#when I catch u James vowel….

[marsmartinii]

The amt of pain in my heart over Logan not having a seat is immeasurable and it quite literally ruined my day, gonna doodle the man in question and hope it alleviates my pain 💔😞

[isaidlandowecanbeworldchampion]

James Vowles clearly learnt nothing from the Toto Wolff School of Running a Formula 1 Team..

[moonstruckme]

hope ur having a delightful break bb, lord knows you deserve it!!! <3 i've got a little request for you whenever you're back, if you're interested in writing it - i would love to see poly!marauders with a reader who's high and giggly and they're lightly teasing/they think it's cute!! either way, i'm sending my love and hugs and kisses to u!!! <33

Combined this with: hi lovely !! i hope you’ve had an amazing day/night <33 if you haven’t already (i’m sorry if you did, ignore this if you have !), can you write a poly!marauders x fem reader who loves sea animals and the boys decide to take her to an aquarium? Thank you both for requesting, hope this is alright <33

cw: weed

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 770 words

Sirius is fairly sure this is the best idea he’s ever had. And he will be expecting full credit. 

Your eyes are giant and filled to the brim with wonder as you stare into the tank, your face awash in a blue glow that shifts with the water. 

“A flamboyant cuttlefish,” you murmur, seemingly to yourself. 

Behind you, James squeezes Remus’ hand playfully. “You’re my cuttlefish,” he whispers. Remus groans. 

Sirius follows your gaze. “Oh, that thing is ugly.” 

“Don’t say that!” You reach back without turning around, smacking his chest lightly with the back of your hand. Your face is split into the same grin that has hardly wavered since the gummy you’d taken first kicked in. “They can change colors whenever they want. You’re totally jealous.” 

“And yet it’s chosen shit brown.” 

James releases Remus’ hand to come and crouch beside you, tracking the fish’s movements with dilated pupils. “Is that why it’s flamboyant?” he asks you.

You hum happily. “When they’re threatened, they shift colors and move their fins. They’re also highly toxic. So,” you shoot your boyfriend an impish look, “just like Sirius.” 

James’ laughter is booming. He takes on the role of your protector, sticking out an arm to ward Sirius off when the other boy grabs for you. Remus shushes them both, shooting apologetic looks towards irritated-looking aquarium patrons. 

“Where do you learn all this stuff, dove?” he asks you at a more polite volume. “TV?” 

Your grin turns sheepish. James makes heart eyes at you, thumbing at the dimple in your cheek. “Would it make you feel better if I said I read it in a study?” 

“A bit, yeah.” 

“Too bad.” 

You erupt in giggles at your own joke. James tries to catch you when you tip backwards, but instead the both of you go down, your laughter worsening. 

“Jesus,” Remus murmurs, shaking his head. He’s doing a poor job hiding his own amusement, though, the scar across his lip stretching as he suppresses a smile. 

Sirius snickers as he crouches in front of the two of you. “Having fun?” 

“Yeah.” Your grin is lopsided. Dopey. “Thanks for sharing with me. I feel nice.” 

“Anytime, gorgeous.” 

“I really like weed.” 

“Alright,” Remus steps in, hooking his arms under your and James’ armpits to haul you both up, “let’s quiet down about that, love. Go back to looking at the fish.” 

“Oh!” you gasp and point. “That one looks just like you, Siri!” 

Sirius is about done with this game, he thinks as he stands to peer into the glass. His mouth puckers in distaste. “Thanks,” he stretches out the vowels, making his insincerity heard. 

“No, no.” You throw yourself into his side cajolingly. He pretends to ignore you, and you hang off his arm, laughing. “Baby, it’s because it has fine features and it’s, like, glowy. See?” 

 “It’s a fish,” Remus points out. 

James squints, nose nearly touching the glass. “I think I kind of see it,” he says. You nod eagerly. “Why does this fish have cheekbones? Do they usually?” 

You shake your head, looking somewhat flummoxed. There’s a cute crinkle between your brows. Remus looks at you curiously. 

“Do you know what kind that is?” he asks you. 

You frown. “I don’t.” 

“Okay,” he says, taking your hand to go to the signs bordering the tank, “let’s find out.” 

Sirius is a tad jealous as you lean into Remus’ front, playing with his fingers, but Remus won't be diverted. He scans the placards until he finds it. 

“Here, it’s a flashlightfish,” he says quietly. You make a satisfied humming sound, leaning forward to scan the information with eager eyes. “Flashlightfish prefer to stay out of the sun,” Remus reads, “hiding in deeper reef waters during the day. They have small bean-shaped pockets under either eye which are filled with billions of symbiotic bacteria that emit a biochemical light.” Sirius lets the words filter in one ear and out the other, but you’re rapt. Your wide eyes shift from the placard to the fish itself, watching as its light winks in and out. “This light is used to evade predators as well as for a visual Morse code to attract mates and communicate within schools of fish.” 

Sirius watches as the two of you stand there for a minute, Remus’ arms slung loosely over your front as blue light from the tank dances over you both. 

“You could do audiobooks,” you tell Remus. Your voice is chock full of sincerity. “You’ve got the voice for it.”

He chuckles, setting his chin on your head fondly. “You think so?”

“Mhm.” 

“Thanks, dove.” 

[bloodyymaryyy]

Could you do fic for James Vowles with wife reader and their children? They went for a walk around the paddock to help James relax after the races. Just spending time together as a family. They encounter other drivers and tp's along the way. You decide how it goes. Thanks!!! :))

Destressing

James Vowels x reader

Side note : holy shit this is the first in a while request that I got so thank you anon! N e way I cut my thumb so it is gonna be hard to write with only one thumb let's hope it's actually good and without mistakes! I am also working on pt3 of gossip girl xoxo but my Tumblr is fucked and thete is nothing I can so, I can't fucking see my posts or liked or the messages that I sent or get sent from anyone and my drafts are publishing themselves somehow so bear that in mind!!! @support @staff help

From the start of this sillys season James was stress running around with the car being not even mediocre it's not an ideal situation. Not at all and having to balance it out with his wife who has been his rock throughout everything from the moment he bought Williams u till not but also having her own demanding job an two young kids both boys ages of the older Tyler thirteen and the other eleven josh.

Having two boys might be easier to handle sometimes than girls it's no helping really but they make it happen. More so their mother y/n because James is out of the country every other day. Having to take them to their activities football for josh and basketball for Tyler then help them do their homework and take them to their friends houses in between her own work and make dinner, clean the house and shop for the next week of groceries, she finds a bit comfort shopping where she can relax and shop in her own pace and or when everyone is not home or in the weekend when she gets to hang out with her own friends.

Finding an open week to join her husband and go to the race Friday when the kids finish with school y/n took them to their house ta pack for a week they took of Friday evening and head to the next GP where they surprised James.

Spending time with him in his spare time or out exploring the city with her boys where they were happy to see another country other than Britain where they live and their mothers mother land ( it can be your country or if you are British then choose). Where they go every two summers.

On Saturday when it's a bit more calm for James you go around the track all together finding other team principals or various drivers with there own team colours and logos but regardless having a conversation with anyone who had the time or even a few camera crews where their are film them having wholesome moments.

Taking about different things like school, sports, shopping, vacation and generally talking about everything, catching up to one other and eating and drinking smoothies from the hospitality, just having fun discussing things for the future when its time to hot to the hotel they go and sleep for the next day full of events and activities

[mara-the-cactupus]

Let’s Hit the Highway at Warp Speed - 5

- 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - (ao3) -

Jim drove them past open fields and blue sky, blaring rock music so loud that the cars opposite them were probably getting hit with bursts of sudden noise as they sped the other way. Finally, when the sun was high enough in the sky to hide the shadows from view, Nyota unbuckled her seatbelt, leaned back around the passenger seat, and turned off the radio with a click. “Hey, what was that for?” asked Jim indignantly, glancing between the backseat and the road. Nyota had settled back into her seat and was picking at fries from a paper drive-through bag; Spock was still methodically chewing his salad. “We’ve been listening to that for the past five hours,” said Nyota, brushing salt off her fingers. “It’s time for a break.” “Aww, come on,” Jim moaned. “We just had a break! Besides, you can’t cut off the Beastie Boys in the middle of a track.” “I just did. And stopping at a drive-through does not count as a ‘break.’ Spock agrees with me, don’t you, Spock?” The Vulcan peeled his gaze away from his lettuce. “I would agree that six-point-six minutes of silence hardly qualifies as a ‘break,’ when compared to the overall length of the music. Additionally, I have found this music to be somewhat… distracting from my concentration.”

“There.” She pursed her lips smugly. “Do you need me to drive again?” Jim sat up a little straighter at her suggestion. “Nah, I wanna reach Colorado first.” “Fine,” sighed Nyota, rolling her eyes. “Just let me know if you get sleepy.” “Will do. Now, by all means, continue whatever it is that requires your concentration, Spock.” “I shall endeavor to do so,” replied Spock, setting aside his fork. “I am teaching Nyota the written Vulcan language.” “Wait, what?” Jim glanced back over his shoulder; Nyota had handed Spock a notepad she’d been writing in, and he was now scanning over her handwritten symbols. “Most impressive… she has already memorized the basic script, and with the added distraction of your music.” Nyota beamed. “I’m used to it,” she explained modestly. “My dorm had thin walls.” “Excellent. Now we can start attaching sounds to symbols.” Spock followed his words with a harsh glottal noise, which Nyota attempted to mimic. “Oh, great,” muttered Jim. He turned down the volume knob and furtively switched the radio back on, the music soft, humming to himself to supplement the sounds that Nyota and Spock were making in the backseat as he sped closer to the old truck ahead of them. He glanced over at the lane for oncoming traffic – yes, clear, damn that double yellow line – and then over his shoulder, getting ready to swoop past the truck in an illegal maneuver– SCREECH. He slammed on the breaks, hurling the three of them against their seatbelts as the van jerked to a halt. There was the sound of three heads smacking back into headrests, and then a general squeal of complaint from the engine. They took a collective breath. Jim, coming to his senses first, hit the safety blinkers and cranked the gearshift into reverse, backing them up a few feet and onto the shoulder. “What,” began Nyota, peeling herself from her seatback the moment the van settled to a stop. She craned her neck around to see through the windshield, and her eyes widened. “Don’t tell me we almost crashed into that truck.” “It– I– In my defense, its break lights are dead,” said Jim feebly. “By my estimation, we were three-point-one seconds away from impact.” The two humans turned to stare incredulously at Spock, who was positioned in the middle back seat with a full view of the windshield, looking somewhat ruffled. “Three-point-one?” “Plus or minus one half-second,” he clarified. The slight break in his voice was the only hint that this situation was anything other than normal. “Holy shit,” breathed Nyota. “Okay, I’m getting out.” Jim followed her lead, killing the engine and stumbling out of the van with a cautious glance at the mercifully empty road behind them. Meanwhile, the door of the truck too had opened, and an irritated voice could be heard grumbling from inside. “Dammit, first the lights, now the engine… I’m a doctor, not a mechanic, for god’s sake!” A man emerged from the vehicle, stretching his limbs stiffly and surveying the damage. Then he turned, and caught Jim’s eye. “Oh dear lord, please tell me I didn’t almost murder three people,” he said, horrified. “I, um, was following you pretty closely,” admitted Jim. “So if it’s any consolation, it would have been my fault too.” The man gaped at Jim, with a look that said very clearly that this information was definitely not a consolation. “Why don’t we move off the road?” suggested Nyota, glancing nervously behind them. “Great idea,” said Jim. “If we push, can you steer the wheels towards the shoulder?” “You better be the one to do that, kid,” said the man, still looking shellshocked. Jim shrugged and headed for the driver’s side door. Nyota planted her feet in the ground, hands on the back of the truckbed; the man quickly copied her, with Spock bringing up the rear. “Okay, on three!” called Jim. “One– two–” They pushed, and suddenly the truck was moving forwards, gaining speed. Nyota took her hands off, surprised, as they swerved off the road and Jim hastily corrected the wheels. The man glanced over with a puzzled look, too, before they both saw the cause of their confusion: Spock, his fingers on the rim of the truckbed, propelling the entire vehicle forwards with such ease that he looked like he was pushing a shopping cart through the cereal aisle. “Aaaand… stop!” called Jim from the front, climbing onto the seat to engage the emergency brake. He hopped down, ambling towards them with an expectant look on his face that faltered slightly when he saw the two humans standing dumbly several feet behind the truck. He glanced between them and opened his mouth to ask a question, then thought twice. He turned to the man instead. “Got any tools?” Ten minutes later, he was giving the man a full autopsy report. “The battery’s dead; if we can’t jumpstart it that means you need a new one… you’ll need new brake lights, of course, and your mirror’s broken too… these wires are fraying… and this buddy over here’ll need to get replaced too, unless you want your engine to explode. How many miles did you say were on this thing? I’ll be honest with you, it would probably be cheaper just to get a new car.” “Yeah, tell me something I don’t know,” grumbled the man. “I’m telling you, the ex-wife didn’t even fight for this truck, that’s how worthless it is. She took everything she could get her grubby little hands on. But this piece of shit? Nah, this ain’t worth a dime.” “Wait wait, hang on.” Jim pulled out his phone. “I know a gal. I mean, I met her once at a music festival– we met in the parking lot, actually; she had this really cool bike–“ “Oh my god, please don’t say that you slept with her,” muttered Nyota, from her perch on the hood of the Enterprise. Spock stood between them, arms neatly folded behind his back, observing silently. “I didn’t, actually; she had this stick and I saw her beat up some guys who tried to flirt with her. But the point is, she’ll buy it off of you for cheap. Trust me, it’s better than getting towed.” He crowed triumphantly, holding up his phone. “We’re in luck! She’s just seven minutes away!” “You track her GPS?” asked Nyota incredulously. “No, she uses these special radio frequencies to communicate,” Jim explained. “I plug in our coordinates, and… ta-da!” “Yeah, you lost me there,” grumbled the man. “Well, assuming this girlfriend of yours doesn’t beat us all up with a stick, what am I supposed to do after that? I got nowhere to go and no car to get me there. I suppose it’s just the Lord’s way of punishing me for leaving the South behind.” Jim glanced at Nyota before replying. “Well… you could catch a ride with us,” he offered. “We’re heading west, planning to stop off in Colorado tonight.” The man considered this for a moment, gazing mournfully over at the small assortment of bags piled into the back of his truck. Then he looked at the van. “Thanks,” he mumbled, looking sheepish. He cleared his throat. “I’m Leonard McCoy, by the way. Doctor.” “Jim Kirk,” said Jim wryly, shaking his hand. “And these two mononym’d fellas are Uhura and Spock.” “Actually, I too have a family name,” Spock corrected. “I am S'chn T'gai Spock.” “Sichin-ta-what?” “S'chn T’gai,” parroted Nyota. Spock nodded approvingly, and she turned a smug smile on Jim. “It has less vowels than English,” she explained. “Think consonant clusters, like in tsunami or splice. You get more extreme versions in Armenian or Polish, like the word wszczniesz…” Jim frowned, glancing at McCoy, who was staring at Uhura with a kind of tired disbelief. “But tsunami… never mind,” Jim said quickly, as she opened her mouth again, no doubt to chide him from mispronouncing the word. He glanced up at the road. “Hey, speaking of things that appear suddenly on the horizon…” A motorcycle rumbled into view, heading towards them from the opposite side of the highway. Jim waved his hands excitedly as it passed, and the bike did a U-ey, sliding smoothly to a stop beside the Enterprise. The bike was large, and had a certain custom feel about it: based on the skeleton of a factory model, it appeared to have been stripped, then rebuilt, combining elements of different motors and metals until the end result was an inventive, practical machine with much more storage space than would be expected from your average motorcycle. In addition to a boxy sidecar attachment, the front and back ends both extended out into functional compartments. On the “dashboard,” between the front handles, a sort of police radio-like contraption was secured to the makeshift windshield. “Sweet Jesus,” muttered McCoy. Then the biker stepped down, and took off her helmet, revealing dark bangs and a braid streaked with white. “James Tee,” she said, by way of greeting. “Jaylah!” replied Jim. “Glad you could come.” “You are lucky I am nearby,” she said, marching over to the hood of the truck. “I am following a signal east. This is the one, yes?” “Yep, it belongs to him,” explained Jim, gesturing to McCoy. Jaylah’s gaze swept over him, then lingered on Spock and Nyota before she turned her attention back to the truck. “You said you met her at a music festival?” Nyota murmured, taking in the dark leather jacket and medium-brown skin. “When was this, exactly?” “Spring break,” Jim replied. “But she mostly hung out in the parking lot, haggling for monster-truck parts.” Nyota raised an eyebrow, amused. “Yeah, she’s definitely out of your league.” “Hey, yours too,” pouted Jim, looking wounded. He grinned when she gave him a sharp glare. “Okay, so maybe you’ve got a better shot. Just don’t flaunt it. Did I mention that she likes the Beastie Boys too?” They broke off their whispering as the biker in question came back into view, running a hand along the side of the truckbed and kicking the tires to check for air. Then she marched up to McCoy, and started counting out dollar bills. They haggled over the price for a few minutes, and Jim wandered back to the Enterprise, plopping down in the front seat and busying himself with fiddling with the air conditioning. Finally, the two shook hands, and the doctor began unloading his bags from the truck, depositing them in the luggage compartment under the van. After a last check of the truck, he handed over the keys. “All aboard?” called Jim, as Nyota, Spock, and McCoy piled into the backseat. “I gotta sit facing forwards or I’m gonna throw up on you,” McCoy warned, causing Spock to inch over to the far windowseat warily. Nyota took the seat across from Spock, slamming the door behind her. “Good luck, James Tee,” shouted Jaylah, through the open window. “Good luck, Doctor Bones!” She waved at the other two, catching Nyota’s eye. “You too!” Jim grinned, waving back. He steered the van back onto the road again, and soon she and the truck were fading into the distance in the rearview mirror. “Doctor Bones?” Jim repeated, when they had hit ten above the speed limit again, and were cruising smoothly. “Don’t ask,” grumbled the doctor, ignoring Jim’s grin. Jim clicked on the radio, turning the dial up to its original volume. “Welcome aboard the Enterprise, Doctor Bones,” he announced cheerfully. “Next stop, Colorado!” Nyota rolled her eyes as the music drowned him out.

[profeminist]

The BIG list of free Feminist / Gender / Audiobooks by Women via Audible.com

Updated 4/23/17: Here is a masterlist of feminist books and books by or about women and the LGBTQIA+ community that are available for free with a trial signup to Audible.com. As I update the list over the coming week I’ll reflect the current date at the top of the list!

Through a current promotion, you can sign up for a free trial, cancel within 30 days and you get to keep the two books forever! 

30 days of membership free, plus two free audiobooks that are yours forever.

1 credit a month after trial, good for any book regardless of price.

Exclusive members savings. Get 30% off any additional audiobooks.

Easy exchanges. Don’t love a book? Swap it for free, anytime. Seriously.

PLEASE REMEMBER: After 30 days it’s $14.95/month, so set yourself a calendar alert to cancel if you’re not interested in continuing. I don’t want anyone to get an unbudgeted $14.95 charge because they forgot to cancel!

Here’s the link: Audible Free Trial Digital Membership  

AVAILABLE AUDIOBOOKS (updated 4/23/17)

Feminist  Books

Margaret Atwood: The Handmaid’s Tale

Laura Bates: Everyday Sexism

Jessica Benett: Feminist Fight Club: An Office Survival Manual for a Sexist Workplace

Susan Brownmiller: Femininity

Annie E. Clark and Andrea L. Pino: We Believe You: Survivors of Campus Sexual Assault Speak Out

Kira Cochrane: All the Rebel Women: The Rise of the Fourth Wave of Feminism

Angela Y. Davis:  Freedom Is a Constant Struggle: Ferguson, Palestine, and the Foundations of a Movement

Kirby Dick and Amy Ziering: The Hunting Ground: The Inside Story of Sexual Assault on American College Campuses

Nora Ephron: Crazy Salad and Scribble, Scribble: Some Things About Women and Notes on Media

Nora Ephron: I Feel Bad About My Neck: And Other Thoughts On Being A Woman

Roxane Gay: Bad Feminist: Essays

Kate Harding: Asking for It: The Alarming Rise of Rape Culture - and What We Can Do About It

Jill Lepore: The Secret History of Wonder Woman

Ariel Levy: Female Chauvinist Pigs: Women and the Rise of Raunch Culture

Audre Lorde: Sister Outsider: Essays and Speeches

Catilin Moran: How to Be a Woman

Catilin Moran: How to Build a Girl  

Caitlin Moran: Moranifesto

Kate Harding: Asking for It: The Alarming Rise of Rape Culture - and What We Can Do About It

Tamara Winfrey Harris: The Sisters Are Alright: Changing the Broken Narrative of Black Women in America  

Jack Holland:  A Brief History of Misogyny: the World’s Oldest Prejudice

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie : Dear Ijeawele, or A Feminist Manifesto in Fifteen Suggestions

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie: We Should All Be Feminists

Peggy Orenstein: Cinderella Ate My Daughter: Dispatches from the Front Lines of the New Girlie-Girl Culture

Peggy Orenstein: Girls & Sex: Navigating the Complicated New Landscape

Tony Porter: Breaking Out of the “Man Box”: The Next Generation of Manhood

Phoebe Robinson: You Can’t Touch My Hair: And Other Things I Still Have to Explain

Sheryl Sandberg: Lean In: Women, Work, and the Will to Lead

Sheryl Sandberg: Lean In for Graduates

Kate Schatz: Rad American Women A-Z: Rebels, Trailblazers, and Visionaries Who Shaped Our History…and Our Future!

Gloria Steinem:Moving Beyond Words: Essays on Age, Rage, Sex, Power, Money, Muscles: Breaking the Boundaries of Gender

Gloria Steinem:Outrageous Acts and Everyday Rebellions

Rebecca Traister:  All the Single Ladies: Unmarried Women and the Rise of an Independent Nation

Jessica Valenti: Full Frontal Feminism: A Young Woman’s Guide to Why Feminism Matters

Jessica Valenti: Sex Object: A Memoir

Jessica Valenti: The Purity Myth: How America’s Obsession with Virginity Is Hurting Young Women

Jessica Valenti: He’s a Stud, She’s a Slut, and 49 Other Double Standards Every Woman Should Know

Lindy West: Shrill: Notes from a Loud Woman

Naomi Wolf: The Beauty Myth: How Images of Beauty Are Used Against Women

Mary Wollstonecraft:  A Vindication of the Rights of Woman

Malala Yousafzai: I Am Malala: How One Girl Stood Up for Education and Changed the World

Andi Zeisler: We Were Feminists Once: From Riot Grrrl to CoverGirl®, the Buying and Selling of a Political Movement

LGBTQIA+ Authors

Dorothy Allison: Bastard Out of Carolina: A Novel

James Baldwin: Notes of a Native Son

Alan Cummings: Not My Father’s Son: A Memoir

Ellen DeGeneres: Seriously … I’m Kidding

Ellen DeGeneres: The Funny Thing Is …

Jennifer Finney Boylan: She’s Not There: A Life in Two Genders

Laura Jane Grace: Tranny; Confessions of Punk Rock’s Most Infamous Anarchist Sellout

Hannah Hart: Buffering: Unshared Tales of a Life Fully Loaded

Jazz Jennings: Being Jazz: My Life as a (Transgender) Teen

Janet Mock: Redefining Realness: My Path to Womanhood, Identity, Love & So Much More

Tig Notaro: I’m Just a Person

Funny Women

Samantha Bee: I Know I Am, But What Are You?

Carol Burnett: In Such Good Company: Eleven Years of Laughter, Mayhem, and Fun in the Sandbox

Carol Burnett: This Time Together: Laughter and Reflection

Ellen DeGeneres: Seriously … I’m Kidding

Felicia Day: You’re Never Weird on the Internet (Almost)

Rachel Dratch: Girl Walks into a Bar…: Comedy Calamities, Dating Disasters, and a Midlife Miracle

Tina Fey, Bossypants

Miranda Hart: Is It Just Me?

Miranda Hart: Miranda Hart’s Joke Shop

Mindy Kaling: Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (And Other Concerns)

Mindy Kaling:  Why Not Me?

Anna Kendrick: Scrappy Little Nobody

Jessi Klein: You’ll Grow Out of It

Jane Lynch: Happy Accidents

Tig Notaro: I’m Just a Person

Amy Poehler: Yes Please

Issa Rae: The Misadventures of Awkward Black Girl

Sarah Silverman: The Bedwetter: Stories of Courage, Redemption, and Pee

Aisha Tyler: Self-Inflicted Wounds: Heartwarming Tales of Epic Humiliation

Betty White: If You Ask Me (And of Course You Won’t)

Betty White: Here We Go Again: My Life In Television

Rocking Women

Carrie Brownstein:  Hunger Makes Me a Modern Girl: A Memoir

Kim Gordon: Girl In a Band: A Memoir

Athletes & Coaches

Simone Biles: Courage to Soar: A Body in Motion, A Life in Balance

Tamika Catchings: Catch a Star: Shining through Adversity to Become a Champion

Gabrielle Douglas: Grace, Gold, and Glory My Leap of Faith

Laurie Hernandez: I Got This: To Gold and Beyond

Carli Lloyd: All Heart: My Dedication and Determination to Become One of Soccer’s Best

Pat Head Summitt: Sum It Up: A Thousand and Ninety-Eight Victories, a Couple of Irrelevant Losses, and a Life in Perspective

Abby Wambach: Forward: A Memoir

More Memoirs  

Maya Angelou: I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

Drew Barrymore: Wildflower

Carrie Fisher: The Princess Diarist

Anne Frank: Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl

Ruth Bader Ginsburg: My Own Words

Diane Guerrero: In the Country We Love: My Family Divided

Taraji P. Henson: Around the Way Girl: A Memoir

Coretta Scott King: My Life, My Love, My Legacy

Zora Neale Hurston: Dust Tracks on a Road: An Autobiography

Angie Martinez: My Voice: A Memoir

Shonda Rhimes: Year of Yes: How to Dance It Out, Stand In the Sun and Be Your Own Person

Robin Roberts: Everybody’s Got Something

Hillary Rodham Clinton: Living History

Hillary Rodham Clinton: Hard Choices

Sonia Sotomayor: My Beloved World

Gloria Steinem: My Life on the Road

Lindsey Stirling: The Only Pirate at the Party

Cheryl Strayed: Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail

Amy Tan: The Opposite of Fate: Memories of a Writing Life

Elizabeth Warren: A Fighting Chance

Elizabeth Warren: This Fight Is Our Fight: The Battle to Save America’s Middle Class

Mara Wilson: Where Am I Now? True Stories of Girlhood and Accidental Fame

Novelists & Short Story Writers

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie: Americanah

Isabel Allende: The House of the Spirits: A Novel

Jane Austin: Pride and Prejudice

Lucia Berlin: A Manual for Cleaning Women: Selected Stories

Charlotte Bronte: Jane Eyre

Emily Bronte: Wuthering Heights

Kate Burton: A Tree Grows in Brooklyn

Octavia Butler: Parable of the Talents

Octavia Butler: Kindred

Octavia Butler: Parable of the Sower

Louise Erdrich: The Round House: A Novel

Cristina Garcia: Dreaming in Cuban

Nadia Hashimi: The Pearl That Broke Its Shell

Shirley Jackson: We Have Always Lived in the Castle

Maxine Hong Kingston: The Woman Warrior: Memoirs of a Girlhood Among Ghosts

Jhumpa Lahiri: Interpreter of Maladies

Doris Lessing: The Golden Notebook

Audre Lord: Zami: A New Spelling of My Name

Zora Neale Hurston: Their Eyes Were Watching God

Leslie Marmon Silko: Ceremony

Leslie Marmon Silko: Almanac of the Dead

Leslie Marmon Silko: Storyteller

Gloria Naylor: Women of Brewster Place

Gloria Naylor: Mama Day

Gloria Naylor: Bailey’s Café

Ann Patchett: Commonwealth

J.K. Rowling: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them

Zadie Smith: Swing Time

Amy Tan: The Joy Luck Club

Amy Tan: The Kitchen God’s Wife

Amy Tan: The Bonesetter’s Daughter

Angie Thomas: The Hate U Give

Toni Morrison: Home: A Novel

Toni Morrison: Sula

Toni Morrison: Song of Solomon

Toni Morrison: Beloved

Toni Morrison: The Bluest Eye

Toni Morrison: Sula

Ntozake Shange: For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When the Rainbow Is Enuf

Sarah Vowell: Unfamiliar Fishes

Alice Walker: The Color Purple

Virginia Woolf: Mrs. Dalloway

Virginia Woolf: To the Lighthouse

Virginia Woolf: The Waves

Virginia Woolf: A Room of One’s Own

Non-Fiction and Political Writers

Michelle Alexander: The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness

Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz: An Indigenous Peoples’ History of the United States: Revisioning American History

Melissa V. Harris-Perry: Sister Citizen: Shame, Stereotypes, and Black Women in America

Rachel Maddow: Drift: The Unmooring of American Military Power

Reshma Saujani: Girls Who Code: Learn to Code and Change the World

Margot Lee Shetterly: Hidden Figures: The American Dream and the Untold Story of the Black Women Mathematicians Who Helped Win the Space Race

[wcrmtale-blog]

001. BASICS.

FULL NAME. Peter Douglas Pettigrew

NICKNAME. Pete, Wormtail, Wormy, Dougie (but very specifically only by certain aunts)

BIRTHDAY.  May 21st, 1960

GENDER. Cisgender male

SEXUALITY. Questioning (bisexual)

RELATIONSHIP STATUS. Single

SPOKEN LANGUAGES. English, some poor Latin retention from Hogwarts

ACCENT. All Sheffield, dropping his h’s, making his u’s into uh’s, contorting vowels and dropping plurals, turning behind into be-yind. Pete himself tends to insert plenty of speech breaks, liberally peppered with filler words (all those good ums and ahs), though his sentences tend to blur together rather than having an audible period/pause after every idea. Peter’s a notorious mumbler, always checking himself to try and chin up and speak a little more defined so he and his conversational partner don’t have to play the painful ‘can you repeat that?’ game.

BIRTHPLACE. Sheffield, South Yorkshire, England

ASTROLOGICAL SIGN. Taurus/Gemini cusp. One of the Earth signs, Taurus has a reputation for being a grounded sign, less hotheaded and more reliable and practical than others. A Taurus can be committed to the point of stubbornness and often finds fulfillment in utility. However, Taurus is very susceptible to possessiveness and insecurity and is very resistant to sudden change; criticism hits hard and when a Taurus is in an unhealthy mental state, a great majority of their emotions can be reliant on the people they are surrounded by. What a Taurus wants more than anything is stability and purpose; without these things, the ground feels shaky underneath their feet and can send them spiraling to find a way to fulfill those needs.

EX-HOGWARTS HOUSE. Gryffindor

PATRONUS. Brown rat

BOGGART. An ever changing beast that’s seen many variations. The current most popular switches between two variations of failure -- one in failing in his duty to the Order and Albus Dumbledore himself dishonorably discharging him, the other in facing the rest of the Marauders and finding that none of them remember him. Had Pete been exposed circa his second year at Hogwarts, it would have likely been Minerva Mcgonagall (brilliant, impatient, terrifying). 

BLOOD STATUS. Pureblood

ALLIED WITH. Order of the Phoenix

FACECLAIM. Charlie Heaton

002. PHYSICAL TRAITS.

HAIR COLOUR & STYLE. Ashy brown, it’s thin but there’s a lot of it, which makes tangling a nightmare if he doesn’t stay on top of it. The current style is grown out of a childhood bowl cut and the now-longer layers tend to piece together around his face and over his eyes. Peter hates how it looks tucked behind his ears too much to keep it out of the way like that, leading to frequent little jerky movements of his head intended to force his hair back into place for a few minutes at a time. The gesture is hardly a graceful one and sometimes he doesn’t bother; all the easier to hide behind.

EYE COLOUR. Dark brown

COMPLEXION. Pale, sunburns at the drop of a hat

ETHNICITY. Caucasian

HEIGHT. 1.71 m (5′6 ft)

PHYSIQUE. Skinny in the way any post-adolescent boy retaining his metabolism is, a little soft in the stomach where late night stress snacking is just beginning to catch up with him. Narrow shoulders, lines more round than sharp, a body used to having to look up to people.

TATTOOS. N/A

PIERCINGS. N/A

CLOTHING & STYLE. Lots of denim, plenty of layers (jackets, jumpers, undershirts, even when it’s warmer out), single-minded dedication to old white trainers that are worn until the bottoms run through. An especially well loved Gryffindor jumper that gets the most use out of all of them. Brown beanies tugged down over red-tipped ears, thick woolen socks with warming threads sewn into the toes. Henley shirts, red or navy and usually with a flannel thrown over the top. A preference for long sleeves and full length pants that suggests a lack of desire to shown off one’s body – in fact, quite the opposite.

MANNERISMS. Darting eyes hopping between every member of a conversation and a few on the outside, not missing anything. Shoulders hunched up around the ears, a laugh that hesitates, always looking for someone else’s laughter to confirm that it’s warranted. Rubbing hands together in the cold, shifting from foot foot when idle, tucking chin close to chest and curling in on himself. Thumbing repetitively at the filter of a cigarette, always blowing smoke down instead of out. Grabbing at items in his pocket and squeezing them tight. Flinching instinctively when someone approaches too fast, even if that someone is a friend.

HABITS. A nervous fidgeter, all leg bouncing and picking at nails until his cuticles are raw, barely conscious he’s doing it. A semi-conscious chewer too; plastic spoons and straws tend to get caught up in his mouth for an hour after he’s done with them, same with the ends of zippers or the tops of pens. Classic stress eater, often climbing out of bed late at night to dig a snack out of the fridge or from under his bed. Peter drinks milk from of the carton and eats ice cream out of the tub; spoons macaroni into his mouth from the pot rather than into a bowl first and snatches bacon right from the pan, absentmindedly sucking his fingers clean after. His friends are more than used to that specific longing look that means he wants something from your plate but is too polite to ask for it. Pete hums constantly when he’s alone (or thinks he is), especially in the shower. Kicks off his shoes and tucks his feet up to his chest on big enough chairs and couches, never unties the laces on his trainers. Tends to make faces when he makes eye contact with himself a mirror. Prefers to sleep in his Animagus form if it’s safe enough that no one isn’t in the know will burst into his bedroom. After he’s been standing for more than ten minutes at a time, he starts leaning into things: doorframes, walls, tables, Remus...

003. PERSONALITY TRAITS & TYPES.

POSITIVE. PERCEPTIVE, ADAPTABLE, UNOBTRUSIVE, CONSIDERATE, EMPATHETIC, LOGICAL, PATIENT

NEGATIVE. AWKWARD, ANXIOUS, WITHDRAWN, WILLFULLY GULLIBLE, INDECISIVE, SELF-CRITICAL, DEPENDENT

HOBBIES & INTERESTS. Novels, particularly sci-fi. Any kind of new music, muggle and wizard bands alike. Some light art, he doesn’t credit himself with being anything but a doodler but he’s actually got an eye for landscapes and buildings. There’s a newly acquired interest in gardening that’s just recently begun to creep in there as well. 

INSECURITIES. Hoo boy.. his physicality: what he looks like, what his strengths are (or more specifically, aren’t. He’s well aware he isn’t exactly toned). His learning ability: everything he struggled to retain in school, how much longer it takes him to pick up most new magic compared to his peers. His personality: how awkward he is at conversation or cracking jokes, how boring he can physically hear himself being every time he talks to another person, how little he has to say about himself that’s interesting or engaging. His roots: entirely unremarkable, the kind of generic that no one remembers. His friends: how easy it would be for them to drop him, how many other vastly more interesting, funny, charming people there are that could take his place, how much more dedicated he fears they are to each other compared to him. Himself in comparison to everyone around him: encompassing all of these previous fears.

MBTI TYPE. ISFP; introverted, sensing, feeling, percieving.  

ENNEAGRAM TYPE. Type Two - The Helper

MORAL ALIGNMENT. True Neutral

TEMPERAMENT. Melancholic

DEADLY SIN. Sloth

004. THIS OR THAT.

INTROVERT OR EXTROVERT?

OPTIMIST OR PESSIMIST?

LEADER OR FOLLOWER?

CONFIDENT OR SELF-CONSCIOUS?

CAUTIOUS OR CARELESS?

PASSIONATE OR APATHETIC?

BOOK SMARTS OR STREET SMARTS?

COMPLIMENTS OR INSULTS?

COLD HANDS OR WARM HEART?

005. ASSOCIATIONS.

COLOURS. Washed out colors; pale reds and oranges and piney greens like a chilly landscape under late autumn rain. Dusty brown, like cooking chocolate or dead leaves. The dingey off-white of something well-worn. Once blazing scarlet and gold, sported long after the brilliance of the color has faded. The translucent blue of shallow veins.

WORDS. Hesitant, shuffling, sniffle, blink, curl, small, nibble, snort, resigned, surprised – ‘woah!’, ‘sure’, ‘i s’pose…’

SCENT. Wet wool, dusty books, lived in skin and no cologne, tobacco lingering in hair from his and Sirius’ cigarettes, ash in a fireplace the morning after. Rich earth, a smell like the word ‘verdant’, like Hestia in the greenhouse.

TASTE. A Pepper-Up potion on a cold day, a rolled up slice of plain wheat bread for a meal while on watch, leftovers just a little off from one too many reheating charms, the burn of alcohol forced down, a meaningless kiss from years ago, joining the rest he can count on one hand.

SOUND. Chaotic conversation while playing observer in the Common Room, all laughter and chatter and friendly lobbed insults. His mother’s favorite songs from the 50′s playing every Sunday morning, the church bells on the walk through town. The confident lilt of James’ voice, the steady cadence of Remus’. Click, pressing play on his Walkman, different from the click-sht of a lighter. A hard sniff, the choked noise of holding back louder tears. The shuffling of sheets and the squeak of mattress coils in a quiet room late at night, turning over and over trying to find a comfortable spot.

MAGIC. Convenience, practicality, repetition. Sneaking off to drill himself again and again until it finally sticks. The giddy rush of that first Patronus, the sheer triumph of that first transformation. Three unregistered Animagi, a law worth breaking, the boy worth breaking it for.

WEATHER. Autumn, cool and overcast. Curling up on the couch in sun beams sneaking through the window, the most satisfying naps he can remember. Dead leaves crunching underfoot walking through the courtyard, going out of his way to step on them. Summer, always a little damp under long sleeves, dizzy and overheated. The heaviness in spring air when rain is on the horizon.

FEELING. Anticipation, queasy anxiety, wanting to reach out and holding back instead. The dread of approaching a classroom without assigned work ready, the exhilaration of cheering on the winning team, the sensation of always having to walk a little faster to keep up. The darker pleasure of seeing someone else be the butt of the joke. The guilty undercurrent of worry watching a close friend laughing with someone else. The guiltier undercurrent of resentment. Wanting. Doubting. Reminiscing. A distant crush from childhood that never quite goes away. The comfort of being touched by someone you care about, an arm around the shoulders, a hand ruffling your hair. The old fears that only get bigger – of not being enough, of never having been enough.

MEMORY. Learning to ride a bike and a broom the same summer, coughing a fit at his first cigarette. Nervously wiping hands on his trousers before shaking Remus’ hand, their first time on the Hogwarts Express. Watching James on the Quidditch Pitch, like trying to stare head-on at the sun. One period of grace when even Sirius felt like a close friend, when everything was right, when school never needed to end. 

TOUCH. Damp earth clinging to the soles of bare feet, goosebumps on bare skin. Sliding on a jumper with nothing underneath.  Pale grey and soft to the touch, a tiny heart trembling under thin skin. Chocolate Frogs melting onto finger tips. Sirius giving him a joking pinch to the cheek, a hard clap on the back, the pain sore and sweet all at once.