#Norm Crosby

[yestergaze]

Flashback to the 1970s. From the left: Merv Griffin, Tom Jones, Elvis Presley and Norm Crosby.

[oldshowbiz]

Abe Vigoda on Dance Fever

[badmovieihave]

Bad movie I have Eight Crazy Nights 2002

[thedevilrisen]

Hospital - 4

Nova Crosby -

12:10pm

Sid's eyes watered as he read the message, and not just from the contents but also the blinding tone of the screen. Fluorescent pixels highlighted every word of the message and while he sat on the carpeted floor of the hospital lobby, Luke slouched down beside him cradled into his chest he thought back to a moment in Nova's favourite tv show. Gilmore girls, or more specifically the moment where Richard Gilmore was in hospital and he stated, 'I'd rather be in Philadelphia than here.' 'What's in Philadelphia?' Rory had asked, 'Nothing, but it would be better than being here.'

Right now, as much as the city despised him, Sidney wished he and Nova were in Philadelphia. Not in the hospital, and certainly that she wasn't in the ICU. Taking a breath and rubbing his hand up and down Luke's arm again, the fabric of his hoodie bunching with the motion.

"I'm about to tell you something that is going to hurt, like fuck." Sid mumbled, he winced at Luke's reaction, the harsh breath in which he sucked in, the grip on Sid's suit jacket scrunching just that little tighter. "Luke, Nova has had two of her three surgeries, they weren't able to get to the third one because some... complications arose."

Luke squished his eyes shut tightly to refrain from shedding anymore tears, as he waited silently for Sid to go on, waiting for the damn wall he so tenderly hand crafted to come flooding down at a mere handful of words.

"Because of this, Novs was moved to the ICU." Sid held his breath as he waited for the fiery explosion of the dropped bomb to submerge him. Sid himself wanted to do the least adult like thing and stand and scream, it's not fair, she doesn't deserve it. Yet, holding it together for Luke, he sat silently, waiting.

"What, do we do now?" Luke choked out horsley, Sid watched as every fibre of the young boys being strained to keep him some resemblance of a man, normal. But wasn't an inconsolable, heartbroken, barely hanging on boyfriend the norm in this situation?

"Well, they told me in the message that there is an intensive care waiting room up on floor three, outside ward three A. If we go and wait there, then a nurse will come and take us in to see her." Sid watched the understanding slowly dawn on Luke's face, viewed the moment it clicked in the young boys head. He could see her, but there were conditions, those conditions required a certain amount of cooperation from his brain and limbs.

"So we go to floor three, then." Luke stated with finality, his grasp on Sid's now wrinkled blazer loosened as he fought his way into a standing position, using the wall and somewhere in there, Sidney's head for leverage. Choosing not to comment, Sid also rose from the ground. Smoothing his suit out of habit.

Both men stood and looked at each other momentarily before Luke meandered to the horridly patterned excuse of a chair he was sitting on. He picked up the brown paper bag which housed the once warm banana bread and creased it to peek inside, poking at the now cold, doughy probably exceptionally buttery loaf Luke couldn't bring himself to eat anymore.

"Any good?" Sid asked, taking the bag which sat loosely in Luke's hand and peeking inside.

"No better than yours." Luke managed, a forelong smile gracing his lips. Thinking once again back to the times when Nova and the two of them spent time in the kitchen throwing flour at each other and eating Sid's banana bread when it was still a little too hot fresh out of the oven.

Watching as the shadows of good memories flash through Luke's features he took the opportunity to make the most of this temporary mood lift. Together with some uhm-ing and ah-ing Sidney led himself and Luke down some corridors they didn't need to and others that finally led them to the Intensive Care waiting room. It was small with a mini fridge and a snack bar, three couches and a window which led to shrouded darkness outside.

Sitting down on individual couches, watching the black industry standard phone and waiting for it to ring felt like torture, knowing that Nova was on this floor, alone and probably scared was killing them both. More so Sidney as this was everything he vowed never to happen, he was supposed to be the one to silence all fears and cradle her throughout the storm. The parental guilt, reflection and utter terrible sinking feeling in his gut all continued to pile.

1:02am

Both men, even while concerned were struggling to keep their eyes open, both the emotional toll and physicality of Sid's game was catching up. Yet still the phone sat silent, the fact that nothing had been passed on only meant one thing. Bad.

When the phone broke them out of their mopey, stupor by piercing the wretched silence with its call Sid reached for it, holding the receiver to his ear.

"Sidney Crosby speaking."

"Mr. Crosby, I apologise for the wait, we had some further complications moving your daughter into the intensive care unit, however we have her out of an unplanned surgery now, she is being moved as we speak. I will prioritise having a nurse come and collect you shortly."

All Sidney heard, and Luke heard from leaning over was unplanned surgery.

A corresponding thought ricocheted throughout their minds.

What the fuck went wrong.

[bandagesandloveletters]

Wildflowers and Chides

Hello everyone! Welcome to my HBO War Summer Exchange gift for @floralcyanide. I hope you like both this little writing piece and the mood board to accompany it. I thoroughly enjoyed creating this, and of course, being able to write for Harry was a delight. As always, it was great taking part in @hbowardaily 's event, so, without further ado, here's Wildflowers and Chides!

Pairings: Harry Crosby x Reader

Word count: 862 words

10th June 1944

Wid flowers swirled in the warm summer air. A contrast to the months of ground frost, chilling winds, and cloaks of mist that blanketed over Station 139. Weather that broke even the toughest of airmen and women on base. Weather that was often joked about before their feet found Anglia for the first time. It was almost like England became a whole new quaint paradise as Spring ended and Summer finally began to break. A quaintness only to be disturbed by the roaring Pratt and Whitney’s of the heavy bombers who braced the blue skies for a greater good. 

Goosebumps radiated from the young girl's arms as another soft gust blew her (Y/H/C) around her face, creating an almost angelic effect. Her (Y/E/C) gazed out over the spread of colour, thoughts of those who had been lost in the months previous weighing heavy upon her mind, a burning hope that they would all return to Thorpe Abbotts one day like nothing had truly happened. However, (Y/N) knew that nothing would truly be the same. 

The peace and quiet was a concept that had seemed so foreign only a week prior. Hustle and bustle had become the norm for those who both knew what they were preparing for and those who had no idea of the history in the making. For weeks, (Y/N) rolled bandages, restocked supplies, and ensured those who graced the infirmary were comfortable. The number of casualties was slowly starting to decline, a relief to the medical staff, but as the Invasion of Mainland Europe approached, a stifling expectation for multiple casualties left the (Y/H/C) on edge as the 6th became the 7th; it was apparent that Operation Overlord was a success and (Y/N) could finally breathe. 

Summer. It was a bittersweet thought, especially regarding memories of home. Long, hot summers spent in sundresses, sipping on iced teas seemed like distant ones. Home alone was a distant thought, but with the allies now in Europe, it was like an end was finally in sight. 

“I thought I’d find you here.”

A soft, raspy voice quickly broke the young nurse from her daydream, returning her to the field in England, far from home, in her standard nurse uniform, not a sundress. 

“Ah, you join the land of the living again, I see, Croz,” she replied as she tilted her gaze up to meet the taller male, nodding as he motioned to the spot beside her. “You and I both know Smokie warned you about taking more of those pills than needed. Rest is just as important as all those maps you plotted.” 

Her chide was serious but, at the same time, held an air of lightness. She knew that Harry was dedicated to his work, driven by the loss of his friends, but that didn’t stop her from worrying about the brunette navigator's welfare. Especially once she found out he’d been taking medication to stay awake. 

Lightly nudging her with his signature lopsided grin, Harry couldn’t help but take in the true beauty of the girl sitting beside him. Framed with wildflowers and a worry for him. He’d spent the whole morning listening to Rosie prattle on what he missed, and sure, he was disappointed to have missed the big day, but what he’d also truly missed were moments like these. A moment to reflect and soak up being with the people who bring the most joy. 

“Ahh, alright, alright. I should’ve listened, but we both knew I needed to get those maps done. Besides, if I hadn't been out so long, I wouldn’t have been able to dream long and hard about this moment, would I?” The male quickly cursed under his breath; it had sounded so much smoother in his head. Quickly leaning forward, Harry plucked a Marguerite from the ground before offering it to (Y/N) with a shy smile. 

A blush began to form on the girl's cheeks as she received the sweet-smelling wildflower. An angelic laugh fell on her lips as she leaned across to gently kiss Harry’s cheek. 

“You argue a good point. I just worry about you, Harry. How can I explain to my Ma in my next letter that my favourite navigator missed the biggest assault in history? Not to mention that it doesn’t make a great story to tell at our wedding, but I guess I’ll leave that for Rosie to write into his best man speech.” she teased back, grinning as her hand smoothly found his as it perched beside her own, the maroon gemstone of her engagement ring glinting in the sunlight.  

Laying back amongst the wildflowers, Harry pulled (Y/N) to lay with him. Tucking her perfectly into his side, like matching puzzle pieces. His own laugh echoed, bringing butterflies to (Y/N) and intensifying her blush with a chaste kiss pressed first to her forehead and then her lips. 

“I wouldn’t change a thing if it meant I’d end up here with you.”

[yoonavii]

𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒

Regency Era! Law x F! reader

Description: Lady Y/N defies societal norms with her down-to-earth nature, setting her apart from other noble ladies. During her debut, she captures the attention of numerous suitors, but her heart is unexpectedly drawn to Lord Trafalgar Law, a brooding and mysterious Duke known for his coldness towards women. As their relationship develops, they face the challenges of unraveling Lord Trafalgar’s enigmatic nature and navigating their contrasting personalities amidst societal expectations. Will their connection withstand the obstacles they encounter? or will it crumble?

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

As the day of the grand gala finally dawns, anticipation courses through your veins, filling you with a mix of excitement and nervousness. Sneaking into the bustling kitchen, you marvel at the scene before you—the skilled chefs working their culinary magic, the intoxicating aromas that waft through the air, and the meticulous organization orchestrated by the lady housekeeper. Your eyes dance around the room, taking in the sight of the maids and male servants lined up, awaiting their instructions. Among them, you catch sight of Emily, who meets your gaze and smiles, a flicker of camaraderie passing between you. But before you can exchange words, the housekeeper’s sharp voice pierces the air, reprimanding Emily for a momentary lapse in attention. A stifled laugh escapes you at the sight, but you quickly quieten, not wanting to draw unwanted attention.

Amidst the flurry of activity, your attention is captured by the figure of Crosby Pine, the head chef. His family has faithfully served your family for generations, their loyalty and culinary expertise intertwined with the very fabric of your estate. Crosby, a man both kind and professional, occasionally reveals his down-to-earth nature, making him a cherished presence in the kitchen. Spotting you amidst the commotion, Crosby’s eyes light up, and he greets you warmly. “Ah, Lady Y/n, it’s a pleasure to see you,” he says with genuine warmth. His offer to be his taste tester for a moment piques your interest, and without hesitation, you agree, eager to explore the culinary delights created for the gala.

Following Crosby to a table laden with an array of dishes, he begins listing them off, his voice laced with pride and excitement. You listen intently, your senses enlivened by the descriptions of flavors and ingredients. And then, your eyes settle on a pot dish that exudes an unfamiliar yet enticing richness of color. Intrigued, you interrupt Crosby, your curiosity getting the better of you. “What is this dish?” you inquire, your voice tinged with anticipation. Crosby’s face lights up as he replies, “Ah, that’s the Albondigas, a Spanish delicacy. It’s a hearty meatball stew that’s quite popular in the town of Dressrosa.” He goes on to describe the ingredients he used, painting a vivid picture of the dish’s complex flavors.

He adds, a note of significance in his voice, “And you know, Lady Y/n, I made it because it happens to be the Duke’s favorite.” Your heart skips a beat, your mind racing to process this unexpected revelation. The Duke, whose encounter you had on the countryside ride, would be attending the gala. The realization leaves you flabbergasted, a mix of emotions swirling within you. As if sensing your astonishment, Crosby dips a spoon into the Albondigas and lifts it to your lips. You take a tentative taste, and the explosion of flavors dances across your palate, leaving you utterly amazed. The dish is a symphony of savory notes, a perfect blend of spices and textures. “Magnificent,” you breathe, a spark of delight igniting in your eyes. The Duke’s favorite dish has captivated your taste buds, further heightening the intrigue surrounding his presence at the upcoming event.

As you savor the Albondigas, its exquisite flavors lingering on your tongue, you can’t help but wonder what the gala holds in store. The path ahead seems entwined with the unexpected, promising a night of revelry, secrets, and the unfolding of potential  destinies. With each bite, you become even more captivated by the tantalizing mysteries that await you at the grand gala.

———

As your stepmother awakens in her lover’s estate, a soft smile dances upon her lips as she gazes at her paramour’s peaceful slumber. She rises from the bed, the sheets cascading around her graceful figure, and with a sense of quiet satisfaction, she summons the maids of the estate. The maids, well-versed in attending to your stepmother’s every need, promptly respond to her summons. They enter the room, their presence a mix of deference and efficiency, ready to assist her in preparing for the day. With meticulous care, the maids select a selection of garments befitting the stepmother’s elevated status. They delicately dress her in elegant attire, the fabrics cascading around her form, accentuating her grace and sophistication.

As the stepmother’s transformation unfolds, she exudes an air of confidence and allure. Each touch of the maids’ hands serves to enhance her natural beauty, highlighting her features and ensuring that she radiates a regal presence. Once she is fully dressed, your stepmother casts a final glance at her lover, the hint of a secret shared between them lingering in the air. Her smile deepens as she appreciates the moment, knowing that the world beyond this private sanctuary awaits her return. With her preparations complete, the stepmother bids farewell to her lover’s estate, her steps marked by a mix of satisfaction and anticipation. The maids, their duty fulfilled, quietly retreat, leaving her to navigate the complexities of her double life with poise and discretion. As she departs, she carries with her the memories of stolen moments and whispered promises, bound by the intoxicating allure of her clandestine affair. The weight of her secrets and the thrill of her hidden desires fuel her journey back to her own home, where the façade of a dutiful wife and stepmother awaits her return.

As the stepmother settles into the plush carriage, the soft rustle of her gown accompanies her every move. With an air of authority, she turns to her trusted head maid, a beacon of loyalty and discretion. “Tell me, has everything been prepared for Y/n’s social debut?” she inquires, her voice tinged with a blend of curiosity and satisfaction.

The head maid nods, her expression displaying a mix of respect and competence. “Yes, my Lady,” she replies, her tone filled with confidence. “All the necessary arrangements have been made, ensuring that Lady Y/n will be presented in the most favorable light.” A small smile curves the stepmother’s lips, her eyes glinting with a hint of intrigue. She delicately unfolds a hand-held fan, using it to gently alleviate the heat of the day as she contemplates her next move. “Excellent,” she murmurs, her voice carrying a note of satisfaction. “Now, my dear, I want you to spread a particular rumor throughout the social circles.” The head maid’s eyes widened slightly, her attention fully captured by her stepmother’s command. “What rumor would that be, my Lady?” she inquires, her voice a whisper of anticipation.

The stepmother leans in closer, her words laced with a calculated determination. “Spread the word that Lady Y/n is now available for courting,” she instructs, her tone betraying a touch of mischief. “Let it be known that she is ready to embark on the path of courtship and find a suitable match among the eligible gentlemen of our society.” The head maid’s brows furrow slightly, a momentary pause reflecting the weight of the task at hand. But with a nod of understanding, she acquiesces. “Consider it done, my Lady,” she replies, her voice a whisper of commitment. “I shall discreetly disseminate the rumor, ensuring that Lady Y/n’s availability becomes the talk of the town.”

A sense of satisfaction settles over your stepmother as she gazes out the window, her mind already weaving the web of possibilities that this newfound rumor will bring. She envisions the social events, the whispered conversations, and the eager suitors vying for your attention. It is a strategic move, a means to further the family’s interests and solidify their standing within the intricate dance of high society. As the carriage glides through the streets, your stepmother’s plans unfold, a carefully orchestrated symphony of ambition and manipulation. She is poised and ready to navigate the treacherous waters of courtship, her every move guided by calculated intent.

Little does she know, however, that the seeds she sows may yield unexpected consequences, intertwining the fates of those involved in ways she cannot foresee. The realm of romance and courtship holds both promise and peril, and as the rumor spreads, it sets in motion a chain of events that will shape the destinies of all involved.

——-

The Viscount’s brows furrow deeply as he listens to the maid’s words, his heart sinking with each revelation. His voice trembles slightly as he struggles to process the weight of the news. “How could she? How could the Viscountess betray our family in such a way?” he exclaims, a mix of shock and anguish coloring his tone. “Tell me, Margaret, where is she? What is the meaning of this?”

Margaret, the maid who had once been a trusted member of the household, lowers her gaze, a mix of guilt and trepidation etched upon her features. “I… I’m sorry, my Lord,” she stammers, her voice quivering with unease. “I have witnessed the Viscountess in the company of another man. They have been meeting in secret, and I felt it was my duty to inform you.” The Viscount’s heart clenches as the weight of his wife’s betrayal settles upon him. The foundation of trust upon which their marriage was built crumbles in an instant, leaving behind a void of hurt and confusion. “Where is she now?” he demands, his voice sharp with a mixture of anger and pain. “Tell me, Margaret. Do not hide anything from me.”

Margaret’s eyes meet the Viscount’s gaze, and in that moment, she recognizes the depths of his anguish. “She is at her lover’s estate, my Lord,” she reveals, her voice laden with remorse. “I have witnessed her depart several times to meet him there.” The Viscount’s jaw tightens as the reality of his wife’s infidelity settles upon him. Anguish and betrayal intertwine within him, threatening to engulf him in a storm of emotions. He paces the room, his mind racing with questions, trying to make sense of the shattered illusion of marital fidelity. “How could I have been so blind?” he mutters, his voice filled with a mix of self-doubt and frustration. “I loved her, and Yet she chose to deceive me.” Margaret watches as the Viscount struggles to come to terms with the truth, her heart aching for the pain he must endure. She can only offer a sympathetic gaze, silently acknowledging the depth of his hurt. With a heavy sigh, the Viscount gathers his composure, steeling himself for the difficult conversations and decisions that lie ahead. He must confront his wife, face the painful truth, and determine the course of action that will safeguard his family’s reputation and future.

“Thank you, Margaret,” he says quietly, his voice tinged with a mix of gratitude and resignation. “You have done your duty by informing me. Please continue to keep a watchful eye, but let this be our secret for now. I need time to contemplate my next steps.” Margaret nods, her expression filled with empathy and understanding. She retreats, leaving the Viscount to grapple with the weight of his wife’s betrayal. As he sinks into a chair, his mind churns with conflicting emotions and the realization that his somewhat blissful marriage has been shattered by the painful truth of infidelity.

———-

As the Viscountess steps through the threshold of her home, the familiar embrace of its walls fails to offer solace or comfort. The maids, ever diligent in their duties, attempt to greet her with their customary deference, only to be met with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Where is she?” the Viscountess demands, her voice dripping with impatience and frustration. Her eyes dart around the room, searching for any sign of her daughter, her impatience growing with each passing moment.

The maids exchange uneasy glances, their trepidation palpable in the air. They are slow to respond, their hesitation borne from fear of their mistress’s sharp temper. With a gulp, one of the maids musters the courage to step forward. “Milady, Lady Y/n is currently in the kitchen,” the maid stammers, her voice trembling slightly. “She is assisting with the preparations for the gala this evening.”

The Viscountess’s eyes narrow, her disappointment mingled with a tinge of annoyance. “Why was I not informed of this?” she snaps, her tone laced with frustration. “Is it too much to ask for a timely update on the whereabouts of my own daughter?” The maid shrinks back, her eyes downcast, feeling the sting of the Viscountess’s reproach. “Forgive us, Milady,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. “We did not anticipate your return at this exact moment. We are doing our best to attend to our duties.”

A flicker of anger passes over the Viscountess’s face as she considers the maid’s response. She takes a deep breath, attempting to regain her composure, but the frustration simmers beneath the surface. “Ensure that Lady Y/n is summoned immediately,” she declares, her voice now tinged with a hint of command. “I have matters to discuss with her, and I will not be kept waiting any longer.” The maids scurry to fulfill their mistress’s order, their steps quickened by a sense of urgency and the desire to avoid further reprimand. With each step, the Viscountess’s presence looms over the maids, sending ripples of unease through their ranks. Her swift and purposeful stride resonates with a hint of authority, evoking a sense of trepidation among those who cross her path. The mere sight of her sends shivers down their spines, a silent reminder of her formidable presence.

As she passes each maid, a wave of tension fills the air. Their gazes instinctively drop to the floor, their movements cautious and measured, as they strive to avoid any misstep that might draw her attention. The Viscountess, lost in her own thoughts, seems oblivious to the palpable discomfort she instills in those around her.

The maids exchange wary glances as she proceeds, a shared understanding passing between them. Each knows the consequences of arousing the Viscountess’s wrath, and they hasten to complete their tasks with meticulous precision, hoping to avoid any unnecessary encounters. Whispers of her footsteps reverberate through the corridors, amplifying the tension that accompanies her progress. The once-familiar hallways seem to shrink in her presence, their walls closing in as the maids take care to remain unseen, blending into the backdrop of the estate.

Finally, the Viscountess reaches the tea room, the anticipation of her arrival preceding her. The maids who had been preparing the room for her entrance now stand at attention, their expressions a careful mask of servitude. With an imperious air, the Viscountess enters the room, her gaze sweeping across the surroundings with a sharp intensity. The tension in the air is palpable, as if the very atmosphere holds its breath, awaiting her next move.

As she settles into her seat, the maids silently arrange themselves nearby, their eyes averted, not daring to meet her gaze. The room becomes a tableau of subservience, each maid acutely aware of the formidable presence before them. In this atmosphere of trepidation, the Viscountess exudes a power that commands attention, her every action laden with an unspoken expectation. As she awaits the arrival of her daughter, her mind teems with thoughts of control, consequence, and the determination to maintain her influence over the unfolding events.

As you emerge from the bustling kitchen, your mind still intoxicated by the tantalizing flavors, you notice an unusual unease among the maids who approach you. Their anxious expressions raise your concern, prompting you to inquire about the matter. “What’s wrong?” you ask, your voice filled with genuine curiosity. “Why do you all seem so troubled?”

The maids exchange nervous glances, their eyes darting anxiously before one of them gathers the courage to speak. Her voice trembles slightly as she delivers the news.

“Lady Y/n, the Viscountess has summoned you to the tea room,” she whispers, her words tinged with apprehension. “There is a sense of urgency, and we fear that something important awaits you.” Your heart skips a beat at the unexpected summons, and a mixture of anticipation and apprehension fills your being. What could have transpired in your absence? What pressing matters could your mother wish to discuss? Offering the maids a reassuring smile, you express your gratitude for their concern. “Thank you for informing me,” you reply, your voice steady despite the flutter of nerves within you. “I will make my way to the tea room as requested.”

The maids disperse, their worried glances lingering for a moment before they return to their tasks. Taking a deep breath, you mentally prepare yourself for the forthcoming encounter, aware that this summons may hold significant implications for your future.

As you navigate the hallways, each step feels heavier, and your thoughts race with uncertainty. Questions swirl in your mind, demanding answers that remain elusive. What could your mother want to discuss? How might this conversation shape your aspirations and desires? With determination and a touch of apprehension, you enter the tea room, locking eyes with your resolute mother. The atmosphere crackles with unspoken tension, setting the stage for a pivotal conversation that may redefine your relationship and steer the course of your future. The door closes behind you, enveloping you in a confined space with your mother, as if the weight of the world rests upon this encounter. You brace yourself, steeling your nerves, ready to face the challenges and revelations that await you in the tea room. It is here, in this moment, that the trajectory of your life may be forever altered, as you stand on the precipice of transformation and uncertainty.

As you settle into your seat, the delicate porcelain cup cradled in your hands, a maid swiftly approaches, pouring steaming tea into the delicate china. The aroma of the warm brew wafts through the air, momentarily soothing your nerves as you prepare yourself for the conversation ahead. Your mother’s voice cuts through the silence, her tone a mixture of curiosity and reproach. “Where did you go last night?” she asks, her eyes narrowing slightly, searching for any signs of deception. Without missing a beat, you respond, a hint of defiance in your voice, “Nowhere, Mother. I simply stayed within the estate.”

However, your attempt to deflect her inquiry falls flat, and your mother’s gaze hardens, her eyes brimming with suspicion. “Do not take me for a fool, Y/n,” she retorts sharply, her words dripping with disappointment and frustration. “I am well aware of the truth. Do not think you can deceive me so easily.” You swallow hard, the weight of her disapproval pressing upon you. In a brave yet futile attempt, you summon the courage to defend yourself. “Mother, I assure you, I went nowhere of consequence. I simply sought solace in the gardens,” you explain, your voice tinged with frustration and a desire to be understood.

But your words only seem to fuel her ire, and she dismisses your explanation with a wave of her hand. “Solace in the gardens?” she scoffs, her voice laced with disdain. “Do you think I am blind to your antics, Y/n? Your restlessness and desire for independence are no secret to me.” You bristle at her words, the sting of her accusations piercing your heart. You long for the chance to express yourself, to make her understand your aspirations and dreams. Yet, you find your voice muffled by the weight of tradition and societal expectations.

The conversation takes a sudden turn as your mother transitions to another topic, her tone shifting to one of business and practicality. She informs you that two modistes have been arranged to dress you for the upcoming gala at the Claydall estate. Her words are filled with an air of authority, as if the matter has already been decided. Your eyes roll involuntarily, a gesture of silent dissent, as you ponder the extravagance and the waste of resources. You find it difficult to reconcile the frivolousness of such decisions with the realities of the world beyond the opulent walls of the estate.

Internally, you wrestle with a myriad of emotions – frustration, longing, and a growing sense of rebellion. Your desires and aspirations remain obscured, overshadowed by the expectations placed upon you. The Claydall estate, with its grandeur and lavishness, becomes a symbol of the constraints that confine you. Silently, you sip your tea, the bitterness of disappointment mingling with the warmth of the liquid. The conversation with your mother serves as a stark reminder of the delicate balancing act you must perform, navigating the expectations of society while yearning for personal fulfillment.

In this moment, you contemplate the choices that lie before you, seeking a way to carve out your own path amidst the constraints of tradition and duty. The forthcoming gala at the Claydall estate becomes a metaphor for the complex dance you must navigate, as you strive to find your own sense of purpose and identity amidst the opulence and expectations that surround you.  “I will find a suitable gentleman to court you,” your mother declares, her tone firm and unyielding. As you watch your mother then take a sip of her tea, the delicate porcelain cup quivering slightly in her grip, a surge of determination courses through your veins. You know that your defiance will likely ignite her anger, but you cannot stand idly by, surrendering your right to choose your own path.

“No, Mother,” you assert, your voice steady and unwavering. “I will not allow you to choose my partner for me. I deserve the freedom to make my own decisions and follow my own heart.” The words hang in the air, a palpable tension radiating between you. Your mother’s eyes narrow, her face contorting with an amalgamation of fury and disbelief.

“How dare you defy me!” she erupts, her voice booming with a mix of anger and frustration. “You are my daughter, and it is my duty to ensure your future is secure. I will not let you jeopardize it with your foolish whims!” The fire within you burns brightly, fueling your courage as you stand your ground. “Mother, I respect your concern for my future,” you reply, your voice steady but tinged with a hint of defiance. “But I believe in my own ability to make the right choices for myself. I deserve a partner who truly understands and values me, and I will not settle for anything less.”

Your mother’s face turns a shade of crimson, her voice trembling with anger as she lashes out, hurling insults and accusations at you. But you refuse to cower beneath the weight of her words. Instead, you summon every ounce of strength within you, defending your right to choose your own path. “I am not a pawn to be moved at your will, Mother.” you retort, your voice cutting through the tension-filled air. “I am an individual with my own dreams, desires, and aspirations. I will not let them be silenced or suppressed.”

The maids, who have been witness to this unprecedented confrontation, look on with wide-eyed astonishment. The air crackles with an electricity they have rarely seen, as you assert your agency in the face of authority.

With your head held high, you rise from your seat, your gaze locking definitely with your mother’s. Her tirade continues, but you have made your choice. You turn away, determined to leave behind the suffocating walls of her control. As you walk out of the room, the resounding slam of the door echoes your determination. The sound reverberates through the halls, a powerful punctuation to your declaration of independence. Your heart pounds with a mix of uncertainty and liberation, knowing that you have taken the first step towards carving out your own destiny.

The echoes of your mother’s anger fade into the background, drowned out by the resolute beat of your own heart. In this moment, you embrace the newfound strength that courses through your veins, ready to face the challenges that lie ahead and to shape your own future on your own terms.

———-

As you step out of the carriage, you are swiftly guided into the grand halls of the Claydall estate. The anticipation in the air is palpable, as the bustling of staff and the murmurs of guests create a vibrant energy. Inside the estate, you are greeted by the two modistes, who are revealed to be twins. They stand side by side, their eyes filled with a keen sense of professionalism and artistic flair. The sight of their identical features creates a sense of intrigue and fascination.

wasting a moment, the modistes spring into action, their nimble fingers deftly working to enhance your natural beauty. They assess your figure, your complexion, and your unique features, determining the perfect ensemble to accentuate your elegance and grace. As they begin their work, maids scurry around you, carefully styling your hair with intricate braids and delicate curls. The gentle touch of their hands and the sound of their whispers create a soothing ambiance amidst the flurry of activity.

The modistes skilled hands glide over your gown, carefully fitting and adjusting each detail with precision. The fabric cascades around you, enhancing your silhouette and capturing the essence of regal refinement. Throughout the process, the modistes and maids exchange whispers and small nods of approval, each contributing to the transformative journey. Their collective efforts converge, harmonizing to create a stunning portrayal of your inner radiance and strength.

As the final touches are added, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. The reflection that stares back at you is a vision of elegance and confidence, a testament to the artistry and craftsmanship of the modistes and maids who have worked tirelessly to bring your beauty to life. With a newfound sense of poise, you take a moment to absorb the transformation. The soft glow of the chandeliers illuminates the room, casting a mesmerizing aura upon your ethereal appearance. You are now ready to step into the gala, radiating a captivating presence that mirrors the grace and beauty of the Claydall estate itself.

———-

As the carriage glides along the winding road, the duke finds himself lost in the beauty of the setting sun. The vibrant hues of orange and gold paint the sky, casting a warm glow over the world below. Dressed in the finest garments befitting his noble status, the duke exudes an air of regal elegance.

Seated across from him is his childhood friend, Ace, the son of a baron. Clad in his own distinguished attire, adorned with military accouterments, Ace radiates an aura of confidence and charm. The camaraderie between the two is evident, a bond forged through shared experiences and a deep understanding. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, Ace turns his attention to the duke, a playful grin spreading across his face. “So, my dear friend, have you been smitten by a fair lady?” he teases, his voice tinged with amusement.

The duke’s expression remains stoic, yet a hint of a smile plays at the corners of his lips. “You know better than to pry into such matters, Ace,” he retorts, a note of warning lacing his voice. But Ace, undeterred by the duke’s attempt to deflect the conversation, leans closer, his voice filled with mock excitement. “Come on, you can’t keep it a secret forever. We’ve been friends long enough for me to know when you’ve met someone who has captured your attention.” The duke’s gaze softens for a moment as he recalls the encounter with the spirited lady during his ride. “She is an intriguing young woman,” he concedes, his tone betraying a hint of admiration. “But that is all I will say for now.”

Ace grins triumphantly, relishing in the small victory. “Ah, the Duke of Dressrosa, taken aback by a lady’s charms. Who would have thought?” he jests, the playful banter bringing a lightheartedness to their conversation. The duke chuckles, a rare sound that escapes his lips. “Rest assured, Ace, I am not easily swayed,” he asserts, his voice laced with a mixture of pride and conviction. “But I will admit, there is something captivating about her.” Their playful exchange continues as the carriage continues its journey towards the gala, the lighthearted banter offering a reprieve from the weight of their responsibilities. The duke, despite his stoic demeanor, finds solace in the presence of his childhood friend, knowing that amidst the grandeur and expectations of the evening, their bond remains unbreakable.

As the sun dips below the horizon, casting the world into twilight, the duke and Ace find comfort in the camaraderie they share, ready to face the gala and all the possibilities it holds. With a shared smile and a final jest, they brace themselves for the night ahead, where the mysteries of the heart and the allure of the unknown await them both.

©𝐘𝐀𝐘𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐀— Any sign/evidence of plagiarism made from outside this name will be dealt with by whatever means necessary. Legal action may occur if non fanfiction works are plagiarized.

[writinglittlemagics]

Another Will Wood analysis while I edit a load of personal pieces and try to find an internship! I have a few ideas for this account >:]

The Impact of Masculinism on “Willard!”

“Willard!” is a unique song on an already wildly diverse album. This song, the only one that draws inspiration from a separate piece of media, tells the story of Willard Stiles, a lonely man who befriends rats to cope. The song offers an introspective view of Stiles’s view of humanity and how distanced he views himself. Stiles is affected by the masculinist people around him, which causes him to regard his sensitivities as something that makes him “other.” In the movie, Willard’s boss, Martin, constantly cites his masculinity as his reason for tormenting Stiles. In the song, Willard uses traditional male expectations self-deprecatingly.

Stiles opens the song like an admission of guilt, “You know I couldn’t hurt a fly, my friend / I’m not the type to step on ants” (Line 1). Being insecure about being non-violent is a common trait among men who are in highly masculine environments. Typical gender norms insist that men are to be the aggressors or unafraid of bloodshed. This machismo bloodlust is the foundation of masculinist ideals. A “good” man should strive for dominance over everything: the workplace, the home, and public spaces. Willard is not a man who strives for anything. He knows he can not fit in with the aggressive men at his office, stating, “I've failed to fit in into those nests that scrape the sky / Is there room for me in your cage?” (Line 6) He is also embarrassed about his emotional displays, namely, “I've nearly cried for moths that die at porchlight lamps,” and “Just seem haunted by my stupid urge to protect” (Lines 3 and 22). His sympathetic nature is a target for most of the people in Stiles’s life: his mother, who insists he kills his rats; his coworkers, who mock him; and his boss, who disparages him.

Like most men who struggle to fit into the masculine mold, Stiles feels an undue amount of shame. Feminism is for Everybody explains this reaction. It states, “These men identified themselves as victims of sexism, working to liberate men. They identified rigid sex roles as the primary source of their victimization…” (Hooks). As the song continues, Stiles starts to reject his role as a masculine man before extracting himself from humanity altogether. He ostracizes himself, hiding in closets with his rats and becoming a recluse. He states, “They'll call me crazy, but their words all seem made up to me / Maybe they just need more friendship like yours” (Line 24) and then regresses further into, “You might seem behind bars, but friend, this cage is inside out” (Line 35). The song concludes with a nod to the source material, quoting the climactic scene in which Willard uses his rats to murder Martin. This final scene solidifies the impact masculinity has had on Willard. He devolves from a man too timid to step on an ant to a man capable of premeditated murder. Willard is unfulfilled by his revenge and driven to madness, as Hooks predicts, claiming, “Many men are anguished because they do not engage the liberating critiques that could enable them to face that these promises were rooted in injustice and domination and even when fulfilled have never led men to glory” (Hooks).

(537 words)

Works Cited

hooks, bell. “FEMINIST MASCULINITY.” Feminism Is for Everybody: Passionate Politics, South End Press, Cambridge, MA, 2000, pp. 67–71.

“Will Wood – Willard!” Genius, 29 July 2022, genius.com/Will-wood-willard-lyrics.

Willard. Directed by Daniel Mann, Performances by Bruce Davison, Elsa Lanchester, and Ernest Borgnine, Bing Crosby Productions, 1971

Wood, Will. “Willard!” “In Case I Make It”, Will Wood, 2022, track 15. Spotify, https://open.spotify.com/track/1eZQFmVxyAeE3SHppgMxce?si=517f42b8c2e04c80

[lucyrcrover]

I love "Almost Cut My Hair" by Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young as a Trans Gal

[This is mostly just me gushing over how I relate to a song]

I love this song so much. To my understanding, it's about the dilemma of hippies choosing whether or not to cut their hair. The singer discusses almost cutting his, but choosing not to, as a symbol ("I feel like letting my Freak Flag Fly"), because he feels he does "owe it to someone." This is such a beautiful, relatable song as a trans girl. Despite not directly relating to trans issues, it gets at the core of them (because the trans experience is ultimately a human experience.) It is about self-expression, and it is about what it means to express oneself in conflict with social norms, expectations, and even institutions. The entire song is about using your appearance to defy norms and signal resistance. Not only does it get at the feelings of self determination bound up in the matter (e.g., "I'm not giving in an inch to fear, cause I promised myself this year!"), but the social responsibility of visibility. Now I am not claiming that every trans person maintains a responsibility to be fully open and visible; this is not reasonable considering the weights and pressures we face. Yet, we have an obligation to others, to help them, to lift them up, to improve what we can. I am going to an event tomorrow; I will likely be the most visible trans person attending. Are all the trans people who would like to be in my position not owed hope? Are they not owed visibility? Are they not owed proof of their own autonomy? And even if I am not the one who caused these issues, does not every human have a responsibility to put in the work to push against them when possible? Am I, a woman guided by anarchist and communist aspirations, not tethered to this communal responsibility? It is not some grand, revolutionary resistance to be visible, but it is necessary. These contemplations, in our current society, seem core to any socially conscious trans person. And this is what I think when I hear Crosby sing that he did not cut his hair.

[wisefoxluminary]

Vigor: an essay on Toxic Masculinity in The Boys - character analysis of Soldier Boy and Homelander

So The Boys account posted the full magazine cover of Soldier Boy that Kimiko was reading in the recent episode and a interesting detail caught my eye. Years after his supposed death, Soldier Boy is a poster child of a men's health magazine titled Vigor, a word commonly associated with physical strength and good health. Soldier Boy is a symbol of a true patriotic America and how all men should act. They don't make men like that anymore because Soldier Boy's influence is still strong. This cover is very striking to me as it supports the idea that all men need to be strong and conform to the societal norm. Encouraging men to break up with their girlfriends or to not enjoy interests that aren't associated with manhood etc. There really is an underlying issue of toxic masculinity as Soldier Boy is a literal representation of it. Men are supposed to be strong and that by showing emotion, it is considered weakness. To fit into society, men need to adopt machismo traits in order to preserve their image. Soldier Boy represents how a man should act and behave, we see in season 3 about his outdated views on how men should dress and act, especially his belittling of Hughie.

Men who align themselves with toxic masculinity normally have toxic role models. People in the public eye who have a bad influence on young boys, they further encourage/bring out their toxic traits and mold them into the worst version of themselves per Soldier Boy's warped idolization of Bill Crosby whom he considers to be America's dad when he is far from it. Bullying and deliberately harmed others because they feel they are a threat to their masculine pride just like Soldier Boy's abusive treatment of Black Noir and Soldier Boy considering Homelander, his own son, a disappointment because he doesn't know how to be a father and he sees himself reflecting in Homelander's eyes, the man his father thought had cheated to get compound V in his system, passing on that cycle of abuse and toxic masculinity to Homelander who is slowly breaking under his own pressure and passing that down onto Ryan. We had the scene prior to this of Butcher and Soldier Boy talking about their own abusive fathers and this is key to his character. By becoming his father, Soldier Boy can reject his own flesh and blood and thus driving everyone else to turn against him. This is conflict uprooted in toxic masculinity.

Homelander idolised Soldier Boy way before he learned that he was his father and his desire to reunite stemming from his need to be loved and thus being rejected by him really shakes up Homelander's world. He goes through a mid-life crisis, has fears about becoming old and dives deeper into psychosis by using his power to make other men do things that bring harm to their strong masculine image (hence the blow a-train and the whole scene with Marty.) Homelander may have went back to the lab to come to terms with his past because he felt like he was hurting Ryan, but this was something he had to do for himself to grapple with the effects his father's rejection left on him, how his departure led HL to spend his life in captivity and torture, bringing out his depraved almost childlike ego. A mask he has to wear to hide his fragile masculinity which came out in full force after Soldier Boy called him a fucking disappointment to his face and that continues to slip away the more people challenge him/the more unstable he becomes.

He wants to make himself better and by bringing this harm to others, it's making him fall down the path of becoming a monster, someone worse than even his own father. He considers humans to be below him because they are toys for his own amusement that he can burn down at any second. Someone that he can swoop in and save the day for but could easily control like puppets until they destroy themselves. A common attribute associated with toxic masculinity as males with this type of scorned ego seek to use their bad influence on people to make them feel smaller and to cause them to embrace this toxicity and fall down a dark path of violence and hatred hence falling into place like dominos. Sage encouraged him to adopt this mentality in order to crush the masses with his influence. He is influenced Ryan to embrace this dark behaviours, the same way Soldier Boy used it to put the fear of god into his teammates. Soldier Boy rejected Homelander and by doing that Homelander is falling down this rabbit hole of toxic and fragile masculinity. I'm not saying Homelander wasn't as much of a psychopath before this but it is further encouraging him to adopt this damaging traits and it has sent him too far gone into unhinged territory. Without the love of his father, Homelander has allowed that rejection to take power over him and to shape him into the unforgiving monster he is today. Homelander wouldn't be the way he was in season 4 without Soldier Boy. His influence is greatly felt this season and this is why Homelander has grown into a such snivelling monster hellbent on destroying all of mankind.

With this being said, Soldier Boy also deals with his own kind of fragile masculinity as seen in season 3 when others like Hughie challenge him as a way of emasculating his own overly assertive ego and how he thinks he is better than everyone else. He isn't exactly the red blooded American hero everyone thinks he is and there is something deeper underneath the surface. Soldier Boy serves orders blindly and unquestionably like a unforgiving soldier and is pompously up his own ass. He resorts to violence whenever someone challenges him because he thinks that by smacking the shit out of them, they'll do nothing to harm his ego. They won't expose him for the man he truly is. Soldier Boy really struggles to break out of this mold. He is compensating for his masculinity because he thinks that's how a man is supposed to be strong/fit in to the societal norm when he is far from it. The magazine directly challenges this, taking hits at Soldier Boy's fragile ego by saying is "metrosexuality threatening your manhood"

This takes us into a further deep dive into Soldier Boy's head and how people many years later perceive him. Metrosexuality is relating and denoting men from urban areas who pay too much attention to their personal appearance and cultivating a upscale lifestyle. Men who are obsessed with fashion and how they look, interests that are traditionally associated with women and gay men. It is basically like a heterosexual adopting trends that are stereotypical with homosexuals. Metrosexuals could be openly gay, straight or bisexual.

Soldier Boy is the definition of this term. He is seen in the past quite frequently with the way he performed on Solid Gold, the movie career he cultivated and his sexual activity such as his role in founding herogasm. Caring only about his appearance in public rather than anyone’s perceptions of him, getting lost to drugs and sex as all depraved heroes do. He was high on the eagle's nest. Soldier Boy could very well have experimented with bisexual tendencies at this time but chose to adopt toxic masculinity traits because homosexuality was considered as a crime and far too outside norm at this time and a damaging weakness to a man's ego so Soldier Boy had to keep up this macho facade as a way of not bringing shame to his country. Soldier Boy is the type of guy who is inquired about a fling with another man but then denies that it's gay because he is too strong and egocentric to admit that about himself. This is seen in the way he treats Mallory on the battlefield as his fragile ego gets tested. He embraces misogynistic and homophobic views as a way of looking down on people because he feels that he needs to deflect from the person he truly is. A defensive mechanism so to speak to hide who he truly is. That true part of himself he keeps under lock and key with this toxic persona he has cultivated for himself. By suppressing his true desires, Soldier Boy must become a literal monster and use that power to wreck people's lives with it. It's just as The Deep said, violence is power and that influence will cause others in their wallowing toxic masculinity to do unspeakable things.

I think in season five, we will see Homelander waking up his father from his cryogenic chamber and conspire a truce with him. Manipulating Soldier Boy to join his supe army in their global conquest in exchange for restoring his public image and redeeming himself in the eyes of Vought and the public. Soldier Boy is overbearing, controlling, not really in align with his son's ideas. He uses this partnership as a way of getting revenge on the people that trapped him in the box, mainly The Boys and Stan Edgar. With these issues I've talked about father and son facing, this could eventually lead conflict to stur between Homelander and Soldier Boy. Soldier Boy doesn't think Homelander is fit to lead his team as his power and insanity is slipping by the day. All he cares about is getting his father's approval for the heinous things he's done rather than confront the problem at hand. So Soldier Boy uses his toxic influence to turn the rest of The Seven against him, encouraging them to adopt violent tendencies and to no longer fear Homelander. This leads to Soldier Boy and Homelander to fight as this alliance is likely to end bloody for everyone. Homelander feels rejected and angry and it causes him to go completely off the rails, maybe even violently kill someone in public like the end of season 3 when he felt rejected by SB. I think this was subtly teased with the VCU slate back in episode 5 when a movie called Homelander vs. Soldier Boy: Annihilation was shown, hinting that eventually all blows over and they fight. A father driven to pure hatred of his only son who stages an uprising against him all because Homelander's ego is too fragile for him to handle and it will cause his inevitable downfall. A cycle that is too broken for them to fix.

So in conclusion, Soldier Boy is a character stemmed in toxic masculinity and that influence he carries has damaging consequences for his own son Homelander and everyone around him. By rejected Homelander, Soldier Boy gets rid of that fragile part of him he hated and suppressed for so long. Someone starved for attention and craving for love like he used to be.

End of essay

[presleypictures]

Elvis photographed with Merv Griffin, Tom Jones and Norm Crosby in Vegas, c. 1971.

[fashionbooksmilano]

Triennale Cento Anni di Manifesti

testi di Mario Piazza e Stefano Boeri

progetto grafico Norm, Zurigo

Marsilio Arte, Venezia 2023, 184 pagine, 22,5x33,5cm, ISBN 9791254631584

euro 40,00

email if you want to buy booksinprogressmilano@yahoo.it

Triennale Milano è da cento anni un punto di riferimento internazionale per la cultura del progetto. Dal 1923, con l’avvio delle Esposizioni Internazionali, ha investigato e mostrato il meglio delle arti decorative, del design e dell’architettura italiana e internazionale. Un enorme patrimonio di storie che è stato interpretato e comunicato dai migliori progettisti grafici nelle diverse epoche.

Dagli anni del cartellonismo d’artista, alla grafica progettata, al visual design, il volume consente di ripercorrere, attraverso manifesti e immagini, la storia di Triennale Milano e al contempo di tracciare una storia della progettazione grafica, oltre che della comunicazione e del costume.

Centinaia di manifesti di grandi grafici, come: Aldo Scarzella, Giovanni Guerrini, Marcello Nizzoli, Michele Cascella, Mario Sironi, Enrico Ciuti, Max Huber, Ernst Scheidegger, Marco Del Corno, Eugenio Carmi, Roberto Sambonet, Massimo Vignelli, Albe Steiner, Giulio Confalonieri, Italo Lupi, Alberto Marangoni, Bob Noorda, Mauro Panzeri, Giorgio Camuffo, Anna Kulachek, 2x4; Pierluigi Cerri, Theo Crosby, Wim Crouwel, Michel Folon, Felix Humm, Norm, Massimo Pitis, Leonardo Sonnoli, Ettore Sottsass, Studio FM Milano, TassinariVetta, George Tscherny, Heinz Waibl, Lance Wyman.

16/03/24

[crosby-interesting]

do u think Nate is cheating? he’s said so many times that he doesn’t see his gf (now fiancée) as much “the other guys do.” he’s so hyper focused on hockey but so is Crosby and it seems pretty clear he’s cheating… idk I can’t imagine a nhl player (esp one as famous as Nate) not hooking up for months at a time. I mean when he had the 4 point night girls weee throwing their bras on the ice (which gross wtf..) but yeah, esp bc his type before CW wasn’t rlly blondes… idk he’s so private but also for her like months without seeing ur bf?? maybe they have an open relationship? But also Nate doesn’t seem like the type who would be chill ab his gf getting with other guys (even if he was cheating).

around new yrs someone asked him what his resolutions were and his answer was “ask my gf she has a lot for me haha.” their dynamic is so strange like is she gonna move to Denver when they get married, is this just a shut up ring and they’ll be engaged for a long time.

I'm sure that yes, simply because it is physiologically impossible otherwise He does not look like a person with a weak sexual constitution Alas, but Colorado is mired in sex scandals, I think that this is the norm for both the players and the front office

[oldshowbiz]

[blurredcolour]

Crosby cheated😭he was supposed to be better than that☹️

It was a heartbreaking moment nonny, that’s for sure.

Perhaps it’s my motto of “hate the war, not the solider” but I do find my ire more directed to the writers than the character?

Certainly as many more eloquent that I have pointed out this sort of situation was not unique to the time period and social norms were certainly skewed by the unprecedented circumstances people found themselves in.

But this characterization feels wholly inaccurate and anachronistic with the writing in episodes 1-6, which is why I feel like it’s hitting so hard?!

Regardless, still love my queasy little cow-eyed generous lover boy and am curious to see what they inflict on him next…

[goodwoodpod]

Would you ever do an episode discussing rule 63 in hockey? After listening to your episode on abo, I’d be so curious about all of your thoughts on in what ways women in the nhl fics are transgressive and in what ways they’re normative. And what it means that certain characters are more likely to be rule 63’ed than others. The gendered dynamics are so interesting.

we were actually discussing a rule 63 + gender in hockey fics episode in the groupchat a few weeks back! the three of us have been traveling and dealing with wildly different time zones for a couple months now but we’re working on a tentative list of offseason episodes that we’re very excited about (some topics: rule 63/genderbending fic; the gendering of sidney crosby; a guest episode on the watching hockey to playing hockey pipeline; another guest episode on hockey & F1 transformative fan experiences; umm I’m forgetting the others at the moment). if you want, you can always send us an ask or email with more detailed thoughts on the subject—we’d love to use listener asks as a jumping off point. or we can use the questions here to spark conversation too :) this is a topic I’m suuuper interested in so looking forward to discussing. —jes

[martysmusic]

POP (1946-1955)

By Dave McFly—Music Editor for KKHV “The Voice of Hill Valley”

As World War II came to a close and life began to return to normal in the United States, Big Band Jazz still ruled the radio and the record player. Technology was advancing however, particularly when it came to the microphone. Suddenly, it was possible to record crisp, clear isolated vocals in the studio. Greater emphasis was put on vocal performances, which led to the era of the Crooner.

The advent of sound in Cinema, which had occurred almost twenty years before the end of the war, gave Hollywood the ability to adapt stage musicals to the big screen. This, in turn, created the modern pop star. An artist like Bing Crosby (pictured above) could record a hit record, have it played on the radio in every city across the nation, and then film a movie. Celebrities were now more accessible than ever before.

Pop music remained mostly segregated however, by race and geographic region. Country and Western still ruled the South and West, black singers rarely got airplay. In 1940, Billboard Magazine began releasing the Top 100. The effect this had on Pop Music should be fairly easy to figure out--How else do we know something is popular without a list telling us what’s popular?

Speaking of popular, the post war era saw an explosion in the building blocks of what could be considered Pop Culture. Photography, especially color photography became more accessible and cheaper. And with a post-war economy booming, most Americans could now afford cameras to document their lives. People began to buy cars to take them to new places. Without a war, fashion didn’t always have to be functional, it could also be fun. Clothes could be bought at the Shopping Malls which arose right alongside the suburbs and the newly developing car-centric culture America would become famous for. The television was born, adding another tool for celebrity. Magazines flourished too.

Of course, the elephant in the room here is the fact that this flourishing of pop culture was only accessible for White Anglo-Saxon Protestant men. Minorities still remained for the most part in the cities. Homosexuality was illegal almost everywhere. After a Great Depression and Two World Wars, White Americans were by and large committing to creating the mythical American Utopia they were propagandized with during the wars. They didn’t want to rock the boat. As long as the minorities stayed in their place, and everyone conformed to strict gender norms and Protestant customs, America was on its way to be pretty great.

The proof seemed in the pudding too. The US emerged from World War II as the most powerful society on earth. Pay no attention to fact that this power was due to the existential threat of nuclear weapons or the fact that nearly all of Europe was in rubble. America had finally become that “City on a Hill” and they were determined to spread their culture to every corner of the globe. Because doesn’t everyone want to be just like us?

Dave McFly left his cushy corporate job in 1996 to chase his dream of being a music critic. He is the music editor and programming director for KKHV: The Voice of Hill Valley. Each week he publishes a new playlist called “Dave’s Picks” which is available on Apple Music and Spotify.

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