Historical because it fits. And I finally caved and did a Profile. Progress is great.
Real name: Elizabeth Diane Jones
Nicknames: Tank, Gretchen, Spinelli (I refuse to give context)
Username: ...Carcinogeneticist. Everybody makes mistakes, and that username was one of them. I tried to get a cooler penname, but what I first typed in was already taken. So I picked a username from one of the worst fandoms in existence just because I didn’t think it would go through.
Religion: Oh, boy. Okay. I admire those who are religious, but I lack the self-discipline and mental focus to stick with being pious. But I absolutely admire religion as a whole, I mean, it’s awesome.
Gender: I’m female. And I hate it when people are like, “Oh, I don’t have a penis, so I’m a girl, LOL”. Man, that wasn’t even funny the first time around. I’m a girl, and I’m happy to be one. Daenerys Targaryen and Arya Stark are girls, and they kick ass.
Been writing since: Wow. Um. Grade seven? But my stuff was horrible and juvenile and reading it aloud would actually open a portal into the fifth ring of Hell. No, really.
Okay, I adore John Powell. Sue me. How to Train Your Dragon’s Soundtrack was amazing, alright, and Forbidden Friendship on vibraphone (not entirely sure) is actually adorable.
I used to like My Chemical Romance, but I grew out of them, so, uh, I kind of like the Arctic Monkeys, and The Hives, and Regina Spektor and...things.
How I Met Your Mother, Game of Thrones, Glee, Once Upon a Time, Sherlock, and I really want to start watching Breaking Bad because Jesse’s character intrigues me? It’s for research? I think he’s cute.
Lord, okay, sit down.
-Game of Thrones series
-Anything by Barry Lyga
-The Monstrumologist series
-Artemis Fowl up to The Opal Deception and that’s it, I hate the rest.
-City of Bones/Ashes/Glass and then just stop there.
-The Elegance of the Hedgehog
-The Great Gatsby
-Harry Potter series
-How to Live a Life of Crime
-Dexter is Delicious
-Darkly Dreaming Dexter
-Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children
Uh...does Homestuck count? Because I actually don’t read a lot of comics. I just read a lot of books and write stories that engross all and sundry.
No, no, stay seated.
Jim-z (Because if the rest of you get Frerard, I get weird MSI-cest.)
Irene/Sherlock (All versions. Go away Watson, you’re married.)
Kaylee/Jim H. Jekyll
Kaylee/Alex DeLarge (I know, right?)
Kaylee/Twelve Ozzie (Sorry for that.)
Kaylee/Jack Dawkins (Adorable babies.)
Luna/Neville (I was actually irked when Neville married Hannah. What.)
And then a bunch of Dangan Ronpa stuff which is hard to convey because I’m not entirely sure of everyone’s names. I am the fan that no fandom acknowledges, but everybody knows that is there.
Random information about myself:
I play basketball and I play post due to my height and skill level. I love the sport, it’s pretty much the best sport ever, and my favorite team’s the Celtics, but they really sucked since Rondo left.
I have far too many crushes on fictional characters (Theon Greyjoy, Todd Tolensky, Jeremy Downs, Terry Pratchett’s Artful Dodger, and Jesse Pinkman).
I love biology. And English. I play piano. I am allergic to eggs and horses. I like plants like nerve plants and tulips and petunias. I am growing two different types of chili peppers. My favorite boy’s name is Leon and my favorite girl’s name is Marla.
When somebody finally gets around to writing down the story of Leon Elvis Prescott-Algoode, I wonder how exactly they’d introduce me.
“Leon was a confused teenage boy who turned to drugs to sort through the problems in his life.”
“Leon Prescott-Algoode was an irate ginger kid with a sharp tongue who had no idea how to shut it off.”
Although I like that one, I don’t think I’d get a starring role. Only the main roles get worthy introductions. So they’d play out the melodrama of the main characters, and then they’d get to me.
“Then there’s this rich asshole, Leon Prescott-Algoode.”
Oh yeah. That’s pretty accurate.
It’s not that I’m just a jerkoff. I’m a jerkoff with divorcing parents. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not exactly Kramer Vs. Kramer but still. It has to mean something. My dad’s a doctor, and my mom’s a daughter of a man who owns a lot of banks. So money does not go short in the Prescott-Algoode household.
Who doesn’t love that? I like it a lot.
My brother, Jan, who’s pale and blonde and graduated university a while ago with a degree in ministry, of all things, is the oldest kid. My sister Alyssa is the middle kid, and she’s currently tan and magenta-haired and teaching kickboxing to whoever pays for it.
And then there’s this asshole, Leon Prescott-Algoode, who’s a part-time addict. I hate the term ‘stoner’, because that usually means just weed. Pot, Valium, E, Opiated anything, anti-depressants, Ritalin, Adderall for exam season, and that pretty much covers it. Welcome to a World of Pure Imagination. Passports and prescriptions not required.
So since dad’s got custody of me for now, I’m in Lima, Ohio. Not a lot of connections, so when we’re moving in, I’ve holed up in my new closet sweating what feels an awful lot like detox. But thank God I’m not on anything really big like meth. God, no. Wouldn't touch the stuff. Sweating and shaky hands are bad enough, thank you very much. Leon has white boy pain tolerance.
But it’s good, in a way, that I’ve got the DT now. New school and DT would be the worst thing in the universe.
The door to my closet cracks open.
“Go away, Dad.”
“Look, kiddo, I don’t actually care how hung over you are.”
Oh my God.
“Go away, Dad.”
My dad grabs onto both my wrists and stands on my feet. “Up we go, Leon!”
“Leon no go up! Leon stay here!”
My dad hauls me to my feet. He looks a lot like I do, same ginger hair and same sort of build, but he’s got the same blue eyes as Alyssa.
“Now listen here, sport. I don’t give a damn how much you’re sweating. Unpack your stuff or I’m sending you back to that woman.”
“You mean mom?” I ask.
He stares me down. “I’m fine with whatever you put in your system, as long as you’re not killing yourself.” He pauses there, to make sure I’m still paying attention.
“Now, Leon, I’ll give you a minute to think it over, seeing as you weren’t exactly, well, the smartest of the children I sired. How much patience do you think that woman would put up with your imbibing?” Dad asks.
I swallow my tongue and unpack.