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everlarkficexchange · 5 years

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Extended Office Hours

Author: @hutchhitched

Prompt 22: Student/Professor. Katniss is stressing out about an assignment and decides to go and talk to Professor Mellark about it, as he’s always been understanding and patient in class. However things turn awkward when Katniss stumbles upon him in his office after hours watching porn on his laptop. Is it deliberate, maybe he needed to relieve some stress or did his brother/friend send him a link to something that he shouldn’t have opened?? It’s up to you writer :) [submitted by @peetaspikelets]

Rating: M

Summary: Peeta Mellark, an English PhD student, teaches at Panem Community College. Seeking help from her professor, Katniss Everdeen visits his office just when Peeta opens an email that probably should have been read at home.

“Remember, your essay is due next Monday. I’ll be in my office during office hours, and feel free to swing by other times if you’re near the building,” Professor Mellark announced as the class packed up their notebooks and paper drafts.

“Will you be there?”

Peeta tried not to laugh as Katniss, one of his better students, rolled her eyes and shoved her stuff into her bag. Cashmere was easily the most irritating girl in the class and clearly not very bright if she’d just asked that question.

No, of course I won’t be there. That’s why I told you to stop by.

He cleared his throat and studied Cashmere, unable to tell if she was really that vapid and unaware or if she was being coy. Struggling to keep his expression and tone neutral, he confirmed, “I’ll be around a lot this week, yes.”

Katniss had no intention of swinging by to see her professor during office hours or otherwise. He knew that. He’d overheard her one day as she left the class explaining to a friend that she was “doing fine in the class, thank you very much.” She seemed pretty shy, too, so he doubted he’d ever have the pleasure of seeing her in his office.

He watched her leave and sighed in frustration when he was finally alone in the room. Disgusted with himself, Peeta sank into a chair and took several deep breaths. He’d never been so attracted to someone—especially not one of his students—and he was both dreading and excited for the end of the semester when he wouldn’t see Katniss again. He’d done everything he knew how to do to control his interest in her, but she was lovely and interesting and peculiar in a really good way. He’d never been that conventional, and Katniss wasn’t either. He needed to not have her as a student anymore—not if he wanted to maintain any sort of professional integrity.

Not that he’d done anything. He certainly hadn’t. That would be breaking the ethical responsibilities of his job, and Peeta was unquestionably responsible. He always had been—all during childhood and high school. Even through college when he’d turned down an athletic scholarship at Panem State University, so he could stay close to home and help out at the family bakery. He’d attended his parents’ alma mater and worked the opening shift at Mellark’s every day until he graduated and broke the news he was going away to graduate school. He’d put his own dreams on hold for long enough, and it was time for him to leave the small town where he’d been raised.

By the time he was 27, he’d landed a job as an adjunct professor at Panem Community College as he finished his degree and become a full-fledged PhD. It was only his second semester when Katniss Everdeen walked into his classroom and made his heart skip a few beats. She was reticent and quiet, but her papers showed depth and insight that made him want to call her into his office and juice her brain until he knew everything about her.

For the most part, he was able to control himself, but he’d be lying if he didn’t admit to having a few fantasies about her. He didn’t watch porn that often, but when he did, he tended toward ones with dark-haired students who frequented office hours. And if he couldn’t find one he liked, he allowed himself to imagine for a few minutes…

Peeta shook himself and packed up his papers, folders, and pens. He wasn’t going to give into a lewd fantasy about one of his students in a classroom where anyone could walk in and see his arousal.

Maybe it would be easier to deal with the situation if he hadn’t, in a moment of weakness, confided in his friend and colleague, Finnick Odair, another young professor whose philosophy classes filled up seconds after registration opened. Dr. Odair’s popularity with the female student body was legendary, and Peeta didn’t mind that his own status had increased from the fall to the spring. His schedule for the next fall was already almost full, and early registration had been running for only a few days.

He entered his office and flung his bag on the floor at his feet. As he powered up his desktop, he shuffled a stack of essays he needed to grade for the next day’s class in hopes of finding his reading glasses. He answered a few emails and then turned his attention to the papers. Losing himself in his work, he didn’t look up until a chime indicated he’d received a new email.

“What does Finnick have to say now?” he mused as he bit the cap of his pen. He clicked on the attachment and blinked at the screen when a half-naked woman in a short plaid skirt who looked exactly like the student he couldn’t get off his mind spread her legs and leaned back on her elbows on a wooden desk. Fascinated, he watched a clothed blonde man cross to her and caress her legs.

“You know your homework scores are much too low,” the man reprimanded.

The Katniss look-alike blinked rapidly and arched her back so her exposed breasts jutted upward. “I’m so sorry, professor. I’ve been a very naughty girl, but I simply cannot fail anatomy. Can’t I do something to make up my grade?”

“I might be able to offer some extra credit. If you’re willing to help me study a specimen.”

Peeta’s mouth dropped open as the man flipped up the girl’s skirt and spread her lips. He alternated fingering her hard and licking his fingers. The action repeated several times with the girl begging him in breathy moans to make her cum like the bad girl she was. The camera cut to a close shot of the girl’s pussy, and Peeta sucked in his breath at the moisture seeping from her. It was so wrong to watch this, but it was so, so, so hot to see someone who looked so much like Katniss building to a climax.

His eyes were riveted on the screen when the man shed his pants and rubbed his cock between the girl’s legs. Peeta shifted in his seat and adjusted himself as the male porn star entered his make-believe student. They fucked for a while before he directed her onto her knees and the pace quickened.

For a fleeting moment, Peeta’s thoughts flickered to the cracked door and the possibility of being overheard. However, it was late and the last week before finals. Campus was practically deserted, and he was almost always alone in the building by himself by this time in the evening.

The brunette begged to be fucked on the computer screen in ever-increasing decibels when Peeta finally slipped his hand into his own pants. He groaned at the sensation and pumped himself in rhythm with the two on his screen. He bit his lower lip as he jacked off. There was something weirdly freeing about doing something so private in a public building, and that only made him more determined to—

“Professor Mellark?”

“Oh, fuck,” Peeta hissed at the sound his name in a feminine voice. He tucked himself back into his pants and slapped at the keyboard to mute his computer while calling out, “Just a second! Let me just finish this—”

The door swung open, and Katniss stood there, her brow furrowed in concern. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

“No! No, you’re fine,” he yelped and frantically refastened his belt below his desk. He wiped his palm on the side of his pants before motioning for her to enter and take a seat in a chair facing his desk. “Sorry. I didn’t realize anyone was out there. I was, uh… Yeah, anyway. What can I do for you, Katniss?”

She clearly didn’t believe him—probably because his face flamed in what must have been the brightest shade of red known to man—but he refused to acknowledge what he’d been doing. She shifted back and forth on her feet a few times, and he willed himself to think of really, really unsexy things to help deflate his erection. Thank fuck for the desk. Otherwise, his favorite student would have gotten an eyeful of his junk in a very inappropriate way.

Katniss glanced over her shoulder and finally stepped into the room and crossed to a chair. She stared down at him for a few seconds before sinking down and perching herself on the edge of the seat. She looked like she would flee at any moment, and Peeta yearned to make her comfortable.

“Are you having trouble with the final essay?” he coaxed when she remained silent. Her gray eyes penetrated him and made him squirm. It was as if she could see inside him where he hid his past hurts, imposter syndrome, and insecurities.

“I thought I heard you talking to someone.”

He flushed again and waved away her concern. “No, no, no. I was listening to a podcast. You didn’t interrupt a thing.”

“If you’re sure…”

“I’m sure, Katniss. Absolutely positive,” he assured her in a rush. “It’s a pleasure to have you here in my office. I-I mean, so glad you’re seeking me out. For help. With the paper. Or whatever.”

Peeta’s face flamed, both for his unintended sexual innuendo and his inability to hide his nervousness. He’d allowed himself one too many fantasies of her alone with him in his office and working out something that had nothing to do with academics. One too many times speculating about the feel of her smooth olive skin under his hands, the sounds she’d make, how good she’d feel, how being with someone like her would make him feel whole, how building a life with her would fulfill all his dreams. He was a complete wreck.

Katniss reached down and pulled a stack of papers out of her bag and thrust them at him. She twisted her hands as he flipped through the pile and spoke only when he stopped to look at her.

“I’m trying to get into Panem State next year, and I need a recommendation letter. I don’t really know too many faculty here—non-traditional student and all that—so I didn’t know who to ask, but I’ve really enjoyed your class, and you did say you could help with anything we needed.”

Peeta leaned back in his chair and smiled at her. “Of course, I’ll write a letter for you! I’m happy to help.”

“Really?”

He nodded as she twisted her braid around her palm and tugged on it nervously. “Absolutely. I just need a little more information.”

“L-like what?”

He flashed a grin at her in an attempt to ease her anxiety, but he wasn’t sure it worked. She still looked like she wanted to sprint from the room at any second.

“I didn’t realize you were a non-traditional student. Can you tell me a little bit more about your story? I’d like to reference your circumstances in the letter.”

“It’s not much of a story,” she mumbled.

“Everybody has a story, Katniss.”

“I guess that’s true,” she grudgingly admitted and then smiled softly. “My father died when I was in middle school, and my mom took it hard. She was practically catatonic for most of high school, so I raised my younger sister and worked odd jobs until I was old enough to get real employment. When I graduated, I took on as much work as I could until she went away to school. Then I decided it was time to get a degree, so I’m here.”

“How much younger is your sister?”

“Four years.”

“So, that makes you…24?”

“Yeah, although I look like I’m 16.”

Peeta chuckled at her wry assessment. “You look lov— I mean, I just hadn’t realized how similar we are in age. I’m 28, and I’m sure at any second everyone is going to realize I don’t really belong here. Professors are supposed to be old and gray, not bumbling around like the twenty-something I am.”

“You’re a great teacher,” Katniss said softly. “I’ve never been good with words, but in your class…”

“Well, that’s a wonderful compliment. Make sure to put it on the teacher evaluation at the end of the semester.”

“Oh, I-I will.”

“I’m teasing, Katniss. No coercion here.”

“No, but I mean, you really are a great teacher. Normally, I’m not a very verbal person. I’d rather do things than talk, but you make me want to do both.”

The double entendre hung in the air between them, and neither spoke or broke eye contact. Peeta wasn’t sure if she’d meant to hint at something other than his teaching, but the flush on her face indicated she realized what she’d said.

He jumped at the sharp rap on his door and glanced up to see Finnick grinning at him. “Peeta, my friend, want to grab a beer? Oh, I didn’t realize you had company.”

“I was just leaving,” Katniss blurted and jumped to her feet. “Thanks for writing the letter for me, Professor Mellark. See you next week at the final.”

“No problem, Katniss. I’ll have it for you then. And keep working on your essay. I’m sure you’ll do well. You always do.”

Katniss slipped through the door, and Finnick perched on the edge of the desk. His eyes sparkled as he observed his friend.

“Katniss, huh?” he mused. “Is that—? That’s the girl you told me about? The one who makes you want to throw your career to the wind and do her on the classroom floor?”

“Shut up, Finn.”

“But that’s her?”

“Yes, it’s her! And thanks for the email earlier. I just happened to open it right before she knocked on my door. Talk about awkward.”

“What email?”

Peeta turned his computer screen so Finnick could see it and brought up the link. When he clicked it, Finnick guffawed. “She’s the spitting image.”

“I know. Thanks for sending porn to my work email, asshole.”

Finnick laughed and slapped Peeta’s shoulder. “I must have copied the wrong link. That was supposed to be an invite to the end of the semester party at my house next week.”

“Well, that makes more sense.”

“Come on. I need a drink after grading that last set of essays, and my wife’s out of town.”

“Give me a second.”

“What could possibly be more important than drinking alcohol with me?”

Peeta grinned at his friend and answered, “I’m forwarding that email to my personal account. No sense letting good porn go to waste.”

#Springtime Edition 2019 #submission #hutchhitched #peetaspikelets #prompt 22

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cuthian · 4 years

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Starting Over Chapter Six

Hi guys!

Sorry for the delay on this one :) This is another Asgard chapter, so check the end notes again if you prefer not to read about Becca and Thor.

Love, Annaelle

Chapter Six

PEPPER POTTS IS PREGNANT AND BREAKS TWITTER WITH ADORABLE PREGNANCY ANNOUNCEMENT

MANHATTAN, NEW YORK — Pepper Potts, C.E.O. of Stark Industries and longtime girlfriend of Tony Stark and Col. James Rhodes, is having a baby, and like everything else she has done since the news of her polyamorous relationship with Rhodes and Stark, she is doing so on her own terms.

[...]Potts, 42, is pregnant with her first child, and used the unconventional, but adorable video she dropped on her official Twitter account yesterday morning to confirm the rumors of a pregnancy that have been floating around for the past few days.

[WATCH HERE: PEPPER POTTS SURPRISES TONY STARK, JAMES RHODES AND STEVE ROGERS WITH ADORABLE PREGNANCY ANNOUNCEMENT.]

She followed her video announcement with a tweet stating, “I have seen many children born into homes with two parents, who end up arguing, fighting, and divorcing. The person this affects the most is the child. I don’t think our situation, our relationship, will be detrimental to our child because it will ensure that our child will be loved. [...] It takes a village, and we have a big, loving, crazy village. I cannot wait to begin this next part of our lives together.”

The announcement was retweeted by Col. Rhodes and Tony Stark within seconds—we cover the adorable and surprisingly eloquent reaction of the two fathers-to-be here in this podcast—as well as by Captain Rogers almost immediately after that, all with happy and congratulatory messages. Captain Rogers’ tweet hilariously promises he will be the best big brother to the Rhodes-Stark-Potts baby in the history of big brothers.

Potts replied to Rogers’ tweet: “Steve will definitely be the best big brother to our baby. He’s got plenty of practice as #BigBrotherOfAmerica.”

[...]Fans flooded the video with congratulatory messages, and the hashtag #IronBaby has been trending for forty-eight hours so far, and promises to hold for at least another few days.

—Clara Newitski, “Pepper Potts confirms pregnancy”, E!News Online, 30 November, 2015

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TRAINING FIELDS, IDAVOLL, ASGARD

NOVEMBER 30TH, 2015 – 8:57AM (EARTH UCT+1)

BECCA

She hit the ground with a dull thud, the fall knocking the wind clean from her lungs, leaving her gasping for breath for a long couple of minutes. She laughed breathlessly when Sif appeared in her field of vision, grinning fiercely as she offered Becca a hand to help her up. “You did well,” Sif told her approvingly. “Not bad for a human. You held out much longer than I expected.”

“I got good trainers,” Becca chuckled, allowing the other woman to help her up.

She and Natasha had been training together for years at this point, and Thor had made a point of it to ensure that all of the Avengers learned how to fight opponents physically stronger—had made it a point to make sure they knew how to win and survive a fight against an opponent physically much stronger than they were.

“You must’ve,” Sif remarked, patting Becca’s shoulder. “I see our prince’s influence in the way you dodge, sometimes.”

Becca smiled lightly. “He’s been diligent about teaching us to win against more powerful opponents.”

“I cannot have my favorite mortal friends perish before their time,” Thor boomed as he came up behind them, slinging an arm around her. “You least of all.” She leaned into him when he pressed a kiss to her temple, relaxing against him.

She’d not been alone with him since before the disastrous feast, had barely even been in the same room as him, and she’d missed it—she’d missed him.

Sif only grinned in response before she curtsied—exceptionally sarcastically, somehow—and turned to beat up some hapless Aesir warriors. Becca smirked before she turned in Thor’s arms, slipping her arms around him and resting her head on his chest. She’d been up since dawn, had joined Sif in training not long after, and they’d been at it for hours.

She was well-trained, and in good condition, but she was only human.

She was tired, and Thor was comfortable and safe.

“Hello Krúttið mitt,” he rumbled, smoothing his hand down her back. “You’ve been busy.”

“Well, I had to keep myself busy with all kinds of official, diplomatic things,” she told him, seriously leaning back to raise an eyebrow at him. “My boyfriend seems to have other, more important matters on his mind than entertaining little old me.”

Thor frowned faux-seriously, shaking his head sadly. “Ah, your man must be a fool, to leave a woman beautiful and ferocious as you all by herself.” He grinned rakishly. “Anyone could pass by and just… snap you up.”

He punctuated the last word with a peck to her lips, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

“You’re an idiot,” she told him, but she didn’t resist when he cupped her face in his hands and leaned in to kiss her again.

“Perhaps, but you… You,” Thor muttered against her lips, her cheeks cupped in his large palms, “you are a dangerous woman.” He slipped one hand down, trailing down from the back of her neck to the small of her back, pulling her flush against him, ignoring the wolf-whistles that his friends sent their way. “And an irresistible one.”

Becca grinned against his lips and tugged on his hair a little. “And don’t you forget it.”

“I could never,” Thor chuckled.

“Odinson!” Fandral roared from somewhere on the training fields, effectively shattering their little peaceful bubble. “Stop canoodling with your mortal and come help me! I cannot lose to Sif again.”

Becca laughed when Sif cackled, and Thor shook his head in faux-dismay.

“Go,” she told him. “I think I’ll watch you, for a change. Go beat some unsuspecting morons for me.”

Thor chuckled and nodded. “Their blood shall be spilled in your honor then, Krúttið mitt,” he hummed. “And then I shall sweep you off your feet, and carry you to my chambers as my prize. My very own spoils of war. If you let me.” He hugged her close as she spoke, and she made note of the slightly possessive note to his words—it was so very rare that he admitted to wanting something different, or something potentially… more, she supposed, than what they already shared, that she cherished each time that he did.

“And after, I shall return you to your chambers,” Thor muttered, pressing a light kiss to her lips. “Once I have properly and thoroughly ravished you. I must confess I am most curious about your abode… I fear I’ll have to inspect whether it’s worthy of housing you, elskan min.”

“Oh?” Becca raised an eyebrow. “And should you find it lacking?”

“Well,” Thor rumbled, drawing her close one more time to press a smacking kiss to her lips. “I suppose I’ll have no choice but to house you in my chambers. Nothing less than the absolute best will do.”

She giggled against his lips, allowing herself one more moment before she pushed him back, keeping him at arm’s length when he pouted. “Go beat up your friends, hotshot,” she told him with a warm smile. “I’ll be right here when you’re done, okay?”

“As you wish,” Thor hummed, lifting the hand she’d pressed to his chest up to his lips to press a soft kiss to her palm, before he turned and joined his friends.

She remained where she was for a few moments, grinning at Thor’s back when he collided with his friends. She watched as he threw a casual arm around Fandral’s shoulder, as she’d seen him do dozens of times with Steve, watched the way they all laughed and teased each other, and felt something loosen in her chest.

Even on his best days on Earth, there was a kind of heaviness to him that did not dissipate.

It had now.

Seeing him here on Asgard was… it was almost unreal. He was lighter here, flourishing in a way she’d never seen him flourish before—in a way he probably couldn’t flourish on Earth—and she loved seeing him happy and carefree like this.

She tried not to think about what that meant for their future, though.

She made her way to the plump, surprisingly comfortable benches to the side of the training fields, sitting down with a sigh of relief. Her body ached a little—in the good way, the way it ached when she’d done an intense workout and stuck with it until the end—and it felt good to let her muscles relax for a short time. She’d get up to do some more stretches soon, she promised herself, but she’d take a five-minute breather first.

She watched, as she’d told Thor she would, allowing herself to study the way he fought, now that he didn’t have to hold back. He was ferocious, fighting with a kind of elegant brutality that was both breathtaking and frightening—she loved him, more than anyone else she’d ever been with, but she forgot… she forgot how different they were sometimes.

It wasn’t a bad thing, certainly, but… it was a little scary.

“Milady?”

Abruptly startled from her thoughts, Becca looked up to find two of the—frankly absurd amount of—maids Odin had assigned to her, Unnr and Þrúðr, standing before her, both looking profoundly uncomfortable.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, squinting up at the two women.

Unnr shook her head shakily. “No, milady. We just—” she and Þrúðr exchanged a fleeting glance, “—we were wondering if you are ready to return to your chambers?”

Becca blinked. “Oh,” she said, looking between the two maids. “I… I was actually planning on staying for a while? Until Thor’s done, at least.” She didn’t miss the way the two exchanged another glance, and huffed impatiently. She’d liked Asgard fine, so far, and no one had been openly hostile—barring the woman she’d had to shoot for threatening Thor—but things were different, here.

The change from Earth to Asgard had thrown off her sense of time too.

It almost felt like jet lag, but worse too.

It wasn’t bad enough to incapacitate her, or make her want to stay in bed for a few days until her body had fully adjusted to the new time zone, but it was, at moments, so damned uncomfortable.

The minor headache she’d managed to ignore all day came roaring back, and she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger.

“Ladies,” she sighed. “Would one of you please tell me what’s wrong?”

Both girls blinked at her, before Þrúðr spoke. “The training grounds are typically… they’re typically off limits for maidens, milady. I believe exceptions were made because the Prince demanded it be so, but usually…” She shook her head. “It’s not proper for unwed women to be here.”

Becca swallowed thickly and blinked again, trying to digest… all of that.

“Sif’s here,” she pointed out dumbly, gesturing towards where her boyfriend was doing his best to electrocute his friends while cackling gleefully.

She shook her head.

She loved that weirdo.

“Yes,” Unnr conceded. “But Lady Sif is… well… concessions were made. She is of highborn Aesir nobility. Before Prince Thor was betrothed to Prince Loki, there were many talks of an alliance forged by marriage with her and the Prince. I believe the King allowed certain… liberties when he abruptly broke off such negotiations with her family.”

“That’s bullshit,” Becca blurted loudly, wincing a little when both maids startled.

Before either of them could speak, though, someone interrupted from behind them. “Our traditions are bullshit to you now, Lady Rebecca? I’m sure my son will appreciate hearing you express such blatant disrespect towards our customs.”

She stiffened, turning slowly to face her boyfriend’s father—his King—for the first time.

She had been introduced to him at the feast, of course, but that had been with Thor holding her hand, and about two hundred people surrounding them. She was vaguely aware that her two maids dropped into a deep curtsy the moment they realized who had spoken, and that they all likely expected her to do the same, but… she remained sitting, only moving to incline her head towards the man lightly.

She was not, after all, one of his subjects.

She was a guest of his son, and he allowed her in his home, so she owed him at least a modicum of respect, but she did not owe him allegiance or deference.

“Your majesty,” she offered. “I meant not to offend. I’m sure you understand that not allowing certain… parts of your citizenry to learn how to defend themselves seems… peculiar to someone looking in from the outside.”

Odin smiled tightly. “I suppose from your point of view, it certainly must seem so. As long as you remember that you are, of course, on the outside, glancing in.”

Becca blinked at that, taken aback by the barely veiled insult.

“Ladies,” Odin addressed Unnr and Þrúðr, “I’m sure you have duties to attend to.”

The two scampered off before the King had even finished speaking, and Becca remained were she was, stiff and decidedly uncomfortable, as her boyfriend’s father took a seat on the stone bench beside her.

She was tempted to get up and rejoin Thor and his friends, to let this arrogant old man look the fool, but… She sighed and shook her head.

He was Thor’s father, after all.

Insufferable bastard or not, she’d promised herself and Thor she wouldn’t let him get the best of her.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” she offered again when he remained silent.

She wasn’t sure why the man was here, why he insisted on sitting with her when he clearly did not approve of her presence at all. She expected he would try to frighten her away from Thor, or that he would insist on tormenting her about all of Thor’s past lovers—Loki most of all.

“Worry not,” Odin finally said. “Human lives are but fleeting, I should not expect such underdeveloped minds to understand the delicate intricacies of our society.”

“Excuse me?” Becca spit, rearing back as though he’d slapped her. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“I am Odin. King of Asgard.” He turned to look at her slowly, expression frustratingly inscrutable. “Protector of the Nine Realms.”

“Yeah,” Becca snorted. “Right. Nine Realms. Including Earth. We noticed the protection. Thanks, by the way, for keeping our planet from slowly heating up and destroying itself. Or for stepping in during any of the wars, famines, epidemics, or disasters over the past thousand years.” She shook her head again. “Thor tells me you haven’t even looked at Midgard in centuries. Don’t you dare call yourself our protector when we’ve clearly been doing fine on our own.”

Odin merely chuckled, and shook his head lightly. “You humans… threatened by suffering in threefold; by your own body, doomed to decay; and the world you so cherish, that rages against you with overwhelming and merciless destruction… and then from your relations with one another. I’ve lived thousands of years, child, but I’ve never met another race quite so talented at self-destruction.” He looked down at her and added, “Your kind’s never taken well to our interference. While I have several agents established on Midgard, keeping me apprised of… relevant information, we generally let you be.”

Becca snorted. “For a man who so readily proclaims our brains underdeveloped, you sure seem to like some of our people’s works.” When he raised an eyebrow, she shook her head, “I know Freud when I hear it, your Majesty, however much you try to dress it up with fancier words.”

Odin smirked. “Ah, you are clever, at least. I suppose my son has some taste after all.”

He shook his head again, as though he’d grown weary of the conversation, and said, “Surely you understand, though, that my son will not be able to keep you. Certain classes of beings cannot mix—certainly not for any significant length of time.”

“With all due respect,” she replied coldly. “I hardly think we’re a different class of being. Having access to seiðr readily doesn’t make you more evolved—even certain humans can harness its power, even if they are far rarer than they are to your people. Honestly though, I can’t say that I care overly much for what you think. I care what Thor thinks, and he’s made the way he feels about me very clear.”

Odin eyed her critically. “My son has had many lovers before. What makes you think you’re different than those he dallied with to distract himself from Loki’s disinterest?”

“I trust him when he tells me I am,” Becca told him coolly, crossing her arms over her chest, and though she was fuming, she carefully kept her expression blank, because she refused to let him see that he was getting to her—that his words rattled her even the littlest bit.

Odin laughed humorlessly. “I’m sure he told the others such things as well. Like he did Loki. Undying devotion did not last quite so long, did it?”

She knew what he was trying to do, and she was sure if he had done so earlier on in their relationship, she might actually have believed him. She might have let this old, sad, heartbroken man get under her skin and ruin what she and Thor had managed to build, but she refused to let him now.

They’d worked too hard to get where they were today.

“You know, I’m a little sad for you,” she said, slowly. “I’m sad you’re so twisted up inside that it makes you want to make Thor just as miserable as you are.” She looked him right in the eye and shook her head. “I love your son. I really, really love him, and I don’t care that I’m mortal and he’s not. I don’t care that you don’t like me. I care that I make him happy. I know I’m not Loki, and I don’t need him to love me like he loved Loki.”

She shrugged and offered a soft smile. “I just need him to love me like he loves me.”

Odin chuckled derisively. “Such sentimentality. I should expect no less from a human.”

“Father,” Thor cut in, and Becca barely resisted the urge to jump at his sudden appearance. Thor settled himself on the bench beside her, pressing closer than was, perhaps, strictly appropriate in front of his father, but she didn’t protest, allowing the press of his torso against her side to soothe her.

“My son,” Odin said calmly. “I sought only to properly meet your frù.”

“Do not talk of her as such,” Thor hissed viciously, drawing Becca against him firmly, surprising her with the venom in his tone. “She is more than that.”

“Is she?” Odin chuckled. “Is that what your inn mátki munr signified? Will you insist on making her your kvàn, my son? Call her your brúðr? Your kona?”

“If I do,” Thor spat, “It will be because she chooses to be.”

“And she’s right here,” Becca said, elbowing Thor in the gut when he squeezed her too tightly.

Thor looked at her, eyes wide and somewhat crazed, and Becca made the executive decision that remaining anywhere near Thor’s father wasn’t going to end well for either of them. “Thank you for coming all this way to meet me, your Majesty,” she offered, making sure to paste the most insincere smile she could manage on her face, “I think we both rather learned a lot today.”

She looked to Thor and squeezed her fingers around his. “We’re leaving. You promised me you’d show me more of Asgard.”

“So I did,” Thor nodded, keeping his blue eyes intent on hers. “There is much to see still.”

He stood smoothly, offering Becca a hand as soon as he was standing, and pulled her to her feet as well. “We will take our leave, Father,” he said. “It was a pleasure, as always.”

With that, Thor began moving, pulling her along with him.

She didn’t look back.

————————

[PEPPER POTTS PREGNANCY ANNOUNCEMENT VIDEO!]

There is a short moment before the image settles that shows a cozy, comfortable living room, before the image stills and zooms in on two men sitting at the kitchen island, heads bent together over a laptop.

“I don’t see the big deal, Capsicle. It’s not like this is news, even to you,” Tony Stark, looking almost like had only just rolled out of bed, shrugs, leaning back in his chair and sipping from the large mug in the shape of the Hulk’s fist.

“This isn’t a joking matter, Tony,” Steve Rogers, dressed in a tight white t-shirt and light sweatpants insists, gesturing towards the screen with a frown. “They moved to L.A. of all places. It’s a fucking outrage.”

“But it’s just baseball,” Stark mumbles, looking entirely nonplussed, before he offers, “Would it help if I bought them?”

Rogers blinks in astonishment before he groans and puts his head in his hands. “God, don’t tempt me, Tony. I don’t even need you to buy them for me—I could do it.”

Stark laughs and pats his hand on Rogers’ head while he shakes his head, using his free hand to draw the laptop closer to himself. “Shhh,” he tells Rogers, “let me live out my sugar daddy fantasies through you, Steven.”

Rogers looks appropriately scandalized while Stark cackles and types madly on the laptop.

Rhodes walks in, stops short, takes in the scene and shakes his head. “Whatever it is, Tony, no.”

Stark cackles louder. “Tony, yes!” Both Rogers and Rhodes sigh and share a commiserating eye roll before embarking on a journey to the refrigerator together.

The camera shakes a little when the person behind it moves, moving closer to the men in the kitchen. “Tony,” Pepper Potts says from behind the camera. “What have you done now?”

Stark looks up and smirks gleefully. “I’ve just bought our baby a baseball team.”

Rogers and Rhodes emerge from the depths of the fridge with identical, bewildered expressions, and Potts is quiet for a moment before she chokes, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know Steve was our baby now?”

Rogers, who has once again rounded the kitchen island to peer at the laptop, exclaims gleefully, “Neither did I, but you’re not getting rid of me now. You bought me the Dodgers?”

The camera shakes when Potts laughs. When it settles again, the three men are now crowded around the laptop, talking over one another excitedly.

“Well,” Potts interrupts, moving closer to the men. “I suppose we can keep you. As long as you learn to share with your future baby sibling.”

The camera swings up to catch a clear look of the three men’s astonished expressions before the image cuts out.

—Clara Newitski, “Pepper Potts confirms pregnancy” CONTINUED, E!News Online, 30 November, 2015

————————

FENSALIR, VALASKIALF, ASGARD

NOVEMBER 30TH, 2015 – 12:09 PM (EARTH UCT+1)

THOR

He was still fuming at the sheer nerve of his father, even hours later.

He had taken Rebecca to see the city and had shown her his favorite little corners. He had taken her to the tavern he had taken Steven to as well, had taken her to visit Aase and the market, and had watched her become struck with awe when he had taken her to the libraries that held the collected works of the Nine.

It had soothed his ire some, to see Asgard anew through her eyes.

Becca’s wonder at seeing his home was contagious, and Thor had relaxed some. He had known, of course, that his father would attempt to sow discord in his relationship, that he would seek out Rebecca and try to pinpoint her insecurities, that he would use those insecurities against her to destroy them, but he had not expected his father to be quite so open about his disapproval.

He’d certainly not expected him to corner Rebecca on the training fields.

“Hey.”

Rebecca’s voice and her insistent tug on his hand drew him from his thoughts.

“Stop it,” she told him sternly when he looked at her. “Don’t let him win. I didn’t believe a word he said about us, Thor.” She turned towards him fully, and Thor relaxed a little when she tiptoed to slip her arms around him. “I love you. I trust you. You know that. I didn’t let him get under my skin.” She smiled and pecked his lips. “Don’t let him get under yours.”

“You’re right,” Thor sighed, leaning his forehead against hers. “You’re right. I’ll not let him spoil our time together any longer.”

“Good,” Becca grinned, leaning in to press another kiss to his lips. “Now show me these famed gardens of yours. Steve’s told me they’re absolutely gorgeous.” She stepped back a little and held out her hand to him, raising an expectant eyebrow.

Thor smiled and took her hand in his, leading Rebecca back towards the palace. He looked forward to showing her the Gardens; they’d proven a refuge for him and Loki many times when they’d been children, and he knew it’d brought Steven comfort too, when he had been here.

He hoped that Rebecca, too, would find some solace there.

He recognized he had not been able to be the host he wanted to be due to the absurd itinerary his father had foisted upon them when they arrived. Rebecca had spent far more time with his friends and the handmaidens—whom she had thankfully taken a liking to, even the maids she had initially bemoaned—than she had with him, due to his father’s insistence on adhering to tradition.

Tradition that he had never once been forced to adhere to before.

He’d originally planned for their first few days here to be far less strenuous and far more intimate.

Heimdall had warned him, when he began planning this trip, that journeying through the Bifrost would likely be exceptionally taxing for a human; even Steven, with an enhanced physiology that brought him closer to Aesir than to human, had felt the effects of it for a few hours.

He had not kept as close an eye on Becca as he had planned to, and he hoped she wasn’t feeling any ill effects of the travel any longer.

“Are you doing alright?” he asked concernedly, pulling her to a slow stop by lightly tugging on her hand. “I’ve not thought to ask how the Bifrost affected you, I apologize.” He imagined an inter-dimensional jet-lag on top of his father being… well, himself must’ve been exhausting.

“I’m fine,” Becca told him with a wry quirk of her lips. “Although, Asgardian cuisine doesn’t seem to agree with me yet.” She smiled a little. “I guess I just have to get used to it, but I’m not very hungry. I’m so bloated it’s not even funny anymore, but I’m not feeling sick or anything bad. Little tired, maybe, but... ” She squeezed her fingers around his. “Jet-lag hasn’t been so bad yet.”

“If you’re sure,” Thor said doubtfully, running his fingers across her cheek.

“Of course I am,” she shook her head. “Come on, show me the Gardens.”

He nodded silently and resumed their trek back to the palace; they would not have to enter the palace, thankfully, and risk running into his father or any of the servants. Loki had once shown him a secret path into their mother’s gardens, where they could slip past the guards unnoticed and hide in the lush, green garden for hours without being found.

He fully intended on doing so with Rebecca as well.

Spending their afternoon basking in sunlight, snacking on the morsels Thor had had asked the maids to prepare, and relaxing together, as they hadn’t been allowed since their arrival on Asgard, sounded like the best idea he’d had in months.

“So, your father had these gardens created for your mother?” Becca asked, slowing down a little so they walked side by side again, swinging their arms between them.

“Yes,” Thor nodded. “She missed the woods of her homeland and her father’s gardens, and my father sought to ensure her happiness by recreating them as precisely as he could.” He wondered where the man his mother had fallen in love with, once, had gone.

He wondered if love lost turned all hearts bitter, or if his father was an exception. Then again, his father had been a bitter man for longer than his mother had been gone.

He wondered, briefly, if he would lose himself to bitterness and anger too, should he lose Rebecca as well.

Losing Loki and his mother had very well had the potential to turn his heart to stone, and he believed it may have, had he not had his mortal friends to lean on in his time of need. The Warriors Three and Lady Sif were worthy friends indeed, but they had not understood the depth of his despair following Loki’s death. It might have been more forgivable if they had not so clearly mourned the loss of his mother while barely paying lip service to Loki’s memory, and only then on Thor’s behalf.

Having Becca and Steven and the other Avengers to turn to had saved him, in a way.

“That’s sweet, I guess,” Becca nodded, drawing him from his thoughts.

He looked to her and smiled lightly, squeezing his fingers around hers. “I suppose it was, at the time,” he shrugged. They’d reached the palace walls by now, and Thor slowed their pace down to a casual stroll, gently nudging Becca’s attention towards the walls that surrounded the palace.

“Do you see the etchings that cover the walls?” he asked, slowing to a stop so Becca could reach out to touch her fingertips to the faint lines.

“What are they?” she asked, looking back at him quizzically.

“Loki insisted they are the remnants of the history of our people that our forefathers would rather have seen forgotten. If you look closely, you can almost see the figures that tell our tales.”

Becca was silent, and Thor allowed himself to remember the awe that had filled him the first time he had seen the lines on the walls form a recognizable pattern. “It’s beautiful,” Becca said quietly, pulling her hand away from the wall and turning back to him.

“It’s also our way into the gardens,” Thor confided in her, pressing close to her and taking her hand in his. He guided her hand up, palm up, to the wall, letting it hover above the stones for a long moment.

“Say the words with me,” he whispered. “Opnað grindrinn.”

“Opnað grindrinn,” Becca repeated dutifully, and Thor relished in how easily her lips formed around the still largely unfamiliar words—she had insisted on beginning to learn his native tongue as soon as their relationship became more serious—and smiled when she gasped delightedly when the solid wall that stood before them shimmered and then disappeared, revealing a veritable oasis of greenery and flowers.

“Oh wow,” Becca breathed, and Thor couldn’t help but smile. It was an awe-inspiring sight, even for him. “Is it a gate?” she asked as she walked further into the gardens, “or is it an illusion?”

Thor hummed and considered his words before he spoke, watching as Becca moved deeper into the gardens, fingers idly trailing past flowers and deep green leaves. “It is somewhat of both,” he finally said, allowing his gaze to stray to the bright red flower that bloomed only through his mother’s lingering seiðr. “Loki wove the spell centuries ago, weaving it so only those we chose to share it with would be able to enter, and only accompanied by one of us. It was an ideal hideout.”

He expected Becca to laugh at that, to tease him about hiding out in the secluded gardens with Loki so they could make out like the careless, lovestruck boys they had been at the time, but she remained quiet.

He looked up to find her standing only a few feet away, rather a lot paler than she had been minutes ago.

“Becca?” he asked. “Are you alright?”

“I–” She shook her head and swayed where she stood. Thor moved before he had even consciously thought of doing so, crossing the distance between them in a few strides, grasping her forearms tightly. “I’m so hot.”

Now that he stood so much closer, he could see sweat beading on her forehead, and see just how alarmingly pale she’d suddenly become. “Becca, what’s going on?” he demanded urgently, concern flooding his entire being when she didn’t respond to his query immediately, eyes going a little unfocused before she muttered,

“I need to sit, I’m—l’m going to be sick.”

“Of course,” Thor floundered, trying to figure out how to help her sit without having her keel over, when her eyes rolled back in her head and she went limp in his grasp.

“Becca!” he shouted in shock, barely moving fast enough to catch her as she crumpled, knees buckling as he sank down to the ground, her limp form cradled in his arms. She didn’t respond, nor did she wake when he patted her cheek, despite him using more strength than he usually did with her.

No reaction, but at the very least she was still breathing, and her pulse sounded strong and steady to his enhanced ears.

He looked up desperately, shaking himself forcefully. “Alright,” he nodded to himself, lifting her up in his arms and making for the palace.

Eir would know what to do.

————————

Start from the beginning:

In Hell We Stand By You:

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

Never Feel Alone:

(1) (2)

Decisions: (1)

Dancing with a Limp:

(1) (2)

Chances:

(1)

Starting Over:

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5)

Or read it HERE on AO3 :D Find the next chapter HERE on Tumblr :)

#IHWSBY sequel #starting over #stucky #Stucky fanfic #Steve Rogers #thor #Rebecca barnes #Avengers family #my writing #Lisa writes

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angelinarecs · 5 years

Text

Welcome to Night Vale Recs

One of my favourite podcasts! You can follow the full rec page here.

Organized by pairing (or gen) and then alphabetized by title. Summaries (which have been copied from their respective stories) and descriptions are provided. Notation at the end of the description indicates if a story is completed or a WIP.

Cecil/Carlos

An Accident of Science - Cecil announces something on the air and Carlos is the most surprised of them all. Romance/Family. Carlos tries to navigate the weirdness of the Night Vale medical system when he learns that Cecil is expecting. Oh look, I’m reccing another mpreg fic. Gee, I need to get a better coping mechanism for the ‘ovaries don’t function’ shit and stop posting these things. But they’re just so cute and my unnecessarily hormonal ass wants more. One-shot.

A Radio Host is Always Tenacious - It had already happened to Carlos, so Cecil really should have seen it coming. But then he was out reporting on the sudden torrential downpour and it was nearing Night Vale’s cooler season and honestly, Carlos was so cute when he was doing science that Cecil didn’t want to bother him with something so insignificant… Sickfic. In which magic rain reveals the truth to the citizens of Night Vale and causes mass pandemonium. Cecil is forced to confront the memories he buried after Cassettes and Carlos tries to keep everything together long enough to get them both out of danger. Slightly weird, oddly written, but fitting of Night Vale. Complete.

for the way across - Cecil is jumped while walking home from work, and Carlos takes him to Abby’s for help. Fluff/Hurt/Comfort. A blind!Cecil story. It’s not the most original plot, but I did enjoy the look at disability and bloodstone circles in Night Vale. One-shot.

Four Years Later - It’s been four years since Carlos first arrived in Night Vale, and he is planning to propose. Meanwhile, Kevin finally escapes the desert otherworld and decides that the only way he can be with Carlos is if Cecil is out of the picture—permanently. Angst/Hurt/Comfort. A take on the possibility of Cecil being immortal as well as an explanation for his fear of mirrors. This is one of my favorite fanfics and I really love how it ties into and plays with several parts of cannon so well. A must read for angsty Cecilos fans. Complete.

Offspring - “Listeners, I can’t stand it any longer. I have the most exciting news and I just can’t hold it in anymore. Carlos, my beautiful, perfect husband, I hope you’re listening, because this announcement is mostly for you. As some of you might be aware, I experience a cycle every six years and while that would usually be an embarrassment to admit, this time it brings me nothing but joy. After a visit to the Night Vale General Hospital this morning, I discovered that I’m carrying six eggs, all of them occupied. That’s right listeners, I’m pregnant!” Family/Fluff. Cecil is pregnant in only the way Night Vale could allow, but he and Carlos are excited to start a family. This is cute and fluffy and I need it in my life right now. One-shot.

The Night of the Silver Teeth - The sex that started it all is sort of Carlos’ fault. No, that’s not fair. It takes two to tango, they say. Except that in Nightvale they’d say, “It takes two to spawn a vicious, toothed, screaming hell-creature that will chew its way out of your insides in the middle of the night and leave your boyfriend working far above his medical qualifications to save your life. But oh, isn’t it the cutest little button!“ Horror/Hurt/Comfort. Cecil unexpectedly has a child in the middle of the night or, more accurately, the child chews its way out of his abdomen. Poor Carlos has to figure out how to keep everyone alive and in one piece. I love when crack and horror intersect in fun and terrifying ways! Also, some really well done characterization with Cecil’s radio show. One-shot.

Night Vale’s Newest Citizen - The City Council declares Night Vale a “disaster zone,” and puts all citizens on strict rations. Except there isn’t enough food to go around, and Cecil decides that Carlos is more deserving of their food than he is. Angst. Cecil makes stupid decisions, Carlos is oblivious until it’s almost too late, and Night Vale’s emergency systems screws everyone over. Angst in the beginning turns into delightful fluff at the end. One-shot.

No One Said Possession Was Pleasant - “…she turns to look back, and we all see her face and we…” Cecil paused, though not entirely by choice. He felt a push at the back of his mind.

“We….” He struggled to continue speaking, he felt himself floundering in his own mind. Somewhere in his fleeting consciousness Cecil registered panic, a tightening in the vocal chords, which were normally soft and loose. His voice scraped across his throat. He could feel his pupils contract painfully, his skin rippling. “we…. The Woman From Italy, Oh! Merciful Goddess!” Hurt/Comfort/Fluff. Episode tag for The Woman From Italy, mostly just a guilty pleasure excuse to see Cecil affected by the horrors that Night Vale regularly goes through. One-shot.

Palmer, Cecil G. Sertraline - Set sometime before Condos. (31.5) Cecil has certain preferences for transportation and date nights and unusual sleeping habits. Carlos is very accepting of it all, but a little confused. My theory of how Carlos found out his boyfriend has a chronic illness. Fluff. Am I reccing this because I also have a chronic illness that my spouse has to contend with, maybe. But it’s cute and very in character, so here it is. One-shot.

Red Flagged (Or, Five Times Cecil Saved Carlos from Almost Certain Death, and One Time Carlos Returned the Favor) - Does what it says on the tin. If this is terrible, I am not responsible. If it is okay, then yeah. I take full responsibility. Fluff/Romance. Cecil is always there to save Carlos, mostly from himself, as the scientist tries to figure out life in Night Vale. I’m always a sucker for 5+1 because I love the variations on a theme and this did not disappoint even if most of the individual plots are drabbles. One-shot.

Scientific Reasoning - Earthquakes in Night Vale have never been real, have never been felt…until today. So what does that have to do with the radio station, and why can’t anyone contact Cecil? Hurt/Comfort. Carlos has to rescue Cecil after an earthquake nearly destroys the community radio station. Much drama and just the right amount of hurt-comfort ensues. This story was written fairly early in cannon and so some Steve Carlsberg hate, but still a cute read. Carlos is an indulgent boyfriend and Cecil is a workaholic. One-shot.

This is Good - After a particularly vicious punishment from Station Management, Cecil returns home to find a welcome surprise who isn’t as nonchalant about what happened as he is. Angst. Carlos tries to patch Cecil up while coming to terms with the how horrifyingly normal violence is in Night Vale. Oh look, another guilty pleasure fic! One-shot.

You are a Mystery to Me - Carlos has an accident. Cecil causes an accident for himself. Thus, side-by-side hospital beds and a front-row seat for your partner’s suffering. Hurt/Comfort. No matter how romantic matching hospital beds might be, both Carlos and Cecil are just happy that the other one is alright. One-shot.

#welcome to night vale #night vale fanfic #cecilos #cecil palmer #carlos the scientist #weirdness #general shenanigans #these boys are so cute #angelina's recs

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shemakesmusic-uk · 5 years

Photo

INTERVIEW: Smoke Fairies

Smoke Fairies have announced the release their first album for four years. Darkness Brings The Wonders Home will be released on January 31 coupled with new tour dates for the band.

Jessica and Katherine travelled to Seattle to record Darkness Brings The Wonders Home with producer Phil Ek (The Black Angels, Fleet Foxes, The Shins) and over the course of a rigorous month-long session in Seattle, adopted a purposely intimate approach to achieving a singular sonic tone.

To celebrate the album’s release Smoke Fairies have also announced a tour starting in Manchester on February 1, 2020. The band dropped new track 'Out Of The Woods' in August and follow it with first single 'Disconnect' which is out now.

We spoke to Jessica and Katherine all about the new record, their upcoming tour, struggles within the music industry and more. Read the interview below.

Hi! How are you? What have you been up to since your last album?

J: "We're good thanks. We've been up to so many things. Gardening, running, developing an interest in architecture. We've even had to chance to go on an actually holiday that wasn't a tour. Musically we've spent a lot of time writing, scrapping things and trying to work out what music we want to make and how we want our relationship with music to make us feel."

You recently returned with brilliant new singles 'Out of the Woods' and 'Disconnect'. How does it feel to be back?

J: "It's been a mixed bag. On one hand its great to have those songs out after working really hard on them, on the other its been a weird journey because we were thrown a massive curve ball 2 hours before we were set to release the first single Out of the Woods. It's all good now though, we are releasing the album ourselves which makes us happy."

'Out of the Woods' and 'Disconnect' are taken from your upcoming new album Darkness Brings the Wonders Home. What can you tell us about the record? Where did you draw your inspiration from?

J: "All sorts of things inspired the record. The feeling of doom in the air right now, lack of human connection in the digital age and failed relationships. We tried to use nature references to tell these stories: flies trapped in florescent bulbs insects living in stagnant ponds, weird creatures lurking just out of sight. And people, interactions good or bad have been a huge influence."

K: "It felt like a re-connection with our natural song writing style, rather than reinventing ourselves. In many ways the songs harp back to our first records but the parts are played and sung with more force and intent."

You worked with producer Phil Ek on DBTWH. How did that collaboration come about and what sort of things have you learned from the experience of working with him?

K: "The process was intense, challenging and ultimately rewarding. Phil has a real focus on making sure that everything you play and sing is delivered with complete clarity. Working with him helped us to up our game, but the process exposed all our weaknesses and so was hard at times. Plus there was a serious time pressure and we were all the way over in Seattle. We hadn't been in the studio for a long time and there were definite moments of self doubt. We got really into mezcal cocktails. It felt great at the end when I knew we’d finished. I think as an adult you don’t always get these feelings of intense achievement against the odds, so it was sort of exhilarating."

What was your favourite part recording DBTWH and what do you hope fans will take away from it?

K: "I most enjoy the part where we are at home figuring out vocal arrangements and demoing songs in a vacuum, without anyone else being involved. The true creative part. I hope fans will feel it is honest."

J: "It was amazing to escape normality and head to Seattle to record the album. Living a different life for a month was really great. I hope that fans will feel moved by it and be able to relate."

You have some tour dates following the albums release. You must be excited to get back out on the road! Will there be any changes to your live show?

K: "We have stripped our live band down to the minimum, so as a duo we’ll consequently be more in the fore and the sound will be barer, which was a purposeful choice to have the interaction between me and Jessica more raw and exposed."

Which of the new songs are you excited to debut live and why?

K: "We were talking about this the other day. This whole album feels exciting to play! Which is actually unusual, as often there is that one or two songs that feel like they don’t gel live that well and maybe we’re not that into playing as much as others. There are lots of strong riffs and dueling vocal lines so you have to be really present when you’re performing them."

You have been in the industry a long time now! What struggles, if any, have you faced in the music business and how have you overcome them?

K: "The whole thing can sometimes feel like a struggle! I love writing and playing but the industry side can really suck the joy and optimism out of you, if you let it. It feels like a weird club where there is no door but you can see everyone inside is having a great time."

J: "I swing between feeling like I'm not good enough and don't deserve to be playing music to thinking we're the best thing ever and cursing the fact we aren't more successful. there are a thousand struggles but we've chosen to do this and its all relative. Making a record and having people who care about it is huge and I'm trying not to lose sight of that. I've been trying to make a graphic novel about all the ridiculous things that have happened to us over the years because they are quite comical. It's a work in progress."

Which artists/bands are you listening to right now? Is there anyone you would love to collaborate with?

K: "Recently: Chelsea Wolf, Angel Olson, Earth and Moon Duo. Would like to collaborate with anyone on that list!"

Finally, what are your future plans musically and non-musically?

K: "I find it very hard to plan more than a week in advance. Most of all I hope we continue to feel moved to write and I hope my old Volvo, Mr. Biscuit, continues to start. We've also been experimenting with recording a podcast called Smoke Signals, which will be out soon. It is extremely silly and has been fun to do."

J: "We plan to do a small tour of England and hope that the album will take us further afield."

youtube

‘Out of the Woods’ and ‘Disconnect’ are out now. Darkness Brings the Wonders Home is out January 31.

Photo credit: Annick Wolfers

#interview #smoke fairies #out of the woods #disconnect #darkness brings the wonders home

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scifrey · 8 years

Audio

On February 10th, 2017 I had the fantastic opportunity to speak to a group of students and faculty from Grant MacEwan University in Edmonton, Alberta, about Fan Fiction, Mary Sues, and #DiversityMatters.

Above is the audio (slightly cleaned up - please forgive my inability to clean it up further) and below transcript of that talk.

Transcript:

Mike Perschon:

So, our keynote speaker is J.M. Frey. And she is from the Toronto area. I can say the “Toronto-area,” that’s a quick way of saying–

J.M. Frey

It’s a good way of saying it.

Mike Perschon:

–it and everything.

Uh, she is a science fiction and fantasy author. She’s a pop culture scholar. She’s going to be talking to us about some of that stuff tonight. She often appears as a guest on podcasts, television, and radio programs. Okay, she’s got a book coming out later this year, the third in the series – the fantasy series – she’s has been writing for the past few years and, uh, she’s got a whole bunch of other creative projects on the go.

Tonight she’s going to be talking to us about how “Your Voice is Valid” and the idea of the “Mary Sue”.

So if you’ve seen that term in pop culture, and was confused what it was or, perhaps, gotten misinformation, you’ll find out exactly what that is.

[Applause truncated]

J.M. Frey:

Thank you very much for inviting me, everybody.

Thank you to the student organizers. Thank you to the faculty organizers. I really appreciate it.

I—ah-ah! First off, I’m gonna say: I’m going to have my notes with me, and I apologize, ‘cause talking for forty-five minutes is—a half hour! I promise, it’s a half hour!—without notes is a little much.

Um, so I just wanted to say thank you to Grant MacEwan for inviting me. Um, this is the first time in Edmonton, and I’m looking forward to exploring it. I think I was maybe promised roller coasters? I don’t know…

I do want to, in particular, thank you Mike for inviting me and for being my designated buddy while I’m here in Edmonton.  It is an honor to sleep in the same guest bed that Gail Carriger once slept in.

And secondly, I do want to say thank you to everyone else for being here. I do in my brain still think of myself in my brain think of myself as your age, even though I have been out of academia for… oh… a little bit over a decade. But I loved being you guys, I loved this moment of my life. Ah, this weekend is going to be so awesome, you have no idea.

But of course before the awesome happens, you’ve have to listen to a keynote and you’re probably wondering who this hobbit in the front of the room is, getting between you and these amazing burgers that I’ve heard about?

We don’t have “Red Robin”s in Ontario? So apparently I’m in for a treat. I’m very excited about it.

So, my name is J.M. Frey. I’m a science-fiction and fantasy author, a screenwriter, and a fanthropologist. And I have a declaration to make. A promise. A vow, if you will.

And it is this:

If I hear one more basement-dwelling troll call the lead female protagonist of a genre film a “Mary Sue” one more time, I’m going to scream.

I’m sure you’ve all seen this all before. A major science fiction, fantasy, video game, novel, or comic franchise or publisher announces a new title. Said new title features a lead protagonist who is female, or a person of color, or is not able-bodied, or is non-neurotypical, or is LGBTQA+.

It might be the new Iron Man or Spider-man, who are both young black teenagers now. The new Ms. Marvel, a Muslim girl. It could be Jyn Erso, the female lead of the latest Star Wars film, the deaf Daphne Vasquez from Switched at Birth, or Alex in Supergirl, who was just recently revealed to be a lesbian still coming to terms with her sexuality in her mid-thirties, or Dorian in Dragon Age, who is both a person of color and flamboyantly queer.

And generally, the audience cheers. Yay for diversity! Yay for representation! Yay for working to make the worlds we consume look more like the world we live in! Yaaaaay!

But there’s a certain segment of the fan population that does not celebrate.

I’m sure you all know what I’m talking about.

This certain brand of fan-person gets all up in arms on social media. They whine. They complain. They say that it’s not appropriate to change the gender, race, orientation, or physical abilities of a fictional creation, or just protest their inclusion to begin with. They decry the erosion of creativity in service of neo-liberalism, overreaching political-correctness, and femi-nazis. (Sorry, sorry – the femi-“alt-right”).

It’s not realistic – women can’t survive in space, they say, it’s just a fact. That is a direct quote, by the way. Superheroes can’t be black, they say. Video game characters shouldn’t have a sexual orientation, (unless that sexual orientation is straight and the game serves to support a male gaze ogling at half-dressed pixilated prostitutes).

And strong female characters have to wear boob armor. It’s just natural, they say.

They predict the end of civilization because things are no longer being done the way they’ve always been done. There’s nothing wrong with the system, they say. So don’t you dare change it.

And to enforce this opinion, to ensure that it’s really, really clear just how much contempt this certain segment of the fan population holds for any lead protagonist that isn’t a white, heterosexual, able-bodied, neurotypical, cismale, they do everything they can to tear down them down.

They do this by calling that a “Mary Sue.”

When fan fiction author Paula Smith first used the term “Mary Sue” in her 1973 story A Trekkie’s Tale, she was making a commentary on the frequent appearance of original characters in Star Trek fan fiction. Now, most of these characters existed as a masturbatory avatar – wanna bone Spock? (And, um, you know, let’s face it who didn’t?) They you write a story where a character representing you gets to bone Spock.

And if they weren’t a sexual fantasy, then they were an adventure fantasy – wanna be an officer on the Enterprise? Well, it’s the flagship of the Starfleet, so you better be good enough to get there. Chekov was the youngest navigator in Starfleet history, Uhura is the most tonally sensitive officer in linguistics, and Jim Kirk’s genius burned like a magnesium flare – you would have to keep up to earn your place on that bridge.

So this led to a slew of hyper sexualized, physically idealized, and unrealistically competent author-based characters populating the fan fiction of the time.

But inserting a trumped-up version of yourself into a narrative wasn’t invented in the 1970s. I mean, Aeneas was totally Virgil’s Mary Sue in his Iliad knock off, Dante was such a fanboy of the The Bible that he wrote himself into an adventure exploring it. Uh, Robin Hood’s merry men and King Arthur’s Knights of the Round Table kept growing in number, and characteristics with each retelling; and even painters have inserted themselves into commissioned pictures for centuries.

This isn’t new. This is not a recent human impulse.

But what Paula Smith and the Mary Sue-writing fan ficcers didn’t know at the time, was that they were crystallizing what it means to be an engaged consumer of media texts, instead of just a passive one. What it means to be so affected by a story, to love it so much that this same love bubbles up out of you and you have to do something about it.

Either in play, or in art. So for example, in pretending to be a ninja turtle on the play ground, or in trying to recreate the perfect version of a star fleet uniform to wear, or in creating art and making comics depicting your favorite moments or further adventures of the characters you love, or writing stories that encompass missing moments from the narratives.

“Mary Sues” are, at their center, a celebration of putting oneself and one’s own heart, and one’s own enjoyment of a media text, first.

So, heh, before I talk about why this certain segment of the population deploys the term “Mary Sue” the way it does, let’s take a closer look at this impulse for participatory play.

Here’s the sixty four thousand dollar question: where do “Mary Sues” come from?

I’d like you all to close your eyes, please.

Think back. Picture yourself outside, playing with your siblings, or the neighbour’s kids or you cousins…. and You’re probably around seven, or eight, or nine years old… and…

Think about the kind of games you’re playing. Ball games, chase games, and probably something with a narrative? Are you Power Rangers? Are you flying to Neverland with Peter Pan? Are you fighting Dementors and Death Eaters at Hogwarts? Are you the newest members of One Direction, are you Jem and the Holograms or the Misfits? Are you running around collecting Pokémon back before running around and collecting Pokémon was a thing?

Open your eyes.

That, guys, gals and non-binary pals, is where Mary Sues come from. That’s it. It’s as easy as that.

As a child you didn’t know that modern literary tradition pooh-poohs self-analogous characters, or that realism was required for depth of character. All you knew was that you wanted to be a part of that story, right.  If you wanted to be a train with Thomas and Friends, then you were a train. If you wanted to be a magic pony from Equestria, you were a pony. Or, you know, if you had brothers like me, then you were a pony-train.

Self-insert in childhood games teach kids the concept of elastic play, and this essential ability to imagine oneself in skins that are not one’s own, and to stretch and reshape narratives, is what breeds creativity and storytelling.

Now, think of your early stories.

You can keep your eyes open for this one.

As a child we all told and wrote stories about doing what, to us, were mundane everyday things like getting ice cream with the fictional characters we know and love.

So for example, my friend’s three year old tells his father bed time stories about going on walks through Home Hardware with his friends, the anthropomorphized versions of the local taco food truck and the commuter train his dad takes to work every morning. He doesn’t recognize the difference between real and fictional people (or for him, in this case, the stand ins that are the figures that loom large in his life right now as a three year old obsessed with massive machines). When you ask him to tell you a story, he talks about these fictions as if they’re real.

As we grow up, we do learn to differentiate between fantasy and reality. But, I posit that we never truly loose that “me too!” mentality. We see something amazing happening on the screen, or on the page, or on a playing field, and we want to be there, a part of it.

We sort ourselves into Hogwarts Houses. We choose hockey teams to love, and we wear their jerseys.  We buy ball caps from our favorite breweries, line up for hours to be the first to watch a new release or to buy a certain smartphone. We collect stamps and baseball cards and first editions of Jane Austen and Dan Brown. We want to be a part of it. And our capitalist, consumer society tells us to prove our love with our dollars, and do it.

And for fan creators, we want to be a part of it so badly that we’re willing to make it. Not for profit, but for sheer love.

And for the early writers, the newbies, the blossoming beginners, Mary Sues are where they generally start. Because those are the sorts of stories they’ve been telling yourselves for years already, right?

Yet as we get older, we begin to notice a dearth of representation – you’re not pony trains in our minds any more, and we have a better idea of what we look like. And we don’t see it. The glorious fantasy diversity of our childhoods is stripped away, narratives are codified by the mainstream media texts we consume, and people stop looking like us.

I’m reminded of a story I read on Tumblr, of a young black author living in Africa – who, I’m going to admit, whose name, I’m afraid, I wasn’t able to find when I went back to look for it, so my apologies to her –  and the story is about the first time she tried to write a fairytale in elementary school. She made her protagonist a little white girl, and when she was asked why she hadn’t chosen to make the protagonist back, this author realized that it hadn’t even occurred to her that she was allowed make her lead black. Even though she was surrounded by black faces, the adventures, and romance, and magic in everything she consumed only happened to the white.

This is not natural. This is nurture, not nature. This is learned behavior. And this is hegemony.

No child grows up believing they don’t have place in the story. This is something were are taught. And this is something that we are taught by the media texts weconsume.

Now, okay. I do want to pause and make a point here.

There isn’t anything fundamentally wrong with writing a narrative from the heterosexual, able bodied, neurotypical, white cismale POV in and of itself. I think we all have stories that we know and love and like to tell that are like that.

And people from community deserve to tell their stories as much as folks from other communities.

The problem comes when it’s the only narrative. The default narrative. The factory setting. When people who don’t see themselves reflected in the narrative nonetheless feel obligated to write such stories, instead of their own. When they are told and taught that it is the only story worth telling. ‎

There’s this really great essay by Ika Willis, and it’s called “Keeping Promises to Queer Children: Making Room for Mary Sue At Hogwarts“. And I think it’s the one – one of the most important pieces of writing not only on Mary Sues, but on the dire need for representation in general.

In the essay, Willis talks about Mary Sues – beyond being masturbatory adventure avatars for young people just coming into their own sexuality, or, um, avatars to go on adventures with – but as voice avatars. Mary Sues, when wielded with self-awareness, deliberateness, and precision, can force a wedge into the narrative, crack it open, and provide a space for marginalized identities and voices in a narrative that otherwise silences and ignores them.

This is done one of two ways. First: by jamming in a diverse Mary Sue. And making the characters and the world acknowledge and work with that diversity.

Or, second: by co-opting a pre-existing character and overlaying a new identity on them while retaining their essential characterization. Like making Bilbo Baggins non-binary, but still thinking that adventures are messy, dirty things. Or making Sherlock Holmes deaf, but still perfectly capable of solving all the crimes. Um… making James Potter Indian, so that the Dursleys prejudiced against Harry not only for his magic, but also for his skin color. Making Ariel the mermaid deal with severe body dysphoria, or giving Jane Foster PTSD after the events of Thor.

I like to call this voice avatar Mary Sue a Meta-Sue, because when authors have evolved enough in their storytelling abilities to consciously deploy Mary Sues as a deliberate trope, they’re doing so on a self-aware, meta-textual level.

So that is where Mary Sues comes from. But what is a Mary Sue? How can you point at a character and say, “Yes, that is – definitively – a Mary Sue”.

Well, Mary Sues can generally be characterized as:

-Too perfect, or unrealistically skilled. They shouldn’t be able to do all the things they do, or know all the things they know, as easily as they do or know them. For reasons of the plot expedience, they learn too fast, and are able to perform feats that other characters in their world who have studied or trained longer and harder find difficult. So like, for example, Neo in The Matrix.

-They are the black hole of every plot – every major quest or goal of the pre-existing characters warps to include or be about them; every character wants to befriend them, or romance them, or sleep with them, and every villain wants to possess them, or kill them, or sleep with them. Makes sense, as why write a character into the world if you’re not going to have something very important happen to them. So like, for example, Neo in The Matrix.

-A Mary Sue, because it’s usually written by a neophyte author who’s been taught that characters need flaws, has some sort of melodramatic, angsty tragic back-story that, while on the surface seems to motivate them into action, because of lack of experience in creating a follow-through of emotional motivation, doesn’t actually affect their mental health or ability to trust or be happy or in love. So, Like the emotional arc of, I dunno… Neo in The Matrix.

– A Mary Sue saves the day. This goes back to that impulse to be the center of the story. Like, Neo in The Matrix.

-And lastly, Mary Sues come from outside the group. They’re from the ‘real world’, like you and I, or have somehow discovered the hero’s secret identity and must be folded into the team, or are a new recruit, or are a sort of previously undiscovered stand-alone Chosen One. Like, for example, Neo in The Matrix.

Now, as I’ve said, there’s actually nothing inherently wrong with writing a Mary Sue. Neo is a Mary Sue, but The Matrix is still really good. So there’s nothing really wrong with it.

The first impulse of storytelling is to talk about oneself. All authors do it. Ww write about ourselves, only the more we write, the more skilled we become at disguising the sliver of us-ness in a character, folding it into something different and unique.

We, as storytellers, as humans, empathize with protagonists and fictional characters constantly – we love putting our feet into other people’s shoes. It’s how we understand and engage with the world.

And we as writers tap into our own emotions in order to describe them on the page. We take slices of our lives – our experiences, our memories, our friend’s verbal tics or hand gestures, aunt Brenda’s way of making tea, Uncle Rudy’s way having a pipe after dinner, that time Grannie got lost at the zoo (mouths: wasn’t my fault!) – and we weave them together into a golem that we call a character, which comes to life with a bit of literary magic.

I mean, allow me to be sparklingly reductionist for a second, but in the most basic sense, every character is a Mary Sue.

It’s just a matter of whether the writer has evolved to the point  in their craft that they’ve learned to animate that golem with the sliver of self-ness hidden deep enough that it is unrecognizable as self-ness, but still recognizable as human-ness.

That certain segment of the fan population has been telling us for years that if we don’t like what we see on TV or in video games, or in books, or comics, or on the stage, that we should just go make our own stuff. And now we are. And they are losing their goddamn minds! “Make your own stuff,” they say, and then follow it up with “What’s with all this political correctness gone wild? Uhg. This stuff is all just Mary Sue garbage.”

Well, yes. Of course it is. That’s the point. But why are they saying it like that?

Because they mean it in a derogatory sense.

They don’t mean it in the way that Paula Smith meant it – a little bit belittling but mostly fun; a bemused celebration of why we love putting ourselves into the stories and worlds we enjoy. They don’t mean it the way that Willis means it – a deliberate and knowing way to shove the previously marginalized into the center. They don’t even mean it the way that I mean it. And for those of you unfortunate enough to be in Dr. Perschon’s class, and have read The Untold Tale you’ll know: as a tool for carefully deconstructing and discussing character and narrative with a character and from within a narrative.

When a certain segment of the fan population talks about “Mary Sue”, they mean to weaponize it. To make it a stand-in for the worse thing that a character can be: bland, predictable, and too-perfect. Which, granted, many Mary Sues are. But not all of them. And a character doesn’t have to be a Mary Sue to be done badly, either.

When this certain segment of the fan population says “Mary Sue”, they’re trying to shame the creators for deviating from the norm - the white, the heterosexual, the able bodied, the neurotypical, the straight cismale.

When this certain segment of the population says “Mary Sue,” what they’re really saying is: “I don’t believe people like this are interesting enough to be the lead character in a story.”

When this certain segment of the population says “Mary Sue,” what they’re really saying is: “I don’t think there’s any need to listen to that voice. They’re not interesting enough.”

When this certain segment of the population says “Mary Sue,” what they’re really saying is: “This character is not what I am used to a.k.a. not like me, and I’m gonna whine about it.”

When this certain segment of the population says “Mary Sue,” what they’re really saying is: “Even though kids from all over the world, from many different cultural, religious and ethnic backgrounds have had to grow up learning to identify with characters who don’t look or think like them, identifying with characters who don’t look or think like me is hard and I don’t wanna.”

When this certain segment of the population says “Mary Sue,” what they’re really saying is: ”Even though I’ve grown up in a position of privilege and power, and even though publishing and producing diverse stories with diverse casts doesn’t actually cut into the proportionate representation that I receive, and never will, I am nonetheless scared that I’ll never see people like me in media texts ever again.”

When this certain segment of the population says “Mary Sue,” what they’re really saying is: “Considering my fellow human beings as fellow human beings worthy of having stories about them and their own experiences, in their own voices, is hard and I don’t wanna do it.”

When this certain segment of the population says “Mary Sue,” what they’re really saying is: “I only want stories about me.”

They call leads “Mary Sues” so people will stop writing them and instead write… well, their version of a “Mary Sue.” The character that is representative of their lived experiences, their power and masturbatory fantasies, their physical appearance, their sexual awakenings, their cultural identity, their voice, their kind of narratives.

Missing, of course, that the point of revisionist and inclusive narratives aren’t to shove out previous incarnations, but to coexist alongside them. It’s not taking away one entrée and offering only another – it’s building a buffet.

Okay, so who actually cares if these trolls call these diverse characters Mary Sues?

Well, unfortunately, because this certain segment of the population have traditionally been the group most listened-to by the mainstream media creators and the big money, their opinions have power. (Never mind that they’re not actually the biggest group of consumers anymore, nor no longer the most vocal.)

So, this is where you come in.

You have the power to take the Mary Sue from the edge of the narrative and into the centre. And you do can do this by normalizing it. Think back to that author who didn’t think little black girls were allowed to be the heroes of fairy tales. Now imagine how much different her inner world, her imagination might have been at the stage when she was first learning to understand her own self-worth, if she had seen faces like hers on the television, in comics, in games, and on the written page every day of her life.

And not just one or two heroes, but a broad spectrum of characters that run the gamut from hero to villain, from fragile to powerful, from straight to gay, and every other kind of intersectional identity.

You have the power to give children the ability to see themselves.

Multi-faceted representation normalizes the marginalized.

And if you have the privilege to be part of the passing member of the mainstream, then weaponize your privilege. Refuse to work with publishers, or websites, or conventions that don’t also support diverse creators. Put diverse characters in your work, and do so thoughtfully and with the input of the people from the community you are portraying. And if you’re given the opportunity to submit or speak at an event, offer to share the microphone.

–Sorry, I always get emotional at this part. Ah-heh!

The first thing I did when actor Burn Gorman got a Twitter account was to Tweet him  my thanks for saving the world in Pacific Rim while on a cane. As someone who isn’t as mobile as the heroes I see in action films - who knows for a fact that when the zombie apocalypse comes I will not be a-able to outrun the monsters – it meant so much to me that his character was not only an integral and vital member of the team who cancelled the apocalypse, but also that not once did someone call him a cripple, or tell him he couldn’t participate because of his disability, or leave him behind.

Diversity matters.

Not because it’s a trendy hashtag, or a way to sell media texts to a locked-down niche market, but because every single human being deserves to be told that they have a voice worth listening to; a life worth celebrating and showcasing in a narrative; a reality worth acknowledging and accepting and protecting; emotions that are worth exploring and validating; intelligence that is worth investing in and listening to; and a capacity to love that is worth adoring.

White, heterosexual, neurotypical, able-bodied cismales are not the only people on the planet who are human.

And you have a right to tell your story your way.

Okay, so I’ve basically spent thirty minutes basically cribbing my own MA thesis, and for what? Why? Well, you’re here for a conference focused on Narrative and Identity, right?

Calling something a “Mary Sue” in order to dismiss it out of hand, as an excuse to hate something before even seeing it, is how the trolls bury your Narrative and your Identity.  We are storytellers, all of us. Every person in this room.

Whether your wheel house is in fiction, or academia, or narrative non-fiction, we impart knowledge and offer experience through the written word, through the telling of tales, through leading a reader from one thought to another.

The root of the word “Essay” is the French “Essayer”. A verb meaning, “to try”. To try to convince the reader of a truth in an academic paper is no different than trying to convince a reader of an emotional truth in a fictional piece. Tout le monde doit essayer.

And we none of deserve to be shouted down, talked over, or dismissed. No one can tell you that your story isn’t worth telling. Of course it is. It’s yours.

And don’t let anyone call your characters, or your work, or you a ”Mary Sue” in the derogatory sense. Ever again. Ever.

Or I am going to scream.

Thank you.

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zipgrowth · 6 years

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How Machine Learning and the Cloud Can Rescue IT From the Plumbing Business

Many educational institutions maintain their own data centers. But to Jeff Olson, chief data officer and senior VP of technology strategy at the College Board, all those humming racks of servers are just plumbing—and he doesn't want to be in the plumbing business. He would rather focus on how the College Board, which administers the PSAT, SAT, and Advanced Placement Tests, can help students reach their educational goals. "We need to minimize the amount of work we do to keep systems up and running, and spend more energy innovating on things that matter to people," he says.

We need to minimize the amount of work we do to keep systems up and running, and spend more energy innovating on things that matter to people.

That's why the College Board has pulled the plug on much of its IT plumbing in favor of the advanced capabilities offered by the cloud. These capabilities go far beyond simple cloud storage to encompass machine learning and new computing environments that allow the not-for-profit organization to identify opportunities and accelerate program development.

EdSurge spoke recently with Olson about how machine learning and these new advances in cloud computing are helping the College Board support students on their path to college.

EdSurge: First off, what's the difference between machine learning (ML) and artificial intelligence (AI)?

Jeff Olson: That's actually the setup for a joke going around the data science community. The punchline? If it's written in Python or R, it's machine learning. If it's written in PowerPoint, it's AI.

As I see it, machine learning is in practical use in a lot of places, whereas AI conjures up all these fantastic thoughts in people.

So what are some of the practical uses for machine learning at the College Board?

Some years ago, we were trying to figure out when to offer the SAT. The College Board had always offered the SAT at the same times of the year, but we wondered if it might be time to make a change. So we used Amazon Web Services (AWS) machine learning services including Amazon SageMaker to generate and then analyze many millions of calendars—every permutation you could think of. It recommended that we create a new test date in August, which seemed inconvenient for students because school is out then. We created an August date anyway, and it proved so popular that there weren't enough seats the first year. In our nearly 100 years of doing the SAT, we had never considered August.

Another example is something I call error forgiveness. I'm not talking about errors in the test questions themselves, but errors in responses to administrative questions. For instance, it's very common for people to accidentally put the current year as their birth year. Or, at the beginning of the year, they will write the date using the previous year. Instead of having these errors cause problems for students when they show up for the test, we can catch them earlier by using AWS to notice the pattern and fix the problem.

. . . the College Board has pulled the plug on much of its IT plumbing in favor of the advanced capabilities offered by the cloud.

These are unsexy examples, but it's important to talk about grounded applications if only to get away from the perception that machine learning is going to produce this "everything" machine. One area where we are doing something a bit radical, though, is in serverless architecture.

What is serverless architecture, and why are you excited about it?

Instead of having a machine running all the time, you just run the code necessary to do what you want—there is no persisting server or container. There is only this fleeting moment when the code is being executed. It's called Function as a Service, and AWS pioneered it with a service called AWS Lambda. It allows an organization to scale up without planning ahead.

But there's actually something more radical than serverless architecture, which some people are calling radically cloud native. It refers to the ability to put together applications using the managed services provided by AWS.

At the risk of getting lost in the tech weeds here, what kind of managed services are we talking about?

Everyone needs the same basic services to build software: database, authentication, networking and load balancing, login and log analysis. AWS saw that it could make these services available and connect them together via API (Application Programming Interface). The whole premise of using managed services—as opposed to servers or containers—is that you don't recapitulate work that isn't important to your customer.

At the College Board, for instance, our cloud-native architecture is a homegrown combination of API-connected AWS services. We call it Catapult, but it makes heavy use of Amazon Cognito, which is a device-agnostic service for login and authentication; Amazon S3, which is a simple storage solution; and Amazon DynamoDB, its NoSQL database service. Together, they make building a new application incredibly simple. They allow us to focus on the value of the software that we're delivering to users.

Do you have an example of how the College Board used this radically cloud-native approach?