands-on demo that engages an intended audience in your topic of interest. While the activities in the early chapters are not particularly linked to the chapter topic, as the book builds the activities allow the reader to put the lessons of the chapter to work designing and refining a hands-on demo. The book can make a good classroom resource for anyone lucky enough to be able to run a lingcomm/scicomm subject, but the clear structure of the book means that it can be put to great use in the hands of an individual with time to work through the activities. It would be great to see more people working on short, engaging hands-on demos that capture people’s linguistic imagination (and, as the authors say in the book, sharing them!). Alongside initiatives like 3 Minute Thesis and 5 Minute Linguist, a hands-on demo can be an important part of a linguist’s toolkit for communicating with a range of audiences outside of academia. This book is perfect for you to share with your engaged graduate students or highly-enthusiastic undergraduates.

Thanks to Language for arranging for the review copy!

Wagner, Laura & Cecile McKee. 2023. How to Talk Language Science with Everybody. Cambridge University Press. [Review in Language]

Feeling inspired? For more lingcomm resources visit: https://lingcomm.org/resources/

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Christopher Wiggins at The Advocate:

The federal government is poised to apologize for decades of intolerance toward the LGBTQ+ community. U.S. Senators Tim Kaine, a Democrat from Virginia, and Tammy Baldwin, a Democrat from Wisconsin who is the first out LGBTQ+ person elected to the Senate, have introduced a resolution on Tuesday that seeks to formally apologize for the historical discrimination faced by LGBTQ+ people in the federal workforce. The resolution, introduced during Pride Month, acknowledges the mistreatment and wrongful terminations of LGBTQ+ civil servants, foreign service officers, and service members, dating back to 1949.

“LGBT civil servants, foreign service officers, and service members have made countless sacrifices and contributions to our country and national security. Despite this, our government has subjected them to decades of harassment, invasive investigations, and wrongful termination because of who they are or who they love,” Kaine said in a press release. “This Pride Month, I’m proud to lead this resolution alongside Senator Baldwin to reaffirm our commitment to righting our past wrongs and fighting for equality for all LGBT Americans.”

A dark chapter in history

The resolution highlights the Lavender Scare, a period from the early 1940s through the 1960s during which queer federal employees were targeted and persecuted. This era, marked by heightened suspicion and discrimination, saw thousands of federal workers lose their jobs due to their sexual orientation. The most recent wave of such discrimination was perpetuated by the “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy, which was in effect from 1994 to 2011 and led to the discharge of more than 100,000 LGBTQ+ military service members.

The resolution acknowledges the extensive harm caused by these discriminatory policies, stating, “the Federal Government discriminated against and terminated hundreds of thousands of lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender individuals who served the United States in the uniformed services, the Foreign Service, and the Federal civil service for decades, causing untold harm to those individuals professionally, financially, socially, and medically, among other harms.”

[...]

Support and future steps

The resolution is co-sponsored by a host of prominent Democratic senators, including Chris Coons of Delaware, Jeff Merkley from Oregon, Pennsylvania’s John Fetterman, Patty Murray from Washington, Brian Schatz of Hawaii, Jeanne Shaheen from New Hampshire, Bob Casey from Pennsylvania, Dick Durbin of Illinois, Massachusetts’s Edward Markey, Richard Blumenthal from Connecticut, Ben Cardin of Maryland, Rhode Island’s Sheldon Whitehouse, Kirsten Gillibrand of New York, Colorado’s Michael Bennet, Ron Wyden from Oregon, Sherrod Brown of Ohio, and Virginia’s Mark R. Warner.

What happens next?

The Senate will now review the resolution. If it gains sufficient support, it will proceed to a vote. If passed, it will serve as a formal acknowledgment and apology for the historical injustices faced by LGBTQ+ federal employees.

Tim Kaine and Tammy Baldwin, a pair of Democratic Senators, introduced a resolution seeking a formal apology for decades of anti-LGBTQ+ discrimination in the federal government, especially during the Lavender Scare era.

[depressedgarbages-stuff]

All posts of the situation of 🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸 I saw today (Thu, May 23.):

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[britishchick09]

facts about josefina, kirsten, addy, kit and julie! :D

(from their new pages!)

✿ To learn more about what Josefina’s life would have been like, author Valerie Tripp spent two summers in New Mexico. She visited living history museums and interviewed elderly New Mexican women about the daily lives of Hispanic families and children in rural New Mexico.

The models for Josefina’s home were la El Rancho de las Golondrinas near Santa Fe and Hacienda de los Martinez near Taos, NM. Both are former ranchos from Josefina’s time and now living history museums that you can visit today.

Josefina’s first and last names are drawn from the New Mexican censuses of 1790 and 1823.

American Girl worked closely with the advisory board to decide what Josefina would look like. Board member Felipe Mirabal even cut off a lock of his own hair and sent it to AG to ensure that the Josefina doll’s hair color was just right!

Although Josefina is actually a Mexican citizen, the advisory board felt comfortable calling her an “American girl” because her story presents a history and heritage that’s an integral part of America today.

By the end of her series, Josefina has a new mother. This plot element symbolizes the change for the Spanish settlers of New Mexico and the Southwest, who lost their mother country of Mexico when they became citizens of the United States, their new mother country. ✿

✿ Kirsten was one of the first three characters in The American Girls Collection, along with Samantha and Molly, when Pleasant Company debuted.

The Kirsten doll and accessories were “archived” in 2010 and have only been rereleased once in 2021 and once in 2024 since then.

One of the outfits that was sold for Kirsten was a housecoat and sockor, or wool slippers. The sockor for the Kirsten doll were handmade by a woman in Sweden beginning in 1987 for twenty years.

The original family portrait in Kirsten’s books is made to look like a daguerreotype, which is a type of photograph from the time. Later, the portraits of Kirsten’s family and friends were done individually to match the other American Girl books.

In Pleasant Rowland’s original business plan, Kirsten was named Rebecca, and was a Norwegian immigrant in 1865.

The team who created Kirsten did a lot of research with the Minnesota and Wisconsin Historical Societies, who had a lot of information about the Swedish settlers who came to these states in the 1800s.

Kirsten’s Swedish dirndl and kerchief outfit were first released in 1989. ✿

✿ Addy was the first American Girl doll that came with pierced ears.

The cowrie shell necklace that Addy wears is special, as the cowrie has ritual significance for some West African cultures.

The Addy doll and books debuted in September 1993. She was the fifth historical character and the first Black character.

Pleasant Rowland, the founder of American Girl, reached out to author Connie Porter to write the Addy book series after reading her adult novel All-Bright Court.

To promote the Addy book series, American Girl took author Connie Porter on a 10-city author tour to bookstores, libraries, and schools, reaching an audience of more than 15,000 people.

Researchers on Addy confirmed when the full moon would have been during Addy and her mother’s escape from enslavement in 1864 to ensure historical accuracy in the timing.

The museum program, Addy at Ohio Village, debuted in 1998.

The dialect used in the Addy books was created by author Connie Porter to be a balance between what speech of the time would’ve sounded like and what is accessible for young readers and was reviewed by two dialect experts at Jacksonville State University in Alabama.

Addy was the first American Girl character to have an advisory board. Addy’s advisory board was made up of Black historians, educators, and museum curators who ensured the depiction of Addy’s life and times was historically accurate.

The advisory board for Addy included: Lonnie Bunch, Cheryl Chisholm, Spencer Crew, Violet Harris, Wilma King, June Powell, and Janet Sims-Wood.

Addy’s first three books sold more than a million copies in the year they were released.

Some of the original time periods discussed for American Girl’s first Black character included the Harlem Renaissance and the Civil Rights era, which were used later for Claudie Wells and Melody Ellison, respectively. ✿

✿ Kit Kittredge is the seventh historical character that American Girl created.

When she wrote the Kit books, author Valerie Tripp was inspired by her mother, who was Kit’s age in 1932.

The movie Kit Kittredge: An American Girl was released in 2008 and starred Abigail Breslin as Kit—plus actors Chris O’Donnell, Julia Ormond, Joan Cusack, and Stanley Tucci.

Illustrator Walter Rane used himself as a model for the grumpy grocery store owner in Kit’s stories.

When Kit launched, American Girl held events called Kit’s Share and Care Party where girls were invited to donate canned goods for a food drive.

Like Kit’s dad, author Valerie Tripp’s grandfather paid his staff out of his own pocket as long as he could, but eventually had to close his hotel during the Great Depression.

Kit was the first American Girl character doll with freckles and the first with short hair.

Development on Kit was started before Mattel purchased Pleasant Company (American Girl’s original company name) but she was launched after the purchase.

After the launch of the Kit doll and books, Valerie Tripp received a letter from a woman named Kit Kittredge who had grown up in Cincinnati during the Depression and was very excited about the coincidence!

American Girl’s Claudie Wells, whose stories are set in the 1920s, could have faced the challenges of the Great Depression in her teens and twenties. ✿

✿ When Julie launched, in 2007, American Girl historical characters’ years had always ended in 4, so Julie’s year was set as 1974—even though her stories begin in 1975.

Julie’s stories are set in San Francisco to express the open-minded, progressive spirit of her time. At the forefront of the hippie counterculture, San Francisco’s colorful, creative, free-wheeling vibe strongly influenced the music, fashion, and art of the 1970s.

When Julie debuted, some customers felt American Girl should not depict a girl with divorced parents. But since about 50% of kids today live with divorced parents, the creators of Julie felt it was important to have a character and doll who represented their experience.

Author Megan McDonald has four sisters who inspire many of her stories. Quite a few of the scenes between Julie and her teenage sister Tracy were inspired by Megan’s experience growing up with her sisters.

When she’s running for election to student body president, Julie debates her opponent, a popular sixth-grade boy. The 1976 Ford-Carter election debates inspired author Megan McDonald to come up with this plotline.

When author Megan McDonald was ten, her first published story appeared in her school newspaper. Her story was about a pencil sharpener! ✿