Fred just wants to solve mysteries and maybe hook up with Shaggy a few times, he is a nice boy, and that's important because if the show takes place in the year it was made then he was almost certainly dodging the draft, which adds a level of depth to him as we know he's nice and that niceness gives him a motivation beyond mystery, he doesn't want to go to Vietnam and kill but he can't say he's gay because Stonewall hasn't happened yet
He's scared, he makes mistakes, he had to leave his family, and feels lucky that his only friends agreed to join him in his van as he went to Canada, like Scooby Doo as a show really only works if you consider this, why are they always in a new place? Because they are on the run. I think a lot of Fred fans like him because he's a kind hearted silly guy, but once you realize the implications of the draft, he becomes a much more fascinating character, one we will never actually see explored because WB would never make scooby political sadly
To me, Fred is the most important character in Scooby Doo, not the dog or Shaggy, because while they instigate the plots of the episodes and see the ghosts and ghouls, Fred is the one who tries to catch and reveal the monsters, he has a strong moral compass, he knows what these people are doing is wrong and so he risks being found by the police to help the communities he goes through by catching these monsters
And I think that this detail is where a lot of people misstep with scooby doo adaptations, they try to make it modern and they try to make it straight, which doesn't work because of the death of the hippies and the counterculture makes the cross country travel feel weird, and you get really awkward relationships between the characters when you make it straight because Shaggy shouldn't be dating Dalpne, neither should Fred, those are 2 gay men, and Velma and Shaggy definitely shouldn't date, look at how fucking awful they were in Mystery Inc, I think one of the best things in recent scooby had been the move to make Velma more openly a lesbian since it gives her depth and doesn't take away from her character in the way that the heterosexuality does for literally every character.
Also, when making a scooby cast, don't be afraid to give them different races, I know people were angry with the Velma show but that's their problem, the race changes were not the issue with that show, it was the poor writing. One of my favorite Fred designs had him Korean, I love seeing a black Daphne, Velma is canonically Jewish in one show, you can do whatever you want with them, except make them straight
Also, I don't think Shaggy was drafted, I think he is just a #good friend who like Velma and Daphne didn't want Fred to be alone, now do I think those 3 were giving up the world to be with Fred, no, I think they each had their own reasons to leave, Daphne has always wanted to see the East Coast, Velma wants to learn about the political systems at play in New York, Shaggy bought a ticket to Woodstock, but the main reason is the fact they like so many in the 60s were bores and wanted to find a new way to live, alongside wanting to help their friend
Actually, yeah, I like that, Shaggy should be disabled.
Now for the big thing, where does Daphne fall? I think she has been overlooked and that is unfortunate but a simple issue with her characterization in the Mystery gang, Velma finds the clues, Shaggy and Scooby see the monster and Fred makes the trap, but what is Daphne's role, the typical suggestions are either the dare devil stunt woman who can do anything or the rich girl funding the whole thing, someone said her family even owns the mystery machine. I like the idea of Daphne bankrolling Mystery Inc but I think her most interesting characterization has been that of a journalist, someone trying to document the monsters, and I think that could fit quite well into this scenario, as she could be the one telling this story, a sort of Tim Wolfe documenting Ken Kesey and his merry band of pranksters cross country trip in The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test but with monsters and Mysteries instead of the excess of the counter culture. She goes along on the trip and looks for clues and stuff but because she has the goal of documentation, she is often ending up on her own trying to find clues and taking too many risks, she would be the one who gets the gang into trouble, not as a damsel in distress but as someone who pushes the boundaries of what they should do. When they arrive in Canada, Daphne sends off her writings on the mysteries to a publisher she met in New York with all the names changed and that ends the show
It's been pointed out a few times that canonically Fred is 17 and therefore doesn't have to worry about the draft, but I think it is fine to age him and the gang up to 19 if only to make him eligible for the draft and explain why they aren't in school
I must not mock Gen Alpha. Mocking Gen Alpha is the mind killer. Mocking Gen Alpha is the little-death that brings total generational solidarity obliteration. I will engage with Gen Alpha lovingly. I will permit them to be cringe. And when they grow up I will turn my eye to their accomplishments. Where mocking has gone there will be nothing. Only generational solidarity remains
when i hear complaints about the boomers, i say "was it not boomers getting shot by cops while protesting against the war in vietnam? Were not boomers the ones who insisted that banks would no longer require a cosign from a husband or father for a woman to open an account or have a credit card? Did they not literally take us to the moon?"
When i hear complaints about gen x i say " did not gen x bear the brunt of AIDS and the creation of the 'inner city'? wasn't it gen-x marching for queer rights and women's body autonomy and a change in corrupt banking policies in some of the largest protests in the country's history?"
when i hear complaints about millennials, i say "have not millennials fought against and lived through so many 'once in a generation' disasters they should by all rights have given up by now? Are not millennials those who rally against the status quo? the industry killers, the cop protesters, they who live through unending hardship as the economic noose tightens, leading the charge for sustainability and socio-economic reform?"
when i hear complaints about gen-z i say "hasn't gen-z gotten involved younger, and been involved stronger, in the continuance of these noble traditions? Are they not living without even the broken pieces of the promise given to the generations that came before? haven't they had their childhoods derailed by the imminence of consequences for actions they were never even present for?"
when i hear complaints about generation alpha i say "HOW DARE YOU. How dare you malign these souls who will have to fix so much that they did not have a hand in ruining... or else die of these mistakes made before they were born. How dare you do the work of our shared oppressors and alienate our fresh blood. You are not to mistreat and mock the youngest soldiers in this fight, no! you point out to them the best targets, you share your rations, you show them how to stay alive, because anyone in the trenches with us is our brethren, our sistren. Our safety and our strength."
don't let the worst kind of stand up comedian tell you other generations are terrible. Don't let the worst kind of headline convince you each generation is against the other. Don't let the worst kind of oppressive force keep us divided along lines that mean nothing real. Because that is how they win.
Some day I want to see a show that does the “no filler episodes” thing from the opposite direction. Just a whole season worth of low-stakes character pieces that seem to move the overall story absolutely nowhere, then episode 26 pulls all the triggers at once and this massive Rube Goldberg machine of a plot the show’s been quietly setting up in the background the whole time hits you like a truck.
fuck it, i never ever do those “reblog for X, this one really works!” posts, but this one doesn’t have any of that BS, this is just straight up wishing us good things; and then the comment doesn’t even say any of that either. Zero claims on this post, all positive vibes
May you end this week feeling ever more certain of a future you’ll love
i'm for sure not the first one to say this but the sheer amount of airtime and media coverage and sympathy and material resources for recovery extended to these five rich dipshits aboard the titanic submarine is SO bleak when like. 500 migrants literally died at sea just last week and literally thousands die every year but like. there's no intrigue there there's no drama there's no novelty of how scary the Deep Sea is there's no Big Fate-Driven Narrative that leads to minute-by-minute updates that have you at the edge of your seat clamoring for news. the migrants just died because that's just what happens. to thousands of them every year. like… they still haven't found that ship off the coast of greece and there were possibly hundreds of people locked in that hold who most certainly died horrible deaths and idk every time people talking about the oceangate sub are like "you couldn't pay me let alone have me pay to get in a vessel that was bolted shut from the outside that i have no way of escaping on my own" it just hits me that like. what the fuck are we doing here. why are we so plugged into this. yes it's the circus yes it's not Positive coverage and it's largely schadenfreude and i know i'm part of this too but still like. damn what if we just DIDN'T give the billionaire ~explorers~ the attention and notoriety they so clearly desperately crave and let them just fucking die in obscurity like they deserve
this is just like when the evergiven happened and everyone was like "finally a story that we can freely enjoy with no victims except rich capitalists! yesss hilarious!" when actually the larger story about maritime labor is uh. fucking bleak… they literally seized the ship over disputes regarding compensation (between the ships owners & the suez canal authority) which DETAINS THE CREW OF LABORERS ON BOARD. and that's not a rare occurrence and crews get detained sometimes for YEARS and literally CANNOT LEAVE THE SHIP if they want to get paid. like. search "seafarer abandonment" and actually read about the aftermath of the evergiven and then think about whether it was a pure fun victimless spectacle!! anyways lol i really wish we would think sometimes!
that post going around with 20k notes waxing poetic about how the oceangate sub is “very textually rich but a bad way to die as a human being” and “it feels like something a greek god would do to punish them” and “it has a certain swagful je ne sais quoi” …… like……………… do you ever think that perhaps all this shit and this dramatic performance by the audience online may just be a hint that you have in fact bought into the self-mythologization and egocentric aggrandizement that these billionaires have constructed around themselves that you so astutely point out is required for them to maintain their positions.
like. i don’t think people should be required or expected for people to blog about current events constantly or even at all honestly and it’s impossible to expect everyone to keep up with let alone post about every new international crisis here on tumblr dot com but the fucking irony of literally making a point to say “i dont think the ultra rich ever extend that mindset to others. climate refugees. and just everything.” and not once mention the ship of now potentially 700 dead actual climate refugees that is very much still an ongoing crisis currently occurring in direct parallel on the world stage to this fucking billionaire submarine incident. this specific omission in this specific moment in the context of that specific rhetoric just feels really flagrant is all. “great way to die as a narrative about human greed and folly i guess” okay yeah but to you it is still a narrative you care deeply about and are personally invested in. unlike narratives of the climate refugees, whom you brought up to dunk on billionaires because you care about them in the abstract as An Issue, An Idea, but not one that is, in specifics, worth discussing, ruminating on, writing lengthy verbose metaphors about. since i guess there is no textual richness, no grand fascinating and personally haunting narrative there. it’s just what happens. a tragedy, but not a mythological one.
anyways it's not like the mainstream media is ignoring the migrant vessel story, like both these stories were on the front page of the new york times today a few columns apart. but seeing the stark difference in the content of the stories is just:
Contradictions in the Coast Guard’s account cast new doubts over how the Greeks handled one of the worst maritime disasters in the country’s
The chief executive of the submersible’s operator was among the five people now identified as missing in a vast section of the North Atlanti
the greek coast guard insisting the ship refused help and had been attempting to reach italy all along while other accounts including those of survivors suggest the ship had been in distress for hours and the greek coast guard purposefully did not intervene in order to shift the responsibility onto italy (or even potentially accidentally caused the shipwreck??) but nobody can really be sure what happened out there, and sure the UN is calling for an investigation but like, there's no Big Haunting Mystery there. there's no imagining or waxing poetic about what if i were in their place (because of course why would i ever imagine that). it all boils down to: people in power thought their lives didn't matter and they suffered the consequences
vs coast guards from three different countries deploying three aircraft, sonar probes, multiple rescue ships, and exploration robots to search for the billionaire sub, and everyone is Obsessed with finding out every fucking detail of how and why exactly this happened and what is going on inside that sub at this exact moment and what is going on with those five people psychologically and emotionally. everyone is thinking aloud about what if i was in their place (or i would never be in their place because i'm not as dumb and ruled by hubris as a billionaire!)
idk but just the contrast in how we're talking about these two stories, if we're talking about the former at all… it's all just. bleak
oh finally an actual article. what have i been SAYING all fucking day
U.S. media has largely ignored a shipwreck with hundreds of migrant deaths but has focused intently on a missing submersible full of rich pe
That the deaths of hundreds of migrants hasn’t reached the level of a missing submersible packed with rich tourists showcases a number of American media deficiencies. The Titanic submersible is a “new” news event—it is, after all, not every day that a few fabulously wealthy people go missing at the bottom of the ocean in an underwater vehicle that looks like a septic tank. It is, as noted above, also an ongoing news event with a compelling mystery: As of this writing (Tuesday afternoon) its ending is still unknown. It has a bit of the feel of the MH-370 story from a few years ago—a tragedy and a mystery woven together—just with far fewer (and far richer) passengers.
And yet what does the story tell us about the way the world works? It says something that the submersible is unregulated and was not checked by any nautical safety agency; the fact that there are people who can drop this kind of money to travel to the bottom of the ocean for fun says something too, I suppose. It is a story that undeniably highlights something about our contemporary world, where some people are wealthy enough that they can lay out a quarter-of-a-million to visit the bottom of the ocean on a lark.
But these are and have been minor facets of the incident’s coverage, even if they undoubtedly are a part of what is driving the public’s fascination. Instead it’s been covered the way many breaking news stories are, with updates trickling in about the (possible) victims, items being written up with the bits of information that have come from press conferences, and a general sense that it is a story whose intrinsic importance commands the public’s unblinking attention.
The sinking of a boat carrying hundreds of migrants should be treated this way but it isn’t and hasn’t been. It is undoubtedly a new story and an unspeakably tragic one—it’s also, unlike the Titanic tourists story, one that says a great deal about the way the world works. And yet it’s treated as routine or even mundane—yet another faceless tragedy involving people that typically receive far less attention than those who are far better off than they are. There’s greater appetite for coverage of lifestyles of the rich and (now) famous than for the deaths of hundreds of anonymous migrants, or at least cable news assignment editors think so. The story is undoubtedly political as it involves immigration policy, various European governments, and the conditions that drive people to take extraordinary risks to go on risky journeys across the Mediterranean. And yet much of the coverage that does occur fails to address these complexities.
The deadliest migrant and refugee shipwreck occurred in April 2015, when a boat carrying as many as 1,100 people traveling from Libya to Italy capsized in the Mediterranean. Later that summer, a haunting image of young boy’s drowned body washed up on a Turkish beach went viral after the boat which had been carrying him and his family capsized. Migrants and refugees have continued to arrive in Europe since then; boats carrying them have tragically continued to sink. And yet news coverage in the U.S. has largely dried up. The American media has largely moved on, particularly after the rise of Donald Trump. Attention never returned to the levels it did that summer, even though migrants have continued to take extraordinary risks to go to Europe.
Some of this is just because the American press has always struggled to cover international stories without an obvious U.S. angle. Some of this is undoubtedly a reflection of the ratings-obsessed nature of cable news and the traffic-obsessed nature of online media, which both tend to gravitate toward viral stories like the Titanic submersible and away from complex international ones like what happened off of Greece last week. And this all highlights a larger aversion to cover difficult stories, particularly difficult international ones.
The missing submersible only underscores these deficiencies. With luck, its passengers will be found alive. But it also showcases a press that will rapidly turn its attention to some issues while leaving other glaring omissions in its coverage. News outlets have, over the last 36 hours, devoted extraordinary resources to covering five missing people trapped in a metal tube. They could have devoted similar resources to the ongoing fallout surrounding the deaths of hundreds of migrants—they simply haven’t.
[for @unicyclehippo as part of our little series for ea other — outside switzerland era pov, or: the kind, amused things a very kind vintage shopkeeper & her wife in switzerland think of ava & beatrice. also on ao3.]
//
one hot afternoon the door rings and a girl rushes through, a little bit of a hurricane, and another follows, calm in the eye of a storm she seems both exasperated by and fond of at once.
you’re used to an influx of university students during the summer months. many are passing through, on their way from zurich to berlin or munich; some are just relaxing here, passing time before they’re inevitably swept back into their everyday lives. you’ve lived here for a long time, since you yourself stumbled on this town just after you finished a degree in marketing that could have been of use but sparked so little joy you decided to give yourself a year, or two, or maybe five, to figure out something better, something happier. you’d worked at the vintage store before it was yours, with its previous owner, clara, taking a shine to you, even though, in those days, you were quieter, reserved, kept mostly to yourself. when she had wanted to retire, she sold the shop to you for much less than you knew it was worth — you buy her groceries and weed her lawn and fix anything in her house; you have her over for dinner every sunday.
it’s a good life, especially when it’s quiet in the morning, just before the shop opens, and you spin the pretty ring around aleyna’s finger and kiss her while she laughs and tastes like coffee. in those moments, with her black hair and the wrinkles that have gotten deeper around the edges of her mouth, under her eyes — from smiling, from your small home and the blue eggs the chickens in your yard lay, from her books and her records in this store that she sells with care and fondness, the way she does everything — that you love. in those moments, and in so many others, too — there is no better a life that you can imagine.
‘hello,’ you say in german. ‘welcome. i’m lena. is there anything i can help you with?’
‘i’m ava,’ one says, enthusiastic and rocking on her heels once, trying to keep her excitement in; she’s beautiful in a pretty way, in a young way, with messy, tangled light hair and a t-shirt with a hole in the sleeve. ‘and this is beatrice.’ she gestures to the girl beside her, a little older, stoic and straight backed, although she offers a smile, almost apologetic. she has on a black jumpsuit and her hair is in a neat bun at the back of her head. she waves. ‘we both use she/her pronouns, i don’t really care, though. and we’re staying here for the summer!’ ava continues, in perfect german, a happy smile on her face. ‘at least that long, i guess. we’re on sabbatical. anyway, we need stuff!’
‘clothes,’ beatrice clarifies. ‘our apartment is already furnished, ava.’
ava doesn’t seem deterred in the slightest. 'we need fun things too.’ ava takes beatrice’s hand and squeezes, which makes beatrice’s eyes go wide and you want to laugh, just a little. ‘but, yes, clothes.’
‘clothes can be fun,’ you say. ava grins; beatrice grimaces at you, a small warning not to encourage ava too much, it seems. you lead them over to some of your more casual shirts and summer tank tops, which ava seems immediately delighted by.
‘is it okay if i try things on?’
‘of course.’ you point toward one of the small dressing rooms near the back, with heavy curtains.
‘by the way,’ ava says, while beatrice carefully looks through tanks and t-shirts with a frown, ‘your suit is gorgeous. i would think it would be hot, but what is that — linen?’
‘yes,’ you say, and you don’t miss beatrice’s curious gaze at your slim pants, your loafers, the way your jacket sits perfectly on your shoulders. ‘it’s quite comfortable, even when it’s warm.’
‘i love that for you.’ ava already has a whole armful of cropped tanks and a few patterned overshirts, two pairs of denim shorts, and a pair of jeans the color of wild roses that aleyna had loved when she found them at a market two towns over. ‘bea, i’m gonna go try these on! fashion show!’
beatrice blushes but she nods. ‘stay within budget, please. i don’t think you can get all of what you’ve picked.’
‘yeah, obviously. don’t worry, i’ll find my favorites.’
ava scampers off and you don’t miss that beatrice hasn’t picked up anything to try on; you remember a feeling, back when your hair was too long and your pants were too tight against your hips, when you fought yourself into dresses, and the way she touches the same kind of tank ava had been thrilled to put in her arms reminds you, a little, of yourself.
‘i like to tailor,’ you tell her, and she looks at you carefully as you walk over to a clothing rack with — if you do say so yourself, and also aleyna says so, which is more important — beautiful slacks on it. some are formal, could pair well with a jacket, and some are more casual and comfortable. beatrice follows you, a little reluctantly but with measured, sure steps, solemn, exacting posture in her neat jumpsuit. you pick up a pair of navy slacks you genuinely do love, an exaggerated wide leg, and a grey pair that sits high on the waist. there’s a collarless button down you’d found a month or so ago, and you hand it to her as well. ‘what do you think?’
she takes them almost reverently, and sometimes you forget: you have lived here in the mountains and woken up to your wife and her sleepy grumbling for so many years, now — what it felt like to understand yourself for the first time. ‘they’re …’ she shakes her head, at a loss, it seems. ‘i’d like to try them on, if that’s okay.’
‘of course.’
ava bursts out of the dressing room not soon after beatrice is in the one next to her, and when she notices beatrice isn’t still standing outside, she grins.
‘well, lena, thoughts?’
you’re ultimately and immediately charmed by ava — her grin and genuine delight over a tank and a pair of cutoffs. ‘do you feel happy?’
‘god,’ ava says, ‘so fucking happy! i had — honestly, it’s a long story, but i haven’t gotten to pick out much stuff for myself, at least not in a long time. it’s so fun.’
you smile. ‘i told you so.’
she laughs. ‘but, while bea is in there —‘ she hooks a thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the dressing room — ‘let me look at some knickknacks or something. she’s so serious but i can wear her down, i’m sure of it.’
you’re pretty sure ava could wear anyone down, but you don’t say that. ‘well, we have some records; my wife enjoys curating a collection so it’s fairly eclectic, but there will probably be something you’d like.’
‘sick,’ ava says, in english, and then laughs at herself. she starts looking through the few crates of records you have, pulls out blue by joni mitchell with a sad smile. ‘my mom loved this album.’
‘if you put it at the bottom of your pile of clothes, i’ll make sure it makes it into your bag.’ you wink when ava looks up at you and she smiles.
‘that’s very kind. thank you.’
it’s so sincere, ava immediately calmed and quiet, but then she perks up again when she hears the curtain of the dressing room open and beatrice steps out in the grey slacks and white button up you’d handed her. she’s a little awkward but her shoulders have relaxed and ava is about to drool next to you, you’re pretty sure, based on her complete lack of words; beatrice has to fight for a few seconds to look away from both ava’s thighs and her chest, but she does, eventually.
‘good?’
‘yes.’ beatrice offers you a real smile, not out of politeness but because she means it. ‘i think i need a belt?’
‘bea,’ ava says, rebooting and hurrying over to her, the record set carefully on the counter first. ‘you look so cool! like, whoa. conversely, also hot.’
‘ava.’
‘what?’ ava says, without any hint of an apology. ‘you do!’
you hand beatrice a simple black belt and find a few more button downs for her to try, a pair of loose levi’s, cuffed at the ankles, for lazy saturdays, and hand them to her too. she cradles them to her chest for a moment, and ava notices too.
‘thank you, lena,’ beatrice says. ‘i’ll finish trying everything on and then, if ava’s done, we’ll be out of your hair.’
you hair is perfect, thank you very much, and ava laughs when you primp it. ‘no rush, i’m just glad you liked some of the clothes.’
‘i do,’ beatrice says, then walks back into the dressing room.
‘whew,’ ava whispers. ‘am i right?’
it makes you laugh, her genuine distress. ‘i know the feeling.’
ava smiles. ‘well, bea wants to, like, get groceries, and clean, and go on a run, blah blah. but i’ll be back! i want to hear about your wife.’
‘she’s here most mornings, in fact.’
‘incredible.’ ava fist pumps. ‘i love mornings.’
you charge them far less, when beatrice brings two pairs of slacks, two button ups, and a pair of jeans so neatly folded you’re both a little concerned and a lot impressed, and places them on the counter, along with ava’s pile of tank tops and shorts and pants, and of course the album.
‘ava,’ beatrice says, ‘we don’t need that.’
ava pouts, but before she can argue, you say, ‘don’t worry about it. my wife will be thrilled it’s in good hands.’
beatrice looks torn; sometimes, kindness is difficult. but ava bounces on the balls of her feet and puts both of her hands on one of beatrice’s shoulders, practically begs. ‘fine,’ beatrice says. ‘thank you again, lena.’
‘sure thing,’ you say, accept beatrice’s neatly stored cash from her simple leather wallet, and send them on their way with a few bags. ava’s already trying to convince, you hear as they walk out, beatrice to skip their run and eat gelato by the lake instead. which, honestly, sounds like a good plan for the afternoon; you text aleyna and she comes by half an hour later, leaving the library a bit early, and kisses you in the golden sun.
/
ava comes in a few days later with a bag of pastries and three coffees and a giant smile.
‘hi!’ she says, delighted when she sees you and aleyna both sorting through a new box of books.
‘hello, ava,’ you say, stand and smile. aleyna stands too and steps forward to offer her hand. ‘this is aleyna, my wife.’
‘yes!’ ava puts the coffees down on the counter and then steps forward to shake her hand with enthusiasm. ‘i’m ava, it’s nice to meet you.’
‘i heard you’re a joni mitchell fan,’ aleyna says, with her black curls streaked with silver, her bright smile, her deep accented voice, her brown skin particularly gorgeous against the yellow of her summer slip dress, and you want to laugh at how ava’s eyes widen, how she seems to go a little weak at the knees.
‘i — uh — yes.’ she fumbles with the bag of pastries and then holds them out. ‘these are — thanks for the record. and for bea’s pants.’
you do laugh, then, but you take the bag from ava’s clumsy hands. ’thank you, ava. that’s very thoughtful. and i’m glad beatrice likes her pants.’
‘she does.’ ava sighs. ‘and i love her pants.’
aleyna smiles into her cup of coffee. ‘i heard from hans you both got jobs at the bar?’
‘yeah! it’s fun. i’m kind of terrible at it but i love to learn. bea is, of course, perfect.’ she rolls her eyes. ‘but i get to meet so many people. they’re really nice when i mess up their drinks.’
you take in ava’s tiny shorts and the way she’s tied an overshirt over a bralette, leaving just a sliver of her stomach exposed, and her soft, pretty features, her bright smile. ‘enthusiasm goes a long way.’
ava grins. ‘exactly!’
‘do you want to help us sort through some books?’ aleyna asks.
‘really?’
‘sure.’
ava sits down on the floor, crossed legs and scuffed converse and bright eyes. ‘i love to read; i’d love to see what you have. bea is still asleep; maybe i could surprise her with something.’
you let aleyna and ava go through a few boxes together while you work on a suit in your back workroom, but you can hear ava laughing brightly and eventually she pops her head through the doorway.
‘bea and i are gonna go swimming,’ she says, ‘but i’ll be back soon, i’m sure. aleyna is wonderful, you’re really lucky.’
‘i am,’ you agree. ‘what book did you get?’
it’s tucked under her arm carefully. she smiles. ‘the spring flowers own. i don’t know it yet.’
it’s tender, the way she means that she will know it; she’ll read it with care and meaning. ‘ah, etel adnan. one of aleyna’s favorites.’
‘that’s what she said; i’m excited.’
‘it’s very beautiful.’ you don’t add that it’s sad, that adnan’s bright paintings have brought your wife to tears on more than one occasion.
ava might understand; she is so young and pretty and bright but there’s an ache that’s hard to miss — a displacement, a longing.
‘enjoy the lake, ava. and tell beatrice hello from us.’
ava knocks twice on the doorframe. ‘i will.’
/
it’s a rainy, damp afternoon, nowhere in town terribly busy, when beatrice ducks into your store.
‘apologies,’ she says in form of greeting, looking a little lost without a jacket or umbrella. ‘i made the mistake of not checking the weather this morning.’
‘not a problem at all, beatrice. you’re always welcome here.’ beatrice smiles, gracious. ‘my wife was just making tea, if you’d like some? jasmine green tea.’
‘that sounds wonderful,’ she says.
‘hello!’ aleyna calls from the small back kitchen.
you gesture for beatrice to follow you. there’s a small table and four mis-matched chairs, carefully chosen, and aleyna smiles.
‘aleyna,’ she says, offers a hand.
‘beatrice.’ you know her handshake is firm and serious but she swallows once and you don’t miss the rise of pink on her cheeks. ‘pleasure.’
‘you’re british,’ aleyna says.
‘yes, from london, originally.’
aleyna smiles. ‘finally, someone to enjoy my good tea with.’ aleyna kisses your cheek to soften the upcoming blow: ‘lena is wonderful, and so handsome, but has awful taste in tea. she’s happy with just an over-steeped bag.’
beatrice grimaces around a laugh. ‘ava can’t make tea if her life depended on it. i’ve shown her many times, and she seems to get lost about halfway through.’
you suspect that might be because of beatrice’s careful hands and the serious set of her jaw, but you don’t mention it.
‘she is,’ beatrice says, ‘very much. she’s been reading to me at night sometimes, so i’ve been enjoying it too.’
you share as quick a glance with aleyna as you can.
‘adnan is beautiful,’ beatrice continues. ‘you’re lebanese?’
‘yes,’ aleyna says. ‘you know her work?’
‘her paintings, mostly. i would love to read her work in arabic, though. ava’s fluent in a few languages, but all of them romance.’
you laugh — as if this is, somehow, a shortcoming beatrice would love to remedy — as aleyna perks up. ‘you know arabic?’
beatrice nods. ‘not as well as i’d like. i’m better with it spoken than written. but i’d love to improve; it’s beautiful.’
aleyna smiles, then says, in arabic, ‘i would love to speak with you, whenever you want.’
beatrice blushes down into her mug, then looks up. ‘your tea is excellent,’ she responds, a little slow, with an accent much more careful than aleyna’s lyrical and gravely lilt over the words, but perfectly. ‘i do know how to say more than that, also,’ beatrice says, and aleyna laughs, ‘but it really is wonderful.’
‘i appreciate it.’
‘lena.’ beatrice turns all her attention to you. ‘i was wondering if you had a sweater or two? ava continues to take my jacket when it’s cool. i’m sure she’ll enjoy taking my sweater too, but it would be helpful to have more than one.’
‘that would be,’ you grant her and spare her the embarrassment of clearly ducking into your shop because she’d gotten caught in a rainstorm with no jacket which is, apparently, ava’s fault. ‘want to come look at a few?’
‘sure.’ beatrice carefully rinses out her mug in the sink before following. ‘thank you,’ she says to aleyna, in arabic, ‘for the poems, and for the tea.’
‘come around anytime.’
beatrice smiles and follows you out, and you show her a soft green cotton crewneck you’d just gotten in. she holds it to her chest for a moment in the mirror, considering, and you wonder if ava ever gets beatrice to do anything without carefully thinking about it first. ‘this is perfect, thank you.’ she pulls it on immediately, definitely a little cold still, and you’re glad for her: that she has ava; that ava has her — in whatever capacity that is right now, the capacity you hope it’ll be eventually — and for her quiet, persistent kindness.
‘of course, i’m glad you like it.’
beatrice touches one of the suit jackets you’d finished recently, a little reverent. ‘i love a lot of the clothes you have, honestly. i — i’m not sure if i know, yet, how to be who i want to be.’
‘you’re young,’ you say. ‘not as a platitude, i promise.’ she nods. ‘but i didn’t figure out that i loved suits until i was years older than you.’
her shoulders relax a little, at the small out, the gentle understanding. she smiles, indulgent, and meets your eyes. ‘i can’t imagine you were ever anything other than very handsome.’
‘well, that is true.’ she laughs. ‘but impeccably dressed? that’s a journey. and you’re on your own.’
‘was it scary?’
‘terrifying.’
she touches one of the gorgeous opal buttons on the suit.
‘but very, very beautiful too.’
she tucks her hands into her pockets. ‘i’m sorry, i have to get going. ava thinks she can cook but we cannot afford another grease fire.’
‘better avoid that.’
‘how much is the sweater?’
you charge her a few euro; she eyes you suspiciously but doesn’t argue. she calls goodbye to aleyna, says a soft farewell to you, wanders back out — warmer, now — into the rain to make her way home.
/
ava bounces in on a sunny, hot morning, her hair sweaty and now short, cut to her chin, and you laugh when she gives you a high five.
‘your hair looks great,’ aleyna says, and you voice the same. ava preens, which aleyna happily laughs at.
‘bea cut it for me!’ she smiles and then looks at a few bracelets. ‘well, i tried to do it myself, but it’s, like, impossible. i had no idea. but, you live and you learn. bea fixed it, though, and then i convinced her to let me give her highlights! they’re so cute.’
‘how long have you been together?’
‘just a few months,’ ava says, trying on a little cap, and you raise your brows — you’d had a little ongoing wager with aleyna, after you’d run into the two of them at a summer festival in the city center, market lights and food and music; they’d been holding hands and ava had kissed beatrice’s cheek on multiple occasions. ‘but it feels like i’ve known her forever.’
‘young love,’ aleyna says, looks to you fondly. ‘remember when we felt like that.’
ava freezes, still looking at herself in the mirror.
‘i still feel like that, my dear.’
aleyna rolls her eyes fondly and kisses you on the temple. ava is still stock still in the corner, with the cap crooked.
‘i’m bisexual,’ she says, then puts her head in her hands, definitely embarrassed and you just laugh. but one thing about ava: she soldiers on: ‘i just mean, i like girls, and, anyway — is it — hypothetically, if someone wasn’t together with their best friend because of … prior commitments, but you’re pretty sure there’s, like, reciprocal feelings, and those commitments are… a little less strict now, and i know bea is — well — is it — should i kiss her?’
you wait for her to take a few breaths and steady herself. ‘so… you’re not dating?’
ava groans. ‘i wish.’
aleyna owes you twenty euro; you knew they were too jittery to have made that jump. you’ll remind her later. ‘do you think beatrice is ready for that?’ you’d seen the way her hands shook when she bypassed a row of dresses for a pair of men’s pants you’d hemmed for her; the way she blushed around aleyna when they spoke arabic together over tea some afternoons; the way she grinned when you’d handed her your favorite bronkski beat record and said, ‘my parents never let me listen to them, but i always wanted to.’
ava frowns; you think she might legitimately be about to cry. ‘i don’t know.’
‘well, it’s clear to me that you love each other, and you have your whole lives,’ aleyna offers. ‘you’ll sort it out.’
ava does cry then, and you thought that was going to be soothing response, but you wait a beat and then hug ava: small, slight — scared, clearly, of something you don’t understand.
‘you’re right,’ she says, after a few moments, and dries her tears. ‘we’ll — there’s time.’ she fiddles with the cap, runs a hand through her hair and then can’t help but smile, just slightly, as she tucks it behind her ears. ‘we’ll have time.’
‘you will,’ aleyna says, looks to you and you know she means it as a promise, the same one you made to each other years and years ago.
ava sniffles and nods and then laughs. ‘wow, sorry! crying in front of my two favorite lesbians. other than bea, obviously, but — fuck.’ she looks a little panicked but then, ‘oh well, you already knew, right?’
‘yes,’ you say, and aleyna laughs.
‘well, you’re tied for number two on the list, sorry.’
‘an honor.’
ava bows with a flourish and giggles at herself. ‘anyway, now my hair is always in my face, something i did not think through. so i’m gonna get this hat.’
you ring her up and she puts it on backward with a little grin and waves on her way out.
/
‘hello,’ beatrice says, wandering as you’re near closing, without ava in tow. ‘if it’s too late, i’m happy to come back another time.’
‘not at all.’
she smooths her already perfectly neat bun. ‘i was wondering —‘ she takes a deep breath and settles herself, like she’s about to shoot a gun— ‘can i try on a suit?’
‘of course,’ you say calmly, and it works: she nods in thanks and lets the air out of her lungs. you find her a beautiful, light linen suit — a little oversized, still a little feminine, and a pair of loafers you love, a collarless button down to go under the jacket. she takes her time in the dressing room, but when she steps out, her hair out of its bun, swept over her shoulder, her shirt tucked in neatly, she looks in the mirror and bites her bottom lip.
‘this is beautiful.’ it’s wistful, and sad.
‘you look handsome.’
she looks up at the ceiling, then tries to wipe tears of her cheeks as discreetly as possible. ‘you love being who you are.’
‘i do,’ you say. ‘i love being butch; i love that people know who i am, and how i want to be.’ you bring her some elegant cufflinks and she lets you put them on.
‘i love this suit.’
‘you’re more than allowed.’ you squeeze her wrist, just once. ‘it is a great suit.’
she smiles, grateful for the levity, and then lets out a big breath. ‘it’s quite a gift, to be in your own skin.’
‘it is.’
she tells you that she can’t get it — not yet, she says, a promise more to herself — and after she’s changed and meticulously hung the suit back up, she gives you a hug. you put your hand to the back of her head, as protective as you can. you had had an older dyke who had given you your own suit, had taught you careful stitches to tailor a waistband and how to comb your hair back neatly.
‘i do have something for you,’ you say, and hand her a small necklace, an opal drop on a black cord; aleyna had found it at a market in geneva and given it to you for the express purpose of giving it to beatrice. it’s meddling, but you think, in this scenario, maybe a little push is kind.
‘i can’t — this is too generous.’
‘it’s not.’ you put it in a small velvet bag for her. ‘i’m old, and have a beautiful wife. you get to go be yourself. and i think there’s a girl who cares a great deal for you.’
beatrice nods. ‘thank you. ava will love it, i’m sure.’
/
when you get to the shop a few weeks later, there’s a note shoved under the door; you open it and see what you’re sure is beatrice’s careful handwriting:
Dear Lena and Aleyna,
We are deeply sorry to leave without saying a proper goodbye; we’ve had a family emergency and have to get there as quickly as possible. Your generosity — your tea, and books, and music, and the beautiful suit I’ll think of for years to come — has changed my life. Your love is somewhat of a holy thing, I think. Ava also says that she appreciates all the crop tops you had for her because it made flirting more fun (she made me write this). In any case, we’ll miss you greatly; hopefully, we will be back eventually to visit again. I hope my Arabic improves, and Ava would like to make you drinks one day.
All our love,
Beatrice + Ava
/
it’s a warm morning in may, spring giving way into the purple blooms of summer, when the door opens and you almost drop your coffee because you hear laughter you could never really forget, and then ava and beatrice walk in. you haven’t seen them in two years, and they both look older, a little tired, but they’re holding hands and ava is just as bright as you remember, a cap still backward on her head, short hair tucked behind her ears, an exuberance in her steps; beatrice’s hair is long and blonde and she smiles with a lightness in her eyes you’d never seen before. aleyna walks out of the back, absolutely delighted.
‘what are you two doing here?’
ava smiles. ‘we were visiting some friends in berlin, then heading to andalusia for a few weeks. we live in los angeles now.’
‘california!’ aleyna grins.
‘right on the beach,’ ava says. ‘but, well, we wanted to stop by, say proper goodbyes and then a new hello!’
beatrice laughs, free and open, and the hand that sneaks its way across the back of ava’s shoulders seems second-nature at this point. ‘i, um, actually — we have a wedding soon.’
‘not ours,’ ava says, but then looks to beatrice, ‘but one day, right.’
beatrice flushes red, but her smile doesn’t falter at all. ‘one day, yes.’ she turns to you and sets her shoulders. ‘could you help me with a suit?’
you give her a hug; you can’t help it, and no one mentions it when she lets ava wipe a few tears when she backs up. ‘it would bring me immense joy to do so.’
and you do — ava sits with aleyna and whistles at everything beatrice tries on, and beatrice puts on a slim navy suit — without a shirt underneath; she had smirked at ava when she walked out — and then looks at herself in the mirror. she meets your eyes in the reflection and nods, just once.
‘that’s the one, then?’
she nods. ‘i think so.’
‘this isn’t fair,’ ava pouts, ‘bea’s gonna look so much hotter than me. she’s gonna upstage the bride and the groom at this point.’
aleyna laughs. ‘terrible problem to have.’
ava rolls her eyes, joyful all the same. ‘you would know.’
aleyna smiles in your direction — a lifetime, a whole lifetime; your heart still swells like it did the first time you ever saw her. ‘i would.’
It's so important to remember that tumblr is bad. Has been bad. And will likely remain bad for the foreseeable future. And that is vital to our survival. If Tumblr was a good website that worked, it would get turned into a corporate hellscape like every other site. It's so important that Tumblr is broken and poorly run and impossible to effectively navigate. It's all that's keeping us safe.
Quick summary of the (I think) easy way I've been getting around this now:
When you copy a link (form your dashboard, not from their page), it'll come in the format https://at.tumblr.com/[blog name]/[post number]/[tracking junk] (brackets are just for show, don't include those!)
Delete the tracking junk. That's anything after the post number.
Replace the "at" before tumblr.com with [blog name]. Replace where [blog name] used to be with "post" (no quotation marks).
Your final format should be https://[blog name].tumblr.com/post/[post number]
Share the link! It should go directly to the post and not route through any app store or tracking nonsense.
tangentwithtanner
turnnoffyourmind
origamiaround
kianamaiart
annaxmalina
stormborns
