#Women’s sports is not a retirement plan for old men

[coochiequeens]

Another example for SheWon

ByAnna Slatz

July 13, 2023

A 49-year-old trans-identified male seized the bronze medal in the women’s 400m T12 running competition at the 2023 World Para Athletics Championships in Paris. Valentina Petrillo holds several women’s titles and had broken multiple women’s running records, but won his first women’s world championship medal at Chartley Stadium today.

Petrillo, born Fabrizio, was racing against Omara Durand of Cuba, Alejandra Perez Lopez of Venezuela, and Fatima Ezzahra El Idrissi of Morocco. Due to their visual disability, Durand and Lopez competed with guides, who were wearing bright yellow vests and assisted the women to ensure they stayed on the course of the track.

In the final result for the 400m race in the T12 visual impairments category, Petrillo took the bronze, displacing El Idrissi.

According to the World Para Athletics Championships guidance on participation, “an athlete shall be eligible to compete in women’s competition if she is recognized as female by law.” But their policy book goes on to note that it will “deal with any cases involving transgender athletes in accordance with the [International Olympic Committee’s] transgender guidelines.”

Peter Eriksson, the record-making former head coach for the Canadian Olympic and Paralympic program, spoke to Reduxx on Petrillo’s bronze placement.

“It’s shocking to see that women’s opportunities to a medal were taken by a cheating 49-year-old male,” Eriksson said. “The International Paralympic Committee is diminishing the rights of fairness in women’s sport by allowing transgender athletes at their events.”

Eriksson calls the World Para Athletics guidelines a “cop-out,” noting that every sporting authority has the ability to create their own rules. He also says that World Para Athletics policy was adapted from that of World Athletics, which recently ruled that trans-identified males who underwent a male puberty were no longer eligible to participate in women’s championship competitions.

“It’s a cop-out not to make a stance in support of women in sport. It feels kind of like they are trying to push the blame onto the IOC,” Eriksson says. “They adapted World Athletics rules and should also adopt the World Athletics regulation on transgender and DSD participation.”

As previously reported by Reduxx, Petrillo currently holds 8 women’s running championship titles, but failed to earn even one while competing as a male. Petrillo first changed his name to Valentina and began taking estrogen in 2019. The following year, he began competing against female athletes and has since broken multiple Italian women’s running records.

Petrillo has been diagnosed with Stargardt disease, a disorder of the eye that causes retinal degeneration over time. Due to this visual impairment, he has been permitted to compete in both matches designated for women with disabilities, as well as those which are not.

In September 2020, Petrillo raced in the women’s 100-, 200- and 400-meter competitions at the Italian Paralympic Athletics Championships in Jesolo, despite not having undergone “gender affirming” surgery.

At the time, Petrillo hadn’t even updated his identification documents, which still listed his sex as male, though this did not prevent him from being entered into the match. He won first place in all three races and therefore qualified to represent Italy at the Tokyo Olympic Games. But after a last-minute intervention by the Italian government, Petrillo was barred from competing against women with disabilities at the Paralympics in 2021.

At the Master’s Athletics Championships in Arezzo in October 2020, Petrillo outpaced both Cristina Sanulli and Denise Neumann, both of whom had previously won world and European Masters titles and have been regarded as the best in their events. Sanulli and Neumann would later sign a petition calling for men to be barred from women’s sport.

In March of this year, Petrillo competed in and took the win at the 200m race for women aged 50 to 54 at the Italian Indoor Masters Championship in Ancona.

Leading up to the race, a women’s rights advocacy group called RadFem Italia contacted government officials to ensure that Petrillo would not be granted access to the women’s locker rooms. In response, Petrillo was provided with a designated changing room specifically for him at the race grounds.

Petrillo soon after lashed out in a Facebook post wherein he equated criticism of his presence in women’s sports to Nazism, telling detractors they were “on the same level as Hitler” and comparing sex-based sports categories to a 1936 ban on Jewish athletes.

Upset at being denied the use of the women’s locker room, Petrillo wrote, “In Ancona, you made me have a terrible time, it is not fair… you’ve relegated me to a ‘dedicated’ locker room,” a situation which he claimed was similar to the segregation of those called appestati, or sufferers of a plague.

Reduxx also previously revealed that Petrillo admitted that he used to “try on his mother’s clothes” when he was younger, a behavior that was considered a symptom of a sexual disorder known as transvestic fetishism until recently.

He has also said that prior to declaring a transgender identity he would steal his wife’s clothing. While describing a memory of “touching” his mother’s skirt for the first time, Petrillo said, “It was an incredible emotion. It was like touching heaven with your finger tip.”

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Breaking the Class Ceiling Chapter 1

This is set in early 1900s U.S.A., during the Edwardian era with some style changes into the upcoming Art Nouveau period. I've changed history a bit for this. Pretending that America didn't have a full Civil War and trying to create a more optimistic outcome for the purposes of the story. I've also tried to research what the rules for society/socializing were back then, and tweaked some of them.

Warnings for upcoming chapters: minor character death, some sexual harassment/assault (but nothing too graphic or traumatic), smut.

Next chapter

The year was 1904.  America was in a technological boom and desperate to prove itself as a major power.  After infighting and a near civil war there had finally been peace and treaties made just years before, and as everyone learned to live with each other and create equity within their communities, prosperity flourished.  The World Fair was to be held in St. Louis, Missouri, that year, and the entire eastern seaboard was abuzz with excitement.  As families who had been previously destitute were now doing better financially they were all making plans and investing in the finer things in life, including making the big trip to St. Louis.  

James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, the son of an office manager, was taking up on his father’s work under a local lawyer in Brooklyn, New York.  He’d been working as a clerk in the office since he was a teenager, balancing books and ordering supplies.  His penmanship was the best in the office out of all the other clerks and receptionists, thanks to his mother, so he was in charge of handling official letters and working with dignitaries in the area.  It got him connections with the high class, and he was able to make good friends with business men’s sons, who were born into money.  He was able to get invited to all the big parties, hitch along with the high-brow at sporting events, and court the higher class women.  

His father, George Barnes, was proud of him for rubbing shoulders with the old money men.  Bucky and George were able to make a good living, but nothing that compared to the types of things that Bucky had been able to experience.  George encouraged him regularly to find a well off young woman to marry so that his future would be set.  Bucky worked and saved to make sure he had the best clothes and accessories so he would blend in with his friends, saving for his future when he could.  No woman in high society would give him a chance otherwise.

As Bucky was partying and scouting the local women, you moved back into town.  A rich woman whose family had hit it big in the beginning of the oil industry, you were the only one left after a long bout of illness that took your family.  All you had left was your uncle Alonso, who pretended to care for you, but was hitching his wagon to yours in hopes of a monetary gift and retirement.  He acted as your chaperone and matchmaker, looking for promising young men that he felt were worth your fortune.  Unfortunately for him, you were not looking for the same criteria of men he was.  He wanted someone high class, also from a well off family, or someone who would add to your fortune.  You wanted love, friendship, companionship, with someone who wouldn’t be intimidated by your fortune and your confidence.  A rich woman with full access to her own money was few and far between in this century, and you knew it.  You didn’t need a man, you wanted one.  A good one. 

The news of your arrival spread quickly.  Your last name was plastered on many a product and business, as you invested heavily in your home state, and the idea of an American princess returning after years of traveling was an exciting change of pace for Brooklyn.

“Good morning Bucky!” Steve Rogers greeted loudly as he swung open the office door, making it bang against the window behind it.

“Jeez, Steve, don’t break the glass, will ya?” Bucky grimaced, but gave him a clap on the shoulder in greeting.  “‘Morning, punk.”

“Oh, sorry,” Steve said sheepishly, checking on the glass then turning back to the front desk.  “Hey, did you hear about the Y/L/N girl coming back to town?”

Bucky didn’t look up from his paperwork, “Yeah, I heard.”

Steve looked at him expectantly.  “And?”

Buck glanced from the papers, the pencil in his hand hovering over the stack, “And what?”

Steve snorted at his best friend.  “And what?  She’s throwing a party!  It’s gonna be the biggest party Brooklyn’s ever seen!”

“Yeah, and I’m sure you got your invite already,” Bucky looked back down at his paperwork.  Steve came from a wealthy family who had made good money after selling a number of sugar and tobacco plantations.  His father had invested well and they were able to live on without needing to work anytime soon.  Of course he’d get an automatic invite.

Steve sneakily took out an envelope, a sly look in his eye.  “Yep, and I may or may not have bribed the mailman to give me yours, too,” he waved the envelope in Bucky’s face.

Bucky gawked at him, his eyes widening as he stared at the envelope.  Sure enough, his name was written on it in pretty script.  He ripped it from Steve’s hand and hastily opened it.  The paper was high quality, the writing done with a neat hand.  His eyes flew over the page as he tried to comprehend the words.

“I got an invite?” he wondered quietly.  

“Yep, that’s all you, bud,” Steve beamed at him.  “And before you ask, no, I didn’t pull any strings or make any calls.  She invited you specifically.”

Bucky was having a hard time understanding.  He never got personally invited to things, he was always the tagalong, the guy who had to be let in by his friends who put a good word in for him and opened those doors for him.  

“But…why?” he thought out loud, looking off through the window at the people passing by.

“Beats me,” Steve said nonchalantly.  “But it’s gonna be the bee’s knees.  That mansion we’ve always wondered about downtown?  That’s hers!  The whole place is being cleaned up and prepared for a big night.  You’ll need new clothes,” he finished quickly, straightening up and dusting off his suit jacket.

Bucky sighed at that.  “I don’t have enough savings for a whole new outfit, Steve.”

Steve waved him off, “Please don’t insult me.  When you’re done today stop by Barton’s and he’ll get you fixed up on my tab.  And I’ve given him strict instructions to not let you barter him down to cheap materials, so don’t you dare try it, Barnes.  You will go to that party in glad rags just like everyone else.”

Bucky wondered what he’d done right in a past life to get a friend like Steve.  “Thanks Stevie, you don’t have to do that.”

“Bullshit I don’t,” Steve countered.

“Language!” a yell came from the back.

“Sorry Mr. Fury!” Steve yelled back, looking sheepish again.  

“Alright, I’ll go,” Bucky quickly agreed, knowing he’d have no other way of looking appropriate for such a fancy function.  He knew of you, hell anyone would have to be living under a rock to not know who you were in America and many parts of Europe.  He wondered how you’d heard of him and what made you want to invite him at all.  Things were changing in society, but inviting a clerk to a multimillionaire’s mansion was still strange.

***

The weeks seemed to fly by as the party approached.  Bucky had been fitted with a whole new suit from Clint Barton’s warehouse.  Steve bought him a new straw hat for it being the first spring party with a crimson red ribbon, a matching crimson lounge coat and pants, white dress shirt, an off-white and navy plaid waistcoat, cobalt blue bow tie and cognac-colored Oxford boots that were shined to perfection.  To up the ante Steve threw in gold chain cufflinks and a matching plaid pocket square.  Bucky always brought his own pocket watch given to him by his father.  It wasn’t in the best condition, so it could give away his status, but it was the one piece he wouldn’t compromise on.

Bucky had seen the hustle in town get worse as the party got closer.  The women were desperately trying to find new fabrics and accessories to make them stand out and be in-fashion to catch your attention.  The barbershops and salons were busier than usual as people got themselves cleaned and spruced up.  There was one particular day where the sounds on the street had become quite intense as a crowd followed someone.  He looked out the window and could only make out the top of the hat on your head as people not-so-discreetly-whispered your name repeatedly, some being brave enough to approach you on the street and introduce themselves to try and gain favor.  He wondered what you looked like, what you’d be like, what things you’d seen on your travels.  He didn’t want to get his hopes up.  He was getting older than most of the upper class men around him, and hadn’t been able to peg down an upper class woman, let alone any woman yet, but you had invited him to what would be the biggest party of the season, so he hoped you were a little more open to people from all walks of life rather than just the upper crust.

Party day began with a buzzing excitement over the city.  Bucky could feel it himself as he finished work that day and ran home to wash up and get ready.  Steve was going to pick him up in his car so that they could come in style, and Steve was desperate to show off his new 1903 Pierce-Arrow.  Bucky knew he wouldn’t be able to fool you into thinking he may be in a higher social standing than he was, but he would at least show you he could play the part.  

The mansion was nestled in between other downtown homes that paled in comparison to its opulence.  The gilded aged home was covered in turrets and filigree detail around the edges and doors.  Fresh flowers were adorning every window facing the street and the front entrance that people were filing into by the time Bucky and Steve pulled up.  Pastel floral colors and shining buttons with pristine white satin gloves shone in the sunset as they entered the front hall.  Traffic jams were happening every ten steps as the partygoers got lost in the decor of the mansion, craning their necks as they looked up at the paintings on the walls and the murals on the ceilings.  Bucky found himself getting caught up in the majesty of the mansion as well.  He and Steve had peered into the windows through the years as it sat empty, wondering what it looked like inside.  Nothing in his wildest dreams could have prepared him for what it was.

The ushers herded the people along the hallways towards the middle of the house, which opened up into a grand ballroom.  Seating was scattered along the walls with waiters holding platters of decadent-looking food and sparkling champagne flutes.  A small orchestra was playing in an upper balcony above the party, with another balcony across the way holding a band that waited for their turn to play.  The fresh flowers continued inside along the walls and pillars providing a sweet smell to waft through the room.  As everyone was finally admitted and waited in the ballroom the orchestra became louder to gain the attention of the audience.

Everyone fell silent as the orchestra finished and all turned their eyes towards the doors at the other end of the ballroom from where they’d entered.  After a brief pause the doors opened and presented the host of the party.  Good god, Bucky thought.  You were dressed in a cadmium blue evening gown that had elaborate ruffles and appliques that shimmered under the lights.  The neckline was wide, the off-the-shoulder sleeves hanging on your upper arms showing off your upper body, and the front dipping lower down your chest than what was considered normal or appropriate in American fashion, displaying a tantalizing view of your cleavage.  Whereas all the other women had their hair curled and pinned up on top of their heads, your hair was in intricate braids and wispy curls with pieces deliberately falling out, the rest pinned up with sapphires.  Instead of traditional white pressed gloves your hands were adorned with lace gloves that matched the color of your dress.  You also weren’t wearing an overly restricting corset.  Everything about your outfit made you stand out.  Bucky could hear a few light gasps and whispers in the crowd at your dress choice, and it made him smile.  As you confidently walked into the ballroom, smiling kindly at everyone, he noticed a mark on your upper left arm.  Was that…a tattoo?  Unheard of.  You were a walking contradiction, and he felt like he was going to like you already.  Just a step behind you was an older man that was dressed more in the British fashion, looking out at the crowd and scanning carefully.

“Well, this should be interesting,” Steve murmured next to him, raising his eyebrows and taking a sip of the champagne in his hand.

“Mmhm, this should be fun,” Bucky agreed, his smile widening.

A butler walked forward from the side where you entered and cleared his throat, “Presenting, Lady Y/N Y/L/N, and her uncle, Mr. Alonso Y/L/N!”

The band now took a turn as you let people come up to you first, greeting them politely and giving customary head bows and occasional handshakes.  As you glided through the people Bucky pulled Steve along to a point where you’d be walking by soon.  “Come on, Steve, you gotta introduce me,” Bucky urged him.

“Buck, you introduce yourself, you got a personal invitation.  You don’t need me,” Steve protested, trying to finish his drink.  

As they settled in their spot, slowly pushing forward to greet you soon, you finished talking to a man who evidently thought highly of himself, a Mr. Rumlowe, who eyed you like something to eat.  Bucky knew him and his reputation.  Seeing the tightness of your eyes as you dismissed yourself from him, he hoped you could already see past his facade.  Your eyes fell on him and Steve and you smiled politely as you walked up to them.

“Miss Y/L/N, my name is Steve Rogers,” Steve spoke up first, giving you a head bow.

“Ah yes, Steve, your father was a good friend of my late father,” you said, your eyes shining at the recognition of his name.  Your uncle behind you shifted as he recognized the name as well, his mood lightening.  “He always spoke highly of your family.  I am planning to call on your parents at a later date, I hope you’ll join them when I do.”

Steve seemed delighted at the prospect of the meeting, “Yes of course.  My father has spoken of nothing else since your arrival.  You may get his card before he gets yours.”

You laughed lightly at him, introduced your uncle to him, who was very interested in Steve, then turned your attention to Bucky.  Your bright Y/C/E eyes gave him a quick look up and down, as if memorizing him.  Bucky knew he looked a bit more colorful than the other men in attendance, a purposeful choice that he was now patting himself on the back for making.

“And you must be James Barnes,” you offered him in greeting.

Bucky’s eyebrows raised, “Yes, Miss Y/L/N, I’m surprised you know me already.”

You raised an eyebrow conspiratorially at him, “I do, your mother was a favorite of my mother’s.  I do wish I had had a chance to meet her.  My mother always spoke fondly of her,” you added, a look of mourning flashing across your face.  “I have a photograph of them together, and you look just like Winifred.”

Bucky’s breath hitched at the mention of his mother.  She had died suddenly a few years ago, taking his father’s cheerfulness with her.  She had been a bright light in the community, always looking out for others and educating the girls in the neighborhood.  He remembered her mentioning your family’s name before as being good people, but nothing concrete that would have made it seem like they were close friends.

“Oh, that’s very kind.  I am sorry I didn’t know they were good friends, but she always spoke highly of your family,” he added politely.

You nodded, your eyes searching his face for a moment.  You then surprised him by reaching your hands out for his.  He quickly met you halfway, reciprocating the greeting so as not to embarrass or reject you.  Your uncle scoffed and excused himself at your actions.  If his dismissal bothered you, you didn’t show it.  A quick glance at your hands and arms revealed that the tattoo peeking out from your sleeve was an elephant with an Indian print inside of its shape.  He could feel the stares on him as you held his hands, stepping closer to him to speak lowly.

“I hope you and your father will accept my deepest condolences.  Losing a mother is…” you trailed off, your eyes growing sad as you searched for the right words, “it is one of the worst things I’ve ever experienced,” you squeezed his fingers.  “I plan to call upon you and your father as well, please promise me you’ll accept?  I’d like to be your friend,” you proclaimed.

Bucky was floored.  It was extremely bold for a woman to ask for friendship outright from a man, and yet you showed no signs of embarrassment or hesitation at the situation you’d just created with him.  He lightly squeezed your fingers back, giving you a small smile.

“Yes, of course, Miss Y/L/N.  I’d love to be your friend, as long as you save me a dance,” he teased her.  He knew he was pushing his luck and protocols of manners, but he was rewarded when you gave him a hearty chuckle.

“Of course, Mr. Barnes,” you answered him, letting go of his hands and lacing yours together in front of you.  

“Oh please, Mr. Barnes is my father.  Friends call me Bucky,” he added.  Although it was incredibly informal to give you the option to call him his nickname, he could tell you were more open to a break in etiquette.

You smiled widely at that, “Hm, Bucky.  I like it.  Well my friends call me Y/N,” you offered him your first name back.

“Y/N,” he repeated, liking the way your name sounded on his tongue.  

You gave him a quick sly smile, “I like your candor Bucky.  Come find me soon for that dance.”

“I will, Y/N,” he gave you a smirk back.

As you bowed your head in farewell and moved on to the next person Bucky couldn’t wipe the smile off his face.  He turned to Steve whose wide eyes were gaping at Bucky in amazement.

“What just happened?” Steve asked once you were out of earshot.  

Bucky shrugged as he picked up a champagne flute from a nearby waiter, “I don’t know, but I like her.”

As the night drew on and you had greeted everyone at least once, the dancing began.  The orchestra and band took turns each song, playing slower European melodies and then switching to more American upbeat tempos.  You flitted across the dance floor, taking short breaks here and there to speak to the groups of women in the room, making small talk and promising audiences and outings.  Bucky was impressed with your ability to charm each person you talked to, ignoring the stares and sideways glances from disapproving eyes and enjoying yourself.  You ate freely, which was also strange, as most women didn’t snack offhandedly in upper class dance settings, and you nursed a champagne flute between each break you took from dancing.

Bucky decided it was time to take you up on that dance, moving through the crowd until he was on the outskirts of the dance floor, waiting for you to finish your current dance with Steve.  You spoke with him as you danced, your laugh ringing out periodically at something he said.  As he watched he felt a hard nudge to his side.

“You’re a real popinjay,” Brock Rumlowe muttered, bumping his shoulder into Bucky.  

Bucky rolled his eyes, not deigning to turn towards him, “And how’s that Rummy?”

“Don’t call me that,” Rumlowe grunted.  He pulled out a small box, opening it to reveal a white powder.  “Tonic?” he offered it to Bucky.

“No,” Bucky scoffed.  

“Your loss,” Rumlowe shrugged, taking a quick sniff before pocketing it so no one would see.  “You think you’re real big stuff, hm?  Getting to hold her hand and get an invite?”  He circled around Bucky’s back.  “You’re nothing,” he spat.  “Here among the high life, you’ve got nothing to offer her, or anybody for that matter.  I wonder if she knows your clothes were bought for you, by your beau Rogers.  Just go home, you mooching, freeloading, indigent bum.”

Bucky breathed deeply to calm himself.  Normally he’d just sock Rumlowe, but not here.  His father would never forgive him.

Rumlowe chuckled at his silence.  “We’ll see who she chooses.  Her uncle’s scouting for suitors.  She’s getting older, needs to marry and hand down that fortune to somebody.  Don’t want a spinster with that much money and a dead womb, such a waste.  I think he likes me,” he added.

Bucky sighed, “A woman with her fortune doesn’t need an elder to decide her future for her, Rummy,” he chided, finally giving him a glance.  “You’ll have to impress her, not the uncle.  And judging from the look on her face after meeting you earlier, I’d say you’re not winning any prizes soon.”

Before Rumlowe could say anything the dance ended, everyone clapping as they separated from their partners.  Steve saw Bucky on the side and led you over to him.  

“Ah, there you are, Bucky!” you chimed, your eyes lighting up.  “I was beginning to think you’d disappeared on me.”

“Never,” he said, placing a hand on his chest in jest.  It made you giggle.  “May I have that dance you promised me earlier?”

“Yes,” you answered, nodding resolutely. 

Bucky offered his arm to you and led you out to the floor, giving Rumlowe a triumphant smile.  Rumlowe gave him a scathing glare then stalked off.  Steve laughed and pumped a proud fist in Bucky’s direction.  As they got into position and the music started Bucky tried his best to look like he knew what he was doing.  He’d had some practice in dancing at other parties, but wasn’t the best at remembering which dances went with which songs.

As you came together and he took your right hand in his left, then wrapped his left hand around your waist, he pulled you in a little closer than he would normally.  Your eyes widened slightly but you smiled easily, letting him guide you across the floor.  

“You’ve come back from some long travels, is that right?” He started the conversation, wanting to learn more about you.

“Yes, I’ve been working my way through Europe, Africa, parts of the Ottoman Empire, and then the East Indies,” you answered.  “After my family passed, I was looking for an escape, so I quite literally ran away from my problems to tour the world.”

Bucky laughed at the forwardness in your answer.  “Well what better way to handle grief than to ignore it?”

You chuckled at his joke, enjoying the fact that he was willing to entertain you and speak plainly without such pretense.  You meant it when you said you enjoyed his candor.  You were looking for someone to not only share your life and fortune with, to create a family, but for someone you would genuinely enjoy spending time with and who would let you live your life without constant chastisement about rules and standards.

“I wouldn’t say ignore it, more like work through it while working through the countries,” you explained.

Bucky’s eyes lit up, “Oh? And what did you find while you were out there?”

Your eyes glazed over slightly as you remembered your travels.  “I found a new god in each place.  Rejection of a god.  A new way of living.  A new way of grieving.  Acceptance,” she trailed off.  

Bucky tightened his hold on you, grounding you back into reality.  You wistfully came back to the present, squeezing his arm that you were holding.  “It was beautiful,” you whispered.

He smiled at your tone.  “It sounds beautiful,” he agreed.  “I would like to see more of the world someday.”

“I hope you do.  It’s good for you,” she smirked at him.

“Is it?” he chuckled again.  He then leaned in and lowered his voice, “If you don’t mind me asking, is that where your tattoo comes from?  The east indies?”

You glanced at the tattoo and nodded.  “Yes, India, it was amazing there.  The air is filled with spices!” you whispered at him, your nose scrunching and eyes narrowing as if you were telling him a secret.  

Bucky had never met a woman like you.  All the etiquette and propriety that everyone else was adhering to you seemed to throw to the wayside.  It was hard to get to know women in society well before courting them, and even then everything was watched by chaperones or the public around you.  Finding someone with a full personality that she was unafraid to boldly show off was new.  He wasn’t sure how to handle it, but he liked it.

“I’ve read about India, my father was always picking up books about far off places.  He loves learning about tropical flora and fauna.  He used to have quite a garden before my mother passed,” Bucky continued the conversation, not wanting to lose the momentum in their interaction.

Your eyes widened considerably.  “Ooh!  I have a greenhouse!  In the back courtyard!  I was able to bring home many tropical plant species, and I’ve had a gardener taking great care of them.  I will show it to you when you and your father come to visit,” you offered excitedly.

The music died down and you both pulled away to give a proper bow.  As you straightened up Bucky quickly took your left hand, and in a quick flourish pulled your glove off your hand and kissed over the knuckle of your ring finger.  There were audible gasps around you at his brashness, whispers and gossip erupting in quiet fervor.  Pulling off a glove was scandalous, seen as a form of undress.  You gasped lightly, a look of shock briefly gracing your features, but you quickly schooled yourself and smiled widely at him.

“Thank you, Y/N, for this dance, and your offer,” Bucky held your bare hand in his for a moment longer, giving you a deep gaze before placing your glove back in your hand.  “I look forward to the greenhouse tour.  My father will be pleased.”

He bowed his head, gave you a wink, then walked away into the crowd.  You stayed still, your right hand sliding over your bare left hand, gingerly touching the knuckle where his lips had been.  A blush filled your cheeks as multiple women surrounded you, giggling, gossiping and fussing over getting your glove back on.

NEW STORY!

Here's something I thought of. I hope you guys like it. I tried to write it as a "You" fic rather than Y/N, but there are a couple of Y/N's here and there for dialogue.

[foxydivaxx]

Gossip Girl Prequel Chapter 5 Snippet

Hello Upper East Siders. Gossip Girl and boy do I have some juicy gossip for you today.

It is the dawn of a new era. Out with the old and in with the new. Dragon Records have finally announced that they have terminated Z’s contract. And their latest signee has been officially unveiled to be GR. From what I know, GR is Z’s mysterious Paris ex.

I can imagine how Z must be feeling now. Imagine being replaced as the top guy by your ex whom may or may not be half as talented as you are and yet the guy is getting that much hype and publicity that everyone has forgotten you exist.

Basically Z is now all washed up. A has been. There is a lot of pressure on him to prove otherwise. Sure those songs he released following the award show incident got plenty of buzz. But he needs more extra oomph. The industry is changing each passing minute so he needs to catch up or set a trend or two otherwise he stands the risk of getting left behind.

That is if he has not chosen to retire. And if he has retired where does he go from here? Is he gonna school here or will they take him to Japan? So much speculation here since Z has chosen to remain silent save for occasional updates from his family and friends, mostly S and SU.

Z hasn’t been posting on social media ever since that incident which is making people worry about his health. Now that this news of his ex has made headlines, his situation has gotten worse. Could this signal the end of the King of the Upper East Side or now that he is a free agent, could this be the moment he breaks his silence?

Now back to S again, how does he feel about all this? Surely he would be pissed about this young upstart trying to steal his bf and would kick his ass right? E would be displeased by this news too and would want to kick his ass as well. SU may be scheming something right now. Who knows?

Still good news for Z and the fam as the verdict is now in their favour. The two divorces have been finalised as his mum has now been publicly humiliated plus she has been jailed for a lot of crimes.

Hold up!! Just got our first sighting of Z and boy does he look different these days. He was spotted with his family at a beach in Japan alongside SU. Compared to his former cute boyish looks, Z is sporting a more matured look. He appears to have cut his hair, now sporting a faux hawk haircut.

The baby fat is not that pronounced this time. The signature Roronoa jawline is becoming more prominent now. Also he looks a lot more muscular now if those hot abs and muscular biceps are any indication. He is sure to break the Internet with these photos.

But perhaps the most noticeable body feature of his, and the one that will make a lot of men and women drool and easily rivals S in a lot of ways, is that ass of his. It is a lot rounder and noticeable. Heck, SU was caught groping and playing with his ass. S is one lucky dude. Considering the fact that both daddy figures are fitness buffs, it seems like their habits are rubbing off on the kid. Some fans have come forward with stories and pictures showing Z, G, SU and one other dude going in and out of the studio.

I guess Z knew how much fans missed and got to work in secret. That can only mean one thing; he has a backup plan in mind. Perhaps Daddy Hawk has something in store for him. And considering the fact SU has been hanging around Z a lot more these days, I have a feeling that we could be getting a boy band or some sort of collaboration.

I can’t wait and see what happens next.

XOXO,

Gossip Girl

[sageglobalresponse]

Who is Eniola Aluko? First African Woman Appointed to Board of Female Football Club in Italy

Eniola Aluko, a Nigerian-born British former sports director for Aston Villa and Angel City in England, has made history by becoming the first African female to make the board of Italy’s female top-flight football club FC Como Women.

Mercury 13, an investment group focused on the development of women’s football clubs, recently finalised its $100 million acquisition by securing a controlling stake in FC Como Women, a team competing in Italy’s Serie A. A consortium led by Victoire Cogevina Reynal, Mario Malave, Eniola Aluko and Women in Football’s Ebru Koksal, the group last year announced plans to acquire women’s soccer clubs across Europe and Latin America.

FC Como Women, currently playing in the top division of Italian women’s football, is located in the picturesque region around Lake Como, known for its affluent residents like George Clooney and Richard Branson. The team plays its home matches in Seregno, approximately 14 miles south of the lake, and attracts an average crowd of 1,700 spectators per game.

Transitioning from her playing career, the Lagos-born has pursued football broadcasting and now ventures into sports ownership with the Mercury 13 group. Her ownership of Como FC not only marks a historic milestone for black women in Italian football but also signals a significant step forward for diversity and representation in sports ownership.

Growing Up

Born in Lagos, Nigeria, Eniola Aluko moved to Birmingham in England when she was six months old, where she developed a passion for football while playing with her brother and his friends. She began her career at Leafield Athletic Ladies before joining Birmingham City Ladies’ youth team, where she made an impactful debut at just 14 years old.

The Mercury 13 group’s commitment to investing in women’s football teams underscores the growing interest and investment in the sport globally. With Eniola Aluko’s leadership, the group aims to build a portfolio of women’s clubs, leveraging the increasing popularity of women’s football to drive growth and development in the sport.

Football Journey

Eni Aluko, who grew up playing football alongside her brother Sone Aluko and his friends, also engaged in other sports like tennis and was a dedicated supporter of Manchester United.

The 37-year-old football journey began at Leafield Athletic Ladies, followed by a stint at the youth team of Birmingham City Ladies under the guidance of manager Marcus Bignot.

Before retiring from professional football in January 2020, Eniola Aluko also provided television commentary on football, including FIFA Men’s and Women’s World Cups.

From Football Punditry to Ownership

Eniola Aluko’s journey from professional player to club owner is a testament to her dedication to football to make a positive impact. As an established figure in the football world, her involvement is expected to elevate the profile of women’s football in Italy and inspire future generations of black sports investors and owners.

She has been a regular broadcaster for live football on ITV, BT Sport, Amazon Prime and Fox Sports in the USA, including men’s Premier League matches and Women’s Super League since 2014. She was the first Sporting Director for Angel City FC in the American National Women’s Soccer League and formerly held the position of Sporting Director at Aston Villa Women’s Football Club from January 2020 to June 2021

The acquisition of FC Como Women by the Mercury 13 group, led by Eniola Aluko, represents a significant milestone in Italian football history.

[bearpillowmonster]

I went to a sit-down restaurant for the first time in- well- years, I guess with my grandma and sister and it became sort of plain to me what I was walking into and how it had changed. It seemed like only the upper echelon could eat there, (and it wasn't like some fancy restaurant, it's a local chain halfway sports bar) but everyone dressed in their golfing attire probably straight off the course, retired without a complaint.

I'm a bit of a stalker when it comes to public settings but it's kind of just me being paranoidly observant. (paranoidly? look at me making new words) but there was one table in particular that I paid attention to because they walked in like they owned the place, I don't think they waited to be seated, just picked a table. They got a waitress and called them back "Miss! Miss! MISS!" then when that wasn't enough had other waiters at their table (I observe, not read lips) and they just had their tentacles everywhere. They knew someone at the bar and started talking them up. They knew a group of women that came in and maybe planned? Because I could've sworn I saw one of the guys switch seats with the guy that came in with the women. (these are grey hair old men, retired age, women 40s-50s).

Obviously the food was expensive even if I wasn't paying but my sandwich was just turkey cheese tomato and coleslaw and it was 10$ so I imagine the other sandwiches that my group had were around the same so about 30$ for the meal. I figure 5$ for drinks since me and my sister got water but oh wait, my sister got a virgin pina colada because it had a toy in it so probably another 10$, she also got dessert which was 7$ and they got a plate of fries which were 9$ so we're already over 60$ without whatever the tip ended up being. I'm not trying to say 'the good ol' days' or anything but I remember eating at Red Robin one time with me, my mom, dad and sister (just one extra person than now) and my dad thought 60$ was excruciating and said he'd never go back. And what screws me up is that if only the upper echelon can go to restaurants now, it was still doing numbers, it wasn't dead at all. I imagine if prices were cheaper, it would be jammed. I just don't get this economy.

[frankkorzo]

Rules for the Blues

(with thanks to Sue McGrath) 1. Most Blues begin, "Woke up this morning."

2. "I got a good woman," is a bad way to begin the Blues, 'less you stick something nasty in the next line, like "I got a good woman with the meanest face in town."

3. The Blues is simple. After you get the first line right, repeat it. Then find something that rhymes ... sort of: "Got a good woman - with the meanest face in town. Got teeth like Margaret Thatcher - and she weigh 500 pound."

4. The Blues are not about choice. You stuck in a ditch: You stuck in a ditch, ain't no way out.

5. Blues cars: Chevys and Cadillacs and broken down trucks. Blues don't travel in Volvos, BMWs, or Sport Utility Vehicles. Most Blues transportation is a Greyhound bus or a southbound train. Jet aircraft and state-sponsored motor pools ain't even in the running. Walkin' plays a major part in the blues lifestyle. So does fixin' to die.

6. Teenagers can't sing the Blues. They ain't fixin to die yet. Adults sing the Blues. In Blues, adulthood means being old enough to get the electric chair if you shoot a man in Memphis.

7. Blues can take place in New York City, but not in Hawaii or any place in Canada. Hard times in St. Paul or Tucson is just depression. Chicago, St.Louis, and Kansas City still the best places to have the Blues. You cannot have the blues in any place that don't get rain.

8. A man with male pattern baldness ain't the blues. A woman with male pattern baldness is. Breaking your leg cuz you skiing is not the blues.

9. Breaking your leg cuz a' alligator be chomping on it is.

10. You can't have no Blues in an office or a shopping mall. The lighting is wrong. Go outside to the parking lot or sit by the dumpster.

11. Good places for the Blues: a) highway b) jailhouse c) empty bed Bad places:  a) Ashrams b) gallery openings c) Ivy League institutions d) golf  courses

12. No one will believe it's the Blues if you wear a suit, 'less you happen to be a' old black man, and you slept in it.

13. Do you have the right to sing the Blues? Yes, if: a) you're older  than dirt b) you're blind c) you shot a man in Memphis d) you can't be satisfied. No, if: a) you have all your teeth b) you were once blind but now can see c) the man in Memphis lived. d) you have a retirement plan or trust fund.

14. Blues is not a matter of color. It's a matter of bad luck. Tiger Woods cannot sing the blues. Gary Coleman could. Ugly white people also got a leg up on the blues.

15. If you ask for water and Baby give you gasoline, it's the Blues. Other acceptable Blues beverages are: a) bad wine b) bad whiskey or bad bourbon c) muddy water d) black coffee. The following are NOT Blues beverages: a) mixed drinks b) kosher wine c) Snapple d) sparkling water

16. If it occurs in a cheap motel or a shotgun shack, it's a Blues death. Stabbed in the back by a jealous lover is another Blues way to die. So is the  electric chair, substance abuse, and dying lonely on a broken down cot. You can't have a Blues death if you die during a tennis match or getting liposuction.

17. Some Blues names for women: a) Sadie b) Big Mama c) Bessie d) Fat River Dumpling Some Blues names for men: a) Joe b) Willie c) Little Willie d) Big Willie Persons with names like Sierra, Sequoia, and Rainbow can't sing the Blues no matter how many men they shoot in Memphis.

18. Make yer own Blues name (starter kit): name of physical infirmity (Blind, Cripple, Lame, etc.)  first name (see above) plus name of fruit (Lemon, Lime, Kiwi, etc.)  last name of President (Jefferson, Johnson, Fillmore, etc.) For example, Blind Lime Jefferson, or Cripple Kiwi Fillmore, etc.

19. I don't care how tragic your life: you own a computer, you cannot  sing the blues. You best destroy it - with fire, a spilled bottle of Mad Dog, or get out a shotgun. Maybe your big woman just done sat on it. I don't  care.

[still-nix-d-goffic]

Saving this beautiful comment from Reddit user Pktrekgirl.

"Exactly. Ann does not need to settle for a creepy old man. A lot of older women are choosing to stay single and just go on cruises with girlfriends and pursue their hobbies, because they don’t want to deal with these kind of guys.

I mean just read this thread! These kinds of guys are everywhere. 60+ year old fat bald guys who are incredibly, all about looks in a woman.

So staying single is what I’ve decided to do. I’m approaching retirement age and am currently single and will probably remain that way. I’m not ‘looking’ but am instead planning my next phase on my own. I would have been okay with a less than perfect looking man. I have always been more about kindness, intellect and sense of humor anyway. ‘Good hair’ is extremely low on my list. Good character is much higher.

But what is out there are a lot of guys like J. So I’ll pass. I have plenty of money which I earned myself. So I will live in my house or maybe scale back to a condo, read, knit, cook, bake, walk in the neighborhood, play with my dogs, do volunteer work, go to shows with girlfriends, and travel by myself or with girlfriends. There are things I want to try; stuff I want to do. And I can do all of these things without a man. So why put myself thru the humiliating meat market mentality these idiots have NEVER outgrown? I mean, for what? Their sparkling intellect? 🙄 So that I can count their pills for them every morning, do their laundry, and clean up after them?

No. I want something better than that. I want a kind and decent companion or nothing. I want someone who reads, can make conversation that occasionally is not about sports, and who is a fundamentally decent soul. Someone who can make me laugh. If I can’t find that, I’ll pass. And not even think twice about it. I will not settle for someone like J.

I have read that older single women are much happier than older single men. We honestly don’t need them. Especially if we have set ourselves up financially.

They need us a lot more than we need them. They are just too stupid to know that. Still thinking with their dicks, after all these years.

Pathetic."

[boiliterallymylife-blog]

USWNT-All Eyes on the Future.

Have you heard of the USWNT? You might have in recent years thanks to their back to back World Cup wins in 2015 and 2019. Their notoriety to bring attention to Women’s sports in both the U.S. and across the world has been cited as the resurgence of interest to help continue to fund females in sports as a whole. Their performances were called captivating and even record breaking. Not only have they brought more eyes to the largest stage in all of female sports, the Women’s World Cup, but they also have set a precedent that the United States should dominate in football going forward with the amount of talent the country produces. That is of course, until the Men’s team lost and also failed to even qualify in 2018 and 2022. Not to compare the two since they both foster very different environments for their team, but the juxtaposition in success the two teams have produced is eye-catching. 

With their upcoming World Cup slated to begin this summer in Australia, the Women’s team will have many eyes on them to see if they can three-peat a World Cup title, a huge feat to boast for all fans of U.S. football. However, with more eyes on them than ever, that means more critics have been drawn to the stage eyeing their every move, waiting for them to falter.

Some articles in recent months have placed a microscope on mistakes the team is making and while some are friendly and suggest what changes they and the fans would like to see, some provide no constructive criticism and just find pleasure in mocking the team This new legacy of championships has placed a huge target on their backs to be taken down as the reigning champions of Women’s football. One article from ESPN brings up many great points about the double edged sword the women's team has been stuck in. Specifically, how they will be criticized if they lose the world cup and how they will be criticized if they win yet again due to “Women’s soccer being bad,” a statement said by many male football fans who have yet to respect the sport. I love the way ESPN brings this up since it almost warns the reader to be ready for only a negative reaction no matter the outcome of their standings. Another great point the article brings up is the shakey nature the team has been hit with recently. It seems that many of the past World Cup winners have retired and besides one or two household names, the team seems to be entirely new young 20-something year old players fresh out of college or even high school. This has placed many skeptics at the forefront of the belief that they will not win due to no veteran on the team to guide the way, like Christie Rampone or Abby Wambach in the past World Cups. 

NBC brings up a great point that even though prior tournaments help the team prepare for a longer, more strenuous tournament,  like the World Cup, there is no accurate representation on how the team will perform until they get on the World’s biggest stage. The article details each player's strengths and weaknesses in a thorough breakdown to help even the casual fan understand why they may not succeed at the tournament this year. It also breaks down what the team might do in every outcome of the World Cup, a format I have not seen for an op-ed of Women’s football. I love the way this article is structured. It has three parts: one for discussing all of the plans the team may have in all scenarios following the World Cup, one for discussing who may be holding the team back or propelling it forward, and one for media examples of what they are doing right according to fans and coaches. This three section article helps break down the team in a great analysis to help any reader understand the situation and want to follow along unlike a wall of text that other articles may follow.

Many girls looked towards their achievements in closing the wage discrimination the Women faced with their low prize money after two World Cup wins. Especially after Title IX, Women’s sports exploded, especially soccer. They could carry many womens on their team, equaling out the male to female ratio of sports players in their schools. Insider makes a great point that after Title IX and the World Cup win in 1999, other countries were not as quick to develop their Women’s soccer programs causing the U.S. to get a head start for the next few years. It seems that this head start has not let up, with the two wins in the 21st century adding an exclamation point to this head start. Women’s leagues overseas started to double their spending in Women’s football leagues. Now will money equal success? Time has yet to tell, but time has shown that other countries are catching up

With all of the support, criticism, and records on the line for this upcoming World Cup, it is no wonder many eyes will be watching to see how the U.S. The Women's National team responds. Now will they falter, or help carry another little girl's dreams to play internationally one day?

[babbushka]

Invitation Only

Bond Villain!Kylo Ren x 007!Reader 

3.5k ; NSFW (69, oral sex (m & f receiving) fingering, come eating, come swallowing, mirror sex, PIV)

Inspired by some prompts requesting masquerade/costume party with BV!K

Available on AO3

                                                  -----------------------

Sometimes, you can’t help but think as you make your way down the grand staircase, being an agent really does pay off.

It’s shockingly easy to sneak into the party, the ball. Because that’s what it is really, a grand costume ball hosted on Halloween. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to slip through the doors, everyone is wearing masks and therefore could be anyone in the world. By that same token, you could be anyone, and for tonight, you relish in the opportunity to be no one; the opportunity to simply enjoy the party, and try to gain some intel for Mi6. There were no attacks planned tonight, no fights – you didn’t even have any guns on you this evening.

No, you were here simply to mingle with the best of the worst; the most powerful criminals, evil villains and masterminds that the world had to offer.

So it should make sense, that you would run into Kylo.

You knew he would be here, of course. In fact, you had almost been counting on it, you had dressed for it. You knew he’d be here, and you knew that he knew you’d be here too, so you made sure to put on your most elaborate ball gown, hair done up to the nines, and of course a beautifully crafted mask tied around your face. You knew he’d appreciate the effort, and that he’d come find you to tell you just how much.

However, you hadn’t expected him to take his time finding you. You’d been at the costume ball for nearly two hours, a martini glass in one hand and a winning smile the only thing keeping you company as you rejected offers for dances from men and women alike. Kylo wouldn’t have been too pleased with that, you smirk to yourself behind your glass, and you weren’t here to cause a scene.

It’s elegant, the party. Set in one of these rich old men’s rich old homes, a castle atop a hill in the south of Germany proudly hosts nearly three hundred guests. Ornate candelabras and chandeliers are lit with the orange glow of candles, there are servants walking around with silver trays of food and drink, the baroque music is played by a lively orchestra, and henchmen and masters alike enjoy the merriment on the dance floor.

You have relocated to the upper level of the ballroom, one hand skimming along the banister railing that prevents guests from toppling down off the balcony which overlooks the dance floor. Eyes cast downward, you search through the group of beautifully organized dancers, trying to find the handsome villain you have come to adore.

When he comes up silently beside you, you grin.

“Are you aware that this party is invitation only?” Kylo muses, his voice deep.

You do not turn to face him, instead captivated by the way the dancers spin and move around one another, choreographed steps that have you itching to join them. Taking a sip of your martini, you smile.

“Who’s to say that I wasn’t invited?” You counter. The both of you know you weren’t invited, but what did it matter? You were here, you weren’t causing any trouble, there was no cause for alarm.

Kylo grins and puts his hand on the railing close to yours. He’s wearing gloves, the same as you are; but where yours are long satin opera gloves that go up to your elbow, his are short made of cotton, white and pristine.

“Finally decided to see the light and join the better side, have you?” He murmurs, voice low in your ear as he steps a little closer to you. He too casts his gaze down to the view below, approvingly.

“Maybe I have, or maybe I wanted an excuse to dress up, we’ll never know.” You shrug, finally turning to look at him.

“It’s a beautiful costume, but I’d much rather see what you’re hiding underneath it all.” He’s all teeth when he grins at you, sinister and handsome beyond belief.

Getting a good look at him, you rake your eyes over his body. He’s usually formal, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him in casual dress, but tonight he has truly taken it up a notch. He’s wearing a white bowtie along with his top hat and tails, his starched shirt handsomely pressed and near blindingly clean. His mask is nothing more than a thin strip of gauzy black fabric over his eyes, and you raise a brow. It does nothing to conceal his identity, unlike the more traditional masquerade mask that you sport.

“Incorrigible.” You swat his shoulder as you link your arm around his, allowing him to lead you away from the banister and down the stairs. “And what are you supposed to be?”

“I’m the tall dark stranger your parents warned you about.” Kylo replies easily, and you bite back a groan at his lines. Kylo is nothing if not dramatic, after all.

“Sorry, is that supposed to impress me?” You reply sarcastically instead, and Kylo chuckles, a low rumble in his chest that blooms into your side from where you’re holding onto him.

“Did it?” He teases.

“No.” You lie, and he only grins again. You’ve missed that smile, even though you’d never let him know that.

“Then no.” He lies right back, and before you can say anything else, he frowns suddenly. “You haven’t danced with anyone all evening.”

That observation doesn’t surprise you, but you feel the need to give him some grief about it anyway. Kylo leads you through the dance floor, the two of you wandering and meandering through joyous couples on the marble tile, careful not to bump into anyone as they spin and bow and step in time to the music.

“Oh so you’ve been watching this whole time, have you.” A waiter passes you by, and you place your empty martini glass onto the tray as he goes, both your hands free for what you hope will be a fun dance. “I wonder why you didn’t come see me sooner.”

Kylo falters for a moment, and that’s a rare sight to see, the sight of him biting the inside of his cheek with nerves.

“I wasn’t sure that you’d want to see me…our last meeting did not end as well as I always hope.” He replies quietly, and you sigh.

The last time you had seen one another was nearly two months ago, an agency helicopter swooping down to pick you up from a rooftop shootout in Spain. Kylo had been the one shooting at you that time, and you back at him.

“I know you missed on purpose.” You shake your head, “You have better aim than that.”

Seemingly appeased, Kylo stops right in the middle of the dance floor and turns to face you fully. The music ends and everyone turns to applaud the orchestra. That had been a short dance, so they do not take a break, the conductor murmuring to her musicians and telling them of the next piece.

“Dance with me, just one dance.” Kylo bows deeply before you, and offers a hand.

You do not hesitate to take it.

This piece is slower, much slower. It is heavily piano based, as opposed to the lively strings of the previous music, and you can’t help but wonder if Kylo planned it this way. The crowd thins a little as well, those who had tired themselves out while dancing their hearts away retiring to the sidelines for a new crop of villains to take the floor.

Kylo’s hand is on yours, his other tucked behind his back as you both follow along with the dance. Kylo has always been elegant in his own way, in everything he does, and the dancing is no different. In fact, as the strings begin to swell along with the piano, you feel as though you’re the only two people in the entire castle. You look into his eyes through his thin mask, and he stares into yours, and that is it, it is just the two of you.

Candles glow all around you as you and Kylo walk around one another, as he holds your hand and bows to you, as he never keeps his eyes off of you. In the back of your mind, you know that everyone is watching you. You, the mysterious woman who has shown up to this party, dancing with one of the most notorious and dangerous criminals among them. Who were you to have won his attention? Oh, if only they knew.

“You’re very good at this.” You say softly, so that only he can hear.

“I’ve been practicing.” He admits readily, and you let out a little laugh at that, at the image of him roping one of the Knights of Ren into dancing with him again and again. They’re good sports, supportive of their master, you wonder if they’re here tonight on the dance floor elsewhere, showing off the moves they have had to learn.

“Now that does impress me.” You smile, and he beams.

The piece comes to an end a few minutes later, minutes spent gazing lovingly into one another’s eyes, quirked shy smiles and affectionate squeezes of hands. Once again, like with every other time you’re with Kylo, he doesn’t feel like an enemy. You don’t feel like you’re surrounded by people who want to kill you, you feel…accepted, welcomed, warm.

Those are dangerous feelings for an agent to have about her target, but you have them nonetheless.

“Shall we get out of here?” Kylo asks you discreetly as you applaud the orchestra once the music ends.

You nod, having hoped that the evening would take this turn.

 The room he brings you to is lavish, luxurious, gorgeous. It looks as though it’s never been modernized from the time the castle was built, whenever that must have been. A great big canopy bed takes up the majority of the room, red velvet drapes with golden ropes holding them open framing the mattress. You hardly have any time to look at anything else, before Kylo is taking you by the hand and bringing you to it.

You step out of your shoes and follow him, his hands frantically searching for the zipper, the button, the clasps anything that will get you out of these clothes and into his arms, and you laugh fondly at his enthusiasm. He’s so enthusiastic in fact, that he drops down to his knees and crawls underneath your giant skirt, his hands working to unclip your garters, to pull your stockings down, to mouth at your pussy through your underwear.

“Kylo!” You gasp and laugh at how bold he is, “Get up here.”

“Naked, I want you naked. There’s too many layers.” He growls, doing as he’s told. You reach behind yourself for the hidden zipper, and when Kylo finds it too, he gives it a hard yank.

“Don’t you dare rip this dress or I’ll gouge your fucking eyes out.” You snap when the dress protests with a creak, and Kylo only moans.

“I love it when you talk dirty to me baby.” Releasing your dress, his hands instead cup your throat, your cheek, as he kisses you sloppy hot and wet.

You kiss him back, unzipping the gown and letting it fall down your body. You remove your undergarments quickly as he kisses you still, his mouth insistent upon yours, his tongue firm and slick as it slides against your teeth. He’s still fully clothed, and he scowls about it, breaking away to begin shedding clothing of his own.

While he does that, you take the opportunity to climb up onto the bed. It’s massive, it feels like there could be five people fitting easily here, and it is so plush that you sink into it with a pleased hum. A fireplace crackles and snaps across the room, and though you’re naked in this big castle, you’re warm. Even warmer still, when Kylo’s naked body joins you on the mattress and pulls you tight against him.

He’s achingly hard, you can feel his cock brush against your thigh as he kisses you some more, touches you. His hand drifts down between your legs and he dips his fingers into the folds of you pussy, massaging and encouraging your cunt to drip all over him. You reach to do the same for him, but he shakes his head, kisses your jaw.

“Let me eat your pussy, I’ve been thinking about it for months baby, please.” He whispers, and you find that you would rather die than deny him.

“How do you want me?” You reply straight away, and he sucks in a breath, excited, eager, rife with anticipation.

“Sit on my face, right here.” He manhandles you a little until you get the hint, straddling his head, your knees on either side of his ears. He’s got you facing away from him, and hanging up on the wall is a grand ornate mirror in a gilded gold frame. Maybe he doesn’t notice, but you do, as he sighs and licks into you with an, “Attagirl.”

Your pussy throbs around his tongue, his fingers. He keeps two in you, rubbing at the front of your walls, thrusting in and out slowly while he licks and sucks at your cunt. Your nipples stiffen at once, and your hands come up to cup your breasts and give them a squeeze, the sensation going straight to your clit.

“Fuck,” You moan, “Fuck that’s good, Kylo,”

It’d been so long since you’d been pleasured like this, since you’ve had his nose prodding up into you, his fingers curling and crooking inside your body, stretching you, opening you up for what you’re sure will be the fucking of a lifetime when this is done.

You ride his face, hips moving of their own accord, wanting more, seeking more. You stare at your reflection, watch as you rise and lower yourself onto his tongue, how your pussy drools and soaks his chin, how he swallows it down with groans and hums and sighs of his own. You look up, there is a mirror there too, you wonder if Kylo’s able to see himself eating your cunt like this, or if his eyes are shut with pleasure.

“Your dick’s drooling for me.” You manage to sigh, “Let me take care of you Kylo.”

His thighs twitch and his knees bend, hips pushing up at the insinuation. He doesn’t stop licking sucking biting kissing fingering your pussy as you shift yourself forward so you can grasp the shaft of his cock with one hand and wrap your lips around the head that’s oozing pre-come just for you.

“Mmm!” Kylo chokes on your pussy with the first hard suck you give his cock, and you both laugh through it, laughter that turns to moans as he fingers you harder, eats you out faster, a challenge.

You’ve never been one to back down from anything, and you don’t plan on backing down from this. You hollow out your cheeks and work him down down down your throat, until your nose nestles in the thick black patch of hair, your neck bulging out from where you’ve managed to fit nearly all of him.

Bobbing your head, your hands wind around his thighs and stroke at his calves, teasing touches that have him gasping as he buries his face in your pussy.

“Fuck – baby – I’m gonna -- !” Kylo moans and grunts into your pussy as he thrusts his hips up and fucks your throat, wishing he had a hand in your hair to keep your head down, keep you steady.

You pull off him quickly so you don’t choke, just as his come spurts from the head of his cock, landing all over his stomach, the hard firm muscle twitching as you jerk him off, stroking every last drop you can squeeze out.

“God you’re good to me.” Kylo grunts, nearly blacking out when you lean down to lick away some of his come, the flat of your tongue scooping it up off his skin and swallowing it. He smacks your thigh playfully for the effort, makes you whine.

“Fuck it into me,” Your voice is raw, used, but you reach for one of his hands and guide it to the pool of come on his abs. “Make me come on yours, mix it together.”

Kylo does as he’s told, moans into your cunt as he smears his fingers through his own come and pushes them into you, coating your insides with it. He thrusts his fingers hard and fast, until you’re riding his face in earnest to meet his pace, watching through lidded eyes in the mirror as your tits bounce and your body sweats on top of his.

When you come, you drench Kylo’s face, and the slurping sounds that come from his mouth as he swallows you down have you coming even harder, until you’re shaking, thighs trembling, and you have to be moved by him to lay on your side.

“Holy shit I missed this.” You laugh, delirious with bliss, and Kylo only hums in agreement, his cock still hard.

He doesn’t reply, instead shuffling down a little to worry one of your nipples between his lips, his arms wrapping around your middle tight. You sling a leg over his hip and card your fingers through his hair as he kisses and licks at your breasts, the both of you trying to catch you breath, shocks of pleasure rippling through your nerves.

After a while, Kylo’s breathing evens out so much, that you’re not entirely sure he hasn’t fallen asleep with your tits in his mouth. You gently tug on one of his ears and he groans, the kind of groan deep in his chest that only confirms you were right.

“We can’t stay here Kylo, someone will surely find us.” You say regrettably, still very aware of the masquerade ball which continues on downstairs. Music is playing, people are talking and laughing, all of those sounds come seeping back into your consciousness as the post-orgasm glow fades from your mind.  

“If they do I will simply tell them to fuck off.” Kylo only holds you tight, nuzzles his face further into your cleavage.

“I know you think you can do whatever you’d like but really don’t you think that’s in poor taste?” You chuckle, amused, twirling pieces of his long dark hair around your finger and giving them a little playful yank.

“Why should it be? This is my castle.” Kylo suddenly is invigorated, and your eyebrows shoot up as he rolls you over so that you’re lying on your back.

Your legs fall open for him, and he easily works his cock into your stretched and relaxed cunt, pussy giving way to him happily, easily. He doesn’t thrust, just holds himself there, holds himself above you as realization dawns across your face.

“…This is yours?” You blink, wondering how you had never known before, wondering just how many other lairs he had.

“Of course.” Kylo leans down to kiss your throat, your jaw, nibbling at your ear. “I threw this party. I wanted to see you.”

Of all the dramatic, theatrical, over the top schemes! You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head and covering your face with embarrassment that you had fallen for such a thing. Surely he knew by now that he could just call you, he didn’t have to go planning something so elaborate.

But – then again, this was Kylo.

Yes he did.

“I hate you.” You grin, and Kylo only takes the opportunity to start moving his hips in earnest, to start fucking you with that never ending stamina he seems to have whenever you’re around, and you laugh, filled with bliss and pleasure as he corrals your legs around his waist, one pushing up his shoulder to get a deeper angle, making you gasp out, “I hate you so much!”

Kylo only grins right back at you, those crooked teeth wanting nothing more than to dig into your flesh, to leave their marks, their bruises in your skin as your mouth falls open and your back arches into his touch. You’re watching yourself through the mirror on the ceiling, and you think that this is a good look, you spread out on the bed under him.

Kylo can tell you’re thinking too hard, and that won’t do, not for this evening. In the morning you can both deal with the fact that you’ve gathered absolutely no intel, that you’re an agent, that you’re the agent – but for now, for now Kylo kisses you, and smiles against your lips as you moan around his cock, and whispers against your tongue,

“Why don’t you close your eyes and hate me some more?”

And you do, except that you don’t.

In fact, you’re sure that after tonight, you’ll never be able to hate him again.

[baby-grayson]

Okay but like how did gray and ness meet??

Grayson and Vanessa met during the first few days of Vanessa’s college experience, at the Student Activities Fair. She was walking around the campus green, while Dynamite by BTS filled the air and blared through speakers. The green was filled with people brushing by each other as they went from one booth to the next. College freshman excitedly chatted with club presidents and sports captains as people handed out flyers, pins, and t-shirts.

Vanessa strolled from booth to booth accompanied by her first-year roommate, Samantha. Samantha and Vanessa were acquaintances in high school that spent most of their first few months in college attached at the hip, until they were each comfortable enough with their own group of friends. Vanessa and Samantha sipped on smoothies from the Vegan club while moving through the fair. Vanessa pretended to be interested in a sorority for long enough to get cotton candy from them.

Samantha stopped by the dance team, leaving Vanessa to stand awkwardly next to her and listen to questions about rehearsals and auditions. At this point, Vanessa was still uncomfortable with her forced retirement from softball: something about being around athletic, buzzing young women triggered a cramped feeling in her. She peered around, biting her lip. The dance team’s booth was situated on the West end of the green, surrounded by the women’s basketball team, soccer team, the football team, and the co-ed diving team. She grabbed her forearm with her opposite hand and scrunched her mouth, desperately waiting for Samantha to finish while basketballs and game chants filled the air around her.

Vanessa’s wish was granted when a football came hurtling out of the sky and collided with Samantha’s nose. Samantha fell back onto the ground, while everyone in the nearby area looked across the green to see where the football came from. From a few feet away, Ethan and Grayson came jogging over with apologetic faces. The dance team captain helped Samantha on her feet while a stream of blood started pouring from her left nostril.

“I’m so sorry!” Ethan’s voice boomed over the group of girls.

The group quickly filled with voices asking if she was okay, if she was in pain, if she needed a doctor. Ethan tried to catch Samantha’s eye for long enough to apologize substantially. Grayson awkwardly stood a few feet behind his brother: partially not wanting to make the chaotic scene more hectic, and partially taken Vanessa who was standing next to Samantha and offering a tissue to help with the nosebleed. When one of the dance team members yelled that she was a nursing major and pushed her way to the front of the group, Vanessa took a step back to give Samantha some much needed air. She faltered, nearly tripped and landing on the booth. When she looked down, she found the football on the floor. She bent down to pick it up and launched it in Grayson’s direction.

“You’ve got a good arm,” he complimented with a lopsided smile.

“He’s got bad aim,” she responded flatly.

Grayson’s mouth folded into an amused smirk while Vanessa turned back to see Ethan offering to carry Samantha to health services. Vanessa rolled her eyes and was nearly shocked to see Samantha take the offer. Vanessa wondered when a broken nose meant that someone couldn’t walk but she answered her own question when she noticed Ethan’s good looks.

“I’ll walk her over,” Vanessa announced in an exhausted tone.

“No, I should go with you,” Ethan spoke to Samantha, nearly drooling over her pretty blue eyes. Samantha nodded and started walking beside Ethan, not looking back to see Vanessa and Grayson trailing them.

Vanessa, Ethan, and Grayson stood awkwardly in the corner of the nurse’s office while Samantha winced when the nurse pushed a cotton tube up her nose. The nurse pulled Samantha’s eyelids down and shined a pen light inside of them, checking for a concussion but not finding anything abnormal. The nurse released Samantha with a plastic bag full of cotton tubes and no note to get out of classes, despite Samantha’s consistent whining.

“I’m so sorry,” Ethan said, starting to sound like a broken record, “I wish I could do something to make you feel better.” He opened the door for Samantha to leave health services but closed it before Grayson could step outside. Grayson pushed the door open for Vanessa, she muttered a few words of thanks before picking up her pace to catch up with Ethan and Samantha.

She caught up with the pair at the same moment that Ethan offered, “Hey um if it would help you feel better, maybe I could take you out? To Pop’s tomorrow night?”

Samantha giggled and twirled her hair around a finger, trying to look cute but not managing it with a tampon in her nostril, “That sounds great.”

Vanessa tried to suppress a chortle, but Grayson caught the sound coming out of her mouth, paying much more attention to her than the scene of Ethan asking Samantha on a date. “What’s so funny?”

“He’s ridiculous,” Vanessa whispered, “As if a nurse’s office is the place to ask someone on a date.” She rolled her eyes and stepped forward, not noticing Grayson deflate slightly as she discouraged his own plans of asking her on a date.

For the following few months, Grayson was a peripheral friend to Vanessa. He was always around, a friendly face in the background during football parties, where Ethan wore Samantha on his arm like a shiny bracelet. Vanessa would fit a comfortable seat on an armchair and snack on a bowl of chips while SportsCenter played on the television. In the rate moment that she had a comment on the game, she would toss it in Grayson’s direction because during this time he and Ethan were the only team members she knew. She appreciated that he would laugh, even when her jokes weren’t funny. She thought he was bringing friendly, trying to include her in an already established group of friends. He laughed because he knew it would coax a smile on her lips, and the image made his heart glow warmly.

By the time the autumn leaves had turned from green to a faint yellow, nearly ready to start their descent before winter, Ethan and Samantha broke up. The reason behind their split is highly contested: she would tell you it was because his schedule was too demanding, he would tell you it was because she asked too much of him. Either way, Samantha spent the rest of that semester cursing Ethan’s name and whispering rude things about him when she spotted him on the opposite side of the dining hall.

From that point, Grayson and Vanessa only saw each other in passing glimpses while walking to class. He would smile, wave, and say “Hi” even when he was rushing to get to class. Some days, she would reciprocate. Others, she would make a passive smile and continue her way. Grayson felt uncomfortable with how much her response would dictate his mood for the next few hours.

After Ethan and Samantha broke up, the next time they spent an extended period together was the day of the Homecoming game in early October. Vanessa pulled on a sweatshirt with the school’s logo and squeezed into the stands with a small group of friends, with Samantha on the end chattering about Ethan’s attitude and nerve. Vanessa tried to tune out Samantha’s rant and pay attention to the game, standing to cheer and yell. She laughed, joking with her friends about men in tight pants and talking about if a tackle could be a sexual move (which Grayson later proved to be true during their relationship).

The group of freshmen hadn’t planned on going to any homecoming parties after the game. In fact, they hadn’t been invited to any. But when Grayson made the game winning play, pulling a Hail Mary and saving the entire team from defeat, the crowd erupted in cheers and chants. Vanessa and her friends were ushered to a party in an apartment building that was covered in streamers, balloons, and kegs. The air smelled like cheap beer and victory. The positivity was so infectious that even Samantha snapped out of her bitter demeaner. There was something electric in the air that night.

That electricity sparked from Grayson’s fingertips when Ethan and Tucker carried him in on their shoulders. He felt like a king, sitting on a throne and looking down at a celebration that felt like it was just for him. He launched down and was surrounded by screams and pats on the back as men with painted chests stood on dusty old couches to scream his name. Everything in the room stopped when his eyes found Vanessa: like some existential being picked his most confident moment to deliver unto him the beautiful girl who had taken life in his dreams. The electricity bursted from within him and he felt it on his lips when he reached forward to cup her face and leaned in to kiss her.

The room erupted in cheers and wolf whistles. Apart from Ethan, no one knew about Grayson’s crush on Vanessa. But they were still more than excited to see the man of the night make a daring play on a beautiful girl.

No one was more excited than Grayson, who felt like he was on top of the world when he realized that she did not shy away: in fact, she leaned into him to kiss back. And when she pulled back, she bit her lip to stop herself from grinning while she looked up at him. He grinned wider than anything. That night, she was his greatest victory.

[jafreitag]

Grateful Dead Monthly: Gaelic Park – New York, NY 8/26/71

Fifty years ago today, on Thursday, August 26, 1971, the Grateful Dead played a concert at Gaelic Park in New York City.

Gaelic Park is located at West 240th Street and Broadway, five miles north and east of Yankee Stadium, in the Bronx. In 1926, the Gaelic Athletic Association purchased it to host the Gaelic Games. What are Gaelic Games? I’m a sliver Irish (just learned that a few years ago from a cousin who did some DNA stuff), but I didn’t know about such games until I asked the Google machine. Here you go, from the Wiki:

“Gaelic games (Irish: Cluichí Gaelacha) are sports played in Ireland under the auspices of the Gaelic Athletic Association (GAA). They include Gaelic football, hurling, Gaelic handball and rounders. Women’s versions of hurling and football are also played: camogie, organised by the Camogie Association of Ireland, and ladies’ Gaelic football, organised by the Ladies’ Gaelic Football Association. While women’s versions are not organised by the GAA (with the exception of handball, where men’s and women’s handball competitions are both organised by the GAA Handball organisation), they are closely associated with it.”

Some to unpack there. What’s Gaelic football? It’s basically rugby. (The rules are probably way different, but this is a music blog, so don’t judge.) And hurling? Rugby with a small ball and sticks that look like sporty pizza paddles. (Again, don’t judge.) Gaelic handball? Racquetball, except you use your hands and you’re outside, not in some bougie health club from the ’80s. Finally, rounders? It’s actually alot like baseball. Pretty cool.

Why were the Dead there? A 9/2/71 piece in the Village Voice by Carman Moore, now archived on the Grateful Dead Sources blog, said that Gotham promoter Howard Stein, a Bill Graham competitor who booked the Dead to play at the Cap Theater in Port Chester, NY and the Academy of Music in NYC, had turned “the drab little Riverdale soccer field … into a summer rock mini-festival.” (Check out the poster above.) Moore’s writing has an early-70s sizzle, and he refers to his colleague, now-legendary rock scribe Robert Christgau. Here’s an excerpt:

“Last week’s Grateful Dead concert up at Gaelic Park was a usual Dead session, meaning that the band-to-fan-to-band electro-chemical process for which rock music is famed was on like high mass at Easter. Although I think I know most of the time what they are doing musically (Christgau will like this notion); I don’t quite understand them electro-chemically. Like the New York Knicks of two seasons ago, they can do excellent things together though they are not a group of deathless superstars. Garcia gets his songs across, but he can’t sing, and Bob Weir’s voice rises to about average…maybe better when he gets to screaming and the music sweeps him along. I still find it difficult to recognize the Dead songs that aren’t “Truckin'” or “St. Stephen” one from the other. I am not one of their fans, but seem to be one of their admirers. Their music speaks in a special language to their live listeners, and that language has the vocabulary of everybody else, but a convoluted syntax all its own. The note sequences are not completely dependent upon musical factors but are also dictated by how involved the band feels and also upon what kind of heat the audience is giving off. I’m trying to get to some essences of this thing.

The drama of a Dead concert revolves around the fact that wherever the band plays they know that a certain number (several tons) of their partisans will be there and that their crowd knows the Dead potential to excite them, but they also know that the Dead may not get into gear until the crowd begins to apply some heat, and so forth. Both parties also know that the concert will be long enough and informal enough for anything to happen on either side of the footlights, and so audiences improvise (smoke, go to the hot dog stand, kiss and snuggle, cheer, dance, listen like star-struck fools) just like their musician friends on stage (who play light and funny for awhile, retire backstage awhile, stand around, or get lost in a piece and turn on the heavy jets). Like good lovers, the Grateful Dead know the secrets of good foreplay, taking your time, surprising the partner for awhile, and then just reacting for a spell.”

The timing of the show seems odd. The band was on the East Coast in July, but began August back in Cali – LA, SD, Berkeley – before a three-night run at Chicago’s historic Auditorium Theater. Then they trekked back to NYC. Our resident Deaditor ECM explains that aspect: “This show was supposed to be played the day before the Yale Bowl concert on July 30, but some issues with the equipment trucks and/or weather prevented it from happening from the scheduled date. There are a few stories on the web about people who didn’t get the message (no twitter back then!) and dropped some acid only to show up to an empty stadium. Haha!”

Moore said that the show reminded him of “a high school stadium I used to know – low stands, unfulfilled infield grass, mud holes here and there, beer sold at one end in some quantity.” He continued:

“The formal shape of the concert was a general crescendo, light at the beginning and heavy-groovy at the end – not a shooting-star, call-the-law finale, just a heightened physical-emotional climate…the goods delivered as promised…sort of like good preaching in a church known to be a happy place. I did not enjoy their country-westernish opening tunes; maybe they didn’t either, because the pieces were awfully short. But by the three-quarter mark they had involved themselves, the crowd, and me too.

First they got the rhythm engaged and finally, courtesy of Jerry Garcia’s lead and interplays with Lesh and Weir, they went into the soloing and jamming which are the real magic music territory of this band. Much is made of the Dead soloists, but it became clear to me by last Thursday that bassist Phil Lesh plus those two drummers create the atmosphere that makes the Dead thing possible. The drummers were exceptionally understated, but Lesh kept bopping and thrumming away, heavily at all times, until his patterns were consistently getting the other players off. In the middle of “St. Stephen” there was a special coming together: Lesh had found a nice ambiguous but compelling set of licks; Garcia eased into a solo; Weir strummed a cross-time lick over all of it; it built; it quieted; Garcia started to play strange classical kind of lines; the drums dropped out; the audience got quiet; nothing at all could be predicted for a minute or so; then Lesh began to grope his way out with two chords and rhythms which began to regularize; audience began to jump and then to clap; guitars began to straighten out; the band came home to the cheers of the fans. Good music-making. The listener goes home without a little tune to whistle, but he hears music. As if they were finishing off some personal solos based over the last riffs heard, the fans went out of Gaelic Park without a thousand encores and without a lot of fuss on the streets outside.

It’s all very interesting, surprising, and I guess mystifying as before. All I know is that the Dead, or their fans, or the combination of both lure you into planning to return when they’re all assembled and back in town again.”

Apparently, there was some grief about bootlegs at this show. The GD Sources blog has a post that archives a 10/6/71 piece by the excellently-handled Basho Katzenjammer (Basho, the 17th Century Japanese haiku master; Katzenjammer, the German word for hangover) that gripes about an army of 200# “muscle freaks” at the direction of tour manager Sam Cutler liberating a handful of tapes from 100# weakling Johnny Lee. It’s a truly fun read. An excerpt:

“The biggest piece of shit spewing from Cutler’s mouth is about the reasons the Dead have for being so pissed off: they don’t like the quality (remember Garcia’s line in “I Got No Chance of Losin”? He says, “I’m only in it for the gold.” Yeah, music has a way of being more honest than the artist intends it to be at times…) The “quality”? Anyone who has bought a bootleg recently will know and agree that the bootleg stereo album called “Grateful Dead” is one of the best underground products yet. The tape was taken from a concert the group did at Winterland, on the coast a few months back. Yeah, Garcia fucks up a bit on “Casey Jones,” and Pigpen’s ego may have been deflated a bit by his voice coming over poorly on “Good Loving” but that was a concert. You do a concert and you stand by your performance, good or bad. That’s show business.

This effete artistic bullshit doesn’t matter anyway … When you’re out to get all the money you can out of your gigs, like the Dead seem to be (like all the groups seem to be) you might be accused of being a bit piggish; when you use strong-arm shit to insure that you get every last penny that you deserve — by making Amerikan standards — you are a Pig. Jerry Garcia, is that you?

Nobody buys that anti-bootleg shit about the artistic integrity of the artist in saying what goes out. One, you stand by your performance; two, even if you don’t want to, Jerry, somewhat, and say “all your private property is fair game for your brothers (especially when they sell records of concerts that don’t compete with coming releases) and your brother (who’s gonna continue to dig you as we live off your comets we’re gonna keep ripping you off because it is possible. As simple as that.” If you and Cutler and Stein continue your shit, though, we’ll just have to sing the song the same old way, you guys being put in the position of being the same old reactionary establishment that we’re all ripping off. It’s all around. You break your back playing gigs for ten years and suddenly success is staring you in the face. Bread: lots and lots of bread. You turn your back on your poor, ripping ’em off roots and start to tighten up. You’re in the biggest rip-off industry around, but no one cares as long as they’re having fun.

Money. That’s the whole story, isn’t it? If these were other times, in another land under a different set of rules maybe you could justifiably complain about the people who want to give your recorded performances out free because you didn’t screen them and pick out the sections you didn’t like and do them over for the cat, ’cause no one charges for their music, and because the means of production belong to the people, and they can turn out all the good sounds they can, and you have a natural right to screen all releases. But we’re here. Now. You guys are making millions — or soon will be. Money is power, especially as the concept of money is crumbling nation-wide and power freaks like Stein are cornering the market on it. The channels that the green-power the Dead bring in travel aren’t the healthiest for the generations of revolution to come. Stein is one of these hopeful images of a freak with a chance to change things positively gone sour, who uses all his power to consolidate his power; who’ll go to any extremes to insure the natural expansion of that power. Fuck him. Fuck you.”

Speak, Basho! Quaint that the beef about bootlegs back then was sound quality, rather than copyright. Stuff got figured out at some point, I think. Like when Bobby shut down the LMA, lmao.

Ed featured part of this show in the 2016 edition of his epcot 31 Days of Dead project. Here are his listening notes, which are typically spot-on (and better than than the not-quite-on-the-bus commentary from Mr. Moore): 

“Less than three weeks after Pigpen’s definitive performance of Hard To Handle at the Hollywood Palladium (8/6/71), the Grateful Dead play the final date of their summer tour in 1971 at Gaelic Park in the Bronx. It will be Pig’s last show until December and the last time the band will ever perform in their original quintet configuration of Jerry, Phil, Pig, Billy and Bobby. By September, Keith will be rehearsing with the band to assume a full-time role on the keys. Perhaps anticipating his absence, Pigpen leads the band through 6 of his songs including the rarely-played Empty Pages and the last Hard To Handle. It is also one of the last performances of Saint Stephen, until the band revived it in 1976 with a major facelift, never to be played the same way again. When you consider these historical milestones along with the departure of Mickey Hart and the closings of the legendary Fillmore East and West earlier in the year it makes you realize that this concert carried a little more weight than anyone could have ever foreseen at the time. It truly was the end of a chapter in the life of the Grateful Dead. As you listen to each song you can’t help but feel a certain degree of nostalgia.

For me, the hidden gem of the show is the outstanding version of Uncle Johns Band. Jerry’s first guitar solo is an absolute joy to hear. His notes sing with irresistible melody and happy sunshine which perfectly capture the nostalgia of those carefree early years. If you listen closely you can hear Pigpen playing the wood claves.”

Speaking of Pig, this show features the second and final performance of Empty Pages. The NYS Music blog, which has a nice write-up of this show, describes it as a McKernan original that “pairs his traditional crooning style with a slow blues jam that’s nicely peppered with fiery guitar licks from Garcia. It’s a true rarity and a shame that the band wouldn’t be able to further develop this one.”

I feel like this was a try-hard post. It might be tl;dr, idk. Here’s the true goodness…

Transport to the Charlie Miller remaster of the soundboard recording HERE.

More soon.

JF

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[foxydivaxx]

Gossip Girl AU Prequel: Z After Dark Chapter 5

Hello Upper East Siders. Gossip Girl here and boy do I have some juicy gossip for you today.

It is the dawn of a new era. Out with the old and in with the new. Dragon Records have finally announced that they have terminated Z’s contract. And their latest signee has been officially unveiled to be GR. From what I know, GR is Z’s mysterious Paris ex.

I can imagine how Z must be feeling now. Imagine being replaced as the top guy by your ex whom may or may not be half as talented as you are and yet the guy is getting that much hype and publicity that everyone has forgotten you exist.

Basically Z is now all washed up. A has been. Or at least that’s what people are saying because truth be told, does his ex even have talent. There is a lot of pressure on him to prove otherwise. Sure those songs he released following the award show incident got plenty of buzz. But he needs more extra oomph. The industry is changing each passing minute so he needs to catch up or set a trend or two otherwise he stands the risk of getting left behind.

That is if he has not chosen to retire. And if he has retired where does he go from here? Is he gonna school here or will they take him to Japan? So much speculation here since Z has chosen to remain silent save for occasional updates from his family and friends, mostly S and SU.

Z hasn’t been posting on social media ever since that incident which is making people worry about his health. Now that this news of his ex has made headlines, his situation has gotten worse. Could this signal the end of the King of the Upper East Side or now that he is a free agent, could this be the moment he breaks his silence?

Now back to S again, how does he feel about all this? Surely he would be pissed about this young upstart trying to steal his bf and would kick his ass right? E would be displeased by this news too and would want to kick his ass as well. SU may be scheming something right now. Who knows?

Still good news for Z and the fam as the verdict is now in their favour. The two divorces have been finalised as his mum has now been publicly humiliated plus she has been jailed for a lot of crimes.

Hold up!! Just got our first sighting of Z and boy does he look different these days. He was spotted with his family at a beach in Japan alongside SU. Compared to his former cute boyish looks, Z is sporting a more matured look. He appears to have cut his hair, now sporting a faux hawk haircut.

The baby fat is not that pronounced this time. The signature Roronoa jawline is becoming more prominent now. Also he looks a lot more muscular now if those hot abs and muscular biceps are any indication. He is sure to break the Internet with these photos.

But perhaps the most noticeable body feature of his, and the one that will make a lot of men and women drool and easily rivals S in a lot of ways, is that ass of his. It is a lot rounder and noticeable. Heck, SU was caught groping and playing with his ass. S is one lucky dude. Considering the fact that both daddy figures are fitness buffs, it seems like their habits are rubbing off on the kid. Some fans have come forward with stories and pictures showing Z, G, SU and one other dude going in and out of the studio.

I guess Z knew how much fans missed and got to work in secret. That can only mean one thing; he has a backup plan in mind. Perhaps Daddy Hawk has something in store for him. And considering the fact SU has been hanging around Z a lot more these days, I have a feeling that we could be getting a boy band or some sort of collaboration.

I can’t wait and see what happens next.

XOXO,

Gossip Girl

Zoro lounges on the bed, eagerly anticipating Sanji’s response to his cheeky thirst trap. Feeling mischievous tonight, he waits with glee for Sanji's reaction. The internet practically exploded when photos of him at the beach, sporting a brand new look, resurfaced.

Deciding to give the fans something to talk about, he breaks his silence and obliges their curiosity. Aware of Griffith’s signing to his former label—a petty and desperate move, in Zoro's opinion—he refuses to quietly accept defeat. Instead, he quietly restrategizes, determined to reclaim the spotlight.

Recently, he's been hitting the gym more, surprised by his newfound attractiveness. While he used to dislike being the center of attention, he now relishes it, reveling in the adoration from fans and the envy of haters. He's set on making his detractors eat their words, asserting his place as the King of the Upper East Side.

He'd had enough of being nice. This time, everyone who had ever wronged him - starting with the treacherous Sesshomaru and his deceitful ex, Griffith - would face his wrath. His sharp tiger claws weren't just for show; he was ready to unleash his fury. The Upper East Side was in for a brutal reckoning, and payback would be a living hell.

Behind the scenes, Boa, Arashi, and Mihawk have been strategizing with industry insiders on Zoro's behalf. He's done with conventional projects and seeks something edgier, forcing himself out of his comfort zone. Taking it one step at a time, he's careful to keep his plans under wraps, knowing the challenge of dodging Gossip Girl's prying eyes.

Zoro's trip to Japan serves multiple purposes: reconnecting with his Japanese roots and escaping American drama. Collaborating with Grimmjow,Sukuna and reconnecting with old friend Sasuke Uchiha, they find themselves recording numerous tracks together. Could a band formation be in the cards? Only time will tell.

With no rush to release an album, Zoro plans to take his time, embracing risk and forging his own path. As his phone rings, he answers with a devious smirk, knowing exactly who it is on the other end.

“You asshole!! Do you intend to kill me?!” Sanji's voice echoes through the phone.

Zoro chuckles, admitting that his recent selfie shattered his innocent image. “Maybe that was the intention.”

“Geez Marimo!! You look….”

“Sexy?”

“Yes!!”

“I am done being a little boy. I am done playing nice, babe. Now we are in a new era. Gotta let them know.”

“You do realize that is a huge risk. You taking the sexy route?”

“You are one to talk. You and that sexy ass that you jiggle a lot.”

“Pfft….you fucking like it and keep fantasizing about plowing your dick into my ass!! Now to the more interesting question; how big and thick are you down there Daddy?”

The greenette smirks, relishing Sanji's playful banter. “ You realize you are asking for trouble, right Curly?"

"Oh, am I now? That's a new one," he jokes, a smirk playing on his lips. "Pfft…"

"How are you feeling now?"

Zoro let out a sigh. "I'm conflicted. On one hand, I feel like I'm at my best right now. Slowly regaining my confidence. But at the same time, this whole Griffith situation…"

"Speaking of which, they just released his new song. I listened to it and realized it sounded familiar."

"Really? Send it to me."

Sanji sends the audio to him, and he listens. His eyes widen in shock because the song sounded eerily similar to a demo song he recorded during his secret sessions with Grimmjow months prior. How did Griffith get his hands on that song?

He immediately calls Grimmjow. "Dude, we've got a problem…"

Zoro's team and his Japanese friends gather at the Roronoa family home in Tokyo to discuss the latest development. "How the hell did he get his hands on those demos? I never leaked them to anyone at all!" Grimmjow yelled.

"Who else was in the studio besides you and Zoro?" Sukuna asked. "It was the sound mixer, one of our songwriters, Charlotte, and both of us," Grimmjow replied.

"Could it be possible that maybe the sound mixer sent one of the stems to Griffith?" says Boa. "If he did, we would have known," says Zoro.

"We need to investigate. But since he's released that song, you may have to use something else instead."

"That sucks! Like, why?!" says Sukuna. "I bet that jerk stole songs from other artists too. That just proves he lacks talent."

"Also, if you listen to the voice on the track, it doesn't sound like his voice at all," Miku points out. They listen to the track again.

"Miku is right. Someone must be ghost-singing for him, making him nothing more than a fake pop star," says Arashi. "Although the plan is to dethrone Zoro and push him out of the spotlight, the person they're clearly trying to pit him against is obviously Sanji. Look at this."

Mihawk shows them videos and photos of Griffith after his breakup with Zoro, around the time he got signed, and when he started performing. "He's even copying Sanji too," says Kuina.

"He's desperately trying to be someone he's not. How clownish," says Yusuke with a snicker.

"Time to take out the trash," Zoro says, as a fierce fan war erupts between Sanji and Griffith fans, each side determined to defend their idol.

"That label is desperate," Eren comments. "Why create a fake Sanji?" Lelouch adds, "That voice isn't his, and he's not fooling anyone with his 'filter' excuses." Light bursts into laughter.

Griffith's intentions are clear: he wants to upstage Sanji and win Zoro back. But Natsu questions, "After cheating on Zoro, does he really think Zoro would return to him?"

Sanji smiles, grateful for his bandmates' support. "You can copy someone, but you can't replicate their unique essence. You can buy school, but you can't buy class," he says confidently. "If Griffith wants a war, fine. He's got one coming, and I'm prepared to fight. I won't lose this war."

In the shadowy corridors of backstage, a clandestine alliance was forming. Ichiji,Sanji's older brother, had joined forces with Zoro and Sanji to orchestrate a masterful scheme to expose Griffith's true colors to the world. He, Perona and Yasuo managed to speak to some influential individuals in the industry and found out about Griffith's big concert today. What better way to humiliate and dethrone than on the biggest night of his career?

With assistance from Grimmjow, they were able to poduce a damning piece of evidence: the source of the vocals from Griffith's much-hyped debut single which happened to be the stems of Zoro's recording sessions. As the familiar voice echoed through the speakers, it became clear that Griffith had been lip-syncing to someone else's track all along and that they used auto tune to cover it up.

Zoro's eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he watched the realization dawn on the faces of the assembled crowd. It was the ultimate humiliation for Griffith, the final blow to his already tarnished reputation.

Sanji smirked as he surveyed the chaos unfolding before him. It was a fitting punishment for Griffith's arrogance and deceit, a reminder that in the cutthroat world of the Upper East Side, honesty was always the best policy.

As the truth reverberated through the auditorium, Griffith's facade crumbled, his carefully crafted image shattered beyond repair. And in that moment, it was clear that justice had been served, thanks to the cunning machinations of Grimmjow, Zoro, and Sanji.

With a face flushed red with embarrassment, Griffith's hurried footsteps echoed through the silent auditorium as he bolted off the stage in a desperate bid to escape the crushing humiliation.

His carefully constructed facade lay in tatters, shattered by the revelation of his deceit. The weight of the audience's scorn bore down upon him like a heavy cloak, each step a painful reminder of his public humiliation.

As he fled into the shadows, his mind raced with a whirlwind of emotions — shame, anger, and bitter resentment swirling together in a tumultuous storm. How had it all gone so wrong? How had he allowed himself to be exposed in such a humiliating fashion?

But amidst the chaos of his thoughts, one thing was clear: he could never show his face in the Upper East Side again, at least for now. His downfall would be the talk of the town for weeks to come, a cautionary tale of hubris and deception.

And as Griffith disappeared into the darkness, his dreams of fame and glory crumbling around him, he knew that he would forever be haunted by the echoes of his own downfall.

Sanji and Zoro smirk as they watch the aftermath of their handiwork. "That takes care of the wannabe." says Sanji. Zoro smirks. "No one can dare replace my baby." With that, they share a passionate kiss.

Meanwhile, Ryu, the CEO of Zoro's record label fumes with rage. "WHY DID THAT HAPPEN?! PEOPLE WERE NEVER SUPPOSED TO KNOW?!! HE WAS SUPPOSED TO CRUSH SANJI!!"

"Perhaps I can offer a different approach." It was then that a mysterious hooded figure walks into the room and takes a seat. "And who may you be?" The person smiles. "Oh just an innocent bystander. How about Griffith gets a new chance at a career by putting him in a new group? I heard whispers that Zoro is starting a new group with his friends and Aogiri are gearing up for a comeback plus Sanji is going to release a solo project and that will be Aogiri's final solo project series. This may be the right moment to strike gold. Oh, and no more stealing pre-existing songs."

Ryu thinks about it and smirks. "Splendid!! This would be the perfect moment to crush those damn Aogiri boys and Zoro once and for all!!"

[timeless-hollywood-classics]

Ruth Etting (November 23, 1896 – September 24, 1978) was an American singing star, vaudevillian and actress of the 1920s and 1930s, who had over 60 hit recordings and worked in stage, radio, and film. Known as "America's sweetheart of song", her signature tunes were "Shine On, Harvest Moon", "Ten Cents a Dance" and "Love Me or Leave Me".

Her other popular recordings included "Button Up Your Overcoat", "Mean to Me", "Exactly Like You" and "Shaking the Blues Away".

As a young girl in Nebraska, Etting had wanted to be an artist; she drew and sketched everywhere she was able. At sixteen, her grandparents decided to send her to art school in Chicago. While Etting attended class, she found a job at the Marigold Gardens nightclub; after a short time there, Etting gave up art classes in favor of a career in show business. Etting, who enjoyed singing in school and church, never took voice lessons. She quickly became a featured vocalist at the club. Etting was then managed by Moe Snyder, whom she married in 1922. Snyder made arrangements for Etting's recording and film contracts as well as her personal and radio appearances. She became nationally known when she appeared in Flo Ziegfeld's Follies of 1927.

Etting intended to retire from performing in 1935, but this did not happen until after her divorce from Snyder in 1937. Harry Myrl Alderman, Etting's pianist, was separated from his wife when he and Etting began a relationship. Snyder did not like seeing his former wife in the company of other men and began making telephone threats to Etting in January 1938. By October, Snyder traveled to Los Angeles and detained Alderman after he left a local radio station; he forced the pianist to take him to the home of his ex-wife at gunpoint. Saying he intended to kill Etting, Alderman, and his own daughter, Edith, who worked for Etting, Snyder shot Alderman. Three days after Alderman was shot, his wife filed suit against Etting for alienation of affections.

While Alderman and Etting claimed to have been married in Mexico in July 1938, Alderman's divorce would not be final until December of that year. The couple was married during Moe Snyder's trial for attempted murder in December 1938. Etting and Alderman relocated to a farm outside of Colorado Springs, Colorado, where they were primarily out of the spotlight for most of their lives. Her fictionalized story was told in the 1955 musical film Love Me Or Leave Me with Doris Day as Ruth Etting and James Cagney as Snyder.

Etting was born on November 23, 1896, in David City, Nebraska, to Alfred Etting, a banker, and Winifred (Kleinhan). Her mother died when she was five years old and she then went to live with her paternal grandparents, George and Hannah Etting. Her father remarried and moved away from David City and was no longer a part of his daughter's life. Etting's grandfather, George, owned the Etting Roller Mills; to the delight of his granddaughter, George Etting allowed traveling circuses and shows to use the lot behind the mills for performances.

Etting was interested in drawing at an early age; she drew and sketched anywhere she was able. Her grandparents were asked to buy the textbooks she had used at the end of a school term because Etting had filled them with her drawings. She left David City at the age of sixteen to attend art school in Chicago. Etting got a job designing costumes at the Marigold Gardens nightclub, which led to employment singing and dancing in the chorus there. She gave up art school soon after going to work at Marigold Gardens. Before turning exclusively to performing, Etting worked as a designer for the owner of a costume shop in Chicago's Loop; she was successful enough to earn a partnership in the shop through her work.

While she enjoyed singing at school and in church, Etting never took voice lessons. She said that she had patterned her song styling after Marion Harris, but created her own unique style by alternating tempos and by varying some notes and phrases. Describing herself as a "high, squeaky soprano" during her days in David City, Etting developed a lower range singing voice after her arrival in Chicago which led to her success. Her big moment came when a featured vocalist suddenly became ill and was unable to perform. With no other replacement available, Etting was asked to fill in. She quickly changed into the costume and scanned the music arrangements; the performer was male, so Etting tried to adjust by singing in a lower register. She became a featured vocalist at the nightclub.

Etting described herself as a young, naive girl when she arrived in Chicago. Due to her inexperience in the ways of the big city, she became reliant on Snyder after their meeting. Etting met gangster Martin "Moe the Gimp" Snyder in 1922, when she was performing at the Marigold Gardens. Snyder, who divorced his first wife to marry Etting, was well-acquainted with Chicago's nightclubs and the entertainers who worked in them; he once served as a bodyguard to Al Jolson. Snyder also used his political connections to get bookings for Etting, who was called "Miss City Hall" because of Snyder's influence in Chicago. Etting married Snyder on July 17, 1922 in Crown Point, Indiana. She later said she married him "nine-tenths out of fear and one-tenth out of pity." Etting later told her friends, "If I leave him, he'll kill me." He managed her career, booking radio appearances and eventually had her signed to an exclusive recording contract with Columbia Records.

The couple moved to New York in 1927, where Etting made her Broadway debut in the Ziegfeld Follies of 1927. Irving Berlin had recommended her to showman Florenz Ziegfeld. Etting nervously prepared to sing for Ziegfeld at the audition. However, he did not ask her to sing at all; only to walk up and down the room. She was hired on that basis because Ziegfeld did not hire women with big ankles. While the original plan for the show was for Etting to do a tap dance after singing "Shaking the Blues Away", she later remembered she was not a very good dancer. At the show's final rehearsal, Flo Ziegfeld told her, "Ruth, when you get through singing, just walk off the stage". Etting also appeared in Ziegfeld's last "Follies" in 1931.

She went on to appear in a number of other hit shows in rapid succession, including Ziegfeld's Simple Simon and Whoopee!. Etting was not originally signed to perform in Simple Simon; she became part of the cast at the last minute when vocalist Lee Morse was too intoxicated to perform. Ziegfeld asked Etting to replace Morse; she hurried to Boston, where the show was being tried out prior to Broadway. When Etting arrived, songwriters Rodgers and Hart discovered that the song "Ten Cents a Dance" was not written for Etting's voice range. The three spent the night rewriting the song so Etting could perform it.

Toward the end of Simple Simon's Broadway run, Etting persuaded Ziegfeld to add "Love Me Or Leave Me" to the show though the song was originally written for Whoopee!. She had recorded the song in 1928, but Etting's new version of it was impressive enough to earn her a Vitaphone contract to make film shorts.

In Hollywood, Etting made a long series of movie shorts between 1929 and 1936, and three feature movies in 1933 and 1934. She described the short films as either having a simple plot to allow for her to sing two songs or with no plot at all. The idea was to have Etting sing at least two songs in the film. While she received a marquee billing for Roman Scandals, Etting had only two lines in the film and sang just one song. Etting believed she might have had more success in full-length films if she had been given some acting lessons. Her perception was that the studios viewed her only as a vocalist. She later recalled, "I was no actress, and I knew it. But I could sell a song". In 1936, she appeared in London in Ray Henderson's Transatlantic Rhythm. Etting quit the show because she and the other performers had not been paid.

Etting was first heard on radio station WLS when she was living in Chicago. Her appearance drew so much fan mail the station signed her to a year's contract for twice weekly performances. She had her own twice weekly 15 minute radio show on CBS in the 1930s. By 1934, she was on NBC with sports announcer Ted Husing doing the announcing and Oldsmobile sponsoring her program.

After an unissued test made by Victor on April 4, 1924, Etting was signed to Columbia Records in February 1926. She remained at Columbia through June 1931, when she split her recording between ARC (Banner, Perfect, Romeo, Oriole, etc.) and Columbia through March 1933. She signed with Brunswick and remained there until May 1934, when she re-signed with Columbia through July 1935. After a solitary Brunswick session in March 1936, she signed with the British label Rex and recorded two sessions in August and September, 1936. Etting returned to the US and signed with Decca in December 1936 and recorded until April 1937, when she basically retired from recording.

Etting saved some of her paycheck each week, regardless of the amount she was making at the time. Her friends said she invested in California real estate rather than the stock market. Etting, who made many of her own clothes, did her own housekeeping and lived frugally, initially announced her retirement in 1935. It is not clear why she did not go through with her announced plans, but she issued a second statement regarding retirement after filing for divorce from Snyder in November 1937.

Snyder's aggressive and controlling management style began to cause problems for Etting; during her work with Whoopee! on Broadway, Snyder was a constant presence. He was never without a gun and enjoyed poking people with it while saying "Put your hands up!" then laughing when their fright was evident. Snyder also persisted in cornering Ziegfeld because he believed Etting's role in the musical could be improved. Ziegfeld had a different opinion and indicated nothing would be changed. Snyder would then mumble that it was not a suggestion but a demand.

By 1934 she was having difficulty getting engagements. Snyder's arguing and fighting at venues where Etting was employed caused her to be passed by for jobs in the United States. In 1936, she thought taking work in England might be the answer, but Snyder created problems while she was working there also. Soon after the couple arrived in England, Snyder became involved in a street fight which created adverse publicity for Etting. She divorced Moe Snyder on the grounds of cruelty and abandonment on November 30, 1937. Snyder did not contest the divorce and received a settlement from his former wife. Etting gave her ex-husband half of her earnings at the time, $50,000, some securities and a half interest in a home in Beverly Hills, California. She deducted the gambling debts of Snyder she had paid and the costs she had paid for a home for Snyder's mother.

Etting fell in love with her pianist, Myrl Alderman, who was separated from his wife. In January 1938, she began receiving threatening telephone calls from Snyder, who initially claimed Etting withheld assets from him when the divorce settlement was made. Though the couple was divorced, Snyder was also upset because of reports that she was seeing another man. Snyder told Etting that he would come to California and kill her. When Snyder telephoned and found Etting unavailable, he told his daughter Edith that he "would fix her ticket, too". He called again that evening; this time Etting took the call with her cousin, Arthur Etting, listening on an extension. Etting requested police protection after the telephone call and arranged for private protection. Apparently believing the danger was over when Snyder did not appear soon after his telephone call, Etting released her bodyguards a few days later.

On October 15, 1938, Snyder detained Myrl Alderman at a local radio station and forced the pianist to take him to his former wife at gunpoint. In the house at the time were Etting and Edith Snyder. Edith, Snyder's daughter by a previous marriage, worked for Etting and remained living with her after the divorce. Snyder held Etting and Alderman at gunpoint; when told his daughter was in another part of the house, he made Etting call her into the room. Snyder said he intended to kill all three, and told them to be quiet. When Myrl Alderman attempted to speak, Snyder shot him. Snyder then told his ex-wife, "I've had my revenge, so you can call the police."

Snyder claimed Myrl Alderman pulled a gun and shot at him first and that his ex-wife would not file charges against him because she still loved him. He also claimed he was drunk when he made the telephone threats to Etting in January 1938, saying that at the time his intentions were to kill both his ex-wife and himself. Ruth Etting said that the only gun in the home belonged to her, and after the shooting of Alderman, she was able to go into her bedroom and get it. Upon seeing Etting's gun, Moe Snyder wrested it away from her; it landed on the floor. Snyder's daughter, Edith, picked it up and held it on her father, shooting at him but hitting the floor instead. During a police reenactment of the shooting three days later, Edith Snyder said that she fired at her father to save Ruth Etting, weeping as she continued, "I don't yet know whether I am sorry I missed my Dad or whether I am glad". Snyder was accused of attempting to murder his ex-wife, his daughter, and Etting's accompanist, Myrl Alderman, the kidnapping of Alderman, as well as California state gun law violations.

Three days after the shooting of Myrl Alderman, the pianist's second wife, Alma, sued Etting for alienation of her husband's affections. Though Etting and Alderman claimed to have been married in Tijuana, Mexico in July 1938, Alma Alderman said any marriage was invalid, because her divorce from Myrl Alderman would not be final until December 1938. Police investigators could find no record of the couple's Mexican marriage. Etting publicly invited Alma Alderman to visit her husband in the hospital, in an effort to see if the couple could reconcile.

Ruth Etting testified that she was not married to Alderman. During the course of the trial, there was also a question of the validity of Alderman's marriage to Alma. Alderman's first wife, Helen, obtained an interlocutory decree on January 7, 1935; the divorce became final one year later. On January 9, 1935, Alderman married Alma in Mexico. The second Mrs. Alderman called Moe Snyder to the stand as a witness regarding an attraction between her husband and Etting. Helen Alderman Warne also appeared in court, claiming that Alma Alderman had spirited Myrl away from her. Warne added that she had married and divorced the pianist twice. Alma Alderman's lawsuit ended in December 1939, with the court finding that she was not entitled to damages from Ruth Etting.

The testimony in both trials brought much personal information into the public eye. Snyder, who claimed to still be in love with his ex-wife, gave Etting a diamond and platinum bracelet which she accepted after Snyder's telephone threat in January 1938. Etting testified that she agreed with her ex-husband's statement to police that Snyder was either drunk or out of his mind when he threatened her by phone. Snyder's attorney initially tried to prevent Etting from testifying against Snyder with a charge that the divorce she obtained in Illinois was invalid because she was a resident of California at that time.

During the trial, Snyder's attorney portrayed Ruth Etting as a calculating woman who had married Moe Snyder strictly for the benefit of her career, and that she divorced him in favor of being with another, younger man (Alderman). Snyder's attorney echoed his client's claim of self-defense and said his client never intended to kill Etting, his daughter, and Myrl Alderman. The attorney further claimed that if Snyder intended to kill the pianist, he had ample time to do so while he held a gun on Alderman during the drive from the radio station to the home where the shooting took place.

Etting married Alderman, who was almost a decade her junior, on December 14, 1938 in Las Vegas, during Moe Snyder's trial for attempted murder. Snyder was convicted of attempted murder, but released on appeal after one year in jail. Snyder won a new trial but returned to jail in January 1940 in lieu of bail. In August 1940, Myrl Alderman asked the district attorney to drop further prosecution attempts against Snyder for the 1938 shooting.

Etting, who had retired from performing prior to the shooting and subsequent trials, briefly had a radio show on WHN in 1947. She also accepted an engagement at New York's Copacabana in March 1947. Etting traveled alone to New York and during a newspaper interview, was asked if she had ever seen Moe Snyder again. She replied, "No, I hope I never do." and said that her husband never went to bed without a gun.

The couple relocated to an eight-acre farm outside of Colorado Springs in 1938. Alderman, who was raised in Colorado Springs, operated a restaurant there for a time. Etting and Alderman remained married until his death in Denver on November 28, 1966; he was buried in Evergreen Cemetery, Colorado Springs. Etting died in Colorado Springs in 1978, aged 81. She was survived by a stepson, John Alderman, and four grandchildren. Alderman and Etting are now interred at the Shrine of Remembrance Mausoleum in Colorado Springs, Colorado.

Her life was the basis for the fictionalized 1955 film, Love Me or Leave Me, which starred Doris Day (as Etting), James Cagney (as Snyder) and Cameron Mitchell (as Alderman). Etting, Myrl Alderman and Moe Snyder all sold their rights to the story to MGM; Snyder was living in Chicago in 1955. Etting expressed sadness that "the real highlight of my life", her marriage to Alderman, was omitted from the film. Shortly before her death, Etting said she thought the screen portrayal of her was too tough and that Jane Powell would have been a better choice for the lead.

Etting has a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame for her work in films, located on the north side of the 6500 block of Hollywood Boulevard. Her recordings of Love Me Or Leave Me (2005) and Ten Cents a Dance (1999) are part of the Grammy Hall of Fame.

[dovebuffy92]

https://www.fanbolt.com/113333/beartown-miniseries-review-a-swedish-mix-of-friday-night-lights-euphoria/

Swedish miniseries Beartown, directed by Peter Gronlund, is based on Fredik Backman’s bestselling novel about a small town where their junior ice hockey team is the center of the universe. This novel was actually banned in the South.

Beartown is a combination of Friday Night Lights and Euphoria. Retired NHL player Peter Andersson returns to his small hometown with his wife Mira, fourteen-year-old daughter Maya, and his young son Leo. As the town hero, Peter takes over coaching Beartown’s junior ice hockey team led by Kevin Erdahl. The men of Beartown either are drafted by the NHL or become factory workers. Maya has a crush on Kevin, but when he rapes her, their relationship turns toxic.

Kevin is both the star hockey player loved by the whole town and a teenage boy whose bullied by his father, Mats Erdahl. Mats was a decent hockey player as a teenager, but he was forced to leave the team after Peter (the retired NHL player) accidentally injured him. They have hated each other ever since. Now that Mats is wealthy, he donates a lot of money to the team to influence decisions. He rides Kevin so hard about hockey because he is vicariously living through him.

To make matters worse, Mats objectifies all women, including his ex-wife Kevin’s mother, in front of his son. In the first few episodes of Beartown, the viewer feels empathy for Kevin. He is the best scorer on his junior hockey team but is also tortured.

New Coach Peter Andersson hands out pucks to all the players. He gives them all individual advice about how to improve their game to make the team stronger. However, Peter leaves Kevin out, and when he asks Peter why he didn’t hand him a puck, Peter tells him that he already gives a hundred percent of himself on the ice.

Even with all of the player’s hard work and natural talent, Mats tries to control him. When Kevin rebels against his advice but still wins the game, there is hell to pay. Mats leave Kevin on the side of the road when it’s below freezing outside. Kevin’s hands start turning blue. Maya and her father have to drive out to the middle to nowhere to rescue the star player. But at the same time, Kevin is quite literally worshipped by the whole town because he is the best player in the entire region of Sweden. Everybody chants his name during the matches, and all of his teammates protect him at all cost.

Maya Andersson takes the blunt of Kevin’s hidden rage. The Anderssons and Erdahl’s live next door to one another. The teenagers have a crush on one another from the minute they see each other. They both seem to find each other attractive, but it’s clear that Kevin partly likes Maya because she is so different from all the other teenage girls in the area.

Maya was primarily raised in an urban city in Canada, and she doesn’t care about hockey even though her father played it professionally. She plans to be a musician. She is an outsider, who loves singing and playing the guitar alone in her room. She is younger than Kevin but is exceptionally self-assured. She competes in a puck shooting competition with Kevin and doesn’t care when she loses.

Maya seems to be drawn to Kevin because of his skills and his vulnerability. She can see that he is abused and that he doesn’t feel comfortable in his own home.

Kevin draws comfort from Maya’s father. Kevin loves Peter because he cares about him as a person and helps the whole team improve. It’s hard to understand why Kevin would rape Maya when her father is clearly important to him. Like his father, Kevin calls women whores and thinks that he deserves sex from them because he wins games. That is combined with the fact that the star believes that he can get away with murder because the whole town’s identity is wrapped up in Beartown hockey. Kevin’s anger at his father consumes him, turning his relationship with the world toxic. He takes his pain out on Maya and the ice. Kevin does get away with raping her because of his father’s wealth and his hockey skills.

Neither Kevin nor his father Mats suffer any consequences for their actions. Even after fellow teammate Amat finally tells the police that he saw Kevin raping Maya, there are no charges.

Maya steals her friend’s gun. Maya chases after Kevin into the forest during his daily run. She almost shoots Kevin in the head, but her morality won’t allow her to pull the trigger. Thankfully her father Peter and Mats find the pair in the woods. Peter carries Maya back to the car while she breaks down. After Mats finds Kevin, he admits to his father that he raped her. Kevin wants to suffer consequences for his actions and to stop playing hockey. He has been playing to please Mats all this time. Mats ignore Kevin’s confession instead of telling him they are moving away. Mats found another hockey team that he can control by donating money to them. Kevin is going to continue to be a junior hockey star in a new town.

In the last few scenes of the miniseries, Mats and Kevin drive away from the neighborhood scot-free. Kevin continues to be taught that wealth and stardom supersede the law.

The series’ ending feels unsatisfactory. It’s unclear why Amat’s testimony didn’t warrant a trial. Suddenly Maya seems unaffected by the trauma. Instead of resolving the main plot, the story turns to Peter dealing with the loss of their youngest son while Mira and Maya comfort him. My feelings could be due to cultural differences.

I would recommend Beartown to fans of Friday Night Lights and Euphoria who don’t mind subtitles. As a miniseries with only five episodes, it’s a quick watch. Beartown explores the critical topic of “rape culture” in sports demonstrating the problem is international. It’s dangerous to continue putting these young men on pedestals and protecting them from the consequences of harmful behavior because of their athletic prowess.

[a-ratt]

MLB Fanfic: Sins of the Past Chapter II: Miracu-class Reunion

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“Take a right here.”

“I know, Rose.”

Kamala glanced between her parents from the backseat of their car. They were on their way to Agreste Mansion, taking the quickest route there, according to their GPS.

“Oh, I can’t wait to see everyone again!”

Her maman was a glowing ball of energy, bouncing in her seat and beaming into the visor mirror as she applied her makeup. Meanwhile, her mom was a lot laxer, but she wore a small smile as she watched the road.

“It’ll be nice being together again.” Her mom reached a hand over and took her maman’s. “Just like old times.”

They went silent after that, so she turned her attention outside at the passing Parisian nightlife. Pedestrians strolled about beneath street lamps, moving from destination to destination. A majority gathered outside restaurants, others headed to a movie theater here or a convenience store there. She spied a few entering their homes from a late night out.

Soon, though, the stores and homes were replaced by a flat wall of mute stone.

"Alright, we're here."

She looked out the window at the wall beside them. There were no windows or homely features, just stone. Getting out of the car, she was even more confused as she looked down either way of the wall. While the right end turned at a corner, the left dropped off at a gate where a dark-skinned, fiery redheaded woman stood, tapping her foot and scrolling through her phone.

“Alya!”

Kamala looked up at her maman, then back at the woman. She’d perked up and turned her attention towards them. A smile grew on her face as she started over, stowing her phone away.

“Rose? Juleka?” She gave a laugh and threw out her arms wide. Both her parents practically skipped into her embrace, reciprocating with a tight hug. “Mon dieu, it’s been too long, girls!"

"Way too long," her mom said. "Where have you been?"

The woman, Alya, shrugged. "Here and there. Went over to America for some internships after lyceé, got a job in the UK for about a year, then I came back home to do some work here." She rubbed her chin, but then snapped her fingers. "Oh, and I visited Achu last month to write a piece on King Ali's reformation of the economy there. Speaking of which…."

Her eyes turned on her and Kamala froze like a deer in headlights.

"So, you must be Kamala." She held out a hand. "It's nice to meet you."

She hesitantly shook the hand. "Um… yeah."

Her grip was a little weak while the adult's was strong, but that didn't seem to ruin Alya's fun. Her smile only grew and she glanced at her parents. "She's cute.”

She flushed red and let go of her hand while her parents giggled.

Alya put her hands on her hips as she turned her attention back to them. "I didn't even know you could adopt out of country."

"Well. when you're friends with King Ali…." Her mom gave a smirk and her maman slapped her arm.

"Juleka!"

"What? He technically helped."

"But we filled out the paperwork legally!"

Kamala bounced her eyes between her parents, unsure of whether or not she should feel flattered or offended that they were talking about her right in front of her.

Thankfully, a loud buzz and the sound of metal bars clanging drew their attention back to the front gates.

"Sounds like it's time to party." Alya adjusted her purse strap and waved for them to follow. "Come on, girls. Let's party."

-

For an impromptu get-together, M. Agreste's class reunion looked and felt like more of a party.

The first thing she saw upon entering Agreste Mansion were a number of colorful streamers reaching out from a giant, crystal chandelier hanging from a vaulted ceiling. While its light sparkled and illuminating the foyer, it also lit up its bright extremities and brought life to an otherwise starkly white room.  A mixture of foldable and ornate, wooden tables were also set up around the place, all of them covered in patterned cloth. Each one hosted different platters or bowls of store-bought foods or homemade cuisine.

What really gave the foyer life, though, was the number of people mingling about. She spied a tall, built Asian man holding up his arms for two teenagers to hang off of. Next to him, an equally tall and built, redheaded woman laughed while cradling a baby. 

Close to them, a ginger-haired woman strode up to chat with Alya. They hugged and laughed, then walked over to a table to grab drinks. At the same time, her parents walked up to two men, one with bright, scarlet hair and the other with regular, black hair.

They chatted animatedly, leaving her to balance on her heels awkwardly before wandering over to a nearby table to grab a bite. A silver platter was set out, offering a pile of macarons. She glanced around briefly before reaching for one.

"Watch out!"

"Incoming!"

She squeaked as two bodies squished her in between them. The pile of macarons was utterly leveled by a pair of hands, leaving only a single one left. She picked it up and gave it a sad glance before watching the pile's destroyers run over to the Asian man.

"I got your dessert, dad!"

"No, I got your dessert!"

Both teens, a boy and a girl, shoved and growled at each other. The boy barked once, which prompted their dad to step in between them.

"Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Jacque! Jacqueline! Calm it down you two!" He held up his hands. "Make nice or I'm taking your PlayStation!"

Immediately, the teens froze, looked each other in the eye, then slumped their shoulders.

"Sorry, dad."

She watched their dad stand up tall with hands on his hips and then give a laugh. He patted them both on the shoulder before taking a macaron from them each.

"That's alright, guys, but keep it cool. You guys make everything a competition, then one of these days you're going to get hurt." He looked over at her and she froze. "Or get someone else hurt, like her."

Both teens turned to look at her. She flushed red and tried to turn around, but she already heard their dad saying, "go apologize to her."

She turned around to find them behind her. They looked similar, from appearances to their posture. The only real difference was the boy had a short quiff and the girl had a bob cut. Both of them shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of their necks and wringing the bottom of their shirts.

"Uh, sorry about running into you," the boy, Jacque, apologized.

"Yeah, sorry about that," the girl, Jacqueline, said too.

She glanced between them and tried to form words. They ended up thinning out in her throat and she had to clear it before speaking again. "It's alright… no problem."

They both grinned and ran back to their dad, excited to be over with the task. She watched them hop and bounce around before turning back to grabbing a macaron.

"Hey, I see you met the twins!"

M. Agreste walked up next to her right as she grabbed the last macaron. She grit her teeth and swallowed the slight buildup of frustration in her.

"Yeah." She gave a half-hearted smile and made to scurry away when the Asian man strolled over with his kids hanging off him. Literally. Again.

"Hey! Hey! Hey! If it isn't our handsome host!" He grinned and lowered his arms, setting the teens down. "And you must be… uh… someone…."

She looked at him, then glanced at the little opening between him and M. Agreste.

"I'm nobody," she chirped anxiously. "I'm just gonna… go."

"Don't we sit behind you?"

She stopped and looked at Jacqueline. The girl was watching her with squinted eyes. Glancing at Jacque, she found him doing the same.

"Yeah, she sits right in front of you guys with Mlle. Lécuye." M. Agreste lifted a wine glass and smiled, then turned to the Asian man. "Oh, and this is Kamala, she's Rose and Juleka's daughter."

She suppressed the urge to scowl at her homeroom teacher.

"No way!" Suddenly, he was leaning in front of her, checking her out. "You're the munchkin they picked up from- Ow!"

He was cut off by the redheaded woman with the baby elbowing his side. He rubbed the sure spot and looked back at her. "Uh, I mean, adopted from Achu."

"Are you bullying our little girl?"

Suddenly, her parents were with them, stepping over to meet the other couple.

"Bonsoir, Kim." Her mom waved. "Bonsoir, Ondine."

"Bonsoir, you two." The redheaded woman, Ondine, beamed and cradled her child. "Ariel says bonsoir too."

Her maman cooed while her mom snorted. While they chatted, she took the opportunity to sneak back around to hide behind her parents.

"So, you're a coach now?" Her mom tilted her head while the man, Kim, nodded.

"Yeah, took some classes in uni for sports management. But, I mean, that's nothing compared to Mdm. Fifteen-Olympic-Gold-Medals right here!"

Ondine visibly blushed and elbowed him playfully. "Kim…."

He kissed her on the temple while her parents giggled and M. Agreste chuckled. Meanwhile, "the twins", were glancing between their parents, their faces a mixture of disgust and boredom. She, herself, looked at them all before slipping back and nudging her mom's hand.

"I need to use the bathroom."

Her mom arched an eyebrow, but shrugged. "Hey, Adrien, where's your bathroom at?"

"Uh, head into the dining room, take the door on the left, and then it's the door on the right in the hall."

She blinked and looked at him. Then, at her mom. After processing the directions, she sighed and marched away from the crowd.

-

“Come on, seriously?” Kim leaned back in his chair. “There’s no way.”

A wave of laughs rolled over the gathered friends while Adrien Agreste rubbed the back of his neck. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

They sat in the foyer, having pulled out sofas, benches, and chairs. Their congregation was shaped in a loose circle at the foot of the stairs, right beneath the chandelier so they could all share in the spotlight.

"No, he's right, Sunshine Boy." Alya drank. "You've had tons of women, and even some guys, hanging off your shoulders. When are you going to find someone to settle down with? Or just run away? I don't know what your retirement plan is."

He looked at her, then at the ground. “I, uh… I don’t know what to tell you guys.” He laughed and shook his head. “I’m just not interested. You know?”

Everyone groaned and rolled their eyes as the front door shut. The hulking form of the Gorilla passed by them and Adrien gave him an appreciative nod. The Agreste family butler and bodyguard nodded back, then went to stand by a table offering an assortment of desserts.

“Hey. Hey. Hey, party people! Guess who!”

Eyes turned to the three newcomers lead by a dark-skinned man dressed in casual, yet neat attire. If it wasn’t his clothing that tipped them off, it was his red hat.

“Nino! Ivan! Mylène!” they cheered, raising their glasses.

The massive figure of Ivan came striding forth with his wife beside him, their hands clasped. Mylène gave a wave while Ivan smiled and opened his arms. Rose squealed and jumped into them while Juleka stood up to meet them.

“‘Sup, gang!” Nino laughed and high-fived Kim, bumped fists with Juleka, then froze when he came face-to-face with Alya. “Um… h-hey, Alya.”

She wore an unimpressed expression and stared at him with narrowed eyes. “M. Lahiffe.”

Everyone glanced between them, Rose coughing into her fist. Adrien walked over and patted his best-friend on the shoulder before moving him into a seat they’d brought out.

“Hey, man, you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah….” Nino swallowed and looked down while Alya glared. “I’m cool. I’m cool….”

Adrien nodded, then glanced at Alya, who turned her gaze away.

“So,” she started and looked straight across their gathering to the ginger-haired woman sitting next to Ondine, “Sabrina, how’s life been?”

Sabrina perked up and met the eyes watching her. She flushed red and crossed her legs. “I’ve been fine.”

“You got your master’s in business management, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.” Sabrina sipped from her wine glass. “Still not worth it.”

Everyone laughed and shared in the revelry, immersing themselves in the warm embrace of nostalgia and fond memories of good times. Then, the closet burst open.

“Can you get off me?”

Out of the closet came an all-too-familiar superhero who rubbed the back of his neck while a pink-haired woman stepped out.

“Sorry, miscalculated the destination.” Pegasu stood and de-transformed, leaving him in a dress shirt and slacks.

“Yeah, you think?” Alix stretched and tugged at her yoga pants, then looked over at their classmates. “Hey, at least you got us in the right building. What’s up, losers!”

A cheer rang out from the rest of their class, who lifted their drinks up and stood to greet them. Kim was the first to walk over, grabbing his best-friends in a bear hug.

“It’s the crew!” he laughed.

“Kim, get your beefy logs off me!”

“Kim, please let us down.”

Ondine giggled at her husband’s antics while Alya stepped past to smack his arm. At her glare, he let them go and stepped back so Alix and Max could breathe. While they do so, however, Alya set her hands on her hips. “So, mind telling us why you were in the closet?”

The duo exchanged looks, then Max pointed at his shirt pocket. Something squirmed in it, and that was all anyone needed to know.

“Uncle Max!”

Jacque and Jacqueline Lê Chiến came running over, practically hopping with excitement. Max, in turn, smiled and raised a hand. “Hey, Jacquie. Hi, Jacquie.”

Both twins made faces, but gave him a high-five nonetheless. Meanwhile, Kim and Ondine shared a laugh while Alix crossed her arms.

“What?“ She threw out her arms. “I don’t get anything?”

The twins shared another look and then ran over to tackle her. Alix gave a cry and hit the ground while Kim burst into cackling and Ondine was suddenly aware that their kids had tackled an adult.

“Kim!” She nudged him and her husband rubbed the back of his neck.

“Uh, you good, Alix?”

A thumb shot up from the dog pile. “Ninety-nine percent, yeah.

Another roar of laughter filled the foyer, echoing and dredging up memories of their time in a classroom together. It was like the years hadn't gone by, save for the fact that they were taller and a few of them had kids.

"Hey, Mylène," Alix kicked up her feet onto Kim's legs, to which he pushed them off, only for her to prop them back up. "What's it like being a collège counselor and a mother?”

The shorter woman shrugged. "It doesn't affect my work much. I can't say the same for Adelene, though."

Beside her, Ivan scratched his chin. "Yeah, we're worried the fame might go to her head some day. I mean, she hasn't pulled a Chloé yet, but she's had moments where… well…."

"She's been a little demanding?" Ondine glanced at her twins, both looked at her before scurrying away to a table on the other side of the foyer.

A wave of chuckles rolled over them.

"How's Kamala, by the way?" Ivan looked over to Rose and Juleka. "I know she isn't too fond of the whole 'my parents are rock stars' thing."

Both women shrugged and Juleka gestured towards Adrien. "She's been homeschooled up until now, so Adrien's who you wanna ask."

Eyes fell onto the blonde and he drank from his glass. "Well, I mean, it's only been the first day. She was quiet and kind of isolated. I think she'll start to open up, though."

Kamala's parents hummed and everyone fell into silence. That was, until Alix piped up. "So, anyone hear about that bank robbery last week?"

Everyone shared looks. Most of them smiled while she smirked. Adrien looked at them all and tilted his head. "Uh, yeah. Bunnyx stopped it, right?"

"Yeah, she sure did." Alix leaned back into her chair and Kim pushed her feet off his legs again.

"Don't forget she had some help." Ondine interjected, smiling innocently when Alix shot a pointed look her way.

"Well, yeah, but Roi Singe pretty much missed all the action."

"I don't know…." Kim sat up. "He kind of saved yo- Bunnyx's butt with the whole 'make the robber's guns jam with his superpowers', you know what I mean?"

The rivals never broke eye contact while everyone chuckled, giggled, or took videos of their first argument in years. All the while, Adrien looked out over his gathered friends and smiled. Everyone was here… well, almost everyone.

 “Thinking about Mari?” Nino stepped up next to him, swirling a drink absentmindedly. “Me too, man… She would’ve loved this.”

He nodded. “Yeah… she would’ve….” His eyes turned to Alya. “So, are you sure you’re alright? I mean, after the divorce-”

“I’m fine. Seriously.” Nino set a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t gotta worry about me or Alya. Just… let us work out the kinks ourselves. Alright, dude?”

Adrien stared at him and nodded solemnly. Then, someone screamed.

-

Kamala stepped out of the bathroom, rubbing her hands dry on her clothes. She glanced around the dark hall and shivered ever-so-slightly. Why were bourgeoisie mansions always so creepy?

She looked at the door out and stepped towards it, but then stopped. There was a humming sound from the other door down the hall, muffled but audible. Turning back, she took in the dark threshold at the other hand of the hall, then glanced at the door behind her.

Hesitantly, she stepped over to press an ear against the door. The humming was louder, but then it stopped. There was an audible click, followed by the sound of murmuring. Was it the adults? Had they moved to another room?

“Probably shouldn’t intrude,” she muttered and stepped away.

Just as she did, someone shouted. She jumped, then froze. Fear petrified her long enough that the voice on the other side died down. Left terrified, but suddenly curious, she glanced at the doorknob before grabbing it.

Opening the door a crack, she peered through into a massive, sterile white room. The lights were dimmed and the curtains were drawn. There was a shadow on the floor, which she followed to a man in a wheelchair.

“I won. Do you hear me?”

She stared at an elderly man, his hair disheveled and body frail. He held a strange box in his hand while wheeling around.

“I won. Stop haunting me!”

He seemed to try and crush the box, but only succeeded in giving it a light squeeze. Immediately after, he let his arm fall and drew in labored breaths.

Kamala processed the sight, decided it was creepy as heck, then backed away. Unfortunately, the door creaked.

Cold blue eyes snapped to her and she froze in place again. Before she knew it, he was wheeling towards her, snarling and baring his teeth. She tried to backpedal, but he was already throwing the door open and grabbing her wrist.

“Who are you!” he demanded. “What are you doing here? Did she bring you here? Did she send use my miraculous?”

“Let go of me!” she screamed and tried to wrench her wrist free.

“Tell me-” The man grasped his chest and gasped.

She struggled harder and pulled away from him. She took a step back to run, but stopped when she saw him keel over and fall out of his wheelchair. Her eyes rounded and she stared in shock at the frail, trembling figure.

She didn’t know what to do. What could she do? He attacked her and was on the floor now. Should she call her parents?

She opted for the latter.

“Help!” She knelt down next to him, searching for something that’d help. “Help! Mom! Maman!”

Her eyes landed on the strange object, an octagonal box. She picked it up and looked it over. Before she could open it, though, a second pair of doors burst open and M. Agreste stepped in.

“Hello? Kamala?” He looked over and his eyes shot open wide. “Father!”

Suddenly, he was at his father’s side, across from her. He pressed two fingers to his wrist, then rolled him over.

“Kamala, get back.” He ordered, then pressed his hands on his father’s chest. “One. Two. One. Two.”

She stared, still trapped in shock. Hands grabbed her shoulders and pulled her away. When she came out of her stupor, she looked up at her maman who held her tight.

“Are you okay, sweetie?”

“He- He grabbed my wrist, I-... I didn’t- He just-....” Tears tumbled down her face, but her maman wiped them with her shirt.

“Did he hurt you?”

“N-No, but-”

“But?”

“He just grabbed my wrist and I panicked and pulled away and- and-”

“He’s still breathing!” M. Agreste snapped his head up. “Alya, call 911!”

“Already on it!”

“Gorilla! Get the car ready! Nino! Go upstairs and knock on the door right of my room!”

“Got it!”

Kamala stared at the scene playing out before her, unable to comprehend anything. Her mind was a mess, thoughts crashing and swirling like a chaotic storm. All she felt was dread in the pit of her stomach, a cold icy ball of pure anxiety forcing her to stay on her knees while her maman held her and her mom rubbed circles into her back.

-

“Is he going to be okay?”

Her parents shared looks and she glanced at their faces. Despite her maman being bubbly and her mom being chill, for once they shared the same expression of hesitance and concern.

“He should be.” Her mom twisted around to look at her. “But are you okay?”

“Y-Yeah….” She rubbed her wrist. “I’m okay….”

Her parents exchanged more looks.

“Your mom’s going to go to the hospital, Kamala,” her maman said, getting out of the car. “We’re going to stay here at home, alright?”

She nodded numbly and got out too. They waved her mom goodbye as she drove off to meet M. Agreste and the rest of the adults at the hospital. Her maman lead her inside, through the boutique and up the stairs in the back.

She mindlessly ambled past their furniture and to her room. She registered her maman lingering in the doorway, watching her sit down on her bed. A second passed before she joined her, kneeling in front of her.

“What happened, Kamala?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it. Fear kept her voice down, but a need to speak forced it up like water in a backed up pipe. “I got out of the bathroom and was going back to the party, but then I heard some weird sound and went to look and I found M. Agreste, but he was acting weird, yelling at this- this box! But when I tried to leave he heard me and I couldn’t move because- because I was so scared.” She rubbed her wrist harder. “He grabbed my wrist and yelled at me, but I screamed and struggled, then tried to run, but then he fell over and-....”

Her voice faded, but she’d gotten the story across. Her maman gave her a pitying look, then drew her into a hug.

“It’s alright, sweetie. You’re okay.”

She trembled and choked on a sob. She wanted to not do that, to be strong. Yet, her body betrayed her and she could only sit there, crying and shaking.

“I’ll talk with Adrien and we’ll try to clear this up. Whatever happened to M. Agreste, it wasn’t your fault. He’s had problems like this before.”

Her voice failed her, so she bobbed her head.

“How about you take a shower.” She picked up her wrist. “It’ll make you feel better.”

Before she knew it, she was in the bathroom. The water was running and steam was filling the air. She stared into the mirror, watching her reflection. Her red eyes burned and her cheeks were tear-stricken. She still quivered ever-so-slightly.

A wave of disgust hit her and she pulled at her clothes. Before she stripped anything off, though, she felt a bump in her jacket.

“What?”

She pulled out the octagonal box M. Agreste had held. Her eyes stared at it, a new wave of fear taking her. She was going to get in trouble for this. Whatever this was….

Curiosity overcame dread and she put a hand on the top of it. Maybe one peek wouldn’t hurt?

She opened it and the world went pink. A second later, she blinked and got up off the floor. The back of her head stung and she rubbed it tentatively. The box sat on the ground, opened and revealing two black earrings inside.

Picking it up, she examined them, then looked up at the mirror. A woman with bluebell eyes stared back.

“Hello?” The woman waved. “Hi, uh... I’m Marinette. Who are you?”

-

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[coochiequeens]

I'm going to guess that this is another man who can't compete with younger men anymore, through no fault of his own he's just aging, and instead of accepting that gracefully and focusing elsewhere like coaching he's using women’s sports to prolong a sports career that should have been over by now.

By Amy Hamm June 24, 2024

Female rugby players in Alberta, Canada, are expressing concerns for their safety after a male who only recently began to identify as a “woman” was permitted to join their team. The women say their club is more worried about “discrimination” lawsuits than their potential injuries.

Players for the Clanswomen, a female rugby team in the Clansmen Rugby Club (CRC) and under the jurisdiction of the Edmonton Rugby Club, told Reduxx they were only recently informed by a coach that Maeryn Gellhaus, 48, was allowed to join their team.

Several members of the Clanswomen, who are being kept anonymous for their protection, explained that they knew Gellhaus had previously played on a men’s team in the CRC before he began to identify as transgender. He also reportedly coaches a youth team in the CRC.

According to a Clanswomen player who spoke with Reduxx, Gellhaus approached executives at the CRC sometime in May, requesting to switch from the men’s team to the women’s team. He has since been attending the women’s practice sessions twice a week. The female players were reportedly not consulted about his acceptance onto the roster.

Gellhaus made an Instagram post about joining the women’s team on May 29, boasting that he had played nearly 300 games as a male, but had been accepted into the Clanswomen after declaring himself to be a woman.

“I’ve played almost 300 games for my club. Played on every team possible. But the reason I never really fit in was because I was never really on the RIGHT team. Until tonight… tonight the Clanswomen allowed me to join them. So for once (maybe just once) I can take the pitch as myself for the right team.”

According to an Instagram post by Gellhaus, he began to identify as transgender and take cross-sex hormones (HRT) just four months ago and primarily presents as “male” most of the time.

“I’m only 4 months deep into HRT. I haven’t had [facial feminization surgery]. I still boy-mode mostly,” he wrote in another post from June 4.

The anonymous female players said that Gellhaus was allegedly informed that several of the women on the team were uncomfortable with his presence and worried about being injured playing with a male. Days later, Gellhaus took to Instagram again, complaining that some of the women had been less than accomodating to him.

“There are a lot of girls that have been absolutely amazing to me there. But there is an underlying feeling that some don’t want me there. Badly. It hasn’t been figured out yet. I’m trying to decide if it’s worth the struggle. I want to be celebrated, not tolerated,” he wrote.

Just last week, Gellhaus was finally added to the publicly-available team roster on the Clansmen Rugby Club’s website. He played his first game with the team on Saturday in St. Albert, Alberta.

One female player told Reduxx that she was focused on fairness and safety, and that none of the women opposed to Gellhaus’ presence were motivated by transphobia. Instead, she explained fear of injury was the primary concern amongst the women.

“It’s safety and fairness of sport. It’s pretty f*cked up that one person’s ‘feelings’ trump legitimate concerns of safety from our women. Our opinions and feelings don’t matter,” she said.

“In an aggressive contact sport like rugby, where your only required protection is a mouth guard, why do we have to argue over safety and explain the risks of women versus men?”

Several of the women have approached Canada’s governing body for Rugby with concerns about safety, but were told that the club must follow the current guidance, which enables players to choose a team based on their self-identified gender “at both recreational and competitive levels.”

Rugby Canada regulations claim to “resolve gender identity and gender expression issues” via their discipline and complaints policy. The policy does not provide any mention of the safety of female players matched with or against males.

“It’s reckless. The club is afraid [Gellhaus] will file a discrimination suit if we don’t let him play,” another Clanswomen player revealed. “I argue he is to be accepted ‘as is’ with the men’s team, or he can go play in one of the co-ed leagues.”