#it was about this space school and all the fascinating characters who attended it. i don't even remember what any of the characters' names

[nanowrimo]

Writing Tips for Every Age and Mental State

Not every piece of writing advice will apply to you —  and that’s okay! Sometimes, your writing strategies will change as you go through life or learn more about yourself. NaNo Participant Clara Ward shares writing advice that they've learned over time.

There’s no right way to write. Writing—like life—is about finding your best fit. What follows are tricks that worked for me. Please borrow what works best for you right now. (Then save a few ideas for future you!)

I wrote my first novel four decades ago, when I was thirteen. I’ve written while juggling three jobs or zero. I’ve written as a kid, a parent, and an empty-nester. I’ve learned from my own neurodiversity and mental health challenges along the way.

Each struggle taught me how to customize my writing practice. Here’s a list of what worked for me at different stages. Adapt as you see fit.

Stage 1: Meet Yourself Where You’re At

Outline - For my first novel, I sketched furtive notes on the back pages of a school notebook. I created headings for each page that became section or chapter titles later. Numbers helped me order the scenes and letters delineated details.

Note: Leave extra space for fun facts or snippets of overheard dialog. Years later, I heard a NaNoWriMo buddy joke, “Careful, or you’ll end up in my novel.” My apologies to my high school geometry teacher, who received no such warning.

Avoid Distractions - I needed a closed door to write at first. I couldn’t read other fiction during the week or two when I frantically converted my outline into a rough draft. Luckily, I wasn’t in charge of meals back then!

Stage 2: Find Your People

Give Yourself Permission - I first heard about NaNoWriMo in 2004, when I was parenting, working, and volunteering as if there were two extra days in each week. I hadn’t written a story, an outline, or notes in over a year, but I knew exactly what I wanted to write. I signed up for NaNoWriMo and opened a family meeting by showing the webpage to my spouse and kids. I explained how I’d budget four hours a week for writing in November.

Note: I didn’t complete 50,000 words that first November. But the next year, my kids enthusiastically joined the Young Writers Program!

Enlist Support - Eventually, my kids and I designated one hour each day for writing. There were many distractions, but it felt great! We attended NaNoWriMo write-ins at a donut shop to build community, and my kids each persuaded a friend to join. (Yes, donuts are a sometimes food, but at least they weren’t asking for coffee!). With support and determination—and for me, a bit of sleep debt—we all met our writing goals most years!

Stage 3: Embrace Your True Strengths

Emotion Mapping - In the last couple decades, as attitudes and terminology evolved, I’ve learned a lot about my own neurodivergence and mental health. Oddly enough, the self-knowledge I gained by masking and compensating before I knew those words, informed both my writing and the tips given above. As I became more honest with myself, I brought more emotion to my writing.

Note: Sometimes it helps to skip scenes I’m not in a good headspace to write. I jot down key plot and character points inside curly brackets and skip to a scene that suits my current feelings. Since I don’t used curly brackets anywhere else in my writing, they’re easy to search for when I’m ready to go back.

Fascinations - After years of being warned about “info dumps,” I realized that my own fascinations (neurodivergent or otherwise) were assets that could serve my writing. At the beginning of 2020 I did a deep dive into researching sea creatures and ways to protect our oceans. At the back of my research notebook, I gradually outlined my 2020 NaNoWriMo Novel, Be the Sea. Parts of that outline cross-referenced pages of ocean research or articles I’d saved online.

Note: The system above worked well enough for me that I now have a book deal for Be the Sea, which will be published by Atthis Arts in early 2024!

Seriously though, this isn’t a post about how to get published on a 40-year plan. By matching your writing practices to your ever-changing self, you give all your stories the chance to be told. I wish you and your stories that success!

Clara Ward lives in Silicon Valley on the border between reality and speculative fiction. When not using words to teach or tell stories, Clara uses wood, fiber, and glass to make practical or completely impractical objects. Their short fiction has appeared in Strange Horizons, Decoded Pride, The Arcanist, and as a postcard from Thinking Ink Press. Clara’s 2020 NaNoWriMo novel, Be the Sea, will be available from Atthis Arts in early 2024. For updates on this and other projects, follow Clara on their website. Photo by Anastasia Shuraeva from Pexels

#nanowrimo #writing #writing advice #writer's life #neurodivergent writers #for parents #inspiration #by nano guest #clara ward

[kataraslove]

I'm so tired of people claiming being a kataang fan just makes you a aang stan first who has zero respect for katara and nor a true katara fan when we aren't purposely ignoring canon of her being the one to suggest kissing and being super affectionate with aang. They ignore katara clearly telling toph she dislikes being viewed as a mom while antis insist momtara is canon

Kataang fans show way more respect for katara than they do they treat enjoying canon as a moral failing and I'm tired of em acting like kataang fans are shallow sexist men when plenty of us happen to be women enjoying canon shouldn't be so controversial

the “kataang stans are primarily aang stans that don’t care about katara” is such a ridiculous take to me because there’s so many kataang fans I’ve met that prefer katara. a lot of us are in fandom spaces creating said kataang content and making kataang defense arguments about katara’s role in the relationship and the many positive ways it benefits her. i would not be shipping kataang as hard as i do if there weren’t clear substantial evidence that katara is crazy about that boy in her own ways, and feels passionate towards him in a way that she doesn’t feel towards other members of the gaang. yet her feelings for him are either categorized as motherly love and affection or her appreciating him only when he’s the avatar and fulfilling avatar duties. I’ve mentioned this before, but to truly appreciate kataang as a ship or even katara & aang’s bond (platonic or romantically), you need to be well-versed in katara’s character. and thankfully, a lot of kataang fans engaging in fandom can understand and write katara really well, even if they prefer aang among the two.

kataang fans have created and/or produced post-atla headcanons such as katara creating hospitals, working clinic rotations, inventing the infrastructure of the public health care system for republic city, establishing republic city alongside aang (which is pretty much canon as per imbalance and avatar legends), chief katara, sitting on the republic city council, opening up waterbending schools, and plenty more. we’ve always been the main ones pushing the “master katara and her husband avatar aang” comments, until it was finally canonized in avatar legends lore. we’ve been the main ones emphasizing that katara is still a child (albeit a very mature one), who still often acts like a child and ought to be treated like one in fandom. we’ve criticized the adultification & hypersexualization of katara by fandom when she’s still a 14 year old kid in the original series. there’s also a very strange fascination towards katara in her fire nation attire over her practical and adorable water tribe outfits by the fandom, which we’ve also critiqued too. notice how there’s a lot less content of katara in our fandom spaces wearing her husband’s colours or clothes? because we also recognize her unique position as a genocide survivor and how important her culture is to her, even well into her adult life. also, the notion that we vehemently defend the writing and neglect of katara in most of the GLY comics and LOK is so laughable. just because we clearly disagree with incorrect labels such as housewife, baby-maker/breeding machine, trophy wife, does NOT mean that we find the writing 100% satisfiable and true to her original character. of course she deserved a statue & her accomplishments to be highlighted. of course she should’ve attended jinora’s airbending ceremony. of course she should’ve been present at her own bloodbending trial. all of these are very valid, fandom-wide criticisms that we have aimed towards the creators as well. if the recent comics written by bryke and other printed media from avatar studios are to provide any indication, i think they have listened to the fandom. and I think that that 2025 gaang movie will provide more nuance to katara’s adult character as a fighter, healer, politician, wife, and maybe as a mother than what we had witnessed in legend of korra a decade ago.

even if the majority of kataang fans prefer aang’s character, why is that necessarily a problem? does that mean that we understand katara less? because let me tell you, a lot of people from other parts of this fandom will willingly call themselves a katara fan, yet blatantly have the most incorrect interpretations about her, or straight up only view the value in her character when she’s beside zuko. they will only be interested in engaging with her character and making content for her character when it pertains to their ship. by comparison, so many kataang fans love and adore katara, view her as their fave character, create content solely about katara, have written some of the best meta about her character out there; yet we get accused of not valuing her character and seeing her only as “aang’s trophy wife.”

#kataang #asks

[snowfrostssimp-books]

HARLIVY'S CHILD

Grow up absolutely loved and cherished.

You always had space to be yourself and be confident in your ways.

Reluctantly on your part joined the Batbrats but they treat you like family.

Alfred helping you stitch up after a mission since your moms are at home binging the pottery wars or something.

"Uncle A, I got shot again." "Sit down child."

"Don't worry he looks much worse than me." "I don't doubt it."

"What will my moms say?" "They'll go on a bounty huny if not already on one." "Right, Ma talks with plants like me." "Hmm."

Bruce secretly adores your.

"Hey uncle B." "Can I help you?"

Dick sees you as an annoying little sister. "Hey Mr Glutes." "It's weird because your moms also call me that." "Suck it up."

Batgirl is like your big sister that Harlivy easily get annoyed with. But let's it slide cuz she's a good influence on you.

"BG, how you been?" "Hey you! How's training going?"

Damien is confused but not repulsed by your company.

"Batbrat stop with acting like you're a sweet potato pie." "I don't have to act. I just am."

Best schools attended. Genius child. Duh look at your moms.

Gymnastic training. Variety of martial arts training. How to connect with the green training.

Gardening with Ivy and anti-heroing with Harley.

You're 70% Anti-hero.

The other 30% dislikes humans.

Missions goes something like this...

Nightwing: "Give it up Riddler we solved the puzzle."

Riddler: "No. You cheated."

Y/n: "Uncle R, why don't you come in peacefully and I'll show you the unsolvable puzzle book collection I got for my birthday?"

Riddler: "Unsolvable?"

Y/n: "So I've been told."

Riddler: "Fine, lemme see it."

Most of the Rogues are actually just like your aunts and uncles. They're your family but you have no problem with kicking their asses if need be.

"Aunty L, you coming for dinner?" "I should be out by Friday kid." "See you then."

You, weirdly enough, get spoiled by Joker much to Ivy and Harley's dismay.

"Hey J, I got your present and I like it. Thanks." "Anytime."

No one knows why he cares but people suspect it was his wife's doing.

Harley and Ivy can be hard on you wanting you to be your best version of yourself. But you still have many rants with them knowing they won't judge and feeling comfortable with them.

You tend to seek comfort from Ivy but when you need a cry you'll go to Harley she's much better at comforting you.

Ivy doesn't do good with tears, but atleast she's learned hugging works so if you start crying she just hugs you letting you cry into her shoulder.

May the gods have mercy on whoever hurts you because your moms sure as hell won't.

You got 2 cats from Selina who's like your cool wine aunt.

The others are confused at how much Selina adores you but your moms love it.

"I'll name them Bruce Jnr and Selina Jnr." "Just like your mom, you suck at naming animals." "You named your cat Isis, Aunty Sel, you can't judge."

Kingshark is your favourite uncle/babysitter.

"And to hack the govermen is easy." He teaches you how to hack like a pro.

Shark hugs all around.

Clayface would always morph into you and you'd be fascinated by the sudden appearance of a twin.

Clayface loves taking you on shopping sprees even if you don't like it as much you enjoy seeing him try on outfits and rant about what characters it fitted. You loved letting and watching him delve onto his creative mind. Often asking more about the characters letting Clayface get lost in his world of imagination.

The Justice League has recruited you but you didn't like being associated with them but always help out when they need it. You're on their 'Phone In Case Of Emergency' list.

Bane is your favourite uncle.

"Big B, are we going to the dog show next month?" "You bet we are!"

Sometimes you take him to the spa for a day to just relax or go to the gym with him to blow off some steam.

Beware any creeps that stare at you for too long. "Bane sees you staring at my gym partner!" He doesn't care if everyone hears and looks over.

Lex has tried recruiting you for The Legion Of Doom but Ivy made it clear just how she disapproved of his choices. Harley made sure to also give him a piece of her mind.

You live a free and wild life but you have protection around every corner on every side. The Batfamily. The Rogeus. All your family.

#harley x ivy #dc #dc x reader #harlivy #dc headcanon #batman #dc rogues #one big family

[mguvmii]

Synopsis ; headcanons for Hanako with an S/o who plays guitar and has a bunch of tattoos

Requested ; n/a

Notes ; i thought this would be pretty fun to write !

Characters; Hanako ,, gn!reader no gender or pronouns specified.

Warnings ; none!

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𓏲࣪ 𓆤  ˒˒  ๑  hanako kun ﹏  . 🥡 ੭

First meeting ;

• his first impression of you was just shock. That's all he felt upon seeing you.

• Most, if not ALL of the students attending the school are simple and have no body alterations or markings.

• so you could imagine his surprise when you showed up , your arms covered in various tattoos along with a few on your thighs / legs.

• he stares. A lot. Its not his fault hes just thoroughly fascinated at the tattoos they're pretty to look at .

• he asks you about them a lot too. Why you got them, if there's a story behind it , what made you want this etc .. and of course the question 'did it hurt?'

• yeah he was pretty obsessed with you. You are just magnificent to him. You can imagine his expression when you told him you played guitar!

• demands you to show him and play something. Again , hes fascinated at how skilled you play , and the instrument itself.

• He'll sit there for HOURS listening to you play random stuff on your guitar. Its so amazing to him. His fun moments with you is when Teru storms into the room and scolds you for the music being too loud.

• Of course, he has to yell over the guitar. What causes Hanako to laugh is when you pretend you can't hear him and turn the speakers up LOUDER. Teru gets so mad 😭 it's so funny to Hanako.

• you two definitely high five each other when Teru leaves. Overall , his first few months meeting you are pretty awesome.

As his s/o

• clingy. This is so obvious. Hanako loves to hug you from the front and behind. You're so warm and comfortable to lay on! It's also how he shows his affection.

• he'll run his fingers over your tattoos, still in awe at how the ink just sits on your skin! This is like something Hanako can never wrap his mind around.

• Anyways he loves to trace your tattoos when cuddling / hugging.

• The apparition will definitely place kisses on them to show affection. He does it so gently too as if he'll mess up the tattoos 😭 it's so cute.

• you're rubbing off on him for sure , to the point where he wants a tattoo as well! He wants to match with you it's so cute.

• He'll ask if he can get one with you and pout when you remind him that he's....well...dead 😰

• but don't worry!! Good news? You actually have a friend who does tattoos in his free time who's an exorcist :)

• so you bring him over to the school just for Hanako to be happy.

• Hanako definitely picked out something space related. He's either matching a moon and spaceship tattoo , or moon and stars. It's cute okay?

• he reminds you every day of how unique and beautiful you are. He'll flirt x10 even though you two are literally together already 💀 doesn't stop him.

• Also be prepared for little inuendos and pervy comments that make you feel things. Flirt or reciprocate his pervy comments and he'll be so flustered.

• you write new guitar solos with Hanako's help! He's actually your inspiration and Hanako is more than happy to write notes. It makes him feel valid and important even though you tell him that he already is no matter what.

• he'll ask you to teach him how to play. He really wants to try they didnt really have your guitar back when he was alive. I mean , they DID, but Hanako had never seen one in person , especially one that looked ao beautiful and sleek.

• so you teach him a few riffs. His face lights up man 🤧 like stars in the eyes and a happy expression is what he has on when you let him play around with it.

• dates consist of the rooftop , your guitar, cuddles and Hanako sometimes spouting off facts about astronomy, to which you listen intently. Its as fascinating to you as a guitar is to Hanako.

• trinkets are exchanged between you! He'll bring tou music related keychains/ accessories while you bring him astronomy items!

• You two have matching bracelets that link together. Its an astronaut playing a guitar in front of the moon 😭 it's so perfect for the two of you Hanako HAD to get it.

• overall? You're just amazing to him. He's so fond of you and tells you every day. He treats you as if you're the most precious thing to him ( because you are!)

• He's never met a more unique person, one that he can call his lover. Please be with him forever and ever :( he believes that you're his soulmate .

• he secretly wishes on the stars that in another life , you two will be together forever too, happily married with a family. He sees himself with you for eternity.

#tsukasa x reader tbhk #tbhk hanako #tbhk x reader #jshk hanako #tbhk mitsuba #tbhk kou #tbhk memes #tbhk #hanako kun #hanako x reader #toilet bound hanako kun #jibaku shonen hanako kun fanart #jshk x reader #jshk aoi #jshk akane #jshk spoilers #jshk kou #jshk yashiro

[ephemeradream]

Seashells a' Shining (Part 1)

↬ Character: Floyd Leech, Mershark!Reader↬ stalking, fluff, worldbuilding, character study

[ I have this posted on quotev too. But I wanted to post it here after seeing so much amazing work by others! Its not that great but whatever>>; ]

(( Part 2 ))

Being a first-year student at Night Raven College had many of its up and downs. For one, learning how to walk on two legs was a bit awkward and ended up with you getting concussions from falling headfirst to the floor…. And maybe a losing few baby teeth that had yet to fallen. Then there was the fact that you literally couldn’t trust anyone in this college. They always had an ulterior motive for some reason that you still tried to understand. The final thing you realized after attending here for a few months of being messed around with by the older students, and practically scared to death by the frightening professors; was the fact that you literally did not fit in in this stupid school.

           You had told your family after receiving the forsaken letter that you didn’t want to go there, saying that you should have been sent to RAS. The other academy where you had always wanted to go- kelp, you had done so much research about it since you found out about it. After saying that- you only received humiliating laughter from them and a harsh reality check. Who- in that college- would want an overly tiny sharp-toothed mershark who scared others with a terrifying smile?

Your smile -that you hid a lot when you were but a pup- made you feel so insecure…. Just your overall size as you were the smallest one in your family. Oh, woest you… Just your luck for being tiny mershark with a set of pearl white pointy teeth!

So, when you arrived here, and placed in the only ocean themed dorm -Octavinelle- you couldn’t help but mope about. Hiding like one of those lame guppys in your room, or any small, enclosed space that reminded you of the tight tunnels of taverns near your home. Oh, how you wished to be there and chewing on random corals and laying in the warm sand.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

It was your third month when you felt the eyes of someone on you as you chewed on a random piece of wood you found on the floor of the courtyard. You stopped, looking all around you but finding nothing that seemed out of the ordinary. Only other students who were talking to one another. Shrugging it off you continue your listless chewing, waiting for the next bell to ring for your class.

           When it does, you get up, throwing the gnarled piece of wood behind you and headed towards Professor Crewel’s classroom. That’s when you see a colorful glint coming from the bottom of a pillar. Stopping, your eyes glance down to find an eye-catching seashell.

“Oh?” You bend down and pick it up, eyes wide with fascination. “Haha, nice.”

           Without a second thought you stuff it into your pocket and continue on your way. Finders’ keepers, you think with a grin. Mood much brighter than it had been in a while. After all who could deny a good seashell?

#twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #reader insert #gn!reader #floyd leech #writing requests #fanfic #practice writing

[raptorfae53]

Monster High Reimagined.

Frankie Stein redesign/character bio.

Frankie Stein (any pronouns bar It/It's)

The Simulacrum child of Dr's Stein. (German-American)

(Genderfluid and Demiromantic)

One of the new students at monster high this year,frankie was only zapped to life 15 weeks before the school year began, wielding both an unbridled love and respect for living (seemingly ironic considering they're made of corpses) they're already considered one if the most compassionate,friendly and caring kids in the school,always eager to make new friends and acting as the mediator and "parent friend" of their existing friend group,despite her naivety admittedly getting them into hot water themselves sometimes…

Likes: science,her friends,trying new things,doll modding and helping people out.

Dislikes: bigotry, hypocrisy,unsafe laboratory environments, unintentionally making people uncomfortable and zier staples and stitches coming undone.

Killer style: one of the things Frankie loves best about meeting new people is seeing hitherto unknown styles of clothing which she takes inspiration from for modifications to her own outfits,regardless of what style inspires her though there's always a distinct streak of dark academia stylings throughout whatever she wears.

Familiar: Watzit,a dog,cat,bird,lizard…thing and her parents first experiment with the science of resurrection before creating Frankie,regardless of what animal parts he's made of Frankie adores the lil guy.

Pet Peeve: if there's one thing Frankie can't stand, it's bullies, especially those attending monster high,it just doesn't seem right that bullying could happen in the same school who stands by the value of being a safe and welcoming space for all who attend. That and improper lab safety.

Freaky Flaw: Naivety, having only been alive for four months Frankie is more than a little naive about the world,and often this coupled with their inquisitive attitude gets them into trouble if not given the full picture, although with some help from their friends they usually come out unscathed by the end.

Spooky Secret: Frankie isn't really the type to keep secrets himself but tries his best to keep any his friends are comfortable with telling him.

Dream job: Having just arrived at MH Frankie is far from focused on what exactly they would like to do once they graduate,but whatever it is it'll probably be something to do with science.

Five Fearsome Facts:

Due to rigor mortis and loose connective tissues, like most other undead monsters Frankie uses a walking aid (in her case specifically a pair of crutches) for ease of movement.

Frankie is Autistic,and stims via handflapping,rocking herself in her seat and bobbing her legs,during this xe also tends to spark from xyr metal staples and bolts as well as this in order to experience everything to its fullest extent Frankie likes to try his best at everything he does and tends to hyperfixate down to the smallest detail,whilst this is admittedly a useful skill while doing things like scientific investigation,it admittedly has its ups and downs elsewhere…

As his parents were able to source only one foreleg before his creation Frankie has a prosthetic leg, made out of (thankfully non magnetisable) metal that he likes to decorate with stickers.

Frankie loves to do doll modding as a pastime,this is spurred on by a fascination with the science of the creation of simulacrum like herself and her mother,however since the creation of simulacrum is a science tied down by heaps upon heaps of permits,forms and other bureaucratic business she instead puts her energy into modifying dolls and making vlogs about the hobby.

Despite literally crackling with energy the majority of the time Frankie is very much a night owl (I mean when was the last time you heard of a mad scientist doing experiments at 9 in the morning?) And as such is far from a morning person,7am on a weekday being one of the few times they're actively grouchy,not helped by their dad semi-sarcastically yelling "it's alive!" every morning as they come down at breakfast.

So yeah, I'm writing out a full reimagining of Monster High.

While I adore the original series concept I feel like it didn't really act upon the values it set out to represent so I decided to reimagine the series from the ground up, essentially my version is Derry Girls meets WWDITS with a little bit of Kipo thrown in for good measure.

(PS, I'm sorry but I'm not a great artist so I'm not really able to visualize my idea for how these characters look, although if you want to see artwork of these characters please check out artists like @spookberry and @creativitydeficient ,since their redesigns of characters like this one are partly what inspired me to start this series in the first place)

(Also reblogs are very welcome)

#monster high #monster high redesign #frankie stein #also yes I'm starting with Frankie because they're intended to be the initial audience surrogate to the MH world #as time progresses the other members of the friend group become the central protagonists as well #overall it's more an ensemble cast if anything #Monster high Reimagined

[astra-galaxie]

"My sister's a lesbian, stupid!" - Esther Clayton

Biographical information

Full Name: Esther Clayton

Gender: Female

Status: Alive

Age: 12 (season 3)

Birth: 2003

Race: Human

Nationality: British

Origin: Cheltenham, England, United Kingdom

Residence: Cheltenham, England, United Kingdom

Profession(s): Student

Family:

Elliot Clayton (brother)

Eliza Clayton (sister)

Evangeline Clayton (mother)

Cedric Clayton (father)

Profile

Height: 4"8' Age: 12 (season 3) Weight: 110lbs Eyes: brown Blood: O-

The younger sister of Elliot Clayton, Esther, is a young girl with short black hair featuring a vivid purple strike in her bangs and soft brown eyes. She always wears a white headband with a blue star.

During her suspect appearance in Explosive Secrets, she wears her school uniform consisting of a white dress shirt and blue tie, a dark blue blazer and matching pleated skirt, black tights, and black shoes.

When out of her school uniform, she wears a deep blue dress with a purple undershirt, dark purple leggings with black stars, and blue sneakers. She keeps her headband and sports a silver necklace with a yellow star charm and a black artist's glove on her right hand with a purple watch over it.

In her suspect appearance in Explosive Secrets, it is known that Esther listens to K-pop, drinks Dalgona coffee, and uses snail slime face masks.

Synopsis

Esther is the younger sister of Bureau member Elliot Clayton. She currently attends a private boarding school in Cheltenham, the same one her siblings attended, while her parents work outside the country. She keeps in contact with her brother while he travels the world saving people, and her older sister Eliza who enjoys travelling for fun.

She meets the Bureau during a trip to South Korea after the class’s bus driver was killed following a crash. She notified her brother of the murder, and Elliot sent his teammates to ensure his sister was safe and that the killer wasn’t coming after her or her classmates.

After the killer had been arrested, Elliot showed his sister around the Bureau’s plane and let her help him with a lab analysis for his teammates. Esther was sad to see her brother go, but she looks forward to the next time they can hang out together.

And maybe Eliza can join them next time, and they can have a Clayton sibling adventure!

Story Information

First appeared: Explosive Secrets

Trivia

She’s NOT one of my original OCs. I was permitted to use her by her creator BF_1352 after she pitched the idea of giving Elliot siblings

Thanks again for letting me use her!

She dyed her bangs to look more like Elliot

Trivia from BF_1352:

She looks up to and aspires to be like her big brother Elliot

She loves all things space: stars, planets, comets, etc.

Enjoys learning about new technology

Esther likes to draw, hence the artist glove and has a fascination with art

Her design is a reference to Lydia Deetz from Beetlejuice

Gallery

A full-body drawing of Esther Clayton by BF_1352. The one on the left is her season 3 design when she wears her school uniform, while the one on the right is her when she's older (18).

Disclaimer: Character design was created using Rinmarugames Mega Anime Avatar Creator! I have only made minor edits to the design! Background courtesy of CriminalArtist5

Links to my stories:

The Case of the Criminal (Ao3/Wattpad)

Killer Bay (Ao3/Wattpad)

Where in the World are the Killers? (Ao3/Wattpad)

#criminal case #criminal case save the world #Elliot Clayton #not my oc

[summer-solo-day]

19/?? Childhood TV Shows You Should Watch

Title: The Jetsons

Seasons: 3

Episodes: 75

Run Time: 22-30 mins

Original Air Date:

S1: September 23, 1962 - March 17, 1963

S2/S3: September 16, 1985 - November 12, 1987

Synopsis:

In the future, the Jetsons are a family residing in Orbit City. George Jetson lives with his family in the Skypad Apartments: his wife Jane is a homemaker, their teenage daughter Judy attends Orbit High School, and their son Elroy attends Little Dipper School. Housekeeping is performed by a robot maid named Rosie, who handles chores not otherwise rendered trivial by the home's numerous push-button Space Age-envisioned conveniences. The family has a dog named Astro.

George Jetson's work week consists of an hour a day, two days a week. His boss is Cosmo Spacely, the bombastic owner of Spacely Space Sprockets. Spacely has a competitor, Mr. Cogswell, owner of the rival company Cogswell Cogs. Daily life is leisurely, assisted by numerous labor-saving devices, which occasionally break down with humorous results.

My Rating: 10/10

My Reasoning:

I absolutely LOVE, this show. I like it as much as I like the Flintstones. It's a classic cartoon and pop culture icon, in my opinion. I always found the futuristic ideas so fascinating and interesting. Looking at it from today's perspective it is interesting to see how some of these things now exist. It's also funny that some of the things they thought would exist are still nowhere near existing.

I genuinely like all the characters; even the dog and robot. Somehow they're all relatable. I also like the social commentary the show has. It shows that even though the world could be seemingly "perfect" people are always going to complain about inconveniences or whatever.

It's also got good humor and I find most of the situations funny. I definitely think you should watch it if you get the chance.

#tv shows #childhood tv shows #childhood shows you should watch #cartoons #childhood cartoons #childhood tv list #the jetsons

[astoundingbeyondbelief]

Mom wrote an essay about Godzilla and Japan a few years ago in which the late Akira Takarada featured prominently. She’s not on social media, so I asked if I could share it here.

Enlightened by a Japanese Monster

By Barbara Murphy

Akira Takarada entered the ballroom at the 19th annual Godzilla Festival in Chicago in 2010. Here was the Japanese actor whose character Ogata helped to save humanity in the original 1954 Godzilla movie. Erect and fit in his seventies, he wore a tailored, striped summer suit, a contrast to his ardent American fans, wildly clapping in their wrinkled cargo shorts and “Got Zilla?” t-shirts.

What in the world was I doing here? Growing up in the 1950s and 1960s, I hated monster movies. Too much fighting. Not enough dialogue.

But then I became a mother in 1993 to a son who by age four had checked out every dinosaur book in our county library system. His fascination with prehistoric creatures led to a passion for fictional monsters, mostly Japanese—colorful Pokemon and no-nonsense kaiju. Library visits now included a full sweep of videos with titles like Godzilla’s Revenge; Ghidorah, the Three-Headed Monster; and Gamera vs. Zigra.

I found Ghidorah creepy with all those swinging heads, and Gamera, the flying turtle, almost comical. But I was taken by the rainbow-colored Mothra and her twin fairies in Mothra vs. Godzilla, another kaiju movie in which Takarada had a role. In the fairies’ song, they call Mothra a guardian angel who will come whenever the people need kindness and protection. Who doesn’t want someone like that in their lives?

No slouch when it comes to fighting, Mothra’s devotion to her people and her strength and beauty encouraged me to discover more about Godzilla’s world. By the time my son was 10, there we were, my husband, son, and I, driving 800 miles to an event that still turns human heads when we say it: The Godzilla Festival, or G-Fest. We have attended every year since, even in 2018 when my husband and I returned from an overseas trip at 10 PM the evening before we needed to depart.

While participating in the Godzilla Festival and learning about kaiju, I have seen my son grow from a shy youngster to a leader there of panel discussions in 2018 and 2019 (the most recent to have been held thanks to COVID-19), surrounded by “Big G” friends who live in Scotland, Kentucky, and California.

Beyond that, my knowledge and love of Japanese culture and its people have deepened, making the past two years of increased hate crimes and prejudice in our country against Asians even more troubling.

A soft spot for Japan was already alive in my heart when I was young, in spite of my being born 11 years after the bombing of Pearl Harbor. It’s hard to recall what I learned where, in school or the culture, but I do recall some paradoxical sentiments.

I was taught that the Japanese were evil. Their aggressiveness in WWII was proof, and kamikaze pilots in movies underlined the point. I also ascertained that a lot of their post-war products, including toys, were an attempt to conquer the world in a new way, manufacturing and exporting the cheapest products they could. Everything was suddenly “Made in Japan” and, similar to some of today’s Chinese goods, everybody complained but bought them anyway. The Japanese continued to be our enemy.

Here came the tough part. I loved the cute toys.

I still have some of them: a glass tea cup decorated with pink flowers; a seven-inch stuffed mouse wearing a pinafore and striped beret.

That talent for creating cuteness became more visible when regular attendance at the Godzilla Festival led our family to a tour of Japan with other Godzilla fans in 2015, where we saw parking space cones decorated with smiling faces and cream-filled biscuits stamped with pandas. We also witnessed firsthand the generosity and star power of Mr. Takarada as he arranged for us a private tour of Toho Studios and signed autographs for waiting fans after dining with us on a boat on Tokyo Bay.

Preparing for that once in a lifetime journey also increased my awareness of the Japanese language. I had heard its rhythms often enough in those early videos and more recently during my favorite G-Fest tradition, interview sessions with a translator and Japanese guests such as Mr. Takarada. However, when one is trying to learn to speak a few phrases like “Thank you” and “Can you help me find my hotel?”, one’s appreciation grows.

As Takarada that day in 2010 said hello in English, we smiled, appreciating the gesture, but as everyone sat, and he spoke into the microphone in Japanese, we began to get what we had come for: the native language of our hero who never talked. Godzilla did not have to speak, his rage-filled roar plenty, fueled from being created out of American-made nuclear debris.

In that first black and white film, Mr. Takarada plays a sailor who accompanies Dr. Serizawa, a scientist with a conscience, into the depths of Tokyo Bay after Godzilla has nearly destroyed Tokyo. Both safely secured to a boat, it is Dr. Serizawa who carries his creation, the Oxygen Destroyer, a narrow tank that literally holds a solution. Once released, that chemical will deplete all living things nearby of oxygen. Knowing the enormous power of his invention beyond the current crisis, as Takarada’s Ogata rises to the surface and safety, Dr. Serizawa remains underwater, severing his own tie to the boat.

The first time I saw this sacrifice for the common good, I was in the darkened TV room of my son’s Japanese teacher. I did not know it then, but she was born in Hiroshima. When our tour group visited the Hiroshima Museum, it felt odd but affirming to stand next to Japanese museumgoers. My son and I got so caught up in the relics that the tour guide had to come find us to get us back on the bus.

Once I’d climbed one stage of Mount Fuji, tried to keep up with Kyoto morning commuters, and seen the decorated boats and shrine of Itsukushima, any remnants of my childhood stereotypes of the Japanese had dissolved.

During Mr. Takarada’s next visit to G-Fest in 2012, he sat in the front row of the annual costume parade. The ballroom was packed as adults and children stomped and swayed up the aisle to the table of judges across from Mr. Takarada. A wide variety of characters drew praise, among them a gray and silver fabric Anguirus, a long necked Rokurokubi who frightened onlookers like a good yokai should, and a crawling Mothra larva with eyes that lit up red and blue.

And then a young man dressed in a yellow costume, a replica of the diving suit and helmet Mr. Takarada himself had worn in Godzilla, carrying an Oxygen Destroyer, approached Mr. Takarada amidst camera flashes and cheers. Overcome with emotion, the young man removed his helmet and bowed to Mr. Takarada. As they hugged, I felt lucky to be present as a Japanese actor and an American viewer met in real time and to witness the convergence of history and art where one act inspires another. And the next day, at the closing luncheon, I was the beneficiary of Mr. Takarada’s attention.

Mr. Takarada, wearing the traditional yukata, entered the room from the back where we sat. The whole room stood up and applauded; he bowed and began to walk toward the front where a place had been reserved for him. As he moved forward, I too bowed, my hands together in a prayer-like position in front of my heart. Then, as I separated my hands to begin clapping again, he gently took my right hand and kissed it. No swagger. Just pure star decorum.

It’s impossible to predict what motherhood and monsters can bring.

#akira takarada #kaiju #writing #gfest #godzilla

[ramp-it-up]

Fresh Squeeze, Ch. 5

Pairing: Daveed Diggs x OFC Linden Marshall

Set in 2023, post-pandemic

Warnings: Cursing, Angsty Angst, drug and alcohol use, surprise flights, Anthony Ramos. Lots of Plot.

Word Count: 3.5 K

Plot: Linden Marshall just finished law school at Columbia University in NYC. Daveed Diggs is still creating magic with his platonic life partner Rafael Casal in the form of their Blindspotting musical, Bay Boys. Linden’s boyfriend WAS Mark Monaco, star of the superhero movie series Invincible.  They were together for years, and her trauma and his addictions were toxic. She knows now that wasn’t love. 

A/N: Keep in mind that this the same AU as Arrivals, with Holly Woods, but is BEFORE Rafa and Holly get together. And don’t come for me about Anthony.

Read the Previous Chapter.

===================

NYC, May 2023

Jasmine was blowing up your phone as you were trying to get dressed.  You had to search for it under the pile of clothes on your bed.

You had procrastinated getting ready, trying to finish one of your applications for a summer internship at this law firm in Harlem that you were excited about.  

You wanted to finally relax after finishing Columbia law in the top 10% of your class. You just wanted to relax and enjoy this weekend.

Craig, your mom and your uncle were the only ones to attend your graduation.  They knew you didn’t want any fanfare, so your famous friends didn’t attend, and they had a show to do, but they’d sent you tons of well wishes.

We're coming up, get decent!

You chuckled and shook your head. Anthony usually raided the refrigerator when he came over. This time, you told him to bring his own snacks..

You slipped on what you were wearing for the night.  Craig was in his room getting ready and you had volunteered his place, so you were playing hostess. You were surprised that he was so chill about it, actually. 

“Pika Pika,” you said to yourself in the mirror then ran to answer the doorbell. It was almost 6 pm.

You opened the door for Cookie Monster and Big Bird.  You burst out laughing. But you stopped when you saw Anthony's face. He had like five bags from Whole Foods that he was juggling in his blue arms.

"Jazzy!!!! There's my girl.  Hey Ant! leave the food and your girl. We may run off together."

Anthony came in the door loaded down with bags and kissed you on the cheek.  

“I love you Lindy, but fuck you man.” You punched him on the shoulder. 

“Ow! Time to get this party started!”

Linden heard Jazzy’s Brooklyn accent turn into a London lilt as she started play fighting with Ant. They felt like family at this point.

=================

Ever since the launch party in January, Jasmine had pursued you as a friend persistently. You normally didn’t let anyone in because of the circumstances of your life, but Jas was oblivious to your awkwardness with normal human beings.

“Girl, you are fucking DOPE, and you are NOT gonna deny my love.  I know your life has been a trip, and you don’t have to tell me all of it, but I’m not gonna let you shrivel up and be a little retiring wallflower. Life is to be lived.” 

Jasmine telling you that during a Saturday brunch date in February was the key to your heart. She drew you out, and you didn’t see what value you added to her life.

But she loved you anyway. And you loved her, and of course, Anthony was part of the package.  

He was beautiful, loud, talented, and reckless, but he reminded you too fucking much of Dell to be annoyed with him very long.

Your circle had certainly widened from just Craig. That was one thing for which you could thank Mark. You were working on him being a distant memory.  He hadn’t lasted too long in Bay Boys, quitting soon after the musical opened in March.  

Daveed’s hands and feet had ‘slipped’ one too many times during the scene when he was stomping his ass on stage. Mark cited health reasons, and publicly spiraled a bit. He was currently in rehab. 

Again. 

You had not heard from him and that was absolutely fine with you.

Because Jasmine was in Bay Boys and that was her life, the cast and crew became yours as well. Rafael was the type of chaotic creative genius that fascinated you; you could listen to him talk for hours.  

Things with Daveed were more tricky. Ever since that awkwardness with him after the launch party, you’d kept your distance, but you hung out a lot, so you were trying to be friends.

When you and Jas and Ant and Rafa hung out and talked, Daveed was there, smiling shyly and sneaking glances at you, throwing in pearls of wisdom every so often. 

He was so dope and so talented and intelligent and so freaking hot, but you were trying to get yourself together.  You were convinced that night in January had been a mistake. 

You needed some space. And time.  Law school was no joke, and you were in therapy so entanglements was not what was up.

Daveed sensed your hesitancy and decided to stop pursuing you. But he couldn’t stop how he felt.

You were both a little wasted and keyed up the night of the launch party, and despite the way you were beautiful and intelligent and sexy as fucking hell, he was not going to press you. 

Daveed was sure that you two could be something special if you would give it a chance, but he didn’t want to chase you, but he was so gone for you, that if you just nodded your head at him, he would be at your feet.

The attraction was undeniable. There was a crazy little dance you two did that everyone recognized and respected.  This group seemed to know you were fragile, and that you didn’t need to be pushed too far.

But the more they persisted, the more you came out of your shell.  The more you trusted, the more the old Lindy came back. 

Craig noticed first soon after you started hanging with the crew when you were trying to find a place to live. He went to one showing with you and sat you down for a talk.

“Girl, I love the light in your eyes.  I haven’t seen this Lindy since…well in a long time. Stay with me for as long as you want. I know you need to get through this last semester of school, you don’t need one more thing to think about. I’m proud of the work that you’re doing on yourself, Linden.”

You were grateful to Craig.  His place on the Upper West Side was super convenient to Columbia, and not having to think about finding a place was so clutch.  Third year was kicking your ass.

“Besides, I wouldn’t have this place if it wasn’t for…”

“Hush,  I don’t want to hear that.  Dell would have wanted this. I love you cuzzo.” 

=================

Craig came out in a Sully onesie and immediately dragged Jasmine into a conversation about the Met Gala that had happened a few days ago. 

You approached the kitchen where Ant stood, food all around him on the counter. You were whispering. He smiled a secret smile at you.

“I’m so proud of you doing this for Jasmine.  It’s good for you all to get away. I’m glad that she got a little break. She deserves it all.”

Anthony had arranged for this little get together to be a surprise for Jasmine. This was going to be a kickback weekend.

The show was on a four day hiatus while the set was moved to a bigger theatre.  It was a hit and was destined for a long run.

Ant’s green eyes lit up as you kept talking about Jasmine.

“Yeah, she does. And the woman of the hour deserves all the happiness in the world.” He lifted his beer to you.

They way he said that was weird and you were about to ask him what was up with that when the doorbell started ringing, you went to answer it and were stuck there for a few minutes as people started coming in. 

The food and the drinks were flowing while all kinds of characters came in. 

Now they also had Jack Skellingtom, and a Care Bear in the house to add to Big bird, Cookie Monster, Pikachu and Sully. It was an odd cast of characters who were jamming to 90's rap, eating chicken wings and basically tripping like only friends could do.

Then there was Toni, some tag-along chick who showed up with Rafa.  She had on a plain gray onesie.  What a downer.  

You’d  pegged her for  a star fucker who only hung with Rafa because of who he and his friends were.  The girl was too much in everyone's business. 

"Sooooo. You and Mark ARE broken up for real for real. The tabloids say y’all are back together!  I told my friend Susie you weren’t, but she wouldn't believe me."

You  just smiled and didn't confirm or deny, treating Toni like the paparazzi. The girl was oblivious to your hate and just kept talking.

Daveed rescued you. 

"Hey, Toni, show these folks how you can blow. They're setting up the karaoke machine over there. Show us what you're working with. Someone might hook you up with a gig."

Toni perked up and hurried over to Anthony and Craig, who were setting up the lyrics on the big screen to match the karaoke music. Some Bad Boy joints were up.

Rafa was behind them screaming, "Dylan, Dylan, Dylan!" 

They were a scene.  You  breathed and relaxed a little.

"Don't stress. She's not coming with us  to the island."

You looked up at the tall, fine Grumpy Care Bear who was nursing some of your special 18-year-old Chivas Regal that you had gotten for graduation. His beautiful smile shined out of his brown face and beneath the curls tumbling out of his hood. 

“I’m not pressed. I’m chilling. You can do what you want. With who you want.”

“She’s not with me. Rafa brought her for the ride to the airport. And it’s not entirely true that I can do what I want. With who I want. Because what if who I want to do doesn’t want to do me?”

You knew what he meant. But you eyed his drink instead of looking at him. It wasn’t that you didn’t want him. That was far from the truth. You didn’t want to get lost in him. And you could see that happening.

Daveed saw your wheels turning. You were over analyzing again.  He’d spent three months observing you every chance he got. He felt like he knew your anxieties.  So fucking smart, but here you were thinking too much.

"Hey Genuis Ass. Want some?" Daveed’s voice was softer as he grinned and offered you some of his drink.  “Or, I could go make you something?” For some reason he wanted you to get loose. 

"Nah, I'm good Diggs.”  For some reason you needed to stay in control.  You played it off by changing the subject. 

“I still can’t believe y’all call me that.” 

Daveed just smiled and nodded, chuckling a little. He craned his neck and looked at it, having to dodge a smack upside the head.

“That ass is genius, you know. That’s the one thing He Who Shall Not Be Named was right about. And you’re one of the smartest humans I know.”  

You had to look at him then. The flecks of gold in his eyes tho.  But you could tell from the slight redness that he was a little zooted.  He didn’t get that way around you a lot, but you knew for the stories that he partied occasionally. 

He and Rafa and that Toni chick must have pre-gamed.  You remembered the last time you two were  tipsy together.You cleared your throat and looked away.

“Why did you lie to that girl? She can’t sing.” You were shaking your head, scowling at Toni’s screeching from the karaoke machine.

He winked at you. D was well on his way to getting LIT.

"What? She can blow.”  Daveed sipped his drink and watched her. 

“She’ll suck your soul out and spit it back in your mouth." Daveed was loose. And so was his mouth. But he didn’t care.

Your mouth was hanging open at Daveed as you wondered what Daveed had done with Toni, what Daveed AND Rafa had done with Toni... 

Shit, you were just going to ask.

"How do you know that she..."

"AWWWW SHEEEIIIITTT! THAT'S MY JAM! REMEMBER THIS LINDY??"

“No, I was like, negative 5..”

You raised your voice as he traveled away from you, smiling. He was not slick.

“Well you missed out being tardy to the party…” 

He was backing toward the mic, knocking it out of Anthony’s hand and starting the rap. Rafa joined him, trading verses.

Now as the record spins around, you recognize this sound,

Well, it's the underground,

You know that we're down with wutchyalike

Yeah, with wutchyalike, yeah

And though we're usually on the serious tip, check it out:

Tonight we're gonna flip and trip and let it all hang out tonight,

We're gonna say what we like.

'Cause, yo, yo, we want to know how many people in the flow,

Would like to just let yourselves go

And doowutchyalike,

Yeah, well tonight's your night.

Just eat food, try not to be crude or rude,

Kill the attitude, chill the serious mood,

And doowutchyalike,

Yeah, and doowutchyalike,

Everybody doowutchyalike

Everyone was dancing and Daveed had effectively deflected your question. But you would never forget.

By 8 o’clock, Craig grabbed the mic and motioned for Jasmine to come with him. You had enjoyed some cocktails finally, and just figured they were going to duet Wind Beneath My Wings just like they always did. 

You were actually moving to the music and feeling good.

"Ok guys, whew.  I'm hot.  Is it hot in herrrre?" Craig was fanning himself.

“Whoooo! Nelly!”

You yelled and everyone laughed.

Craig took his hood off and started to unzip his onesie. Jasmine did the same.

You kept dancing nervously, not realizing it, looking around at the others who were also disrobing. You did a double take as D’s abs came into view.  What was going on?

Craig continued.

"Lindy, I just need a minute to talk, can you stop whatever it is you're doing?"  He grinned at you from across the room. "You're still moving Lindy."

You blushed and stopped fidgeting.

"Ummm, Craig, what the..."

One by one people dropped their onesies, all except Toni, who had no clue what was going on. Soon, everyone was standing in Craig’s condo in their swimsuits, looking fine as hell. 

You just looked around, then in your cup wondering if you were too drunk and hallucinating.

“Lindy, you’ve worked real hard, and this past few months have been crazy, so we wanted to do something special for you this weekend, for your graduation, and for your birthday, WHICH IS SUNDAY!!”

Everyone cheered as Jasmine took the mic. “You think this party is for me. Well the joke’s on you bitch, because you have been hosting your own party!”

You opened your mouth, squeaked a little, then spoke,

"But why?.. Everybody?  But what..."

Daveed moved close.

"Damn, you fine," you whispered. 

Your hand flew to your mouth when he smirked in response. Everyone was rolling because turns out, you didn’t whisper.

Daveed cleared his throat. "Thank you. You’re fine yaseif. Anyway, Anthony and Jasmine have a house there, and we’re flying out of JFK tonight.  In about two and a half hours in fact. So we gotta get going.”

You still had only a part of a clue of what was going on. But you couldn't resist all of this.

"Okay? But... I don't have any clothes. And I don’t have a ticket..."

Craig came from the storage room off the kitchen with one of your suitcases. Others started getting their bags as well

"Everybody's shit has been in my house for a week. And girl, you know I got your information. It ain’t nothing but a thang.  Your ticket is ready and waiting. Just sent it to your email.”

Your mouth dropped open and you stared at Craig as everyone pulled their onesies back up and got their bags together.

Your eyes filled with tears that you hurriedly brushed away. Craig came over and hugged you. Then every else joined in for a group hug.

"You deserve, Lindy. Let us celebrate you."

You looked like you didn't quite believe it, but you went along. You laughed, visibly deciding to go with the flow.

"I'm down!"

Toni was nearby. When the hug broke up, she started asking questions.  Your  patience was wearing thin.

"I don’t believe that all these people really roll like this. Y’all wild. Susie won that bet."

You just continued to look at this fool.

"But isn’t this dope?  All these famous, successful men being so fearless with their love and appreciation for Black women, of all people. Who woulda thunk they didn't want white women?"

Toni just kept saying the wrong thing. It was the "of all people" for you.

You stared daggers at your houseguest. Toni caught the look.

"Wait, are you mixed?"

You narrowed your eyes and said, "Black mixed with Black."

Toni clutched her pearls.

"Oh wow. Didn't mean to offend. I just mean everyone knows Jasmine is mixed, with her dad and all, as black as can be. But her white British mom saved her from his skin tone. I mean, she has braids in now, so you can see it, but all she has to do is blow her hair straight and she can pass..."

Toni jumped when Rafa spoke. She didn't know he was there.

"Toni. Not Jas. She's the homie." 

The look in his ice blue eyes could burn. 

"And you are a Black woman, so you know how dope they are. Why would anyone NOT worship at your feet?"

Lindy just sipped her drink as Craig entered the chat. "Amen!"

"Maybe it is time for you to get going, honey. I might call you when I get back."

Rafa  led Toni to the door as she protested.

"But I was going to take you to the air..."

"And I APPRECIATE you Black woman, but we'll get there.  See you later."

Then Rafa shut the door in her face. Linden discovered she loved him eternally at that moment. She was rolling.

No one mourned Toni’s departure as arrangements were made for cars to take everyone to the airport.

"You and Daveed can ride with us, Rafa." Ant to the rescue.

"Yeah, Jasmine loves to look at my profile." Jas pinched him so hard he jumped.

“Fuck!”

Ant  was screaming as he, Jasmine and Rafa went out the door. 

"Peace! See you at airport security.  If you get nabbed by TSA, you on your own!”

Daveed lingered. “I don’t know if all of us and our bags will fit in one car. Can I ride with you and Lindy, Craig?”

Craig smirked at Daveed, but didn’t say anything. “Of course...you good with that Lindy?”

You tried to keep it light. 

“Sure.. no biggie,” you cleared your throat and headed to the bathroom to make sure you had everything you needed.

=================

By the time you got to your Uber, the traffic was horrible. It took over an hour to get to the airport. You felt both anxious about missing the flight and keyed up about sitting next to Daveed in the car.

His thigh and side pressing into yours in the dark in the back of an Uber Black brought back memories of that reckless night. 

When he put his arm up on the seat behind you, “For more room,” he said, in that voice and flashing that megawatt smile, you were enveloped more into his scent and warmth. You had to control yourself not to melt into him.

Craig was sitting on his phone, sneaking glances at you and smirking the entire ride. He’d insisted that you be in the middle because you were so tiny.

The whole world was against you, you thought, as you and Daveed both stared straight ahead, both flashing back to that January night.

You were the last three people to run through the airline gate just at they were about to close it. All your friends in first class cheered when you took their seats, and Rafa popped a bottle of champagne.

"Talk about cutting it close," Ant commented as Rafa gave Daveed a high five.

Daveed looked at you. You shook your head at him. Somehow, you were sitting next to him. You just decided to let it be and have some time.

“Just make sure you don’t molest me under this blanket, Ms. Marshall,” Daveed intoned when you were settled and given amenities for the night.

The flight attendant had to tell y’all to keep quiet as the cat calls went up.

Welp, you thought. This will be the vibe the entire weekend. 

You weren’t mad at it. You loved these people. And you were safe. You just smiled, settled down, and looked out of the window to watch the lights of New York fade away.

=================

Read the next chapter

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Tagging:  @braidedchallah @einfachniemand @sillyteecup @commandersmiley @ohsoverykeri-blog  @theselilwonders @theatrenerd86 @sebastianabucknettastan @imatyoursurrvicesurr @riiyy @ivycomet @lonelydance @jbrizzywrites @id-do-it-for-free-babe

#Daveed Diggs #daveed x reader #daveed diggs x black reader #daveed diggs x ofc reader #Daveed diggs x ofc black reader #daveed diggs x you #daveed diggs imagine #daveed diggs angst #daveed diggs fluff #anthony ramos #jasmine cephas jones #Rafael Casal #Hamilfam #blindspotting #Daveed x Linden

[giant-tom]

Introduction - and general things! A lot of things on my mind

Hi all, my name’s Tom! I’ve been trying to find a space lately to share some of these feelings and all the other sites so far haven’t been a place where I feel I can openly express everything about G/t, relationships, and sexuality, so here’s where I’m gunna try to do it. (parenthesis edit: As I realize this - this is gunna be basically an autobiography of me, plus how I am currently feeling and where I am at - be ready for a long read!)

I’ve been fascinated by tinies for a long time. Ever since I was little, I remember enjoying “any” one shrinking down to a small size, would play video games, like WoW, get the world enlarger, and shrink my character down! It was a fascination.

Once I hit puberty and high school, that’s when things became sexual. I started seeing girls, and imagining them shrinking. For some reason my brain seemed to pair that with a specific pair of flats they wore - as if - if they wore those flats, there was a “desire” within them to become smaller. (nowadays I realize this makes me aegosexual and empathic, since I can’t get turned on by the idea of sex, but I do get turned on by... something..., and I enjoy feeling what the other person feels) 

I’d follow this sexual feeling, while also feeling a lot of shame for it - I didn’t know if I was gay, or if I was a pedophile, or something, but it was really tough for me. Outwardly in the world, I was happy, and living life, but then there was this one part of me that just didn’t get along with the rest of me. For 10 years I was this way.

When I finally had romantic feelings for the first time, I was 23 years old, and it hit me HARD. Mind you, I’m 6′0″, and I was talking to this girl, who was maaaybe 5′2. And I fell for her personality. When I learned of her height, my sexuality was there, but I felt too much shame for it to follow it. I remember trying to “feel sexual” towards my romantic feeling, and it just didn’t happen. It was a really awkward part of my life. I finally admitted to her I had a crush on her, which was relieving, because she thought it was kind of funny, and not a big deal, when at the time in my head, it was an obsession that I fought over inside my head a lot.

Fast forward 3 years later, about 5 years ago and that’s when a part of the shame ended. I met someone who accepted my sexuality and we both had romantic feelings for each other. I finally felt OKAY about how I felt. Looking back it’s kind of funny, since really it’s an innocent thing to be into flats and shrinking women, but I always thought it was so strange. But at that time, that acceptance meant a lot to me and gave me a lot of self-confidence in myself. I grew really close to her over the next two years - and gained an appreciation of what feeling “close” to someone means - having a romantic sense of wanting to be with someone for the rest of my life, having a sense of “complete-ness”, being able to confide in someone with anything and everything, wanting a future together forever. All the romantic feelings were really strong in me for this one person.

3 years ago she told me, because of our sexual differences, that I wasn’t the right person for her. I was devastated, and lost. I remember, again, feeling the shame that had hit me once earlier. I couldn’t be with her BECAUSE I am this way. In spite of how funny we were together, how strong our friendship was, how close we meshed every time we saw each other... I wasn’t enough for her. It broke me. I had nowhere to turn, and fell into a depression for a long time - longer than I ever have.

Fortunately, I’ve since recovered from that relationship, realized some toxic things that happened during it, and today, I can say I’ve moved on from it, mostly, and I say mostly, because there is a part of me really deep down that still does love and cherish that time with her. But for the most part, I’ve grieved enough and gained a lot of perspective to know she’s not the one.

Queue to more recently. I attended a sizecon a couple years ago. I’m still not “out” to anyone in my family yet, so this was the first time I was able to share my feelings more openly than I ever had with a group of people. It was kind of liberating to experience that.

I also did something called “no nut November” last month, which is not masturbating for the entire month of November. By the end of it, let’s just say I was ready to shrink someone, a lot. So much so, that on the first of December, I made a post on reddit, sharing my appreciation for the tinies. I received some replies, and started talking to some of the women on there.

The past week now, has been an incredibly liberating experience. I’ve been doing RPs with people, making friends with some tiny ladies (at some point I share my feelings of romance, they share their platonic interests, so we just chill as friends now), and that’s been a lot of fun. I continue to explore that, and learn from it. I’ve learned a lot in this process in just a week, that other people are PEOPLE, that want things, and that there can be a connection in this way. I’ve also found that, interestingly, RPing as a tiny woman is a lot more fun than I ever realized before, and that experience has been really liberating for me as well.

I’ve also learned that how I am connecting to these people is in a pretty imaginary way. It feels like now every time I RP, something is “missing”. After reflecting on it, I realized, that I’m missing love. I’m missing romance. I’m missing a PERSON. I know that within me, deep down, is a desire for a romantic relationship. I am now looking at some of the drawings that some of the very talented artists draw on this site, and that feeling within me gets drawn out. The idea of cuddling with a tiny, making them feel safe, comforting them by calling them small, it’s just, too much for my heart to handle. I want to say, thank you, to the artists that do that, and that express these things, they give me hope for the future that some day I will be able to provide that for someone. The key just fits there.

I’m also learning how to DEAL WITH all of these feelings, slowly, over time. The first week was honestly like a whole dopamine rush of things - like I was experiencing something that I never had before - I can only describe it as something that high schoolers usually go through, that I missed out on until now. Now that I REALIZE what I have just been through, I’ve been able to collect my thoughts, feelings, control them a little bit more, and see that I need to share my feelings with others to feel validated for what I have been going through lately. Today, I know I stand to explore many more feelings, and I hope to by continuing to make posts here as I feel the need to.

It’s hard, because I don’t know how to come off to people as not scary. I’ve been trying to message people on DeviantArt, but every time I do, I get a weird sense that I’m pushing something they don’t want onto them - just another guy, looking for RP, and they have to deal with me. I REALLY don’t want to make someone feel uncomfortable or like I am pushing their boundaries, and at the same time, I have this feeling inside me to reach out, and I don’t know how without feeling like I am crossing boundaries. I think that’s where I stand now - and why I am making this post - because it’s hard, and I really don’t know what else to do at this point with this feeling inside me other than to do what I see others do, and shout their strange feelings to the world.

So now I’m here. I feel like I just recently was liberated from things - but that I still have more things to become liberated from - and I hope this post gives an idea of where I am coming from, and what I expect to post in the future, as I continue to explore my feelings about all this stuff. Thank you for reading!    

#giant tiny #lifestory #autobiography #opening up #microphilia #romance #emotions #sexuality #gt #giant #:)

[dropintomanga]

Understanding Yumeko Jabami, Thanks to Mahjong

One of my latest hobbies is about to intersect with a very notable gambling anime/manga series starring a girl who just loves to risk it all.

So I found out that Mahjong Soul, the game/service I play online riichi mahjong on, is doing a collaboration with Kakegurui and my reaction to it is somewhat of a mixed one. 

That’s mostly due to what Kakegurui explores versus the ambiguity of mahjong as a gambling game.

For those who don’t know about Kakegurui, it’s a gambling anime/manga series about a young girl named Yumeko Jabami who attends a school, Hyakkaou Private Academy, where the social hierarchy is determined by gambling with your fellow students. The more you win, the more privileges you get in school. The more you lose, the worse your status is. There are multiple “loser” students that are labeled as “household pets” and have to wear a tag around their neck that labels them as such. Yumeko is noted to be a compulsive gambler. She doesn’t care if she wins or loses; she’s in it for the thrill. Yumeko’s behavior draws the attention of the whole school as she takes on various notable opponents in order to get an opportunity to take on the student council president, Kirari Momobami.

There’s a lot of commentary about Kakegurui with regards to Yumeko’s character. She does have a huge gambling addiction, but never truly pays for it in anyway. The series can be also be commentary about the nature of today’s world and how the nature of capitalism has destroyed important familial/peer bonds for the sake of status.

I find the MajSoul x Kakegurui collaboration fascinating because 

1.) Gambling is illegal in Japan. There’s literally no casinos there at all. You can beat on sports and horse racing, but if you want to play poker/blackjack, underground casinos are your best bet. And the ones who run them tend to be the yakuza. The Yakuza games highlight underground casinos to a huge degree.

2.) Mahjong has stigma from where the game originated - China. The Chinese government has frowned on people playing mahjong to gamble. While there are mahjong parlors in China, there are many stories of police raiding them and many parlors are run by gangsters. It also doesn’t help that some Chinese folks have had their lives ruined due to mahjong.

3.) Mahjong is very popular in Japan. It’s probably the most popular table game there. However, the game is in this in-between space of being a gambling game while also not being a gambling game. That’s probably a big reason why Japan hasn’t been too fussy about it.

So this collaboration has some kind of tension as many folks don’t know about the dark “gambling” side of mahjong. Kakegurui is a trip to that dark side. No real money is bet in MajSoul anyway, but I’ve been thinking about the series after getting caught up with the manga.

There’s a scene where Yumeko and one of her rivals-turned-ally, Mary Saotome, face off in a game of Rock-Paper-Scissors Poker. Mary was the 1st opponent Yumeko fought and she lost her place in the school. Over time, Mary built up the resolve to challenge Yumeko again while becoming more friendlier. During their game, Mary manages to win a hand against Yumeko. Yumeko admits that she was scared during the hand, but at the same time, she’s having A LOT of fun.

Mary remarks about her comments:

“Oh. The way Yumeko sees it...fear is part of the fun of gambling. This is so ridiculous. “Fear is part of the fun of gambling”? It makes no sense. And yet, I’m starting to feel it right now. 

Getting afraid, bluffing, going in fully confident...our feelings are exposed in every move we make, and we respond to them and then...the showdown! Our true emotions are revealed. 

We’re having the kind of conversation we can only enjoy when we’re gambling.

It’s like we’re in our own little world...sharing secrets with each other.”

Yumeko isn’t a hero. Gamblers usually aren’t noble characters, but they have this tendency to inspire other people to embrace their vulnerabilities and move forward while doing so. Fear is real, but it closes off the real you. Yumeko wants the people around her to truly be themselves and take the kinds of risks that can change their lives for the better in so many ways.

There was an article I once read about how most work is BS and one of the things that was mentioned was that what’s considered work today doesn’t solve social problems. For example, many people will argue that rampant consumerism has destroyed the world. The writer said something along the lines of that it’s not pleasure that’s a problem; it’s the view that people have to suffer in order to deserve pleasure. That view feels like Puritanism because it absolves those with power of their responsibility in letting social problems happen in the first place. 

Kakegurui is a celebration of that pleasure in a way that generates real change. The freedom to have whatever desire you want. And in turn, that freedom spreads to other people in good ways. In some ways, mahjong is about the right kind of pleasure and learning how to deal with it amongst other people. It’s competitive, sure, but you’re being intimate with 3 other people and are learning more about yourself and those around you.

I don’t really gamble much, but mahjong just grew on me. While I’ve managed to do well, I have lost many times and have deliberated on many in-game decisions. I realize that the game is a safe outlet in learning how to deal with life’s many decisions. You don’t win all the time. There’s also benefits in letting other people win as well. For example, if you’re in 1st place by a lot and the player in 2nd place is chasing you, you can help the 3rd and 4th place holders by discarding tiles that you don’t need and they need. Make them take on 2nd place or each other. Hell, you can even lose to them if you know you won’t lose 1st place at all and they don’t have super-strong hands. Mahjong is a game that connects everyone and really gets going when all the parts (i.e. the players) move together.

There’s a wonderful interview I read last year from a psychology journalist turned pro poker player, Maria Konnikova, about being unable to control things in life and how poker taught her how to stay calm despite bad luck. Maria talks about the beauty of not knowing and embracing that view.

“Look at how many things there are to amaze us, to fascinate us. Look at the power of wonder, embrace it, and don’t be afraid there are things we don’t know. Don’t be afraid of uncertainty, be grateful for it. Would you want to live in a world where you knew everything and where everything was determined? 

He (Carl Sagan) hated superstition, as do I. Don’t take the easy way out. Don’t give up agency. Don’t have these stupid rituals. Science is beautiful. Lack of knowing is beautiful. All of these things we can’t control are beautiful. They’re powerful. They make us human. They make life worth living.“

We all make kinds of gambles in life when it comes to choosing the right partner/school/job opportunity. There tends to be a lot of pain, but there’s almost always something good that comes out of taking the right kinds of risk. I’m learning more about that through mahjong. To be honest, I don’t think I’ll ever get super-competitive in mahjong because it’s a lifetime to master. But it’s a safe outlet to process my fears of uncertainty. My mom has been a big help in telling me that it’s okay to lose and give up when needed. There has to be rainy days as well as sunny days, right? The “win at all costs” mentality causes so much harm to people and those around them.

While I know Yumeko is criticized to be a sexualized female character, Yumeko isn’t afraid to display her lust for gambling with a sense of pride. In my opinion, she represents female empowerment. There’s so many women who are slut-shamed for being sexually expressive. What bigots fear are people unafraid to express themselves and won’t let themselves be shamed for it. Yumeko is the kind of heroine whose story needs to be out there - potentially destructive and able to harness it for self-empowerment without it getting out of hand.

So, I’ll go pseudo-Yumeko and say - Gamble away responsibly to your heart’s content~! Share your love with fellow gamblers! Have fun! Make that fun destroy those insecurities awful people have placed upon you! (insert wicked grin)

#Kakegurui #manga #anime #Mahjong Soul #psychology of gambling #pleasure #luck

[mariamermaid]

The Queens Gambit

Ron Weasley x fem reader

Summary: Ron had been waiting for weeks for the upcoming chess tournament in London, but what if his title is endangered by a rookie…

Words: 4k

A/N: I think it´s pretty obvious where I got the inspo from, but in case you haven´t watched the show; I can highly recommend it! (That doesn´t mean you have to watch the show before reading though) I decided to add a few more characters from the HP fandom to make the story a little more entertaining. It´s basically like a little alternate universe story (but not really??)

  “Do you have a clock?”

You shook your head as you filled out the form with your name and other information. It was your first tournament and as much as you were excited on the inside, you kept a cool exterior. In reality, your heart was pounding against your chest. You had counted the days to this precious Saturday midmorning.

“If you´re opponent doesn´t have one, we´ll loan you one. Play starts in 20 minutes”, the boy in front of you nonchalantly explained. He was tall, but his slack figure was loosely positioned on the wooden chair. His teeth were a little crooked and he barely looked up to eye you any further. “What´s your rating?”

You glanced up from the paper in your hand, furrowing your brows. “My rating? I don´t have a rating.”

“Have you ever played in a tournament before?”

“No.” Your voice was steady, but a slight annoyance grew as the rules of the tournament seemed to have decided to play against you.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Starring directly at the boy, merely a man, in front of you, you nodded. Then you handed the paper back to him. “I´m sure.”

“Then I put you in beginners”, he sighed and shrugged.

“I´m not a beginner”, you argued, but apparently, that didn´t change anything. “Doesn´t matter, if you´re an unrated player, you go in beginners and people with ratings under 1600.”

A pause fell from your lips, clearly Merlin didn´t want you playing against actual contenders.

“Is it against any rule for me to play in the Open?” The boy with dark short hair seemed taken back by your sudden and quick answers, and he stuttered when answering. Maybe it was your confidence that startled him, maybe it was the pure attendance of a female.

“Not… Not exactly.”

“Then put me in the open.”

“There are three guys with over 1800 and Weasley might show up, you have no chance.”

You didn´t answer, leaving him sitting behind the desk. You weren´t sure, if he meant to spare you with good will, or simply feared that an irascible woman could ruin the tournament.

Neville Longbottom, looked at the paper handed to him and read out the name. “Y/n Y/L/N.”

When entering the hall, that was used for all kinds of events when booked, very few decorations fell into your eye. A few flags with symbols of schools or teams and a few goblets. Pieces of sports equipment were pushed to the sides for space. The tables, all fairly small with enough space for the chessboards, were placed induvial throughout the room. Boys, mostly around your age and older were talking to each other, while other´s sat down to study their strategies. At the back was a partitioning, that’s where the big players gamed.

 Another boy, he seemed to be around your age with dark hair and round glasses joined you in eyeing the scene.

“Are the matches played random?”, you asked him quietly without looking away from the tables. You hoped for no unwanted attention, which was easier said than done. Especially giving the fact, that you were one out of two girls.

“No, they match it by ratings on their first round. After that winner play winners and losers play losers.” The boy answered. He seemed calm about his presence as well as his answer. He had clearly played before in tournaments. You nodded understanding, before walking to the first table assigned to you.

The second girl other than you, was sitting to your opposite.

You starred at the clock at the side of the chess board, you had never played with a clock. It annoyed you deeply that it made you look like a beginner. You were good and you were planning to win. The girl, black shoulder length hair and almond shaped eyes, noticed your look and offered you a polite smile.

“I´m Cho Chang. Each player has 90 minutes, after you move, you press the button closest to you. Then it´s your opponent’s turn.”

You didn´t want to talk much, you were there to play, but you appreciated her explanation. Then your eyes traveled through the room, just to find Cho´s again.

“Why do they put the girls together?”

“They´re not supposed to, but if you win, they´ll move you up. Have you ever played in a tournament?”

You shook your head slightly. “No.”

But she simply shrugged. “I´m sure you´ll do fine.”

“What about Ron Weasley, is he coming today?” Oh, the king of chess, at least currently.

You had read about him, his matches from his first years at Hogwarts. Even Dumbledore himself had praised him and the daily prophet had written multiple articles about him. You had studied his games, over and over. It was him, who you wanted to play.

“Yeah, he has to defend his title.”

 After 20 minutes, Neville heard light steps approaching. Only seconds after, he found you standing in front of him again. “What do I do with this?” You hold up the paper from your match. It took every bit of effort to hide your happiness, the first game had taken a lot of weight off your shoulders. After beating Cho, you were more determined than ever.

“Is your match already over?”

“Yes, I won”, you shrugged.

“That was fast, circle your name and drop in the basket”, he muttered and you did as said. Neville starred at the spot where you had previously stood; something tingled in his senses. Maybe you would actually get a chance to prove yourself to the higher players.

 You snuck through the rows of players still starring at their boards until reaching the dividers. Clearly, you were fast, faster than most of them, which gave you time to study the room further. But the interesting part was happening behind the dividers. You paused for second, before deciding to enter. Around the table was a group of people watching, within the crowd, the boy from before with the round glasses. It was your turn to join his side and watch the two seated players. By the red hair, you could easily make out Ronald Weasley himself. His green eyes were pierced on the board as he chewed on his lips. You had seen several pictures of him in the newspaper, but seeing him in person? It was a new excitement rushing through your veins.

“Is he a Grandmaster?”, you asked the dark-haired boy to your left. Curiosity had always been in your nature, it even more so, got you into trouble.

“He´s working on it, it takes time. You have to play a grandmaster to become one.”

“How much time?”

“Do you mind?”, Ron turned from the game, eyeing you with caginess. His green eyes pierced right through yours and you pressed your lips to a thin line, looking to the floor with guilt. Internally, you cursed at yourself, but the smallest part showed a weird reaction; Ron Weasley had taken notice of you. Not in the way you wanted, but maybe he´d remember you. Slowly, they all focused back on the game.

Weasley´s opponent, Blaise Zabini, had his arms crossed in front of the board. “Draw?”

Ron shook his head, he wasn´t cruel. However, the victory was too close and too easy for him. “No.”

Zabini sighed, watching as Ron´s Queen moved on the board to shatter his king. The art of wizard chess remained aggressively; how queens and rooks smashed and destroyed kings and pawns. It was fascinating to you.

Weasley clapped at his own win, just like the crowd, a smirk back on his lips. “Yes!”

The group around you echoed in further applause and you couldn´t help but feel a smile. The two of them shook hands, before Zabini took off in defeat. He tried his best not to show his disappointment and anger. Ron watched his tall figure leave through the crowd, until his eyes landed back on you. You felt a blush rushing into your cheeks. Did you said he´d remember you? He probably despised you already.

Avoiding his glance again, knowing you had already attracted unwanted attention, you swallowed. Ron on the other hand just realized the pretty girl, who had watched him…

 The minutes and hours took by and one after one player was defeated by you. Oh, how you loved winning. Some might decline it as a weakness, but it was the drive that kept you going.

“That´s check”, you explained after successfully beating another man. He adjusted his hair, feeling clearly uncomfortable. You on the other hand, had found your safe zone.

“I know what it is”, he then replaced his Queen, which rose from her throne, before making her way to the newly assigned field. But you had already figured out his move and even more so, your own win.

“Draw?” He asked, nervously tapping with his pencil. You had placed your head on top of your hands, watching him closely. You shook your head.

“I resign”, he admitted.

 “Dinner break, then three more rounds. Final round on Sunday 11a.m.”; Neville explained, while the players had gathered outside the hall to either chitchat or look at the charts of the past games. You eyed the chart; you had won four games already. Two games were listed above you, the next one was against Harry Potter. You furrowed your brows. “You said there were three people with ratings higher than 1800!”

Neville, the boy of drossy posture and crocked teeth, looked up from the papers. He had already guessed that you would complain. “Yes, that´s right.”

“I thought I´d be playing one of them.” Neville sighed, his love for chess, organization of tournaments and the clear instructed rules, were a little thwarted by you. “You don´t have a rating, consider yourself lucky.”

“How do I get a rating?”

“You play 30 games in the USCF tournaments and then wait four months.”

“But that’s too long! I want to play Weasley”, you exclaimed. The calculations in your head were fast and no matter how you turned it, time was your enemy. “If you win your next three games and if he does the same…”

“I will.”

 Annoyed, you stepped back into the hall. You were ambitious to win. It was all you had and the potential price money lurked you even more. At home, nothing but your mother waited for you. Money had always been a big concern, she wasn´t even able to afford for you to go to Hogwarts. Everything you knew about magic; she had taught you.  She worked two jobs to make enough money for food and rent and while she cleaned motel rooms, one of the guests that often stayed at the motel, taught you to play wizard chess; Mr. Lupin was an amazing teacher…

 At the table of your next tournament, you found the dark-haired boy with round glasses. He awaited you and smiled as you finally sat down. “I´m Harry, Harry Potter.”

Besides your prior encounter, you had seen him talking to Ron Weasley and a small wave of exhilaration rose inside you. He and Weasley seemed close friends. “Y/n, Y/L/N.”

The game started with innocent moves from pawns. In between, Harry glanced up to you, checking. But you were sure of what you were doing. Minutes passed into the game and Harry started realizing that you were better than him, he didn´t show it yet, but he was well aware. Nevertheless, he was enjoying an exquisite game of chess.

You took his queen nonchalantly, which fell off the board in debris, and nervously licking his lips, he wrote down new notes on his notepad, before making his move. Your turn again, the rook.

Harry folded his hands, starring at the game. He pondered how to get out. After more minutes passing, a few people even started to watch you. They stood in the background, far enough to not make it conspicuous, but close enough for you to notice.

You moved your king and Harry sighed. “Merlin, Y/n, you´re humiliating my rook.”

“You won´t have to suffer much longer.”

Yes, you had it all played out in your head. Your win was safe and secure.

A smile was on your lips. Two further moves, and it was done.

He stretched out his hand in defeat and you took it. “Good game, you´re very talented.”

You shrugged as if it didn´t matter, but it did. To you it did. “You really are something.”

Saturday came to an end; you had won every single game. With your head tilted high, you stepped out the building. Fresh air flowed through your lunges and you took a deep breath. Suddenly voices echoed from your right; a few steps away Harry was talking to Ron Weasley. They chuckled in ease as they continued to make conversation. Ron´s back was turned into your direction, but Harry quickly noticed you.

“Hey Y/N! You played well today; do you want to grab a butterbeer with us?”

A bitter taste spread on your mouth; you had never even tried butterbeer. But all your savings had gone into the fee of the tournament and you already expected a long lecture when coming home. You shook your head with a polite smile on your lips. “Sorry, I have to get home.”

The two boys watched as you left, silence between them.

“She´s good, better than all the other girl´s I´ve seen”, Harry added and his friend rolled his eyes.

“Come on, Harry, just because she beat you, doesn´t mean she´s some kind of unknown genius. She doesn’t even have a rating.”

Harry shrugged innocently. “Whatever you say, but be careful, maybe she´ll even beat you.”

Ron echoed in laughter as he playfully punched his friend’s shoulder. “As if!”

 Sunday came, Ronald Weasley was late.

“Mom, have you seen my shoes?”

“Ronald, if you just once tidied up you might find them at the right place!”

Ron wasn´t nervous, but as so often, he was running late. With the annual tournament of wizard chess, he was ready to defend his title as current state champion.

Finally, the shoes had been next to the dishwasher (probably Fred´s and George´s play), he threw over his jacket and made his way to the fire place. “Mom, I´m leaving.”

Molly Weasley, who always knew where every single one of her children was, came hurrying down the stairs. With swift motions she brushed away dirt from Ron´s jacket and then started fidgeting around with his red hair. “Mom!”, Ron instructed his mother to stop and hurried towards the fireplace. He took the floo powder and rolled his eyes as Molly started wiping away a tear.

“There goes my champion!”

 You sat at the table, the same table where Ron had previously won against Zabini, waiting and growing impatiently. People around you waited as well. You couldn´t help but feel a deeper reluctance towards the conceited champion. Finally, you flinched as the door opened.

“Sorry, took a butterbeer on the go”, Ron added and held his cup high to show his evidence. You wanted to let out a sigh and roll your eyes, but you resisted to do so.

He took another sip before stretching out his hand.

“Ron Weasley, what´s your name?” Quickly, you shook his hand. Ron knew your name, Harry had told him, but he asked nevertheless. It was a rude tactic to make you feel smaller against him. You on the other hand wanted to begin, not waste more time. “Y/N, Y/L/N.”

He nodded acknowledging and the game started.

Five minutes into the game, he yawned.

It drove you insane. Did he do it on purpose? To make you lose focus? Or was he as underwhelmingly annoying?

He played confidential, not even thinking he could lose. It didn´t even take seconds for him to plant his moves. It intimated you and no matter how hard you tried not to show, the second yawn as you moved the pawn, did bring you to a slight stumble. Neville as well as Harry stood in the audience watching.

You felt sweat forming on your neck and cleavage, and strain pushed against your temples.

“I´ll be right back.” You jumped off your seat and hurried into the bathroom, leaving behind their confused faces.

Cold water ran down your hands and you placed the refreshing cool on your cheeks and neck.

Your eyes were pinned in the mirror, starring angrily at yourself. Running away from the game felt like an embarrassment enough, you weren´t ready to lose.

“Come on, you can beat him.”

Slowly, your stare wandered towards the ceiling. The chess board appeared out of your imagination and the figures stood tall, just like you had left them behind. Then, they started moving and each time you found yourself in an inescapable path, they pulled back into their initial position. Until…

 As you sat down, you were steadier as before. It surprised Ron a little and he watched as you moved your knight to take out one of his pawns. His rook then took your knight and you followed by replacing your pawn. On and on. The game continued. You were dangerously calm and as you placed the bishop down, you watched his face closely.

Ever so slightly, Ron shook his head and the glint in his eyes vanished. Harry in the crowd had the smallest hint of a smile.

“For Merlin´s sake”, Ron muttered and his hand pushed back his ginger hair.

“I think that´s it.” Your tranquil voice didn´t help him at all, but it gave you the confirmation you had hoped for.

“No, I can get out of this.”

“I don´t think so.” Then you tilted your head to side, completely deserted. “Maybe, if you had gotten here on time.”

Ron´s green eyes pierced into yours, then back on the board. Oh, time could be a cruel opponent and right now, he was losing. He took another move, not wanting to admit it yet, but you sighed sounding bored and exhausted.

“It doesn´t work, I don´t have to use the Queen.”

It didn´t matter to him. This was now more and ever about his ego. “I´ll just cover it with the bishop and-“

“Move.” His voice was low and unlike his usual character, deadly serious. Harry had never seen his friend in such a situation and even though he found it alarming, what a terrible loser Ron was, he was happy for you. You deserved it.

You did as said, covering your queen, while his rook took one of your pawns. It didn´t help, all it was, was a desperate cry. Your rook moved right next to his King, which he placed further away, but then your queen came along.

“Do you see it now? Or should we finish this on the board?”

In disbelief, he shook his head once again. But this time, his eyes found yours in an amazing gaze. “For Merlin´s sake.”

The King was destroyed by the Queen. You had won.

The people around you echoed with applause and Ron clapped as well, gentle smiling.

It was useless denying it further, you had beaten him fair and square. Harry had been right, you were good and better than Ron.

He lifted himself off his seat and shook hands with you, a reassuring smile on his lips.

For the first time on this day, you could smile as well. All the worries and the lecture that lasted till late in the evening, had been worth it.

You defeated the state champion and you won the prize money.

 “Y/n?”

You had planned to go home, your mother would be enthusiastic about the money, but Ron´s voice held you back. You were outside in the hall, hand already on the railing to the staircase leading outside.

“Do you want to grab a butterbeer with me now?” He sensed your hesitation and quickly spoke up again. “Don´t worry, I´ll pay. I guess I owe it to you”, Ron shrugged and pushed his hands nervously deeper into the pockets of his brown pants. He looked different than when seated behind the chess board, taller but less comfortable as well.

“I´m not sure…”

“Come on, you can´t leave me hanging like this after taking my title.”

A small chuckle escaped your lips and Ron noticed how well it suited your face. While playing chess and debating over strategies, there wasn´t much time to give away polite smiles or studying your opponent’s traits.

You couldn´t help, but feel how the reluctance towards Ron disappeared. He sighed relieved as you nodded agreeing.

The bar was only a few streets away, a side alley and the entrance to the magical ambience was hidden. The door opened as the front side to a large dumpster and lead a few steps down into the pub. It was cozy and due to the early time on a Sunday afternoon, still fairly empty. The bartender nodded towards Ron, they seemed to know each other.

“Two butterbeers, Dean.”

Together you sat down in niche to the side, a few plants hung from the ceiling and blankets and pillows laid on the armchairs in between. Chill jazz music played in the background and a house elf washed up used glasses. You imagined how the room was filled with people in the evenings.

“So, you never played in a tournament before and yet you beat the state champion?”

Ron was curious, which was understandable and you blushed at his question.

“A friend of my mom taught me how to play chess.”

“Really? He must know a lot about it, I imagine.”

“Yeah, and he gave me many books about openings and strategies.”

“I never saw you playing in the school tournaments, when did you start?”

You avoided his glance, starring down at the butterbeer Dean just brought to your table. The yellowish, sweet smelling liquid with soft foam on top.

“I don´t play for a school team”, you admitted quietly. The topic was hard to avoid, but you didn´t have many friends anyways to talk to.

“Well, I think you should maybe start then. They often travel together to other tournaments and-“

“I´m actually not going to a public school, I´m home taught.” You voice was louder now, but still shaking enough for Ron to realize your indisposition. He maybe was a genius on the board, but construing social interactions? Not his strength. Awkwardly, he scratched the back of his neck.

“Oh.”

 An uncomfortable silence settled between the two of you and you decided to take your first sip to take off your mind. He watched carefully, how your face enlightened with joy. “It´s really good!”

Ron kept his assumption, that it was your first butterbeer, to himself and smiled nodding.

“Dean knows how to make one of the bests around here”, he paused before continuing.

“I admire you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Everything I know about wizard chess, I learned in school from my teammates. Actually, everything I know, I was taught in Hogwarts. But now you come along and beat me, you´re brilliant Y/N.”

“I always liked chess, it´s a whole world on a simple board. I´m not as good in other things, trust me.” You admitted, but his compliment spread warmth around your heart.

“If you want, I could teach you a few things about magic.”

Maybe Ron Weasley wasn´t the best teacher, but he truly wanted to see you again. Something about you was so charismatic and mesmerizing, he couldn´t help himself. To his luck, excitement was shown in your face. “That sounds amazing!”

When you had finished your beers and left the pub, Ron faced you again. The two of you had talked for over an hour and he was beginning to like you more with each minute.

The thought of Ron teaching you more about magic, made you enthusiastic. Maybe it was also the fact, that seeing him again, brought a tickle in your stomach.

“Well, I see you next week, Queen.”

You chuckled at his new nickname for you, it was a pleasant flattery.

“We will see how good your gambit is when it comes to dueling.”

#ron weasley imagine #ron weasley x reader #ron weasley oneshot #ruppert grint #harry potter imagine #the queens gambit #mariamermaidimagine

[sophielovesbarnes]

All or Nothing

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Winchester!reader

Warnings: none yet

Author note: Hello! ❤️ so this idea has been running on my mind for months and I hadn’t brought myself to write it, but due to the COVID my classes are cancelled which has me with a lot of spare time in my hands.

The story will make a kind of crossover with Supernatural, pretty much I will be using some of the characters in a AU.

Please let me know what do you think and dm me if you want to be tagged.

Chapter one.

You’ve always loved this; the adrenaline that rushes through your veins when you are thrown into the air and you fly so high that it feels like you are going to touch the stars, the excitement that fills you with every jump, the rush you get when you listen to the joyful voices that surround you, cheering every move you make, the smile on your teammates' faces that assures you that they are as passionate about this as you are.

These are the great things about being a cheerleader, things that not many people see or understand; you’ve been called vain, bimbo, basic, the thing is that you don’t people that have never felt this emotion will ever understand.

They won’t understand the sacrifices needed to get there, to make every move coordinated, the weeks of practice behind fifteen minutes on the stage; they wouldn’t understand the permanent calluses and blisters covering your feet and hands, feeling your muscles so weak as noodles after practice, the hours of training devoted everyday, the sweat, the blood and the tears; but those fifteen minutes, God, they made you feel like heaven.

**

After the music ends, signalling the end of the halftime you and your squad head back to the edge of the field, waving hello and throwing kisses back and forward.

When you finally reach your bench, you throw yourself to your water bottle and feel the relief of it’s cold contents hydrating your throat.

"It went well." Ingrid says, you can see her chest going up and down rapidly and short black hairs sticking to her sweaty forehead. "Truth be told I really thought I was gonna mess up that basket."

"Double kicks are a bitch." You agree and take one last sip from your water bottle, after you both catch your breath and both football teams are on their spot ready to start the next time you put down your bottle and grab your pom poms, preparing yourself to keep everyone's spirits up until the end of the game. "Ready?"

"Let’s do this." She smiles, and you both go back to position chanting and cheering for your team.

Forty-five minutes later, the crowd erupts into claps and screams when your team scores their last touchdown making them victors of this game, the squad jumps into hugs celebrating your victory.

The game is over and everyone starts to abandon the bleachers, so you take your bag and head to the locker rooms followed by the rest of the team, discussing what went well and wrong on the routine, the pre-spring break stress that’s building up, how cute the linebreaker looked, but mostly everyone is talking about the upcoming celebration party.

When you get to your locker, you untie your ponytail, letting your head recover it’s proper blood flow, you get undressed, carefully folding your uniform and proceed to step into the shower. The hot water loosens up your muscles and brings you to a sleepy point of relaxation. You finish showering and step out, wrapping your body with a fluffy white towel.

"Are you sure you’re not going to Liam’s party?" A tall brunette girl asks as she walks behind you. “It’s the event of the year.”

"Thanks Alice but I really want to attend the FBI lecture tomorrow and a hangover would keep me from actually paying attention." You reply simply as you get dressed and pack the rest of your stuff into your bag.

"Well I’m sure Liam will miss you." She implies. "He was very enthusiastic about having you there."

"He’ll survive." You give her a playful smile and throw the strap of your bag over your shoulder. "Night girls see you tomorrow."

They reply almost in chorus and, you wave goodbye walking out from the locker room, spinning your car keys on your finger. The parking lot is almost empty, most people are either back on their dorm rooms or on their way to Liam’s party, so the way back to your apartment is peaceful, just the sound of the wheels rolling on the road and the wind running through the windows.

Originally you lived on the dorm rooms like most of the squad, but at the beginning of this school year your brothers had surprised you buying an apartment just for you, quoting Dean's words it was easier to concentrate on your own space and you deserved a nice and private place to live, after all, you had a full scholarship ride so you didn’t have to worry about paying tuition.

Truth be told, you really liked the apartment; the building is fifteen minutes away from your school, and your neighbors are nice and quiet. When you first got the place, you, Dean, Sam, and Adam had spent an entire weekend painting the walls, decorating and equipping the place so it could fit all your necessities.

The kitchen is right next to the entrance door, behind it it’s the living room, there’s only one loveseat and the tv is in front of it, there are photographs everywhere, your brothers are on the most of them, there’s one from your first competition, you are sitting on Dean’s shoulders, holding high the trophy you and your squad won, Sam and Adam hugging Dean from each side, there’s one from your graduation, the KU game where Dean finally decided to introduce you to and your brothers to Castiel, next to it is the one from their wedding, there’s also one from your prom where you and your ex where crowned king and queen for the last time; you still keep the crown and the band displayed on your room.

You love the apartment, even though you live alone and far from Kansas and your brothers, they made it feel like home.

You leave your keys and your bag next to the door and then head to your bedroom where you strip out of your clothes and put on your pjs, you fall asleep the second your head touches the pillow.

The next morning your alarm starts beeping exactly at 6 o’clock, you have made a cocoon in the blankets that’s so warm and comfortable that you refuse to move, but eventually the beeping sound off the alarm becomes unbearable and you know for a fact that if you don’t get up from your bed soon you are going to be late for class; so you begrudgingly get up from the bed and slam the button of the alarm turning it off.

One hour later your hair and your makeup are neatly done, you have replaced your pajamas with jeans and a white bustier with puff sleeves, and you are ready to step out if the door, bag on one hand and coffee on the other one.

When you get to the auditorium, your best friend Maia is already there saving a seat for you, you distinguish her from her curly hair and her cinnamon skin, she smiles at you when she sees you.

“You’re late.” You drop your bag on the chair next to her and then take a seat.

“My bed and I were too comfortable together this morning.”

“I getcha.” She replies, her New York accent marked on her words. “Are you excited?”

“Totally, I’ve been looking towards this lecture for weeks.”

A few minutes later three men step on the stage, accompanied by the principal, there’s a man in his sixties, with black hair and a kind smile, you know he is David Rossi, you have re-read his book over and over since you were little. There’s also a bald black man, and you can almost see his muscles through his shirt.

But the third man is the one who has your complete attention.

You’re completely fascinated with him from the second he steps into the podium, there’s something on his messy brown hair, his shy smile, and the way he fidgets nervously with his fingers that makes your heart flutter.

A few moments later the room starts to fill and when every seat is taken the older man takes a spot on the podium and clears his throat.

“Good morning, I am Agent David Rossi, and these are my partners, agent Derek Morgan and Doctor Reid.” He points at each of the men and they both give a courteous nod.

“Research, casework, and training to hunt down monsters, rapists, terrorists, pedophiles, and our specialty, serial killers.” Agent Rossi turns his back and lets agent Morgan continue.

“Does anybody here know what a serial killer is and what makes it different from a spree killer or a mass murderer?” He asks, and you raise your hand almost immediately, he grants you the word and you smile.

“A mass murderer is someone who kills four or more people on the same location and on the same time period, spree killers murder two or more victims on different locations and they don’t have a cooling period.” You reply. “Serial killers have three or more victims; they usually select the victim with anticipation and there is a cooling period between each murder.”

“It’s very good, by statue three is the magic number, and it’s actually more qualitative than quantitative for us.”

“Today we’re gonna talk about how some serial killers get made.” Rossi continues, “Because if you can understand that, then you can figure out a way to catch them.”

After that Morgan proceeds to introduce two girls, both victims of the same serial killer; whom as Rossi describes as the most prolific killer they’ve had.

“One thing you should understand is that no two killers are the same, they each occupy their own point on the behavioral spectrum.” After listening to agent’s Reid’s rapid voice, you officially consider yourself a goner. “Genetics, brain chemistry, psychology, and environment are all factors.”

“We believe that this particular killer grew up in an environment so adverse that he never had a chance.” Morgan adds. “He endured years of cruel and abject physical abuse as well as horribly profound psychological abuse.”

“Now let me be clear, most abused kids do not turn into killers, but this particular unknown subject, or unsub suffered extreme abuse and it has everything to do with why he does what he does.” Agent Rossi explains, after that they project the images from the unsub’s murder scenes and they give the details of his MO.

“I’m gonna be sick.” Maia whispers to you as she covers her eyes and retreats into her seat to avoid watching the gruesome pictures displayed on the wall.

When they finish explaining the case, sharing the details and the profiling process they open the podium for questions, again you are the first and only one to raise your hand.

“Yes? Miss…”

“Winchester.” You complete “So, you said that not all abused kids become killers, but what is the breaking point where some of them do and some don’t?”

“The majority of the most prolific and dangerous serial killers were genetically disposed to behave antisocially and furthermore grew up in an environment that cultivated a disregard for the lives of others.” Agent Reid answers “One gene in particular is linked with an increased risk of violent or aggressive behavior; monoamine oxidase A, it controls the production of a protein that breaks down brain-signaling chemicals like dopamine, noradrenalin, and serotonin, which all influence mood, there’s a variant of the gene called MAOA-L, it causes people to produce less

of the protein that breaks down these signaling chemicals, which in turn causes them to build up. An excess of these chemicals, leads to impulsive behavior; such as hypersexuality, sleep disorders, mood swings, and violent tendencies.

“So it can be inherited?”

“The heritability of the antisocial personality disorder is estimated to be 0.38. Heritability is the proportion of differences in traits in a population that are due to genetic differences as opposed to differences in the environment. A heritability of 0.38 tells us that, on average, about 38 percent of the individual differences that we observe in degree of “sociability” or “anti-sociability" are in some way attributable to individual genetic differences.”

“Thank you.” You smile at him, and you can swear there’s a pink blush coloring his cheeks as he smiles back at you.

There are just a couple more questions, most of them directed to morbid curiosity about the case, when they are done answering, agent Rossi opens an invitation to all the attendees to join the FBI, which brings a query about the requirements and the preparation his team had; again, Spencer is the one who answers.

“Most of us have done extensive postgraduate work in areas such as abnormal psychology, and sociology, as well as an intensive study of relative casework and existing literature.” He keeps his hands in the pocket of his navy blue pants.

“But that is after the selection to the unit, first you have to be an agent, work in a field, and that’s what we are here to talk about.” Spencer retreats himself to the back of the stage, almost leaning against the wall. “For that, the academics are wide open, everyone in this room, once you graduate; regardless of your course study; is eligible to apply to the FBI.”

“What did you study?” The guy wearing the Cardinals hoodie, sitting two rows behind you asks.

“Criminal justice, but sports appreciation was all full up at my Community College.” There’s a soft general laugh, but you can’t take your eyes from the Doctor.

“And you Doctor Reid?” You ask, looking him straight in the eyes. “What did you study?”

“I-I hold doctorates in Chemistry, Mathematics and Engineering, as well as BAs in psychology and sociology.”

“You’re drooling.” Maia mocks in a whispered tone, causing you to blush.

“Shut it.” You whisper as you try to slow down your heart rhythm. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-four as of last month, thirty-four; I, I also completed an additional BA in Philosophy, which reminds me that I have a joke.” He chuckles nervously and keeps talking “How many existentialists take to screw in a lightbulb? Two, one to change the lightbulb and one to observe how it symbolizes an incandescent beacon of subjectivity in another world of cosmic nothingness.”

You giggle softly, but the rest of the room seems to remain silent, Maia looks at you with an eyebrow raised like she is trying to figure you out.

“It’s fun, you know? Because that’s what existentialists do.” You explain on a murmur.

The silence of the spectators makes Spencer shift timidly and he starts to speak again, trying to explain the joke when he gets cut off by agent Rossi.

“Okay, before he does his Quantum Physics knock-knock joke.” This is what makes the class laugh while you stay quiet “Do we have any other questions about opportunities in the FBI?”

There are only a couple more questions, and when the lecture is over Morgan and Rossi find themselves surrounded by curious students, and girls fussing over them, Spencer stays alone and he starts to pack his things on his bag, you take a deep breath and make your way down towards him.

“That was really interesting.” Your voice seems to startle him, he turns around and runs his fingers through his hair messing it up just a bit more. “I really enjoyed it.”

“Uh thanks, Miss Winchester.”

“Y/N is fine.”

“Y/N.” He repeats and changes his weight from one foot to the other. “You seemed interested in the BAU.”

“I am, I mean, I still have a couple years left in college but joining the FBI does sound interesting.”

“Well, if you have any more doubts, you can... you know, call.” He hands you a white card with the FBI emblem on it, as well as his name and phone number; you take the card without breaking eye contact and give him a coy smile.

“Will do.”

A/N: so that’s it, please let me know what do you think ❤️

#supernatural #supernatural x reader #supernatural x you #winchester!reader #winchester!sister #dean winchester #sam winchester #adam milligan #castiel #winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #reid x reader #spencer reid #dr reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader

[meirmakesstuff]

Hello! My group of Wayfarers has now built themselves a building which serves as a general meeting place, as a prayer space, and a last resort retreat in case of monster attacks. Which, if wikipedia didn't lie to me, is not unlike a Synagogue. So I was wondering if men would wear a kipah/other hat inside even if they're just gathering to eat. There're also strangers regularly entering the same space to eat. Would that make a difference?

Oh, spectacular. I love this question because it has so many different layers to it. Once again you’ve asked a deceptively simple question that’s going to take me several paragraphs of background to address, and I’m going to expand it to include Jewish head covering practices other than men wearing kippot while we’re at it, as well as touching on the nature of Jewish sacred spaces. 

First of all, congratulations on naming your Jewish-coded culture! Wayfarers is a fascinating name and opens interesting implications about your world. I remain incredibly curious about the story you’re telling.

Second of all, my usual 2J3O (Two Jews, three opinions) disclaimer applies, especially this time, because I’m going to be talking about a lot of different Jewish practices with regard to head coverings, and while I’ve spent some time in a wide variety of different Jewish spaces and movements, I’m not deeply immersed in all of them, so for Jewish readers, if I make an incorrect generalization about practices in your movement I’d love to read your corrections. I’d also like to point anyone reading this toward Kermab’s previous ask for context on this conversation. 

As it happens, two years ago I conducted a series of interviews across denominations about head covering practices and feelings for a book I used in my fourth through sixth grade classroom. While I don’t have legal permissions to share those interviews for any purpose other than classroom teaching, I’ll be referencing them as we go along here. 

The first and most basic question is who covers their heads, and when. Your ask shows some basic and reasonable assumptions: men cover their heads in the synagogue. That’s not untrue, but it doesn’t tell the whole story.

You might remember from the other ask that rabbinic Judaism, which most of us practice today, didn’t develop until the sacrificial system was becoming unfeasible and eventually impossible to maintain. At that point, it seems that a cultural convention was for men and women to cover their heads at all times, with the similar explanation of modesty. Modesty seems to take on a different connotation when we’re discussing men or women--avoiding self-aggrandizement for men, sexual rectitude for women--but in essence covering one’s head was universal. I haven’t made a particular study of the shifts in this custom over time, but I can note that many examples of historic Jewish women’s costume from different regions includes one or another type of head covering--as did the non-Jewish women’s fashions of many of those places. At some point it became accepted that only married women needed to cover their hair, that since a woman’s hair was to be understood as a symbol of her sexuality, an unmarried woman’s visible hair was a way of communicating her availability. Men’s headwear meanwhile shifted as well, as did other religious wear such as tzitzit and tefillin. Tefillin settled into a tradition of being only worn during weekday morning prayer. Tzitzit developed into two garments: a tallit katan worn under a boy’s or man’s clothing at all times, and a tallit gadol worn over the clothing only during the morning prayer service. In communities where it was becoming uncommon for non-Jewish men to cover their heads, especially in places where the Christian convention was to remove one’s hat upon entering their houses of worship, it became expected in a synagogue that men might need to be told that the convention was to cover their heads, and kippot began to be provided to them there. 

However, the convention isn’t actually to cover one’s head out of respect for the building. As you learned in your research, a synagogue building isn’t a locus of holiness but a location where holy activities take place. The expectation that developed was that men should cover their heads when engaging in religious activities. What are religious activities? Prayer, certainly, but also any activity that includes prayer, such as lifecycle occasions, home rituals, and eating. 

There’s a memorable scene in George Eliot’s famously well-researched novel Daniel Deronda in which Daniel sits down to a Shabbat meal with a Jewish family. Eliot describes the family and their guests pausing before they ate, the men putting on their hats, and a benediction Eliot and her character do not understand taking place before the meal is eaten. From my perspective as a modern American, it was notable to me that they didn’t put on kippot but resumed the hats any Victorian man would take off upon entering their home, which these men had apparently also taken off, but put back on for the brachot before eating (Eliot doesn’t specify, as far as I can remember, whether they kept them on through the meal). 

Daniel Deronda makes passing reference to the split that was already underway at the time in European Jewry, the development of the Reform movement. Early Reform practice developed out of a desire to be as little distinguished from the surrounding Christian culture as possible without actually worshipping a tripartite deity. Changes included, among others, abandoning all unique cultural garments, including tefillin, tzitzit, and any indoor covering of heads. At the time Eliot was writing, “Reformed” and “Rabbinic”--now Reform and Orthodox--were the only two distinct movements of European Judaism, though Hasidic groups, under the heading of Rabbinic Judaism but each having developed unique traditions, were many. My knowledge of what non-European Jews were doing, sartorially, at the time is very slight and I would welcome knowledgeable input. 

The development of the Conservative movement is generally credited to the 1880s, when a disagreement within the Reform movement about how far to assimilate and which traditions to abandon culminated in the famed “Trefa Banquet” at which those who wanted to conserve practices such as keeping kosher are said to have walked out due to the flagrantly non-kosher menu. The symbolic incident speaks to the differences in practice between the movements: Reform Judaism in the 19th and early 20th centuries might have been indistinguishable from Christianity in all but theology, while Conservative Judaism would have been indistinguishable from Orthodox Judaism in all but a few liturgical and practical leniencies. Today, Conservative Judaism is dwindling due to a lack of clear leadership or identity, while the Reform movement rediscovers practices they had once abandoned, and certain Orthodox communities make motions of various kinds toward the center as well; nothing is simple in the story of Jewish life, and nothing is ever finished developing.

Here’s where the gender thing complicates, because in the mid to late 20th century Jewish practice began to egalitarianize in Reform and Conservative Judaism. I won’t go into the step-by-step development of women’s prayer attire and the path to women’s ordination and full inclusion from a historical perspective, but my own experiences are pretty illustrative about the development of practices from the 1990s until today:

I grew up in an Orthodox congregation, a university Hillel, a Conservative congregation, and a Conservative parochial school. The Conservative congregation was the only one of these that owned its own building; the school rented the top floor of the JCC and both the Hillel and the Orthodox congregation met on Saturdays and holidays in all-purpose rooms on the university campus, and when those were unavailable in whatever spaces they could secure. In all of these communities, boys were required to be wearing kippot at all times; in the Orthodox congregation men sometimes wore hats, while in the school there was a clear distinction between hats, which were impolite to wear indoors as a function of 20th century American culture, and kippot, which boys were required to be wearing at all times on school property; a boy who forgot to bring his own kipa had to walk to the office, deposit 25 cents in the tzedakah box, and take a plasticky black kipa to wear for the rest of the day. In the conservative synagogue, men were required to wear kipot, and women who were taking an active role in the service of any kind were required to cover their heads as well, with a kipa, a hat, or a provided lace doily. Women in the pews were permitted to make that choice themselves. 

As a girl*, I was and remain uncomfortable with that dichotomy, in a way that is separate from the fact that I turned out not to be a girl after all. An Orthodox adult offered the paltry reasoning that women were simply closer to God than men, and that being thus not required to take part equally they were therefore barred from doing so, which at eleven already read to me as Victorian essentialist nonsense.  As an adult I know women for whom that reasoning or a softened version of it is spiritually meaningful but I have also known many, so many women for whom that logic was a source of frustration and hurt. 2J3O. 

I began wearing a kipa at the age of eleven, at first only as a form of protest against the principal’s daily “We will begin; all boys put on your kippot,” and later because wearing it became meaningful to me in ways I still struggle to put into words. I began to wear my kippot at all times that a boy was expected to do so: at all times on and around the JCC where the school was, on school field trips, at the synagogue (we had by that time tapered off participation as a family in the Orthodox congregation and were splitting our attendance between the Hillel and the Conservative synagogue: I later learned that this was because my mother was concerned that my brother would adopt the sexist attitudes she had overheard from men in the campus Orthodox group; all I knew at the time was that the communities I was in were struggling with how much and in what contexts to adopt egalitarian practice. 

I was not the only girl* who formed our small brigade of kipa-wearing heritors of our mothers’ feminist battles, but we were not many. At school, the principal still opened the prayer service with a reminder that all boys were required to put on their kipa--and as we moved up into middle school, tallit and tefillin--and every day I stood up with the crowd of grumbling boys and wrapped myself in the tallit I had sewed and tied with my mother’s assistance and the tefillin my parents had bought me at my request. Once or twice I forgot my bag at home and went without, and the principal said nothing, though boys would have copped a lunch detention. Once I lost my kipa somehow on the bus to school and marched myself to the office to put my quarter in the tzedaka box and take my shameful plasticky kipa; the office manager watched me and said nothing. Boys struggling to put on their tefillin began to ask me for help rather than other boys or the principal; I was the only one in my grade clearly doing this by choice; I got an early taste of what it is like to teach and began to learn to lead without judgement or blame. 

My bat* mitzvah celebration took place on a Sunday rather than a Saturday. I wore my tefillin with a fluffy floral, crinolined Easter dress and a kipa my mother decorated with fabric flowers. I spoke in my sermon about feminism, about equality, about arguments for a gender essentialist practice that I had heard and rejected already as I took the traditional first steps into Jewish adulthood. Besides me, men and women participated equally in the service: the Hillel rabbi shopped around among the Jewish professors in my parents’ social circle and created a breakdown that satisfied us all. A few of my father’s cousins declined their invitations, but no one I was actually acquainted with. 

I went to public high school and for the first time was spending my every day in a context where boys’ heads--and therefore mine--were uncovered and Jewish topics rarely came up in conversation. I made close friends, I dated Jewish boys my friends recommended, that I should have instead made friends with, and I wondered who I was. The summer before Sophomore year I came back from a week at Jewish teen camp and did not take my kipa off. I have worn it every day since then, for more than twenty years. 

My mother, who had been my model and cheerleader in exploring my Jewish, feminist development was initially uncomfortable. I remember a morning when her discomfort escaped in the form of snark: “[Meir] thinks she’s* going to a religious occasion.” I snarked back, adopting a theatrically pious tone for my “Life is a religious occasion,” but snark aside that’s actually the way I experience it. Wearing the kipa every day, whether I’m teaching Hebrew or taking out the trash, is a way of expressing that my religious life is not compartmentalized in certain actions and locations: I am the same Jewish, trans, complicated me, wherever I am and whatever I do. 

In graduate school I worked in a Reconstructionist synagogue, and I do again now, and the practice in the school I taught in then was to require all students to wear kippot at all times in the synagogue: that’s been the case when I’ve taught in Reform congregations as well. When I taught in a Conservative congregation I was permitted to encourage but not to require girls to wear kipot, but I was asked to require the boys to do so. Since that wasn’t a community where I felt I could be transparent about my trans identity, I wasn’t able to bring my personal experiences to use there, and that’s what set me on the road to creating my book of interviews with as many different kinds of Jews as I could gather. 

My interviews with other Jews about their head covering choices revealed a wide diversity of feelings. I had a cis male Conservative rabbi/professor tell me he only covers his head when he is specifically teaching on religious subjects (he also teaches history, I believe), and that when he was a child in an Orthodox parochial school his rabbi advised the boys to wear baseball caps to cover their heads on the subway so that if they misbehaved it wouldn’t reflect badly on the Jewish community. I had the son of the same rabbi tell me he wore his kipa at all times as a matter of habit, but his fiancee had asked him to pocket it or wear a hat if they were going to a restaurant on Shabbat, because that was contrary to the practice of both of their youth (traditional Shabbat practice forbids using money and cooking or instructing someone to cook for you). I had a cis male Reform rabbi tell me that he wore a kipa at all times because, although he didn’t keep kosher and didn’t refrain from going out to restaurants on Shabbat, he wanted to make the point that those too were legitimate practices of legitimate Jews. I had a cis male Conservative rabbi tell me that he preferred to wear a bandana rather than a kipa unless the occasion was too formal to allow it. I had a Lubavicher woman talk to me about the deep and the practical meanings she found in different methods of covering her hair and why she had shifted those practices throughout her lifetime; I had a non-Hasidic ultra-Orthodox woman say almost identical things, and I had a third Orthodox woman tell me she had worn hats that covered most of her hair when her children were young so that they would be able to fit in, but now that they were adults she wore the smallest hats she could find without actually being a kipa, to the mild agitation of her community. I had a hospital chaplain, not a rabbi, tell me that he used his kipa with a team logo on it to connect with patients, but that he rarely wore it outside of work situations. I had a gender-fluid person talk to me about different ways she has covered her head, or her hair, at various times in her shifting personal identity, to fit in with various different communities. I had so many women clergy and lay people tell me about harassment they had experienced from ultra-Orthodox men and non-Jews for wearing a kipa in public that I couldn’t use all of them. Some of the women talked about having given up covering their heads except in the synagogue or Jewish holiday meals. Some talked about wearing hats to look more like Orthodox women, or wearing beaded kippot that could pass as hair accessories. Some talked about defiantly wearing their kippot despite the aggression of Orthodox men demanding that they conform to Orthodox proscribed gender performance or non-Jews demanding that they engage in discussions of Israel politics while grocery shopping, or using public transportation. I had a Black Lubavicher woman tell me that when she wore a tichel (headwrap) she was frequently mistaken for Muslim, but that when she wore a shaitel (wig) she was frequently mistaken for Christian. In particular my students were moved by that tension: for so many of the interviewees in the book, the benefit and the drawback of their head covering choices was being identifiable as Jews, and here was someone covering in extremely mainstream ways and going unrecognized even within her own community. 

Every single person I interviewed who was in any way a parent, teacher, or community leader talked about the hope that, whatever their practice was, it would inspire children who look to them to do the same. 

Among interviewees who wore a kipa as part of their practice but not all the time, there was a general agreement along the lines of “I wear it when I engage in prayer, learn or teach Jewish subjects, or eat with a Jewish group.” The practice isn’t tied to the location but the activity. However, there are some locations that are so strongly associated with those activities that one might be expected to cover one’s head there regardless of the specific activity. 

Looking specifically at the Wayfarers’ gathering-house (a literal translation both of the English term “Synagogue” and the Hebrew “Beit Knesset”), I would certainly say yes that they would cover their heads in one way or another when sitting down to eat; you can make a call about whether they would do so to engage in community politics or conduct diplomacy, and I would imagine there might be other priorities on their mind in the event of a monster attack. I will say that the border between religious practice and cultural practice, when it comes to Judaism, is not really meaningful, so if the community comes together for, say, a wedding or a holiday party, modern Jews who wear kipot would almost universally put on a kipa for such an occasion. It’s your call as to whether the gender divide is a meaningful factor in your imaginary culture; I will say that from Rashi’s daughters wearing tefillin to Rabbi Regina Jonas tending to her community in Nazi Germany to the ordinations or admissions into rabbinical school in the past few years of openly nonbinary clergy or prospective clergy in the Reform and Conservative movements, it has never been truly black and white. The choices you make in that regard will tell a story about who the Wayfarers are and how they fit into the larger history of your world. 

*A note on gender: like Jews, trans people have a wide diversity of opinions and attitudes, including toward their childhood selves. What is comfortable for me is not necessarily comfortable for other trans people. Referring to myself as having been a girl is honest with regard to the way I experienced things then; referring to me as a woman now would be an aggressive act of rudeness. Referring to someone as their assigned gender when speaking about their childhood is not and should not be the norm unless the person has specified that it’s their preference: I only do it in certain contexts and do not prefer that others talk about me as having been a girl. I chose to do it in this context because I was discussing choices I made at a time when I would have described myself as a girl. Today my pronouns are exclusively He/Him and it is not my practice to reveal my previous name. 

#Meir makes stuff #Meir Makes Long Posts #kermab #answered ask #Judaism #jewish representation #Jewish fantasy writing #Fantasy Writing #fantasy fiction

[crimeronan]

no supernatural au concept i haven’t been able to stop thinking about since considering ronan and opal were once the same age

the lynch family has a reputation.  partly it’s because they’re fucking weird, but let’s be real -- every rural town has its share of characters.  weird farmers are par for the course.  if the lynch family just kept to themselves at the barns, no one would know they existed.  however niall lynch is a swaggering larger-than-life storybook hero who loves attention and scandal, so: the lynch family has a reputation

by and large, the household is made up of known entities.  niall, the irishman who never shuts the fuck up.  aurora, the quiet beautiful wife with the bizarrely gorgeous beadwork at craft fairs. declan, the eldest son who’s got one foot in DC and won’t ever look back when he gets there.  matthew, the youngest boy with the enthusiasm and adoration and intellectual prowess of a golden retriever puppy

however.  the lynch twins are largely folkloric

it’s not just that they never seem to appear in public.  it’s that there are a dozen decade-old stories told by knitting folks on their porches that cannot POSSIBLY all be true, including:

the lynch twins set fire to the post office

the lynch twins stole four pallets of soda from the back of a truck unloading at the henrietta general store and drank all the evidence

the lynch twins lured a man into the woods and stabbed him in the leg

the lynch twins helped the local vet’s office coordinate 30 TNR procedures because they’ve befriended a colony of feral cats

the lynch twins trained a rotating cast of corvids to shit on the mayor when he leaves his office every evening

the lynch twins were banned from three local churches after incidents involving a statue of mary, stained glass worth several thousand dollars, and the preacher’s microphone respectively

adam doesn’t give much of a shit about local gossip but has gleaned quite a bit of it when being deferential and polite to middle-aged women at the dollar store.  it takes him a month of attending aglionby to put together that ronan and declan are siblings (they look unbelievably alike, but their body language and speech are SO different) and another week after that to realize ronan’s one-half of the unidentified lynch family variables

“isn’t there another one of him?” adam blurts

declan looks up and blinks, nonplussed rather than smooth for once in his life.  “excuse me?”

adam’s eating lunch and has ended up at a table with declan not because of friendliness, but because declan’s taking a break from his roving cast of intransient social interactions to work on college apps and adam’s getting a head start on homework.  neither is here to make friends.  adam nods across the room at ronan, who appears to be constructing a fully landscaped mountain sculpture out of french fries

declan says “god, i wish” as ronan upends a bottle of ketchup over the fries and causes a volcanic eruption that obliterates everything in the lunch table’s path

that tells adam absolutely nothing but also he doesn’t really care.  later, when he and gansey are friends, and he’s no closer to understanding ronan but much more actively annoyed by him, he asks gansey the same thing

“oh, his sister!” gansey says, and beams.  this at least explains why she doesn’t go to aglionby.  “she’s great.  she’s taught me a lot about what plants want to kill you”

adam can’t decide what to make of this.  once upon a time he’d think that the affection of someone like gansey predisposed the mysterious lynch sister toward being like declan, but it turns out gansey reserves that ebullient expression for losers like him and ronan and noah alone, so.  more data necessary

it’s important to note that this isn’t like, occupying a huge part of adam’s mind.  it’s just idle querying because he likes knowing things.  to that end, he asks ronan once if he’d ever met ronan’s sister when adam attended the public junior high.  they’d be in the same grade, right??

ronan gets weird and evasive with some response about how she homeschools with his mom, and adam’s like okay, some religious cult thing with the women running the farm. whatever. not my issue

adam and ronan get slowly closer over time, etcetc, you know how it goes.  eventually adam's invited to the barns.  his first few visits are normal.  suspiciously normal.  aurora is loving and gentle in a way that makes adam skittish - probably more due to his own issues than any Actual malevolence, but who knows - and there is zero mention or sign of a girl living there

it doesn’t Really bother adam, but it kind of bothers him.  less because he’s dying to meet her and more because equations that don’t add up make him nervous.  his running list of theories include 1) she doesn’t exist 2) she’s dead 3) she’s at some elite boarding school for girls in connecticut 4) she’s an emancipated minor 5) she’s not an emancipated minor but has run away anyway 6) she’s a fugitive from justice 7) she’s in prison 8) she’s dead but, like, worse this time

adam carefully and subtly raises his concerns to ronan by asking, “so is your sister being tortured in your attic or what?”

ronan, reasonably, is like, “the fuck?”

adam’s like, “look, all i’m saying is that when a twin goes missing in a story and no one seems to care, something sinister’s afoot.  that’s all i’m saying here.”

ronan’s like, “say the word ‘afoot’ again.  you sound like gansey.  come on”

he takes adam out for a walk in the woods, which seems like a pretty murdery way to respond.  adam, uncomfortably aware of that rumor about luring people to the woods and stabbing them in the leg, is like okay i’m about to die here.  i’ve uncovered a lifetime movie plot and now i’m gonna be buried in unmarked barrel #457.  what a way to go

this is pretty much confirmed when he gets attacked

he hits the ground before he’s really registered anything beyond a surprise impact.  it drives the breath out of his lungs. he flips onto his back right away.  ronan’s got half a foot of height on him and stupidly long legs so a sprinting escape doesn’t seem viable.  he’s gonna have to rely on the old-fashioned power of fingernails and kicking

he has time to see a pair of blown-pupil eyes WAY too close to his face before the weight disappears from him.  the culprit is a girl, late teens, with hair that’s probably blonder when the matted dirt is washed out of it.  “for fuck’s fucking sake,” ronan is saying, hauling her to her feet and blessedly away from adam’s vulnerable internal organs, “why. WHY.”

“holy shit.”  adam sits up, clutching his chest.  he can feel every bone in his body.  “god. god. god”

the girl is almost as tall as ronan.  she’s dressed in some kind of baggy coverall-ish getup that might once have been an army parachute.  she is not wearing any shoes.  there’s some blood on her face from a recently-opened scab, and also a black speck on one cheek that adam thinks is a smashed fly

“you didn’t jump gansey!” ronan is saying, extremely exasperated.  “why!”

“i didn’t have my hammock yet when gansey first came,” she says.  she does not sound remotely sorry

adam looks up and discovers that there is in fact a hammock stretched between the trees.  it’s one of those heavy-duty camping numbers with thick canvas and a full insect net.  it’s also thirty feet in the air.  there are branches on the way down, but they are very precariously spaced.  adam does not want to know how she parkoured to leap onto his shoulders

“when you snap someone’s neck,” ronan says, “i’m not helping you hide the body”

“who says i haven’t already?”

“the fuck? and you didn’t ask me to help hide the body?”

she darts a few feet away and pulls herself into a tree.  adam watches with slight fascination as she shimmies out along a long branch until it dips under her weight.  as he gets to his feet, trying to piece together his wilted dignity, she rides her makeshift nature elevator down until she’s staring into his eyes again.  hugging the branch like a snake.  absolutely no consideration for how normal human beings behave. it’s almost marvelous

“sufficiently free of my attic, parrish?” ronan asks

“uh, yeah. yep”

“so this is opal,” ronan says

opal flips over so she’s hanging from the branch like a sloth.  then hooks her legs around it and reaches down until her palms are flat on the ground.  cartwheels out of the tree like a particularly feral acrobat.  adam jerks back to avoid being smacked by a faceful of twigs at the whipcrack slingshot of the branch bouncing back

opal pulls a pocketknife from one of the folds in the DIY parachute sewing machine tick protection onepiece from hell.  adam eyes her warily

“opal, this is parrish. or adam. whichever. don’t stab him”

“god,” adam says again

opal beams.  she opens the pocketknife, but all she does is start cleaning bits of plaque from between her teeth with the tip, which is somehow so much worse than stabbing.  adam looks at ronan and finds him pinching the bridge of his nose.  it occurs to adam that this is the only time he’s EVER seen ronan express any sense of embarrassment in any social situation.  ronan has no sense of propriety.  adam didn’t know he was capable of feeling embarrassed

he immediately likes opal just for that.

“yes,” opal says, unconcerned, answering a question no one’s actually asked.  “ronan is the normal one”

#i spent nearly. 2 hours writing this stupid thing. this concept is so excellent #trc #pynch #opal lynch #my writing #this was SUPPOSED to be short enough i wouldn't have to readmore it but. shrug emoji #adam parrish #ronan lynch