without trying to pry too much, what was the gist of your career trajectory? You studied history right? I hope things will work out for you!
hi! thank you for your interest in my shitposting! so yes, I majored in History and 10/10 recommend because I took the best fucking classes ever and had the best professors and just generally loved my program. but I also went to a very well-funded school with ample resources, so obviously I can only speak for my own experience, which was very lucky and rife with privilege on that account.
my career trajectory was admittedly sort of open-ended for the past few months but I was pretty set on law for various reasons that I won’t go into. my concentration within my major was (shortened version) the historical and sociological implications of US mass incarceration in the 20th century, and I recently finished a research fellowship which I can’t go into too much detail about because it’s a pilot program and the findings haven’t been released publicly yet lol. the pandemic forced me to decline a fellowship abroad and really evaluate my priorities and what I want to do!
basically, this call today dealt me a BUUUUNCH of really tough reality checks (thanks to my old boss/professor whom I love and stan and is very nice) but my boss also discussed with me various other paths toward (hopefully) affecting social change and feeling fulfilled in my work. admittedly I wish I’d had this conversation earlier, but the pandemic threw all of my plans out the window and stomped on them lolol.
I know that’s a non-answer but the details are a bit specific so yeah! thanks for asking and for reading this ramble xx
Random thought: Changeling!Douxie AU of Wizfic in which instead of Mort raising Douxie, the son of Mort's dead best friends, Mort ends up raising NotDouxie, who is through some vague technicality Mort's cousin
You didn’t ask for a ficlet but you did make the mistake of mentioning “AU” and “Mort” in the same sentence to me, so I ended up writing you a ficlet under the cut. But YES I LOVE THIS CONCEPT
Mort paces. It’s really the only thing he’s good at doing when he’s this stressed, although he hasn’t been this stressed in a very long time. He’s keenly aware of how small his flat is, perfect for just him but terrible for raising a child. Not that the baby currently sitting on the kitchen table is necessarily a child, but it doesn’t matter, his human form will still grow like one and Mort’s flat doesn’t really have enough room for that. He really needs to talk to the changeling and figure out where to go from there.
He’d only been away for a month. Is that really how long it takes for everything to change? No, of course it is. It only takes seconds for everything to change, for people to die, for helpless infants to be kidnapped and replaced by an imposter.
He makes himself stop pacing. There’s nothing he can do about Percy and Hannah. He doesn’t know who did it or why they did it or if he’s crazy and looking for someone to blame instead of accepting the mundane excuse like everyone else. He needs to make a game plan, move them away from here in case he’s right, in case someone comes after him and Douxie next. He’s also got to deal with Douxie, or at least the changeling pretending to be Douxie. He can’t do anything about the human Douxie, somewhere in the Darklands – safe, at least, but lost to their world forever.
“The Janus Order took a pretty big risk sticking you with a couple of wizards, huh?” he mumbles. The baby looks up at him in alarm in a way babies shouldn’t be able to. He must not be a very old changeling or his acting would be far better. “You’re lucky your familiar’s parents didn’t have aura-sight. It’s rare but not that rare.”
There’s a flash, and now instead of a baby is a short, gangly troll, gold eyes wide as he scrambles to his feet and nearly falls off the table. He holds his arms out in front of him defensively, like Mort’s going to attack him.
A whelp. The changeling is probably the equivalent of a human ten-year-old. Mort’s blood boils.
“Calm down, you’re safe,” he starts with, forcing his anger at his aunt and at the Janus Order down in order to focus on the scared, confused child in front of him. “Come down from the table. You’re going to hurt yourself.”
After a long moment’s hesitation, the child climbs down from the table. He still stays backed up against it, away from Mort. What did they do to him? They must be getting desperate to send a whelp.
“I won’t hurt you,” Mort promises, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. “If I had meant you any harm, why would I have revealed my hand?”
The changeling glances between Mort’s raised hands and frowns.
“Is that a human thing?” he asks in a quiet voice.
“It’s a saying,” says Mort, lowering his hands but keeping them visible in case it eases the child’s mind. “What’s your name?”
“My familiar’s name is Douxie,” says the boy. His voice is still barely audible.
“Do you have a name?” Mort asks. “Your own name?”
He shakes his head slowly. “They didn’t give me one.”
“Do you want one?”
“I… like Douxie,” he says. Then he cringes like he thinks he’s said something wrong. “But–”
“Alright, Douxie,” Mort says softly. The boy’s face melts into surprise and confusion, and Mort offers him a smile. “Hey, I knew four different Marks in one lecture in college. I don’t see why you and your familiar can’t share a name.”
“You’re not mad?” asks Douxie.
“Not at you,” he assures him. He takes a careful step forward. “Would you like something to eat? I can order us a pizza if you’d like.”
“Pizza?” repeats Douxie. The tension in his shoulders is easing, slowly but surely. He’s small, probably only comes up to Mort’s waist, and he looks cold in no more than a pair of worn shorts. He needs new clothes. Mort will find a way to illusion him to look human so he can take the child shopping.
“I’ll get cheese,” says Mort. “If you don’t like it, I can make sandwiches or something. I might also have some old socks lying around.”
Douxie’s nose crinkles. “I don’t really like socks.”
“Noted,” says Mort. “I’ll contact some of my troll friends about nutrition. Changeling or not, your troll form needs nourishment too.”
“You aren’t making me leave?” he asks.
“Actually, I think we’ll both be leaving,” admits Mort, waking over to the phone and squinting at the sticky note above it with the number of the nearest pizza place. The sight of Percy’s handwriting sends a pang of grief to his heart. “I don’t think we’re safe here, and, quite frankly, my flat isn’t big enough for a growing boy. Anywhere you always wanted to visit?”
“I don’t know,” mumbles Douxie.
“Well, maybe we’ll go to the library tomorrow and we can look at some travel guides.” A glance back reveals the kid isn’t in the same place any more, so Mort adjusts his gaze and realises Douxie has gravitated hesitantly closer. “We could also move to Trollmarket, if you’d like. Perhaps it would be nice for you to grow up among trolls.”
“I’m a changeling, trolls don’t like changelings,” says Douxie.
“As long as you’re not working with the Janus Order, I’m sure they can learn to accept a changeling whelp as one of their own,” Mort says. Douxie flinches. “You don’t have to work with them, you know. I’ll protect you. Their goals – their plans, to bring back Morgana, to bring the Eternal Night, it’s not a good thing for anyone. Gunmar holds no love for the changelings, you said it yourself. And Morgana… she’s bad news.”
“She created us.” Douxie wraps his arms around his torso. Mort is well aware his aunt created changelings, something his father had always hated. Mort hadn’t really thought about it too much, because the concept makes him uneasy and there’s little he can do about it. The changelings he’s met have all been adults, seemingly content with their lots, and Mort was never close enough with any of them to ask. Douxie’s a child, practically a baby still, and Mort suspects he doesn’t even remember his birth family if he doesn’t even have a name from them.
“Who cares who created you?” Mort says. Douxie blinks at him with big, worried eyes. “My step-father’s biological parents abandoned him in the forest when he was four years old. Did he owe them any allegiance because they created him? No, certainly not. And you don’t owe Morgana any.”
Douxie wrings his hands and blinks rapidly. “What if she comes after me?”
“I’d like to see her try.” What did they tell this poor kid? Is that what changeling children are taught, that if they aren’t loyal Morgana will come after them when she’s released? “Between you and me, I think I can stand up to that old witch.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Finally, a small smile lights up Douxie’s face. “I’ve always wanted to see a library.”
“Then we’ll definitely go tomorrow,” says Mort. “For now, I’m going to order pizza and then grab you some clothes. I don’t have anything that would properly fit you but one of my sweaters would still be warmer than nothing at all.”
“Thank you,” says Douxie.
Mort smiles back at him. Pizza is good choice, right? Kids love pizza. He thinks. He never had pizza as a kid. Maybe he needs to get a book on raising ten-year-olds. He’s in no way confident in his ability to raise a clearly traumatised ten-year-old, who never knew his birth parents and just lost the people that would have raised him, but he’s going to do his best to be what Douxie needs.
